#had an ant run up my leg the one day in the year i decided to wear shorts and sit down bc i was sure theyd be able to tell i wasnt safe to>

[dexaroth]

[hedgehog-moss]

I found a nice plant in a bog last year, like a reed with a tuft of very soft cotton at the top (bless you English, I just looked up "plant that grows in a bog and looks like cotton" and the English language replied "bog cotton, duh") (in French it's called linaigrette, which should be a small bird), and I was very charmed by the look of it and decided to try to pirate it so I would have some on my land. I plucked one fluffy reed and kept it on my windowsill so I wouldn't forget to return.

Of course, when I returned a few days later with a shovel and a bucket, I couldn't find the bog cotton again. Or the bog. It was a small swamp-y area in a very vast plateau with few landmarks, so it's possible I got turned around, but also, things tend to disappear around here sometimes, like the footpath that leads to the stream, only to reappear a few weeks later. I very much felt like I was in the correct location and the bog wasn't, but okay. Since I didn't trust myself to tell the normal reeds from the cotton-y ones in other seasons, I decided I'd come back around the same time next year.

I've had the linaigrette in my egg spiral in the kitchen this whole time as a memento, and I finally resumed my quest today. I left my car in the exact same spot where I'd left it the previous two times, just before the road gets squiggly for no apparent reason:

I climbed the hill and behind it were just miles and miles of estives (summer cow pastures) with sometimes a barn here and there with a mobile milking parlour. My plan was to follow every rivulet I came across, since I was looking for a watery area.

I picked a barn as a landmark to find my car again, and off we went.

Finding reeds wasn't difficult, but none of them had cotton tufts...

Pandolf was extremely aware that we were looking for something, but he wasn't sure what. Here he is digging in the mud with his paw, looking invested in this treasure hunt.

Sometimes he would stop with one paw poised in the air and his whole body pointed forwards like an English setter who just smelled a pheasant in a Heywood Hardy painting and it was always for cow herds. If I squinted and squinted I could be sure to find a cow on the horizon, the size of an ant—I think Pan was a bit disappointed when he realised I never followed up on the cows he smelled, and it probably wasn't cows we were looking for.

(zoom x400 in case you can't see this cow standing apart from her herd like a sentinel)

I tried to amuse him by giving him little challenges here and there, like climbing on big rocks because he likes rocks. He likes being congratulated even more, though, and if I didn't insist that he actually climb on the rock he would just sort of run towards it and push himself off of it like a swimmer doing a flip turn at the wall to run back to me even faster (for pats). (Had to turn off the sound in the video because the wind was loud, so I subtitled our dialogue)

Some challenges he politely declined to do. I like how despite being very eager to please he sometimes gives me very clear "no thank you"s when I tell him to do something that sounds absurd to him. We found a little waterfall that went down a slope like a mud toboggan and I said "down!" to tell him to slide down that thing and he was like

Our strategy of following water paid off, because look what we found eventually!!

I had a very hard time digging up one clump of reeds with some roots; the bog was holding on to its cotton for dear life. Every time I opened a hole in the mud with my shovel with a horrible sucking noise, the bog would immediately close on itself again with an even stronger vacuum. It also tried to eat my boots, repeatedly. When I moved around the reeds I was trying to steal I had to take my foot out of my boot, stand on one leg like a heron and put the tip of my shovel under the sole of the boot to pry it up. But after maybe 20min of effort, the bog finally let go of one muddy clump of reeds in a loud, dejected SLURP and I was able to put it in my bucket. It was about 10x heavier than I expected so the walk back to my car was slow!

(One thing to keep in mind if you're going to wrestle a swamp for half an hour, is that you're going to end up looking and smelling like a swamp creature. I had to stop at the post office to send a parcel and I really regretted not doing it earlier. It's funny because the post office lady is always like "no, don't worry, come in!! <3" when you show up on rainy days apologising for your muddy shoes, but when I arrived today and asked her from the entrance if I should just throw my parcel at her rather than go in, with my socks making a pitiful plop-plop sound in my boots as I walked, and mud freckles all over my face from aggressive shovelling, and overall looking like a gravedigger, she took one look at me and went "... yes, throw it.")

The good news is, I didn't get lost returning from the swamp to my car, and had no trouble finding my barn-landmark again, and there were new animals there, a nice mule with a retinue of small ponies.

She was friendly at first but then soured on me when I refused to let her sniff and maybe taste the reeds I'd had so much trouble digging up, and then she wouldn't let me approach her ponies.

One of the ponies approached Pandolf, and I told him to stand still—we've been working on "reste là !" (stay there) for a while and it's hard because he's so friendly and exuberant, so I was very proud of him when he stood there frozen as a marble statue, waiting for the pony to come closer. The pony ended up stopping at a prudent distance and stretching his neck out to try and sniff Pandolf, it was very cute.

That's the end of the quest for bog cotton! Here it is now, transplanted to the swamp-y part of my pasture, I hope it'll like it here.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 17: Appointments Pt. 2

Unwilling to join Haley when his presence clearly wasn’t wanted, Achilles instead made his way back into Pelican Town. After a quick pit stop at Pierre’s to grab today’s crossword and a sweet tea, he leisurely made his way over to Pelican Park and took a seat on one of the three benches circling the fountain. He sat facing the community center, so that his back was turned away from the playground where tourist children were crawling all over the jungle gym.

No need to look like a creep. 

The air was stickier here further away from the sea. It was Tuesday, and so it took him only ten minutes or so to finish the crossword, and after spending another ten minutes flipping through the magazine, subconsciously critiquing the ads and finding nothing remotely intriguing besides a puff piece on some child from some neighboring city who had been dubbed “the goat whisperer,” he declared himself decisively bored. How the hell did one rest and relax? 

The problem with relaxation, according to Achilles, was that you weren’t “doing” anything. No progress. Idleness was, in his eyes, the complete opposite of productivity, and in addition to making him feel restless, it also made him feel like he was wasting his time. 

But, as Alex had said, perhaps this was what he needed. Maybe, if he was lazy for long enough,  and let the ants unleash their maximum anxious fury in his brain, his head would just explode into a million pieces, and he’d be able to start fresh. A clean slate. Because that’s totally how that worked, right? 

You are sick in the head, my dude. 

He just needed better hobbies… or hobbies at all, really, since anything he had ever enjoyed inevitably turned into a brutal, joyless competition against himself. But he had decided last night he would try to change that this summer—enjoy things just for the sake of enjoying them. He would’ve practiced swimming if his pride would let him flounder in public. 

Oh, but what was the point of it all. What was the point of enjoying something if it didn’t mean anything in the long run… 

Deep in a frustrating conversation with himself, it took him several moments to realize that something over by the community center was trying to get his attention. 

But there it was, a long series of bounces finally catching his eye. He stood from the bench and glanced quickly around but, not unexpectedly, nobody else in the park seemed to give any indication that they could see the 6-long train of junimos marching in a neat line into the community center. 

He gave them a small wave, just for the heck of it. After all, didn’t the Wizard mention something about making friends? Hey, that could be a project for this Summer… 

He dumped the magazine unceremoniously into the recycling bin and was just beginning to make his way over to the ramshackle building when someone called his name. 

“There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you. Would’ve just left it on your farm but… I figured I owed you an in person apology.” 

Achilles turned from the junimos to see Leah approaching him, red hair drawn in its usual braid down the front of some paint-splattered overalls. She rolled a small, blue wagon covered by a red gingham blanket behind her. 

“I was being a jackass. That day, Emily’s party… wanted to apologize. If I’m honest, I’ve been in a mood—not that that’s a good excuse for the aforementioned jackassery, but…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Been in a bit of a rut.” 

“Hmm, tell me about it…” Achilles gestured for her to take a seat on the bench as he sat back down. The junimos could wait—oh, how he loved being on the receiving end of a (in his eyes) well-deserved apology…

She obliged, stretching her long, thin legs across the mulch and picking paint and clay from under her fingernails as she semi-mistakenly took Achilles’ response for an invitation to hear more than just the apology. 

“My ex called that day. We broke up nearly three years ago… had been together for nearly nine, known each other for 13…” 

“Sheesh.” 

“We had an apartment together, back in Zuzu. I did odd jobs during the day and spent all night working on art projects… We barely made enough to scrape by. He was always nagging me to go back to school and study business or medicine… something with a lot of money in it. Pretty shitty of him you know, considering he was an artist, too. A writer.” She rolled her eyes, the ghost of a disbelieving smile on her face. “Who’s published nothing except some op-eds in the Zuzu Times, just as a by the way.

“I guess the idea was to save up for a normal life. You know… a house out in Moonmist, kids, PTA meetings… that sort of thing.

“But I wasn’t ready for that kind of life, you know? Not with him. He wasn’t the worst mind you… it’s easy to focus on the bad sometimes, but you know, there was a reason we were together for nine years… But I guess all those habits and quirks I thought I could live with just all… built up. Turns out I couldn’t live with them. So I left. Came out here three years ago to ‘pursue my dream’ of ‘being an artist.’” Something between a chuckle and a scoff accompanied her air quotes. She turned to Achilles. “Do you think that’s selfish?” 

Achilles shook his head slightly, but what actually slipped out of his mouth was, “Maybe.” He pinched his nose, sighed. “But honestly, I don’t think that matters. Sometimes these things just have to be done. Whether they’re selfish or not, it sounds like it was the right decision for you in the end.” 

Leah gnawed on her fingernails, her eyes unfocused as she gazed at the fountain and took a minute to digest Achilles’ words. 

“I suppose…

“Anyway, he called that day. First time in a long time to, I don’t know, ask me how things were. If I was actually happier out here… and I guess it all came rushing back to me. The penny pinching, the insecurity, wondering if he was right, if I should’ve gone for something more practical… because honestly, sometimes, I don’t know if I am happier. I still have the same problems, and I felt like Kel was just rubbing it all in, ‘oh I told you so.’

“And then I ran into you, and you just… didn’t have to worry about these things. And so I took it out on you. It was unfair. I don’t know your life. I’m sorry.” 

Achilles nodded. It seemed a genuine enough apology, and (with a couple of key exceptions, Eddie Bloomsbury, looking at you), he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. 

And to sweeten him up even further, Leah leaned over to her wagon and, with a grunt, heaved a large block of wood, maybe 3 feet by 2, from under the blanket and into her lap. She turned the sign around—for it was indeed a sign—before passing it on to Achilles. 

“A little apology gift for you. Figured you’d need a new one, especially now that you’re staying here.” 

Under a clear lacquer, “Strawberry Farms” had been neatly carved and painted in an elegant poppy red and green script. Rather than opting for literal berries, Leah had instead carved out and painted rustic, white petaled strawberry flowers, their cheery yellow centers providing a bit of pop around the border. 

At the bottom, in small black block letters, was “Property of Achilles Robinson.” 

“Oh. Wow.” He hadn’t expected this, especially not from Leah—in fact, he had straight up forgotten about a sign after his spur of the moment mini-To Do List bonfire yesterday morning. “You are… very talented. Thank you for this.” 

“Least I could do. Really. Again, I’m really sorry.” 

Achilles nodded just as Leah stood from the bench. 

“I’ve got to go now—spent all morning trying to track you down, got an appointment with Harvey. But I’ll catch you around, ‘kay? Stop by the cabin whenever.” 

Her (now much lighter) wagon rolling behind her, she began to head back towards the center of town before turning to call, “Oh and have fun with Elliott tonight—he’s been really looking forward to this, so you go on and treat him better than I treated you, okay?” Without waiting for Achilles’ response, she turned back and headed down towards Dr. Harvey’s clinic. 

It was only five minutes after she and her wagon disappeared from sight down the stairs that Achilles stood and realized his new sign weighed about 50 lbs and he’d have to lug it 1.5 miles back to the farm.

Woman couldn’t have left me the wagon, huh? 

Nothing to do but carry it with his hands—if only Alex could witness him now, he thought drily as he tested out a couple of different positions for transporting the unwieldy thing back home. “Couldn’t be a smidge lighter, hmm?” he grunted, testing out an over-the-head lift. 

And suddenly, the sign did indeed feel lighter—significantly so. With each step, it felt like the thick slab of wood was losing a pound in weight. 

Curious, he lowered it to better investigate the must’ve-been magical shenanigans taking place, holding it ahead of him like a tray. To his surprise, two junimos were sitting on the sign, their stubby little feet hanging off the side. 

“I suppose it’s you two doing this?” he asked the bulbous little figures, one green, one red. Per usual, however, they didn’t explicitly respond. And yet, he seemed to understand something unspoken from the wide eyed looks they gave him. This could be a very interesting Summer project indeed.

“Well regardless, thank you.” 

*****

At 4:45, Achilles made his way once again back to Pelican Town for his early dinner with Elliott. He was dressed in a very on-brand button down (though no fun pattern this time), and at the last minute, decided to add the tie he had usually worn to client meetings back in Hyacinthia. Was this a date? Regardless, best not look like a slob. 

He had lost track of the time in his efforts to set up the new sign, and so was running late (a pet peeve of his) and was thus forced to do an undignified gallop/half-jog in too-tight skinny jeans to the saloon. 

Elliott, who had been waiting patiently, immediately gave him a hearty “Greetings!” upon his arrival at exactly 5:01. With the influx of tourists, the saloon was busier and more crowded than ever, even at this early dinner hour; nevertheless, Elliott’s long, auburn hair and 6’5” height would’ve made him easy to spot anywhere, even without the exuberant wave. 

“I secured us a private booth, my friend!” 

A private booth, huh?

Achilles nodded and weaved his way over to the corner booth closest to the arcade room where Abigail and Sebastian seemed to be duking it out on Junimo Cart (a game that, frustratingly, did not feature any images of junimos, he’d discovered last season). He gave the pair a quick nod.

“Sit, sit, please,” Elliott said, ushering Achilles into the wall-side of the booth before taking a seat across from him. “What a nice tie, Achilles, it suits you marvelously!” 

“Oh. Thank you. Yours is nice as well.” 

It was actually a pretty hideous shade of green, but could anyone blame him for the white lie? 

“This is for you!” Elliott leaned over, half-disappearing behind the table for just a second before emerging with a large, flowering succulent planted in a teal ceramic pot. “A housewarming gift—or would it be more apt to say farmwarming? I had heard you decided to stay—excellent choice! I myself have never possessed an ounce of regret for moving to the Valley!” 

“Oh—wow.” Achilles hesitatingly slid the plant, whose ginormous pink blossoms nearly obstructed his view of Elliott, against the window. “Thank you very much.” 

Emily swiftly made her way over, handing the two of them their menus, her mouth twitching as she made eye contact with Achilles. “May I start you two gents out with some drinks?”  

“Ah Miss Emily, two of your finest ales, please.” 

“Oh, actually—” He wouldn’t have minded a drink to help him get through the dinner, but the thought of alcohol still left a sour taste in Achilles’ mouth. 

“Ah, more of a wine man?” 

“I’ll actually just have…” he glanced quickly at the menu. “The… lavender lemonade, please. Thanks, Em.” 

“One ale and one lavender lemonade coming right up!” 

“Sincere apologies for my presumption!” Elliott said once Emily had whisked herself away. “The lavender lemonade sounds delightful. Perhaps I shall allow myself to indulge in one as well.” 

Achilles glanced slightly disconcertingly at the two tapered candles that had been lit in the middle of the table. They hadn’t a window here in the corner, so there was no natural light, leaving the candles to cast the whole booth in a rather sultry shadow.

 Elliott himself was wearing a rather fine, if stuffy, red velvet sports coat to pair with the bright green tie. It’d have been a bit much for the occasion, if Achilles hadn’t known Elliott wore that coat nearly every day. Honestly, perhaps it was the only thing the writer owned, especially as he was allegedly unpublished with no day job. 

Then again, you haven’t got a day job either, have you, bitch. 

Avoiding the man’s penetrating gaze, Achilles pretended to stare instead at the menu. He wasn’t one to be afraid of making conversation, but usually preferred having a better grasp of the wider surrounding situation first. But rather than clarify that for himself, he had decided to wait for Elliott to make the first move—for if he were honest, he was curious how the man would navigate their dinner. He had, after all, done the asking. 

But for a few minutes, Elliott seemed to follow his direction, silently perusing the menu. Until…

“How was your day today, Achilles?” 

Achilles quickly set the menu down—he had known what he was ordering before he had even arrived. “Oh, good, good. Spent the morning at the beach… haven’t seen a sunrise like that in ages. But it really gets crowded fast, doesn’t it? I bet Summer must be particularly crazy for you, though, living on the beach and all.” 

“Ah yes… it can be a real… nuisance, so to say. It’s the cacophony that drives me mad the most. That being said, I had an eight hour writing session today, so perhaps I cannot really complain about tourism’s impact on my productivity, can I?” 

“Wow, eight hours! That’s… impressive.” 

Emily had returned. “Ale for you, Elliott, and Achilles your lemonade. Are y’all ready to order?” 

“I shall have the Thom Kha Soup, if you please—and I’ll let Master Achilles here order for himself this time,” Elliott said with a wink. Achilles suppressed a grimace. 

“I’ll get the crispy bass, thanks.” 

“You got it.” 

Once again, Elliott waited to Emily to clear the space before speaking. “Achilles,” he began, and as he raised his glass, a grandiose speech inevitably ready to spring from his lips, Achilles’ stomach dropped. “I felt from the moment we crossed paths on that bridge in Spring that our destinies were intertwined.” 

Achilles forced a smile. This little toast could easily go a number of different ways—back at home, in his notebook, he had actually spent an idle hour brainstorming potential motivations behind this dinner in order of preference. 

“I must confess, my fervor for your fateful residence in Pelican Town is born from a place of selfishness, but I assure you my passion for your presence goes hand in hand with that of my gratitude. I think it only right I propose a toast.” 

Achilles raised his glass. “To our friendship,” he quickly suggested. 

Elliott’s eyes widened and—was it merely the candlelight or something else?���his face seemed to flush for the same second Achilles’ heart skipped a beat. 

Then, Elliott’s face broke into the widest smile. 

“To friendship? Oh, Achilles, how you honor me! You are too kind… That’s a splendid idea! To our friendship!” 

They clinked glasses. 

“I must confess… I was hoping perhaps the two of us could indeed truly become friends, so I must tell you, it excites me a great deal to know you feel the same. I have not lived in the Valley here for quite so very long, and, well, let us say I haven’t quite been able to get so close to the townsfolk as I sometimes wish. I assure you, I will treasure our friendship!”

Achilles, whose mood was rapidly rising as the stakes of this dinner grew clearer and clearer, gave him a hearty, encouraging nod.“How long have you been here for?”

“Ah, four some years. It will be five this Fall. Fall 14, to be precise.” 

“Nearly five years! And you haven’t gotten close to any of the townsfolk? I don’t think I’ve ever met a more social bunch—in fact, I feel like I know too much about them all in one season and,” he added with a slightly shamefaced wince, “if I’m honest, I wasn’t particularly trying. At first.” 

“I see… well perhaps my choosing to reside on the beach, being a little farther away from town… I sometimes feel life as a writer can be quite solitary. I wonder if you share the same sentiments? I would welcome your thoughts as an author yourself.”

“Ah…” Writing advice had been close to the bottom of his “Potential Reasons Why Elliott is Inviting Me To Dinner After Refusing To Make Eye Contact With Me For a Season” preference list, but had been close to the top in regards to what he had expected. Well. It was what it was. 

 “I suppose, it can be… for some.” Achilles thought back to his writing days—that was actually the last time he felt he had had a good group of friends. He hadn’t been a loner; no, being a loner came after. “But I don’t think it has to be.” 

“I’m afraid to say—or, please pardon me, may I retract—I am honored to say you may be only my second friend in this town, Achilles.” 

“Oh?” Yikes. “Who’s the first?” 

“Leah!” And with this cry, the man dramatically hung his head, his voluminous hair concealing his face like a curtain. He grasped the half-empty tankard of ale harder, his knuckles straining against the tin handle. Must be a lightweight. “Leah, Leah, Leah…” 

So was it girl problems then that had catalyzed Elliott’s sudden seeking of friendship? He had just confessed to being friendless, perhaps he needed an outlet, someone to vent to… but surely nobody would expect Achilles to be able to provide particularly much insight on that front… 

“She… seems nice,” Achilles managed to say to Elliott continued to bury his head into the wooden table. Bitch, she caused your first mental breakdown in years. Although… “She painted a sign for my farm actually, just today…” 

“A more beautiful and talented artist, the world has never known. And such a beautiful soul, Achilles. She set my heart ablaze from the moment I met her three years ago—in her, much like in yourself, I saw a kindred spirit. A fellow artist. Have you seen her work?” 

