#have you ever tried to wear a winged pad in briefs?

[acrustyscab]

ive said it once, ill say it again. WINGLESS PADS ARENT BAD YOURE JUST USING THEM WRONG. THEYRE MEANT FOR BOXER TYPE UNDERWEAR, OR ANY TYPE OF UNDERWEAR THAT HAS A LEG THAT WINGED PADS CANT WRAP AROUND!!! i will not be taking this wingless pag abuse any longer

WHO tf keeping pads with no wings in production?? Put it in your draws and by the time you walk out the bathroom it’s down the street buying scratch offs at the corner store. Like girl

[keilemlucent]

a night less cold

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~7.8k

beta’ed: @hawnks

happy birthday pro hero hawks! who’s ready for a night of dazzling and drinking?

you aren’t.

warnings: soft hawks, sick fic, hurt/comfort, a wittle angst, horny shit, fucking while sick, a wittle daddy kink 

...

a/n: happy birthday kei 🎉!!! happy to celebrate with a classic little slice of hurt/comfort and horniness <3 i’ve never done a true sick fic, so here’s a wittle bit of that as well!!! 

thank you for reading and enjoying this year, and being here!! i’m endlessly grateful and just :’^) full this day. enjoy loves 💕

|||||||||||

Keigo’s birthday was, historically, quite the spectacle. 

It was tradition that his once-budding, now-thriving agency would host a massive, grand party at a local venue, either an upscale club or dimly-lit, luxury hotel. Keigo would splurge his personal funds on the best music, food, and drinks that money could buy. There were popular DJs, the best and greasiest foods he could bring in, not to mention an open bar on every floor of the festivities.

It was quite a press event as well. Paparazzi and reporters would line up outside of the venue for a few quick words with heroes and socialites as they spanned the red carpet, colored like the vibrancy of his wings.

The event thereafter was debaucherous, obviously, according to Keigo, and quite a media circus as well. 

And this year, you were going as his partner and date, also obviously. 

The year prior, you and Keigo had still been relatively secretive about your relationship, but as you’d become quietly public in the recent months, Keigo was itching to show you off.

...

December 27th, you awoke in Keigo’s massive, soft bed to his soft humming and low coos, one of his more birdish qualities. The floating sound echoed from his chest to your ear that laid snug against it as he ran his fingers slowly around the shell of your ear.

As you cracked your eyes open, you immediately noted that you felt a bit... off. There was a sticky dryness in your throat that definitely hadn’t been there when you laid down the night before, at least not as strongly. 

You opted to ignore it, tugging Keigo closer by the small of his back and kissing his naked collarbones.

“Mornin’” You yawned, blinking sleep from your eyes. “What time is it?”

Keigo’s humming seized as his hand moved to run slowly up and down the back of your neck, “Early. Get some more rest.”

Shaking your head, you propped your head on your folded arms, regarding Keigo with a quiet reverence.

He was too pretty, it stunned you, most of the time. Even with a mop of slept-on blonde waves and the blushed lines and creases of the sheets on his cheeks, he still looked like some gracious god carved him from amber and marble. With the sheets pooling at his waist and a smirk growing on his lips, you couldn’t help smile back. 

“You’re staring,” Keigo grinned without a hint of ire. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute,” Heat pooled in your chest. “Happy early birthday, tailfeathers.”

“Why, thank you,” He lit up, wings puffing behind him as he tugged you closer by the waist. “I’m very excited for you to come tonight, you know. I get to show off my cute little dove to the prying eyes of the world.”

“Showing me off? I’m flattered,” You mused, leaning into his heat. “I’m excited too.”

Keigo took a quick pause before tilting your chin up with a single finger, “Are you sure you’re okay to go tonight?” 

“Of course!” You beamed, nuzzling into his neck and ignoring any odd aches in your sleepy muscles. “Why wouldn’t I be? Getting cold feet, birdy?”

He rubbed up your spine, dropping a kiss onto your crown, “You were coughing a bit last night, dove.”

That was news to you. It explained your gummy vocal chords.

“Dry air,” It had to be, right? “Just gave me a dry throat.”

Keigo didn’t look fully convinced in the sheets, feathers ruffled and forehead furrowed.

It was easy to smooth it away with a quick pounce, straddling his hips and kissing him breathless. A bit of an early birthday treat, you supposed, as you nipped and sucked down Keigo’s neck, the little jerks of his hips and swallowed groans only spurred you lower, down to his naked collarbones, grinding down on the hardening bulge in his boxers briefs—

Until your throat began to sting a bit too much for comfort. 

You turned your head away, covering your mouth with the back of your hand and clearing your throat.

“Dry air?” Keigo asked with a lopsided grin, hands moving from their wide splay on your inner thighs to around your ribs, coaxing you back into the sheets.

“Feels like it.”

You tried to brush off the feeling, though it lingered as the two of you readied for the day. 

A shower was had, steam filling the bathroom as you both sleepily washed each other. It was early enough to indulge in some chaste (and not-so chaste) kisses between washing each other in the spray.

Water poured down from the ceiling-mounted shower head, slicking the two of you with heat. Your head laid against Keigo’s chest as he washed your back, gently swaying your bodies with the tips of his wings against the dewy walls of the shower.

Resting against his chest was a comfort, so early. The day was packed, and you both knew it. A bit of respite before the chaos was much needed and incredibly welcomed. 

“Are you sure you need to go to work?” Keigo whined, the pads of his fingers dipping into any tension in your lower back. “I’d love to keep my little chickadee by my side all day.”

You sighed, “You know I would, but I’ve got that report due today and I think my boss will kill me if I don’t get it in on time.”

Keigo huffed, giving your ass cheek a little pinch. It worked to his favor as you yelped, falling against him. You felt him smirk against your wet hair.

“You could always just quit--” Keigo reminded you, a long-standing offer once more put directly on the metaphorical table.

...

It had become quite obvious that Keigo really loved taking care of you. It helped him in unspeakable ways that he had trouble describing to himself, let alone you. As much as he was considered lazy and brash by his colleagues, regarded as too much and too blunt, often to the point of detriment, he was nothing if not goal-oriented.

He just wanted to rest.

Keigo would give the world to just laze around, preferably and hopefully with you, as much as he could while still being a hero. Trouble was, he wasn’t built for loafing about. His years at the Commission truly altered the way his mind and body ran, permanently. It wasn’t something he was ever very explicit about with you, or himself for that matter. All of the brutal training— disgustingly long days with late nights and early mornings, harsh tests or endurance and stamina, and the pushing and pushing of his speed had a great side effect.

He couldn’t rest most of the time.

His body wouldn’t, couldn’t, as with his mind. Whether he was at home lounging or taking a break at his agency, he was always on guard, mentally sprinting for the next moment, and often without cause. It kept him constantly poised, tense, and on edge.

But when you came into his life, that slowly began to change.

It didn’t happen too early in your relationship, the beginning was slow after all. Lots of dancing around each other's feelings, banter and flirting which both of you equally were equally enraptured by the other, but assumed it was all baseless.

It hardly was.

Slowly as you too became closer, sharing space and nights twisted in the sheets together, early morning cups of coffee and little experiences Keigo never imagined he’d have with another person, something started to shift. 

When you started to settle in his life, Keigo had something to take care of and god, did it calm him. His need to be constantly moving, doing something, was still there, but when you were settled in his arms, he had something to do— many things to do. 

He had the privilege of taking care of you.

You were far more than an outlet for his energy, that would be a complete reduction of your relationship and you, but it was one of the many things Keigo was so grateful to you for.

...

You sighed wistfully, “Maybe someday, love. For now, I gotta get out of here, I don’t want to be late. And neither should you.”

“Aw, babe,” Keigo pouted, grabbing your ass with two hands, massaging at the residual suds in time with your budding whines and gasps. “Not even time for a quickie?”

“Later,” You slapped his hands away playfully. “Have you ever heard of ‘birthday sex’, love? You’ll be getting plenty of it.”

Keigo gave you one of his signature golden grins, cupping your jaw for a few more desperate kisses before you both exited the shower.

He helped you towel off, starting from your ankles to your thighs, lips trailing with promises of the coming day. They stretched up to your ribs, little nips placed on the underside of your breasts before he dried them. You watched his wings ripple and shift with each brush of his lips, obviously getting off on the treatment as much as you were. 

Fuck, did you adore him with your whole heart.

As you both dressed for the day, Keigo checked in, ever attentive.

“I’ll pick you up at your place this evening around eight, be dressed and ready for me, okay baby? We’ll go right to the venue.”

You nodded, reminded of the gorgeous (and pricey) outfit he’d treated you too, fitted just right and coordinating perfectly with his own outfit. It was the perfect match, absolutely ideal to show yourselves as the pair you were. 

“Perfect, I’ll be ready, done up and waiting,” You glowed with the thought, ignoring the twinge of pain, deep in your muscles. 

Nothing a cup of coffee and a few extra stolen kisses wouldn’t fix. 

You dressed quickly, rushing off to the subway as Keigo took off from the wide balcony of his apartment to prepare for his own day of preparations for the celebration.

The party would begin that night and wear into his birthday, midnight sounding would mean a round of shots for anyone who could still stand and a jeering of cheers for the beloved number two hero.

Meanwhile, you and your still-dry throat scampered off to work. 

...

It proved to not just be a dry throat. 

As you sat down at your desk to begin your shift, a little twine of dread had wormed its way into your ribs as an odd exhaustion settled in your bones.

As your shift began, a myriad of symptoms arose.

The air felt cold, too cold for what you were used to at your office. The cardigan your kept handy hardly did anything to keep out the unnatural chill. You took note of it with a few quick glances at your coworkers, all looking perfectly temperate in blouses and dress shirts. 

The knowledge did nothing to soothe your chattering teeth.

Next came the headache, a pounding behind your eyes as snot began to ooze from your nose, a little pile of tissues filled your small trash bin. In an act of desperation, you chugged your water bottle, hoping it would quell some of the stabbing pain that was stuffing your skull. 

(It didn’t.)

After your vision went double looking at your monitors, you relented and laid your head on the flat of your desk.

The dry throat you’d had worsened next, little coughs turning into hacking, dry wheezes that couldn’t be ignored in the din of your workplace. You covered them the best you could, trying to put on your best face as you slowly and painfully completed your due report. 

All the same, someone must’ve spotted you and your poor state as you were sent home shortly after.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

You tried to rationalize on the subway ride home. 

Admitting to being sick meant that the entire night would be beyond fucked. It was supposed to be a perfect night to let loose and be open with your love, not one spent curled in bed and aching.

You had time, you resolved, you could fix this. 

Despite the fact that, even in your winter coat, you were fucking freezing, you convinced yourself that you weren’t sick.

You couldn’t be. 

The ache in your muscles was from sleep deprivation and fatigue, obviously. The winter air was the source of your burning throat and eyes. Getting sick wasn’t an option.

As you journeyed home, you made a vow to simply sleep off your ills. 

Nothing a little rest couldn’t fix.

You practically kicked the door to your apartment open, the sound hardly phasing you as your ears had begun to ring on and off on the ride home. You haphazardly dropped your purse to the floor of your small foyer, kicking off your shoes and padding to your kitchen.

You rapidly tried to think of some remedies while still hardly acknowledging any potential illness. 

Your first thought was tea, something herbal with lemon and honey tossed in to soothe your throat. The kettle was set and bubbling as you gathered your supplies for a cup that was sure to soothe you in full.

The kettle clicked off, and you poured the steaming water into your cute mug (a gift from Keigo) with shaking hands, ignoring the trembling and hyper-focusing on making sure the stream was in the correct place.

Was pouring water always this hard?

You ignored the thought.

Rather, you wandered off to the bedroom, praying the heat from the mug in your hands, scalding, would warm your shivering body.

(As if you weren’t already burning up.)

You hardly had sense left in you by the time you crawled into the sheets, ruffling them as you attempted to burrow in any heat they could provide. The chill of the unused bedding seeped into you as your teeth chattered. You couldn’t be bothered to even change from your work clothes, the thought of any nakedness sending a new sharp shiver through you.

You just needed a quick nap. 

As much as you wanted to sip away at your tea, your mind was going fuzzier by the minute. You sank into the mattress, steaming liquid (and the night’s coming events) forgotten as you fell into a fitful sleep.

...

Your dreams were sordid.

Vivid colors and loud sounds, hardly making any sense, but still, hardly fear into your cooking brain without reason. It blended into some horrid mix of sensations that had you tossing and turning in your sheets. 

...

Tap, tap, tap.

...

The sound made your ears burn. 

You groaned, shoving your pounding head into the pillow. 

...

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

...

It had to be a sound from the inside of your skull, it had to be with how much it thundered, the pounding in your head going harder with each sharp knock. 

...

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound was more insistent now, oscillating between your dream and reality. 

The pressure in your forehead wasn’t helping.

...

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap— 

...

“What the fuck,” You audibly cursed, pushing yourself out of bed and awake as you could be. Holding yourself above the sheets, your swallowed back bile as your stomach rolled with new nausea. 

Your gaze drifted to a red glow in the room, your alarm clock— 

8:34 PM.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Tap, tap, tap, tap— 

As fast as you could push your aching muscles to move, you slipped from the bed, whimpering at the chill of the cold floors and air. Shakily, you wrapped a throw blanket around your shoulders and padded to the living room.

Your stomach dropped as Keigo waited outside the balcony door.

His party was starting within the hour.

You hadn’t changed, showered, or done any sort of primping. Your outfit that was still hung on the back of your bedroom door, untouched and cold. 

Tears sprung to your eyes as you slowly made your way to the door, trying to avoid Keigo’s gaze.

Your shaking hands undid the latch. 

You swallowed back as many symptoms as you could, mind racing to figure how quickly you could get ready and if you even could. Makeup could be completed quickly, messily more than likely, but maybe Keigo could touch it up for you once you arrived. Your hair was a nightmare, but maybe you could tame it with a few extra minutes— 

As the door opened, you stepped to the side, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. Maybe, Keigo wasn’t upset with you, maybe you could get your shit together in fifteen minutes— 

Keigo’s hands went to his hips, wings tight to his back as a frown settled over his pretty plump lips. 

“... You’re not ready?” Keigo asked, stating the obvious as you rubbed a hand over your face.

“N-no,” You cursed at your voice strained and crackled. “Give me a few minutes, I fell asleep.”

You prayed your excuse would be enough. 

“... For how long, birdie? Are you okay?” Keigo hardly sounded upset, concern lacing his tone more than anything else.

You turned away from him, trudging back towards your bedroom. It was possible to get yourself ready quickly, it had to be you. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin his birthday with your tardiness (and sickness.) The fear spurred your steps to speed—

But Keigo was always faster.

He caught your wrist, tugging and spinning you back towards him. His hands, fingers wrapped in pretty gold rings, landed on your shoulders. His pretty ambers scanned you down, feathers ruffling as his frown deepened.

“How are you feeling?” Keigo asked, open-ended while his index and forefinger pressed to your pulse point, and his gaze flickered to the fat watch on his wrist.

“‘M fine, Kei’,” You murmured, weakly pushing his hand away. “Let me go get ready, I’ll just be a minute or two, promise.”

Keigo hadn’t looked angry since he’d stepped into your apartment, but his expression was souring in a new way. He pulled you close by the waist, lips finding your forehead.

You both stilled.

You knew you were fucked, with his lips so gentle and sweet against his forehead. He knew you were far worse off than you were letting on. 

“Dove,” He murmured, voice low and kind. “How do you feel?”

“S-stop,” You pushed at his chest weakly. “I’m okay, I don’t want to fuck up tonight.”

That made Keigo act, the air practically shifting as he scooped you up in his arms, throwing your arms around his neck as he carried you to your bedroom. Setting you onto the sheets, you wrapped your blanket around you tighter, stomach rolling and head burning with its ache and new tears pricking your eyes.

Keigo kneeled, settled between your knees, cupping your cheeks and continuing to look you over.

“Do you have a thermometer? I think you’ve got a fever,” Keigo asked, tapped your chin towards him when you tried to look away from him.

Ignoring his question (you had to), you bit your lip, “I don’t want to ruin your night, Keigo, ‘m sorry.”

Your words slurred as little tears began to drip down your burning cheeks. You rubbed at them with your blanket-covered fists.

Honestly? You felt pretty pathetic. The fever rotting your skull was definitely affecting your judgment, but you didn’t have the sense to care or rationalize. 

“Little bird,” Keigo softened, concern coloring his features. “You don’t need to worry about that. Can you tell me where your thermometer is? Maybe some pain medicine too?”

You shook your head, little tears turning fat as you lowered your head.

Keigo audibly winced, something you hardly caught with your sickness was swarming.

“Baby, don’t cry now, it’s alright,” Keigo assured you, pushing your hands away to take the task of wiping your tears away, the chill of the rings on his fingers almost burning. “Don’t worry about the party.”

“But, K-Keigo,” Your voice wobbled as your wrapped your hand around his wrist, over his watch. “You need to go, your party is soon.”

It was.

Your gazes both slide to the alarm clock nearby, the time steadily creeping towards the party’s official start time for the press. There were already scheduled interviews, you and Keigo were to be photographed and ogled at, him shining and dazzling in his signature, blunt way.

You were supposed to be on his arm—

Except, you were feverishly between his palms, crying steadily at the thought of missing the evening.

“Dovie, I need you to listen, please,” Keigo urged you, rubbing heat into your cheeks (even though they were already scalding). “You don’t need to worry about the party. That doesn’t matter. What does is that you’re obviously not feeling well—“

“I’m f-fine!” 

It was meant to be a strong declaration, something that would convince Keigo that your feverish state didn’t impede your ability to attend, or at least impede his.

“You’re burning up,” Keigo reminded you. 

Your tummy tossed and you shook your head.

He just kept talking, “I’m staying until I know you’re alright—”

That got you even more upset, shaking your head hard and fast even as your skull throbbed.

“No, n-no, no,” You pleaded. It was one thing for you to be unable to attend the highly-anticipated evening, it was entirely another for Keigo to be late to his own party, let alone fucking miss the event— “N-no, absolutely fucking not, ‘Kei. You can’t—”

You wept into his hands as hot tears trailed from the corners of your eyes to drip down your jaw.

...

Keigo’s heart hurt.

His hands shook, more-than-likely imperceptible to you as you sobbed in his hands, soon in his arms, as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull your burning body into his lap.

He tucked your face into the crook of his neck, playing with the hair at the back of your neck, unable to ignore how hot and clammy your skin remained, despite how you shivered and how your teeth clattered together.

You were sick and worked up, that much was for certain.

His wings flexed, the muscles bound-up and more tense than he would’ve liked. Worry laced his expression, his actions, as he tucked your sweaty and tear-matted hair behind your ear.

“It’s okay for you to miss tonight, there’ll be more times to do things like this together,” Keigo quietly assured you.

“But it’s your birthday—”

“That doesn’t matter to me more than you,” Keigo’s breath hitched with his own honest, full-chested admission. “It’s just a night, chickadee. I’m far more concerned with you.”

That unignorable itch and urge his chest flared, hot and bright as your fever and burning cheeks. He squeezed around your body, wishing he could absorb a bit of your hurt as his lips brushed over your temples.

“N-no,” You pulled away from him, shaking your head. “You c-cannot get sick. No.”

Keigo raised an eyebrow at your teary expression.

“I can do whatever I’d like,” He tilted his head sympathetically. “Which is why I’m staying—”

Your expression brightened in the same breath as you narrowed your gaze. Something about the heat swimming in your skull made things tilt and shift perspective. 

Why is he being so insistent?

“Are...” You swallowed around your words, hands folding in your lap. “Are you trying to get out of going to your own event?”

...

That might’ve been too much.

Even your feverish mind could tell you were being stubborn to a fault. The thought of Keigo taking care of you while you were obviously not doing well warmed you in an actually good way. 

And it seemed you were expressing that same brand of honesty that Keigo was so known for exercising.

You weren’t even sure how you deduced such a claim, but still, you’d ask, perhaps fanning the flame—

“... Looks like you caught me, little bird,” Keigo chuckled, something sad and low, chin tucking over the top of your head. 

You remained silent for a moment, head ringing.

“... You don’t want to go tonight?” You asked, softer this time. The rings on his fingers clicked as he drew absent-minded shapes over your clothed thighs.

“It’s complicated,” Keigo admitted. “I’d much rather spend the night with you, here.”

You were both silent for a while.

The last of your tears ebbed away as the thoughts of the evening of dancing and drinking faded. The outfit in its garment bag was forgotten as your hands buried into Keigo’s hair.

His hands played with the hem of your shirt, a reminder that you’d never changed after work, too sick to even crawl from your business casual dressings.

You broke the silence, voice crackling with a suppressed cough.

“The thermometers under the sink in the bathroom.”

...

Keigo returned after nestling you in your sheets. 

He had helped you from your work clothes, gently helping pull off and away your sweat-dampened blouse and bottoms. Gentle hands and nimble fingers slipped you into some sleep clothes, sweatpants and a long sleeve Keigo had left at yours some time ago. The slots that had been cut for his wings felt far too breezy, but the comfort of the garment being his far outweighed it. 

You wrapped yourself in it as you burrowed into the sheets.

Keigo sat on the edge of the bed, tapping the tip of the thermometer against your lips, “Open, angel.”

Your lips barely cracked open, just enough for the device to be slotted on the top of your tongue. A few of Keigo’s feathers trailed him, bringing a lukewarm rag that he sat on your forehead.

You shivered and let out a whine, giving him a frown as the thermometer beeped.

101.8 °F.

“That doesn’t sound good,” You muttered, burying yourself deeper. “‘M sorry again.”

“No need to apologize,” Keigo assured you once more. Despite the practiced steadiness of his tone, his wings were half-unfurled, poised and tensed. Nervousness radiated from him in a way that he prayed you were too out of it to pick up. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, dove, promise.”

You gave him a shallow nod as Keigo portioned out a dose of cold medicine into the provided cup, scrutinizing the line on the cheap plastic.

“Why did you plan such a big night if you’re trying to get out of it?” You asked, fisting the duvet. “You don’t need to, do you?”

“I don’t,” Keigo sighed, awed by how quickly he admits his inner workings to you (yet again.) “It is a fun night, a lot of fun. It’s just...”

He trailed off as he set down the sickly green bottle with a sigh.

Why did he plan such a night if part of him was goddamn ecstatic about the opportunity to bail on it?

“A lot. It’s just a lot.”

“... You don’t even like drinking much, do you?” You asked, rising up from under your many blankets despite your shivering. 

Once, Keigo did. His birthday was a time to get drunk on a bottle of too-expensive liquor on the floor of his too-expensive, too-empty penthouse while trying not to simmer in the loneliness that had become his norm.

“I used to,” Keigo said, a bit too wistful. “The party was just an excuse to not do it alone.”

It was far more fun to get shitfaced with a crowd of folks who saw him as beloved, even if they didn’t really see him. It was more entertaining to dance the night away, fill his room with pretty, tight cunts, one after the other than lay on the cold hardwood of his own floor, ignoring the clawing despondence that he couldn’t avoid as he got another year older—

Either way, alone or not, fucked up or fucked or not, he always felt rotten the next day.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Your words were soft, maybe just for yourself, but Keigo caught them all the same. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Keigo placed the little cup to your dry lips. “That’s why I don’t want to go.”

...

You swallowed down the medicine, grimacing at the taste and gagging. Your rolling stomach didn’t appreciate the flavor, bile rising in the back of your throat.

“Easy now,” Keigo ran a hand through your hair as another cup was placed to your lips. “Sip.”

You wrapped your hands over Keigo’s as you all-but chugged the water, even if your stuffy nose made it taste dusty and odd.

“Good girl,” Keigo beamed, pressing a kiss to your shoulders, urging you back into the sheets. “Can you scoot for me?”

You nodded, purring with the praise, and shifted only enough for Keigo to join you in the covers, perfectly windswept, styled hair mussed up against the pillows, outfit rumpled without a care otherwise. 

You both wrapped up the other in an instant.

Keigo was warm, as were you, even if you couldn’t feel it. Your body ached with each movement, your limbs growing heavy with the syrupy medicine.

“You should go,” You told him softly, speaking quickly before Keigo could disagree. “Just for a little bit. Fashionably late, and all. See some folks.”

“... I don’t want to leave you like this,” He squeezed you, burying his face in your hair. 

“I’m just sick, Keigo,” You frowned, little fingers pulling at his jaw so you could meet his gaze. “I’m not dying.”

Sure, you felt like absolute shit at that moment, but the tug of slumber was beginning to outweigh your symptoms. 

“Are you sure?” 

You didn’t miss the tremble in Keigo’s tone.

“Of course,” You rubbed your fingers over his stubbly chin and soft cheeks. “I’ll be right here, always.”

And both of you shared a quiet moment of understanding.

...

Keigo stayed until you fell asleep, though it didn’t take long at all. Your head laid on his chest, hot puffs of breath pulling from your parted lips as Keigo took to running his hands wherever he could reach. 

Your body was hot, hot enough to worry him, but he placated his protective urges (as much as he could) with the sound logic that you, indeed, did just have a fever, albeit a bad one.

Keigo left you with an array of feathers, settled around and up against your body, Your cheek was tucked into one of the broader ones, filaments remaining silken and soft. It would be a bit overwhelming, the sensation of you and your body with the crowds, paparazzi and sounds, but he’d manage.

He arrived fashionably late with a golden smile, and left unexpectedly early before the hour even struck midnight.

The turning of his birthday would be shared elsewhere. 

...

You were right there, just as you promised when he returned.

The rustling of fabric and feathers is what roused you, half-way and through your medicine-induced haze. 

There was the quiet sound of your dresser opening and shutting as your eyes recognized. 

Your vision was blurred, but you still outstretched your palm to Keigo. He was still changing, pretty outfit gone, rings and watch discarded onto the top of your dresser. He stood nearly naked, just in boxer briefs and his entirely unbuttoned dress shirt. 

“Pretty bird,” Your voice slurred as Keigo graced you with a lazy smile. “Get over here.”

“On my way, chickadee,” The smile in Keigo’s voice glowed, even in the dark of your room. “Thank you.”

“Love you,” You responded, hand falling onto the duvet, not nearly as uncomfortably cold as before. “So much.”

Keigo’s breath hitched with the common affection.

Sleepily, you wondered, “Has anyone told you that on your birthday?”

You didn’t realize you’d said it aloud.

Keigo was by your side a moment later, feathers returning to his full wings, body warm and comfortable and purely home. You snuggled into him, pulling him close with a hand around his waist, pushing weakly at the tension bound up in the fat he carried above his waist.

His wings rustled, settling half-extended over your mattress and undoubtedly drooping to the floor. Your legs tucked around his, his hands settling over your spine to count each of the vertebrae like it was the beats of a song only you too sang.

Keigo tried his best to ignore his own stray tears. It was easier to cry around you, either because he was so damn comfortable around you, or that you were a bit of a crybaby yourself. 

Either way, Keigo was grateful for it. 

You, in your feverish state, only felt Keigo in all of his rawness. The swell and crest of his breath, the tempo of his heart, the gentle hands and precious pressure he doled out against the tension you bore in your body, all were familiar but blessed no matter how many times you were graced by him.

Keigo wasn’t an angel, he was better than one, wings aside.

You cracked your sleep eyes open, palms around his jaw, cupping and caressing as was your rite.

Your gaze drifted just beyond Keigo to the glow of your alarm clock.

12:03 AM.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Keigo didn’t reply, only giving an audible swallow and a shaky swallow. You can feel his tears soak your fingertips. 

You kissed them away, licking at the salt with the tip of your tongue, relishing Keigo’s little giggles, all for you and him to share, just the two of you.

“I adore you, you know,” you admitted, though he already knew so well. “I love you, Keigo. Thank you.”

Maybe a few of your own tears fell as you pressed your cheek to his, kissing up and down his jaw, nosing at the beat of his heart under his jaw. 

Keigo layered love onto you, little repetitions, desperately returned, and shared affection. ‘I love you’s and sentiments too soft and important slipped between the two of you as sleep pulled you both under.

...

The morning came with the graces of a gentle, orange sun.

It stretched over the sheets, slipping in, uninvited but not unwanted, from around the thin curtains you had hung.

Once more, you awoke to Keigo’s little coos and hums, though he was far less awake. 

Before even opening your eyes, your lips found his own. Both yours and his were parched from sleep, sticky breath hardly pleasant, but neither of you minded.

You swallowed a surprised chirp from him, rolling your hips into his own.

Keigo stilled you with a gentle hand on the back of your thighs, gripping the fat and flesh with enough force to have you purring. 

“Mornin’, chickadee,” Keigo broke the kiss only to murmur against your lips. 

“Hi,” You pulled away to smooth your thumbs over his cheeks, still sticky from the night before. “I love you.”

And Keigo lit, matching with the rays that filled your room, “I love you too.”

You beamed back, not bright in that same way, but luminous all the same.

Keigo took you in breathlessly, the simpleness of you leaching all air from his lungs and unwanted thoughts from his mind. 

If Keigo was like the sun, all gold in the morning and red in dusk, then you were every other star that wreathed the moon. You didn’t see it, not the same way he did, but then again, only Keigo had the privilege of seeing the way how you exchanged pieces of yourselves with each other without fear.

The tenderness of that morning was far, far better than anything he’d had in years past. He missed nothing about the pounding of his skull from the liquor the night prior, the insistent need to piss out his sins and the clingings of at least a dozen perfumes from the night before.

Even that hot and fast burning ecstasy couldn’t compare to sharing the morning sun with you.

“How do you feel?” You asked, breaking Keigo from his quiet worship.

Keigo snorted, pressing his lips to your forehead, gauging the temperature, “I should be asking you that.”

“Sweaty,” You tugged on the long sleeve and bumped one of your now-naked thighs into his own. “I think my fever broke in my sleep.”

Thank God.

Keigo reached around you, rustling around for the thermometer, and placing it under your tongue.

99.3 °F.

“Looks like it,” Keigo let out a sigh of relief. “Do you feel better?”

“Mostly,” You nosed your way back under his chin for all the extra affections you could give. “Just tired.”

“We’ll have an easy day then,” Keigo replied, feathers rippling at the idea of a slow, free day in bed with you. 

“But it’s your birthday— “

Keigo cut you off with a finger to your lips and a sly smile, “And I would like nothing more than to spend it, like this, with you.”

You inspected his face for any signs of dishonesty. 

