#he just hits his mark in a roundabout way

[deepestsharkshark]

The school of good and evil but make it sterek

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - I Saw You In The Water

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You and Sam try something new to help Dean with the Mark of Cain. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I'm trying to distract myself from life, so here. Have a miniseries!

Title from Cringe by Matt Maeson

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on A03!

“This looks kind of stupid,” you mutter to Sam, and he makes a small nod of agreement, neither of you looking away from the scene before you. Rowena reciting a bunch of words that don’t sound real, and Dean sitting in a kiddie pool, scowling with his eyes screwed tight.

“It’s not just stupid,” Dean snaps your name, and you flush. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. “It’s pointless, and I am not getting adult baptized. You know what? screw this-“

He starts to stand, but Rowena pushes on his chest and sends him back into the water on his ass.

“No moving, or you’ll make me have to start over. And none of us,” Rowena looks Dean over with a dramatic shudder. “Want that.”

“Does it, um, does it have to be an inflatable pool, Rowena? Can’t we just put him in the shower?“

Rowena scoffs, dismissing Sam with a wave of her hand. “That is not how magic works, Samuel. We’re already making a gamble by hoping the spell counts this as a communal bath filled by the clean of soul, and a motel shower would be far worse.”

“Clean of soul-“

“That wee little bellhop.” Rowena gives you a sweet smile, a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach turn slightly. “Only dirty thoughts in his head were about you and your lovely breasts.”

“What.” Dean’s head shoots up, his scowl somehow more violent. “What do you mean, her breasts-“

“I mean her tits, you dimwitted boy.” Rowena gives you a disbelieving eye roll. “Men.”

“Who the fuck was looking at her tits-“

“The bellhop, Dearie, keep up-”

“Can you just do the spell, Rowena?” You cross your arms over your chest, half folding into yourself in a play to get the conversation off of your boobs. “Now?”

Rowena rolls her eyes, but nods and goes back to all her incoherent mumbo jumbo as Dean begins to look violent.

You bump Sam’s shoulder, standing slightly on your toes to whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”

“It will.” Sam shakes his head, and his hair hits you slightly in the face. “Rowena’s the best in the game, and we’re only stretching a few of the ingredients. It’ll be fine.”

Neither of you believe that, but you’re also running out of options. You’ve lost all your leads on the Book of the Damned, and Dean can’t keep killing people. It’s killing him, and Sam, and you, and also the people. And this is, in a roundabout way, a solution. And Rowena says it will work, and you’re not stupid enough to trust her, but you’re also desperate enough to make a deal with her. She’ll do a spell to make Dean’s bloodlust refocus—make it more about things that make him happy, and less about murder—and you and Sam will stop trying to kill her for three whole months.

If it works, it’s a win for everyone. Rowena doesn’t get shot, you and Sam get Dean back, and Dean can maybe, hopefully, be happy again.

Rowena draws back up from Dean and walks over to you and Sam, extending her hand. “Hair.”

“What-“

“Hair, lass. The spell needs your hair.”

“Sam’s hair?” You frown. “Or my hair?”

“Preferably, both.”

You and Sam exchange a look of what the fuck, and Sam keeps his voice low—inaudible to Dean—as he mutters, “Why our hair?" Why not the, uh, the bellhop guy-“

“The bellhop is of no significance to Dean’s life. You two are the people he loves most in the world, so unless you want him to remain under the Mark’s corruption,” Rowena flexes her hand, her voice becoming stern. “Hair.”

Sam pulls out his hair quickly, but you’re a little slower. You’re not someone Dean loves. You’re someone Dean cares about, but you’re not Sam. You don’t belong on the spell’s weird ingredient list, you barely belong in this room. Watching Dean in such a strongly vulnerable position, making decisions about his life for him. He’d resisted this, you’d said please, and he’d caved almost immediately, but you mostly think he just didn’t want to argue. You've all been arguing a lot lately—Sam and Dean arguing about most everything, you and Sam arguing about next moves, and you and Dean arguing about you sticking around, near him, through this—and it’s getting exhausting.

But Rowena gives you an impatient look, and you pass your hair into her hand. If it doesn’t work, you can just start over and only use Sam’s hair. He has a lot of it to spare, he’ll be fine.

When the spell finishes, Sam and Rowena go outside to talk and you sit on the bed, watching Dean in silence. He’d insisted on wearing his clothing in the pool—jeans, boots, flannel and all—he’s cross-legged in the water, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

He still looks good. There’s an expression made of deep lines and tense frustration on his too-handsome face, and you want to touch him. You want to touch Deanwherever he’ll let you. Run soothing hands over his frown, find out of his grown-out scruff is soft or prickly, kiss his full, pink lips until he smiles, and drift down his body. Over his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until you’re wrapping your mouth around him, and he knows that you care. You really, really care about Dean, and he’s not a burden, and if this doesn’t work, you’re going to stay right at his side until you find something that does, because you like to think you’d look up at him under your lashes and he’d see that you love him, and throw his head back and groan, and maybe his hands—big and rough and so carefully skilled—would touch you-

“Be honest with me, Sweetheart.”