Achilles took an quick sip from his lemonade. You know, perhaps he’d prefer giving writing career advice after all, at least, compared to this. “Outside of the sign? Not yet.” 

“Ah, you must! Beautiful, unique, and wondrously thought provoking it is! 

“But alas, dear Achilles, I’m afraid to say the feeling may be unrequited. She has never confirmed as much—for she is as elusive as she is entrancing—but I have, shall I say, given a hint here or there. And yet, she has not made any sort of acknowledgement, but whether out of ignorance or polite rejection, I do not know.” 

“Why not just ask her out? Worst she can do is say no.”

Hypocrite.

Was Achilles aware his advice was at odds with his own, personal views on unrequited confessions of love? Yes. But after his conversation with Haley and Emily yesterday, he was beginning to see that, apparently, many (if not most) people did not share his sentiments—and besides, unlike Elliott, Achilles wasn’t even wanting a relationship, so the situations were completely different to begin with anyway… right?  

“It is, perhaps, the vulnerability I fear, not her denial. To confess your feelings, your desire… knowing that they may not be reciprocated, is that not to lay yourself naked at the other’s feet? To surrender all power, all your flaws and virtues. To relinquish that amount of power to someone, now that is what I fear.” 

Okay, so maybe Achilles and Elliott weren’t actually that far off from each other. Take that Haley and Emily! Maybe it was a woman thing. Speak of the devil, there was Emily now with their plates…

“Please do not get me wrong, Achilles. I value her as a friend, and I am not one to pine and whine in the corner. I believe the best cure for a wounded heart is friendship. A deep friendship is its own type of intimacy, and sometimes I have found it can override the more romantic fancies of the heart.” 

Achilles unfolded his napkin as Elliott drained the last of his ale.

“Well. Thank you for listening, my friend, I’ve needed to get that off my chest for many a week now. 

“But how about you? Has anyone in the Valley caught your fancy? I saw you with Haley today… and Leah…” Elliott added the latter casually, but Achilles caught a gleam in his eye. Maybe that’s what this dinner was about. Laying claim. Although, Elliott seemed neither competitive not malicious in that regard. Maybe Achilles need only assuage the man’s concerns. 

Maybe what Achilles actually needed to do was get his head out of his ass and stop overanalyzing the motivations behind the dinner and just… relax.

“Oh no, don’t worry Elliott you have nothing to fear from me on that account,” he said, and Elliott’s eyes lit up as the two began to dig in. “I’m gay.” 

“Oh splendid! A toast to you! I’m so glad you feel comfortable enough to share that with me—”

“Well, it’s not particularly a secret—“ 

He nevertheless found himself clinking glasses with Elliott again. 

“Well, allow me to revise—has any young gent in the valley caught your fancy then?” he asked with yet another wink. 

Achilles sighed. High school truly never ended, did it? Back in Monstera, back even in school, he had always been in an environment where conversation was dominated by career-oriented topics. Your personal life? Nobody needed (or cared) to ask and learn what was going on back there unless it impacted the questioner’s own life. It was always “So what do you want to do?” or “What do you do?” and of course, the usual opener, “What university did you attend?”

“Hmm, well… I just moved here, I think I need a year to… figure my own self out. Before pursuing… anyone.” 

Elliott nodded solemnly. Knowingly. 

“I understand. How can one hope to know someone else if one does not know themself? Nevertheless, young Alexander is a very handsome man, there’s no doubt about that.” 

Achilles blinked. “Pardon? Who said anything about Alex?” 

“The red tint to your pale visage just now confirmed it,” Elliott said with a rather grim smile. “Although my second theory would have been Sebastian.” 

Sebastian???

“Ah! I see that I have made you uncomfortable—I deeply apologize, that was not my intention. I have been told that discussing personal matters early in a conversation may help to more quickly establish a level of intimacy in a friendship. But I now see that perhaps may not have been the correct route in this case, so I am more than happy to move the conversation along now! If I may, I was hoping to perhaps pick your illustrious brain on a different matter…” 

The rest of the evening was spent, as Achilles had originally predicted, giving Elliott writing advice. Not that he had been entirely against it or begrudging in any way—to be frank, his main concern was merely that he didn’t feel that he was truly in a position to be trusted to give said advice. It had been several years, and as much as it pained him to admit it to himself, his easier foot in the door had more than likely been a side effect of nepotism.

 But Elliott seemed to be eager for anything, and by the end of the night, Achilles had agreed to give Elliott’s romance novel a once-over when it was finished (Elliott had unknowingly buttered him up after calling Apparition “ahead of its time”). And despite his original apprehension, he found that discussing his old craft with Elliott felt… if not good, at least not bad.

*****

He came home later than he had anticipated, having found Elliott to be a good soul behind the grandiose facade, surprisingly full of quirky little stories from his various travels over the years (though he had rather expertly dodged any questions pertaining to any sort of day job or former career), and they had chatted long into the evening.

Given the early, swim-filled start tomorrow, he set his phone down and went immediately to bed. But even with the lack of blue light, he lay awake long into the night, running his fingers absentmindedly over the bumpy rainbow temporarily tattooed to his arm and thinking about Alex and, of all things, writing. 

[mannequinentity]

Chronicles of Main Verse Manny Chapter 1

1973…

1927…

1872…

1502…

Each date counts down through his head as he scribbles down the recollection of his travels through history. Manny lay in his stench-filled cell, nonsensically jotting down these dates, with no reason all through the walls around him.

It appears that he is worse for wear, with his hair all over the place, his suit stained with dust and dirt, and his teeth completely yellow.

But as he turned to the creaking sound of the door frame opening, a hideous-looking creature in a suit approached him with utmost firmness to remain professional. The monster had tusks with gray skin drooping from his chin. He had multiple eyes, precisely fifteen, as he glared down at the human-skinned mannequin. His exterior is still that of a human, but the whole skin is decaying. The only non-human quality is his legs, resembling a decomposed horse. “I believe you didn’t disillusion yourself into thinking this is medieval times. No, this is your home, your sanctuary. They speculated you failed your task, once again. With you running amuck with whores and failing to respect the lawful society in human times, this is not so surprising.”

“You again with your condescending lectures.” Manny held up a middle finger with that cocky grin on his features. “Among all the days to visit, you decided to visit just as I am about to be released. You’re a fucking joy to see again. It’s mighty pleasant.” He said sarcastically, leaning his head back against the stone wall, a wave of relief soaring through him. He has been in isolation for a year now. Mentally breaking the mannequin will take a decade.

This was a child's game to him.

As the creature extended his palm out, Manny screamed as his eardrums pierced by an unknowable force of unbearable shrieking. It stopped after the first few seconds, just before the figure responded. “Remember this, those who disrespect will be sent to a much greater pain than this cell. Consider yourself lucky that your master didn’t propose a punishment that will last a millennial.”

Suddenly, chains wrapped themselves around the mannequins torso, pulling him from the cell. “You almost made my ears bleed!” Manny screamed in anguish before being pulled out into a sea of white nothingness. A modern door formed, and outside, they were high up in the stratosphere, and down below were buildings as small as ants.

“We don’t have time to deal with incompetent dolls. I don’t need to explain what your task is. But if you fail this time, don’t think we’ll be sending you back in isolation. You have one year just like your previous one. Don’t forget.” The creature warned firmly before violently kicking him out of the hovered door frame.

There he goes…

Falling into the atmosphere and down to the ants below.

As Manny has experienced this before, he's not surprised. He hopes he lands in a lake soon.

[awooga-llama]

The Ocean

Technoblade x NB Child! Reader

I should've posted this earlier but couldn't bring myself too.

This is for you buddy. Though you'd sometimes get your mythology facts wrong and cause me to yell at you through my phone. Without you my minecraft persona would've never existed. 💙

In the early days of the SMP all was good. Flowers sprouted, animals wandered, and there was laughter. Through the (Y/E/C) eyes of three year old (Y/N) the world was perfect. They strolled through the tall fields behind their grandfather's house as their two uncles searched for them. (Y/N) wasn't supposed to be outside because of their allergies and all the things that could hurt them. Before leaving this morning they had heard their father tell his brothers if anything happened to his child they'd both be dead. Whether if the injury is as small as an ant bite he would hurt them worse. So the uncles did their best to keep (Y/N) in sight at all times, not letting the toddler even look outside because the sun could blind 'em.

"(Y/N) where are you? This isn't funny anymore you little shit." Uncle Tommy called out from far left. The child could hear Wilby scolding his brother for the type of language he used only for Tommy to snap back with, "Well the Blade literally calls them an orphan, what's worse?"

The child just smiled to themselves as they reached a patch of grassy dirt with nothing but blue flowers growing on it. The ground was soft and cool under their feet. In the distance, they could see the ocean. It looked so inviting and inviting looking like they could easily jump right into it. But they didn't know how to swim so jumping into the water would mean going to the doctor and then having to sit in that chair until someone decided they were okay enough to go home. Even when they tried to play outside without a their father or any other guardian watching over them, they never got to experience such joy like the ocean did.

"I found them! Over there!" Wilbur shouted from up behind. The two men came running down the hill. They skidded to a stop as they finally caught sight of (Y/N).

"(Y/N), darling please stop running, we don't want to play anymore." (Y/N) ran away farther from the duo. Their little legs aching slightly but still pumping, being fueled by adrenaline. The small child was filled with excitement. They couldn't remember the last time they felt so alive and free. It wasn't long before they lost sight of the adults who ran after them. Now it was just the wind, the birds chirping above them, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore. That's when the feeling hit them; pain. All over.

They cried out, their body collapsing onto the ground while clutching their stomach. Tears streamed down their face. They thought something had happened to their father since the two had a link shared where they could feel the other one's pain. Maybe they were being abandoned again or maybe they died. The child was breathing heavily. Were they dying? They tried to stay awake but it was getting harder to breathe. The child began falling towards the earth. As soon as they touched the ground everything went black.

---

"No no no! Wake up (Y/N)." A man's voice rang out. A deep voice but not harsh, comforting almost. But the man was calling too loud, his voice was loud. And it made everything much more painful. Everything felt warm and fuzzy except for their head and stomach.

"You open those (Y/E/C)ed eyes right now!" Another man yelled. His voice was closer than the first one. He sounded angry. Angry and worried. (Y/N) couldn't make sense of why he'd be worried though. It's not like the man cared. The voices continued to speak louder. Each time it felt worse. There was an ache in their whole chest and stomach. Like something inside their heart or lungs was about to explode. Then everything became dark.

"Child wake up!" Someone was shaking them violently. (Y/N)'s body jolted awake and they began to cry and whimper. (Y/N) felt their head throbbing. Everything seemed blurry around the edges.

"Shh orphan, everything's okay. Everything's okay, I promise." The man said, holding the crying child close to him and rocking them gently. The child began to calm. Soon the tears stopped and their breathing slowed. They reconized the man in front of them.

"Dada!" The little one squealed, throwing their arms around the pigmen's neck, squeezing tightly. Uncle Wilbur arrived finally panting heavily. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an inhaler giving it to Technoblade, who put it to the child's lips. They quickly sucked in the breath which helped the dizziness subside.

They let go, sitting back against Techno's lap and resting his hands on top of theirs. The warrior kissed their forehead as Wilbur took the inhaler back from his brother's fingers and put it in his own pocket. Tommy sat nearby mumbling under his breath not as angry anymore but still worried. The other two men fussed over the three year old for a little longer before deciding it was wise to head home. Philza was probably pulling his hair out in fear of what could've happened while he slept.

Techno stood up cradling their tiny body in his arms. He glanced at his brothers before saying, "Let's get them home." And headed towards the path through the meadow with (Y/N) held tight in his arms. (Y/N) laid limp between the pigmen's chest breathing in his familiar cologne. They felt themself get sleepy but still had one last question before giving in.

"Daddy, can we go to the ocean tomorrow?" The child questioned in a soft whisper, closing their eyes and smiling to themselves. (Y/N) hadn't seen the ocean since the day they were brought here. They'd seen pictures of it but it just didn't feel real. They weren't convinced, quite the skeptic just like their father. (Y/N) could feel their father breathe out deeply and her uncles bickering at each other nearby as they walked.

"Sure thing Orphan. But only after I have a long talk with your uncles." The child nodded and yawned.

"Don't yell at them too much please Dada. I want to see them again in the future." Techno laughed quietly and nuzzled the child in his arms.

"Sure thing kiddo, now sleep.child You ran a long ways from home which means an even longer walk." (Y/N) sighed tiredly and closed their eyes. Within seconds they were snoring softly in Techno's arms. They were so precious and innocent. He didn't deserve the child but would gladdly be there for the trouble they will get into, dragging his brothers into it with them. He couldn't wait.

[bakugohoex]

“it’s why i love you”

pairing: atsumu miya x gender neutral reader

cw: language, angst, jealous atsumu, crying, season 4 spoilers, fluff and kissing

word count: 3600+

a/n: @horseanon--simpforall for helping me decide an ending this is the fluff ending i planned so i hope everybody enjoys it

summary: in which you and atsumu progress through the years of your relationship with atsumu realising just how important you are to him after the loss at nationals

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

Atsumu Miya hated his brother, it wasn’t an avid hatred of enemies, it was a hatred that stemmed from jealousy. He didn’t know when his jealousy of Osamu came from, but he knows the many occasions where he had wanted to run away and leave his twin behind. It wasn’t till he was 6 when his memories came flooding in of how much he hated his brother.

October 5th was a day both he and his brother had celebrated unanimously, even with it only being their 6th birthday it was a special occasion for the twins. Their bright smiles and fondness of one another is what had marked both of them inviting their whole class to a gathering at their house.

Streamers and balloons cascaded throughout the living room as their parents had bought two separate cakes just for the occasion. Both having fought over which one they were getting, it was supposed to be a happy day, supposed to be their day that was shared with all of their friends.

Atsumu realised the reality of it as their friends cascaded through the door, the two boys smiling as they waited for the happy birthdays to come from their classes mouth. The sound of Osamu’s singular name as gifts got passed to the more reserved twin, Atsumu’s face faltering as he watched his alleged friends hug and talk to Osamu without a care for the other boy.

He wouldn’t have lied and say it wasn’t the first time he had cried over a feeling of invisibility, how the people both he and Osamu had invited had disregarded the boy. Osamu looked over to his twin seeing him always walking away outside, about to go to him but being stopped by his friends he shook his head knowing Atsumu would get over it.

It wasn’t till he realised you, you who was walking behind Atsumu with a cheery smile, following the boy with your sweet smile. “Atsumu, happy birthday,” you spoke cheerily as the boy turned around, tears always welling in his eyes as he watched you push the gift up to his face. “I got both you and Osamu a gift, I already gave him his, here’s yours.”

“I…” Atsumu could barely speak with the tears in his eyes, he had expected the birthday to be a let down after being forgotten on the day. Watching over Osamu's friends, they weren’t his, they looked through him as if he was a ghost.

But you, with that bright smile and glistening eyes, pushing the wrapped present towards him, “I got you both different things, my mum said I shouldn’t tell you that though.”

You laughed heartily as he took the gift in his hands, the only gift from his class and it had come from you, a girl he barely knew but had invited out of courtesy, “thank yer, I ‘ant wait to open it.”

“Come on, let's go play,” you put your hand out as he looked at it hesitantly, before taking your soft fingers. A burst of childish excitement came from between you both as he placed the gift with his mother, she had noticed it herself, needing to talk to Osamu after the party about what had happened.

But the happiness she saw on her son, the way his eyes had a different shine as you both went to play with other toys his family had gotten him, made her heart burst. “The cake you have looks really yummy, Atsumu,” he crashes his car into the one you were playing with as you giggle softly, crashing your car back at his.

Atsumu had many memories of the times he had been chosen second to his brother, but in all of them it seemed like you had always brought a smile on his face. It wasn’t like as a child he was annoying, it was just his personality never meshed with anybody’s other than yours. It’s why when he started Volleyball with Osamu it had been hard to mesh with others.

His constant complaining as he lied across your bed as you flicked through the movies you both were going to watch together became a constant occurrence throughout the years. He was always glad you had never forgotten him on his birthday, now spending all of them with you, you had always gotten the twins different presents which had always fuelled the child’s ego.

“The team still hates ma,” Atsumu spoke as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl that was between your crossed legs.

“That’s not something to be proud of,” you said already knowing how the team felt about Atsumu due to being a manager of the junior high team, “you just gotta be nice, Atsumu.”

“’am nice.”

“You’re nice to me and that’s only rarely, learn how to work with others, not everybody is gonna be amazing from the get-go, Atsumu.” You and Atsumu often spent time together, Osamu being easily able to make friends on the team whereas Atsumu was often seen as the one who pushed people to their limits.

It wasn’t like his words weren’t a consistent occurrence, throughout his Junior High, the boy kept at it, people often wondering how you had coped with him for so long. It wasn’t till the three of you joined Inarazaki that his hunger to play volleyball became more prevalent and his love for you remaining the same.

The many fights that occurred between the two boys had been often observed by the team, Suna encouraging it as Aran stayed on the sidelines. The call of your name as you rushed into the gym to pull the two boys apart, shouting at both of them for being idiots as you gave a scowl that would haunt them till their deaths.

It was at this moment, Atsumu realised how much you cared for him…but how much you cared for Osamu as well.

He sat in your room, his hair being an issue that you had consistently provoked him about as he thought about his feelings for you. He had a week before he was leaving for the All-Japan Youth, he remembered how fucking happy you had been smiling at him as he got told he was attending. A new type of happiness you had felt for the boy.

You had really stuck with him for all these years, the way that you had become manager of a disastrous team who was now going nationals. You walked into your room seeing Atsumu at your desk staring at the photos upon photos you had with everybody. One that caught his eye being at his 6th birthday, the day he had found his person.

“I still think your hair needs some of that purple shampoo,” you spoke as you chucked the pillow at him.

“Yer mean toner yer idiot,” he mumbled as his concentration was on the other photos you had. One of you and Osamu at the twins 17th a couple months ago, it made him feel almost sick at the look of it but going against being a cunt for a day he moved towards you.

You went over to him, standing in front of him as he was forced to look at your chest and hips in your school uniform, “what do you want for dinner? My parents went out tonight, we can go to yours or we can go out, maybe invite Osam…”

“No.” He was quick in his response as you shook your head in confusion, “we should get take ‘way.”

“Oh okay, we can ask Osamu and Suna if they wanna come round as well,” Atsumu didn’t think you saw his shift in mood at the mention of his twins name, why you were bringing his name so much up, he didn’t know.

“They ‘er busy,” he lied as you were looking through some food that you both could order.

You hummed as you went to get your phone, Atsumu didn’t realise how even though he had classed you as his best friend. The person that Osamu couldn’t have as his own, you were still friends with his twin, you still saw him everyday, it was something Atsumu couldn’t change, he just needed to handle it.

But as he stared at your wall of pictures, a week after leaving you with his twin, maybe you’d forget him or see Osamu to be so much better than he was. He heard you call his name from downstairs as he went down the steps overthinking about all the occurrences that could occur.

Atsumu had left you a week after, waving a goodbye as he took the train to Tokyo, agitated and frustrated at himself. He shouldn’t be jealous of you being friends with Osamu, it wasn’t like he liked you or anything. Of course he didn’t, you were his best friend, his person, the person he wanted to be with forever…as friends though.

The hellish week came to an end in which it felt like it had been a month without you, he wanted to meet you just before Friday practice had ended. That’s all he had wanted to do, hug you, hold you, it wasn’t like he didn’t think or text you the entire week.

Even with Nationals coming up in a week you replied quickly to the boy, calling him when he was free, but the unnerving feeling Atsumu had felt the entire week had become prevalent as he jogged out of the train. Running throughout the city as he reached the school, it wasn’t too late, and practice would be long around this time of the year.

He just wanted to see you, it was a different feeling but almost similar, the same hunger and want he had when playing volleyball was clearly prevalent as he went towards the gym doors. The sound of your chuckle as you spoke to his twin, “he’s coming back ‘ommorow.”

“Yeah I can’t wait to see him, I missed him a lot,” Osamu almost gagged at your words.

“I ‘ad peace the entire week, now it’s ruine’,” you playfully elbow his side as he shakes his head at your antics, “people wonde’ how yer friends with him.”

“He’s my best friend duh, there's no reason, he’s just there for me,” you smile as Kita comes towards you asking about something.

Atsumu had stayed where the doors were, listening in as he was scared to open the doors, you would never replace him, you had shown it yourself. As he stepped through the doors, his bag was still on his shoulder as the team turned to meet him. “Idiot, I would’ve come and met you,” you smiled happily as you walked towards him.