There wasn’t even one.

“Okay, then let me rephrase,” You huffed a little. “But what about birthday sex? I really was prepared to have you cum down my throat at least four times today.”

Keigo snorted again, flitting laughter bursting from his lips as he pulled you to his chest and smothered you with kisses.

“There’s absolutely nothing stopping us from fucking until the sun goes down, other than how you feel and what you’re up for,” Keigo reminded you, his hand drifting up to your ass and squeezing. The way you jolted into him with a little whine had Keigo already wanting. “I can make it nice and easy for you, little bird.”

You shuddered, hands drifting to the roots of his wings and teasing the small, silken feathers, “Why don’t you show me?”

Keigo needed no other command.

...

You knew Keigo could be so greedy with his touches. Some nights he’d take and take and take. He’d pull from you anything and everything you’d offer, leaving you gasping and stuffed-full with a happily broken mind. He loved stealing your breath with the pounding of his hips, stealing the sounds from your lips as they came, though you gave them freely.

That day didn’t feel like that.

“I want to be so deep in you, dovey,” Keigo purred, cooing from the back of his throat. His hand slipped between your clammy thighs. “Feel you all over.”

The pad of his index fingers ran over your clothed clit, teasing and wanting in the same moment.

“Y-you can have me any way you want,” Your voice had already gone gooey and high, pitching up and sweetened. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You rubbed at the apex of his wings, where the little feathers bled from the roots of his wings to the base bones. A low groan rumbled from his chest, one of your favorite sounds. Nothing got Keigo weaker than little pets and play to his wings. They were so sensitive from years of touch solely by his own hand. They were coveted, a part of the holy structure of his body that he hardly allowed anyone else to fully take in unless necessary, before you anyways. 

That was your privilege.

Keigo slipped your panties off, the cotton fabric discarded and forgotten. A moment later, your shirt followed, leaving you bear to him.

There was still the impulse to cover yourself. Keigo loved looking at you, his pupils wide as they traced over your curves night after night like it was the first time he’d seen your skin and curves. 

That morning, the feeling fell away quickly as you urged his own scraps of clothing off.

He was already hard, leaking from the thought and sight of you. You were hardly different, Keigo’s fingers teasing the lips of your sex and pulling away wet.

Without shame, he popped the finger into his mouth, sucking away your slick like it was nectar.

You tipped onto your back, pulling Keigo with you. One hand remained buried and busy with his wing while the other slipped between your bodies, wrapping around his pretty cock and stroking slow.

He gasped into your mouth as you thumbed over the head.

Smiling against his lips, you nipped and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, enjoying your little moment of control.

Keigo stole it back quickly.

Carefully, he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushed your legs up and out. Before you had a chance to so much as whimper, Keigo slid a finger into your cunt, then two, curling against the bundle of nerves.

Your back arched, your grip on him tightened as you gasped his name like the last note of a hymn. 

And Keigo wanted more.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Keigo panted, breathless and strained as he adjusted your legs over his shoulders, bearing his weight on his arms that went to brace around your head.

“C-can I have a pillow?” 

“For your hips?”

“Uh-huh.”

Keigo gave you a flurry of kisses, a wordless ‘of course, I want to make you feel so good’. There was an art to wordless communication and Keigo was a goddamn masterful craftsman.

The pillow slipped was your lower back, tilting your hips up and cushioning them from whatever treatment Keigo laid upon them.

With a shaking hand, he removed yours, guiding it to his wings as he lined up his cock with your cunt and fucked into you in a single fluid motion.

The burn of it was enough to have you gasping, scrambling to hold onto his shoulders and tuck your face into his neck with a whine. Keigo soothed you without question, barely rolling his hips are you adjusted.

He settled over you close, chest brushing yours, the cold of the bars through his nipples always a shock, even when you expected it.

“M-more,” You whined, needy and sweltering with a tug of his wings. “Please.”

Keigo hummed, palming one of your breasts with a twist of your nipple, “But, you beg so pretty, little bird. What if I want to hear more? It is my birthday.”

It was, and Keigo wanted to be so close it hurt. He hardly had the patience for teasing, but when your voice got so syrupy and desperate, he couldn’t help but tug at your soon-to-be-fucked mind. 

Truthfully, what Keigo wanted most for his birthday fucking was to stuff you so good and full that your tummy bulged under the flat of his palm. He wanted his cock to brush and bruise the deepest parts of you until all you knew was the chant of his name as you came so well and hard that you fucking blacked out.

But, he had to be tender. 

Had to be.

“P-please!” You tilted your hips for more of him as if Keigo wasn’t already filling you up fully and perfectly. “Anything you w-want, please.”

“You mean it, little bird?”

“Uh-huh.”

And sweetly, perfectly, Keigo fucked you into the mattress.

There was some reverie in it, there had to be with the way you so gently carded through the hyper-sensitive, rounded feathers that stretched onto his back. It juxtaposed the way he railed and ruined your cunt, slick sticking your inner thighs and his pelvis with each thrust. 

Each motion went so deep, you swore you could feel it in your gut. Maybe, that was why Keigo was fucking you so close, with your bodies pressed together and sharing air and heat so closely, it was hard to tell where another experience ended and another began.

You didn’t expect the first time you came, your eyes stretching wide as your crest drowned you well and sweetly. You buried your face into Keigo’s now marked and bitten neck and let out a choked sob as your cunt fluttered around him.

Keigo took a moment to slow, as he only peaked with you, but he wasn’t ready to be done with you yet. His hips barely moved in you, just nudging deeper, and deeper— 

“More,” Greedy, such a greedy little whore. “M-more, please.”

Keigo chuckled, pushing some of his sweaty waves back, “Think you can handle it, little bird?”

Your face, hot with pleasure and eyes wide with want, went determined as you tugged on the wings, nails raking through the unpreened feathers.

“Fuck me like you mean it, K-Keigo— Daddy.”

Keigo stilled, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the flaring of hot, yellow fire in his chest, “You really want to push that button so early?”

“Were you planning to fuck me like a pussy the rest of the morning?” 

Where did your fire come from? You were sure, maybe it was the leavings of your fever, but you didn’t care. You wore your smitten grin as Keigo’s gaze darkened, pupils so fat and focused, the citrine of his eyes was swallowed whole.

Keigo slapped a hand over your mouth, squeezing around your jaw, and fucking into you once, sharper and deeper than he had before. Your vision nearly went white, body fucked over-sensitive once but still begging for more.

Greedy, greedy, greedy.

Gluttons, the both of you.

As per your request and Keigo’s deepest wants, Keigo fucked you so earnestly, deeply, and without holding back that part of you feared the bed would break.

Each cant of his hips had your tugging at his feathers, the twitch of his cock inside more than enough of a sign at how fucking wild your touch was making him. That wasn’t to mention the filth that rolled from his lips, pants and whines and groans and words—

“Daddy’s little bird just gives so well, d-don’t you?” Keigo’s probably bruising your cervix, but you didn’t have the mind to care. “Letting me t-take whatever I want?”

You nodded behind his palm, half shrieking as his hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing your swollen clit, hot pressure building up in your gut by his hand, just as you liked.

As much as he took, he gave.

It only took a few more moments for you to sob behind his palm, clutching as your shoulders as you came so hot and bright and well, your vision sparkled and went black.

With the way your cunt clamped down around Keigo’s cock, he came just behind, filling you so, so good. His hand flew to your tummy, eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself fill you with fat cock and thick cum.

You gasped as you came down, panting and clutching at Keigo as he did the same. You hushed each other with des[erate kisses, quiet praises too precious and sacred to be written, but that could certainly be felt in the air that remained conjunct between the pair of you.

Keigo rose from your body, thighs shaking in time with your own as he lowered your legs on to the sheets.

You were both messes, covered in sweat and spit and sweetness, but neither of you cared.

“You okay, little bird?” He asked, soft in the aftermath, kissing the damp apples of your cheeks. 

“Uh-huh,” You gave him the best type of fucked out smile. “Can’t wait for more, it is your birthday.”

“And...” Keigo found himself speaking without thinking. “You’re here for it? All of it?”

He knew that, did he really need the reassurance—?

 “Every bit of it, lovebird,” You tacked on the nickname, rising on your undoubtedly sore hips. “Every moment.”

And he couldn’t be happier about it. 

 ||||||||||||||||||

thank you for reading!!!! 💕

ko-fi

[itcameuponamidnightqueer]

beau wakes up calm.

it’s a feeling so pervasive that she’s almost unsettled by it. their lives aren’t calm right now, between eiselcross and vess de rogna and now these eyes that keep popping up all over her and caleb. any calm she feels is usually immediately overshadowed by guilt for feeling it.

but beau can’t find it in her to feel guilty right now, not when the tower is quiet and there is a large, warm arm thrown protectively over her stomach. not when beau can feel the tickle of hot air at the back of her neck as yasha breathes, steady and restful in a way she doesn’t get to be when she’s awake. beau considers learning magic just so she can stop time and give yasha all the rest she deserves.

for now, she slowly rolls onto her back, taking care not to jostle yasha or slip out from under her secure embrace. she rolls over and doesn’t open her eyes until she’s on her back, the mirror directly above her, waiting.

it’s a sex mirror. of course it’s that, because caleb said as much when he told her about it, and god, does she owe him a week’s worth of uninterrupted research or whatever nerdy thing he wants in return. it’s a sex mirror and she and yasha have checked that off their list already, at least for the first time. second, fourth, something--they have definitely checked that off their list for a quantifiable number of times, it’s just that beau doesn’t quite know the number.

it’s a sex mirror but it’s also not because it’s more, because beau opens her eyes and can see the two of them as they are now--wrapped together, heavy and sticky in the illusory sunlight, sheets draped carelessly across their legs. they look good together. it isn’t the first time beau’s thought that, and with any luck (and a lot of hard work), it won’t be the last. but this is the first time that beau’s had the chance to really sink into that feeling, to see the reality of it and commit it to memory.

beau takes her time looking, glances over her own familiar body and the way it melts against one she can’t wait to know better. she should be a little cold perhaps, given that the sheets don’t go any higher than her hips and she hasn’t been wearing clothes for a good couple of hours. but yasha is so very there, so wide and curled around her in a way that seeks comfort as much as gives it. she’s on her side, the parts of her that aren’t touching beau sprawled greedily across the expanse of the bed. beau could spend hours looking at this reflection of them, of yasha and the curve of her muscles; the way her skin actually seems to create a glare in the early morning light. it’s so bright normally, even brighter now for the nearness of beau. time is fleeting and the tower will disappear soon and so beau is greedy--she looks at the angle of yasha’s legs, the way she twitches her toes on the one foot that hangs over the edge of the bed. beau looks at yasha’s back, the slope and strength of it; she remembers how solid and warm it felt under her fingers just a few hours ago. beau has known how sturdy yasha is since they met--has lusted over it since then, to be honest--but to feel it within her grasp, to be pressed against it and to have it soften and yield at her touch…

beau would learn magic to give yasha the peace she needs. she would learn art to memorialize this moment and the way they look together.

she watches yasha sleep, clocks the way her nose is pressed into the crook of beau’s neck. she almost cries at the drape of yasha’s arm across her chest--a few inches down and she’d have a handful of boob. as it is, beau’s heart is beating a rhythm right into yasha’s palm. 

beau turns her head away from yasha and clears her throat. “hey.” she clears it again when it becomes clear just how ragged it’s gotten. “dachsies, can you hear me? or do i have to yell.” she waits, straining to listen for the soft clink of a tiny bell or two. “frumpkin?” she tries again.

there is a faint ‘mrrp’ and the door to her bedroom opens slightly, just wide enough for a lithe fey cat to slip through. she can’t see frumpkin as he enters the room, but he’s there all of a sudden, jumping noiselessly and weightlessly on top of the bed.

he stares at her expectantly and beau wishes very much that caleb isn’t snooping, too.

frumpkin walks forward and sits next to her, the not-quite-fur of his tail swishing against her side. beau can’t help reaching out with the hand that isn’t trapped by yasha’s body and giving him a few scratches under his chin. he preens, closes his eyes tilts up to give her a better angle, and settles right back into his serious face when she pulls away.

“can you get the hot tub going again,” beau murmurs, “with some nice shampoos and shit? and maybe start working on a few dozen pancakes; i’m sure the others are gonna barge in here soon. make sure there’s a stack of spider ones for me and yash.”

frumpkin chirps again, butts his head against her chest as he jumps off the bed. beau reaches out to affectionately grab his tail, chuckling as it slips through her hands.

yasha is awake when beau turns back to look at her.

“hello,” yasha whispers. “good morning.” beau cuts her off with a kiss. “i love you.”

beau smiles at that, rolls over and presses herself firmly into yasha. she repositions yasha’s arm to wrap around her back, laughs when yasha drifts downward and squeezes her ass. beau kisses her again and again, slow and firm, catching any inch of lips or neck that she might have missed before. her hands roam without any destination, traipsing over the plane of yasha’s stomach, tickling at the dimples in her shoulders underneath which her wings sprout. beau knows how sensitive those spots are now, and she presses her fingers against them, syncs that up with another determined kiss. she doesn’t miss the way yasha’s tongue stutters against her own, the brief loss of contact she sacrifices to gasp, just a little.

yasha’s nails turn inwards and dig into beau’s hips, and beau returns the favor. 

beau reaches upward and grips yasha’s chin, marveling at the fact that her thumb seems to fit perfectly over the line of black beneath yasha’s lip. she pulls away and tickles the skin there, can’t resist one more kiss, especially when it elicits that special, breathy kind of laugh from yasha.

she makes sure yasha’s eyes are open and looking at her before she speaks.

“i love you, too,” beau says, her voice deeper and hoarser than usual, even for the morning. “last night was...i won’t ever forget it, yash.”

“me either.”

“might have been the best night of my life.”

“not if i have anything to say about it,” yasha winks. “i wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“yeah,” beau sighs--breathes, really, and she falls a little more in love with the way yasha doesn’t turn her face away from what is definitely a bad case of morning breath. “we’ve still got some time before we have to, though. the dogs are setting up the hot tub right now.”

yasha laughs, deep and rumbly and beau feels it in her chest. “before all of you i never would have understood that sentence.”

“right?”

“mhm. it is--a very fun thing to think about.”

yasha gently lifts a strand of hair from beau’s face and tucks it behind her ear. beau watches the entire time, so entranced by the size and safety of yasha’s hands, so determined to follow their path with a kiss, that she misses yasha’s other hand coming up to rest behind her legs, and beau lets out a very uncool yelp as yasha lifts her from the bed.

yasha drags them across the mattress, stands and gets herself situated, and it isn’t until they’re halfway to the floating pad that beau clocks exactly how she’s being carried.

yasha’s arms are confident beneath her shoulders and legs, and beau has looped her arms around yasha’s neck instinctually, and tears start to well up in this moment of realization.

“yasha…”

yasha stops walking, leans down and kisses her, and it isn’t because they’re naked that beau is glad no one can see them right now.

beau flutters through her feelings and rests her head against yasha’s chest, silently, as they float gently down to the hot tub. 

everything seems more muted in the daytime--the lionesses aren’t as imposing, the slides aren’t as tempting. but the steam and smells are just as inviting, and beau lets herself be carried into the water, settling into the warmth as yasha reaches for the soaps.

they both slip under the water; beau shakes her head and scratches at her scalp while she lingers, getting out the last of her restless energy. she pops back above the surface and drifts over to yasha, who has settled into the corner, her arms resting elegantly atop the stone edges. beau drops into yasha’s lap without a word, humming, content, as yasha’s arms slip back into the water and wrap around her body. yasha snakes her legs over the parts of beau that her arms can’t reach until beau is completely covered, completely enveloped in her love.

beau has always been attracted to women who could break her--big, strong women whose bigness and strength almost always equated to a good, long time in the bedroom. and yasha has that in spades--probably invented it--but it sure is fuckin’ something else to know that breaking is only half of it, that the flip side is that beau can be fully contained and sheltered in yasha’s arms. bigness is a comfort as much as it is a challenge. yasha uses her size to hold and cherish just as much as she uses it to fight.

beau sinks down so that her nose is just above the surface of the water, and tries her very best to pretend she isn’t crying. the effort is abandoned when she gets out of her head and realizes yasha is very carefully and very thoughtfully soaping up her hair with thick, gentle fingers.

beau sits up a bit and spits some water from her lips. “how come you’re so good at that?”

yasha takes a moment to think, tilts beau’s head back so she can rinse the shampoo out. “zuala and i didn’t have as much time together as i wanted,” she answers, “but we made sure to treasure every moment we were allowed.” she rubs her hands together, presumably spreading conditioner over them; beau can hear the slickness of it echo through the air. “i am able to follow a god because i had a wife once,” she says, quiet and matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

god.

“well, fuck.” beau closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders as yasha’s hands knead through her hair again. “did you--i mean, i don’t want to overstep but--it was like this? all the time?”

yasha is quiet again, patient with her feelings and beau and the combination of the two. she slows her ministrations and rests her hands on the sides of beau’s face, her thumbs tickling at beau’s ears.

“the only similarity between the love i feel for zuala and the love i feel for you is that it is coming from me,” yasha finally says. “it was like this, yes--and it wasn’t like this at all. it was different because it was her. the whole world was different because it was her, you know?”

beau nods. “hope so,” she replies. “trying to, at least.”

yasha squeezes her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of her soapy head. she gently pushes beau underwater and scrubs her hair clean with a little more force this time. beau lays back and watches, smiles as yasha scoops a hand underwater and brushes it over her lips.

beau sits back up feeling more refreshed and loved than she ever has in her whole life.

she swirls around to face yasha, lets the water guide her back to yasha’s lap. beau hooks her legs around yasha’s torso, lets the water hold her up as she drapes yasha’s hair over her shoulders.

“your braids could use a little touch-up,” she murmurs.

yasha, so sensitive and careful about her hair, simply nods and watches as beau lets it out, making tidy piles with the ties and ribbons on the ledge. yasha’s hair billows out once the last bunch is free; in the water, she looks beautiful and serene.

beau rests her hands on either side of yasha’s face, swipes her thumbs under yasha’s eyes as they kiss. “thank you,” she says, softly, “for loving me.”

yasha sighs and kisses her again. “you make it easy, beau. you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do,” beau insists. “for now, i do.”

she directs yasha away from the wall, takes her place in the shampoo corner. it’s a little different this time--beau can’t surround yasha quite as fully, and she has to wrap her legs around yasha and float to get a good angle to wash her hair. but yasha doesn’t complain, and she rests her arms on beau’s thighs and slides her hands over her legs, soothing and present. the water never cools off and the dogs are somewhere else, and for a few quiet moments, nothing in the world exists except this tub in this tower, hidden in a smelly, dirty tavern.

/

they’re clean and laughing in the kitchen by the time the rest of the party trickles in. beau can hear jester and veth speaking at cartoonishly loud volumes, announcing themselves just in case beau and yasha are doing anything worth being interrupted.

beau smiles, grabs a spider-less bite of pancake, and squeezes yasha’s hand.

“oh, here they are,” caduceus says as they file in. he takes a deep breath and smiles at the spread of food. “what a feast.”

he disappears, probably to make some tea, and beau looks at yasha for just a moment longer before the energy is too much to ignore.

she turns and almost bursts out laughing at the sight of everyone, lined up in front of the table, watching the two of them intently. veth’s eyes are as big as saucers and jester’s are shimmering, her hands clamped over her mouth. next to her, fjord is blushing and even caleb is sporting a smile, reluctant though it may look.

“hey,” beau says. she smiles casually and she means it.

“you’re so cute!!” jester shouts, flinging her hands away from her face. “oh my god, you guys, you have to tell me everything; i’m so happy for you even though we had to sleep in that super stinky room. please tell me it was worth it.”

beau laughs, winks as she tickles yasha’s hand. “totally worth it, jes,” she promises. she gets up from the table, kisses yasha’s knuckles as she does, and gestures for jester to take her seat. “talk to yasha for a sec, okay? i left you some spider-cakes.”

beau is too focused on grabbing caleb to notice the way jester scrunches her nose.

she doesn’t catch fjord’s eye as she leads caleb out of the room and she definitely doesn’t look anywhere near veth. she just drags her cranky wizard to a corner out of eyesight of any window in the kitchen and crosses her arms.

“if you’re about to tell me everything,” caleb says, “please don’t be offended when i say that i would be happier not to hear it.”

“what? no, gross. i mean, not gross-gross, but because--you, gross, right?” beau clears her throat, gently punches caleb’s shoulder to center herself. “i don’t...wanna tell you stuff. i just wanted to do this away from everyone else.”

caleb narrows his eyes. “do what?”

beau steps forward and hugs him. there’s no hesitation or coaching this time, just a strong press of her arms, and she stays there as long as it takes for him to hug back and mean it.

“thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “this was….very special to me.”

“of course,” caleb mutters. “you need only ask, beauregard.”

“yeah, you say that, but it’s like--i know it, now.” to her horror, beau sniffles.

“i am glad you had a good time.”

“the best.”

“you smell very nice. thank you for bathing before hugging me.”

“i got you, dude.”

“can you let go of me now?”

“yeah, sure.” beau steps back and gives him one last shoulder squeeze. 

caleb nods and squeezes back. he snaps his fingers and frumpkin is there, leaping onto his shoulder as they walk back toward the kitchen,

[call-signvalkyrie]

Save Tonight

A/N: This was inspired by “Save Tonight” by Eagle-Eye Cherry. I’ve had that song on repeat for DAYS so I figured why not! This is also my first Star Wars fic! I hope y’all enjoy. (Flash backs and inner though will be in italics). 

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,250

Go on and close the curtains Cause all we need is candlelight You and me, and a bottle of wine To hold you tonight (oh yeah) Well we know I'm going away And how I wish, I wish it weren't so So take this wine and drink with me And let's delay our misery

Poe remembered the day he met you. He got up early that morning to give his X-Wing a good look over after the rough patch he had gone through the night before. He wasn’t much of a mechanic, but he could get the job done. He took a step into the hangar and there you were. Grease suit tied around your waist; white t-shirt stained from your using it as a rag. Your hair in a double braid down your back, elbows deep in the engine. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. At least he thought that until he saw you smile. He had to steady himself on a nearby fuel container before he doubled over completely.  

“Hey! Sorry to scare ya, I’m Y/N.” You said, sliding off the side of the craft and down to the hanger floor. You grabbed a rag out of your pocket to wipe away some of the grease before offering your hand.

“And I’m...”

“Poe. I know.” You flashed that smile again. Maker, he could have kissed you right then and there. He had never thought his name could sound so beautiful but there it was.

And here he was. Standing at the door of your room like an idiot. It had been almost two years since that first meeting and nothing about the way he felt about you had changed. He had teased, dropped hints but you never seemed to get the message. There had been a time when he tried to get you off his mind but he just couldn’t shake his feeling for you. He had been almost convinced you would never feel the same way until about a week ago.

One Week Earlier

“Finn! I’m serious! You can’t tell anyone, not even Rey.”  

“Y/N, I’m sorry to tell you but everyone already knows.” Finn gave you a cheeky grin that made you want to slap him. There was no way anyone knew how you felt about Poe. He was your best friend and had been for the last two years. You had done an amazing job at keeping your secret. Well, you thought so anyway.

“What do you mean everyone already knows! I’ve literally never told anyone. Shit, I've barely even admitted it to myself.” That was completely true. Poe would never feel for you in any way other than a friend and you were okay with that. You just weren't ready for everyone to rub it in your face.

“Whatever you say Y/N/N, I’m just telling you what I know.” Finn threw his hands up in mock defeat.  

“Whatever, Finn.” You said, sticking your tongue out at him as you walked past and into the hanger.  

“Finn! Finn did she just...” Poe came around the corner, catching his friend by the arm.

“Did she just say what I think she did?”

“Maker, Poe. You both really are so blind!” Finn rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You two just need to get your shit together. I’m tired of this!” Finn threw his hands up in real defeat this time.  

“I know, man. I know. I just don’t know how to tell her.” Poe ran his hand down his face. He had to tell her.  

“You have to tell her. Soon.” Finn grabbed his friend by the sholders, shaking him gently.  

“You’re right. I will, soon. I promise.”

Save tonight and fight the break of dawn Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone Save tonight and fight the break of dawn Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone

Well, Poe. It’s now or never. He took a deep breath and knocked.  

“It’s open!” Your muffled voice came from deep within the room. Poe punched in your security code and stepped through the sliding door. You turned to see him, still wearing your grease suit.  

“Hey, handsome! When did you get back?” You grabbed your friend in a hug and gave him a good once over. “You take any damage this time?”

“No, thankfully. I’m fine.” Poe said, giving you a soft smile.

“I was talking about the X-Wing! I worked way too hard on that motivator for you to fuck it up again!” You said, winking at the taller man.

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny.” Poe said in with a fake laugh. He was so nervous. Get it together, Poe. “Anyway, you busy tonight? I’ve got a debrief in about 20 minutes but after I thought we could do something. Maybe take a speeder out to the edge of the base and hang out? Just you and me?”  

There was a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn’t place. Something about him was different today. He had more of a spring in his step but he almost looked nervous.

“Sure. That’ll give me some time to shower and change. Meet you back here after the brief?”  

“Sounds perfect.” Poe smiled then and pulled you in for another hug. “See you in about an hour?”

One Hour Later

After scrubbing most of the grime and grease from your body, you climbed out of the shower feeling relatively clean and refreshed. You stepped into your room, letting your y/c/h fall out of your towel. After pulling on a pair of black leggings and a grey tunic, you slipped on your favorite boots and a light jacket. Swiping on a bit of mascara, you let your hair fall freely over your shoulder, opting to wear it down instead of in your usual braids. Something felt different about tonight but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Taking a look at your data pad, you realized there was a comms message.  

------------------------------Communications Log 7189443------------------------------------

-------------Communicatons

     ------------------Messages

                    --------------One (1) Unread Message

--------- Dameron, Poe

Y/N/N,

Running late, explain later. Meet me in the hanger at 22:00. Bring caf, please.

P.D.

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

There's a log on the fire And it burns like me for you Tomorrow comes with one desire To take me away (oh it's true) It ain't easy to say good-bye Darlin' please, don't start to cry Cause girl you know I've got to go (oh) And Lord I wish it wasn't so

Running out the door, you had just enough time to get the caf before getting to the hanger.  

“He, Y/N. Sorry about the short notice.” Poe called to you as you walked through the hangar. He was leaning against a borrowed speeder, a blanket draped across the seat.  

“Everything alright? I got here as quick as I could.” You walked up to the taller man, handing him a cup and taking a seat in the speeder.

“Yeah, um. Actually, no.” Poe climbed into the speeder, turning to look at you full on. “There’s something I need to tell you but I want to show you something first.”  

15 minutes later you were on the farthest outskirts of the base. There was a small clearing, mostly made of scrubby brush and a few spindly trees. Above the clearing, however, was the most incredible light show you had ever seen.  

“Poe, what is that?” you stared up in amazement. It was like the stars were playing tag across the night sky. Zig-zagging and blinking back and forth, changing every color and then back again.  

“They’re native to the planet. Completely harmless and virtually undetectable during the day but at night. Well, they do this.”  

The whole time you were staring at this mesmerizing light show, Poe couldn’t do anything but look at you. The way your eyes sparkled as the colors danced across the sky, your lips slightly parted as a soft smile spread across your face.

“Beautiful.” Poe said aloud. He couldn’t help himself.

“It is. I’ve never seen anything like this in my whole life.” You said, turning to look at him.

Poe stepped closer, filling the space between the two of you.  

“Y/N, I didn’t just bring you out here to show you this. I need to tell you something.” Poe took both of your hands in his. His heart felt like it was going to explode right out of his chest. He took a deep breath.

“My debrief earlier, the reason it went over. We’ve been sent on a new recon mission starting first thing in the morning. I leave at first light.”

“Okay, and you brought me all the way out here to tell me you want the galaxy’s most incredible mechanic to hitch a ride out with you?” You giggled, squeezing Poe’s hands in yours.”

“I wish it was that simple. No, Y/N...” Poe paused. Why was telling you how he felt so hard?  “I brought you all the way out here to tell you that this mission is different. I’ll be infiltrating enemy lines. I’ll be working on important intel that could help end this war. Leia says it could take up to 5 weeks to get the information.”

“5 weeks? Holy shit, that’s a long time, Poe. Is Finn at least going with you? What about Rey? I...” you were starting to feel a bit uneasy. Why was he doing this? He had gone on long missions before. Just last cycle he had gone on a 3-week recon.  

“Poe, what are you not telling me? What's wrong?”  

“Hey, hey. Calm down, everything is okay.” He stepped closer, cupping your jaw with his hand and caressing it slightly.  “Rey has to stay here and continue her training. Leia wants her to be almost finished by the time we get back. Chewie and Finn will be with me, yes but I wanted to tell you before everyone else started talking.” Poe shook his head. It was now or never.

“Start talking? Poe what do you mean? What happened at the debrief?” You pulled away from him, suspicion taking over everything else.  

“So, I might have asked if we could push our leave time to first light instead of immediately. And the General may or may not have read me the riot act after she dismissed everyone, causing me to be late.”

“Poe, why would you do that?! This mission is obviously super important, why would you...”

“Because, Y/N...” He stepped closer again, taking your hands back in his larger ones.  

“Because I wanted to spend possibly my last night here on this planet with the girl of my dreams. Because I couldn’t bear to leave this planet for 5 weeks without telling you how absolutely head over heels in love with you I am. I couldn’t be half way across the galaxy knowing that I was willingly putting myself in harm's way every single day and I never had the balls to tell you how I feel. I’m completely and totally in love and I don’t want to go one single second longer without you knowing.”  

You stood there, stunned. Was this a joke? This had to be a joke. There was no way that, Poe Dameron, THE Poe Dameron just said those words to you. But he did and here you are and HOLY SHIT you thought you might faint dead away on the spot.  

“Y/N/N, you okay...”

Before he has the chance to finish you grabbed him by the collars and pulled him into you, crashing your lips into his. He wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you to the edge of the speeder. Running your hands up to his curls, you give them a soft tug which pulls a low moan from deep in his throat. Your tongues dance together in perfect synchrony, both of you not wanting to break this perfect moment. Eventually you both pull away, lips swollen from the contact.  

“I really thought you’d never say it. I’ve felt the same way about you for so long now but I never even imagined you felt the same way.” You flashed him your signature smile.  