His low, deep voice pulls you out of your fantasy, and you blink at him with a flush that you pray he won’t notice. “What?”

“Be honest,” he repeats, and his eyes open right onto yours. He doesn’t look to be in pain anymore, he mostly looks tired, so you nod.

“Yeah, okay. What-“

“This is dumb.”

You huff a soft, dry laugh. “It’s a little ridiculous. But it will work, Dean.”

“No spell that I know of calls for an inflatable kiddie pool.”

“Well, you’re not a witch.” You shrug. “And think of it this way, we bought that forever. We bring it back to the bunker, that’s fun.”

“Bought my ass.”Dean drawls your name, giving you a pointed look that makes you squeeze your legs together a little. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you and Sam stole this thing.”

“It was like, $40.” You mumble, staring at the floral patterns of the motel carpet. “I am not paying that much for some plastic.”

“Even for a spell to save my damned soul?” Dean’s teasing, but there’s something in his voice you hate. Something that make you look up at him with a frown, unable to hide the slight desperation in your voice.

“You’re not damned, Dean.”

He just shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes, and before you can push it Sam returns, tossing Dean the keys and announcing that it’s time to figure out what the Mark wants.

So now, in an old, dusty bar, Dean’s smiling. He hasn’t really, really smiled in a few months, and it’s incredible to see.

It aches a little that he’s smiling away from you. Across the bar with his I can show you the world, sweetheart stance and expression. The one where he’s leaning the counter with one arm, and his eyes have a promise of fun while his every word is charming and drawling and teasing. You think he learned it from movies—he’s told you he likes the charisma of old western heroes, and there is something about his whole show that says cowboy—but there’s a pretty strong chance it’s just Dean. It’s how he is. Who he is. All he does is be handsome and stupid and annoying in a way that makes you want to punch him and then immediately kiss him after.

He’s hasn’t been Dean like that in a while, though. It’s been mostly frowns that turn in on his face, and a refusal to look in the mirror that he tries to hide, but you’ve still noticed. But right now, this is your Dean. The Dean who follows you into countless dreams with his pretty lips and eyes and strong hands and body, the Dean who’s managed to haunt you while you're awake and plant an ache in your heart when he’s in pain, and the Dean who you might know a little better than you know yourself. It’s why you ordered a cheeseburger when he went to sulk at the bar, and why you’re facing the door in the booth—Dean always faces the door—and why it hurts something deep and hopeless inside you that the grace of Dean’s smile is all focused on a pretty girl that isn’t you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Your attention turns to Sam—who’s looking at you with a sympathy that is not welcome—and you give him a flat glare. “What am I supposedto say to that.”

“Um, the truth? I think?” Sam turns in his seat to look over at Dean, and you kick him. “Hey!” He yelps your name, whipping back around with an almost pout. “That hurt-“

“Don’t look at him.” You hiss, jerking your head to Dean. “He needs this.”

“Yeah, but-“

“No but, Sam. The spell is supposed to make him crave things he likes, he likes sex, let him have sex.”

“I don’t…” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I read the spell-“

“Of course you read the spell-“

“Shut up, I always read the spells, it’s safer. And this one,” Sam looks you over with a frown and tight-lipped, grimacing expression. “This one’s odd.”

“Oh no,” your voice is sarcastic and cold, and it makes Sam flinch a little. “An odd thing. If only we knew some people who knew how to handle odd things.”

“This is why I wish you would just talk to him.” Sam mutters, giving the waitress a kind smile as she hands out the food. “You get mean when things like this happen. And I don’t think it would be as horrible as you’ve decided it would be.”

You pull the cheeseburger to your own side of the table in a blatant Dean-trap. “That is very easy for you to say, Sammy. Worst case for you, you become a child of divorce.”

He shrugs, poking at his salad with a fork. “I think that’s the worst case for Dean. You’d win custody.”

“Fair.” You look back to the cheeseburger, small smile threatening to pull at your lips. “I do have a higher rate of income.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam frowns. “You make exactly what he does. Nothing.”

“Wrong. I’m a better pool hustler than he is, so my return rate is higher.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that, we’ll be stuck here until he beats you in a game.” He makes a mock face of disgust. “We’ll die here.”

You let yourself fully smile, even as you mutter, “kiss ass.”

Sam just shrugs, grinning himself as he takes a long drink. You really miss smiling. You really miss easy jokes, and you really miss making fun of each other without being consumed by too much grief or pain to do so.