Your arms opened as he took them, hugging you tightly as he hid his face in your hair, “A hear’d yer were missing ma.”

“Oh shut it, I would never miss your piss head,” you chuckled as he went towards the team, going through the people he met at All Japan, significant people he had managed to piss off by the seams of it.

Atsumu kept an arm lazily around your shoulder the entire time he spoke, almost clinging onto you as you listened in happily. “So yer basically annoying everybody and not just us,” Osamu mumbled as he looked hungry from practice.

You chuckled as you agreed with Osamu’s words, “we should get food, we only have a week till nationals…” the boys looked disgruntled at your words until you continued, “...it's on me.”

“Then of course Y/n, you’re a sugar mommy,” Suna spoke as you rolled your eyes.

Atsumu watched you and the boys begin to gather your stuff, the big coat your mother had bought you a year ago across you as winter had come quickly.

As the team walked together, Atsumu’s arm stayed closer to yours as you both walked ahead, “did you miss me then?”

You looked up at the tall figure, his ears freezing as he remained silent on your comment, you nudged him lightly before hearing him, “I did, yer my…my best friend.”

“Well you’re my best friend as well, idiot,” you chuckle as you all went into the ramen store, the boys picking overly expensive toppings leaving you penniless at the end, “you all owe me.”

They laughed as they began to eat. You had sat beside Osamu as Atsumu was speaking to Aran about something. Osamu stuffing his face with the food as you rolled your eyes, “I’m not paying for seconds Osamu.”

“’re yer callin’ ma fat,” you chuckled as he continued to slurp at the food. Atsumu watched your interactions with his brother, he had learnt from his week away, learnt from his words that you both were best friends. That his brother who didn’t realise himself could take you away from him.

It was what Atsumu was going to live by, because he knew staring and watching as you got some of the Ramen up your nose that you were his person. It was what remained with him throughout the week, throughout the first game and into the second game of nationals.

With seeing you with the coach, the cheering that quietened down when his serve occurred, that even though his fans found him attractive but a cunt. You saw the real him, you saw through his perfect sets, and perfect serves, the real him.

The winner of everything you believed in, you had only become manager to control the twins, but maybe more of you wanted to spend time with Atsumu, watching do the thing he loved. But seeing who he really was, seeing how tense he was as you passed the bottles of water and towels, talking to the team to help lift their spirits.

Giving a reassuring look to Atsumu, maybe that’s why you teared up when the sound of the whistle was blown. Why even through the cheer team, Atsumu's eyes were felt with fury for not playing at his best, for not winning, for not being able to play in a real game for another couple of months.

Maybe that was why the pain of losing had been worse for him, maybe it's why seeing you hug his brother after losing had made him lash out at you, as you came up to him.

Atsumu’s teary eyes at the loss of the second match, the loss for the upperclassman as you tried to put your hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you away as you looked at him softly, “you did amazing Atsumu.”

“Stop it, a don’t fuckin’ need yer ta say that okay Y/n?”

You nodded softly as you sat beside him, as he leaned against the wall, “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to win.”

“Y/n, just leave, please,” he hated himself, hated having you see him as weak.

“At…”

He grabbed your wrist, fury running through him as he spoke coldly, “leave Y/n, I don’t need this right now.”

He let go as he faced away from you, you looked down at him, leaving him to his own thoughts. Atsumu didn’t want you to truly leave, he wanted to cry, hug you, just feel you play with his hair as he sobbed. That’s all he wanted, but as you walked away going back to the team, patting Osamu and Suna on the shoulder, he felt jealous of them.

Felt jealous of Osamu for being able to profess his feelings so clearly, being able to be something he wasn’t. The train ride back to Hyoga was silent as the team remained quiet. You sat beside Kita who happily spoke about how proud he was and how he had high hopes for everybody. It was nice to hear but all you could think about was Atsumu and the growing jealousy and anger he was feeling.

It was late when the team arrived back home, the gym being open as you all piled out into the court, they all sat down as the coach had called out to come outside to have a word about how to lift morale to make the team feel as if the loss wasn’t their fault.

Atsumu had taken your departure as an opportunity to release his anger however, the way he did was directed towards his brother. Osamu, irritated by his brother's own insolence, talked about a topic many in the team had chosen to avoid.

“Yer can’t always blame yer issues on us, even Y/n knows that today wasn’t yer…” at the sound of your name Atsumu was ready to pounce to hurt his brother.

“Don’t yer ever talk about ‘er!”

“Or what?” Osamu threatened as he knew that speaking about you would lead to a different type of anger to fill through Atsumu.

Atsumu glared at his brother, “don’t fuckin’ talk about ‘er”

“Just because yer ‘ave a crush on ‘er, yer should ask ‘er what people say about yer and ‘er” It was common knowledge within the team that you were the one who faced the criticism the most by those in school. That a loss would be deflected onto you as you would not allow any of the team to be put down by people who meant nothing.

It was worse that the team knew the harsh words you had felt regarding Atsumu, about your relationship with the boy and how you could do better than him and he deserved someone exactly like him.

It was a secret that was supposed to stay hidden to protect the team but most already knew and it seemed worse to even bring it up. Kita was ready to calm the situation until Atsumu went to throw a punch at his brother.

At the sound of another fight, you looked at the coach who gestured for you to sort it out. Running into the gym you saw Suna taking videos of the fight as you grabbed a hold of Atsumu’s jacket collar, dragging him to stop as you glared at the two boys. “Who started this?”

You waited patiently as Suna snickered out Atsumu’s name, “let’s all start heading home, Atsumu stay down.”

He didn’t comment, instead staying on the ground as you went to Osamu telling him to tell his parents that Atsumu was with you. The man left as you went back over to Atsumu, “let’s talk about this.”

You sat down on the dirty gym floor, looking at the boy who looked in even more pain than before, “what…what do people say about us?”

“What do…”

“We all know, tell ma,” Atsumu looked away as he tried to hide the defeat and embarrassment he was feeling.

You knew what he meant from the single comment, looking down as you grabbed his hands softly

You knew what he meant from the single comment, looking down as you grabbed his hands softly, “I’m guessing you know that a lot of what your fans say comes through me,” he nods slowly, “a lot of hate I guess comes to you when you’re uncooperative”

You give a loud sharp breath as he finally looks up to meet your soft eyes, “do you remember when we first met?”

“Yeah…”

“I heard about the classes plan after you and Osamu had given the invites out, how they only wanted to go for Osamu and not give you a gift, I didn’t really understand why people were mean, but I just wanted you not to feel alone, i’ve never wanted you to feel like that again. So I took the heat, I took all the heat, and it became more to do with our relationship”

He tilted his head in confusion as he moved closer to you, knees touching as you touched his face softly, “they used to ask me why we were friends? That Osamu was the better twin and that Osamu, and I would be perfect together, that you were a dick and didn’t deserve friendship because you were always craving a win”

“Y/n…” his voice was soft, but you continued.

“I didn’t see it like that, I saw it as passion, you were and always will be my best friend, the twin i’d always want because you’re just passionate and it’s why I love you.”

His eyes shot wide as he heard your last words, the three words you had often spoken comically and to show the love of a friend. But as you tenderly touched his face, held him softly as he looked into your eyes, “yer should’ve told ma.”

“How could I let you take all that on? I see you playing professionally one day, I'm going to be the one to say that’s my best friend, that’s the man I fell in love with doing what he’s amazing at.”

“I love yer too,” he didn’t know what got into him as he heard the words, your glistening eyes as he held your cheek and captured your lips. He knelt up as he held your face in his hands, kissing you softly, all the jealousy, love, and anxiety he had been feeling had all fallen into place.

His soft lips against your own, tongue flicking inside as he glided across your own tongue, soft moans coming from your lips as even though he had lost the game today. He had won you; he had finally gotten what he had wanted, the jealousy and rage he had felt for his brother for having everything Atsumu had wanted. Had festered down to this, because Atsumu Miya had you and nobody was ever going to take that away from him  

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[sooibian]

Trespassing is Prohibited!

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader ft. Chanyeol

Genre: Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! Crack. Friends to Lovers AU, University AU (ish) 

Description: Byun Baekhyun has had enough. He finally wants to ‘man up’ and make you his. But things continue to spiral out of control all thanks to his friend, philosopher, and guide (a.k.a. The Worst Wingman Ever) Park Chanyeol.

Warnings: A very rambly Baekhyun and a longwinding confession

Word Count: + 3k

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

“You want me to talk about the weather?” Baekhyun squeaked into the phone after having breathed in helium from the blown up balloon in his hand.

“The weather, politics...the economy even.” Heaving slightly, Chanyeol spoke after a moment, his usual gruff and masculine voice reduced to a wafer thin high pitched squeal, sending Baekhyun into a fit of helium suffused giggles.

Taking another drag off of the balloon, Baekhyun warbled and piped, “Say...say that again. Say economy again!”

“Eco...econo-” Chanyeol’s extreme outburst of laughter at the sound of his own voice, rendered him unable to pronounce the final syllable.

All along, you stood at the door, comfortably leaning against its frame and eavesdropping on their conversation or the blatant lack thereof. Chanyeol suddenly wanted Baekhyun to talk about the weather, politics, and the economy? You thought you’d grown immune to your best friends’ antics but they continued to up the ante and left you baffled, amused, or both every single time. 

You cleared your throat to catch Baekhyun’s attention but it fell on deaf ears. He rolled around in bed, breathing in helium, laughing hysterically, chanting the words ‘economy, weather, and politics’.

“BAEKHYUN!” You screamed at last. He scrambled to face you, wearing an expression of a deer caught in the headlights. You finally had the entirety of Baekhyun’s eight second attention span all to yourself.

“YAH! YAH! YAH! What are you doing here?” Baekhyun retaliated and then whispered something into his phone, stuffed it inside his pocket, straightened his shirt and sat primly on the edge of the bed like a child who’d been caught eating forbidden candy. He threw you an accusatory glance but there was an unmistakable hint of embarrassment and panic in his eyes.

Peering over your glasses, you snapped at him, “I’ve come to pick up my phone charger because you obviously lacked the courtesy to return it!”

“Oh!” His lips protruded into a pout and he tilted his head to the side as if in deep thought, “I’ll bring it over in the evening.”

“Why are you acting so….dazed and confused?” Slouching, you took careful, deliberate steps towards the bed and sat down next to him. Leaning into his frame, you sniffed his neck and whispered, “Are you...Baekhyun don’t tell me you’re on something!”

Levelling his face with yours, he searched your eyes before flicking your forehead in response to your wild allegation. “Shut up! The audacity! You’re the one barging into my house in the middle of the day. Trespassing is prohibited!”

Confused, you pulled away from him and asked, “What are you saying?”

The corners of his lips drooped. Brows knit together, he replied, “You should’ve called first!”

His extremely out of character standoffishness made you uncomfortable. You were clearly not interrupting anything other than a helium infused gala which, truth be told, you were greatly annoyed at not being invited to. Neither were you inconveniencing him in any way. You were to simply fetch the electronic device and head home. And this wasn’t anything out of character for you either. You’d always felt free to walk into his goshiwon as you did your own. Yet, here he was, dark hair unkempt, dressed in his usual baggy clothes, accusing you - his best friend, his emergency contact, the one he moved cities with for University, the only one who had the passcode to his goshiwon - of breaking and entering. You knew Baekhyun since the day you’d learnt to walk and in all these years he’d made you feel a lot of emotions - happiness, sadness, mostly anger but not once had he made you feel unwelcome. 

Your heart sank to your stomach at this abrupt coldness.

“Baekhyun, you took my charger, remember? My phone died.” Fighting the lump in your throat, you explained politely and proceeded to rummage his desk drawers for the said item.

“Wait!” He came trotting after you barefooted as you dashed out of his room. He grabbed your wrist to hold you firmly in place. 

While you were no stranger to physical contact with Baekhyun, these past three months since your break up had started to get increasingly excruciating for you. A slight brush of his hand with yours sent tingles through your skin, made your cheeks flame, your legs turned to jelly, and alarms blared inside your head. At first you thought it was just your hormones messing with you - he was an attractive man and you’d only recently been deprived of love and attention but you’d slowly begun to realize it was something far beyond that. Something you had an inherent knowledge of but were not quite ready to confront yet. 

“I’m leaving.” You replied matter-of-factly. Yanking your hand free from his grasp, you didn’t bother to look at him. “Helium makes you stupid!” You yelled instead, and banged the main door shut behind you.

.

.

.

After a week of radio silence (though he was still clearly avoiding you at campus) Byun Baekhyun had finally started texting you again and you realized that he was now a changed man.

He'd gotten...boring.

Every morning he'd send you a no effort good morning text along with, lo and behold, weather updates! Bland messages ending with the same emoji. Mostly alternating between 'Good morning! Don't forget to wear a mask today, the fine dust level is scary! ☺️' and 'Good morning! Don't forget to carry an umbrella today, it might rain! ☺️'

You'd almost always reply with a disinterested 👍 but he remained undeterred. 

Now it was as if Baekhyun and Chanyeol came as a package. The duo seemed to be joined at the hip and they walked in the opposite direction every time they caught you approaching them. Movements frantic, whispering in each other’s ears as if they were plotting to start a rebellion to overthrow the Government. But the Morning Daily from Baekhyun remained unchanged. Until one day, you snapped and replied with an emoji depicting another special digit used to indicate an entirely different sentiment from the sweet old 👍.

.

.

.

Later that evening you were dressed up for a double date set up by your classmate Jiwoo, your only “friend” other than Baekhyun and Chanyeol. She was to introduce you to her boyfriend’s friend who she thought was your type. Not looking for anything more than just a stress free and light evening, you decided to dress to the nines, let your hair down, and forget all about Baekhyun’s pigheadedness. 

Dabbing on just a hint of blush along your cheekbones, you gave yourself a quick once over in the mirror. It was then that a familiar beeping reached your ears and you rushed out of your bedroom to greet the unexpected visitor with a snarky comment.

“Trespassing is prohibited!” Crossing your arms over your chest, you glared at Baekhyun through your glasses. Dressed in a black hoodie, head covered in the Nike cap you’d gifted him for his birthday, twirling a pen between his fingers he just stood there, smiling sheepishly with a bag from your favourite desserts cafe in his other hand. It seemed like he’d come straight to yours after his lectures.

His gaze hesitantly roved over you and he questioned softly, “Going somewhere?”

Slinging a shoulder bag on, you averted your eyes and remarked, “It’s none of your business.” 

“Yah! Don’t be like that”, he said with a soft chuckle yet his voice bore a hint of dejection and apology.

“That’s rich coming from you. Allow me to remind you how strange you and Chanyeol have been acting since the last two weeks!”

“I’m - I’m ready to..talk about it.” He quipped, awkwardly proceeding to put the box of desserts in the refrigerator. He then very comfortably took a seat at the kitchen table.

Hands on hips, you sauntered to the main door and shook your head, gesturing for him to leave. “Not today, Baek. I’m running late.”

He pulled back the chair next to his, and drummed his fingers on the table nervously. “Come sit. I won’t take too long. I promise.”

Letting out a deep sigh, you dragged your feet to the table and slumped into the chair.

“You look nice.” Lips stretched into a thin line, he stole a glance at you and said to his cuticles instead. 

“BAEKHYUN!”

“Okay..okay sorry… so the day you came home?”

“Please stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Drawing out sentences in a question.”

Inhaling deeply, a slightly irate Baekhyun replied, “I’m trying okay.”

“Listen, first of all I am really annoyed at not being invited to that helium balloon call? So I’d advise you to think twice before saying anything stupid. Tell me...why did you two think it was a good idea -”

Embarrassed, he interrupted to get that part of the discussion out of the way. “Chanyeol and I just wanted to know what we sounded like… over the phone, you know? We sounded..err...squeakier.”

“Okay...I hate to say this but ...makes sense, I guess? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because - ”

You leaned in closer, questioning eyes locked with his.

“Because -”

“Baek, I’m running late!”

“It’s because we were talking about you!”

“No? You were talking about politics -”

“Politics, weather and -”

‘The economy’ The two of you said in unison, face averted from each other to keep from laughing at the recent memory of Chanyeol’s oddly peculiar way of saying it.

“Yes..so Chanyeol and I were discussing how you probably don’t see me as a man? Like … a man man?”

Face scrunched into an expression of pure confusion, your mouth fell open to answer Baekhyun but no words came out. His lower lip had begun to wobble slightly and he rubbed his palms on his thighs before continuing. “He was of the opinion -”

“You’re literally the only one to ever pay heed to Loey’s opinions!”

“Yah! Don’t shit talk my Loey!”

“Yah! He’s my Loey too! Moving on”, pinching the bridge of your nose, you urged him to continue with a curt nod.

Baekhyun straightened his spine, threw his shoulders back and explained, “We had a thought.” 

“Both of you? The same one?”

“Ye-yes?”

“This is not going to end well. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Can you stop acting like you’re better than us? Just for a moment?”

“Fine! Go ahead.”

“We thought that it was about time you started to see me that way.”

“That way?”

“The way you used to look at your greasy vermin of an ex?”

“With sheer contempt and disgust?”

“That was after. I mean like before.” Hands balled into fists, Baekhyun looked at your expectantly.

“I don’t get it.”

He gave you an exaggerated smile as if to centre himself before throwing more vague questions your way. “What is the one thing - the only thing - I can actually cook?”

“Haejangguk?”

“Exactly! Do you get it now?”

“I have a thousand of reasons ...or ideas as to how you and Chanyeol would manage to relate Haejangguk with politics, weather, and the economy but I’d rather not dive into that cesspool. Instead I’ll allow you to explain.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows shot up in concern as he explained softly, “Haejangguk helps with your hangovers. It took me fourteen tries to master! And it was Loey who ate every single spoilt batch. Without any complaints!”

“I wouldn’t say you’re any good at it even now but...sure whatever.” Rolling your eyes, you murmured.

Your phone chimed with a text from Jiwoo but before you could answer, Baekhyun snatched it from your hands and shoved it in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Pay attention. This is more important than that loser you’re going to meet.”

“Baekhyun!”

“No, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you go from one idiot to another.”

“I’ve literally only dated two guys! Why are you suddenly getting territorial?”

“I am not getting territorial! What I’m saying is…  I spent these two weeks rehearsing the right thing to say to you but - screw that! And listen. You cannot do this anymore!”

“Do what?”

“You cannot waltz into my thoughts anytime you like! For instance I’m eating a tangerine, I think of how it would magically taste sweeter if I could only share it with you. Your face suddenly flashes before my eyes and I lose my mind while I’m doing the most mundane things like riding the subway or having a meal or talking to someone. I go grocery shopping and the first thing I pick up is strawberry milk and it’s not even my favourite! But I bought a whole damn carton because you love strawberry milk! I have cucumbers! Cucumbers! In my fridge because what if you crave oi muchim with your ramen some day and woe betide me if I DO NOT HAVE CUCUMBERS! I waste 4,050 Won every week on cucumbers but it DOES NOT MATTER because it would be nothing short of a tragedy if you want something and I can’t give it to you. Like, have you looked at yourself when you get upset? When your lips stretch into a thin line and your eyes ever so slightly lose their sparkle. It makes me want to pluck the bloody stars from the sky and lay them at your feet if it means that I can make you smile again. Do you know how warm you are? I mean, like, physically warm. Especially when you’ve woken up from a nap. So, so warm. I feel like wrapping you in my arms, putting your head on my chest and just...staying like that. Freezing the moment in time. Freezing the moment in time! Look at what you’ve done to me! I'm saying these cheesy things and I'm doing boring things like studying politics and understanding the state of affairs and keeping up with fine dust levels just so that you see me differently! So that I can somehow make you believe that you can rely on me. Think of me as more than just a friend who used to pull your pigtails back in the day.” 

The beat of your heart boomed in your ears. You hugged your coat tighter around yourself as if to conceal its conspicuous sound. Your throat felt dry and your spine liquified in the face of his overwhelming confession. You had a million things to say to him. And there was one specific thing you were dying to do the moment your eyes landed on his soft, strawberry pink lips.

Eyebrow cocked, you said in a low whisper. “Why not buy a jar of oi muchim instead? It’ll surely last longer than a week.” 

He buried his face in his hands and let out a shallow, pained wail and continued. “I'm done.” He looked up at you. Eyes droopy, lips pouty. “Put me out of my misery. Look, if you don't like me back the way I like you just ...forget that I said any of this. We can go back to being what we were at 7 o’clock. It's 7:30 now, we can rewind, 30 minutes. But don't...don't...what the hell how can you just sit there and act like you're watching a freaking movie. React! Say something! Actually...don't! Oh my god this is a trainwreck! I had rehearsed the right thing to say...but I got distracted by the indentations on the corners of your lips..I think I'm having a full blown breakdown… I just want to - ugh!"