“So, you feel the same then?” He asked, a silly grin spread across his face. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? All this time we’ve spent together, all the time I spent trying to get a read on you and never could.” He smiled, kissing your knuckles.  

“You’re joking right? You’re asking me if I feel the same. Were you there five seconds ago? Do you not remember that kiss?” You laugh, lightly slapping his chest. “I never wanted to tell you how I felt. I thought it would ruin our friendship. Figured we’ve lost enough due to this war. Didn’t want to make us another casualty.”

“Yeah, I remember. I just want to hear you say it.” He smiled, kissing your lips again. “I understand. I’ve thought those same things all this time but, I don’t know. I just... This time is different. I needed you to know. And I’m overjoyed to know you feel the same.” he smiled that damned smile of his.  

“I love you, Poe. I have for a long time. I’m glad to finally let you know that. Ya know, to your face?” You giggled, deepening the kiss.  

“So, did you really ask Leia if you guys could leave at first light?”

"I did,” Poe said, “So just get ready for all that teasing that’s heading your way.” He gave you a wink.

Save tonight and fight the break of dawn Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone Save tonight and fight the break of dawn Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone

[disneyat34]

The Three Caballeros at 34

A review by Adam D. Jaspering

Mickey Mouse is, and always has been, the face of the Walt Disney Corporation. Perhaps it’s because of legacy or favoritism, because Donald Duck has often proven himself more popular. To expand on a quote from Walt Disney, it all started with a mouse, but a duck pays the bills. Never was this more apparent than in the 1940s.

As morbid as it seems, World War II was a great boon to Donald Duck’s popularity. Mickey Mouse represented an unflappable, upbeat everyman. He became popular during the Great Depression when people needed their morale lifted. Donald Duck was an angry fighter who got knocked down, and stood right back up, fists swinging. That sensibility was celebrated by many during the war. Seeing the influence he had, Walt Disney capitalized on his creation.

Donald was commissioned by many sources during World War II. The US Treasury, the United Way, and the Canadian Film Board all commissioned cartoons from Disney Studios. His likeness was merchandised in countless other places. Within months, Donald Duck was promoting war bonds and celebrating American resilience coast to coast.

Later, Donald joined the US Army, encouraging enlistment. As an act of patriotism, Disney produced seven of these shorts at cost for the armed forces. Why he opted for Donald to join the Army as opposed to the Navy, as is often suggested by his sailor outfit, is a mystery. Donald wasn’t the official face of the war effort, but not for lack of trying.

In 1944, three separate events lined up. First, World War II was still ongoing.  Second, Disney Studios was celebrating Donald’s tenth anniversary. Third, the follow-up to Saludos Amigos was nearing completion. It was time for another cinematic saga of comradery in the western hemisphere, this time featuring Donald Duck front and center.

Saludos Amigos was a rush job. Disney Studios churned it out for immediate financial returns. The writers and animators had unused ideas leftover. Some ideas were more dynamic and required money and time, not available in 1941. Now with a foot-hold on the Latin American film market, the studio was able to make a proper follow-up. That was The Three Caballeros.

The Three Caballeros uses the 10th anniversary of Donald Duck’s creation as a framing device. Throughout the film, Donald opens a multitude of gifts from friends and well-wishers. Each gift prompts or frames a new vignette. Like Saludos Amigos, the vignettes of The Three Caballeros were created to foster international goodwill between Latin America and the United States.

The first gift is a projector and film canister. The movie is The Cold-Blooded Penguin. It features a penguin named Pablo who dislikes living in Antarctica. Pablo hates the cold, and wishes to live in a tropical climate. One day, he pools his resources, and sets out on an ice floe for warmer weather.

Astute readers will notice the error immediately. What on Earth is a cartoon about a penguin doing in a film about Latin America?

It’s true, Pablo’s journey takes him around some of the coastal geographic features of South America’s west coast. These aren’t so much landmarks as name drops. We hear the narrator mention the Straits of Magellan, Cape Horn, Juan Fernandez Islands, Vina Del Mar, Lima, and the Galapagos Islands. But what’s depicted onscreen are rather nondescript landforms. These could be any straits, any coasts, and any islands.

The Cold-Blooded Penguin’s ties to South America are incredibly tenuous. Plainly, it does not belong as part of the film. So much so, it’s not even worth commenting on the animation or story. You could make the greatest rotisserie chicken in culinary history, but if you serve it atop an ice cream sundae, no one will care how the chicken tastes. 

The short shamelessly tries to mask itself as an extended cutaway from a larger feature called “Aves Raras,” or “Rare Birds.” The non-penguin half of this short does indeed focus on the indigenous fauna of South America. Somewhat farcically, but also with an informative nugget. This infotainment is what The Three Caballeros aspires to be, and achieves in certain quantities. 

Unfortunately, the filmmakers either get lazy or distracted. Strewn among the cultural aspects are nonsense and unsupportive jokes. Either the filmmakers were padding the film or afraid of losing the attention of a younger audience. The end result bogs down quality with unnecessary jetsam.

The highlight of the Rare Birds segment is the Aracuan Bird. This bird has a high-pitched, sped-up voice, and a warbled laugh. He has a screwball sense of humor, and an innate ability to antagonize all those who he comes into contact with. He has a bright red crest, a yellow beak, and oversized eyes. He debuted four years after another cartoon bird with alarmingly similar characteristics: Woody Woodpecker.

Woody Woodpecker first appeared in the 1940 short Knock Knock. Walter Lantz created the character, and licensed him to Universal Studios. The similarities between The Aracuan Bird and Woody cannot be ignored. I can find no information explaining this coincidence. There were no complaints filed, and no legal action by Lantz or Universal. It’s rather unlikely Disney’s animators resorted to plagiarism; we can only assume it was an unintentional, subconscious reproduction.

The Aracuan Bird appears here, and in two more brief scenes. He then disappears for the remainder of the film. One would think he would be a running gag, appearing regularly throughout the movie. Or at the very least, he would be a main feature in his own vignette, his other appearances being callbacks. He would certainly be more on-theme than The Cold-Blooded Penguin. 

The Aracuan Bird is an unpleasant reminder that The Three Caballeros was a pile of ideas leftover from Saludos Amigos. He is introduced, then subsequently forgotten. The movie was the production of different animators and writers, working independently. They each had their own ideas, and didn’t seek consultation. These ideas are threaded together as best as possible, but big gaps in style and substance exist.

The next vignette is The Flying Gauchito, set in the pampas of Uruguay. It is the story of a child, looking for the approval of the gauchos of his village. The boy goes on a hunting expedition, finding the rarest game of all: a winged donkey. 

The donkey is named ‘Burrito,’ the Spanish word ‘Little Donkey’ (which existed long before the popular Tex-Mex dish). Gauchito returns home with his newly acquired winged steed. Rather than show him off, Burrito is entered in a horse race. It’s one thing to show-off your luck. It’s another thing to demonstrate your worth.

What makes The Flying Gauchito special isn’t its story. Will and determination overcoming the established norms is a common moral. The true strength of the short is its utilization of an unreliable narrator. Gauchito’s journey is narrated by his older self, narrating from an omniscient standpoint in the future. It would be easy for him to tell the story accurately. Instead, he’s forgetful, indecisive, and admittedly unsure of specific details. 

This narrative style creates not only a humorous structure, but humorous accompanying animation. Whenever a detail is “corrected” or second-guessed, the corresponding imagery is swapped out. In quick succession, the characters onscreen are left helpless as their world is ad hoc corrected. They must endure a shifting landscape and environment before they can react accordingly. This gives them a sense of instability, like they’re wearing roller skates, or walking a tightrope. It’s an advanced narrative technique, and it’s executed well.

With two and a half shorts finished, Donald Duck moves onto his next present. Inside is his friend and Saludos Amigos costar Jose Carioca. Jose is just as jovial and passionate as ever, but now smoking a giant cigar shamelessly for all children to see. We’re a long way from the warnings of Pleasure Island.

Jose introduces Donald to the Brazilian city of Baia. In a combined mood of nostalgia and admiration, Jose begins a long musical serenade. As his memories and thoughts are manifest to reality, we are swept away in the romantic imagery. The pinks and purples of the city at sunset are wonderfully done.

The two avian friends find themselves at a celebration on the streets of Baia. They’re joined by singer and dancer Aurora Miranda, plus a small army of samba dancers. The interplay of cartoon and human is outdated by today’s standards, but to an audience in 1944, it must have seemed groundbreaking. The technique is used extensively throughout the remainder of The Three Caballeros, and to great effect. It’s a gimmick, but a gimmick employed and accomplished well.

Exiting the glory of Baia, Donald opens his next gift from a stranger in Mexico. The unfamiliarity is temporary. Inside the gift is the loud, ecstatic, pistol-packing Panchito Pistoles. This firebrand is so eager to meet both Donald and Jose, he declares the trio “The Three Caballeros.” Finally, forty minutes into the picture, well past the halfway mark, we meet the last of our title characters.

After a fiery song and dance number, Panchito introduces Donald to the piñata. Panchito identifies it as a Mexican Christmas tradition (The Three Caballeros was scheduled for a December release date). Until this point, Panchito has been a quite vocal and boisterous individual. Hearing him tell a reverent and humble tale of Christmas tradition displays his hidden depths. Panchito could have been a shallow and one-note character. Instead, we see him capable of many things.

Cracking open the piñata, Donald is treated to a tour of Mexico’s most popular sights. Panchito summons a serape, which flies like Aladdin’s magic carpet. The Three Caballeros visit the exotic locales of  Pátzcuaro, Veracruz, and Acapulco. 

Until this point, both Donald and Jose were nothing more than enthusiastic partygoers. They enjoyed the celebrations and sights of their destinations. And they never shied away from the pleasant company of a gorgeous woman. For whatever reason, upon visiting Mexico, something stirs in the mind of Donald. 

Going forwards, every woman Donald encounters is an object of lustful desire. Singing girls, dancing girls, sunbathing girls; Donald wants them all. Jose and Panchito do their best to subtly remind Donald he is a cartoon duck in a G-Rated movie, but Donald is driven by his id. 

It’s a common cartoon trope for a character to be so blindsided by a woman’s physical attraction, they lose control. From the works of pre-Hays Code Betty Boop shorts, to the then-contemporary Tex Avery, it was a well-established joke. Donald, however, is completely insatiable and unstoppable. It starts funny, gets ridiculous, and then turns downright disturbing. Donald Duck is insatiably in love with these Latin beauties, and cannot be tamed. It’s a running gag that runs far too long. Panchito shouldn’t have shown Donald a hot beach, he should have shown him a cold shower.

The movie ends in quite an interesting way. Instead of a traditional song and dance number celebrating Mexico, the remaining twenty minutes of film is a surreal, avant garde display. More than ‘Toccata and Fugue’ from Fantasia. More than ‘Pink Elephants on Parade’ from Dumbo. Things are odd, formless, wild, and baffling. And lots of fun.

The Three Caballeros’s primary problem is how unbalanced it is. Any ten minute stretch is vastly different from any other. But it is unbalanced in a linear fashion. As the movie progresses, it becomes more cohesive and more audacious. Things are always building towards the (literally) explosive climax.

It begins with one short that doesn’t belong in the film at all. It moves onto a second short that, while more appropriate, could easily be excised. Jose is introduced, giving the movie more structure and narrative harmony. With him, more advanced animation techniques are employed. Panchito is introduced, giving the film a solid shape and definition. Finally, we’re treated to a grand tour de force. Disney’s animators use every trick to deliver a mindboggling trip for the eyes and ears.

The Three Caballeros as a group existed as Disney second-stringers for many years. Donald Duck remained as popular as ever, but it was rare to see Jose or Panchito acknowledged by the studio. Early in the 21st century, the cult popularity of the film prompted a resurgence for the forgone trio.

The Three Caballeros are featured at the Mexican Pavilion of Epcot Center (despite only one of the three members being Mexican). Don Rosa wrote two sequels for the trio, published in comic form. They’ve appeared in Disney television shows, such as House of Mouse, and 2017′s DuckTales. They even star in their own series on Disney+, where they become globetrotting fantasy heroes.

The Three Caballeros expands on the ideas of its predecessor, Saludos Amigos. A multitude of animation techniques continues the celebration of harmony in the Americas. Music, laughter, and a love of exploration unite us all. While the end result is something of a mixed bag, the highs are demonstrably high. It will stimulate some viewers while outright confounding others. But in the end, the wild, surreal adventure is a voyage worth taking. Hasta luego.

Fantasia Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Pinocchio Bambi The Three Caballeros Dumbo Saludos Amigos

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Remember When?

So slightly off in which Carter comes back alive somewhere in the middle of S1. Sorry for any spelling errors. My beta reader is all whacked up.

Kendra was really really annoyed. With one man, and no his name was not Rip.

Carter.

Kendra shook her head. Ever since he had been reincarnated in the 2020s and Kendra helped him regain his memories he had been annoying her like a mosquito about Ray. Trying to make her move on to him.

So not happening.

He wasn't doing anything so pointedly obvious like sabotaging their dates, oh no he was much to sophisticated for that. He just stood there with snarky comments on all things they had done together and Ray's ability with technology. Ray was trying to take the high road and not let it bother him, but Kendra noticed the way his eyebrows bristled every time Carter mentioned something about "that little place with went together in Rome" or "how you smiled at my marriage gift to you in Istanbul".

Plus every time he mentioned something a rush of feelings would come to Kendra, feelings of safety, love and passion, and she would find herself staring longingly to his lips, wishing to feel their softness against her own.

Until she came to her senses that is. Just because 208 versions of herself fell in love with Carter didn't mean 209 had to too. She was not going to do anything because of some star crossed destiny. Ray was her future, Carter was her past.

The group was getting ready to set off to Japan, and she and Ray were set to pretend to be married couple once again.

Carter had complained about it, how he had more experienced being married than any of them.

Rip refused as he needed a wing guy to watch from the air, and two males together in Japan would not be well accepted.

"Too bad, I was hoping to see you spar with a samurai again," He smirked at her.

Kendra felt the world shift to feudal Japan at a small meditation garden where she and Carter were fighting against a honored samurai, a duel that began after the samurai tried to get her to "behave like a lady".

Carter had punched the guy in the throat and she got him in where it hurts. A warm feeling spread through her, it was wonderful to be with a guy who not only defended her but fought right beside her. It made her feel safe, like someone cared to be with her.

"We make a great team." She smiled at him.

"Ready to go" Ray linked his arm between hers, reminding her where she actually was and felt a red flush creep up her neck, praying that Ray had not heard the samurai comment. He was a really sweet guy and it wasn't fair to compare them. "Yes, WE make a great team" Kendra smiled at the scientist and looked back at Carter. His smirk disappeared ———-

Paris, France 1974 They went to Paris to track down Vandel Savage's attempt to infiltrate the Parisian UN meeting.

The group was situated at the sidewalk cafe, waiting for Sara and Snart's signal to go to the embassy.

A man with an accordion began playing and Kendra could faintly remember the tune. Beauty and the Beast.

She didn't understand why it seemed so familiar. She hardly watched Disney when she was younger, she preferred action to Disney's cheesy endings plus her feminist mother despised those princesses. Most of the Disney movies she did watch involved animals like the Rescuers, or Lady and the Tramp or Aristocats.

"Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly," Kendra sang under her breath

"Just a little change. Small to say the least. Both a little scared neither one prepared Beaty and the Beast. Remember our dance to this song. It was like after the movie came out" Carter smiled at her Kendra mind went back to her. Her hair in a small bun, and was wearing a gorgeous dark real evening gown and matching heels. He in a tux, smelling like pine and aftershave. The view of the Eiffel Tower in the dark, glowed as they danced by the river.

"Ever just the same. Ever a surprise. Ever as before. Ever just as sure. As the sun will rise" His deep, musical baritone surprised her every time he sang. She had insisted to dancing to the song because it reminded her that no matter how many times they were reincarnated, they needed up together.

Just as it should be. Just as certain as the sun. It was a fact of life.

"Tale as old as time, Tune as old as song. Bitter sweet and strange Finding you can change Learning you were wrong. Certain as the sun Rising in the east" He twirled her and Kendra smiled giddily, she didn't know how he had even managed to play the song in Paris and in English but he did. For her.

"Tale as old as time. Song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the beast" Kendra took her head off his broad chest looked up at him. His eyes gazing at her like there was no one else in the world.

"So who's Beauty and who's the beast?" A gruff voice asked. Kendra slowly turned her head to see Mick. She looked around. She was in street clothes, they were at a sidewalk cafe, holding on to Carter's arms in perfect waltz position, faces inches from each other and Carter was staring at her expectantly. Ray frowning. Jax, Stein, and Rip staring quizzically.

Did she just?

Kendra pushed Carter away and grabbed Ray's hands, "Come on Ray, dance with me. Jax you're next!" -

The ultimatum came one Saturday. For once the group was relaxing and talking.

Then Ray came in excitedly, he sat at the table, "Hey Kendra, I found this nice sushi place at the Upper East side we could go to. Then I rented a hotel suite we can stay for the weekend. You know if nothing happens during the time."

"Hotel suite, niiice rich boy," Sara smiled.

"Just the two of you?” Carter asked, looking up from his magazine on the love seat.

"Well yes." Ray grinded his teeth "In case you're sick head is wondering. She hasn't mistaken my name with yours. Seems like your little dance in Paris was one sided." Kendra patted Ray's shoulder soothingly. She had spend the weekend talking to him, convincing him that they were in the past.

"Oh woah man I don't want anything to intrude your relationship,” Carter held up his hands mockingly "But I was just wondering...you know just for advice. Is it the Carlton because last time we went there Kendra couldn't "get in the mood" because they didn't turn off their coolers. But that was 1930 so I'm not sure if it's quite the same.” Kendra froze. He was not, he could not... "Oh and make sure to wear red. Red makes her go crazy. Not a red suit, but you know red briefs would be good."

Mick didn't even hide his snickering. Ray looked surprised and slightly perturbed by Carter's sudden helpfulness. Sara, Leonard and Stein were muffling their laughter, Jax was too busy with headphones to care and Rip rolled his eyes, ignoring them.

"And make sure to know pressure points...Remember when I used to massage your wings and back beforehand." Carter cocked his head toward her.

Kendra felt the memories coming back, his strong, warm hands easing her back with oil and stroking her feathers, feeling his abs pressed against her. Kendra started violently coughing in an effort not to moan out loud "Kendra are you okay?" Ray asked.

"Oh, interesting fact. She gets turned on if you rip her clothes off with only your teeth. Ray," Carter clicked his tongue, "Take notes" Kendra grabbed a couch pillow and coughed into, biting it and gasping.

"I will not moan, I will not moan." she told herself.

"Turned on by ripping off clothes like a dog. That's a new one." Leonard dead panned.

"I want to try!" Mick cried, excitedly

"Carter get in the hall now!" Kendra growled after her coughing fit and grabbed him by the collar, slamming the door.

"Since you like this memory lane thing so much remember when I was an independent woman that's makes her own choices, and doesn't not take about YOUR turn ons in public!" Kendra cried, slamming the door.

"IT'S OKAY BIRDIE! I THINK IT'S PRETTY HOT TOO!" Mick called from the other side of the door. "FEEL FREE TO TALK ABOUT CARTER'S.” Sara added.

"Great, now I have something in common with Mick." Kendra grumbled. "Chay-era,” Carter started.

"No, no Chay-era, no Leyla or René or whatever name I was. That's done. That was years ago. Move on. I have told you time and time again that I'm with Ray now. I'm going to see things through with Ray, and I'm sorry but you are not apart of that. There's no love triangle or competition, I'm dating Ray and none of our adventures or anniversaries matter. I'm living in the present Carter. Time youstart." -

After that discussion, Carter stopped his remarks. He remained civil to them, he didn't bother Ray anymore or talked to them besides in the context of a mission. He seemed to prefer hanging out with Stein now, talking about artifacts and the evolution of science or with Sara and Mick, sparring.

Not that Kendra minded. She was free to spend time with Ray, and not worry about any memories come flooding back thanks to his stupid little remarks.

Though some came without him.

One night she woke up to a chilly dawn and she padded toward the kitchen to have some tea. It had been something she'd done in her past lives, she felt. It was all automatic and she didn't even have to think.

She turned on the light and was surprised to see Carter in the living room, watching tv. Kendra chose to ignore him and move on with her tea.

But she felt something off. She usually put a secret ingredient to make it better but she couldn't remember what.

"Um Carter?" she called out hesitantly. Carter's head jolted up. "What?” he muttered groggily.

"I..I can't remover what I use to put in my tea. Like I don't know when I well we were in a small apartment I think in Russia."

"Moscow, 1918. It was cayenne pepper. It made it "pop"" Carter air quoted and settled back to sleep, without looking at her.

Kendra found the cayenne pepper, sliced it and sat at the table. She looked back at Carter and felt herself pulled to sit next to him. No matter that she was with Ray, she still deeply cared for him. In a total platonic way she reasoned.

"Hey," she whispered, nudging him. "What?” he rubbed his eyes. "Thanks for respecting my space." She mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for getting in it in the first place. I..I don't let go of things to easily" Carter rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly "I can tell,” Kendra replied.

"But I'll but out if that's what you want. I mean I should have followed what I said before. You are worth the wait...Just let me say one thing.” Kendra tensed up, waiting for some big romantic kiss, or a reminder of those memorable hot nights spent together.

"I miss you. I miss talking with you like this at night. You always listened to me."

"I'll still listen," Kendra said.

"Yes, but but it won't be..." He seemed to try to grasp the words with his hands "Like all those other times, loving each other unconditionally, not judging. As my wife. I've taken you for granted, but I don't like the thought of not spending a century without you.” Kendra sighed, she wanted so much to comfort him in some waym "Carter, I love you. But not now. Who knows maybe I will in a few moths from now. But I might not. Carter we've spent so many years together even if we don't get together in this one. At least we met."

"Thank the Lord," Carter smiled.

"And I'll probably be yours next lifetime. I don't think that many Ray's populate the Earth," Kendra laughed.

"That...would be interesting" Carter said slowly.

"But I'll listen if you want me to. How about this, every morning just like this we talk." Carter's face lit up "From a distance of 10 feet. No getting your hopes up." Kendra warned.

"Deal." He leaned in, and Kendra braced for the kiss. The kiss that always came after these talks, that slowed at first but they ended up melting into each other's arms.

Kendra waited for it but it never came, she opened her eyes to feel his arms hugging her. Then he left for his room, patting her back It's not like she wanted that kiss, she was just nostalgic. She just remembered how it felt when they were married. When she loved him. -

Remember when we kissed? Well I want to do that again.

[mahizli]

Odds And Numbers (Cody and Obi-Wan, 22 BBY)

Part 13 of ‘Sparks of Hope- A Star Wars Advent Calendar’.

***

Commander Cody did not believe in chance or fate. Those were for the dreamers, those General Kenobi called enthusiasts – people who believed there was a greater purpose in everything.

Cody had been taught that safety resided in numbers. In calculating the outcomes, studying the battlefield, placing the troopers carefully, according to their abilities.

And of course, his training on Kamino had also taught him that strength was achieved in brotherhood. Adhering to values like honour, loyalty and duty. Taking care of one’s vode, making sure they stayed focused, strong and reliable.

Cody did not believe in chance or fate – but General Kenobi believed in what the Jetii called the Force, and over those first months at his side, Cody had tempered some of his views with what the General called nuances.

His Jetii General believed in the Force, was able to feel it all around them and use it when he fought, spinning so fast the eye could not follow, deflecting blaster bolts almost before they were shot and leaping like he had wings. He was able to will the pain away, to heal light injuries and to stay without eating and drinking for days. But mostly, General Kenobi, like every other Jetii, was able to sense feelings and thoughts in the Force, to absorb or reflect them, and to read what he called signatures.

The first time they had met, Cody had stood to attention, back rigid and gaze straight, studying the Jetii who was to become his General – face seemingly blank while his mind assessed him.

Jetii General Obi-Wan Kenobi was slightly shorter than him, but not small. He was lean, but not frail, grave but not intimidating, yet Cody quickly calculated that with those linen tunics and thin trousers and layers of plain fabric, the Jetii wouldn’t stand a chance on the battlefield.

That was before he saw him in action, fighting and spinning before him like nothing Cody had ever witnessed before. General Kenobi was not one to linger behind, not one to leave wounded on the field either – and after that first battle together, where the Jetii’s tunic had soiled with dust and blood that was partly his own, both had struck what the General called a compromise.

Jetii General Obi-Wan Kenobi would be wearing a chest plate, pauldrons and vambraces, as well as blacks and boots, like a vode. But he would keep a Jetii tabard, and his Jetii belt, and stay without helmet or blaster – because he had his lightsaber.

Cody did not believe in chance, or wonder, but after two months at General Kenobi’s side, he had come to the conclusion that this Force the Jetii worshipped did not work randomly. It was something like tipping the odds, changing them to fate, then to facts once more. Or rather, making the odds clearer around them, allowing some trust to sip below Cody’s carefully kept armour.

He had come to trust General Kenobi. And not because he was a Jetii. But because the Jetii he was did not only rely upon the Force. General Kenobi did not just jump into battle carelessly – he always made sure to know everything he could about the field and the people they were dealing with. He had not just one plan, he often conceived at least another, if not two – and he worked. Tirelessly. Always improve his knowledge in battle and strategics, always seeking for the peaceful solution whenever they were on a mission, training whenever he could to perfect his combat skills – and teaching, of course.

That impulsive former hibir of his who was defying odds all the times, driving the General nearly insane – yet Cody knew just how much he cared for General Skywalker, whom he had raised like a child of his, until he became a friend.  

And that nehutyc little Commander, who had not learned yet that some odds could not be defeated, but was so endearing in that childish belief.

“She will learn. She is young still”, General Kenobi had told him, after they had evacuated her and her remaining troops on Felucia in a last-minute rescue – but Cody read his eye-language now and had seen sadness and worry and care there.

Just like that day General Kenobi had learned about the way the Kaminoan made the vode age faster, so that they could be battle-ready at ten. That day, the Jetii had paled, body getting very still at Cody’s side, who had not, ever, spared a second thought about it.

Seeing his Jetii-General so upset had made something in him stir, though. And so, being assigned to a Jetii who loved words and kept weighing them with such care, Cody had begun to think about them as well.

Words completed numbers, sometimes – they defined things better, like looking through electrobinoculars.

Enthusiasts. Nuances. Signatures. Compromise.

Cody had lost count of those words opening his inner world like small crevices. Some made him think. Some made him reconsider. And some left him in a state of silent wonder, because it felt like finally putting a name, an explanation to some patterns he had studied silently.

“Serendipity”, General Kenobi told him, one night, as they were sitting together on the Negociator’s bridge, going through medical supply-lists.

“It means: found by chance, by accident or coincidence – not by reasoning.”

Cody raised an eyebrow, face carefully lowered, but General Kenobi smiled at him, because he could read him through the Force.

“Not something you like, my dear Commander. Yet that is how the precursor of Nysillin was discovered. A researcher one forgot a box containing a colony of germs into a cupboard, and it became mouldy. When she finally remembered that box, she realised the germs had not grown. Rather, the mould seemed to have prevented them from colonising the box – so she tried to isolate it and to study it better. And that’s how we are able to use Nysillin now.”

“So… if she hadn’t forgotten that box…”, Cody said, slowly, frowning down at his data-pad and at the carefully drawn lists.

“Well, yes, Commander. Perhaps we would stand very differently now…”

Cody stayed silent a while more, then he raised his face and met General Kenobi’s calm, shrewd grey eyes.

“Is it something you like, sir? That… serendipity you just spoke of.”

The Jetii’s eyes turned soft, something very intimate sweeping briefly through his features.

“It is a word that is very dear to me, yes. You see, Commander, I do not think there are such things as immutable fates. I think every little act, and word, and thought probably plays a part into shaping the world around us. But I also think we will all remind blind, either wholly or partially, until we join the Force. So, serendipity… I like to think it is the Force’s way to give us a nudge.”

He smiled at him, wrapping his hand around his mug of tea.

“Yet it is but that: a nudge. We still have to deepen the course it shows us, and steer ourselves in the right direction.”

Cody nodded, slowly, assessing and processing the General’s words. And somehow, that night, working very late along his Jetii’s General side, another crevice opened in him, allowing few, precious words to pour out as well.

That night, he told the General that every vode had, in fact, something more than a number. Something they kept secret, only known by batch-brothers, because numbers were long and dull and hard to remember when one was just a kid.

“It is not a name. It’s… something that happened that made us laugh, or a special event involving a vode. It’s… I think it’s like the nudge you spoke about before, sir.”

The General’s eyes were still bright and alert, despite the late hour. His hair was tousled, though, because he had run his fingers several times through his hair, trying to rouse himself as they completed report after report. The Kaminoans would have brought him a comb, wordlessly radiating disapproval for everything that was not neat or symmetrical. But Cody just thought it made one want to speak to him, knowing one would not be judged.

“A nickname?”, the General questioned, softly, and Cody’s heart soared, for a brief second, leaving him almost helpless in the feeling’s wake.

“A nickname”, he repeated, tasting the word like some unknown flavour.

General Kenobi nodded, face growing thoughtful, eyes gentle as so often.

“Your signatures are so different, Commander. You may look alike – but I can assure you are not, in the Force. You all have a very unique way to be. And to become, as we all do.”

“They call me Cody. And it’s not Mando’a, even though Kote… Kote is another name they call me now. Because…”

“Because you are a fine leader, Commander. One that gave much glory to his troops – along with pride and strength.”

His General had a unique way of praising, too. It never looked like flattery. It just looked like facts, spoken with something warm Cody was finally identifying as care. And respect.

“Cody didn’t come from Kote, though, sir. It came from me… well… always telling my vode that safety was in numbers. Not just odds. And so they called me Codes, first, but quickly switched to Cody. I think only Rex remembers Codes, now, sir.”

General Kenobi smiled at him, and Cody almost smiled back, keeping his face straight just in time.

“I like all of these names, Commander. And I think… it is a wonderful thing to encourage, is it not? As much as I trust numbers and plans, as you so well know, I do prefer addressing people by names or titles.”

That night, General Kenobi called him Cody for the very first time. Sometimes he would use his title, sometimes he would combine both. Cody himself did not call him Obi-Wan – that was a name kept for Jetii and non-battle-friends. Instead, he called him sir, General, or General Kenobi – it was enough.