"You just want to what, Baekhyunnie?"

You took his fists in your hands, eased them open and laced your fingers with his.

He clamped his eyes shut, slouched to make himself small, and muttered. "Don't call me that!"

Giggling softly, you repeated, "Baekhyunnie?"

Baekhyun flicked his eyes open. Unabashedly studying the curve of your lips, he whispered ‘Stop.’ His hand gently rested on your cheek, eyes seeking approval. You nodded in response, feeling your face flame. His honeyed gaze darkened as he leaned in closer, a sweet scent of bubblegum wafting in the space between you. His hand found the back of your neck, lips ever so slightly parted. Finding his movements excruciatingly slow you gravitated towards him while your breath hitched in your throat. He took your hand and placed it on his chest as his silken lips melted into yours. He held you like you were fragile, like he was experiencing the sensation of your skin on his for the very first time, committing every slight brush, every single touch to memory. You felt the wild hammering of his heart against your fingers despite the thickness of his cozy hoodie, your own reacting in likeliness. 

Baekhyun held you by your shoulders and gently pulled away, breaking the most delectable first kiss you’d ever had. Tilting his head to the side he looked at you briefly before making vague hand gestures and shaking his head. He opened his mouth to say something but found himself at a loss for words. Face flushed, he opened his mouth again after a while only to clamp it shut. 

Byun Baekhyun was processing.

After having had your fun with his perplexity, you smiled at him and raised an eyebrow questioningly, prodding him to speak.

“So...does this mean we’re?” He asked, voice faintly tremulous.

Pursing your lips to stifle a giggle you teased, “Yeah?”

“Am I your...I mean...are you my….girl-girlfriend?” Averting his eyes from yours, he inquired, while shyly rubbing the back of his neck.

Half shrugging, you answered, “Depends.”

Baekhyun’s face fell. “Depends?!” He exclaimed, almost in falsetto.

"Depends on whether you want to continue sending me daily weather updates.” You deadpanned.

“This feels like a trick question.”

“Yes or no?”

“N-no?”

“Then, yes. Byun Baekhyun, congratulations, you’ve earned the unequivocal and irrevocable right to call me your girlfriend.”

“Does it mean that you didn’t like the new and improved version of me?” He asked hesitantly, face clouded over with caution.

“That wasn’t the Baekhyunnie I fell for.”

“Yah!” Surprised at your sudden blurry confession, his eyes grew into large brown circles but the moment his gaze met with yours, his expression softened again. He smiled sheepishly and spoke tenderly, “Okay...noted. You too can call me your”, he cleared his throat, took your hand in his, placed a soft kiss on it and used his most dulcet voice to say, “boyfriend.”

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

A/N: hello, hello @you-did-well-moon​ hope you enjoyed this very cheesy confession from Baekhyun! 

@exolssecretsanta​

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ A FUTURE COP ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: hi i hope ur having the greatest week on the planet , can i request where reader is younger than hank and she tells him shes pregnant and telling him with some fluff

❚❙ HANK VOIGHT MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

You have lost the count of how many minutes you've been sitting in the locker room, in silence. Your head is loud enough right now. Hank has left the police station already, and you're waiting the time accorded before doing the same and driving your way to his house. Almost one year and you keep staying there ten minutes more than him, to not make anyone suspect about your relationship. But you aren't sure if you're ready to go.

The fear of losing Hank for what you have to tell him is consuming you, like a big fire reducing your bones to ashes. It's painful, for describing it somehow. The pressure within your chest is going to kill you, suddenly breaking into an anguish crying, resting your back against the wall and curling your legs to your torso. The two of you haven't talked about starting a family. The loss of Justin still being an open wound, bleeding a little bit every day. How are you supposed to tell him that you're pregnant?

“(Y/N)?”

Antonio's voice races your heart, peeking his head out through the lockers. He sounds worried. He looks worried, walking slowly towards you without profering any sharp move. Kneeling next to you, not sure about what he can do, the detective holds your hand to caress the back of them with his thumb; thinking that this gesture can help you to relax. But the sob continues stuck in your throat and the tears roam your cheek like a torrential and furious racing river.

Sitting down by your side, Antonio places an arm over your shoulders, urging you to rest your head on his. He doesn't know what to say. And even if he wanted to say something, his vocal cords fail when your phone dings with a notification and he sees the screen illuminating over the floor. Hank. “Voight?” He thinks raising up an eyebrow, in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Where are you? Something jumped off?”

Grabbing your phone and blocking it to keep it inside your pocket, you turn at the man. Your lips are trembling. You're not sure if you can talk, but you need to rip it off from your chest. You don't want to lose Hank, at this point, not even your work matters.

“Ant—Antonio… I am… pregnant”.

Shaking his head slightly, his eyes widened surprised. His forefinger points at the floor for a moment, to the position of your phone a second ago, asking without words if Hank is the father. You nod pressing your lips. He's in shock. You can see in his eyes, trying to find the correct sentence to say. Congratulations? Are you kidding me? Voight, seriously?

“We… started to date… a year and a half ago and… hm… made it official almost a ye—year ago”.

“Who knows it?”

“Only you. No one else. And I'm terrified, be—because… I was there when he lost Justin and… shit, we've always taken all the care, but… this happened”. Biting your bottom lip, as the tears keep filling up your eyes, you try to not cry anymore. “I don't know… how to tell him. I don't know if he wants this. I don't want to lose him, Antonio”.

“Hey, listen now. You're not gonna lose him, okay?” Turning his body at you and adopting your same position, he hits your shoulder briefly with his fist. “I've an idea. Write him and tell him that you're on your way and meet me in the hall”.

Nodding, he shows you a soft smile before standing up to leave the locker room. Cleaning your cheeks with the back of your hands, you do exactly what he has told you. After writing to your boyfriend and picking up your things, you walk out of the place to wait downstairs. Not a minute after, Antonio comes from behind the main desk saying his goodbye to Platt, before following you to the outside.

Offering you the bag he's carrying in his right hand, keeping the other in a pocket, you take it with curiosity.

“This department, his career, is his life. This is a good way to tell him”.

Grabbing the piece of clothing inside it, you read the emblem of Chicago P.D. before noticing the small size of the shirt.

“We usually give these shirts to the kids who come to see the station”.

Yes. That's the better idea. Your lips curve up in a tender grin of gratitude. You can't help but hug him, without caring who can be watching you.

“C'mon, go to his house and give it to him”.

“Thank you, Antonio… I don't… I don't know what to say”.

“You don't have to. Tell me tomorrow how it has goin'”.

In silence, you nod after placing a kiss on his cheek, keeping back the grey t-shirt inside the bag to go find your car in the private parking.

As always, the road is somewhat empty, reaching Hank's neighborhood in a sight. You can see the lights turned on inside, through the windows, and a free place to park your SUV behind his. Taking your time to leave your car there, you step out having a deep breath trying to calm yourself and your nerves. In your head dance a lot of possible ways about how he will react, and every one of them scares you like never.

Putting your eyes on the bag, you find the needed encouragement to come into his house. Leaving your backpack at the entrance, you lead your steps to the back garden, finding Hank sitting on a wooden chair, leaning forward and shaking his knees nervously. You haven't come this ‘late’ before. But as soon as you sit by his side, placing the bag over the dinner table, he feels less agitated.

Resting his back against his chair, tangling his hands over his abdomen, he can't help but feel curiosity about the content of it and the worrying installed on your face.

“What kind of hell are you into, hm?”

Rubbing the line of his jaw with his thumb, he intertwines his hands again waiting for a response. Maybe we need to talk aren't the words you want to choose, but they're the ones that escape from your throat. Watching how his face hardens, you gulp before licking your bottom lip.

“I don't know how it happened. It's not like… I planned it”.

“Don't beat around the bush and be clear with me”. Hank gesticulates with his forefinger, as he always does when he's losing his nerves. “That's why you have been acting distant, right? If you don't want to continue, just tell me”.

He hisses the last three words, hiding the misery in his tone of voice, leaning forward to you. And that really hurts you, to think that he believes you don't love him anymore. That he may think that his life is not compatible with yours. But that's bullshit. You would make them both fit at any cost, if you would have to.

“What? No, no, no! I'm not going to leave you, Hank. I don't want to”.

“Then, what is this about?”

You can't help but close your eyes and take a deep, deep, deep breath until you feel your lungs about to explode. Expelling the air through your nostrils, you decide to give him the bag instead of continuing screwing up the situation by using the wrong words. Frowning, he slides his hand inside it to take off the shirt of small size. Putting it between his fingers and in front of his hands, Hank raises an eyebrow without understanding what that shirt means.

“You stole it?”

“Technically… It wasn't me, but… Antonio”.

“Antonio stole a shirt and gave it to you, because he doesn't know how to return it?”

Moving your lips in silence, trying to say something, you can't believe he's really this fucking dumb. Shrugging he keeps it back inside the bag, pressing his lips.

“I will do it tomo—”.

“To be a detective, you're too stupid, Henry”. The laugh fills up the garden for a moment, starting to feel less scared than five minutes ago. “Hold the shirt again and put that brain of yours to work”.

He grunts tired of your games, doing what you just told him. Placing it stretched over the table, your boyfriend seems thoughtful rubbing his chin. Looking at you sideways, he shakes his head not getting what you want to tell him, turning towards you clapping his hands.

“I hate riddles. Spit it of a damn time, sweetheart”.

“I'm pregnant”.

Hank doesn't move a single inch of his body, as if he hadn't listened to you. His brown eyes are glued on yours. He doesn't even blink, looking at you as if he's studying your face to make sure himself that it's not a macabre joke. That you aren't kidding. That you're telling him the truth. When he kisses his lips, still remaining silence, you feel at the edge.

“Listen, I was scared of telling you. Not only because it means that people should know we are together, but because I don't know how you feel about it. But I swear for my badge, if you don't say anything in ten seconds, I'm gonna punch you in the face. And believe me, I have had a horrible day, Hank. Got too much rage accumulated in my hands”.

“I don't know what to say”. He whispers while you finish your threat.

Barely breathing, you nod, licking your incisors, putting your gaze away somewhere in the garden. It wasn't the response you wanted to hear, but it was the one you were waiting for. Being sure that he's going to end your relationship, but at least taking care of your baby, the tears fill up your eyes, reddening them again.

Cleaning a furtive one running down your left cheek, you get up from your seat about to leave the porch to come into the house, grab your things and go to your apartment. The only thing you were afraid of since you met him is now destroying you slowly. But Hank doesn't let you pass him away, gently gripping your forearm to make you take a step back and sit on his lap.

“I'm sorry…” You sob covering your face with both hands, not being able to look at him.

“Why?”

“I just… I don't wanna lose you. I've never felt happier in my… fucking life, before meeting you. I'm my best version since we're together. I lo—I love you with all my heart, I swear it…”

“Is this because of Justin?”

Your cry suddenly stops, using the sleeves of your jacket to clean your face, raising it towards him. It's been a long time since you talked about his son for the last time, keeping the mourning for himself.

“I saw you, Hank. You were devastated… Your wound is still bleeding and it's okay. It's normal, I understand it. I will never tell you to not cry for him. I didn't want you to… feel like I'm trying to cover this hole in your heart, just because the only thing I want is you to be happy. I didn't wa—”.

“Justin died, that's a fact. I miss him every day of my life. I should have been a better father for him. Maybe he would be alive now, maybe that night wouldn't have ever happened. But that doesn't mean I don't want this”. He points at the grey t-shirt, giving you some hope. “There's no one who cares more about me than you do. I've imagined my life with you thousands of times. How it would be to have a family together. Do the right thing, because it's never too late to change. And as you said so, you made me a better man too. I want it, (Y/N). I want this life with you. I want this kid. And I want you”.

You pout at him, feeling much better knowing that everything is clear. Placing a hand on the back of your neck, he pushes you closer to catch your lips with his to transmit you all the happiness and the tenderness he has inside his soul, after giving him this second chance in life.

“We will talk with Crowley and Platt tomorrow, okay with that?” You nod in response. “So… Antonio knows, uh?”

“Yeah, he… found me crying in the locker room and saw your message on my phone. It was his idea”.

“He had a good one”. Hank assures while chuckling, urging to rest your head against his chest. “I will give him a biscuit tomorrow, you know, for being a smart dog”.

“He wasn't in Narcotics for anything…”

[harrysweasleys]

a little sunshine never hurt // d.m

Summary: hi alexa!!! if your requests are still open, could i request a draco x reader fic? in it’s the first day of holidays/vacation and the reader and draco are best friends who (obviously) have feelings for the other but think the other doesn’t like them that way, and they’re having a picnic at malfoy manor, relaxing in the sun reading or doing homework and draco just blurts it and confession + kiss?? if you can’t there’s no problem! thanks 🥰💓

Warnings: mentions of food! also v v short but v v sweet (also not proofread/edited so pls dont come @ me)

Word count: 1.9k

a/n: yikes, so completely ignore my message about not posing a fic before christmas because here i am, posting another fic before christmas. hope you all enjoy!!! xx [I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT OR PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM!]

— —

Ah, finally summer break.

The start of the holidays meant that you’d now have a good months time to catch up on rest, relaxation, and obviously, assignments. Though you usually disliked the prospect of doing homework while on vacation, you couldn’t help but feel a little thankful at the fact that you now had something to keep your mind laced on magic while you were away from Hogwarts. 

Though you were staying with Draco for the first two weeks — where magic was very much present — you still liked to learn. You liked to keep that ever-growing passion for the magical arts, and you were most likely going to finish every single project within the first week of the break.

Draco, however, had different thoughts.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he scoffed, raising his hand to move his blond bangs out of his face, “Giving out homework while we’re on break? What kind of git does that?”

“Those are your professors, Draco,” you grinned, turning to face him, squinting slightly in the blinding sunlight, “Have a little respect, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes, laying back down on the freshly mowed lawn, his dark clothing most likely scorching his skin under the blazing afternoon sun, “Is giving out homework a show of respect? I don’t think so.”

You leaned up on your elbows, a fresh summer breeze rolling through and pushing your hair over your shoulder. It wasn’t necessarily a cold breeze, but it did cause you to let out a small shiver. Draco’s eyes followed you as you sat up properly, crossing you legs and reaching into the tiny basket that carried your snacks.

He had asked you to share a picnic lunch with him today, which came as a bit of an odd question, to be honest. A picnic? You knew Draco wasn’t the kind of person to ‘enjoy the fresh air’ so it was a little bit of a strange request coming from him, to be honest. But there was no bloody way you’d complain. An outdoor lunch with him meant that you got to spend more time one on one — it meant that you’d get to continue seeing the side of him that he chose not to show anyone else.

He was quite a complex fellow, if you were to be honest. In school, he closed himself off. He hid away from the world and kept his cold exterior up, not daring to let anyone in. You had gotten through to him — after trying for multiple years, of course — but there really was nothing better than seeing him as relaxed as he was when he was home. Maybe ‘relaxed’ isn’t the proper term; but he did have a totally different air. Less arrogant, less obnoxious, and definitely less pompous. 

It didn’t help your ever-blossoming crush in the slightest.

“Can you toss me an apple?” he asked, now mimicking your position and crossing his legs as well. His knee brushed against yours, and even though you were both clothed, you felt a jolt of sparks rush through your body. 

You let out a small cough to clear your throat, “Sure.”

Completely forgetting whatever it was that you were looking for in the first place, you tossed him the bright green apple that he had insisted on bringing to lunch. You were surprised that the Malfoy family didn’t decide to grow their own apple trees, to be honest, with how often Draco would scavenge the pantries for the perfect one to eat, they’d most likely be better off by growing some in their own vast yard.

“What are your plans for the summer, then?” he asked, taking a big bite, crunching loudly and closing his eyes as he craned his head up to look at the sky. 

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, his defined jawline and smooth neck looking sharper than ever under the bright sunlight, casting shadows around the base of his neck. His platinum hair hurt your eyes to look at, but even then, you’d love nothing more than to run your hands through it. While he rested his head on your lap, while you made out in bed, while you —

“Are you ignoring me?” he snapped your attention back to reality with the low chuckle in his throat.

“No. No, sorry, just got caught in a daydream,” you turned away from him, hiding the growing redness on your cheeks before trying your best to play it off, “I don’t really have plans for the remainder of summer, honestly. Just taking it one day at a time.”

You laid back down on the grass next to him, resting your arm at your side and brushing your fingers against Draco’s. Your heart jolted and you tried to quickly pull your hand away, but you felt his finger twitch against your skin, his pinky finger locking with yours.

It was as if you totally forgot to breathe.

“I’m happy to have you here,” he said softly, placing the unfinished apple down on top of the closed basket, giving you his undivided attention, “I’m gonna miss you when you leave.”

You could hardly think straight, but you couldn’t give in to his charm that easily. He’d only tease you for the rest of the break, wouldn’t he? But, it was hard not to give in. His finger was awfully soft locked with yours, and you could feel both the heat from his body next to you, on top of your own body temperature spiking. It was way too warm to be in the sunshine.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” you replied, voice awfully quiet. You were almost sure he didn’t hear you, but the way that his hand gave yours a little squeeze, you knew that he did. 

You two were often on the same page, it was rare he didn’t know exactly how you were feeling. And it was rare that you didn’t know exactly how he was feeling. Right now was one of those rare moments. You couldn’t tell if he was honestly just pleased to have you here — mostly to help him deal with his pain in the ass father — or if this was something more. More than friendship, more than just... platonic. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling and it was driving you absolutely bonkers.

How could you even begin to ask him? Could you even ask? How would that go?

“Hey, Draco, I think I like you.” Pathetic, really. What a way to embarrass yourself.

You felt his hand give yours another squeeze, “You alright?”

Turning to face him, you thought that it was now or never. When would you get another moment of privacy with him like this? Where you could tell him the truth without the possibility of being overheard? 

To weight the pros and cons; if he felt the same, you guys could get the next little while together before going your separate ways for the remainder of the holidays. But if he didn’t, you’d have to deal with the brutal awkwardness of spending the next ten days with him, knowing that your feelings were one sided. Then, you’d have to see him again once returned to school. It wasn’t a very balanced list, in your opinion.

“I’m fine,” you turned to face him, forcing a small smile. 

As mentioned before, Draco could always tell how you were feeling. Which is why he pulled his hand from yours, turning over on his side to look at you. With furrowed eyebrows and concerned written across his features, you wanted nothing more than to peel your eyes away from him and completely ignore his gaze. But that was nearly impossible. It’s hard to look away from Draco Malfoy.

“Something tells me you’re lying,” he said softly, eyes scanning your face as if he could read your emotions written into your skin — as if the light freckles dotting your cheeks could give him the answers he was looking for.

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling the expansion of your lungs in your chest — it felt as if you were going to crush your heart any second now. Quite an unpleasant feeling, really.

“I’m not lying,” you said, voice cracking as you spoke. The worst possible lie. There was no way he’d believe that. 

He scoffed lightly, “So you’re just going to ignore your feelings then, yeah?”

It was now your turn to sit up, leaning against one of your elbows as you turned your body to face him. His cheeks were tinted with a pale shade of pink, most likely from the burning sun. It was a rather warm afternoon for summer in England. 

“What feelings?” you asked, averting your eyes, choosing to stare at an ant crawling slowly up a blade of grass. Not fascinating, but better than giving in to Draco. 

“Y/N,” one of his hands reached over and touched your chin, lightly tilting it so you could turn your head up and face him, “I asked you to a picnic today so we could be alone, you know?”

You finally looked over to him, eyes scanning from the base of his throat, slowly up to meet his eyes, “Why?”

“Well, I thought I was being bloody obvious,” he grinned, “I like being alone with you.”

“But why?” you sounded like a child

His laugh was taunting you — effortless and relaxed. Completely juxtaposed to the raging storm of emotions going through your heart and head. How he could say something like that; so heavy and heartfelt, to acting like it was nothing, you could never understand.

“Because,” he scooted closer, his hand leaving your chin, but coming to rest atop of yours, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make this, but I like you.”

You looked over at him, eyes wide and mouth gaped open like a fish. You must look like a bloody idiot, but there was really no other way to respond to that. He liked you back. All this time, he liked you back. And you genuinely had no idea.

There were really no words you could say in response, so you decided on showing him how you felt instead,  placing your hand at the back of his neck and bringing his lips to yours. They were incredibly warm — possibly from the sun — and soft. Softer than the grass beneath your skin, and sweeter than the chocolates melting in the basket by your feet. He tasted like mint and green apple, a mixture that felt odd when spoken, but tasted like heaven when experienced.

You felt him mumble against your lips, “I’ll take it you feel the same way?”

Pulling away to let out a small laugh, you nodded your head, “If it wasn’t obvious, yes.”

“Just making sure,” he gave you a lopsided grin, his hand cupping your cheek to connect his lips to yours once again. 

— — —

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Understanding the aftermath of r/wallstreetbets

A couple days back, I wrote up my best understanding of what happened with /r/wallstreetbets and meme stocks like Gamestop, trying to show how all the different, seemingly contradictory takes on the underlying financial stuff could all be true.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/28/payment-for-order-flow/#wallstreetbets

In the days since, a new series of contradictory takes has emerged, these ones disputing the meaning of this bizarre financial spectacle, and likewise what response, if any is warranted as it unfurls.

I think that all of these takes can also be true, and as with the trading itself, reconciling them requires that we widen the frame.

Let's start with Jimmy Carter.

In 1978, Carter's IRS created the 401(k), a tax-sheltered account for people who wanted to gamble on stocks to fund their retirement.

That was a fringe proposition at best.

The normal retirement system was a "defined benefits" pension where your employer guaranteed you a certain monthly percentage of your salary from retirement to death.

The vast majority of Americans wisely prefered a guaranteed payout to a tax-advantaged gambling account.

Obviously, right? On the one hand, you have the guarantee of a pension (maybe even inflation-indexed); on the other, you have a bunch of bets, that, if they go wrong, leave you literally homeless and starving.

When gamblers remortgage the family home and cash in the kids' college funds to play the tables, we consider them to have a mental illness, a pathological condition that harms them and the people around them.

Giving up a defined benefits pension in favor of a 401k is just the same kind of bet - staking all the money that will support you when you exit the workforce on the movement of stocks and bonds.

Who would do that voluntarily?

Pretty much no one. But the transition from defined benefits to 401k was not voluntary. Finance ghouls like Ethan Lipsig wrote memos to major employers like Hughes Aircraft showing them how they could ditch their pension obligations by moving workers to 401ks.

In the 80s, Reagan created a bunch of legal tools that allowed employers to coerce their workforces into giving up the security of a pension and force them into gambling their salaries on the prayer of a win in the markets.

This was insanely, amazingly great for the finance sector, in three ways:

1. It made companies more profitable. Guaranteeing that the workers whose labor made your company viable wouldn't spend their dotage starving and homeless is expensive.

Helping fund wagers on shares is much cheaper. The finance sector represented the major shareholders of the companies that transitioned to 401ks. The savings were transferred to these shareholders and the finance sector got commissions.

What's more, this temporary inflation of share prices disguised what was going on with the pension switcheroo: workers' defined benefits pensions were liquidated and turned into stocks, just as stocks were going up because their pensions had been liquidated!

Their legs had been amputated out from under them, but so subtly that they didn't yet feel the pain - and now their bosses cooked their legs and snuck them into their dinner, and everyone marveled at how full they felt after that hearty, meaty meal.

2. 401ks brought a lot of suckers to the table. The market was - and is - dominated by "sophisticated investors," AKA predators, who knew all the ways to fleece the rubes who had no idea how any of this worked.

The predatory nature of finance only increased over time. Hedge funds, for example, exist to find unethical practices that are legal (thanks to loopholes in the rules) and exploit them until they are illegal.

3. 401ks created a political force outside the finance sector that would lobby on its behalf. Transforming America into a nation of stockholders meant that workers had to choose between supporting rules that protected their jobs and rules that protected their retirement.

For your pension account to grow, you had to support policies that permitted finance ghouls to offshore your job, or misclassify you as a contractor, or eliminate the safety rules that prevented you from being maimed, or take away your right to sue for compensation.

Every time there's a particularly ghastly bankruptcy driven by PE or hedge funds - Toys R Us, Sears, etc - it emerges that at least some of that money is coming out of a union pension fund.

That's marketization - turning the once obscure, boring business of market-based capital allocation into a matter of import to everyday people.

Marketization begat financialization.

While marketization is primarily about capital allocation (who gets what money), financialization is about bets. Sometimes those bets are about things - businesses, houses, coal and timber - but things are limited. Mostly the financial market consists of bets on other bets.

Bets are infinite. Every time you make a bet, you create inventory for a market in a bet on the outcome of your bet. And that's inventory for a new market: bets on the outcomes of bets on the outcomes of bets.

It's called Wall Street Bets for a reason.

Bets need referees, someone who decides who the winner is. In sports, it's a major scandal if a referee is caught wagering on one of the teams in a match. In the financial markets, it's the norm - referees that lay wagers on the outcome of the contest they're overseeing.

Let's take stock:

Workers are forced to play the casino, and if their bets fail, they spend their old ages homeless and starving;

The vast majority of casino games are wholly abstract - bets on bets on bets - and require layers of refs;

the refs are all crooked.

Every couple of years, we have a massive, systemic financial crisis, and every time that happens, the finance sector lobbies for a no-strings-attached bailout, abetted by suckers who hate the finance sector but fear starving in their old age.

We're about to be engulfed in the second-largest crisis of our lifetime - the reckoning from trillions in capital market gains propped up by the Trump administration's policy of buying all corporate debt as a covid stimulus.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/28/cyberwar-tactics/#aligned-incentives

(the largest crisis of our lifetimes is a few years off, as the climate emergency piles losses on losses, stranding tens of trillions in assets, from fossil fuels to obsolete gas-stations to literally underwater coastal real-estate to whole towns incinerated by wildfires)

That's where we're at: a crooked casino that we've trusted our futures too, a crisis on the horizon, and a bunch meme-stock "players" who have thrown the normal weirdness of the market into stark relief through a spectacular stunt.

A lot of people are angry at Robinhood, the stock-trading platform at the center of all this. Robinhood froze trading on meme stocks, and has only allowed it to come back in a useless, performative trickle that is seemingly calculated to prevent more meme-stock gamesmanship.

Is Robinhood just another crooked ref? Yes…and no. The meme stock run upset the stable cheaters' equilibrium whereby cheating never escalated to the point where the game just collapsed.

For example, the total short position on Gamestop exceeds its total stock issuance.

Translation: there were more Gamestop shares promised between bettors than exist. When the game stops, all those promises come due, and they literally can't be paid off because there aren't enough tokens in circulation to settle all the debts.

Robinhood halted trading in part because the big fish upstream of Robinhood also halted trading, because they have even more at risk than Robinhood does if the game collapses - they the refs for MANY players, all the same size as Robinhood or larger.

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-01-29/reddit-traders-on-robinhood-are-on-both-sides-of-gamestop

But remember, the refs are cheating. And they are both downstream and upstream from other games in which the refs are also cheating.

And the games, as a whole, encompass our economy, including the solvency of the "real economy" (the people who make masks, deliver groceries and drive ambulances), and whether you spend your old age homeless and starving.

So the people who say, "Don't blame Robinhood, they didn't halt trading to help billionaires, they halted trading to prevent the game from collapsing are right."

But they're not the only ones who are right.

Also, there's the people who say that meme stocks aren't making money for little guys at the expense of the big guys. They're right too.

First, because these stocks will all need to be converted to cash, and that means selling them.

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2021/01/the-gamestop-bubble-is-going-to-hurt-a-lot-of-ordinary-investors/

When the selloff starts, the price will plunge, because even if the stock was undervalued before, it's certainly overvalued now. Every bubble produces wealth for its early bettors who sell out to later players who lose everything when they can't find a sucker later on.

From Beanie Babies to subprime, bubbles burst and leave suckers holding the bag. If you just heard about meme stocks last week, you're too late to make money off of them.

There's another version of the "this isn't little guys, it's big whales" that's *also* true: the main beneficiary of the meme stock runs is giant funds who magnified and the bets from r/wallstreetbets and got out smart and fast.

https://twitter.com/zatapatique/status/1354904995901136896

So given all this, what can we make of calls (from parties as varied as AOC and Ted Cruz) to investigate Robinhood and other retail brokerages to see whether they're honest refs, or in the tank for billionaires?

At Naked Capitalism, Yves Smith calls this a "fatuous uproar," saying that the Senate has more important things to do during the racing-out-of-control pandemic than to investigate a literal penny-ante grift.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2021/01/the-fatuous-uproar-about-robinhood-and-gamestop.html

Do we really care who the winner is in "a beauty contest between Cinderella’s ugly sisters" ("clueless new gen day traders versus clumsy shorts")?

Smith is right too.

A speculator-v-speculator contest that falls apart when the crooked ref halts play to prevent collapse - who cares who "wins?"

But here's how they can all be right - the "who cares" and the "goliath v goliath" and the "bubble" and the "Robinhood is a plutes' honeypot."

*If* there's hearings, and *if* those hearings expose the absurdity and corruption of the system, *then* there is a chance to build the political will to make real, systemic changes when the crisis comes.

And there's a real crisis coming: two, in fact. The covid junk bond financial crisis, which is due very soon, and the climate crisis stranded asset emergencies, which will unroll with increased tempo and intensity for decades to come.

The half-century cycle of "addressing" finance crises by increasing financialization MUST stop.

If the meme stock spectacle gets us to pay attention to hearings that reveal the irredeemable rot of the system, then it's a unique chance to spread *real* "financial literacy."

And that literacy is the necessary (but insufficient) precursor to taking action when the time comes - and the time is certainly coming soon.

[fakecrfan]

Since you very nicely offered to write me a fic:

Your prompt is: A story about a background character or characters dealing with life after the TMA apocalypse.

It can be set in the OG TMA universe in the post-post-apocalypse, or it can also be set in a different universe that was affected by the events of MAG 200.

Both OCs and characters established in-show are allowed.

This one aligned so well with my interests that I am actually tempted to open my inbox, briefly, in case anyone else has questions like “what is X bavjground character doing after the apocalypse?” so I can make a series out of it and expand on my post-post-apocalypse headcanons.

For now, you can read your fic here, on over here on AO3

---

Sarah doesn't know where she is.

England, she has to still be in England, she thinks. But it's not an England she recognizes. Not the cobblestone streets of London, and not the moors she used to visit on her vacations. The ground is barren, as though all blades of grass but a few have shriveled up and died. There are no trees, houses, or landmarks for miles--just scorched remnants of where they might have been before.

For a moment, the emptiness of it all is a relief after the hotel. But everything is the same on all sides, and she doesn't know where she is or where to go. She's starting to get hungry, too. She never got hungry in the hotel, nightmarish as it was.

She has to sit down for a moment, take a few deep breaths, and think.

Get food. Find shelter. Survive.

Find Alex.

(God, why had she left her child in a hotel room? Little twelve year old Alex who was still afraid to sleep without a night light. He'd begged her to stay, she should have--)

With that in mind she gets up. Doesn't know what direction to walk in, so she doesn't concern herself with trying to pick one. There's nothing to do but walk, keep her eyes open, and hope.

So she hopes.

---

None of our old maps match the landscape, anymore.

The world these days it's... not like in the before times, as I suppose we're calling it. Despite our hopes, ending the apocalypse wasn’t like everyone waking up from a nightmare. The land is...

It's scrambled, I guess. There are patches of the world that--well. They're not the same, but still have infrastructure intact. Electricity, running water, air conditioning. No scorched earth or rubble in these areas. Just a bunch of traumatized people living in an intact town, or city.

When I talk to them, they tell me it's not the city they remember, though. Everything has been switched around, houses and stores not where they remember them. Their neighbors aren't the neighbors their remember.

Those are the lucky ones. And then there's, well... the outside.

Some places have rubble everywhere, jagged steel ripped apart and waiting for someone to cut themselves on it. Some are frozen over, still waiting for the ice they were frozen over with in the apocalypse to melt. Some are scorched to dust. No phones out there, or anything that lets you connect back with home base.

I'm going out there. We need to map it out. We need to figure out our new world, understand it--and we need to get as many people out of the wastes as possible.

Melanie, Georgie--I’ll see you soon.

---

Sarah does find water. That's something. She's hungry still, so hungry, but she knows that the water is more important.

She wonders if she should stay there. She doesn't know if there will be more watering holes in the future, after all, and she has no way to carry it with her. She decides to keep moving on, and hope for the best.

She starts to see blades of grass poking up, along with some sort of metal crap strewn about the landscape. She looks at them a moment--it seems to be bits of an old carousel? Eventually, a giant sit in their shade, for a while. There she takes a moment to look at the horizon, and goes cold.

She recognizes the tower on the horizon.

A  scaffolded tower with two legs beneath it. A sight she'd last seen on a postcard from her brother. The Eiffel Tower.

Is she in Paris? No, that can't be it. It's just the tower out here in the wastes. There are none of the buildings that would normally surround it. It's almost as though its been ripped out of the city and transported here.

Does Paris even exist anymore? Does London?

If she even finds Alex, will there be a home for them to go back to?

---

I have a theory, Melanie. I think lots of people got transported to different places in the world based on what fear they belonged to. Like, a bunch of lonely people were put in the same place, a bunch of claustrophobic people were put in the same place, and so on. All away from the people they knew.

I’m in one of the suburban safe areas now. No one here knows each other. I talked to them all, and all of them remember living in the same house before, but none of them recognized the houses near them or the people in them. When I went from house to house, everyone had a different native language. I talked to a German guy and a French guy who spoke English, but a lot of them… couldn’t talk to me at all.

There was a woman who--she saw me and she lit up. She grabbed me and started talking a mile a minute in Arabic, I think. But I couldn’t understand her, and she--when I tried to talk back to her in English, her face just. Fell. And then she started to cry.

My dad refused to speak it at home, you know. He-- Actually, never mind. It’s not important. 

She ended up shoving me away.

---

Sarah makes it to the ruins of a forest. 

There’s nothing but stumps left of it, along with litter everywhere. She finds water again, filthy brackish water, and she drinks it anyway because she’s so thirsty. She starts sifting through all of the garbage strewn about for something edible. She finds stale bread crusts crawling with ant and eats them anyway. 

She finds a can of beans, and almost cries. When she can’t find a can opener, she screams instead.

---

The death count has gotten to me, honestly.

I’ve found dead bodies even in the towns and cities. Some looked like heart attacks. Some suicides. People who woke up but couldn’t bear the agony they’d just gone through. That’s still not… the worst of it.

I passed a whole field of dead bodies today.

Hundreds of people, I think, all of them lying dead in the soil. But there were... trails. They had been walking, before they collapsed. All walking in the same direction, to where you can still see London on the horizon.

They were alive. They were trying to get help. And they just... starved, it looks like. The walk was just too long.

How many people are going to die from it all, Melanie? How many already have, out where we can't see them?

I left as many jugs of clean water and rations along the roads as I could. I put up signs pointing to London, saying how many miles out they were, where I had stashed food. I gave them your number, so they know who to call to get to the shelter.

I hope it means the next group that passes by won't die.

I hope there is a next group.

---

Sarah can see what looks like a city in the distance before she collapses. 

She tries to get up, but can’t. She’s been walking for days now, it feels like, only sporadically drinking and almost never eating.  There just isn’t enough energy left in her to stand.

She tries to think about little Alex again, running around in his Batman cape, hoping some kind of love or maternal instinct will kick in and give her the last burst of adrenaline she needs to get up. It doesn’t work. Maybe she doesn’t love her own son anymore, really. Maybe it’s just been fear and guilt driving her this far, and that source has already been wrung dry. 

She manages to crawl a few feet, before she can’t even do that. With nothing else left to do, she starts to cry out. “Help! Water, please!” 

She doesn’t think anyone will hear, or show up. But against all odds, in her dimming vision she sees a figure come into view. Backpacked, clutching a water bottle. 

“Help,” she croaks out again. 

The figure gets closer, and she starts to be able to make out the details of his face. He’s her age, or older, with worry lines carved into his forehead and wide eyes. His nose looks eerily like her brother’s nose, and the shape of his jaw reminds her of her old boyfriend, the one who left her with--

She blinks. Maybe she’s hallucinating, or maybe she’s somehow run into a long lost cousin. But then, the man’s eye’s widen and his mouth opens.

“Mum?”

No, no it can’t…

“A-alex?”

No, Alex was a little round cheeked boy. This is a thirty year old man, at least, taller than her. It hasn’t been that long. It can’t be, it’s not--

“Mum?” He’s doing a frown that looks so, so familiar. This has to be a dream. “Mum, it’s--no.”

He sniffles. He steps forward, and steps back. He paces, uncertain.

“No, no,” she hears him mutter. “It’s all fake, all fake. It’s a trap. That’s what they want, the monsters and the face stealers. No one is real. Don’t give them what they want--’’

“Please.” she begs. 

But she hears him walk away, sniffling, and shortly thereafter everything goes dark. 

---

I have a confession to make, Melanie. I was going to side with Jon, back then. I could have lived with keeping everyone here suffering to prevent more of it. But when he said he was going to kill the whole world, not just leave it--that’s what made me snap. 

I couldn’t let the whole world die. Genocide of the entire human species? Anything but that. Surely passing along the suffering would be better, as long as it didn’t lead to the extinction of whole worlds. But… 

I keep finding more dead bodies.

I went back to that suburb I talked about, to restock on all my food. It was a lonely domain before, I think. I’d thought everyone there would be fine, you know. They didn’t have any deadly sicknesses, or twisted flesh injuries. They had food and water and shelter. But when I went back… more of them had died. 

Lots of suicides. Some of them snapped, and started to self injure.

The German guy I talked to had started to starve. He had a pantry full of food and he just wouldn’t eat it. I tried to get him to eat, to move in with someone else, but he said talking to people “made him sick.” 

I gave up, and left. I had to. There were too many people, and too much to do, so I left him. He’s probably dead now, or going to die soon. Because he can’t find the will to live, and I don’t know how to help someone with that.

The Lonely is probably one of the least directly harmful entities, right? This domain was just a suburb, probably the most comfortable you could get during the apocalypse. And yet the victims are still all dying. 

How much worse is it in places without food and water? In the corruption domains that still probably have deadly diseases spreading? In war zones, in flesh factories?

I think about that nursing home we found. All of the patients who'd died of heart attacks a few minutes after they'd woken up. The ones left alive screaming for help where no one could hear them, for days after the fact. All of the ones that died in their beds before we found them. 

I think about that field of bodies I found the other day. I think about the ruins of that Circus I found, people refusing to talk to me or each other--refusing to help because they didn’t believe it was over and thought everyone else was a mannequin. 

I think… I think it doesn’t matter that we saved the world. If people can’t find the will to live, ro rebuild, to trust and help each other again… I think we’re going through a mass extinction event anyway. 

---

Sarah’s in a car, she thinks. Not a moving one. She’s propped up against a seat,There’s something plastic pressed to her lips.

“Come on,” says a woman’s deep, level voice. “Come on. I got you. We’re getting to London. All you have to do is drink.”

Sarah opens her eyes. She sees a dark-skinned woman trying to coax her to drink, holding up a water bottle. 

“Just a sip,” the woman says. “Just enough to make it.”

Sarah closes her eyes, and takes a long moment to consider whether she wants to.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[queen-scribbles]

"No matter what I'll always come after you" for Vesper?

Okay, this, as usual, ran away from me to the tune of 2300 words, but I’m not complaining.  (It does touch on game events, including the end, just so anyone wanting to avoid spoilers is aware)

----

Most children threatened to run away from home at least once. Vesper just hadn’t expected Constantin--of all people--to make good on it. (Though maybe she should’ve.) While her mother and uncle debated where he might have gone and organized searches for the palace and city proper, Vesper snuck out a side door and headed in the opposite direction, toward the meadow where they’d picnicked  few days ago. Constantin had wanted to explore more, but their governess wouldn’t let him. If he was feeling defiant enough to make good on running away, she’d bet he went back there.

And the deep footprints in the riverbank mud bore out her theory. He proved easy to find once she had his trail, headed straight for a patch of woods, though she found him more from the yelp than his trail.

A yelp that presaged his falling from the tree he’d been trying to climb.

“Constantin!” Vesper lunged forward to catch him, but thanks to the limits of ten year old legs, only sort-of managed to break his fall. (Whenever her growth spurt wanted to show up would be fine by her.) “Are you alright?!”

“What’re you doing here?” Constantin demanded instead of answering. He looked alright, if dirty and still petulant.

“Looking for you,” Vesper retorted, nudging him off so they could both sit up. “We were worried-”

“I’m not going back,” he interrupted sulkily, poking the dirt with a stick. “I’m sick of sums. And behaving myself.”

“I can tell,” she teased, brushing dirt off the knee of his breeches.  “But our parents are worried sick, and I feel like the longer it takes to find you, the more trouble you’ll be in.”