Or perhaps, it was because, sometimes, there was no real word for the fissures and light shaping people.  

Sometimes, words and names were simply not enough – but infinite.

And deep inside, it made Cody smile.

[inspirationdivine]

Where the Heart is || Jared & Lydia

Timing: Before Mushroom Jared  Parties: @themidnightfarmer  & @inspirationdivine Summary: After Lydia’s injuries, Jared comes to check up on his friend, and learns a secret Trigger Warnings: Brief reference to domestic abuse, head trauma

Cap was covered with a blanket for the walk, Jared holding the Raiju under his arm until they were right up to Lydia's door and waiting for her to answer. Cap sat patiently on Jared’s feet as they both waited. Maybe Lydia didn’t want the extra help, but it was harder to deny it if it was already looking at you in the face with its adorable little face. Or at least this is what the nymph had told himself. And even if Lydia still denied Cap to stay with her, it was good for the creature to leave the farm now and again. Especially on more calm errands than the trip they’d taken to the ring last time. As soon as the door opened Jared smiled holding out a small basket of flowers. None of the blooms were typical for a bouquet, but rather they were usually sold to the magic shops and at the market for ingredients for things. But it was the best the nymph could do, he was -as always- strapped for cash. 

After Cece had left, Lydia had collapsed into her new couch, a futon that she could comfortably drape herself over without putting any weight on her wings. She wore a camisole with a low back to put as little pressure on anywhere as possible, and despite the entire White Crest anti bra brigade picking a fight with her, Lydia was in fact not wearing one at the moment. Her points about support and structure still stood all the same. She’d set aside her phone for the while being, lying in empty silence as she tried to ignore the call of distant mushrooms and the pain rocketing through her body. Her phone beeped as her doorbell let her know someone was looking to come in. Lydia looked at the camera image, and groaned softly, before speaking into the mic. “Door’s unlocked, you can come in.” 

Jared held out the basket in front of him the entire time he was entering the house, looking around each corner tentatively until he found who he was looking for. “Hey.” He greeted her politely, nudging Cap to sit patiently just out of her sight to be on the safe side just in case she really truly was upset at him for not taking her answer seriously. Not realizing she’d maybe had a camera system to see who was waiting at the door and had likely seen him already. He set the basket of odd flowers on a side table and tried not to be too obviously nosey and trying to figure out what had happened to his new fae friend. “How are you feeling?”

Lydia slowly shifted, enough to roll to face him a little, still staying mostly lying on the bed. With no glamour on and no desire to put one on, it was impossibly easy for him to see the pallor to her skin, the heavy bruising and swelling along the side of her face. One ankle in a cast and heavy bandage around her back. If he counted her wings - well. Lydia tried not to think about that. “Hey,” she said hoarsely. “Did I… misunderstand something? I didn’t know I was expecting anyone tonight.”  She didn’t answer his question, because her throat closed up the moment she tried to. 

He politely held back a sharp intake of breath at her condition. Even if Jared was very advanced at glamour, it didn’t help mask the expression on his face. He was at war with asking and simply looking. He wanted to know what had occurred but looking at her he also felt like he could see exactly what the answer would be. “Oh well uh.” he stumbled over his words for a moment before catching his stride. “Maybe I should have called, sorry about that I just wanted to drop off that something to hopefully cheer you up, and when you said you were going home I figured it’d be a good time...I uh….also wanted to maybe drop off someone else as well if you’d let me leave him. I know you said you didn’t want a guard Raiju, but…. surely, it’d help? He’s very good, he won’t bother you.”

Jared was many, many things, but he was never going to be good at poker, Lydia thought as she watched his face shift from surprise to horror. Already, in just seconds of him being here, it was too much to bear. Some fae believed it was better to be dead than to lose a wing, and for a brief moment, as Lydia looked away so she couldn’t see his pity, she agreed with them. What a shameful sign of weakness, to let someone hurt you like that. When it came on top of everything else - Lydia burned with a shame so heavy it physically hurt her chest. All the same, she slowly made herself sit up, or at least sit up enough so that she could lean her side against the couch, gesturing at the chair near her. Still not looking at him. “That’s very kind of you… I’m just, I’m just a little confused sometimes. You can sit. Your Raiju too, if he likes.”

Their minds were worlds apart. Whilst Lydia was dwelling on fae custom, and the reaction he must be having to her situation from that standpoint. Jared was taking a very human outlook; it was the only way he knew how to process the image of what he thought may have happened. And while he was horrified, it was more at the thought that someone would do something like this to such a lovely woman that was catching him up. He’d never seen someone so battered and bruised knowing that they hadn’t picked a fight or gone to do something dangerous. She’d only been at home. She’d been at home and this had happened to her. Jared sat down when she offered and put a hand down past his knees for Cap to run to and settle on his feet looking up at Lydia. “This is Cap……. I think we spoke about him before for a little bit uh…. Thought he might be good company for you?”

After a long moment, Lydia looked back at him with a practiced smile, made lopsided by the bruising and swelling on one side of her face. “Yes, I remember, my dear. Hello, little one,” she said to Cap, looking down at what at first appearance might have been a coyote, especially as Lydia had never seen a coyote either. But when she looked more closely, she saw tiny electric sparks in its fur. His fur. “This is the one that was domesticated, right?” She asked, remembering their conversation about wild things being left wild. “This is very sweet of you, but you don’t have to take care of me. We can just spend time together like normal- “Lydia winced and shut her eyes. “Or as close to normal, anyway.” Which wasn’t close at all.

Jared could sort of tell she was just trying to be polite and told himself as soon as she even remotely hinted that she wanted him gone, he would be. Cap shuddered like a chihuahua at being spoken to, his body shivering as if he was cold, the little electrical pulses in his fur increasing for a moment until the bought had passed. “He was used as a power source for things before I got him. But he’s friendly once he's introduced to someone. He can stun people easily if he needs to, and sometimes a little bit more than that. But he was sick a long time before I got him so he’s not incredibly dangerous…. And I mean I know you’re probably fully capable of taking care of yourself but...I don’t know I’m the dad friend sometimes. Not often. But sometimes. And I worry all the time. We don’t have to talk about it, I'd just really like if you’d let Cap stay. He’ll stay outside. I brought his blanket. I’ll come feed him. He won't be any trouble I pro- I really don’t think he will.”

Ever so tentatively, Lydia lowered her arm, extending her hand for Cap to interact with, like one would a dog, or a cat that would inevitably walk away regardless of what you did. She had to trust that Jared was right, like he had been about the bodenoggles. “It sounds like you’re lucky Jared found you,” Lydia told Cap softly, listening to Jared as she watched the unnerving little creature. She laughed, harshly and cruelly, at his words. “Does it look like I’m capable of taking care after myself?” As quickly as she’d laughed, tears had sprung to her eyelids, which she batted away furiously. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. I’m just- I want to show you so many things about our world. I wanted you to have the best possible introduction to fae life. Not this.”

Jared wiggled his toes under the Raiju when Lydia extended her hand kindly to Cap. The Raiju in response got to his feet and tentatively padded closer to the woman. The creature would always look alarming, his species dictated that, but his movements were always that reminiscent of a shy dog. He’d been tamed in an odd way and despite it being awful in Jared’s eyes, in this instance it might work in his favour. Cap liked having a job to do, something to be done. And while Jared refused to let the creature work on the farm doing anything other than being a companion and maybe herding cockatrice, standing guard with Lydia seemed right there with something he would enjoy. The nymph cringed as she laughed and recoiled a little in shame. He was always saying the wrong thing lately. “This ain’t your fault though, and the situation doesn’t mean you can’t look after yourself, it means that someone came prepared to hurt you. That’s different. And…” he trailed off, what could he say? Nothing that would help likely. She had been attacked; he couldn’t fix that.

It was terrifying, letting it cautiously move closer and closer to her hand. Once, a little spark of lighting ran across the fur of its mouth and Lydia flinched away momentarily, before lowering her hand back down. Was Jared sure Cap would behave once he was gone? He was the nymph of vicious beasts, not her, and Cap was looking more vicious the longer she looked at him. She looked back up to Jared when he cringed, immediately regretting her own response. “Oh, Jared-” She said softly, reaching out for his hand after a moment. Was it different? Did it matter now, when she needed a team of eight security guards just to keep her safe, especially when one was driving her around? When she fell asleep at the most random hours, but terror kept her awake most nights. “You’re so sweet. I wish I’d met you months ago.”

Cap sniffled at Lydia’s hand for a moment, his tongue darting out for a very brief moment before he backed up again to assume his comfortable position on Jared’s feet. He would stay out of her way, and so long as he was introduced to anyone else coming over, he wouldn’t cause them any issue either. He was an intuitive little creature and Jared was sure he could help at least a little. As she reached out to him, he did the same for her, taking her hand eager to offer her his apologies in any way that couldn’t turn into another verbal mistake. “Wish I’d -” he had to stop himself from saying something else insensitive by mistake. He wanted to offer support, and maybe they were just new friends, but he cherished the people he got along with, lately he was trying to do this a lot more than he used to. It was important to him to be compassionate with people just as he was with his kids. Everyone needed to feel safe and he just wished he could provide that. “I was a hermit months ago, literally on migration living with a herd. You’d not have enjoyed that.” he tried to joke lamely, but his tone fell flat. 

“No, maybe not,” Lydia replied with a huff of a laugh, less flat that his joke but still deflated at a sad balloon. “Where did you migrate through?” Now that she had his hand, she was loathe to let go, taking comfort in the presence of his warmth, and how his very presence made her chest ring soothingly as if she was being sung to, a blanket to guard away her icy fears. As Lydia sat there silently, focusing on his presence and warmth, she realised it wasn’t just her fear gnawing at her. Shit. Before Jared had gotten here, Lydia had told Chloe to bring a finished lyric set. Except she couldn’t while Jared was here. The double promise was eating at her. Shit. “Chloe, you can come over.” Almost immediately, the blond woman did, looking pale and exhausted as she handed over some sheets. 

“Followed a kerashag over the border. Just wanted to know more about them mainly.” Although his migration felt like it had been years ago rather than only this past winter. So much had happened since he’d gotten home, but that was how this town had always been. One thing after another to overcome. It was a wonder some families lasted as long as they did in this place. Jared didn’t let go of Lydia’s hand, he didn’t want to break that trust, if she needed him to hold her hand all night he’d stay. He always wanted to be someone his friends could count on. The arrival of someone he didn’t know didn’t even have him breaking that contact unless Lydia pulled away. He motioned to Cap that this person was alright and then looked up with a friendly smile. “Uh hi?” He shifted his eyes to glance at Lydia in question.

“Do you do a migration every year?” Lydia asked mildly, not really understanding what a kerashag was either. It could have been a single animal, a group of animals, a party, a species, anything, really, but she always liked listening to him telling her things, even when she didn’t have the faintest idea. She didn’t let go of him when Chloe arrived, but she did tense a little. He was the nymph of vicious beasts, surely, he’d understand. “This is Chloe,” she said for Jared’s comfort, taking the sheet from Chloe without sparing her much of a second glance. “She’s my dinner. Chloe, say hi.”

“Hi,” said Chloe. 

“Not every year, just the last three winters. I got lucky with species passing through. Not all species migrate either, so I imagine it’ll be harder the more I try and do it.” Jared spoke softly in return to her question. He would always be happy to share, especially considering she seemed to be just as kind with his own questions. He opened his mouth to greet the new face but instead sucked in a breath at Lydia's words. He floundered for a moment on what to say. He looked up at Chloe with his mouth uselessly open. This carried on for a few moments before he caught his breakings and he mumbled “Oh, hi.” His gaze dropped from the girl and to Lydia and His joined hands. “Dinner?” he asked quietly, he knew the answer was likely going to be no, but he asked anyway. “Like a guest?” Didn’t hurt to try.

 “You can go now,” Lydia said to Chloe, and as if her feet had been unglued from the floor, the bolted, down the hall and up the stairs. Oh, Jared frightened her too. All of Lydia’s friends did. Even if Lydia couldn’t quite meet his gaze as Jared fumbled. She wasn’t ashamed, she wasn’t, but maybe it had been too soon. Maybe he was still too human, too empathetic to them, maybe he couldn’t accept that Lydia couldn’t do anything but. That was what made it easier for most people to stomach. She couldn’t drink cow’s blood or eat cow brains, there was no vegan substitute. But even if there was, why would she wish to stop herself from tasting that kind of rush? “No, not like a guest. I eat human lifeforce, Jared. That’s what Leanan-Sidhe do. In return, she writes the most amazing music she could possibly write.”

He was still holding her hand. Jared didn’t want to let go, he didn’t know what to think about what he was hearing just yet, but he didn’t want to remove the comfort he’d come to give without hearing the rest. He finally looked up at her and caught her eye as she spoke. “You… to live you need to?” he asked. He just knew so little about anything. He was so behind, so out of the loop with everything from his own species that it hadn’t crossed his mind that any of them wouldn’t eat food like humans needed to for life. “Do you...eat normal food too or just...people?” It was an odd thing to ask, nothing he’d ever imagined having to inquire about in his life. But here he was, being fae truly was a whole new world. A world he was jumping into very late in the game. 

Once Jared looked at her, Lydia met his gaze, and barely even blinked, so unwilling to drop it. He was already beginning to understand. He wasn’t pulling away. She could talk him through this. “I have to,” Lydia confirmed again, watching for every little flicker, every little hesitation. Her lips quirked downwards as he accused her of eating people. Lydia never would unless it was an emergency, and even then, she’d only take the tiniest sliver. People didn’t deserve it, but humans were prey. “I can eat human food, and I can enjoy it, but it doesn’t provide any nutritional value anymore. I haven’t been able to live off anything but humans since I was a teenager.”

Have to was something Jared never argued with. It went hand in hand with what was in a species nature. And as such a big advocate for defending his kids for things they couldn’t help or that were ‘in their nature’ he’d been slowly applying his logic to people as well the more he found out about others. The divide between what he used to consider morally wrong and what he was becoming to accept as truly morally wrong was widening, but he didn’t notice. But he needed the clarification. She’d been so patient with him before now, he hoped she’d extend it now even if Jared was the one who had initially arrived to show her the support, he now needed from her. “How does it work?” he asks her. “Is it, specific to Leanan-sidhe?” 

“It is specific to us. I think it’s one of the reasons we’re so rare. Humans can’t stand it. Hunters would kill us as soon as looking at us.” Lydia’s headache was starting to return, so she let her head back on the couch, squeezing his hand to let him know she was still there as she closed her eyes so that the light could not hurt her. “It’s permanent. You can’t grow back life the way you can grow back blood or anything like that. There is no substitute. I can feed from just standing near people, but it’s like snacking on an apple, it isn’t enough. Mouth to mouth contact is how I need to eat, every few days.” Maybe her headache wasn’t the only reason she’d shut her eyes. Lydia held him even tighter now, like she was afraid he might leave. She was. “How does that make you feel?”

Jared knew the hunter mentality well and he didn’t like it one bit. He was biased against, in fact, far enough to truly despise the whole system of humans that trained to take out the beings he protected for simply existing. It wasn’t right. His beliefs were challenged by the upbringing he’d had, his ‘parents’ had raised him to believe every human should be allowed to live, but the whole balance of the earth defied that, an earth he was much more closely tied to than his human non blood related family. And yet it was hard to shake. He wasn’t like other fae, he’d grown up loving the humans around him and he still did. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he would. He squeezed her hand tightly and gave her a half shrug- not that she could see it. He combined his parents’ ideals and his own as he said “You’re part of the world, you deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. And if it’s natural to you…. If it's in your nature...who am I to say otherwise? It’d make me a huge hypocrite to advocate for balance, and then not support what you need to do to live…”

His words loosened up the temporary knot in Lydia’s chest. It would be a terrible thing, to love someone so much and to lose them so quickly to so pesky a thing as human morals. “Just like that, you’ve summarised something so few understand. I’m not wrong just for existing, no more so than any other predator. Hell, I do what the humans do.” Her victory speech was cut short by a sharply increasing pain in her back. Her face went pale as she looked up at him. “You’re a very good friend, you know?”

He gave her a small smile. She was teaching him about the world they were both part of, he trusted her judgement, and he appreciated her asking what he thought even if she wasn’t sorry about it. She gave him the time to decide and that would always mean something to the nymph. He wasn’t intelligent like others but given the time he could come to some alright conclusions. Jared noticed her face pale and he looked down at her soft look. “I’m sorry for barging in Lydia. I just wanted to contribute to your safety now that you’re home. Will you keep Cap here for me? Even if you don’t need him it’d make me feel like I don’t have to swing by every day, I’m sure that’d be annoying.”

“I will,” Lydia agreed, looking down to Cap again with a soft little smile, her nerves dissolving under his kind words. Maybe this was enough, for right now. Not talking about it, not trying to find words to describe the nightmares that ate at her, but instead leaning into the acceptance and comfort of her friends. They didn’t need to heal her, to be therapy for her, just this. Lydia took her his hand both of hers, tracing the veins of his arms idly. “You’re always welcome here, Jared. Always.”

Jared would think about what she’d said, but ultimately, he couldn’t imagine coming to a different conclusion about all she’d said. He believed in balance, and if her species existed and this was how they lived that was that. The earth had spoken. He was pleased also to find he was welcome; he’d surely be stopping in more often now he knew that. “I’ll take you up on that.” he hummed in response. 

[jungkookienoona]

The Meme And His Tutor

Part 49: The Tutor’s birthday

Recommended Song: Stay up by Baekhyun

|Masterlist|

Summary:

The day has finally arrived and the tutor has something special planned. Operation D enters its finally stage.

Genre: Fluff, comedy, SMUT

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, oral (f receiving), fingering, sexy times, Jungkook is a tad eager, riding, some dirty talk?, Jungkook can be a whiny baby, consent asked for throughout. PROTECTED SEX WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PEOPLE.

Word Count: 2701

Length: 49/?

You worried around your kitchen as you prepared. Today was the day. It was your birthday. The day you planned to give Jungkook all of you. Miri was staying with Jaehi for the night under her insistence. Something about not having distractions around. There was only a couple of hours until Bangtan’s photoshoot was over, when Jungkook would be free to see you. So now was the best time to eat before nerves made your stomach uneasy. You knew Jungkook would’ve eaten at the photography studio. The doorbell rang as you were chopping up some carrots so you set down your knife and went to answer it.

A bunch of flowers greeted you. The delivery guy poked his head around the large bouquet, "Y/N?"

"Uh, yes that's me."

He handed you the flowers and wished you a happy birthday before leaving. Sitting down, you found a card attached to the bouquet by a ribbon.

"Alright, let's find out who you’re from,” You said turning the card over, “'To my lovely Noona. Happy birthday! I'm sorry I can't spend most of the day with you but my day ends at 8pm. I'll try to get to you asap so I can cook you dinner and stuff. From, your Kookie.'"

Well shit, his romantic home cooked dinner will probably have to wait until the next day. It wasn’t his fault though, he didn’t know your plans. A small smile graced your lips as you set the bouquet on the coffee table. You needed to finish cooking.

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One meal and shower later, you were digging through your wardrobe for the lingerie you bought with Jaehi. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you pulled out the sheer fabric. Nerves or anticipation you couldn’t tell. Time was counting down, the photoshoot was ending soon. Placing it on your bed you moved over to your chester draws, you rummaged through to find the accompanying panties. 

Stripping down you changed into them, posing and twirling in front of your widow to give yourself a once over. Just two things left to do. Grabbing your phone you typed out a quick message to Jungkook.

‘I’m ready.’

Sent.

All you had to do was your hair… maybe put on a nice pair of heels. Just as you sat down in front of your vanity, your phone dinged with a message.

‘Ready as in ready ready?

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck.’

‘That’s the plan Kookie.’

You giggled at your own response and set your phone down. Trust teasing him to be the thing that calmed your nerves.

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Your hair was in soft curls as you slid on a pair of heels that finished off your ensemble. The sound of the apartments passcode being punched in reached your ears causing you to hurry into the living room just as Jungkook shut the front door behind him. 

You stood there stunned. His cherry red hair was part to show off his forehead, his clothing was far from casual, looking as if he had left the shoot without even changing. He wore a deep blue shirt, leather pants and a leather harness around his chest. He oozed sex appeal but one part of you lamented how fiddley the harness would be to remove.

Jungkook mirrored you, stood still as a statue whilst eyeing your form. You watched the path of his eyes as they travelled down your body, pausing at you cleavage momentarily before continuing down to your thighs. Where he stopped and drew in a breath. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smirk.

“So that’s why you’ve been hiding from me in the bathroom while changing Noona? When did you get that tattoo?”

The tattoo in question was ‘oriental’ in design: cat in a kimono sheathing a katana while stood atop a koi fish, surrounded by lily pads in bloom. Your mother had paid for it as a farewell gift before a month before you left for Korea. It had to be done in sessions, one a week to have it completed in time.

“Before moving here.”

Jungkook closed the gap between you in a few long strides before dropping to his knees. His fingers tenderly traced over the lines. 

“Munsindo noonacheoreom areumdawoyo. (The tattoo is as beautiful as Noona.)”

He placed a kiss on it, so feather light it was like the fluttering in you heart was caused by it sprouting wings to fly to him. The thought didn’t stick around for long. Jungkook used his position to hoist you over his shoulder as he stood, a squeal leaving your lips.

He crossed the threshold of your room, carefully setting you down on your bed. Your face was cupped by his hands as he looked into your eyes, “Are you sure about this Noona? I need to hear you say it.”

Your own hands reached for him, curling his locks around your fingers, “I’m sure Jungkook.”

The smile that bloomed across his face could’ve melted you, “Johke haedeurilkeyo. Yaksokhaeyo. (I’ll make it good for you. I promise.)”*

His lips were on yours without a second to spare, soft and gentle but you could tell he was holding back. Tugging on his hair, you tried to let him know it was okay but all he did was chuckle and shake his head.

“It’s your birthday Noona, so today this will be all about you. We can focus on me another time yeah?”

How did you get blessed with such a man? You decided to let him do as he pleased. With a nod of confirmation from you, he moved down to your neck. Immediately he attacked your weak point, nipping and sucking at it with a practiced technique that had you squirming beneath him. You hadn’t even realised he had led you down. 

“Noona, can I… am I allowed to-” The way his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin had heat pooling between your legs.

“Please.”

It kind of amazed you how you knew what he was asking to do, but it’s not as if it took a mind reader. Jungkook’s nips lost their gentleness, now with the intent to mark you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, I particularly harsh bite causing you to jolt, hips meeting his and drawing a moan from the both of you. If there was something you had realised from your escapades with Jungkook, it was that his moans were as intoxicating as his singing. Unlike his singing, this was just for your ears.

Jungkook’s hands trailed up your thighs as his lips travelled south, stopping in the valley of your breasts. Sitting up slightly, he pulled down the straps of your baby doll to reveal you breasts to him.

“As much as I love how this looks on you, it’s getting in my way so I have no choice but see it go.”

His playful pout made you giggle. You helped him to remove the material from you leaving you in naught but your panties. Those giggles died instantly when he caught one of your nipples between his lips, tongue laving it. His hand gravitated towards the neglected breast, massaging it and pausing to tweak it. Keens and whines escaped your lips as heat continued to pool. You felt his free hand move to your hip, encouraging you to grind against him as his moved in tandem with you. 

He freed your nipple to rest his head on your chest, sweat slicked hair feeling chill against your heated skin, “Fuck Noona, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can take my time with you like you wanted. Can I taste you? I’ve been fucking dying to Noona, please.”

“It’s… It’s okay baby. Do what you want with me.”

Jungkook groaned when the word baby left your lips, his hands already tugging at the last remaining piece of clothing on you. 

You placed a hand on his chest, making him stop. His brows furrowed in concern.

 “Aren’t you a tad over dressed?” You said coyly.

Jungkook was quick to start unbuckling the harness, you were almost sad to see it go. But that thought was swiftly replaced when he started unbuttoning his shirt to reveal more and more of his caramel skin to you. You were so entranced you barely noticed he had taken it off fully until he started working on removing his leather pants. Fuck they made his thighs look heavenly with how they clung to them like a second skin. Maybe one day you could convince him to wear those and the harness when fooling around… 

Without hesitation Jungkook pushed down his pants revealing that he was going commando beneath.

“Do you ever wear underwear?”

“When my pants aren’t so tight. Do you have…?”

You pointed to your dresser. He had to claim over slightly and you relished in how his skin felt against yours. A little “aha” let you know he had found what he wanted. He sat back up, condom in hand and a victorious grin on his face.

“I thought you wanted to taste me baby. I thought you couldn’t wait.”

Jungkook tore open the foil.

“And I can’t but safety first. Don’t want to forget about it when I’m high on your pussy Noona.” He said with utter seriousness, rolling the rubber onto his cock.

You choked on air at his words. They sounded almost alien coming from him. Jungkook shifted above you so his upper body was situated between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders. With his hands on your hips, he pulled you towards his face, his breath fanning against you for but a brief moment before he was diving in.

You’ve only been eaten out a handful of times, none of which could compare to that very moment. No one had ever done it so enthusiastically. Had ever had you moaning like a wanton whore at an orgy. And Jungkook seemed equally affected as he groaned with each passing of his tongue between your folds, only stopping to focus on your clit. You couldn’t help you hands weaving into his hair, tugging him closer so you could grind against the flat surface of his tongue.

 A prodding at your entrance had you looking down and you swore you could’ve come then and there at the sight that met you. He was looking up at you, watching your reactions and responding to them. His sweat laden bangs were held back from his face by your very own hands letting you see him clearly. And fuck were you weak for it, the look in his eyes was exactly like when he was performing. The passion and focus in them. 

Staring into your eyes, he pushed two fingers into you. You tensed, not used to starting with two but it really did seem Jungkook was too riled up for his own good. But that didn’t mean he was utterly senseless. At your visible discomfort, he started sucking and kitten licking at your clit, making you shudder as pleasure surged upwards through you. When you had relaxed enough he started pumping his fingers inside you, crooking his fingers to find the spots that would have your toes curling.

“Jungkook. Fuck right there.”

Jungkook pulled away slightly, “There Noona? Do you think you can take another?”

“Please,” You whined, tugging at his hair. 

Jungkook chuckled, going back to give your sensitive nub more attention as he eased a third finger in. You already felt so full but if the dildos you had been practicing with were anything to go by, you were going to feel even more so later. With just a bit more coaxing he had done the impossible. Jungkook made you cum with foreplay. The heat that had pooling in your stomach, twisting into a coil, finally released and flooded your body. You cried out as it travelled from its epicentre between your legs, to your toes and fingers before finally reaching your head leaving you fucked out and heady. 

Jungkook sat back, your release on his lips and chin. Using his thumb he wiped up what remained only to suck it off with a moan.

“You taste so fucking good Noona. Good thing you’re a snack so I can eat you up every day.”

He shifted so his hips were flush against yours, his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Your hand went to his shoulder, nudging him to lay back but he resisted.

“I said today is about you Noona. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know. I want to be on top.”

The dumbstruck look on Jungkook’s face was priceless and when you nudged his shoulder again he gave no resistance at all, falling to the side with all the grace of a pigeon in a strong wind. You straddled his hips but waited a moment before going any further.

“Are you okay with this baby?”

Jungkook blinked a couple of times before meeting your eyes, “Noona, I am more than okay with this. I just had to focus on not coming at the thought of you riding me.”

Nodding to yourself having got his consent, you lined up his cock with your cunt before pressing down onto his. Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer feel of him stretching you to your limits, even as you took your time. A stream of curses left Jungkook’s mouth, his hands clutching at the sheets. You both stayed like that for a moment, regaining composure. 

“Noona, you’re so wet and tight. Fuck. Despite the fleshlight you gave me I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“I-it’s okay. I’ve al-already c-came.”

Jungkook gave a low groan in response, his head kicking back as his hips bucked at your words, “Shit, sorry Noona.”

Your hands fell to his chest to steady yourself, moaning as his movements made him brush against your sweet spot.

“Do that again Kookie. But this time call me by my name.”

Jungkook released the sheets, hands tightly grasping at your hips to hold you steady as he thrust up into you, “Oh fuck. Fuck Y/N. So fucking good around my cock. Shit this isn’t how I thought it’d go in my head.”

Not content with staying still, you rocked against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Your body tipping forward as you rested your forehead against his own, breathy moans mixing with his grunts. The sound of those with skin against skin and you wetness were a sinful performance to your ears. One you knew you’d want to hear over and over for as long as you were able. For as long as Jungkook was your partner in this duet. 

Jungkook captured your lips with your own. It was messy with heavy breathing and teeth occasionally knocking at harder thrusts. Which were becoming more erratic as Jung drew ever closer to his end. The familiar heat was starting to build in your stomach but you elected to ignore it, just this once. 

“It’s okay baby, you can cum.”

As if hearing those words was what he needed, Jungkook tensed beneath you with a cry of your name as you continued to rock against him, milking his climax. His grip on you tightening was you signal to stop so you eased yourself off him. As he led there panting and in a fucked out daze you carefully removed the condom from him and took it over to your little bin. Sure you ached but clean up was necessary.

“Noona~ waso nal kkyeoanayo (Come and cuddle me).” Jungkook whine, patting beside him insistently. 

You wondered if he was the whiney type after cumming. Smiling to yourself at the thought of a whiny baby-ish Jungkook, you crawled back into bed and into his arms.

“You tired Kookie?”

Jungkook shook his head, “Just need to catch my breath. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready for round two.”

Your eyes which were closing sprang wide open, “Round two?”

“I will feel you come round my dick before your birthday is over Y/N, I promise. Which reminds me. Happy Birthday Noona. I’m sorry I didn’t bring your present or the stuff for dinner. I kinda… forgot… after your texts.”

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A/N: Happy New Year everyone! It’s exactly the 4 year anniversary of me discovering Bangtan! 

*I wrote this line just as Jungkook sang the first “take my hand now” in the Euphoria forever mix and it hit my heart in such a way. oof.

Tag list: @it-is-dana​ @joonsflowers​ @welcome-to-my-broken-sanctuary​ @diznizzle4shizzle​

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

[bellsybuilds]

[Part 2 of the Truck Stops and Tribulations series (link)]

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

The way home - chapter 4 (T rating and warnings will change)

Din Djarin, Paz Viz(s)la, Baby Yoda, Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels, Agent Ginger Ale (modern AU, all human, road trips, found family, family reunions)

Jack claps, bringing the child’s attention back to him. He smiles indulgently. “Come to Papi.”

“Don’t do that,” Din growls.

Ginger stares at the lines of text spilling down the length of her monitor and releases a heavy, trembling sigh. Her hands hover at the keyboard. Her vision is blurring and she's starting to feel light-headed from all the missed sleep of the night before.

After helping Jack with his after-hours family emergency, she had some personal things to address. And these things had a deadline.

A glance to the clock in the bottom right of her monitor has her heart jump with a shot of adrenaline. 6:50AM. Already? Sucking in another quick breath, she forces herself to release it over the count of four slow breaths. Again, in and out, even slower this time, counting to six. By the third slow exhale, she’s drawing air without the feeling of invisible weight on her collar.

The application is almost complete. She just needs to write the concluding remarks on her cover letter… and then get Jack to endorse her nomination to field agent.

Swallowing thickly, her fingers curl to loose fists.

"Ginger?"

She jumps from her chair and whirls, monitor shielded with her back, hands splayed wide.

From the doorway, Jack has poked his head through, an eyebrow raised in question. Ginger didn't hear the latch open. Freshly shaven and bare of his customary moustache, Jack doesn't look like himself. That's the point, though it's unsettling. Jack hasn’t been without it the entire time she’s known him.

This Fall will mark her seventh anniversary with Statesman as an analyst.

He frowns at her suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Just--" Ginger waves a dismissive hand and hopes she's angling herself to block her work. Her cheeks heat with embarrassment. "Some personal admin."

"Well, finish it later and get moving. These halls will be busy soon and I don't want an audience."

Her heart skips a beat, chastised. "Right. Right, I'll--" She turns to quickly save and close her work, locking down her station.

Out in the hallway, they fall in step, Ginger moving quickly to keep up with Jack's longer stride. From the corner of her eye, she watches him draw the back of a self-conscious hand across his upper lip.

"It looks all right," she tries to encourage him, voice light.

His lip curls, grumbling. "I feel naked as a fresh baby's bottom."

"You look younger." Like a fresh recruit, but with broader shoulders.

Jack seems to agree because he sighs, pushing through a tight jaw, “That ain't a good thing, Ginger."

Leaving the secure wing and emerging onto the grounds, Ginger sharply inhales the cool blast of the dawn, eyes watering. Datapad clutched to her chest, she looks to the pale grey sky and sucks in a deeper breath, willing herself awake. The fresh air tastes cold and clean. She'll need all her senses for the task ahead.

Just a little bit of conceit: like a preliminary mission to demonstrate what she's capable of.

Entering the public buildings of the estate, she waits for Jack as he draws the door shut behind them. He always tried to be a gentleman… it’d be nice if he also didn’t yell so much.

Continuing on, Ginger has to clear her throat twice before she trusts her voice won't crack. The heated, recycled air feels almost too warm after the brief passage outside. "W-when we're done here, I could use your help with something."

Jack raises an eyebrow at her, the expression quickly slipping into his genial charm when they’re spotted by the front guards at reception. They both nod back in greeting. "All right," Jack's tone is dubious.

"Your endorsement, actually," she clarifies, throat tightening with sudden nervousness, and she keeps her eyes ahead as they turn the corridor to guest accommodation.

Up ahead, she can hear the tinkle of dishes and the soft murmur of chatter from the cafeteria.

Beside her, Jack has straightened his shoulders, expression drawn tight. After a long moment, he finally speaks, halting, "Look, darlin'--"

The flip of her stomach makes Ginger rush to interrupt, turning on him with a bright smile. "Just think about it! Wait here." She gestures to the storage closet as they approach. "And I'll go get him."

Marching away with the datapad tight against her side, she willfully blocks out any sigh or stray comment that might reach her ears. She doesn’t want to hear it right now. She can’t afford to. It's probably unbecoming of Statesman agents to run from potential criticism considering all the other things they would face in the field… but first, she has to get into the field. Right now, Jack is the only thing standing between her and a re-classification.

Nobody else at this site could possibly compete with her training or hours invested in the lab and as mission support. She knows this branch inside and out. She is the next best person equipped to protect its interests from the front lines. And she can do the job just as well as Jack.

One hurdle at a time.

Thankfully, none of the sparse crowd in the cafeteria give her a second glance. True to Jack’s assumption, the men she’s looking for are awake. Ginger spots them seated by the far wall, affording one of the best vantages of all the tables and counter of food assembly.

The two men are seated across from each other, emptied plates of breakfast before them, though she can see Din occupied with a smaller plate, pushing something around with his fork. On the chair beside him, the child sits with his legs splayed, blinking up at Din with more patience and curiosity than she has ever witnessed in a toddler not falling asleep. Barely eye level with the table in its over-large onesie, his tiny fingertips barely peek beyond his thick, padded sleeves and the brown collar bunching around his shoulders. These men either don’t know how to dress this child or are low on options.

Ginger has no place to judge.

Drawing closer, she catches the end of Din’s terse, “What the fuck are fairy lights?”

The taller man, Paz, turns his phone and, over Din’s shoulder, Ginger sees the portrait of a car’s front interior at night: small lights thread across the cloud grey roof of the cabin like softly haloed stars. One of the cords trails down the open passenger side window like a lead back to the real world from the dream of the whimsical refuge. At the photo’s lower end, someone is holding an unfolded map open to the camera’s eye: an invitation to adventure on the open road.

Din frowns, shaking his head and decisively spears another small portion of waffle. On the chair beside him, the child snaps to attention and bounces, gasping with excitement, small arms waving at the fork’s approach.

Despite Ginger’s exhaustion from the long night, a smile tugs at her mouth. What a beautiful child.

“Sit still,” Din orders, holding the fork hostage until the kid looks back into his face and splits into a pure, bright laugh at whatever he sees there.

Paz glances up from his phone, looking between them. A slow smile curves his mouth, small and private. His relaxed slouch is a far leap from the hostile bodyguard who towered over Ginger last night, shoulders squared, suspicious and domineering. He only cracked in the moment the baby cried at the sight of the needle. If they had met under different circumstances, Ginger would have even called him handsome with his plaid lumberjack sense of style.

“I think he would like them,” Paz is encouraging, appraising the photo again.

“We don’t need it.”

“They’re free.”

“From where?”

Ginger finally clears her throat and holds her datapad against her side, smiling with an apologetic shrug when they both sit back, looking up at her. Jack’s brother nods politely in greeting. Under his worn cap, Din’s eyes look heavy and red-rimmed, shadowed with the faint bruise of exhaustion. Maybe Ginger isn’t the only one who lost sleep last night.

Across from him, Paz looks spry by comparison. He’s not wearing his cap this morning, and his dark hair gleams wet from a recent shower. But something subtle has shifted in his expression. The soft smile has slipped away. His gaze narrows and he straightens in his chair. This one will be watching her.

At their mutual, undivided attention, her mouth is suddenly dry.

“Good morning,” she says.

The kid catches the neck of Din’s fork and hums when he retreats with his prize of waffles, eyes crinkled happily. A drip of maple syrup escapes from the corner of his mouth.

Ginger has to resist the impulse to lean over and wipe it away.

Paz does it for her, reaching across the table to thumb it from the kid’s cheek and wipe his finger on the napkin by Din’s plate. The kid doesn’t miss a beat, already rising in his seat to reach for more of the dissected waffle from Din’s plate.

“Morning,” Din says it like a sigh, and Ginger feels that weary sentiment in her bones. She doesn’t take it personally. “Ginger, right?”

“Agent Ginger Ale,” she corrects, then nodding, “Ginger is fine.” At least she hasn’t left an impression as the scary woman with the needle.

“Good morning,” Paz echoes, tone surprisingly bright. For some reason, Din frowns at him.

“I hope you both had a chance to try their hash browns,” Ginger says, glancing back at the food counter and the few staff milling around this early in the morning, easily distinguishable by the IDs dangling from their lapels. “They’re my favourite.”

Din’s arms fold on the table before him, gently closing around his elbows. The child frowns when the gesture pushes the waffle plate farther from his reach. Stepping carefully along his seat and holding onto the table’s edge for balance, the child tries again, eyes narrowed in intense concentration. From across the table, Paz watches, mouth curving with a fond, amused quirk.

With a glance at the counter, Din nods. “The food was fine.”

She flashes a quick smile at him again and hopes it doesn’t tremble. Small talk isn’t her strongest suit. “We’re ready for you two.”

Din straightens in his seat. “Now?”

The kid stills with a tiny handful of waffle like he’s been caught. “Beh?”

She nods, stepping back to give him space. “You and him.” She looks at Paz and finds him already watching her. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait out here.”

Paz looks from her to Din, slow and considering. “How long will you be?”

Ginger tilts her head, scanning the room as she considers the time it will take them to get back. Do the swap. Get in the lab. Hope nobody stops them and then get the kid on that table... “An hour. Maybe less.”

Paz looks back to Din. “I’ll go check on Missy.”

Din just shrugs a shoulder, seeming noncommittal.

Ginger blinks. “Missy?”

“It’s his cat,” Din rises and scoops the kid up under his armpits, then blinks wide, startled at the squawk of indignation in his ear because the motion made the kid drop his waffle.

“Cat?” Ginger hasn’t seen a cat in person in so long. She misses cats.

“She’s waiting,” Paz explains, also rising to his feet. “In the car.”

Oh. All by herself? No, it’s not her business. Focus.

“When you come back, tell the front desk you’re here for me and Jack,” she tells Paz.

Din hands the child another portion of waffle, syrup-free, and watches him shovel it into his mouth with an expression between judging and amused, shaking his head quietly. Wiping his hand on his worn jeans, Din meets Paz’s gaze, and his smile fades slightly. It could be Ginger’s imagination but in that space of a heartbeat, the air seems to thicken with a strange tension.

And then Din looks to her. “Give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she shakes her head, palms raised. No problem. “I’ll be right out front. But please be quick.”

///

Din waits until Ginger is out of hearing range, white coat rippling behind her. When he looks to Paz, he finds the man smiling at the kid, gently pinching his cheek.

“You don’t have to,” Din says.

Paz’s gaze flicks to him, frowning slightly. “What?”

“Come back. If you want to head on your way now. You got us this far. That’s enough.”

Paz pauses, glancing to the child wiping his mouth against Din’s shoulder. Paz is hard to read, but Din is pretty sure the rapid blinking, searching gaze means ‘kind of stunned’, yet he still arrives at, “Yeah. Okay.”

A fist inexplicably closes around Din’s lungs. “Yeah?”

Paz nods, hands coming to a rest on his hips. “I mean. I’m in no rush, but... we got you back to your brother.”

Din almost snorts a laugh. The reunion with Jack is not something he’s celebrating.

“And if you feel safe here….”

Din frowns, but doesn’t correct him. Safe? Getting here wasn’t about safety. Jack had resources they needed. There are too many bad memories wound up in this place and Din will be out of here as soon as they’re done. But he won’t need Paz for that.

“We’ll be fine,” Din says, rather than dispute him. Paz has done more than enough for them, and Din doesn’t like being indebted to people. He shuffles the kid higher against his side, freeing his right hand. He offers it to Paz. “Thank you.”

Paz has many different smiles. Din wonders if the man knows that about himself. This one is… difficult to name. Paz considers the hand Din has offered him and chuckles under his breath. The hand that clasps Din back is firm and powerful, but unlike their first handshake, doesn’t pretend to crush him in his grip.

That was only funny the first time.

They had just met. Paz had emerged from the dark of the Waffle House’s lot like some kind of hellish spectre, spewing fire and barking at Din to get down. He’d placed the flamethrower in Din’s hands so he could take the wheel once aboard his truck. Din promptly turned it on him. And Paz had just put up his hands, fearless, gaze serious.

“You can roast me later, but I can get you far from here.”

Paz hadn’t held it against him. Trust was earned. Everyone and their dog had been chasing this child. And Paz was the only one laying cover fire; well-equipped for a private citizen. Din might have been more suspicious if Paz wasn’t clearly just from the country and living on the open road. If Din had space and means, he would be doing the same.

“The honour was mine,” Paz insists with that rare, quiet gravity that always made Din feel like the air was clearing, like he was peeling a shade of the world back on something significant but could never hold it long enough to understand what he was seeing. Paz releases him and gently cups the back of the kid’s head. The little one twists around for a better look at him. “Look after him, kiddo.”

The kid frowns, lips parting in a soft shape of confusion. Din wonders if he’ll even remember Paz in a week’s time.

Belatedly, Din realises they still have the mess of their breakfast on the table before them. As though reading his mind, Paz shakes his head, waving him off.

“I’ll clean this up. You go. That woman sounds like you're in a hurry.”

Din’s heart thuds in his chest. They’re never going to see him again and it feels… abrupt. Seven days of sharing meals, of waking to the rock and sway of the road beneath him and Paz at the truck’s wheel, that darned cat nuzzling against him for space on the cabin’s small bed. It’s been so long since he travelled with anyone. Did saying goodbye always feel this heavy? And unfairly easy?

“Are you sure?”

Paz is already turning away, collecting their plates. He waves Din off. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

They’re just ships passing in the night. That has always been his life. Din nods mechanically and feels the child’s small hand clutch at his collar.

“Thank you.”

Thank you for taking a risk for us. Until our paths cross again. Be safe.

Arms tight around the child, Din turns and leaves. The child yawns in his ear and Din takes the reminder to take a deep breath, putting their new friend behind them. Maybe some goodbyes just have to be understated, no matter how big they feel.

"Din."

His heart thumps hard and his breath catches in his throat. When he looks back, Paz nods with a two-fingered salute. His smile is kind.

"Good luck."

"Ehn," the kid complains, twisting in Din's arms and flopping overbackwards, almost falling right out of his hold, what the hell, kid?

Heart leaping, Din catches the kid just in time, mentally cursing and wondering why-- what is wrong with this kid-- but he shoves those thoughts to the side and gives Paz a tight nod of thanks. The guy’s smile widens, and Din rushes from the cafeteria before he can embarrass himself further.

"Hey," Din commands, bouncing the whining kid to get his attention. "Settle."

The kid sags in his arms, and his head hangs with a pout.

Ginger smiles when she sees him (what does he do to keep earning that from people? Must be the kid) and leads them to a storage closet of all places.

It's larger than it looks from the outside: several shelves deep full of industrial cleaning supplies and equipment. It smells of bleach and dust. Overhead, a fan whirs noisily from the air vent. In the clear walking space before them, Jack stands by an empty steel chair set on a small square of tarpaulin. He smiles brightly upon seeing the kid, arms spread wide in welcome.

“There he is!”

Meeting Jack’s eye, the kid bursts into delighted giggles and curls away, hiding his face against Din’s chest. Kids are weird.

Jack catches Din’s eye and nods. "Sit. You can hold him.”

The door clicks shut behind them, and Din glances back to see Ginger standing guard.

Din frowns, eyeing the familiar tool in Jack's hand. "What's going on?"

"We're taking care of that tracker," Jack slaps the seat's back as though it's a prized ride. He brandishes the hair trimmer. "But first you need a haircut. Time is short. Sit and I'll explain.”

Ten minutes later, Din is freshly shorn (uncomfortably so), and testing the give in the shoulders of his new outfit. Jack’s clothes are heavier than they look, warmer, too, but loose.

“Did you gain weight?” he frowns at his brother.

Jack sneers at him, lacing up his boots. “Or did you just lose too much muscle?”

“Why’d you have to shave your moustache?”

Jack straightens like a shot and glares at him, offended. “Hey, I thought you shaved yours, too, all right! It’s been a long night.”

“Feel naked,” Din grumbles, mournfully rubbing his bare upper lip. It doesn’t feel right.

Straightening side-by-side, the two brothers size each other up, clothes exchanged, groomed to match, a near perfect mirror image. Din stares at the beaver blend cowboy hat and slowly puts it on with a groan.

“You’re not standing right,” Jack says.

“We don’t all have a stick up our ass,” Din mutters.

Jack points at him accusingly. “Fix your stance, or we’re goin’ to get nowhere real fast!”

“Shh!” Ginger hushes, looking specifically at Jack with alarm. “Keep it down!”

“Fine,” Din mutters and cocks a hip out, hands on his waist in his most insulting impression of his brother’s dumb bravado at rest. “How’s this?”

Not at all deterred, Jack takes a different tact. “Well, let’s find out.” He turns to the child waddling through the short tufts of hair strewn from Din’s haircut on the tarpaulin. “Hey, Green Bean.”

The child looks up with a questioning sound, a small hand wrapped around the chair’s leg.

Jack smiles. “C’mere.”

And something in Din rails watching his brother in his clothes, holding out his arms, smiling as Din never would (or could); and his heart kicks in his chest when the child totters towards him with a happy noise, arms lifting up.

No, Jack hasn’t earned that.

"Kid,” Din orders in the same voice he always has, irrationally hoping the kid will recognise him: the one who has watched over him these past days, fed and washed him, let him drool against his shoulder, and kept him from gnawing on their weapons.

The kid halts halfway to Jack, and looks back at him, searching his face. He squints adorably.

Din almost smiles, but thinks better of it, imagining how unnatural it would look. Instead, he points at himself. “Who’s this?”

“Ehn?” The kid blinks, turning more fully to look at him. Din knows he’s only a child, but something in his expression is more aware, more articulated and mature than any child has a right to be. Is that what people mean when they say they see an old soul?

Jack claps, bringing the child’s attention back to him. He smiles indulgently. “Come to Papi.”

“Don’t do that,” Din growls.

Thankfully, Ginger chooses that moment to step back in. “Jack, it’s almost eight. Come on.”

Sighing with disappointment as though he’s been deprived of his game, Jack rises back to his feet and unclips his ID, offering it to his brother. Just as Din is about to take it, Jack holds it back, and makes sure he has his brother’s undivided attention.

“Din’ika, I’m trusting you not to commit crimes against the state in my name while you wear this. It’s a big responsibility which I know you know ‘cause you couldn’t run from it fast enough.”

Scowling, Din snatches the ID and clips it to the chest pocket of his suit jacket. It’s a different set of clothes from what Jack wore yesterday, but he doesn’t think either of these two went home. The thought that they worked through the night for the kid is the only thing staying his tongue, and discomfort squirms again in his chest. Jack will hold this debt over him for a while to come.

“Need to go over the plan again?” Jack asks, looking between Ginger and Din.

“We get in the lab, Ginger removes the chip, we come back, swap, and we’re out of your lives,” Din says. He watches the child around Jack’s knee, the little one sliding down to his bottom, grabbing a fistfull of short, brown hair and throwing it to the side in a full body motion. Giggling, the child does it again, watching the strands scatter and flutter like grass.

“Sweet and simple,” Jack smirks, but claps a hand round his brother’s shoulder, focuses on Ginger with intent. “You do everything this woman tells you, all right? You don’t speak to anyone. You don’t go anywhere or touch anything ‘less she tells you to.”

Din meets Ginger’s slightly startled look and cocks his head with a shrug. “You’re the boss.”

Jack fixes him with a raised finger in warning. “I would never say that.”

“It’s okay,” Ginger assures Din, as though she’s brushing Jack aside. “I’ll take care of you.”

But as his brother is turning away, something else occurs to Din. He doesn’t know why he thinks of it.

“Wait.”

Jack gives him an arched look. Din gestures between the two of them and thumbs the thin necklace of leather at his neck. “Should we….?”

Should they swap this, too?

Jack’s sober look wipes all other emotion from his face. He hesitates, eyes falling to Din’s neck. Something hardens behind his gaze. “Ni trikari, ni ne'lise.”

Din shouldn’t have asked in the first place. He nods, palming the shape of the steel amulet beneath his shirt. He can’t see any impression of Jack’s through his, but Din knows his twin must still wear its counterpart. No matter what else has passed between them, this one thing would not have changed. “Gar serim.”

“Hey.” Jack clasps his shoulder firmly, voice quiet. “No one will look that far. Trust me.”

Gratitude warms through the tight feeling that had briefly clenched his chest. Even the thought of parting with his own makes him tense. He doesn’t have many personal effects, but the pendant….

Ginger is watching them with a curious frown. “What language is that?” she asks gently.

Din’s stomach swoops. He glances at his brother, but sees none of his own wariness reflected back. It makes him feel better.

“An old one,” is all Jack says, then claps his hands together. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

When I Look and Find, I Still Love You.

“Do you think death could ever stop me from loving you?”

It was a such a poignant question yet far too abstract to comprehend. Did anyone have an answer? Could anyone answer? Could he? He could barely wrap his mind around the thought. He couldn’t process it further than one dimensionally. And it seemed death could.

Death took away. It took away people, bodies, lives and most importantly, love. It took away the vessel of your affections, leaving you bleeding out love with no one to give it to. Until you drowned in it.

John shook his head, lips opening and closing uselessly. There weren’t enough words to express what he felt. All he knew was that if Freddie died, he’d die too. Maybe it’d take decades for his body to fail and stop, but he would’ve been long gone by then.

Freddie smiled, grabbing John’s hand into his own, skinny and dry one, giving it a squeeze. His eyes were sunken in, the bags made to look purple by the sunlight pouring in from the window. His hair was all wispy, a shadow of its former thick curly glory. He looked so sickly and frail, a terrifying degradation from just a few months ago. He used to be the biggest man in the world, but now, he looked so small. But John felt smaller, kneeling by his bedside, fighting back the tears.

“John, I know it’s difficult to believe, but I’m not leaving you. My body won’t be here, but I’m not going anywhere,” Freddie said, his teeth looking big in his mouth.

For John, it wasn’t difficult to believe, it was difficult to understand. “But, you’re dying, Fred. Dying. They’ll put you under the ground and that’ll be it. I’ll be all alone and I don’t want to be alone. I don’t like being alone,” John said, his voice threatening to crack. He wanted to run away, hide and scream. His palms were twitching, begging to let out some angry flaps. But Freddie called him over. He needed to listen to what he had to say.

“You’ll never be alone, okay? Roger and Brian wouldn’t allow that. And neither will I,” Freddie said, his own voice sounding thick, although it always sounded thick these days.

“It doesn’t make sense. When my dad died, that was it. He didn’t come back, because it’s impossible,” John’s mind ran through brief memories of his father’s passing. He was only 11 but didn’t understand the concept of the permanence of death. Even after seeing his father’s stiff corpse in the casket, he asked his mum when he’d come back home.

As an adult, he knew better now. He knew dead meant gone forever. He didn’t understand how Freddie could still be with him when he died.

Freddie was pensive for a moment, bringing John’s knuckles up to his cracked lips, pressing a few kisses into them. “You know how Brian is a scientist?” he asked. John nodded.

“And how he goes around saying energy can’t be created nor destroyed?” John nodded again.

“Think of my love for you as an energy. When I pass, it’s not going with me. It’s not disappearing. It’s gonna stay with you. And as long as you have bits of me with you, you won’t be alone. It’ll be different. We can’t talk like this anymore. But you can talk to me and I’ll hear it. I’ll know when you’re sad or happy. I’ll be here for you,”

John looked down, a few tears leaking from his eyes. He was trying so hard to be open minded, but nothing made sense.

“I’ll miss you so much,” was the only thing he could think to say. Freddie squeezed his hand, mouth forming a tight line.

“I know. I’ll miss you too,”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you…I don’t think I can do this again, Fred. I don’t think I can,” John said, throat tightening as the tears fell faster.

“Nonsense. You’re a fighter. I raised you that way, didn’t I?” Freddie tried to be humorous, but John didn’t find it funny. His world was shifting, and it was going to shatter any day now. His foundation, his rock. It was going to disappear, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. He tried ignoring Freddie’s illness and then Freddie himself, but it didn’t work. He knew Freddie was on borrowed time. He wanted to die too. Die with Freddie. It was the only way he imagined he could deal with this all.

Freddie sighed, his grip on John’s hand faltering. His fingers went to John’s face, wiping away some tears before he cupped his chin, bringing him up to eye level.

“Look at my boy. The sweetest heart I’ve ever seen. I’m so sorry I’m going to break it. I wouldn’t had I known. But you’ll make it through, alright?” he whispered, his strength leaving him. It was time for a nap soon. John shook his head no, unable to imagine a scenario where he came out the other end even remotely okay.

Freddie’s hands cradled John’s cheeks, his brown eyes so genuine and fond, even when facing death. “I’m so honored you gave me the privilege of being your best friend, your father, your brother. John, I’m so sorry I’m leaving you sooner than expected. I love you and that’ll never change. Even when I’ve gone cold. The love we have for each other is beyond this realm. Cosmic. Nothing can get in its way,”

John was sobbing, his whole body trembling. He didn’t want to hear those words. He didn’t want to think those things. He wanted Freddie to get better. He wanted to grow old with Freddie. He wanted to spend so many more days with him. He wanted Freddie’s big laugh and teasing. He wanted Freddie to look at during concerts. He wanted Freddie’s arms to lay in after rough days. He wanted Freddie. He needed him.

Freddie was strong but struggling. He pressed his lips to John’s forehead, looking up hoping to prevent any tears of his own. Saying goodbye to someone you felt you raised wasn’t easy, but Freddie did have it easier. In some days or weeks’ time, he wouldn’t be feeling anymore. It’d be John’s job to carry all that pain by himself. It wasn’t fair but it was life.

“I love you so much John. I’ll be here, just you see. Every yellow ladybug you come across, that’s me. I always looked so good in yellow,” Freddie said, voice dipping and crackling, trying so hard to put on a smile and to give one to John.

John only cried harder, clambering onto the bed to be closer to Freddie. They hugged for what felt like hours, whispering goodbyes and I love you’s, wiping away each other’s tears. Even when Freddie fell asleep, physically unable to stay awake. Even when Jim came in to see how everyone was doing.

John didn’t leave until late that night, a crack in his heart having formed. He knew things would only get worse from there but at least they talked. At least John was beginning to understand.

♚

John never liked suits. There were too many layers, too many fabrics, all rubbing up against him uncomfortably. He especially hated the ties. He used clip-ons instead, but that didn’t make him feel even marginally better.

He was fiddling with his black tie that was flapping wildly in the wind as he stood outside his home. He wondered if he ripped it off and let the wind carry it away, would Freddie be mad? Freddie said he wanted everyone to look sharp for his funeral, obsessing over fashion even on his death bed.

And Freddie said he would be watching, although John didn’t feel any eyes on him. He was always good at knowing when people were staring at him.

But Freddie also said he wanted him to be happy. John wasn’t happy. He wouldn’t be for a long time, maybe for the rest of his life. He wasn’t too sure how he felt about that, but he did know that if he took the stupid tie off, he’d feel a little bit better. For now, that seemed to be his only course of action. Making things better, not happier.

John reached into his shirt collar, plucking off the tie. He held it in his hand, looking down at the muted fabric, running a thumb alongside it. He had the urge to throw it but thought it was a stupid idea. He was going to clip it back on, prepared for discomfort in an even more uncomfortable situation, when something fell onto the tie.

A spec of yellow.

John squinted, blinking his eyes. There, padding carefree and aimlessly on his tie, was a ladybug. A yellow one.

John’s stomach flopped and fluttered, his eyes becoming wet. He had that familiar nagging feeling of a pair of eyes on him.

“H-Hi, Fred,” he stammered, his lips tugging upwards. The ladybug stopped in it’s tracks before continuing its mindless wanderings.

“I miss you, you know. Lot’s. B-But, I’ll get through this. ‘Cuz I love you and you love me,”

The ladybug’s wings opened, readying itself for flight. John figured it was a goodbye, but when the little bug took off, it flew right to his nose, staying there for a few moments. John gasped, his smile turning into a grin.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

And then, the yellow bug was off, taking off into the sky. The only ladybug alive in England during November.

John was stunned, having to take some time to process and appreciate what happened. A rather large gust of wind rattled him from his thoughts, his eyes going back down to the tie on his hand. He palmed it before he simply let go, the black tie whizzing into the air, farther and farther until it was gone. Out of sight.

Just then, he heard tires rolling on his pavement, followed by a honk of the horn. It was Roger, his ride to the funeral.

John walked down the driveway, flashing Roger a genuine smile when their eyes met. Roger was a little surprised to see John so together, having expected him to need to be dragged to the car. He unlocked the car, looking over at John who slipped into the passenger seat.

“How are you, Deacy?” he asked softly, unsure of John’s true state.

“I’m fine,” John replied. He was fine. He wasn’t whole or happy, but he was fine. He could do this. Now more so than just five minutes ago.

“Fantastic,” Roger said, putting the car into reverse, stepping on the breaks almost immediately.

“No tie?” he asked, looking at John’s getup.

John shook his head with a laugh. “No. Freddie said I don’t need to wear one.”

Roger hummed, figuring this was prearranged. He continued his trek out of John’s house and to the funeral home.

“That’s nice of him,” he said absentmindedly, more in his own head and feelings then in the present.

John hummed a reply, looking at the world outside the car window. If he focused hard enough, he could still see his tie out there, flying along the wind current, flapping and wriggling in the breeze. Utterly free.

These are the days of our lives.

They've flown in the swiftness of time.

These days are all gone now but some things remain,

When I look and I find, no change.

[shadowluverworks]

Remissionem - Chapter 5

If you’ve been keeping up with the show, Della has returned to Earth. In this story however, Della is still gone, and her whereabouts are unknown, she is presumed dead.

This story has some gore in it, considering it’s about a family overcoming an accident and fighting mortality. Reader discretion advised as I work at a veterinary clinic, so wounds and the treatment of them may be described rather realistically. If you have a squeamish stomach, I suggest not reading these sections. For those of my readers who like this sort of stuff, I hope you are satisfied you creepy little nerds! Thanks for reading guys!

Chapter 5: Is Stronger

The sudden quiet is a bit unsettling. Louie stands from his chair to peek over the balcony again at his family below. His great uncle is covered by a thick white blanket from feet all the way to his shoulders, eyes closed and head resting back on the pillow behind him. His uncle sits a yard or two away to the rich duck’s right, leaning against the plane’s side, head hanging, and hands folded over his middle, obviously asleep from the snores emanating from him. Huey’s on the opposite side, sleeping on his left with back to the plane’s wall. Dewey and Webby lay in the middle of the plane, a couple yards away from Scrooge. The middle child sleeps on his back, arms and legs sprawled out and away from his body in a starfish like position. Webby rests on her front, head turned to her right and away from the others resting on one hand.