Constantin jabbed the stick more viciously into the ground at the base of an ant hill, and was silent a long moment before nodding.  “...Fine.”

Vesper helped him to his feet, brushed more dirt off his clothes. There was nothing that could be done about the scrape on his forearm, or the ripped sleeve that hung around it, however.

They were halfway home before he took her hand and mumbled a slightly grudging, “Thanks for coming after me.”

Vesper smiled. “Always.”

----

Raised voices had become so commonplace in the family portions of the house, Vesper barely batted an eye at the muffled strains of the Prince in contention with someone yet again. She knew who it likely was even before hearing Constantin’s protesting retort. She knew how this would go, too, and finished the current page of her book, setting it aside with a sigh.

As usual, her uncle’s voice rose in both volume and quantity of words until she could almost make out the words of his tirade from three rooms down the hall. As usual, there was a long, rebellious pause, then Constantin’s voice so low she barely picked up the murmur of it, then a slammed door. As usual, Vesper counted to twenty, then went after him. As usual, he was on the balcony that looked toward the harbor, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall.

“Should have known you’d come after me, with a row like that,” Constantin said without looking.

“Always,” Vesper said lightly. “You alright?”

He shrugged, gaze fixed toward the horizon.

She waited him out, knowing the words would come.

“It’s never good enough for him,” Constantin finally spat. “I’m never good enough. Everything I do, Ves. It’s always just a little wrong, or falls just a little short, or a little too embarrassing, or I’m a disgrace to the family name! He’s never happy!”

“He does ask a lot from you,” Vesper agreed softly, because it was true. Knowing her uncle had reasons for his high standards--the family’s position, Constantin being his heir--didn’t negate how impossibly high the bar seemed some days.

Especially with it being set for Constantin. Who liked to flirt with the wrong people and fight with the wrong people and never really could seem to hold his tongue.

But he didn’t need censure or critique now, not from her, he needed a listening ear. So that’s what she did. She listened. She sympathized. And she let him calm down from the heights of ranting before she even suggested heading back inside.

She was stiff from sitting on the ground so long, but seeing him smile again was worth it.

----

The air around the tavern stank of cheap beer and vomit, which was better than most nights. Vesper wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore it. Damn Constantin for choosing this one, though he’d likely done so banking on the knowledge she’d be reluctant to follow him here alone. Unfortunately for him, if that had been his thought process, it hadn’t taken much to convince Kurt to come with her. (It may have involved the words ‘I’m going regardless’ from her, and grousing from Kurt, but she knew, despite his grumbling, he liked her and Constantin more than he’d admit. Hence him following her to four other taverns before this one.)

They’d barely taken two steps inside when the unmistakable sound of Constantin singing reached their ears, and Vesper groaned.

“I won’t tell the prince where we found him if you don’t,” Kurt muttered behind her.

Vesper’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Oh, my lips are sealed, it’s his I’m worried about.”

Kurt just grunted in response to that, and the two of them made their way through the crowd until they found her wayward cousin.

“Vesper!” Constantin grinned when he saw her. Not drunk yet, but on the way. “Didn’t think you liked places like this, cousin.” He gestured broadly at the surroundings, sloshing his drink over the table. Well on the way to drunk, then.

She forced a smile. “Oh, but you know I’ll always come after you, dear cousin, no matter what it takes.” Even visiting shady taverns our parents would kill the both of us for patronizing.

He laughed and took a deep drink before slouching back in the chair. “Are y’ here to join me or drag me home?”

“The latter, I’m afraid,” Vesper said lightly. Her uncle was on his way home from some diplomatic summit and would be in a foul temper if his son was missing upon returning. She needed to get Constantin home and sleeping off this afternoon’s escapades. “Though I do hope there will be no actual dragging involved.”

Constantin’s gaze flicked to where Kurt stood behind her, arms crossed, and grinned again. “Backup, Vesper? Worried you can’t corral me on your own anymore?”

His tone was playful, but she knew how swiftly that could change when he was in a mood, and she chose her words accordingly. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one, and it is part of his job to watch out for us. I was worried, cousin. You’ve been gone most of the day.” She left off they’d been looking for him almost half of that time.

“Afraid I got kidnapped or broke my neck?” Constantin teased, taking another drink.

“Among other fates," Vesper said with an easy laugh. Both of those are actual possibilities with you. “You know I have a vivid imagination.”

He laughed as well, loud and tipsy, and leaned forward to clumsily pat her hand. “As you can see, I’m fine, dear cousin.”

“Yes, it does appear you had an enjoyable afternoon,” she agreed, deciding she didn’t want to know the origin of the stains on his shirt and coat. Or where his hat ended up. (If he had even worn one.) “My mother’s fretting herself silly about you, though, Constantin, what say we head home and put her mind at ease?”

He took long enough to answer she was afraid he’d dig in his heels and she’d have to have Kurt yank him out of the chair. But he rolled his eyes and pushed the nearly-empty tankard across the table. “Oh, fine. Wouldn’t do to have my beloved auntie worrying herself sick.”

He stumbled getting to his feet, and Kurt grabbed his arm to keep him upright.

“Thank you,” Constantin slurred, leaning against him heavily. (He’d been closer to drunk than she thought, apparently.)

“Just doin’ my job,” Kurt said with a grunt, accepting the inevitable and tugging Constantin’s arm around his shoulders as they headed for the door. He shot Vesper a look she’d almost call impressed.  “Nice going. You’ve got a way with words.”

Vesper bit back a laugh as she pushed open the door. “Thank you. I have to counter my abysmal showing with a blade somehow.”

Kurt chuckled, and she caught the faint flash of a smile before he bit it back.  “You’re still learning, Green Blood. Give it time.”

“That does help with a lot,” she said, glancing at her thoroughly inebriated cousin. Hopefully time would help smooth away some of his more worrisome habits.

At the very least, though, it would help with his hangover.

----

One thing that came in handy, with how often Vesper found herself in these scenarios, Constantin was loud. He was loud when he was celebrating, loud when he was complaining, and he was loud now.

Vesper could hear him hollering demands and derisions at his captors well before she and Kurt reached the warehouse where he was being held.

“D’you think there’s any chance of this becoming a less frequent occurrence when we reach the island?” she asked as she scanned the building for discreet ways in.

Kurt pressed his lips together--whether biting back a smile at her question or annoyance at her cousin, she couldn’t tell--and shrugged. “Only time will tell, I suppose.”

Vesper bobbed her head to concur with his assessment and resumed searching for a way in. Fortunately, it proved easier than anticipated to sneak inside the building. She’d rather not incite a brawl just before leaving Sérène. It was equally easy to follow Constantin’s yelling to the room serving as his makeshift cell.

“Constantin, shhh!” Vesper hissed against the keyhole.

There was silence, then, slightly quieter and much more effusive, “Ah, cousin, there you are! I knew you’d show!”

“We can’t leave without you, Governor D’Orsay,” Vesper reminded him as she examined the lock. “And you know I’d come after you anyway.”

“Always.” There was a grin in Constantin’s voice. “If you’re looking for the key, I believe one of the rapscallions mentioned a desk?”

That was indeed its hiding place. And she found his effects in the trunk beside it to boot. Her cousin was almost giddy as he burst from the small room the moment the key turned in the lock.

“That’s more like it!” he crowed, clapping her on the back and nodding toward Kurt. “Thank you ever so much for the rescue, dearest cousin and loyal Captain. Now” --he snatched his hat from pile in Vesper’s arms-- “let’s go have an adventure, shall we?”

She schooled away a smile at his enthusiasm and held his coat out of reach. “Constantin? Remember how we discussed Teer Fradee being an opportunity for a fresh start? Please endeavor to keep that in mind.”

“Yes, of course, dear cousin.” He darted forward to grab his coat and she let him have it. He pulled it on and whirled around with a flourish. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Vesper shook her head and smiled as she tugged him toward the route she and Kurt had used to enter. While somehow Constantin’s enthusiasm managed to make more noise than Kurt’s armor, they did make it back out unchallenged. She grabbed Constantin’s arm to tug him toward where Captain Vasco waited.

Her cousin was right about one thing--they’d delayed long enough.

---

The winged form of the High King came crashing to the ground with her second to last round through his throat. Vesper ignored the still twitching body. Kurt or Sìora could check he was actually dead, she only cared about Constantin.

Her saber clattered against the stony ground as she lunged toward the half-constructed cairn around her cousin and started pulling it apart with her bare hands. Once free enough, Constantin slumped limply against her chest and Vesper held him close.

“...Vesper?” he mumbled, barely audible, through lips chapped and scarred by the malichor and heaven only knew what else.

“I’m here,” she said, voice shaking with relief they gotten here in time. “I come after you no matter what, remember?”

There was no reply, the weight of him heavy against her chest, but she could still feel him breathing.

“Hold on, cousin,” she murmured. He was so quiet, so still. They needed to get him to a healer.

There was a hand on her shoulder and Kurt crouched next to her. “Green Blood.”

Because it was Kurt, Vesper didn’t try to hide the lingering worry in her eyes as she released her hold on Constantin so Kurt could take him for the journey down the mountain.

She tried not to let King Vinbarr’s words echo too loudly in her head as she and Sìora followed, tried not to let the foreboding take root, but the sheer desperation in the man’s voice still left a seed.

“He will be the end of us all!”

---

The trek up through Anemhaid was made all the more difficult by the heartsick dread steadily building in her chest, but Vesper made it. Alone; her companions stayed to help their people, and her heart was stuck at the bottom of the mountain. (Don’t be a hero, she’d said, knowing full well he would anyway because he couldn’t help himself, knowing she’d have to do the same.)

She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be doing this.

She finally slowed as she reached the main cavern, saw her cousin’s familiar silhouette.

“Vesper.” Constaintin almost smiled as he turned. “I knew you’d come.”

“Of course I did, cousin.” Vesper swallowed hard, chest tight, and rested one hand on the hilt of her pistol. She hoped against hope she wouldn’t need it, but the dreadful knot in her gut and strange glow in his eyes promised she would.  “No matter what, I always come after you.”

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Princess Part 4

Harry Potter Marauders Era 

Link to Part 3 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: E- smut

____

Miserable

It was the word that best describes Regulus’ current predicament. It had been three weeks since you wanted a break. Three weeks with little contact other than class. You would still talk to him then but that was it. Regulus found himself dying for any bit of attention that you would throw his way. He had never been more lonely in his life! Sure, Regulus had Evan and his other friends but they weren’t you. They weren’t the girl that knew everything about him!

It didn’t help that his parents were pissed at him too. He had received his first howler the week before. Regulus had been used to witnessing Sirius get howlers over the years but the moment the Black family owl dropped one in front of him, Regulus felt his stomach drop.

“Oh shit.”

He muttered before hesitantly picking up the red envelope. Evan, who had been quietly trying to nurse his hangover with a piece of toast, looked up

“You better run for it.”

Regulus was not about to open the letter in front of god and everyone. His dark eyes flickered to you. You were sitting on Emma’s other side and had looked up when the owl dropped the envelope. Regulus muttered what sounded like fuck under his breath before getting up and racing out of the great hall.

He had barely made it out of the room when Walburga Black’s shrill voice began to ring out…

“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK! I AM FURIOUS WITH YOU! HOW DARE YOU BREAK Y/N’S HEART THE WAY YOU HAVE! SHE IS YOUR FIANCE AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! IF YOU RUIN THIS ENGAGEMENT TO A DECENT WOMAN WHO YOUR FATHER AND I LOVE DEEPLY YOU WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF THE NEXT DAY! STOP ACTING LIKE YOUR BLOOD TRAITOR OF A BROTHER AND BE THE MAN THAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE! “

Regulus stepped back into the great hall red as a tomato before sitting back down. He didn’t dare look in your direction nor anyone else's. He didn’t want to see the expression of pity on Evan’s face or the way Antonin Dolohov and his merry band of misfits were laughing. All Regulus wanted to do at the moment was to find a hole to crawl into and die.

What has this girl done to me? I’m a bloody mess. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It’s a wonder I can do anything!

Regulus thought angrily as he ran a hand through his sweaty curls. He lay on his back in bed trying to find the will to sleep. All of Regulus felt tense. If he needed any more proof that you were his soulmate, he had it now. His skin felt as though there were ants crawling all over him. He was a sweaty itching mess and nothing that he did could help his situation.

At some point, he had yanked the t-shirt that he was wearing over his head and removed other articles of clothing until he lay nude trying to find air. The dormitory seemed stuffier and hotter than normal. For being in the dungeons, the room was hotter than necessary!

The pain between his legs was worse than the mental anguish. As much as he didn’t want to be dramatic at this particular moment (normally he didn’t mind being dramatic but this night...no), Regulus couldn’t help it. 3 weeks and no sex had left Regulus dying to be inside of you. He needed the physical love that the two of you shared. It didn’t matter how much “extra” time he took in the shower or how many nights he lay in bed with the curtains closed, he couldn’t come.

“You might as well face it. She’s your soulmate. You need Y/n. If you want I can talk to her. It will be awkward as hell for me but you are my best friend and right now your needs are more important.”

Evan had offered earlier that day. Regulus instantly shook his head. He wasn’t about to have his best friend fighting his battles. Evan had done that enough as it was. He had been spending the better part of the last three weeks making Alexander “two names” life hell.

“Reg, you're jacking off more than a 13-year-old. I thought that you were bad then but now I am starting to think otherwise. I bet Y/n is a mess without you too. I caught her staring at you in class today. She was looking at your hands biting her lip. I want to vomit saying this but would you please go sleep with my cousin?”

Regulus shook the thought from his head as he ran his hand over his erection once more. It didn’t matter how many times he touched himself. It wasn’t going to work. Sex was the go-to “coping” mechanism that the two of you had been using since age 14. It wasn’t always a coping mechanism either. The two of you were horny little teenage kids who had the pleasure of being able to touch each other without getting into trouble.

“Fucking hell!”

Regulus gave up. Regulus could only wonder if Evan was right? Were you lying in your bed aching for him as badly as he was for you?

(Meanwhile)

If Regulus only knew how right he was. You sat in your bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. It had been three fucking weeks and you missed Regulus horribly!

You had almost gone to him when Walburga sent the howler. Without speaking to him, you knew how embarrassed your love was. It used to be thrilling to watch Sirius get the howlers when he was still at Hogwarts. Both Regulus and yourself used to love watching Sirius laughing whenever he got a howler. Walburga’s screeching and screaming never seemed to bother Sirius the way it did Regulus.

It had taken all that you had not to go to Regulus after he opened Walburga’s “scream-o-gram” but decided not to. Regulus didn’t look as if he wanted to be consoled anyway. After the way the past three weeks had turned out, Regulus would probably shove you away if you tried to comfort him.

You were better off being miserable alone and regretting your life choices.

Earlier that day you lay with your head on Emma’s lap.

“I’m an idiot. I throw away perfectly good marriage proposals because I can't handle being ignored. I’m such a baby.”

Emma gently patted your head.

“Now darling you didn’t throw away the proposal. Regulus will give you back your ring. You only asked for a break. You didn’t refuse him altogether. This is Regulus that we are talking about. His loyalty to you is too perfect. If it makes you feel better, Evan said Regulus is a mess right now also. Why don’t you two go be a mess together and let him touch you?”

You shivered at the memory of the conversation with Emma earlier. At the moment, you would give anything to have Regulus touch you. You needed him. That was putting things lightly. Never in your life had you wanted Regulus to make love to you so badly!

You were staying wet! All of your clothes felt more confining than ever! That day in potions you found yourself staring at Regulus’ hands aching for him to touch your breasts. You would let him rip the bra right off of you if Regulus had asked. When you accidentally brushed against him and noticed the erection building in Regulus’ trousers you had to “fake a migraine” and leave class early. Your face was blood red when you quickly muttered an apology to Slughorn before gathering up your things and rushing out of the room. You couldn’t even meet Regulus’ concerned gaze or Evan’s scowl.

After that rather unpleasant scene, you had refused to leave your dormitory. Things got even worse around 7 pm when Emma came into the dormitory with a letter from your aunt Druella. To add more bad news to your already unlucky day, you also found out that your father had passed away in Azkaban. You hadn’t seen your father in years. To be honest, he was a total embarrassment. After he was sent away rather than putting up a fight and dying valiantly, no one in the Rosier family wanted much to do with him. He still was, however, your father and now he was dead.

You slowly slipped out of bed and decided to head to the room of requirement. The last thing that you really wanted was to stay in the dormitory a moment longer. At least in the room of requirement you would be able to sit and read a book quietly.

Walking into the common room, you froze the moment that you saw Regulus sitting on the couch facing the fireplace. He quickly stood the moment that he noticed you. You wanted to look away but couldn't. Regulus looked as rough as you felt. His normally neat and put together appearance was sloppy. He stood with his dress shirt untucked and curls an unruly mess.

“Where are you going?”

“Room of requirement.”

You replied before moving to walk around him. Regulus reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“You know the prefects will be out.”

“Then come with me.”

You said, softly. Regulus shrugged and followed you out of the common room. He intertwined his hand with yours. Both of you stopped and looked down at your joined hands. The tingling clearly hit both of you at the same time. Regulus had to fight the urge to pull you into a kiss. He didn’t want to rush into anything too quickly. The last thing that he wanted was for a prefect to catch the two of you wandering the hallways. Regulus could hex whoever it was and feel no guilt in doing that. He would feel no guilt about it. The prefects were the least of his worries. Regulus was more worried about you shoving him away.

The next few minutes consisted of the two of you sneaking through the hallways dodging prefects. Regulus quickly ushered you into the room. You internally sighed as you realized the room of requirement was set up as it always was when the two of you came for a visit. A nice bed sat in the middle of the room waiting for Regulus and yourself to roll around in it.

Regulus, meanwhile, turned back to you after locking the door and putting a few charms on it. The last thing that he wanted was for someone to come in on the both of you.

“Y/n…”

“My father died.”

You said, softly. Regulus returned to his place beside you. Having him be this close to you again was more comforting than anything you had experienced that day.

“I know. I heard.”

Regulus replied, softly. His voice was gentle as he stepped closer.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to be with you...even if you despise me.”

You turned to him quickly.

“I don’t despise you, Reggie.”

Regulus waited a moment longer before pulling you into his arms. You snuggled your face into his shoulder. A hand wrapped around the back of your head to hold you tighter.

“I’m sorry...about everything.”

Regulus said, softly.

“I was a bad fiance. I should have never stayed as busy as I was. You’re not second to me and I don’t want you to be another Narcissa Malfoy either. I want you to be happy because I make you happy. I love you.”

Regulus carefully tilted your head to the side before leaning down to kiss your neck. He ran his full lips across your ivory skin breathing as he went. Regulus’ eyes closed as he breathed you in. Your gardenia perfume filled his senses leaving Regulus a turned-on mess of emotions.

You meanwhile, didn’t move as Regulus snuggled his face into your neck.

“I’m sorry and I love you too.”

Regulus pulled away, leaving you wanting to whine. He quickly stepped behind you and pulled your body against his from behind. His face was snuggled back into your neck as he rocked his hips into you. His erection was digging into your ass.

“It's been a long time.”

You said almost breathlessly. Regulus nodded before taking your hand and guiding it toward the now prominent bulge in his dress pants. You wrapped your hands around his length and tightened your grasp. Regulus groaned quietly. He wasn’t about to admit that he could have come just from the bit of attention.

“Too long.”

Regulus finally choked out. He continued to let you caress and stroke him through his pants until Regulus slowly took your hand away to press back against you. Regulus gently pulled your robe off. He muttered a curse under his breath upon the realization that you were only dressed in your bra and knickers. The white silk dainty fabric was dying to be torn from your body.

“You’re so perfect, princess.”

Regulus cooed before moving his hand under the material of the bra. His hand slithered up your skin until he was able to wrap fully around your breast. Regulus’ fingers caressed your delicate skin before gripping tightly. He squeezed over and over until your nipple became hard under his touch.

“Reggie…”

You whined his name until Regulus let you turn in his arms for a kiss. The kiss quickly escalated as Regulus teased your bottom lip with a playful nibble.

“Wait. Before we get too carried away.”

Regulus said before reaching into his pocket and took out your engagement ring.

“Would you please consider being my wife again?”

You were thrilled as Regulus slid the ring back onto your finger.

“I’ll change…”

He added.

“I’ll stay home more...give you my undivided attention…”

You knew that was a lie even if Regulus meant it. When the dark lord called, he would have to go (and you knew it). Regulus could promise all that he wanted to be with you constantly but wouldn’t be able to. The past three weeks had taught you that having Regulus in your life with absences would be better than not at all. Walburga’s motherly advice of being a comforting place for your husband to escape to made even more sense to you now. Regulus would need you and your loving support. When Regulus was home, you could make all of the bad things that were happening with the war seem better.