It seems safe to go back down. The youngest triplet can feel his own tired body longing for a rest, he’d like to join the others in their slumber. But there’s something else that pulls him towards them, something he’s been trying to avoid.

He turns to Launchpad, hands in his pocket, “I’m gonna go down there, you ok up here by yourself?”

The pilot nods, “All good here. We still have a little less than 5 hours to go yet.”

Louie nods his head in return and turns to go down the ladder. He’s not concerned leaving the other alone, the main reason he had come up here was to be away from the bloody scene below. Launchpad is more than capable of keeping them on the right path, as he’s proven many times before. Landing of course is a different story, but one they wouldn’t have to worry about for several hours.

As he reaches the ground floor and turns back to where his family sleeps, he almost jumps at seeing the dark turquoise eyes watching his every move. He must have wakened the old duck; he had thought he was being quiet though. Placing his hands back in his hoodie pocket, he silently walks over to his great uncle, pausing at his covered feet.

He speaks quietly to not wake the others, “Hey, you’re awake? How ya doin’?”

Scrooge doesn’t move, his voice low but soft, “Bin better.”

Louie’s green eyes show concern, though his face tries to mask it in his usual neutral stare. His gaze sweeps around the rich duck, but with the blanket covering, he can’t see any of the injuries, except the large gash on the left forehead that’s quickly forming a black eye. It’s the first time he can really look at his great uncle again without his stomach churning at the sight of blood, though he avoids looking straight in the eyes. There are still some red-brown smears over the other’s face and head in places, but not nearly as severe as it had been, “Looks like they patched ya up.”

Scrooge’s beak dips slightly, “They did well, teh lot o’ them.”

The youngest triplet’s gaze falls to the ground and away, as if contemplating something. This isn’t the first time he’s been avoiding looking directly at the rich duck. Anytime his eyes fall on the one before him, it’s brief and uncomfortable, as if it pains him to look at the other.

His great uncle can read him despite his efforts to hide; it’s the same expression a young Donald used to wear when he felt guilty. The wealthy loner isn’t the best talking about feelings, and speaking in general isn’t the easiest thing right now, but it seems the boy needs to get something off his chest, “Is there somethin’ ye want tae talk aboot?”

Louie is taken aback by the question, but sighs in defeat and pads over to the Scottish duck’s right side, sliding down the plane’s wall and taking a seat beside him, knees drawn up to his chest. For a while neither of them says anything.

Scrooge straightens his posture a bit, wincing. The blanket loosens around him and he lowers it to his lap, laying his good arm overtop it. His head turns towards the duckling beside him, “What’s on yer mind, laddie?”

Louie’s eyes glance at him in his peripheral vision. With the blanket moved, the boy can see several bruises and scrapes littering his great uncle’s torso, as well as the long row of stitches on his upper right arm and left still in its sling. He purposefully sat on this side to avoid the gory, stitched and bruised ribcage, but his hesitance to face his great uncle is no longer just because of the injuries that have now stopped leaking the red liquid.

“I...” His voice faulters as he searches for the words he wants, “I feel...bad...”

“Yer nae well?”

Bangs shake with their owner’s head, “No, I mean...I feel bad for you...”

Scrooge blinks, “Fer me? Ye donnae have tae pity me fer what happened.”

Louie shakes his head slightly again, “It’s not that. I mean, yea I feel bad about you getting hurt but,” he pauses again, eyes glancing around on floor in front of him, “I feel bad because, the first thing that came to my head was, ‘at least it wasn’t Uncle Donald.’”

The old duck is silent next to him, and the boy’s legs draw closer to his frame as he cradles them, resting his chin on his knees. He feels as if the man next to him must be offended by the statement, but still nothing is said. He can’t bear to even peek at Scrooge now, not wanting to see the pained expression that was surely on the elder’s face.

Louie needs to explain, he can’t just leave things there as much as he wants to stop already, eyes starting to well up, “If Uncle Donald was the one that got hit...if he had...” He cuts himself off with a sniff, but Scrooge knows what he meant. If he had died.

Donald is certainly younger than himself, but also is not on good terms with Lady Fortuna. Would the sailor had survived the same ordeal he went through? It was a miracle he survived. Donald was the only parent the boys had ever known, and without him, what would become of them?

Louie lifts his head a little, “He raised us, if something happened to him...I don’t wanna think about life without him in it...But I’m so,” he grabs the feathers on the sides of his head tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, “disgusted with myself for even having a thought like that! Being relieved that it was you and not him!”

Hot tears are flowing down his cheeks now, and he wraps his arms tightly around his knees once again, “I never wanted anything to happen to you, Uncle Scrooge.” His eyes stare off ahead of him, a haunted look in them, “And then seeing you all...bloody and hurt!” He looks at his crimson stained sleeves and hands as one reaches his face, “That picture’s stuck in my head! I feel so guilty! How could I ever think something that terrible?!”

The green eyes shimmer up at him as the boy finally looks at his great uncle, wounds and all, expecting to see disappointment. Instead, the boy sees a small smile.

Scrooge’s eyelids lower slightly, “The same thought ran through my head.”

Louie’s eyes widen, “W-What?”

The rich duck takes a breath, “The last thing ah want is one ‘a ye gitten hurt. Ah’d do anythin’ in me power tae keep that from happenin’, even if it means puttin’ meself at risk.” The elder can’t be upset with the boy for being thankful his guardian was spared; he was never mad at the duckling to begin with.

Louie blinks a few times, tears still actively running down his flushed cheeks as he wipes at his nose with his sleeve with a sniff. He looks away again, still not completely convinced he shouldn’t be ashamed of himself, and that the other isn’t angry at him.

His great uncle continues, “Louie, we cannae help what runs through our heads sometimes, but ye have nothin’ tae be sorry fer. Ah knoo ye didnae mean any harm.”

The young duckling looks back up at him, seeing the same warm smile that was there before. The old duck really isn’t upset? Not hurt or offended by what he had said? What the other had said runs through his own head; Scrooge would gladly trade his own life if it meant keeping his family safe. He has no regrets.

Louie sniffs again, and scoots closer to the bigger avian’s side, before leaning his head against the right wing, avoiding the large gash. His tiny arms wrap around the rich duck’s, clinging to the other.

Scrooge blinks in surprise at the outward affection, he’s not the best at this either. But his smile returns, and he pats the boy’s knee next to him, “There, there, laddie. ‘s alright.”

They stay like that for a long time, neither saying anything more. Soon the sniffles at his side stop, and the boy’s breathing becomes deep and regular. Scrooge glances down, seeing the duckling’s eyes are closed, fast asleep. He smiles again, laying his head back with a sigh. Eyes close to try and rest once more, unaware that the sailor’s snoring had ceased a while ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s running through the jungle, jumping over dead trees and avoiding the large green leaves that hang in his path. Small branches grab at his face and leave scratches, but he can’t worry about that now.

His webbed feet carry him as fast as they can until they reach their destination: a small clearing in the usually dense forest. Here he pauses, taking in what lies in wait for him, what he’s been searching for. A bloodied and broken body that he never thought could look so...mortal. He runs to the body, quickly looking for any signs of life. There is none.

He pants in exertion and disbelief. Dead. He’s dead. Impossible! Scrooge McDuck had already lived well past his life expectancy. The death-defying stunts he pulls on a day to day basis only keep him more alive! He shouldn’t be dead, can’t be dead! But there’s no breathing beneath his fingers, and his white feathers are actively soaking up the crimson stains. There’s no heart beating in the chest. He’s kneeling in a pool of his great uncle’s life source.

As if they were ghosts, his family manifests beside him, all expressing the same horror as he is. His younger brother his sobbing in between his vomiting episodes in the bushes at the gore of the scene. His older brother is paging through his beloved book in his shaking hands, as if trying to believe there still might be some glimmer of hope. Though there’s tears running down his face as he refuses to acknowledge what’s before him. Webby’s hot tears drip onto their elder’s face as she cradles his head, trying desperately to hold back her sobs.

Suddenly he’s pushed away, falling on his posterior as he retreats backward a ways. His uncle kneels to the ground, facing away from him, body leaning over the motionless one. His shoulders tremble in between sobs, he’s never seen his uncle cry so hard before.

As if sensing his thoughts, Donald’s face whips around to glare at him. Salty tears run down his beak as his face turns from sorrowful to enraged. His voice shouts, “YOU!”

Dewey flinches.

The sailor’s voice has never been so accusing. His uncle stands and walks to him, “You just had to make us all keep going, even after that trap was sprung!”

The middle child’s face pales.

His younger brother lifts his head from where he’d buried it in his hands, flushed and bright red, “I knew it was too dangerous! But you never listen to me!”

His older brother lowers the book, eyes glaring holes into his own, “There were so many things that could have gone wrong. Anyone could have seen that! Why didn’t you think before you made us all follow you!”

Dewey shakes his head, “No...I-I didn’t know this would happen! No one could have known there was another boulder!”

“Dewey...” Webby sniffs, stroking the head feathers on Scrooge’s head. Her glance moves to his own, “You should have been more careful. You know how old he was! Look what you did!” Her voice is trembling, and he can feel his heart break as he follows her gaze to his great uncle’s body.

His body is shaking as he takes a step back, tears welling up in his bright blue eyes, “No...I didn’t...it was such a simple trap! We’ve been through so many worse ones!”

Donald stomps closer, making him move back quickly before falling over a branch and onto his backside once again. His uncle towers over him, “Why do you think he even went on adventures anymore at his age?! It’s because of you!”

Eyes widen in disbelief as the sailor continues, “You always want to go on all these dangerous missions, and he just wanted to impress you! He didn’t want you to think he was boring or too old! Now look what happened!”

Tears are starting to run down his face, “Uncle Donald-”

“Don’t call me that!”

He flinches, cowering away from the other.

The older duck’s eyes narrow in disgust, “This is your fault!”

Dewey’s head shakes, “No!”

“He’s dead because of you!”

“NO!”

“His blood is on your hands!”

Dewey’s eyes peer down to his trembling hands, seeing the red substance staining them, “NO!”

A gasp is heard as the middle child sits up in a cold sweat, lungs heaving to try and get much needed air back into them. A hand grips his chest as he leans over slightly, staring at the red metal floor of the Sunchaser. The nightmare shook him to his core, he hasn’t dreamt like that in a long while.

His face feels wet and he rubs the back of a hand over it. Tears are actively running down his face, but the sight of the dried blood on his fingers, now brightened by the sudden moisture, makes his breath pick up again. He gasps for air as he urgently tries to wipe away the crimson stains covering his person. His hands move up and down his sleeves and over each other trying to rid themselves of the offensive color in vain. More tears come to his eyes as the substance clings to his body, and he covers his head, eyes squeezing shut to block out the image.

“Dewey?”

His head pops up at his name, eyes wide. He follows the source of the sound to find his great uncle staring back at him, face full of surprise and concern.

That’s right, Scrooge didn’t die. He wasn’t still laying in a jungle somewhere waiting to rot or be ravaged by animals, and his family hadn’t blamed Dewey for the accident.

The rich duck still sits where the middle child had left him in the land of the conscious, on the blankets and leaning against a pillow on the plane’s side. A thick quilt covers him from the waist down, leaving his upper body bare. Louie sits next to him, knees pulled up to his chest and leaning against Scrooge’s right wing with his arms tightly wrapped around it, fast asleep.

Dewey tries to calm himself as his mind starts to come back, taking deeper breaths. His hand wipes away his tears, hoping his great uncle hadn’t seen them, “Uncle Scrooge?” The wetness leaves red stains across his face, only leaving more evidence behind.

Scrooge’s eyebrows furrow together even more. He had seen the lad crying, in fact he’d seen everything. The duckling, sleeping peacefully for quite some time, had started becoming restless. His body would twist back and forth, his deep breaths now a pant, face screwed into something resembling pain. The old duck could have sworn he heard the child mutter his own name at least once, and then the tears had started. He was about to try and wake the boy up himself from what was surely a bad dream before the blue eyes suddenly popped open and the small body sat up.

He had thought that would be the end of it, but then witnessed Dewey trying desperately to remove the blood from his hands and clothes. Afraid the boy was going to hurt himself in his panic, he called out to him.

Scrooge could sympathize with the blue triplet, he himself struggled with night terrors. Making many enemies along the years has made his mind expect tragedy to befall himself or worse, his family. Many a time has he dreamt his kin were in danger and woke swinging at nothingness in his bedroom.

However, even familial problems can make his dreams turn against him. When they had lost Della, his nightmares were so severe he had become an insomniac just to escape from them. Eventually he managed to sleep again, once the exhaustion had caught up, but those dreams still haunt him to this day, and return every now and then.

He doesn’t like thinking about the times when his cursing, screaming, and even crying had attracted Mrs. Beakley and Duckworth to his room, thinking he was being attacked. If he was not already awake, they would have to physically shake him to save his poor trapped mind. Even though they saw him at his weakest, trying desperately to cease his tears and rubbing his forehead to calm his psyche, they never held anything against him. They would offer their assistance, knowing they would be turned down, and act as if nothing happened the next day to preserve their employer’s pride.

The rich duck tries to soothe his great nephew, “Seems ye had a nasty one.”

Dewey’s panting is starting to return to normal, but his sniffles are still very much active, “...yeah...” His arms rest on his knees, glancing over at the other with sad expression.

Scrooge pats the spot next to him, in front of Louie, beckoning him over. The middle triplet hesitates for just a moment before accepting the invitation, crawling the short distance onto the padded spot and laying down next to his great uncle. His back lay to the plane’s side and away from the older duck’s prying eyes. His younger brother’s feet tuck underneath his back. His head rests on Scrooge’s lap, facing away from him.

They sit for a bit, the older duck shifting just slightly to accompany more weight onto his broken frame, holding back a grunt but allowing the wince to show as his great nephew couldn’t see it at this angle. Finally settling again, his arm rests out of the way to give the two triplets room.

Dewey holds still, lifting his head slightly when the body adjusts underneath him, and trying to convince himself he wasn’t harming it. When it stills, he lays back again, tears still dripping onto the blanket beneath him, but starting to dry up.

His mind starts to wander, why is Scrooge still awake? He’d have expected him to be passed out or at least resting peacefully by now. Everyone else is sleeping around them, thankfully not hearing his outburst. His voice is quiet, so much so it can barely be heard, “Did I wake you up?”

His great uncle’s straining ears manage to pick it up over the Sunchaser’s engine, “Nae. Haven’t slept a wink.”

Dewey’s head turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Scrooge give a small smile, almost a sad one. He doesn’t want to tell the child how his body aches. How the pain is so intense he can’t find solace in sleep, even though every fiber of his being yearns for it. He can’t tell the hurting duckling that having the two of them lean against him is causing even more pain to wrack his battered body. No, he keeps that to himself. There are more important things to worry about.

Dewey reaches with a hand to feel what lays under the blanket, trying to determine where exactly his head rests. He’s on the broken leg, but above the splint, in the corner of his eye, he can see his great uncle’s face twitching at his touch. He removes his hand, “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The smile widens a bit, “Nae, donnae worry aboot me.”

It seems convincing; Dewey turns his head back and sighs.

His dream’s memory returns, the body before him, his family in tears, the blood on his hands. He lifts one to look at the red stains.

Scrooge watches him, “Ye wanna talk aboot it? Yer dream?”

Dewey tucks his hand to his chest and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to relive that.

The rich duck accepts it and doesn’t enquire anymore, leaning his head back to rest, he almost misses the soft, trembling, voice.

“...I’m sorry.”

Lifting his head again, he tries to look at the duckling’s face, who’s turned it closer to the blankets, “Eh? ‘Sorry’? Fer what?”

The tears have started anew, wetting the quilt atop his legs. The boy trembles, “For what happened; it’s my fault. I-I insisted that we keep going even after that trap w-was sprung...we could have found another way around; we could have been safer...but I m-made us all keep going...and then Uncle Donald...and-and you...”

He doesn’t want to hear anymore, “Dewey. Donnae ye even dare blame yerself fer this. ‘s nae yer fault. It was jus’ an accident.”

The middle triplet buries his face into the blanket further, tiny hand gripping it tightly as he sobs, “...but...but I-”

“Ah donnae wanna hear it! With all teh adventures we’ve bin on, that death trap was a walk in teh park. We’ve been through much worse! Teh fact no one’s gotten hurt yet is a bit miraculous.”

Dewey sniffs and turns to look at him. Again, those glistening blue eyes stare up at his face, “You’re not mad? You don’t blame me?”

Scrooge lets out a small chuckle, making his ribs scream at him, but he ignores their cry, “Of course not! If it was anyone’s fault, it was me own fer not gittin outta teh way in time!” He sighs, “These old bones arennae as quick as they used ta be.”

To his relief, the middle child smiles just a bit, turning his head back again, “Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

He smiles in return, lifting his good hand and placing it on the boy’s head, ruffling the head feathers, “Don’ ever blame yerself fer what happened. You’ll only make yerself miserable.” Ah should knoo. He blamed himself for their mother’s absence for years, and still struggles with it.

The triplet beneath his caressing hand relaxes, “I won’t.”

It’s as if he can feel the guilt leaving the duckling’s body, a soft sigh escaping. Soon the child is motionless beneath him, hopefully back to a more peaceful slumber.

Right as he’s about to try and rest again himself, a sniffle reaches his ears. Following the sound, the old duck’s head turns to his left where he’s met with the tearful sight of the oldest triplet. “Huey?”

The boy’s amber eyes flick to his, meekly meeting his eye contact. The red garbed duckling must have awoken at some point during his and Dewey’s conversation, or perhaps even before that. He’s sitting up in the same location where he had previously been sleeping.

Huey’s eyes travel between his siblings and his great uncle, before the rich duck invites him over with a small gesture of his head. The oldest boy is quick to accept and moves to join his family. He’s careful to avoid the wounded arm, and instead mirrors Dewey, laying on his right side on the padded spot. His head rests on the Scrooge’s left leg, back facing the old duck, but snuggles a bit closer than his brother.

The injured avian adjusts to having even more weight on his battered body, trying not to wake the other two sleeping children. His smile still present, he addresses the oldest triplet, “What’s teh matter?”

Huey is a bit more outspoken of his own feelings than his two brothers and Scrooge isn’t surprised when his question is immediately answered, “I just wish I could help more. Seeing you hurt like this makes me want to fix the problem, but I don’t like accepting that I can’t fix everything. I couldn’t set your dislocated arm even though I knew what I was doing, I can’t sew up wounds like Webby and Uncle Donald, and I can’t fix the pain that you’re still in. We don’t have any painkillers!”

Scrooge shakes his head just slightly in disbelief with the ever-present smile still sitting on his face, “Huey, ye knoo ye cannae fix everythin’. Sometimes ye have tae accept that.”

Even though he can only see the back of the boy’s head, he can tell it’s disappointed. He continues, “But ye’ve already helped me so much. Ye helped Dewey fix me arm, and ye were smart enough tae find supplies tae make a splint fer me leg! Without ye ah’d be in a great deal more pain. Might nae ‘ave made it home.”

Huey contemplates that. He was the one who directed his younger brother how to fix the dislocated arm. If they hadn’t fixed that, then it’s entirely possible getting Scrooge back to the Sunchaser would have been more difficult. Being in constant overwhelming pain, and having to ride on your nephew’s back, would not be an ideal way to travel. Plus had he not have suspected a break in the entrepreneur’s leg, Scrooge could have insisted he walk out of the jungle, and only do more damage to it and the rest of his body. Lastly, he assisted Dewey in stabilizing the broken leg until they reach home. Huey hadn’t fixed everything, but he did make a difference.

A tiny smile pulls on the boy’s small beak, “Thanks, I...guess I did help.”

As the revelation hits the oldest triplet, a hand is placed over his own on the rich duck’s leg, Dewey having reached out to his older brother.

Scrooge’s eyebrows raise, he thought the boy was asleep, but had apparently been listening to their conversation.

Huey’s first finger moves on top of his brother’s hand in appreciation, wordless consoling passing between the siblings. His eyes close, “We’re really glad you’re ok, Uncle Scrooge. We were scared you were...” He cuts himself off just a moment, swallowing, and nuzzling closer to his great uncle, “We just met you. We don’t wanna lose you.”

The Scottish duck’s beak parts slightly and he blinks in surprise. At the eldest duckling’s confession, Dewey replicates his brother’s actions and snuggles closer, turning his head towards the blanket beneath him to be closer yet. Scrooge’s bewilderment is only heightened as he feels the youngest triplet, dormant for nearly an hour and half, tighten the hold on his trapped right arm and tuck the small beak closer still.

Suddenly he’s blinking rapidly. Tears are stinging at his eyes, and he has to put a stop to them before it’s too late. There’s an ache in his chest, a welcomed one. Scrooge hasn’t felt this...loved in a long time. He has to control his body’s trembling before the boy’s catch on. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he calms his emotions, “Ye won’t, lads. Ah promise.”

Dewey smiles. The hand on his head continues to caress his head feathers, providing calming sensations. He won’t bring attention to the shakes he feels in the stroking fingers.

[shireness-says]

Christmas Meddling

Summary: It was a terrible idea right from the start - asking Emma Swan, possible love of his life, to pretend to be his girlfriend at a family reunion. Having a meddling brother doesn't help matters either. ~4.2K. Rated T. Also on AO3. 

A/N: Hi there, @resident-of-storybrooke! I was your @cssecretsanta2k18. You told me you like mutual pining and bed sharing-type tropes, which gave me the perfect excuse to try and write those! I loved getting to chat with you and know you better - thanks for being patient with me waiting for this. ;) Merry Christmas, and I hope your Christmas breakfast was the best ever!

In retrospect, it was probably a stupid idea right from the start.

The thing is, Killian may not have any immediate family left besides his brother, but when Liam had married Elsa, he’d gained a whole slew of loud and affectionate aunts and uncles who’d taken it upon themselves to take both Jones boys under their wings. Which was all well and good, something that Killian usually appreciates, but lately, there’s been more and more questions about his love life - and lack thereof. They mean well, but they’ve all grown increasingly concerned about him nearly reaching the age of thirty without finding a nice young lady to settle down with, and it’s become a bit cloying, to say the least. It doesn’t help that Liam has already met the woman of his dreams, marrying her two years prior; it helps even less that they’ve had a baby around the Easter holiday. Killian loves his nephew - it’d be hard not to, Nils is just about the cutest, blondest baby in the world - but he knows that the little lad’s existence will add a whole new level of pressure from his family.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time; Emma would be spending Christmas with them anyways. So if she just stayed a few days later, and agreed to come with him to this ridiculous family Christmas…

“We wouldn’t even have to say you were my girlfriend,” he argues. “We’d just have to… not say you’re not.”

“Isn’t that still, like, a lie by omission or whatever?” Emma asked, a skeptical expression twisting her features.

“Yes, but it’s for the greater good,” he replies, very seriously. Emma flat-out snorts at that.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she replies with mock-seriousness. “Look, I’m just saying, I think they’re going to see right through it.”

“Please, Emma,” he begs. “I’d owe you forever.”

And oh, he definitely will.

You see, as good of an idea as it seemed at the time, it was also a terrible idea right from the start, because Killian has been in love with Emma from the moment she let him cheat off her astronomy attendance quiz back in their sophomore year of college. She’d smirked in a way that had said she knew exactly what he was doing, and Killian had been gone before she even finished tilting the page in his direction. Emma agreeing to attend Christmas dinner with him might solve one problem, but it would create a whole new one as he’ll be thrust into a game of make-believe that echoes the stuff of his dearest dreams.

“Fine,” she finally agrees, much to Killian’s simultaneous relief and dread. “But I’m not driving.”

———

At the time, everyone carpooling in Elsa’s little SUV had seemed like a good idea. Of course, that had been before four and a half hours in the car with a fussy baby and the end far too distant from sight. When they finally pull into the hotel’s parking lot, Killian waves his brother and sister-in-law on ahead to settle things with reception. Both rooms are in Liam’s name anyways, since they’re using his hotel points to pay for part of them.

“You alright?” Emma asks, peering inside the vehicle’s open door to where he’s still sitting in the backseat.

“Aye, just… give me a moment.” Even he can hear the tension in his own voice. With a final deep breath, he swings himself out of the car. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” Emma’s good enough not to pry; maybe she understands that this is all going to be a trial for him, based on what she’s heard, or maybe she just knows him. Either way, Killian is grateful to not be asked to dissect it.

Of course, once they do make it past the sliding doors to where Liam waits with the room keys, something about the other man’s expression looks far too suspicious for Killian’s taste.

“What are you up to, Brother?” Killian asks warily, holding out his hand for the key cards.

“Just reveling in the knowledge that I’ve still got more energy, even if I am older,” he replies, passing the thin plastic over. Killian doesn’t have to hear Emma’s scoff to know that Liam isn’t telling the whole truth. But honestly, with the prospect of facing down so much family time tomorrow, he doesn’t have the energy to push it further. He’s just ready to go up and collapse into bed, maybe watch a little shitty television before falling asleep.

Of course, that’s complicated by the fact that when Killian walks into the rented room, fully ready to realize those plans, there’s only one bed.

He stops so suddenly that Emma runs into him, not able to correct her course in time. “Jeez, would you move, Jones?” she mumbles.

“Liam gave us the wrong room,” Killian explains, attempting to maneuver back around Emma in the tight hallway of the hotel room. The close contact makes his heart lurch just as always, especially since they’re pressed so closely together.

Faintly, Killian hears Emma’s oh of realization as she spots the lone queen bed herself, but he’s too busy trying to find Liam to fix this so he can get some damn sleep to really pay too much attention. Thankfully, his brother is still out in the hall, wrestling with bags and the travel crib. It seems a little odd that Elsa just sauntered into the room with the baby and didn’t come back out immediately again when she saw two beds instead of one, but again - too tired to think about it too hard.

“You gave me the wrong key, Liam,” he says without preface. “Here, trade with me real quick, I want to go to bed.”

That devious look is back on Liam’s face again, though, and he just chuckles dryly. “No I didn’t, brother.”

“You gave us the room with only one bed,” Killian replies insistently. “C’mon, just grab your stuff, we’ll switch. Don’t make this some big deal.”

“Oh, there’s no mistake, Killian,” Liam laughs, “both rooms only have the one bed.”

“This isn’t funny, Liam,” he warns.

“Check if you want,” his brother offers, “but it’s not a joke.”

Sure enough, when Killian pushes past the assorted baby baggage and into the room, there’s only one bed. Well, and Elsa with Nils in her arms, who is giving him an irritated look that must be born from exhaustion and mild teething-induced deafness.

Killian stomps back out to the hallway after mumbling an apology in his sister-in-law’s direction. “What the hell kind of game are you playing, Brother?”

Liam smiles smugly. Killian hates every bit of the expression. “Well, you left the reservations to me, and I just thought this would really sell your harebrained plan.”

“Devious bastard.”

“You’re welcome!” Liam sing-songs, finally getting a good enough grip on everything to disappear into his own hotel room. With his wife. Who it’s totally fine he shares a bed with. Arse.

Emma’s leaning in the open doorway of their room when Killian turns back around, wearing an indecipherable expression. Killian sighs. “I suppose you heard all of that?”

“Yeah,” Emma replies, nodding in agreement. “Look, it’s fine, it’s not that big a deal —”

“No, he’s an absolute wanker, you don’t have to pretend otherwise. Just… let me go talk to reception, alright? Maybe we can figure out something.”

“If you’re sure…” Emma looks unconvinced, but Killian knows that sharing a bed with her would be a glorious torture - simultaneously the greatest moment of his existence and the worst test of his willpower.

“I’m sure. I’ll be back, just be ready to relocate.”

———

The front desk is absolutely no help.

Well, that’s not strictly true. The receptionist tries her best to be helpful, she really does, but there’s no more rooms to be had, which is still not helpful in the least to Killian.

“Can you arrange for a cot, at least?” he sighs, barely resisting the urge to just drop his head onto the desk. That probably wouldn’t get him what he wants, unfortunately.

“Of course, sir, we can arrange for that to be brought up immediately,” she replies, visibly relieved. God, Killian hopes he hasn’t accidentally been just as much of an arse as his brother has acted; the poor lass doesn’t deserve that.

Killian takes a brief detour to the bar for a glass of rum before making his way back upstairs; if there was ever an evening that deserves a drink, it’s this one. The hotel staff are just leaving from setting up the cot. True to his request, Emma’s still sitting on the bed in her clothes and shoes, seemingly having made no move to get more comfortable in his absence. Seeing him come in, she quirks an eyebrow in Killian’s direction, shooting a little zap of guilt through him. This is not what she signed up for.

“It’s the best I could do,” he says quietly, sitting down on the edge of the awful contraption to finally work off his shoes. The springs creak alarmingly beneath him, not at all muffled by the thin mattress pad and hotel linens.

“That’s not - you’re not actually planning to sleep on that thing, are you?” Emma asks.

“I don’t see what other choice we have. Don’t even try volunteering, Swan,” he warns, “I won’t even hear you entertain the idea, not when you’re doing me such a favor already.”

“Okay, that’s not what I’m suggesting, like, at all,” she huffs back. “But that can’t be comfortable at all.”

Killian shrugs. “I’ve had worse.” That’s true, actually; he’s slept on the floor in the history department a few times, as well as on some very uncomfortable academic couches. This cot can’t be too much worse than that - though it does seem like it’ll give those memories a run for their money.

“I’m just saying, there’s another option,” Emma replies, almost indignant. Killian doesn’t quite follow, but oh, she’s lovely when she gets worked up like this.

Settle, boy , Killian sternly tells himself before trying to turn his last few functioning brain cells back to the matter at hand. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“We share,” she proposes, stating it like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Killian does remember now her hinting at something of the sort before he left for the desk.

“Swan, I couldn’t possibly do that to you…” he tries to protest, but Emma cuts him off with a raised hand.

“I’m just saying - you’re not going to get any sleep on the cot. We’re both adults; we could handle it. I’m just saying, I’m fine with it if you want.”

“I’ll be alright, Swan,” he assures Emma. A real mattress does sound nice, but sharing a bed with Emma, the possible love of his life, just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

Better the cot from hell than that particular variety of torment.

———

He lasts five minutes on the awful cot before he changes his mind.

“Emma?” he calls tentatively into the dark. If she’s already asleep, he won’t move, he’ll just deal with it so as not to wake her up —

Emma huffs out a laugh. “Get up here, Killian.”

He goes.

Of course, sharing a bed with Emma presents its own challenges. Somehow the space already smells like that pomegranate soap she prefers, the sheets warmed with her radiating heat, and Killian has to give a very stern talk to some parts of his anatomy to behave themselves lest this turn from an uncomfortable encounter into a downright mortifying one.

Uncomfortable is definitely the word; Killian keeps himself very carefully on his side of the bed, arms regimentally at his sides so they don’t wander or accidentally hit Emma. He needs to try and relax to get some sleep, but relaxation won’t come when he’s trying so hard to keep track of all his limbs and other appendages and not intrude on Emma’s space.

She’s having none of that though. With a great huff - he can practically hear the eye roll, though he can’t see it in the dark - she flops over from where she’d been laying on her side, facing away from Killian, to move directly into his space. Crowding against his side, arm thrown around his waist, Emma mutters into the space between his collarbone and his heart, “Stop overthinking it. Just… go to sleep, alright? It’s too late for this shit.”

Killian chuckles. “As you wish, love,”

Having Emma in his arms is just as comfortable, just as right as he’d feared. However, he heeds her command to relax, and before he even knows it, drops into a deep and peaceful slumber.

———

It’s almost a relief to wake up and feel Emma still draped all over him - almost. At least he knows that way that the events of the night before weren’t a dream.

However, there’s other complications. Emma’s leg has somehow draped across his own legs and thigh in their sleep - something that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, except for certain less-than-cooperative parts of his body. It’s just a biological reaction, he knows, just his body testing all its systems, but she’d just have to move her thigh up a little bit further and they’d all really be in trouble. Explaining the effect Emma has on his morning wood isn’t something Killian would ever like to attempt - he’d rather die of the mortification from it all first.

He’s just making headway on that little problem - remembering his elderly uncle’s speedo in the sauna at the last reunion does the trick nicely - when Emma shifts closer, starting to emerge from the depths of her sleep at last. The happy little hum she gives doesn’t help either.

As all his hard work reverses itself, Killian forces himself to slip out of bed and quickly move to the bathroom. As much as he wants to remain in bed with Emma, it’s no longer worth the risk, especially as she begins to wake up.

By the time he emerges from the bathroom and his long shower, Emma’s awake and flipping through the TV channels.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that tells him she has something else in mind.

“I did, thank you,” he replies cautiously, waiting for the punchline.

“Told you so.” Her comeback is instantaneous and smug, the smirk on her face only underlining the matter.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You were right,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile teasing at the corner of his own mouth. His wake-up call aside, it actually was some of the best sleep he’s gotten in ages. “You want some breakfast before we have to face the music?”

“Oh, always,” she replies, scampering out of bed to go get ready. He hadn’t really paid attention to those little pajama shorts last night, but God, they’re killing him today, especially knowing how the soft skin of her thighs feels pressing against his own.

How he’ll survive this trip is beyond him.

———

The only thing that makes Liam’s smug expression all through breakfast at all bearable is how clearly displeased Elsa is about the whole thing. Killian thinks he even hears her mumble something about Daddy’s a meddler, isn’t he? into the top of Nils’ head. It’s the only thing that keeps him from smearing cheap fake maple syrup down the front of Liam’s knit sweater.

Things get better once they actually get to Elsa’s aunt’s house for the main event - though that may just be in comparison to how Liam spends the entire twenty minute car ride from the hotel pestering him about What are you going to say when they ask you about your girlfriend, Killy? How’d you meet, Killy? Will we get to host another wedding, Killy? It’s incredibly obnoxious; literally anything is better than that.

Still, it’s a little painful when Liam’s proved correct; as soon as various family member are able to pull themselves away from the baby, they’re over demanding to know all the details of his and Emma’s supposed relationship. Emma’s a good sport about it, though she does shoot him an “I told you so” look after the first excited So when did this happen? She’s earned that much, he figures. Still, she smiles and lets Killian slip an arm around her waist and smoothly lies about the relationship they’re supposed to have been in since April. Killian, in a wistful moment, almost believes her recounting of how their friendship suddenly turned into something more . If anyone was to look his way, he’d doubtless have an adoring look on his face as he watches Emma. Then again, that’s nothing new; Emma’s been his sun, his moon, and all his stars for nearly longer than he can remember.

He learns things about Emma through her answers too, things he’d never be able to ask normally; her idea of a perfect date is a stop for pizza and a movie, she’s secretly a sucker for flowers, and when a particularly insistent aunt presses about children, he learns she’s not opposed to the idea - though not anytime soon. Carefully, Killian files those facts away in his mind, just in case he ever gets the chance to test some of them out.

Yes, there’s still a lot of intrusive questions, but it feels more manageable with Emma at his side. Killian readily counts the day as a success, and the way Emma dozes off on his shoulder on the ride back is only a bonus.

Of course, Liam can’t leave well enough alone. That was always asking for far too much. Emma’s barely closed the door to the hotel room when Liam smirks. “I hear you didn’t use the cot last night, Killy. Looking forward to snuggling up to Emma again?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Killian replies as coolly as he can manage. The effort fails completely, as he’s still too irritated to pull off anything but heated conversation where his brother is concerned.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it. I know you better than that, and lying doesn’t suit you.”

“No, you know what? This is a torment, Liam,” Killian hisses. “Admit it, you did this just to torture me.” Faintly, Killian hears a door click, but he pays it no attention.

“No, I did it to help you, little brother. I thought it would push you in the right direction. Clearly, you’re too damn stubborn for even that!” Liam shoots back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What, you thought the rest of us haven’t noticed the longing looks and doey eyes?” Liam scoffs. “It’s so painfully obvious how completely in love you are with that woman. Everyone with two eyes who isn’t named Emma Swan can see it.”

“It’s still none of your damn business!”

“Fine, maybe not!” his brother admits. “But you seem fully prepared to just pine away for the rest of time. I just thought I’d try and help things along, maybe spur a conversation or make you realize that if you like waking up next to her and want to do that on a more permanent basis, you need to fucking talk to her!” Liam sighs heavily, seemingly attempting to force out some of his frustration in the exhalation. “I just want you to be happy, brother,” he pleads. “I may have gone about that the wrong way, but it was not intended to torment you.”

“It still wasn’t your place, Liam,” he grumbles.

“I know.”

Killian sighs himself, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose, though…”

“Yeah?”

“I suppose if you’ve gone to all this meddling, I shouldn’t waste such a moment, should I?”

“That’s the spirit, brother,” Liam finally grins, more genuinely this time, before pushing Killian in the direction of his own hotel room.

When Killian makes it inside, Emma’s already in bed, facing away from the door on her side. “Sorry I took so long, Swan,” he tells her quietly, moving to undress and brush his own teeth.

“That’s fine,” she replies, but something sounds off. The words are short, clipped. She sounds irritated, quite frankly; it’s not the way he’d envisioned this going when Liam pushed him towards the door.

Killian quickly runs through his own bedtime rituals before sliding beneath the comforter and sheets. Oddly, Emma makes no move to react to his arrival, though her body is far too tense for her to be asleep.

“Well, that went better than I expected today,” he finally comments, just to put something out there. Anything is better than this tense silence.

“Yep.” Even in that short word, he can feel her anger. Quickly, Killian searches for the words to make it better.

“Thank you for coming with me. I can’t thank you enough, truly, this would have been a nightmare otherwise,” he settles on offering.

“Yep,” she says again. Killian could really grow to hate that word. After a pause, she finally continues. “Sorry that this part has been such a torture for you. A real torment, I hear.”

Killian suddenly, in a terrible moment of realization, knows exactly what’s the matter. “You heard that, didn’t you.”

“Oh yeah,” Emma bites out, finally flopping around to face him in the bed. “Just what a girl wants to hear when she comes out to ask about mouthwash.”

“Look Swan, it’s not what you think —”

“Oh really?” she snaps back. “Because you seemed pretty clear out there. God, I’m sorry it’s so awful sharing a bed with me.”

“Now that is not what I meant —”

“You said it was torture sharing a bed with me, Killian, what the fuck else could that mean?”

“It’s torture because it’s perfect, okay?” he finally breaks. “It’s torture because I love you, because this is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I know it’s just for a couple of nights —”

“You love me?” Emma cuts in. Her face is doing that unreadable thing again, and it scares Killian more than anything else.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Killian nods quickly, casting his eyes down and away from Emma’s face. “Aye. I’ve always loved you, Swan, right from the beginning. And I know you don’t feel the same, that’s absolutely fine, but it’s made the past 24 hours the sweetest torture.”

Suddenly, there’s a hand drawing his chin back up so their eyelines meet once again. “Why would you ever think I didn’t feel the same?” Emma asks, a new smile gracing her face.

“You never said anything,” Killian replies, shrugging as best he can from his reclined position. Dare he hope?

“Well let me say it now,” Emma grins. Her hand moves up from his chin to rest against Killian’s face. “I love you, Killian. Maybe not right from the beginning, but not long after. We’ve both been so stupid for so long,” she chuckles, moisture starting to pool at the bottom of her eyes.

Killian carefully brings his thumb to brush underneath her eye to catch the tears before they can fall. “I know, love,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry to have made you wait.”

Emma laughs a little at that, treating him to the happy smile he so loves. “You gonna make me wait any longer, Jones?” she teases.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs back. Still, he moves slowly and carefully, inching his face closer across the bed sheets until his nose brushes Emma’s. This is a major moment for him, for them both, the moment where everything changes; he’s determined to document each second of it in his mind so he can remember it in vivid detail for the rest of his life.

He should have known, though, that Emma’s never had the same patience he has. She’s ultimately the one to make that final surge forward to caress his lips with her own. It’s unbearably gentle at first as they learn the geography of each other’s mouths, which suits Killian just fine. After years of staring at Emma’s lips and pretending he’s not, it’s exhilarating to learn exactly how full and soft they are, sliding against his own. Things quickly deepen, however, tongues advancing and retreating in turn. Somehow, his hands have ended up resting low on Emma’s hips, and he sees absolutely no reason to move them - especially when she moans after a playful nip at her bottom lip. God, he loves that sound; he’d be happy to hear it over and over again for the rest of his life. As Emma hitches a leg over his hip, he can’t help but give into the urge he so poorly repressed that morning and properly hauls her on top of his body. Emma seems to like that as she attacks his mouth with a new ferocity and begins to grind down on his lap, where his arousal is making itself very obviously apparent.

“God, how did we hold out so long?” Killian wonders after a particularly delicious roll of Emma’s hips against his groin. “How did we hold out last night?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replies, whipping her pajama shirt over her head, “but I’m more than willing to make up for it now.”

And really, the worst idea of all would be to argue with that.

———

“No more wasting time, alright?” Killian says once they’ve finally caught their breath, naked limbs still twined together.

Emma just laughs. “I think I can be okay with that.”

———

Next Christmas, there’s no more lying about their relationship - just a ring to show off to the assorted masses.

Killian and Emma both like it much better that way.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services! 

[welcome-to-my-daydreams]

Man in the Storm 14

Summary: It’s rut season at the compound. Omega Reader plans to ride it out alone, locked in her room away from any unwanted Alphas. But she finds that to be a lot easier said than done when the team’s strongest Alpha pays a visit.

Pairings: Alpha!Thor x Omega!Reader

Type: Series (A/B/O Dynamics)

Warnings: Manliness

Word Count: 2,237

A/N: I don’t know shit about boxing, I don’t know shit about MMA, I don't know shit about throwing punches and I don’t know shit about how men bond with each other. So, that being said. Enjoy! 

Part 13, Part 15

Masterlist

champion-ofthe-sun >> welcome-to-my-daydreams

Thor woke to the buzzing of his alarm clock. Groaning at the sound, he slowly reached over to shut it off. He was unable to fully untangle his limbs from yours, so he took moment to just lay there with you. It was only 2 in the morning and it pained him to leave the warmth of the bed you shared. But he had something to do. 

He slowly got out of bed, kissing you gently on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. He freshened up and changed into some workout clothes, being careful not to wake you in the process. 

In a few minutes he was making his way to the elevator, which he then took to the main level of the compound. On the way down he started thinking about how to go about the whole situation, but quickly decided that he’d just wing it. 

After all, winging it usually worked out for him. 

He knew that this situation with James Barnes could be resolved, but he was going to have to get on Barnes’ level. And he had an idea what that might entail.

As he walked down the hall towards the gym Thor saw that the lights were on and he could hear someone inside. 

So far, so good. He thought. 

Thor entered the room to find Bucky pounding on the punching bag in the back corner. He was immediately impressed by the power behind his punches as his fists made contact with the rubber material.

He walked across the room, watching Bucky’s technique. He was strong, but his right hook was a bit off. Due to the weight difference between his flesh arm and his metal arm, I imagine. Thor pondered to himself. 

Bucky stopped when he saw Thor come into his peripherals, letting out a low growl as the Alpha invaded his personal space. 

Breathing heavily, he took out his headphones and tried to hide his annoyance at being interrupted. “Never expected to see you down here at this time, Your Highness.” he greeted his Alpha plainly before going for his water bottle. 

Thor chucked. Reaching up to the chain of the punching bag and leaning his weight against it. “Yes well, I’ve heard that the gym is a great place to go when you’ve got something on your mind.” He answered. “And it’s Your Majesty.” He winked. 

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at Thor’s response. He was a cocky son of a bitch, that was for sure. He turned around to face the Alpha again, “I’m guessing you want to talk about the other day?” He asks with a slight distain. 

He knew he was due to be reprimanded for his behaviour in the briefing a few days ago. Steve already gave him an earful and Natasha only just stopped giving him the silent treatment. It was only a matter of time until Thor came to collect his apology.

“No, not particularly.” Thor shook his head and began to walk around the small padded area of the and gym checking out the equipment around him, circling Bucky in the process. “Just...can’t sleep.”

Bucky wasn’t exactly falling for Thor’s act but if he was being honest with himself, he didn't have the mind for any more arguing. This was the only time of day that he could truly keep his mind at ease. So decided to just go with whatever Thor was doing. 

Thor continued circling the room until he eventually came across what he was looking for and picked them up. They were two boxing pads and he put them on.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asked him, realising that this wasn’t going to be a quick visit. Thor smiled and held up the pads, “Come on, you’ve already got the glove on.” Thor said nodding his head towards to open mats in the middle of the gym. 

This wasn’t exactly what Bucky was expecting and he wasn't used to sparring with anyone but Steve. But he couldn’t really say no, could he?

They walked onto the mat and when they were both in their positions, Thor held his hands up. “Shall we?”. Bucky nodded, unsure of what kind of test Thor was putting him under, so he hesitated on this first punch. When the hit landed on Thor’s right pad it was like hitting a vibranium wall. 

“I hope that’s not all Sergeant.” Thor teased. “You do know who you’re sparring with don’t you?” he laughed. Bucky smiled and shook his head. “Alright Your Majesty, but you asked for it.” 

Bucky threw his second punch with his metal arm. It landed on Thor’s left pad but the god barely moved. Not even so much as a step backward. 

Bucky paused for a moment, admiring the Alphas strength with a slight bitterness. Normally he had to tone it down when training with the team, even with Steve. Especially after that whole mishap with Stark a few years ago. He was terrified of hurting any of them.

He gritted his teeth and repositioned himself. Preparing to give Thor his all. 

The two men continued sparring for a good 10 minutes. Bucky quickly realising that getting a step ahead of Thor wasn’t about the strength of the hit, but about the footwork. Thor enjoyed the Alpha’s persistence. He had never fought a Super Solider before, he never had a need too. But he could tell that Bucky’s way of fighting was much less controlled than Cap’s, and much more powerful. 

“You’re lazy with your right arm Barnes.” Thor said between hits. “You’ve got a lot of weight on your left side but you shouldn't let that affect your balance.” 

Bucky stopped and shook his arms out, “What? I’ve never heard that before...” he said looking down at each of them. “That’s because no one has ever told you.” Thor answered. “Look, it’s the same as when a soldier fights with a shield in hand. Not like Steve’s, his shield is lightweight. More like my soldiers back home.” He continued, holding his arm up to mimic holding a giant, heavy shield. 

“Take advantage of the weight, use it for your swing and hit me here.” Thor instructed, pointing to his chest.

“You want me to hit you?” Bucky asked, confused. Thor nodded. “Come on Barnes! You’re far from the biggest I’ve fought”

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes a little before repositioning his feet and resetting his shoulders. He tried focusing on the weight between both of his arms. As he prepared to throw the punch he made sure to swing his metal arm higher than usual, throwing his shoulders back before pushing forward into Thor’s chest with his right fist. 

When the punch landed Thor staggered back a few steps. He followed up with thunderous laugher. “Good Barnes. Again!” he yelled this time, manoeuvring around the mats. Bucky hit him again, this time with even more momentum. “Another!” Thor yelled out.

Bucky continued to hit Thor again and again. Each time improving on his technique. After a few more minutes went by he actually found himself with a smile on his face.

Thor could see that Bucky’s defences were down. So he took the opportunity to open his intended conversation with the soldier. 

“How long have you been with the pack Barnes? Nearly 4 years now?” He segued perfectly as the two continued with their drills. 

Bucky nodded. “About that much, yeah.” He answered, missing his target as Thor faked to the right.

“You’ve accomplished much in such a short period of time.” Thor continued. Bucky gave him a puzzled look, not quite knowing what Thor meant. “You went from Stark’s mortal nemesis to leader of the pack. In four years.” Thor shook his head and smiled. “That’s impressive.”

“I guess...” Bucky answered. The conversation was throwing him off, so he tried to focus on on his swing again. But Thor wasn’t finished. “When we founded The Avengers the pack was much smaller than it is now. We all sort of just...fell into our roles. But you, you worked your way from the bottom up. Not many others here can say the same.” he continued. 

Bucky stopped for a moment to catch his breath, “It wasn’t easy.” He shrugged, taking a moment to drink from his water bottle. Thor joined him, taking a sip as well. “I know it wasn’t. That’s why I’m thankful to have you here Barnes. You clearly want to be here. You fought to be here.” Thor said excitedly, giving Bucky an animated pat on the back. “It’s good to know that the pack has an Alpha like you to watch over them when I can’t be here.”

Bucky let out a tiny huff of laughter, giving Thor a suspicious look.

“It’s true!” Thor insisted. “The truth is you know this pack more than I do. And they know you. You’ve earned your place here. There is no doubt in my mind about that at all.”  

Though he would never admit it, Thor’s approval meant a lot to Bucky. He had been feeling so unsure about his place in the pack since the Alpha’s arrival that he had stubbornly shut himself away from everyone. Little did he know he was just looking for some acknowledgement, and now that he got it he was feeling much more at ease.

He took a deep, considerate breath. “Thank you, Thor. I, I appreciate that.” He said, not exactly ready to look him in the eye while he said it. 

“Of course.” Thor nodded.

“About the other day. I shouldn't have challenged you. I-”

Thor cut Bucky off by waving his hand in the air. “It’s water under the bridge James. Do not worry.” He began un strapping the boxing pads from his wrist. “Let’s switch.”

The two Alpha’s return to the mat. This time Bucky wore the boxing pads and Thor was throwing the punches. He opted not to wear the cloves, saying they would just get in the way. 

Thor steadied himself and settled his feet in place. He’d have to go easy on the solider, of course. He could punch him through the wall if he desired, but he didn't. He hit Bucky with a double cross combo, noting how his metal arm absorbed the impact and adjusted his movements accordingly. 

Bucky was startled by the weight behind Thor’s punches. He could tell he was holding back by the way he carried his shoulders. 

Damn, he thought to himself. 

He was able to fake the god out every once and a while. Faking left then right and scooping down. He needed to stay fast to avoid being over powered. Eventually they got into a pretty comfortable rhythm.  

“There is one person you do need to apologise to.” Thor spoke up, adding a little more weight to his punch as the words left mouth.

Bucky knew immediately who Thor was talking about and he knew that it was the honest truth. 

“I know...” He replied, shame in his voice. “I don’t think she even wants to speak with me.” He continued, losing his focus which made room for Thor to get a shot at his chest. blowing him back a few steps. 

“She will.” Thor assured him. “(y/n) is stubborn but she’s not cruel. Give her the explanation and the apology she deserves and everything will be fine.” 

Bucky nodded and tried to focus on the sparring session. The mention of your name gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He was so ashamed over how he spoke to you and the ridiculous reasons behind his petty behaviour. 

The two fought in silence for a while. Thor slowly increasing the intensity of his punches, knowing Bucky could handle it. Bucky eventually broke the silence, deciding that he too had a question for the King of Asgard.

“Do you love her?” He asked Thor earnestly.

“I do.” Thor smiled.

Bucky nodded in acceptance. He was happy for you, he knew you’d never believe him if he told you. But he was. He could see why you chose Thor. He could see that he had everything you wanted in an Alpha. Everything you deserved. 

“Good.” He said with a smile.

The two Alpha’s finished up their work out and cleaned up the equipment. Thor felt positive about his conversation with Bucky and the air between them was already much lighter. 

Bucky felt better too. He realised now, why the entire pack was so charmed with Thor to begin with. 

Before shutting down the gym for the night Bucky turned to Thor, with a curious look on his face. “Hey,” He started. “Can I see the thing?” Thor turned to Bucky with a concerned look of his face. “What thing Barnes?”. Bucky Laughed at his wording. “No, I mean... you know. The thing you do. with all the sparks.” He tried mimicking lightening with his fingers.

“I’ve never been in the field with you before, I’ve never seen it.” 

Thor left our a thunderous laugh and looked around the room. “Stark will have my head if I damage anything in here.”

“Come on!” Bucky urged. “This whole corner is padded, hit this thing, it’s rubber. Nothing will happen.” He continued, dragging the free standing heavy bag over to Thor. 

Thor sighed. “Fine. But you and that arm need to go far over there. I will not be to blame for your death.” 

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[paladin-andric]

Blackheart, Chapter 20: Discontent

A signature here, a signature there, a compliment, a threat and an insult…

The prince folded the paper before stamping it with the royal seal, tossing it to the side of the desk. He leaned back and sighed, rubbing at his temples.

The young man had been doing this for weeks. Normally burning with drive and unusually active, the normally fair, clean-shaven prince looked overworked and disheveled, with rings under his eyes and growing stubble all over his face.

He was currently in a small office, next to his room. The office space was as richly decorated as one might expect from the castle that housed the entire royal family of Geralthin. Tapestries and expensive baubles were placed around the room, though it wasn’t quite as extravagant as the rest of the castle.

This was an office, after all. No one but the family and perhaps a few stewards ever came in here.

Sunlight streamed in through the window as a light breeze flowed in, giving the prince a brief respite from the all the hardship. His arms dangled to his sides as he closed his eyes and felt the breeze on his neck, cooling him slightly.

“Your highness?”

The prince opened his eyes, locking onto the figure at the door.

One of the new hires stood there. A young man with few defining qualities that the prince never bothered to find out the name of.

“What?”

“Err...perhaps I could take over for-”

“No.”

His answer was blunt, and his tone was authoritative. The servant seemed to fold at it immediately.

“O-okay, your highness.”

The man vanished, off to whatever it was he did. The prince didn’t care. He had more important things to worry about.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, face in his hands.

It was getting to be too much. At this point, how could he keep up?

He’d been writing letters and trying to push forward decrees wherever he could. He’d ridden to and from so many noblemens’ houses. He’d been up night and day working to put together an army, but no one seemed willing.

He’d gone as far as to track down the poorest, least prestigious noble houses in the kingdom, yet even they wouldn’t lend their men to him for a shot at relevancy in the court.

Not single person seemed to give a damn.

That was enough. He decided to see his friend about this. He rose out of the chair and left the room, making his way down the hall.

The wild wealth that pulsed through the heart of the kingdom was lost on the prince at the moment. He was halfway in his own mind, stewing over it all.

The Edict...the executions...the city...the demons…

What the hell was going on?!

He stomped down the gilded halls, head hung low and hands folded behind his back.

Why was it like this? The castle should be utterly swarming with activity in the midst of this madness! An entire city, and thousands of lives were just lost! Add the population of the city onto the losses of the missing armies sent there and...

He grimaced. Something had to be done. Why was nothing being done?

Sure, they’d sent the knight, but really? That’s all?

Sure, the current state of the court was currently quite chaotic, but it for all the wrong reasons.

Various members of the court had resigned or been fired following the flurry of criticism and resistance after the king’s exiling of non-humans. What parts of the castle still operated normally were being run by skeleton crews, vastly undermanned and many of them unqualified.

Everyone argued over what issues were more important. They worked over how the loss of an entire city and its people affected supplies and resources, but ignored the issue of the city itself, instead proposing new trade routes to make up for the losses! The king said everything was under control and offered no propositions or entertained any, and everyone was too afraid to speak up about it.

The council was in complete gridlock.

Normally, the great dragon of Geralthin would be called in to mediate such standstills and disputes, but the king refused utterly. He would not budge an inch on that.

Hell, he had tried to throw her out with the rest of the dragons when he put the edict into effect.

That was the ONE thing even his most loyal soldiers refused. Even as he threatened them, not a single man dared to step foot in the Lady Protector’s wing of the castle.

She was above ordinary dragons. She was the savior of the nation, the champion of the kingdom. The reason this castle even existed. Humanity’s savior. To the people, she was a symbol of Geralthin, the spirit of the kingdom itself.

Not even the king could change that.

Eventually, he was forced to back down after facing a potential coup...but, spiteful towards the disobedience, they had entered a sort of...war without battle, with the dragon.

He banned entering her wing of the castle under any circumstances, and whenever she sent for him or a servant, he ignored her, leaving her in an isolated state.

It had gotten bad enough that she had gotten frustrated once and left her wing of the castle, flying outside and demanding one of the guards tell the king she wished to speak with him.

It had happened several times, and each time he had the same response: Do nothing. Hole up inside and pretend she didn’t exist.

As far as he was concerned, she should be in Palethorn with the rest of the beasts.

The man was shaking by the time he reached the archives. He suddenly realized how he looked and composed himself, taking a deep breath and straightening his back. He reached forward and opened the door, pulling slowly.

Stepping into the archive room, the prince found it just as it had always been. All across the walls, towering bookshelves covered every corner of the room. On these shelves reaching up to the ceiling far above, countless books lined the room, filled with priceless knowledge and the lengthy and rich history of mankind.

Chandeliers and various candles lined the walls and ceiling, making up for the lack of windows. The lighting was bright enough to see clearly, but was fairly dim in some areas.

Though the archives stretched far off to the sides, that wasn’t why he was here. He had come for one reason.

That reason sat before him.

The aging, bearded man was sitting in front of a desk facing the entrance, with several books and papers sprawled across it.

His outfit was quite regal, even though he wasn’t of noble blood himself. He had long, flowing robes over expensive clothes, embroidered with decorative patterns resembling flowing winds.

He paused in the midst of his writing, looking up at the door and smiling at the figure in the doorway.

“Ah, Prince William! What do I owe the pleasure?”

He was the one man here the prince could even stand anymore. The only one honest enough to speak his mind.

“I can’t take it anymore,” William spoke quietly, “I’m...at my limit.”

The bearded man sighed, putting down his quill and getting up from his seat. “I...feel much the same.”

William grimaced. “Baldwin...how can you stand it? This is insanity! Everyone’s gone! The halls are empty! Everyone left acts like a hollow shell! The entire castle has fallen silent! This is like...some horrible perversion of what I used to call home!”

“It’s been rough,” the scribe admitted, “I’ve always valued a bit of peace and quiet, but...it does feel strange.” “It’s like I woke up one day and everyone else had vanished,” the prince recalled. He shook his head. “Everyone’s acting so off, too...everyone left, that is. No one says anything. No one does anything. Have you been to the game room? I haven’t seen a soul there since the start of this.”

“No time for merriment,” Baldwin answered bitterly, “Everyone still here has to pick up the slack.”

“I-I mean, just look at the cooks, the cleaners! Everyone’s miserable, no one DOES anything! They do their job than run off to their rooms for the rest of the day.”

The scribe crossed his arms. “I’ve been here too, your highness. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

William narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s time we...spoke with her.”

The scribe’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What?!”

A brief silence followed, leading Baldwin to glare at the prince.

“You’re being serious.”

William nodded.

“I’d rather not get tried for treason.”

“What’s he gonna do, send men to apprehend us? Her wing’s almost sacred ground at this point. No one dared go, even when he threatened to try them for treason. We’re safe.”

“I don’t know...what’s the point? What are even going to do, anyway?”

William glared at his lifelong friend. “Fine. If you want to stay here and wallow, be my guest. I’ll go myself.”

He spun around and marched out the archives, not pausing even as the scribe called his name.

William returned to his chambers and suited up. He replaced his leisure clothes with underarmor wear, padding, and his suit of platemail. The full set of armor was accompanied with a royal tabard, elegantly designed and easily designating him as a member of the royal family. His helmet was open-faced, allowing others to identify him. His helmet was fitted with a modest, but still impressive silver circlet. Not quite a crown, but he wasn’t quite a king yet, either.

This ensemble come together to show that not only was he equipped with expertly forged armor befitting the finest knight, but was also royalty.

He finished by fastening his sword to his hip, and finally left for the abandoned castle wing.

Marching down the halls looking ready for war would attract much attention, but that was exactly the point. He was done being quiet. He was done being subtle.

This was an act of rebellion, in a way, and he wanted everyone to know that.

What would his father do, disinherit him? He was his only child, and putting a succession crises into motion in his old age was a disaster waiting to happen.

If his father named some random nobody his heir, gathering support to overthrow them would be a cinch, especially if he promised to annul the edict.

He was the rightful heir to the throne, after all.

Passing the archive, William was surprised when he turned the corner, only to see Baldwin standing there, waiting.

The man’s eyes widened at the prince’s appearance.

“Good Lord, William! Why are you armed for battle?!”

“To make a statement,” the prince returned, “I’m meeting the Lady Protector, and no one can stop me. And if they try…”

He gripped the hilt of his sword threateningly.

“This is a bad idea, your highness. I’m willing to go with you, but arming yourself is taking things too far, in my opinion…”

“Speak to father about taking things too far,” William said bluntly. He walked past the scribe, the man quickly hurrying to follow him.

“I still don’t know what your plan is,” Baldwin spoke in a near-whisper, “What are we doing?”

“Paying the Lady a visit. That’s all.”

“That’s all? You suited up for battle to chat?”