“Regulus, don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

Regulus pulled you into another soft kiss.

“I won’t forget about you again.”

He whispered. You were pleased enough with Regulus’ response.

“You look exhausted.”

You said before reaching up to stroke Regulus’ messy curls. Regulus shrugged.

“I haven’t had my soulmate in three fucking weeks. Nothing compares to you, sweetheart.”

You batted your eyes at Regulus before slowly unbuttoning each of his dress shirt's buttons before moving to his belt. Regulus smirked.

“On your knees.”

His soft tone hardened a bit. You quickly did as you were told and tugged his trousers down his slender hips. Regulus groaned the moment that you took him into your mouth. You fought a smile as you sucked each inch of his length into your mouth. Regulus wrapped a hand through your hair forcing himself deeper down your throat.

“Love, your one hell of a tease. Get on the bed.”

You quickly did as you were told as Regulus ran his hand over his length a few times. For the first time in three weeks, it felt good to touch himself. Sinking to his knees Regulus spread your legs to press open-mouthed kisses to your panty clad core. You gasped as his tongue began to soak your already wet panties with each lick.

Regulus snapped your knickers with one tug. The moment that the cold air hit your now overstimulated clit. Regulus didn’t give you a moment to adjust before his mouth was back on your mound. His tongue slid through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Regulus, stop your teasing.”

Dark eyes rolled to your face before smiling evilly. Regulus quickly sat upon his knees.

“You’re right. No more teasing. I’m about to make that little twat feel amazing.”

You were thrilled that Regulus knew how to make you come by words alone. There was also the knowledge that only you knew that Regulus actually talked like this.

“Prove it.”

You said, blowing him a kiss. Regulus waited all of two seconds before yanking you to him by your hips. His cock shoved in mercilessly. Both of you moaned at the sudden intrusion. Regulus set a steady rhythm as shook his head to get his long hair out of his face. He bit his lips as he watched your tits bounce with each thrust.

“On top of me.”

Regulus growled before pulling out and leaving you almost crying. You quickly climbed on top of Regulus and sank back down onto his cock. Looking down at your lover’s athletic body heaving below you was enough to make your body tighten around him.

“Princess, that isn’t fair.”

Regulus groaned, pressing his head back into the pillow. He could barely keep one eye open to watch you bounce on his cock.

“I need to come, Reggie.”

You whimpered. His deep penetration had made you come hard and slowly. Regulus grinned as he got to enjoy every bit of movement inside as you squeezed on him.

“Two can play at that game.”

Regulus clenched his eyes closed as he let himself come. You sighed feeling his warmth push into your still soaking core.

“That lasted a whole five minutes.”

Regulus moaned before pulling your down into his arms. You didn’t move off of his body instead, you snuggled against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat of lulling you into a peaceful sleep. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled the duvet over your nude bodies.

“We can always go again.”

You suggested with a yawn. Regulus chuckled and stroked his fingers through your hair and over your cheek.

“I think my princess is tired.”

You shook your head as Regulus rolled you off of him. He manhandled you onto your side before pressing against you from behind. Regulus knew how much that you liked being the little spoon and this was a sure-fire way to get you to sleep. He was thankful that it would be Christmas time soon and that would give you plenty of time to be alone. Regulus would tell his mother to not bother the two of you. This time Walburga would listen to him. Regulus would be, after all, repairing his relationship with the woman that Walburga was so desperate to have as a daughter-in-law.

“Maybe.”

You said, pulling Regulus’ hand to your neck to hold onto him.

“Druella said that they are having a funeral in a few days. Will you come with me?”

Regulus didn’t have to think twice.

“I won’t let you go alone. We can go show mum that we are happy again so she won’t send me a howler again.”

You yawned.

“No more howlers.”

______

@fairywriter-oracle

@amelie-black

@swinginsoulbailiffrascal

@velveteencurls

@realgaytrash

@scarletscross

@sunles

@brokencasbutt67-writer

@authoressskr

@fandom-trash-worth-it

@hankypranky

@summer-novak

@li0nh34rt

@tas898

@marichromatic

@maggioli-m

@shitfaceddaniel

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

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@emiwrites3reads

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts

@sprnaturallover

@wontlookaway

[allweleftunspoken]

a short human au kam oneshot ✨

I wrote this at like 3am a while ago so I apologize if it’s not the best lol

without further adooo here’s my shitty attempt at writing fanfic XD

— —————- ———

Keefe let out a dramatic sigh as he flopped back onto his bed. He tossed the book he was reading aside because if he had to read Shakespeare for one more second his brain might, quite literally, explode. He was bored and Tam was here, so he might as well move on from homework to annoying his best friend.

“Taaaaammmm” Keefe sighed, kicking Tam’s leg lightly, “Pay attention to meee.”

Tam looked up from his book and tilted his head, “Aren’t you old enough to entertain yourself?”

Keefe threw a pillow at him, but Tam caught it and threw it back, hitting Keefe in the face.

“Well that backfired.” Keefe mumbled while rubbing his face. Tam laughed and set his homework aside. He pulled a leg up to his chest and rested his head on Keefe’s knee,

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Keefe said, ignoring the backflips his stomach was doing.

“You’re right, I’m not, that was hilarious.”

Keefe moved his knee causing Tam’s head to fall.

“Rude,” Tam said, glaring at him.

Keefe laughed, as Tam got off the bed and walked over to Keefe’s dresser. This was their relationship. They laughed and semi flirted but neither of them were brave enough to make the first move. He also didn’t even know if Tam w anted to make a move. Could he be imaging all the flirting? Maybe Tam was like this everyone.

He shook his head and returned his focus to Tam who was now messing with the bottle of black nail polish on the dresser.

“Can you do mine later?” He asked, “It would drive my parents crazy.”

Keefe got up and walked over to him,

“Yeah sure. It drives mine crazy too,” he said with a sad laugh.

Tam laughed too and set the bottle down.

It was safe to say their parents weren’t the best. They were horrible actually. Keefe couldn’t count how many times he’s come home from school to be the subject of his Father’s anger. Whether it was screaming, or throwing things, or the occasional trip to Keefe’s bedroom to destroy Keefe’s sketches, Keefe couldn’t do anything. His mom wasn’t much better. She just stood by and let it all happen, occasionally adding to his list of ‘things to hate myself for’. They fought all the time. He couldn’t remember a day where there wasn’t screaming of some sort. To top it all off they were homophobic. Keefe hated it. He hated it here. He knew Tam’s home life wasn’t much better either, and he hated that. He hated that Tam had to deal with this. No one should. They’d talked about it before, once they even cried because they were so tired of it. They’d talked about running away, but Tam said he couldn’t leave Linh. Keefe had said she could come with them but then Tam said that Linh would never want to leave Marella and Biana. So they decided to wait until they’re eighteen. Then they’d all leave together. They’d move as far away from them as possible and never look back. Keefe couldn’t wait.

He watched Tam pick up one of Keefe’s rings and fiddle with it. Keefe couldn’t take his eyes off him. The sun was about to set and the light was peeking through his window, casting a warm glow over the entire room. Tam looked like he was glowing. He looked beautiful. He always did. He’d never actually tell him that though. He wished he could..he wished he could tell him a lot of things.

Tam set down his ring and turned to Keefe, catching him staring, “What?”

Keefe blushed lightly, “N-nothing.”

“You were staring at me.”

“No-No I wasn’t-“ he stuttered.

Tam raised his eyebrow.

“Hey you knocked over my nail polish,” Keefe said, subtly changing the subject. He reached behind Tam to fix it, but then he looked down to find Tam staring up at him. Keefe’s stomach dropped. They stayed like that for a while, both of them staring at each other, and neither of them moving. It was almost as if they were scared to. Like moving might break the delicate trance that they seemed to be in.

At some point Keefe’s eyes moved down to Tam’s lips. He could’ve sworn Tam started move towards him then, but before he could know for sure a door slammed downstairs.

They both flinched at the noise and quickly leapt apart.

Seconds after the slam, the arguing started. The loud arguing that usually lasted for hours at a time, which could only mean one thing.

His parents were home.

Keefe scratched the back of his head,

”So....”

Tam shoved his hands in his pockets,

“So...I don’t have to be home for a couple of hours...wanna go get coffee or something?”

Keefe could’ve kissed him. He really wanted to actually.

He let out a big breath and whispered, “Yes please.”

Tam smiled, “Ok, just let me get my stuff.”

He started putting his books in his backpack while Keefe got a sweatshirt and pulled it on over his school uniform dress shirt. He grabbed another sweatshirt and turned to Tam,

“Wanna wear this?” When Tam started to get flustered he quickly clarified, “Its getting cold out, you might need it-“

Tam took it and quickly thanked him, and pulled it on over his uniform as well. He put on his backpack and started walking towards Keefe’s door before Keefe stopped him,

”Yeah no, we’re going out the fun way.”

It was also the way that avoided running into his parents downstairs cause he...really didn’t need that right now. He took Tam’s arm lightly and lead him over to the window,

”Oh come on.” Tam sighed.

“Where’s your sense of adventure Tammy boy?”

”I must have lost it somewhere.”

Keefe flicked his bangs, and then out the window they went.

—————————

“Ok but that was the best cookie ever, I can’t believe they just gave it to us for free.”

Tam said as they walked back to Keefe’s house from the coffee shop they ended up going to. The sun had set now and it was dusk. Keefe loved this time of day, when everything was still and quiet and beautiful.

Keefe laughed, “They probably gave it to us because I’m so attractive.”

Tam blinked, “That literally makes no sense whatsoever. “

Keefe smirked, “I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

Tam shoved him with his arm.

“You’re so annoying.”

”You love me.”

”That’s debatable.”

Keefe clutched his heart, “You’ve wounded me. I don’t know how I’ll ever emotionally recover from this.”

Tam rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile.

Keefe knew Tam loved him, platonically if not anything more. He wished it was more, since Keefe had been falling in love with him since the 8th grade. He could never say that though, since he still wasn’t sure how Tam felt. He might never be sure...

They walked for a few more minutes before stopping in front of Keefe’s house.

He looked at Tam and found him already staring at Keefe. He held his gaze and whispered, “Here we are.”

“Here we are.” Tam took a small step towards Keefe, “I should probably head home now...”

Keefe’s heart was in his throat. What was happening right now?

”Probably...”

Tam looked down at their hands and Keefe gathered all the courage he had and started slowly reaching towards Tam’s hand. Their fingers barely brushed before Tam intertwined them. Keefe couldn’t believe this was real. Was this real? If it was dream it was a hell of a good one. He’s liked this guy for years and now it finally happening-how was this happening-?

His voice was hoarse as he whispered, “You know we’re holding hands right now right?”

”Yeah I noticed.”

”And you’re...ok with that..?”

”I’m more then ok with it.” Tam’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, and Keefe almost passed out. No way this was happening. No way he was holding hands with dude he’s like since he was fourteen.

”Keefe..” Tam whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

”Yeah...?”

Tam took a small step towards Keefe, and moved his hands to his face, slowly moving it down to his. He paused, his voice so soft Keefe could barely hear it, “Can I....”

Keefe answered him by connecting their lips. The kiss was slow and everything he’d ever imagined it would be, and more. He never wanted it to end, but it did. They broke the kiss and Keefe leaned his forehead against Tam’s lightly.

“Did that actually just happen...” he whispered.

Tam laughed softly, “Yeah, it did...”

Tam then pulled Keefe into a hug, holding him so tight he thought he might break something. He didn’t mind one bit, and he held him back just as tight.

They stayed like that for a while before Tam whispered the words Keefe thought he’d only ever hear him say in his dreams.

”I like you Keefe. I have for a really long time..”

Keefe smiled bigger then he’d ever smiled in his entire life, “I like you too Tam..”

Tam leaned back from the hug to look at him, “Well I’d hope so since you just kissed me.”

Keefe laughed and after a few more minutes of talking (and maybe kissing) they said goodnight. Keefe watched Tam walk away and thought about what just happened. How did that just happen? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure as heck glad it did. Does this mean Tam was his boyfriend now? He’d work up the courage to ask him tomorrow. For now he went to bed and dreamed about a boy with silver bangs and soft hands.

[themusicplayedherlife]

to love is the greatest gift

3. The Child

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarin x reader | past!obi wan kenobi x satine kryze) characters: f!reader, din djarin, baby djarin obi wan kenobi, anakin skywalker-amidala others word count: 6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, death, longing, slow burn, guilt summary: au! It has never been the right timing for you and obi wan, but maybe this time will be different. a/n: so, this was planned and partly written before we knew grogu’s name, and there’s actually a reason why baby’s name is baby, but probably won’t come up lol — now we’re just upping the ante and I’m not sorry lol if you have any questions about this story or requests, send them my way and I will try my best to answer ☺️

Then.

The loud noises of the bar were swallowed alive by the cars that rushed by and the occasional helicopter that flew overhead—faint music thumping from all directions; neon lights so bright like artificial stars, fading headlights moving in all directions.

Pretty. Picturesque, but not what you focused on for too long.

You moved fast, hand pulsing with pricks of pain and refusing to listen to Obi Wan, who followed closely behind, pleading for you to stop and—will you listen to me? Your determination to get away from him, the bar, and find his stupid piece of junk car in the packed parking lot drove you forward. He already dragged you out, might as well leave altogether—if only Anakin and Padmé would hurry!

“What were you thinking?” he asked after you, voice thick with worry and indignation as he kept up with your quick pace.

“He was being an asshole!”

“So you decided to punch him?” He heaved a sigh, grabbing your wrist and keeping you from continuing (or from running away from his impending lecture). “A man twice your size?”

You jerked away from his hold, refusing to meet his gaze and find disappointed blue eyes staring back at you. “You didn’t hear what he was saying—”

“Oh, I heard perfectly, my dear, but I wasn’t about to engage with some drunkard.” He said it so dismissively and judgmentally that you recoiled, the anger you managed to release earlier coming back tenfold, but this time for a different reason. 

Why did he always have to be so non confrontational, so unlike Anakin and his hit-first-think-later personality? Why couldn’t he allow himself to get angry even for only a moment? Why did everyone else have to get angry for him? More importantly, why did you have to get angry for him? You don’t understand!

“How are you not mad then?” you outcried, throwing your hands up in the air. “He called you—”

“Why would I be?” He smiled, like he knew something you didn’t, and it only made you more frustrated. “I have you to defend my honor.”

“That's—Obi Wan! Seriously?” Maker, he was too much! “Take this seriously, will you?”

He chuckled and reached for your hand, the same one that had glocked the giant’s jaw. It hurt, a lot, much more than you were willing to admit, but in Obi Wan’s hands, the pain felt nonexistent. 

“I didn’t expect you to hit him.” You wished he looked at you, showed you what he was thinking. He squeezed your hand in his, inspecting it gently. “Could’ve gotten hurt.” He sighed again. “I wanted to—needed you safe.”

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with saying those things about you,” you murmured, the cold air harsh in your throat, hard to swallow, but his hand was warm—he was warm.

“I know.” He ran his thumb over the area, careful to not cause you more discomfort—always so careful and sweet with you. But there was something swimming in those eyes of his, a hint of something you couldn’t quite place as they followed the movements of his thumb. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” you murmured.

“You could never.” He lifted your hand higher and you allowed him to—let his warm breath fan over your stinging skin. “My little warrior.”

Lips connected with your knuckles—soft, plush, delicate, and your breath hitched—he was never this bold with you, always keeping you at a certain distance for as long as you could remember—his darling, but never truly his.

“I am envious of the person you will choose to spend the rest of your life with,” he said, hesitant—barely breaking through the blood rushing in your ear—wanting to say more than what he was allowing himself to; hand dared to push back a stray piece of hair that couldn’t stay in place, choosing to dance with the wind. “Your future family will be lucky to have you.”

Now.

Din’s love can be powerful and kind. But he is also a man with too many layers and shields up to protect himself from the onslaught of cruelty life can gift to one human being.  

Someone once told you (joked really) that loving him was like the age old question of how many licks did it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop. It was a stupid analogy then and it’s still a stupid analogy now, but it didn’t make it any less fitting.

Anakin never understood your relationship with Din, seeing only the surface level of the man you were once in love with. Padmé saw beyond the gruff and tough exterior, but she grew worried that you’d expend too much of your love and energy to get to where he could finally return it with equalness.

And she was right.

Sometimes, it was too much, and the selfish part of you wanted to walk away many times; wanted to give up the patience that you had thought you’d nurtured and grown over the years. But you’d fought against that selfish part of you, stood strong and tall as you worked through all of his layers of armor. Loved him and his toddler that you saw as your own (because he was, he was much more yours than the mother that left him on Din’s doorstep a couple of years ago).

It was Din who gave in first, the struggle of having someone wanting to be part of his life, wanting to give their all to him was so foreign to the poor man that sometimes he didn’t know what to do other than fight against it—against your love. 

Even if he was the one to end it, there was no denying he had loved you, loved you in ways that were intimate, kind, and sweet. He made you feel things that no one else had, made your mind and body sing in ways that you sometimes search for in other partners.

Although the love you share now is different, like friends that have seen each other grow and blossom into who they are today, you don’t regret the time you spent learning and loving each other. He’s the first real, adult relationship you have ever had (and in a way you’re his first too), after all. You don’t regret any of it.

You don’t think he does, either.

“Are you sure you can watch Baby?” His fretting is still as cute as ever, worried that he’s asking too much of you. He knows Baby is yours as much as he is his, but his insecurities always get the best of him.

“Yes, yes!” You wave him away, too busy focusing on your little one with his chubby hands grabbing at your necklace. Maker, how you adore him. “I don’t have any meetings today”—thankfully—“I only have to go over the checklist for the Winter Charity Gala.” You finally spare him a glance as he hovers by the door. “Besides, people love babies, and if they don’t we could just switch guides or kick them out—either or, isn’t that right, my little womp rat?”

Baby giggles, slapping your chest gently in excitement, his little legs squeezing your middle as you balance him with one hand holding him and the other holding his leg. “Yes!”

He sighs heavily, muttering your name like he used to when you “sacrificed” nights to help him when Baby was teething and wouldn’t let him sleep. 

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Stop it, Din. It’s fine. My work is flexible and besides, I've been wanting to spend more time with Baby during the week, anyway.” 

His expression falls and his eyes fill with remorse, and stars are you a horrible person. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad!

“Din, I didn’t mean it like that.” You would never blame him for spending time with his son. The fact that he even lets you take him on weekends or even spend days with him during the week is such a huge thing. You’re not Baby’s mom, but Din lets you be his mom. “I just meant I love spending time with Baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

“Don't be! You do more than enough,” you assure him, berating yourself for even making him think you don’t appreciate what he does for you. “You don’t need to let me spend time with Baby, but you do. You make sure I do.”

“Of course, I could do no less,” he says, soft and warm, like the blankie you and Din bought Baby when he turned one. “You are Baby’s buir. Blood or no blood.” He closes the distance between you and wraps his arm around you and Baby, pressing his forehead against yours. “We are family.”

You look up at him with glassy eyes, and he smiles down at you, kind and tenderly. His own eyes glassy and the area around his eyes red. “Family,” you repeat, heart bursting in your throat.

“Family!” Baby exclaims, making you and Din burst into wet laughter.

“That’s right, ad’ika,” Din says, rubbing Baby’s back. “Who am I?”

“Papa!”

“And who am I?”

“Mama!” It never gets old hearing him call you that.

“Our Baby is so smart,” you coo, kissing his chubby cheeks loudly, making him giggle and lean into you for more kisses that you’re willing to give. “So, so smart!”

There’s a knock on the door and Din moves just slightly to where you could see the door as you ask who it is.

“It’s, uh, Obi Wan.” Your breath hitches, the hold you have on Baby tightening slightly—I’ve missed you, my dear. I will see you soon; warmth on a cold night, hands brushing hair away from eyes and tears away—shit.

“Who?” 

Glancing at Din, you realize you haven’t told him about Obi Wan’s sudden return… visit… whatever this is, not two nights ago when you showed up at his apartment and asked if you could spend the night or yesterday morning when you woke up with puffy eyes and made them a breakfast too large for a family of three. 

His eyebrows furrow in question, trying to figure out who Obi Wan is on his own. He practically knows everyone you work with or are friends with except for Obi Wan, whose picture he has definitely seen and name he has definitely heard offhandedly from Anakin and the others but can’t quite place. 

“Come in, Obi.” It’s a slip of the tongue, an affectionate nickname that you can’t quite stop yourself from saying even in the presence of an ex-lover.