“I want everyone to see I make my own rules,” William answered, still speaking harshly, “Let all see the king cannot cage me like an animal. Maybe a few will find their spines.”

“I suppose…”

The pair walked down a flight of stairs, long, winding and extravagant. They came to the beautifully decorated hallways of the entrance to the castle. Guards standing duty stared with wide eyes and shocked expressions as the prince, armored and armed, walked past them...and into the off-limits wing of the castle.

No one objected.

“Ooh...we’re in it now,” Baldwin said lowly, “They all know.”

“That’s the point.”

The Lady Protector’s wing of the castle was massive in size...literally. Everything, from the halls to the doors, were several times larger than the rest of the castle.

It was so someone of her great size could move through such halls.

The hall itself was quite nice. Not as extravagant as the rest of the castle, but still dignified enough to be a wonderful vista. There was a sort of...restrained beauty about it. There weren’t many decorations, but the lovely carpets, clean stones and fetching baubles atop end tables strewn throughout the hall gave the impression the decorator didn’t need overwhelming expenses to give off an air of regal elegance.

Furthermore, the massive windows made for a gorgeous view of the rolling greens outside.

The pleasing scenery brought a smile to the prince’s face...though at the same time, he felt a bit saddened.

To think such a wonderful part of the castle was being neglected, and its great inhabitant shunned over a petty feud...more deserved to see it, and the Lady herself...

It took longer than expected, but the two men finally reached the door at the end of the hallway. Pausing for a moment, the prince pushed hard, the massive wooden doors parting after a bit of effort.

They swung open to reveal a truly massive room...with a massive inhabitant.

The black dragon, lying down, suddenly sprang to life, head shooting up as she heard the door open. She turned, the massive beast’s sharp eyes locking onto the pair standing at the entrance to her room.

The great dragon’s eyes widened at the sight. She opened her maw, and spoke.

“Master William?! Sir Baldwin?!”

The massive dragon stood up, towering over the men several stories. Her mere presence changed the emotions of the two. William, for his part, felt elated. Baldwin, on the other hand, seemed fearful, hiding behind the prince and offering no greeting.

“Lady Gira! How are you?”

“Oh my goodness!” the dragon spoke, “Guests?! I cannot believe it! And such distinguished ones, as well! You are looking quite resplendent!”

“Only the best for the Lady,” William said with a grin.

The dragon smiled back. “Oh, Prince William, you do not need to put so much hard work into speaking with me! Do not worry about such things in the future! You could have come wrapped in bedsheets and I would think nothing of it! I respect you both so very much, you know that!”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” the prince answered, “But how about you? It must be so dreadfully boring around here.”

“It has been ages since a soul stepped into my chambers! I apologize for my shock, but I have not been expecting any company!”

“Sorry for the surprise.”

“No, no! It is a wonderful surprise, indeed...I have grown so…”

The was a lengthy silence. The dragon appeared hurt, glancing away from the two humans.

“...It has been so lonely here, you know? Since the start of...this oddness.”

William scowled. “Oddness? Try madness! Lady Gira, I am here to discuss this with you. I...think something needs to be done.”

“I have been trying,” Gira spoke bitterly, “But...Master Salign has refused to even entertain my presence!”

“He loathes you. He’s so angry no one would kick you out that he’s pretending you don’t exist.” William gritted his teeth. “He’s a stuck up moron.”

Gira stared at the prince. Her eyes were just so...deep. It felt like William could get lost in them, piecing together emotions and memories if he looked hard enough.

“My prince...I have become increasingly distressed by the treatment I am receiving. Why is it you are here? I thought his majesty forbid you from coming to speak with me.”

“He did. I came anyway.”

“What?! Truly?!”

“Something must be done,” he stated simply.

“I-I mean, of course, but...within the legal framework of the system, of course!”

William laughed. “Really? You honestly believe that?”

Gira smiled. “Of course! I am Lady Protector, after all. It is my duty to obey Master Salign in all things. I only wish he would allow my council…”

The prince looked at the dragon in disbelief. “You...you aren’t actually okay with going along with what he’s done, are you?”

Gira frowned. “No...no, certainly not. I wished to make a convincing case for why he should undo his previous decision.” “He won’t listen. You’re bandying empty words if you try to convince him.”

“But...there must be something we can do.”

The price nodded. “Yeah, there is.”

The dragon stared intently. “Indeed? What is it?”

His face was emotionless as he looked up at the great beast of legend. “We can overthrow him.”

Gira reeled back in shock. “M-master William?!” “What the hell are you doing?!” Baldwin hissed in William’s ear, “Don’t say such things to Gira!”

“I told you: It’s time we do something about it.” The prince was firm and unmoving despite the response.

“This...this is high treason!” Gira cried, looking mortified.

William narrowed his eyes at the dragon. “And trying to ban you from the kingdom is not?”

“I...he has the final say!” the dragon reasoned.

“That isn’t right. Haven’t you heard? You’re supposed to be crammed in that hellhole with the rest of them. Do you honestly think he should be allowed to push around the savior of the kingdom like that?”

“I am no savior, but...no.”

“Than we should stop him. He won’t listen to reason, so we have to MAKE him listen.”

“No, no!” Gira appeared distraught, “I cannot, I WILL not! I shall never betray Geralthin, never betray my king!”

“Why do you care so much about obeying father? He wants you gone...or dead, if you refuse.”

The dragon looked away, eyes full of pain.

“I...made a promise. That I would always serve the sovereign, to my dying breath. I made that promise, to the greatest man that ever lived, to the one who founded the kingdom. I promised...and I will never betray that trust.”

She looked back at William, newfound passion in her eyes. “I will NEVER betray Master Salign. I shall serve him to my dying breath, this I swear! He is the ruler of Geralthin, and I serve Geralthin with all my being! Nothing in the world could ever change that! I shall not join your plot! There is another way!”

“There really isn’t,” William said with a shake of his head.

“There is ALWAYS another way!”

The prince sighed. “You really won’t do it...alright. Fine, I suppose this is the end of it, than. I just don’t understand how you could obey a tyrant, someone hurting innocent people, someone who hates you and wants you dead.”

“It is not like that!” Gira insisted, “Loyalty is the core of my being! One king I disagree with will never change the fact that I serve Geralthin always!”

“He has BETRAYED Geralthin!” William roared. Baldwin, and even Gira reeled from his outburst.

“He uses the throne to pursue his own agenda! He stands against his own people, hurting and terrorizing the very people he swore to protect when he took the throne! He’s driving the kingdom into the ground, destroying it and everything that ever made it worth a damn! He destroyed the church, butchered saints and war heroes for daring to refuse his mad demands! You talk of treason, Gira?! Well, he has committed treason against Geralthin itself! Its people, its spirit! All of the nation has been wronged by these criminal actions, and to save it, he must be taken away from the reigns of power! This is for the good of the kingdom, and its people!”

Gira stared with her maw open at the raving prince, seeming unable to believe this was real.

After a moment, she gathered herself and spoke. “S-sir, Master William...I...I do not believe you have to do this. We can talk with him, we can...he is just...difficult. The king, he-”

“To hell with the king. When the old man kicks the bucket I’m ripping up that stupid edict. Kick my best friend out of the kingdom cause he ain’t human, will ya? His ghost can’t undo my right to rule. And if he haunts me I’ll have him exorcised, and his ghost can cry about it.”

William could swear Gira looked almost ready to cry. “Master William...you are such a kind, wonderful young man...how could you say such horrible things, against your father, of all people?”

“I told him this was a bad idea. I told him he was wrong. I told him he hurt my greatest friend and I wouldn’t forgive that. You know what happened after that?”

Gira shook her head. The prince continued.

“He has loathing in his eyes, every time he looks at me. He avoids me whenever possible. He send servants and letters rather than speaking to me in person. Our relationship is gone. He treats me like someone he hates, but can’t get rid of. He may be my father, but there is no familial love there any longer.”

Gira looked horrified at the prince’s words. “Master William...it cannot be…”

“I think...I think there’s something wrong with him,” William admitted, “I think...something’s come loose in his head.”

The dragon frowned. “You think he...is suffering from something?”

“Madness.” Prince William looked at Gira with a serious expression. “He’s going to destroy Geralthin if we don’t stop him, Lady Gira.”

The black dragon was silent for some time. She stared down at the prince, her expression unreadable.

“Is that...what you truly believe?”

He shrugged. “He refuses to explain why he’s doing this. It makes no sense, I’ve gone over every motive I could think of, and it makes NO sense, no matter which way you think of it. It’s not pragmatic, this has damaged our production, trade and agriculture severely. It can’t just be bigotry. He had fifty years to do this. No, I think something in him just...snapped.”

Gira frowned. “Mental health...would my healing powers have any effect?”

“He’d never let you, so even if it did, we’d never find out.”

The dragon turned away.

The prince waited for a long amount of time. She said nothing, offered nothing.

“Gira?”

“...I am sorry, Master William. I cannot. If you want my help, convince him to come to me for healing. Perhaps, if your theory is correct...I could help him.”

William hung his head in defeat. He had been betting on her support. What would he do now? To think she was so loyal, despite being treated like dirt…

“...very well. I shall take my leave. I pray you good fortune, Lady Gira. Have a good day.”

“Master William, Sir Baldwin...please be safe. You are dear friends to me, I hope you know this. Please have a splendid day.”

The pair left room, walking back through the massive doors back into the hallway. William leaned against a window and stared out into the sunny fields, dejected.

Baldwin forced the doors shut, turning and looking at the prince. His expression was something in between anger and shock.

“I cannot believe you tried to convince Lady Gira to join a coup.”

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“Not illegally seize power?”

William sighed. “I really don’t need this right now, Baldwin.”

“What am I supposed to say?! You asked the black dragon to betray the king! I mean...you must understand how insane that sounds, just by hearing me say it!”

The prince looked out into the fields. Out there, it was bright, happy and hopeful. But in here? Dread, terror and misery reigned.

“...alright. I guess that’s it, than. Hope is dead.”

“What?”

The prince turned and began walking back to the main section of the castle. “If we lack the stomach to act, than all that’s left is inaction. Nothing will change and this mockery of justice will continue.”

“I meant-”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” the prince interrupted, “I really don’t care.”

He left the scribe there, staring at William walking off, unsure of what to say.

“Have fun writing your worthless notes. I’m sure it’ll help when the entire population of Palethorn turns up dead.”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Baldwin shouted. The prince turned his head back at the man as he kept walking.

“You’re supposed to do what’s right.” He turned his attention back in front of him and shook his head.

“I guess you just don’t have the stomach for it. It’s fine, I’ll go back to writing the houses.”

He mulled over the list of names. All those replies, and none accepting. Maybe if he just kept going...

“I’ll find someone with the guts to do something worth a damn, eventually…”

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[thecasperanfamily]

Past and Present: A Casperan Family Oneshot

The fic about Lin's inhibitor cuff that I promised I'd post six months ago and then completely forgot about. Bear in mind that this does include some reference to another one of my fics, A Shot in the Dark, but I don't think prior reading of that one is necessary to understanding this. Basically all you need to know from that is that Douxie had a very bad experience with an inhibitor cuff when he was in New York with Nari and Archie.

I hope you all enjoy, and I am so ridiculously sorry about the absurdly long delay.

CW: Injury and brief mention of past torture (the former is not too graphic and the latter is only implied, but thought I should warn you just to be safe)

~~~~~

The front door gave a familiar squeak as Douxie shouldered his way in, a bag of groceries in one hand, his phone in the other as he skimmed over a text from one of his wizarding associates currently situated somewhere in the highlands of Mongolia (HexTech’s magical cell service had remarkable reach).

“Shoes off,” Zoe called from the dining room without looking up from her latest project, which was strewn across the table in the shape of various bits and bobs of magical gadgetry.

“Hello to you too,” Douxie chuckled, stepping back onto the welcome mat and levering off his high-tops as instructed. He joined her in the dining room afterwards, dropping his groceries on the bartop that separated it from the kitchen. He stood behind her chair and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Is Lin with Archie and Nari?” Zoe gave an affirmative hum and nodded. “New project?” he asked, reaching out to poke at a piece of circuitry. Zoe slapped his hand away before answering.

“Sort of. HexTech manufactures these things large-scale for the underground wizarding community, but I wanted to do some tweaking to the standard model and make a custom job.”

“...and what thing are you tweaking, exactly?” Douxie asked, watching curiously as she fiddled with a few multicolored wires, alternating between using her wand for its intended purpose, and as an impromptu screwdriver.

“It’s an inhibitor cuff for Lin.” If she noticed the way Douxie’s hands suddenly tensed on her shoulders, she didn’t say anything about it. “HexTech doesn’t actually produce any models small enough for a baby--I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone’s magic surfacing that young--but lots of young hedgewizards and witches have to wear a cuff to keep from having magic outbursts in public.” She stuck her wand between her teeth and reached for a small plate of metal engraved with restrictive sigils.

“I...uh...” Douxie cleared his throat. “...I don’t think he needs one of these, love.” Zoe finally glanced up from her work long enough to shoot him a disbelieving look as she took her wand out of her mouth. He tried not to shrink under her penetrating gaze. “His...outbursts haven’t really been very serious. Maybe a few books knocked off their shelves, the odd static shock here and there, but nothing worth--”

“You said he shattered a lightbulb on the other side of the room just two days ago,” Zoe cut him off incredulously, brandishing her wand at him as though to drive her point further. “And as someone with electric-based magic, I can assure you those ‘little static shocks’ are going to become a major concern as his powers mature. Plus, what are you planning to do about doctor’s visits? And school? The kid can’t stay cooped up in your house for all eternity, Douxie, and we can’t risk--” She stopped short with a sharp inhale. Douxie froze as the air around them seemed to suddenly press down on them like a cold, heavy hand. Zoe met his eyes just long enough to share a glance of knowing dread.

“Douxie!” Archie’s voice rang with terror as it echoed down the hallway, but the wizard was already halfway there, catching himself on the doorframe of Nari’s room as his feet slid across the floor. Zoe slammed into him from behind and the two of them fell into the wood nymph’s room in a panicked heap.

Dark blue flames were crawling across the floor, spreading out in a fierce, protective barrier around the quivering, crying child curled in the center of the room. Nari was huddled against the far wall, clutching her left arm against her chest as Archie crouched over her, wings spread open protectively. Douxie felt nausea turning in his stomach--while Archie seemed to be unhurt, Nari’s aura was practically screaming with pain and fear, though she herself was frozen in silent panic. Lin’s aura was a chaotic storm of confusion and anxiety, along with something Douxie couldn’t place, though it felt unsettlingly familiar. And it was growing stronger.

Douxie reached out with his own aura and grappled with the magic swirling around the room for a moment, feeling like he was trying to subdue a raging dragon with nothing more than his bare hands. He managed to part the wall of flames just enough to let Zoe dart forward and snatch Lin up off the ground. He curled into her and grasped her shirt with a small, trembling hand, his aura beginning to calm.

“Get him out of here!” Douxie barked, taking advantage of Lin’s momentary relief to smother the flames with his own magic.

“What good is that going to do?” Zoe argued. “It’s his magic, it’ll just follow him!”

“I think he’s reacting to Nari’s aura--maybe to all of us, I don’t know! Just get him out and calm him down! And whatever you do, don’t be afraid!”

“As if,” Zoe scoffed, and Douxie once again found himself thanking the gods for her near-supernatural sense of calm in the face of danger. She swept out of the room, clutching Lin close to her, her warm, steady aura wrapping around the child closely and brushing against Douxie as she passed. It was like a plug was pulled, and the heavy feeling in the air, along with the bone-rattling thrum of magic, immediately drained away. Douxie heaved a sigh of relief as the last of the fire flickered and sputtered out, leaving nothing more than a bluish scorch mark on the floor.

“Nari!” he gasped, streaking across the room and falling to his knees in front of her. She was trembling like a leaf, tears streaming down her cheeks. Archie moved aside, and Douxie felt his stomach turning again--Nari’s left arm was covered in a web of burns, the patterns crossing over her skin like cruel, artistic brush strokes. He moved to put his hand on her shoulder, and she flinched, her aura flaring up with panic. “Hey, hey, it’s me,” he breathed. He reached out and carefully brushed against her aura with his magic. “You’re safe, I promise.” He felt some of the tension leave her spirit as she finally registered his presence.

“...S-sorry,” she sobbed breathlessly. “I’m so sorry, I should not have--”

“It’s not your fault he scared you like that,” Douxie cut her off, his voice quiet but firm. “Let me see your arm.” Still sniffling, Nari gingerly held out her left arm, the burn marks catching the light like hideous gemstones. Douxie swallowed, pushing back the wave of guilt threatening to crash over him as he gingerly cradled her arm in his hands. “...What happened?”

“...I don’t think he meant to hurt her,” Archie said softly. “His powers just seemed to...flare up on their own. It didn’t reach me--I was on the windowsill--but Nari was right next to him, and the pulse struck her full-force. I believe her shock and pain must have frightened or confused him--whatever it was, his magic quickly became defensive, as you saw.” The Familiar paused and shook his head. “...At any rate, we should tend to Nari’s injury before anything else. I’ll fetch some bandages.” He rubbed against Nari for a moment before leaving.

All of sudden, Douxie was keenly aware that everything in him ached. Fighting against Lin’s magic had drained more of his reserves than he could have ever anticipated. Grief and anxiety were warring for dominance in his chest, as the dreaded truth washed over him: Lin was dangerous. Sensing his distress, Nari shifted towards him and curled into him, angling herself so that her arm wasn’t pressed against him. Douxie’s hand came up to cup her head against his shoulder out of habit, his other arm wrapping around her carefully.

“...Douxie,” she whispered. “There was something about Lin’s magic. Something ancient. It...” She trailed off, taking a deep breath and pressing closer to him before she finished. “...it reminded me of the Arcane Order.”

“...I know,” he replied in a hollow voice. “I felt it too.” Archie slipped back into the room, padding up to them silently and dropping a roll of bandages and a tube of burn ointment beside Douxie’s knee.

“...What are we going to do?” Nari asked softly as Douxie began tending to her arm. He didn’t answer her right away. “...Douxie?”

“...I don’t know.”

It was only a half-truth at best. Douxie knew exactly what needed to be done. But everything in him was recoiling from the idea as though it burned him the same way Lin had burned Nari’s arm.

*****

He wasn’t sure how long he spent tending to Nari, only that it was probably far longer than necessary. Even as he began to wrap her arm, he could feel her magic humming and gently pulsing, mending skin and soothing pain. She would be perfectly fine by morning. But he still lingered, mind running in circles as he tried to forestall the inevitable decision he had to make. He could tell Nari sensed his unease, but she didn’t press him for it. After a while though, she became more and more insistent that she was alright, which was her way of telling him to stop avoiding the problem. He reluctantly took the hint and left her with Archie, steeling himself as he stepped back out into the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Zoe was back in her seat at the dining room table, the mess of wires and circuitry now gone. In their place was a small, innocent-looking iron band, covered in runic engravings, lying in the center of the table where he couldn’t miss it. Lin was sitting on Zoe’s lap, drowsily suckling on a milk bottle as she gently bounced her leg beneath him. She looked up as Douxie came in, her eyes drifting over to the cuff for a moment, then back at him.

“...How is she?” she asked, avoiding the subject of the cuff for now.

“She’ll be alright,” Douxie sighed, running his fingers through his bangs tiredly. “Lucky she wasn’t human, though. A burn like that would have seriously messed up her arm otherwise.” He collapsed onto one of the chairs next to her with a sigh, propping his elbow on the table and resting his forehead against his hand. Zoe glanced at the cuff again, then down at Lin, who was clearly moments away from falling asleep altogether.

“...It won’t hurt him, Douxie,” she began. “All it does is--”

“I know,” Douxie interrupted a little too quickly. “I-I know what it does. And I know it doesn’t hurt, I just...” He trailed off with another sigh.

“...So then...what’s your deal here? Why does that little thing scare you so much?” Douxie shook his head wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stripping him of his only defense doesn’t feel little to me, Zoe. I’ve had my magic suppressed before, and I was--” He shook his head again, as though clearing it of the unfinished thought. There was a long, weighty silence. Lin’s bottle slipped out of his grip as he nodded off, and Zoe caught it before it fell.

“This isn’t about what happened to you, Douxie,” she insisted as she set the half-empty bottle on the table. “This is about what’s best for Lin--for everyone around him, too. Look,” she continued, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I get that there’s something going on with you here. Something happened that you don’t want to talk about. Everybody has crap like that, especially when they’ve been around for as long as we have. But you can’t push your issues onto Lin. That’s not fair to him, and in this case, it’s downright dangerous.”

“I know,” he said again. “And I’m not trying to....push my issues on him, I just...I don’t know.” Zoe regarded him for a long moment, her piercing gaze sweeping up and down his hunched figure critically.

“...How about I take him for tonight?” she suggested. “His travel crib is still in my car and I’ve got some spare supplies at my apartment. You’ve clearly got some stuff to think about, and if your guess is correct, and Lin can sense emotions as strongly as that, he would probably feel safer at my place while you’re dealing with this.”

“...Yeah, okay,” Douxie quietly agreed. His gaze finally landed on the inhibitor cuff, and he swallowed. “...Better take this with you.” He pushed it across the table towards her. “...Just in case he needs it.” Zoe’s hand hovered above the cuff for a moment, before passing over it and coming to rest on Douxie’s.

“He’s going to be okay, Douxie,” she murmured. “I promise. Nothing is going to happen to him.”

*****

He was back in the warehouse again.

It had been a long time since he’d been here, but he still knew it the moment he saw it. He’d never forgotten the shadowy walls, the ice-cold concrete beneath his feet, the incessant buzzing of the electric lantern. He couldn’t move. Of course he couldn’t. He never could. He couldn’t see the ropes that held him fast, binding his wrists behind him, but he knew they were there, knew there was no use in struggling against them.

That didn’t stop him from trying though.

Where is the forest-child?

He was screaming, he always screamed no matter how much he tried to keep silent. He strained against his bonds, fingers clawing at the iron band around his wrist. He needed his magic, he needed to get out before he broke. And he always broke. He always failed. The words burned like molten lava on his tongue, hot tears streaming down his face as he tried and tried and tried to summon his magic--but the cuff around his wrist was secure, sucking his powers out of him like some kind of horrifying metal leech. He could taste his inevitable betrayal in his mouth, feel himself giving in to the fire that raged in his veins.

No. NO. PLEASE, NO.

It was over. He could feel it. He hadn’t heard himself say the words, but he knew he had. He felt the fire grow cold and leave him, felt the ice of horror creeping in to take its place. Archie’s body lay at his feet, but he still couldn’t move, couldn’t take his friend into his arms and beg for forgiveness, couldn’t rush to Nari’s defense as she screamed his name, over and over again, pleading for him to save her as the Order ripped her away... He couldn’t find her, the world was covered in blue flames. Blue like Zoe’s eyes, blazing with ferocity as she stood against the Order without him, doomed to failure but refusing to back down. Blue like Lin’s magic as he wept in the center of it all and Douxie could do nothing for them--

“Douxie!”

He bolted upright, gasping for air as Nari’s voice pulled him from his dreams. He felt her hand on his shoulder, cool and soothing against his heaving back, while Archie’s familiar warmth pressed against his legs. Instinct drove him forward as he pulled both of them in, hands trembling as he clung to them like lifelines. Archie pressed against his neck, the Familiar’s purrs vibrating through his body and anchoring him in the present. Nari’s hand stroked through his sweat-drenched hair as her aura swirled around him, breathing her innate calmness into him.

“S-sorry,” Douxie croaked. “M’sorry...”

“Shh...” Nari whispered, coaxing his head down until it lay against her shoulder. “Let your aura uncoil--there...” He shuddered as his magic began to settle, and winced at the sound of a few books and knick-knacks clattering to the floor. He hadn’t even realized he’d been keeping them aloft.

“Been a while since you had a nightmare that bad,” Archie observed gently. “...Do you need to talk about it?” Douxie shook his head without bothering to pick it up from Nari’s shoulder.

“...S’just the same one I used to have a lot back in New York.” He felt Nari tense, her hand going still against his hair. Douxie only clutched her tighter. “...You know that wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. She gave a noncommittal hum, but at least she didn’t try to argue with him. Archie settled down on Douxie’s lap, purrs never wavering as the wizard’s hand stroked across his back. Nari pulled back enough to look Douxie in the eye, ignoring his huff of protest when he was forced to lift his heavy head.

“You have been troubled since this evening,” she observed quietly.

“Been a bit of a troubling day,” Douxie replied.

“I do not believe Lin meant to harm anyone, Douxie,” Nari asserted. “I do not understand his powers, but I can feel his soul just the same as yours, and I can feel that he would never wish to hurt any of us. He is not evil.”

“That’s....not really what’s been bothering me.” Nari tilted her head inquisitively, and Archie shifted under Douxie’s hand to look up at him with curious eyes. The wizard heaved a sigh and reluctantly began to explain himself. “...Until he can learn to control his magic, it will have to be suppressed. It’s....pretty normal for young wizards these days, but...” He took a deep, frustrated breath. “...When Zoe told me he needs to wear an inhibitor cuff, all I could think about was what happened to me when I was....forced into one. In my head, I know she’s right, that this is what’s best for him and for everyone, that it’s nothing like what happened to me, but... I just keep remembering that feeling of being completely helpless, cut off from the only thing that could keep me--us--safe. I’d been scared plenty of times before that, but that was the most terrified I’d felt in centuries. I don’t want to do that to him. I don’t ever want him to feel helpless.”

Silence fell between the three of them. Douxie’s hand had stopped stroking Archie’s back, though his thumb continued to rub back and forth idly against the cat’s shoulder. Nari’s hands were clenched in her lap, her aura pulled in tight around her as though out of shame. Douxie put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated in a firm whisper.

“I-I know,” she stammered, raising one of her hands to cover his. Her statement echoed the one he had given Zoe earlier. The wizard’s heart twisted in his chest.

“...You seem to have forgotten one crucial detail, Douxie,” Archie mused. Douxie looked down at his Familiar in bewilderment. “You were not so helpless as you believed. If I recall correctly, you were walking free again before the day’s end.”

“...Only because the two of you saved me,” Douxie reminded him, wondering what he was getting at.

“And you do not count your friends--your family--as one of your strengths? Oh, I can only imagine how well Zoe would take that,” Archie smirked.

“Archie!” Douxie yelped. “That’s not what... Of course I... If you say anything to her...!”

“Then what makes you think Lin would ever be helpless?” Archie interrupted his stammering with a pointed look. “He has all of us just as much as you do. Regardless of whether that boy has access to his magic or not, he will be protected. As will you.” The Familiar gave a short huff of finality, a draconic way of saying that Douxie did not have permission to argue with him right now. Douxie gave a sigh that shifted into a soft laugh after a moment. He glanced over at Nari to find her smiling gently, and she gave him an affirming nod.

“...Of course I know all of that, Arch,” he murmured. “It’s just....It’s hard to forget how I felt in that moment, that’s all.” He returned to methodically stroking his Familiar’s fur. “...But Zoe was right. Regardless of how I feel, this is what’s best for him. I guess it’ll just take some time for my heart to sync up with my head.”

“Well...as immortals, time is certainly something we have a lot of,” Nari reminded him. “For now, I believe the most pressing matter at hand is that of getting you back to sleep. You expended a great deal of magic today. You need your rest.”

“Always playing the Mum, aren’t you?” Douxie chuckled.

“Gods know you need it,” Archie grumbled.

“Archie is correct,” Nari said. “You do not exactly have a history of proper self-care, Douxie. So, while you look after Lin, we will all be looking after you.” She gave him a gentle push, and he fell back onto his pillow with a dramatic huff. Archie moved from Douxie’s lap up to the space between his neck and shoulder, settling there with a purr. “I will stay and guide your spirit into restful dreams,” Nari whispered, as though she had sensed Douxie’s apprehension. Which, knowing her, she probably had. She laid her hand over his heart, and he felt her aura flowing within him, bringing rest to his tense muscles and silence to his troubled thoughts.

He was asleep within just a few moments.

*****

Lin was his usual, cheerful self when Zoe brought him back the next morning. The inhibitor cuff on his wrist was glinting in the morning sunlight drifting through the windows. Douxie forced himself to ignore the jolt of unease that shot through him at the sight of it. Lin reached for him as soon as he saw him, leaning out so far that he almost fell out of Zoe’s arms.

“Were you a good houseguest, young man?” Douxie inquired, balancing the baby on his hip and taking his travel bag from Zoe.

“Yeah, he slept like a log,” Zoe reported, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Mm. Evidence would suggest otherwise,” Douxie commented, taking note of the dark circles around Zoe’s eyes and the way she was stifling a yawn as she dug around in her seemingly bottomless purse.

“Hmm...? Oh, no, he’s not what kept me up. I was working on... Dammit, where did I put it? ...Ah, this.” She pulled a very large and somewhat battered-looking sketchbook out of one of the dozens of interior pockets and spread it out on the table with a flourish.

“Another one of your projects?” Douxie asked, unable to make sense of the hastily scribbled equations and sketches that covered the pages.

“You said you didn’t like the idea of him not being able to access his magic at all. But he obviously needs a way to suppress, or at the very least, weaken it. So I was up all night drawing concepts and potential schematics for a custom inhibitor cuff. See that little monitor there? I was thinking he could use that to adjust how much magic the cuff actually inhibits. Now, a project like this would probably take a few years to finalize, but I bet HexTech would be more than happy to fund it. Hell, they might already have some unused blueprints for something like this somewhere in their archives. I can’t imagine this is the first time that--” She was abruptly cut off as Douxie pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder and squeezing her tightly with one arm (the other was still full of Lin).

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “You’re brilliant, absolutely bloody brilliant, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but Zoe I swear--”

“A-alright, alright, easy, Doux!” she blustered, though she made no attempt to push him off. “It’s not even done yet. I can’t even promise that this is possible. But....I think it’s worth a try. That is, if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m more than okay with it, I’m... Gods Zoe, I love you.” He felt her give up the pretense and relax into him.

“...I love you too,” she murmured. One of her hands came up between them and caught hold of Lin’s. He cooed contentedly as his fingers wrapped around Zoe’s. “...We’re going to be okay. No matter what comes next, we’re going to be okay.”

“...Yeah,” Douxie breathed. “Yeah, we are.”

Thank you so much for reading. ✨