“Obi?” Din mouths.

You really owe him an explanation.

“I’m sorry about my sudden intrusion, darling. Anakin”—of course Anakin has something to do with this—“had hoped we could have lunch together. He’s sent me—” The door opens slowly and Obi Wan peers into the room, almost as if afraid to enter. And with good reason, when he sees Din and Baby his mouth falls slightly agape at the unexpected sight and he trails off. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company, if I had known—”

“It’s fine, Obi Wan,” you interject softly, hiking Baby higher on your hip. He’s getting bigger and heavier now, harder to hold, but it doesn’t stop you from carrying your little one. “You’re not interrupting.”

“I was just leaving,” Din follows, glancing at you with intrigue and the silent question of—who is he? You exhale softly.

“Din, this is Obi Wan Kenobi, an… old friend of mine and Luke and Leia’s godfather.” Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Obi Wan, this is Din Djarin.”

“It is nice to finally meet you.” Din moves away from you to offer his hand to Obi Wan, who accepts it. “I have heard a lot about you.”

“As have I,” Obi Wan says, stern and firm, guarded and completely unlike the Obi Wan you once knew. 

Din raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything while you groan internally. What exactly has Anakin been feeding Obi Wan?

“What about Baby?” The little one in your arms squirms indignantly and you laugh, finding him looking at you with a scrunched up face, displeased that you haven’t introduced him, yet.

“I’m sorry, honey.” You nuzzle his little button nose with yours, closing some distance between you and Obi Wan. “Obi Wan, this is Baby Djarin, Din’s son.”

“Our,” Din corrects, shooting you a look.

“Right.” You bite your lip to hide your wide smile, ducking your head before nodding. “Our son.”

Obi Wan blinks, taken aback by the sudden information, and you don’t blame him. You’ll have to explain this situation to him, since apparently Anakin and Padmé chose to omit this part of your life from him, at a later date. (You ignore the fact that you have as well, but then again, you weren’t the one that kept in touch with him after he left the second time, and it’s not like you’ve had a chance to tell him since he got back either.)

He clears his throat and a smile settles on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you too, little one.”

Baby is absolutely delighted that Obi Wan is offering his hand, practically jumping out of your arms to shake his hand. Din quickly balances him and you by placing a hand in your back and another on Baby’s tummy.

“Careful,” he murmurs, which makes Baby pout and mutter, “No, thank you,” even though he’s straightening up. Chuckling, he ruffles his son’s curls. “I should get going.”

“Good luck,” you tell him, watching him lean down to kiss the top of Baby’s brown curls. “There’s no doubt you’ll get the job.”

He sighs, a corner of his lips lifting into an unsteady smile. He’s nervous. “I hope so.”

“Hey, you’re going to do great,” you assure him firmly. “You know all the ins and out, and have Cara and Greef vouching for you. You are more than qualified for this position.”

He cracks a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right.” He doesn’t sound super convinced, but he still manages to nod resolutely and picks up his sling bag, but then he pauses. “You sure this is fine?”

You roll your eyes again. “Yes, Din. It’s fine. Baby being here is no trouble at all. The team loves him.”

“Okay. Okay. Just—I’ll try to head back as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time and don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

His head tilts slightly, but then he nods, finally relenting. Turning to Obi Wan, he says, “Again, it was nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Obi Wan supplies back, it’s still tense and stern, but there’s something else too, something detached and unfocused.

Din doesn’t let it bother him, instead focusing on his son. “Bye, Baby.”

“Bye, Papa!”

“I’ll see you both later.”

“Yeah, yeah, go!” you urge. He shoots you a look and you laugh. “Go.” 

Din finally slips out the door but not without another kiss to Baby’s head.

“Son?” Obi Wan breaks his silence as you put Baby down.

He’s quick to run to his bag and pull out a blanket, handing it to you to place for him on the floor, in front of the blue, grey loveseat. Din and you always place it on top to make it easy to take out, and after seeing you and his dad do it so many times, Baby just knows his ground blanket is always on top.

“Yes.” You spread the blanket out, smoothing it, and Baby tries to help by grabbing the corners and tugging.

“How old is he?”

“Hey, Baby,” you faux whisper, “wanna tell Obi how old you are?”

Holding up four fingers in Obi Wan’s direction, he practically yells, “Thwee, almost four!”

Obi Wan chuckles, thoroughly amused at how excited Baby is to share his age and his inability to truly say the letter r. “Wow! You’re so big.”

“Yes,” Baby says, dropping himself onto his bottom once he’s satisfied with how you’ve laid out the blanket. “Very big!”

“He’s turning four in a month,” you inform him with a smile, sitting down next to your little one. “It’s why he’s starting to put up four fingers. Luke and Leia have been teaching him.”

“So Anakin and Padmé know?”

“Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

His eyebrows furrow and he looks away from you for a moment. “They didn't mention it to me.”

“Oh.” Probably because Anakin didn’t think they’d be part of my life after Din and I broke up. But that’s not what you voice, instead you say, “I figured they hadn’t with how you reacted earlier.”

“Baby is from a previous relationship of his?” He wasn’t, not exactly, but Obi Wan doesn’t need to know what isn’t your information to give. “And you and Din are co-parenting?” He raises an eyebrow, a perfectly arched eyebrow, and it reminds you so much of the young Obi Wan Kenobi that you’d try so hard to impress with your ever growing knowledge.

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to sound like he’s being judgmental, but it sure as hell sounds like it when he stares at you like that—like he’s questioning your choices. You don’t like it. Never did.

“Baby was only a few months old when he came into our lives.”

“You have grown attached.” It isn’t a question, it’s a statement, a heavy loaded statement, one you don’t know if you even want to begin to decipher.

You sigh slowly and say, “Yes, Obi Wan. I am attached.” Baby slaps his hands on your thighs, grinning toothily, and you smooth his hair away from his wide, brown eyes. “How could I not be? We are family. Blood or no blood.”

“I see.” He wants to say more, you can tell by the way he speaks his words slowly, with restraint.

Something bubbles in your stomach, nothing pleasant. It's anger and frustration and this need to yell at him like when you were both younger and less mature. It only ever happened when he wasn’t listening to you, treating you like you had no idea what you were doing or saying. It was rare those moments, mostly born from lack of sleep from all-nighters focused on essays and exams, or sometimes born from nothing at all, just bad luck and circumstance.

It makes you want to push, just like then; to force him to tell you exactly what he wants to say. It’s never stopped him before, so why now? But Baby babbling in full sentences to himself while trying to pull his toys out of his bag reminds you that you are not that person anymore, haven’t been that person in such a long time. And maybe it’s for the best.

 “Wed truck?” Baby asks, showing off the newest toy in his collection, and when you place your hand out, thinking he wants to give it to you, he stands on his two little feet and walks over to Obi Wan, careful to not trip over the blanket. “Cheer up, pwease. Wed truck will help!”

Any hint of anger or frustration or hurt that may have remained, dissipates as Baby looks up at the standing man, his little hand holding onto his pant leg and the other holding up the truck. 

Obi Wan stares down at him, and that earlier aloofness, that stern way he regarded Din, and even you with, is gone, replaced by something tender, warm and soft. “Thank you, Baby,” he says, dropping to his eye level and gingerly taking the truck from chubby hands—the toy that seems so big in Baby’s hand completely swallowed by his larger one.

Baby lets out a pleased giggle and tilts his head, grabbing onto Obi Wan’s knees. “You're very welcome!” With a random smooch to Obi Wan’s nose, he moves away from him and makes his way over to you, grinning proudly.

Obi Wan stands, watching the little boy fondly as you ruffle his hair, giving him a wet kiss to his cheek that makes him laugh loudly. “You’re raising a wonderful boy, both you and Din.”

You pause your onslaught of kisses—Baby managing to slip away from your grasp—and you watch him closely, love filling your chest. “I like to believe we are.”

Baby moves to his bag and pulls out his learning tablet, immediately plopping down with it and opening up the case to pull up one of his many learning apps. It had taken you and Din a long time to finally give in and get him the darn thing, but Padmé had vouched for the item. Now Baby can’t have enough of it, always curious about everything and waving the thing in your face occasionally to ask you a question.

“I always knew your future family would be lucky,” he says, far away look in his eyes and smile barely lifted—there, just not wide. Your breath stutters. “You and Din make a lovely couple.”

Did he not know? Is this why he didn’t know about baby?

“Obi—” Your eyebrows furrow and you find yourself standing, tentatively reaching for his hand—and why do you feel like easing whatever turmoil he is in?—“Din and I… we care for eachother, deeply. He is my friend, the father of my child, but he and I—we haven’t been together in such a long time.”

“Maker.” He breathes in and out, squeezing your hand and lifting it to his face. “I have no right to be—I have been gone for too long, haven’t I?” He rests it against the slope of his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. “Missed out too much on your life. You’ve grown so much.” 

“So have you,” you whisper, allowing him to press kisses to your palm, wanting nothing more than to weave your hands into his hair. You repeat the words, because it’s true. You can see it in his tired eyes, how they don’t shine as they once used to—the lines that have appeared at the edge of his eyes and the beard he’s starting to grow out, keeping it nice and trim.

“Not as much as you think, my darling.” He chuckles, kissing your wrist one last time and just allowing your hand to cradle his cheek. “Appearance wise, maybe. But mentally…”

“That can’t be true. You wouldn’t be here if it were.” Even if it’s only for a couple of days.

“Perhaps.”

Baby giggles and you briefly glance at him. He’s perfectly content, mouthing words and sounding them out.

“If I,” Obi Wan starts, stealing your attention from your baby, “if I told you I wanted to stay, what would you say?”

Your throat swallows—dry, like sandpaper, eyes wide as they study him, searching for a semblance of uncertainty or lie in his words. Perhaps for a confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke meant to tug at your heartstring and pull them apart until you’ve become undone. There is nothing in his clear, blue eyes that tells you it is. 

But you know that Obi Wan wouldn’t say something like this without it holding some truth.

He waits patiently for you, eyes searching yours just as intensely—but he’s worried, eyes wavering, unconfident.

This isn’t you. This isn’t him. This topsy-turvy, unstable relationship where you’re trying to figure out the other person, learn who they have become in the years lost without asking or finding a reason to talk. No, your relationship was always about comfort, knowing the other by watching and observing, of making the other feel safe—at home.

You know how to respond, “I would say: welcome home, Obi Wan Kenobi.”

“I’m home,” his voice hoarse and thick, “my little warrior.”

Your mouth falls open—the words, the question: “are you truly staying?” stuck in your throat and trying to form on your tongue, but you’re in disbelief. “Obi-Wan, what—”

A small arm slivers around your leg, and you stumble forward from the startle and momentum, knocking into Obi Wan. Strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you upright and steady against his chest. Your eyes lock onto blue ones in surprise and he mumbles a soft, “Hello, there.”

You huff under your breath, mumbling your own, “hello” and he smiles at the sound. Ignoring the flutter in your tummy and chest (blaming it on the stumble you almost took), you glance down to find Baby with an arm wrapped around Obi Wan’s leg and yours, hugging you both tightly. 

“Welcome home, Obi,” he exclaims when you both glance down.

Obi Wan laughs loud, head thrown back and hair falling over his eyes—your heart constricts at the sight. When was the last time you saw him laugh like this—not in pictures or videos but in person? 

Too long, your heart supplies in a broken whisper.

“Why thank you, little one.” He slowly untangles himself from you and crouches down in front of Baby, brushing his curls away from his face. “Would you like to see a magic trick?”

“Magic?” Baby claps, letting out an excited chirp of agreement, ready to be wowed by whatever Obi Wan was about to show him. “Yes, please!”

Warmth takes over you as you watch how gentle Obi Wan is with Baby, which doesn’t surprise you. But it hits differently when it’s your own child he’s being sweet to. Is this what it would’ve been like if he had given you both a chance? Kids of your own? Marriage?

Your phone rings, pulling you out of a spiral of thoughts you would rather not go down when he’s present. You thank the maker for the timely call and answer without a thought—“Anakin.”

“Where are you?”

You sigh, turning away from Obi Wan and Baby to focus on your shelves full of astronomy books. “I’m not coming to lunch.”

Baby squeals in delight and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as he grabs the quarter Obi Wan produced from thin air.

“Is that the little womp rat I hear?” You hummed in agreement, briefly explaining why Baby is with you and not his father. “That usually doesn’t stop you from coming out to lunch with me.”

Baby shows you the coin and you mouth an excited, “Woah, that’s amazing!” He laughs giddily and returns it to Obi Wan, asking him to do it again.

You briefly glance at Obi Wan and Baby and lock eyes with the former. You offer him a small smile before quickly turning away. “You have something to tell him, don’t you? You said you would.”

“I—I know.”

“Not so easy, is it?” you murmur, trying to make a joke out of it, but it falls flat, and you know it does when he sighs.

“I’ll do it. I will,” he affirms. “Rip it off like a bacta strip.”

“Ani, you don’t have to.”

He’s quiet for a moment and when he breaks it, his voice does too, “I owe him this much.”

This much. Clean—the air was too clean when there was blood and death and—stop!

You shake your head and your heart drops to your stomach. Stars. You should’ve figured this had nothing to do with Obi Wan but everything to do with Anakin. Maker, how stupid could you have been? You were so worried about you and Obi Wan that you neglected Anakin completely!

“Ani—“ your breath stutters.

“Darling?” You turn around, and Obi Wan stands only a few steps away from you, Baby sitting on his forearm as if weighed nothing—blue eyes watching you worriedly. “Everything all right?”

No.

“Yes.” You clear your throat. “I think Baby and I will be joining you for lunch, afterall.” Anakin says your name, and you cut him off. “We’ll meet you by the pendulum.” Anakin once more says your name, but you hang up on him.

“Shall we get going?” You meet Obi Wan’s gaze with a shaky smile, pushing your hair away from your face. 

There was never a dull moment when it was you, Padmé, and Obi Wan. Your headmistress used to call you and Padmé trouble, wondering how it was possible you two could influence each other so badly and still keep up with your grades—as if sneaking out and fooling around occasionally was so blasphemous.

Things only got livelier when you graduated and Anakin moved to Coruscant. Thankfully for your headmistress’ blood pressure, you were long gone, starting university and finally moving into the apartment your parents had promised you would be yours (and Anakin’s). Instead, you were giving Obi Wan headaches and Padmé heart palpitations.

Much to their dismay and your amusement.

“Remember when you punched the guy?”

“Don’t remind me!” You groan, clutching your hand. “My hand still hurts whenever I think of that night.”

“If I remember correctly, Anakin also punched him,” Obi Wan says pointedly in Anakin’s direction. “And that ultimately got us banned from the bar.”

“To be fair, he was asking for it.” Anakin shrugs. “I only finished the job she started.”

“Go!” Padmé yelled, louder and with much force than Anakin. 

“What?” You didn’t even get to finish the word as the large man you had punched emerged from the bar, blood caked to his face and eye swollen beyond belief—which you know for a fact you didn’t do. And he wasn’t alone; four other men with menacing mugs followed after him, heads whipping in different directions—until they landed in your direction.

Your eyes widened and your heart dropped to your stomach—that’s not good. “Kriff!” 

Without waiting for the others, Obi Wan took your hand in his and began to lead you away from the parking lot, ignoring your sudden yelp at being tugged in the opposite direction of where you were positive he parked his car. 

“What did you do, Anakin?” Obi Wan yelled back at the twenty year old, who looked far too amused by the situation than he should’ve been.

“Gave him a little taste of what he deserved!”

Padmé yelled something, voice drowned out by a motorcycle rushing by you, but it was followed by laughter so loud it overpowered the sounds of the ever alive city.

“What was it that Padme said while we were running?” you ask, trying to remember with narrowed eyes.

“That they couldn’t take us anywhere nice,” Anakin says with a shit eating grin.

You scoff, muttering, “That’s right,” while turning to Baby to make sure he was finishing his soup.

“And she was right.” Obi Wan shakes his head. “Having to pick up my car from the tow yard was a nightmare the next morning.”

“Hey! Padmé and I thought you two were already in the car.” Anakin gestures between you and Obi Wan. “I was kind of chancing on our getaway car being ready, but no, instead you two were just standing there in the middle of the parking lot.”

Lips connected with your knuckles—soft, plush, delicate and your breath hitched—he was never this bold with you, always keeping you at a certain distance for as long as you could remember—his darling, but never truly his.

The corners of your lips drop and you try to pick them up again as best as you can, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. It does. You know it does with how Obi Wan’s smile wavers and Anakin glances between you with a raised brow.

“Well,” Obi Wan starts, hoping to remove the uncomfortable veil that has fallen over you, “it’s a birthday I’ll never forget.”

“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” Anakin takes the bait, recalling that night fondly. “But nothing beats turning 18 and finally moving to Coruscant, for me.”

You laugh under your breath and Obi Wan chuckles, both sounding a little strained, but Anakin doesn't seem to notice. Probably for the best.

“All done,” Baby suddenly celebrates, raising his arms with glee in your direction.

“Good job, you little womp rat!” Anakin reaches for Baby and cleans his face with a napkin, your little one allowing him to do so, unlike when you try to do it. While Anakin might have some thoughts towards Din, there was no denying Baby holds a spot in Anakin’s soft heart.

“I’ll get the check,” Obi Wan offers, waving to get the attention of your waiter. You’re about to refute him, but Anakin nudges your shoe and shakes his head. Sighing softly, you close your mouth and watch him give up his card to the young man that had been serving your table.

“Thank you,” you whisper gratefully and he smiles at you.

“It’s my pleasure, darling.”

With your meal paid and Obi Wan’s card returned to him, you exit the restaurant with Baby holding your hand and walking, refusing to be held and carried to the trolley. It means you’ll be walking slower, but maybe this is exactly what you need to be able to tell Obi Wan—more time.

You and Anakin exchange looks and he gives you a little nod while you let out a sigh—it’s now or never. 

Rip it off like a bacta strip, little one.

“Obi Wan,” you start slowly, “there’s something we need to tell you.”

He pauses mid walk and steps aside to leave an area of the sidewalk free for people to walk by. It’s a busy day, even for a weekday, but it’s not surprising. The plaza and park near the Observatory are always busy on bright, sunny days.

“We’ve been—we’ve been having—” Anakin lets out a growl of annoyance, struggling to be able to form the words. His eyebrows scrunch up and he scowls, and you gently pull him back with a squeeze of his shoulder. He glances at you and you tilt your head to the side.

He sighs and steps aside, taking Baby from you and leading him over to the grassy field to distract him for a few minutes.

“Is everything all right?” There’s a hint of panic in Obi Wan’s words and you quickly nod to try and dispel it.

“Yes!” He’s taken aback by the volume of your voice and you soften your next words, “Everything is fine. There’s just something he’s—we’ve been wanting to tell you for quite some time.” Now that your hands are unoccupied, you wring them and keep your eyes leveled with his chest. “Every year, for the past few years, we—we’ve been visiting your father’s resting place,” you whisper, afraid of what speaking these words aloud might do to him. Last time you tried telling him, he shut down the idea before you could even bring it up completely. 

“I—I see,” he answers with trepidation, unsure.

“Everyone gets together to clean the area and replace the flowers we leave for him when we visit.”

“I—I appreciate it.”

“And when we’re done we go home and we—”

“You honor my father,” he says hoarsely, finishing it off for you.

“It’s what he wanted,” you murmur. And it was. He knows this. He was present when Qui Gon said so. “We would—we would like it if you joined us, Obi Wan. Everyone brings a dish and we have live music, and we share stories—”

“I—I see… and when is this happening?”

“The day before—”

“The day before he passed,” he once again finishes for you and you nod hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze, and although he’s already looking at you, his eyes are glazed over, not exactly focused on you.

“Obi—”

He takes a step back and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, darling. I—I need to go.”

Not again. Please, not again!

“Obi—” you try once more, reaching for his hand, but he jerks away and your hand falls, grasping the empty space between the two of you—again.

“Please tell Anakin I will speak to him soon.” He turns on his heels and swiftly walks away—shoulders tense and never once looking back.

“You must let go when the time comes, little one.”

Your shoulders sag, letting out a shaky breath as Anakin comes to a stop beside you. There’s no need to look at him to know he’s been hurt by Obi Wan’s reaction, because you have been too. But what is there to expect of a person who doesn’t want to let go of the dead?

Obi Wan was right, he hasn’t changed at all, and you were a fool to hope otherwise. 

“Let’s go,” you break the silence, taking Baby from him and placing Anakin’s hand—that hand—in yours, not missing the way it trembles in your hold.

Mando’a translations

Buir = parents/son/daughter

Ad’ika = my child