You really miss Dean. He’s just across the room, but you still really miss him. And you want him—your Dean, the one that’s a little ridiculous and overly charming and the strongest, best man you’ve ever known—back. Over here, smiling at you, teasing you, or saying something shockingly genuine that makes your heart his even more than it already has been.

You look back to him in the bar—you can’t really help it, you think Dean and you always start to look for him in any crowd—and for a second you could’ve sworn he was looking at you. His smile has faded a little, and there are lines on his forehead, so if he was looking at you it wasn’t because you’re something good to him. He probably just saw his food, and then saw you, and now he’s antsy. His foot is tapping on the floor, and he’s fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel, so either Rowena’s terrible at her job, or the Mark is eating at him again.

You’ll fix it. Whatever Dean needs you to do for this, for him, you’ll do it silently and without asking for anything in return. No matter how many lectures Sam gives you about being selectively observant and kind of an idiot, you’ll just help Dean, and he won’t have to think twice about it. Helping Dean is what you do, it’s what you’ve done. Your whole life, in some way, has become how can I help Dean. How can I do something for this person who does everything for everyone else, and maybe he’ll turn his attention to me, and maybe he won’t, but no matter what I’ll have helped Dean.

It’s not like he doesn’t help you. Dean opens doors and saves your life and patches your wounds, and he never asks for anything back. But that’s why you want to help.

And this is helping Dean. It might be killing you a little, but it’s helping Dean, so you’ll still fix it, and then drown your sorrows with ice cream, strong drinks, and small moments of his joy when he’s better.

——————

Dean is really, really conflicted. It’s ripping him in half, because he knows he’s supposed to be polite to chicks—like the one in front of him, with the sweet smile and sweeter words he doesn’t deserve to hear—but her voice sounds like nails on chalkboard. She doesn’t feel right, she doesn’t feel good, and the bloodlust inside him doesn’t want her.

Bloodlust is the wrong word. It was the right word, but over the past few hours it didn’t feel like it anymore. Dean’s not great with words—he’s great with guns, and cars, and sometimes drawing, but not words—and even he gets that bloodlust really isn’t the correct word for wanting something in a way that’s clean. Pure and raw, but not innocent. It’s still a craving, it’s still insatiable, but it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s driving Dean to things he couldn’t really hate being dependent on. It had started softer and abstract, right after the spell, with drinks and food, so he’d driven to a bar. Then it had asked for care and love, and Dean didn’t have either of those things readily at his disposal, so he looked where he usually found something close to it. In a pretty girl, with a big rack and unburdened smile.

Then his attention had wandered for half a second, and now it couldn’t come back. The not-bloodlust—that wasn’t a good term for it either, he’d need to come up with a better, catchier one later—had tugged his gaze over to Her and Sam, and suddenly everything had been sharper and a lot more specific. Dean should go back to the booth. The booth had beer, and a cheeseburger, and Her and Sam. Mostly Her, but Sam was cool too. Dean was allowed to love two people.

And that’s where the conflict came in. Dean needed to be over there. His stomach was turning, and his skin was growing itchy and hot the longer he wasn���t there. But if he went over there, not only would he not only be leaving this very sweet girl, who seemed fine, but he might be in real danger of telling Her things he was not supposed to tell her. Things Sam kept telling Dean to tell Her, and things Dean kept having to remind Sam weren’t any of his business. He would not lose another good thing because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He would not poison something that didn’t deserve it, no matter how much the bloodlust kept telling him to. Kept telling him that She was caring and lovely, so Dean should drag her down to his level and kiss her in the grime and guts.

The not-bloodlust wanted Her too. The not-bloodlust really liked the idea of just being closer to Her, because she usually helped things. She helped everyone—Dean wasn’t special—but the not-bloodlust seemed to think that simply breathing air that had been inside her more recently would fix a lot of things that were boiling and cracking and hissing in Dean’s body.

That’s what won the conflict. He wouldn’t have to say things for this to be better, they just would be. So Dean gave the pretty girl an apologetic goodbye—she’d be fine, there were other men who were better than Dean and weren’t overtly craving their best friends in the bar—and almost ran back to Her and Sam.

She looks up at Dean as he scoots into the booth, her brows furrowed and mouth tugging down. “You’re back.”

“Well done, sweetheart, I am back.” Dean grins at Her, and that only makes her frown more.

“Did you, um,” She looks over to Sam, who shrugs. “Did you strike out?”

“Nah, just hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been hungry. Dean had been starving, but he felt better now. He’d still eat the cheeseburger, but the hunger had dulled from a mind-numbing desperation and withdrawal to just a growl near his throat of cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are good.

“Well, how are you feeling?” Sam’s voice is insistent, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he knows where this is going. “Do you want to kill someone? Rowena said the spell might take a few hours to work-“

“Workin’ now. I feel good.” Dean takes a large bite of his cheeseburger, and She and Sam exchange looks.

“Good?”

Dean nods, shooting Her a wink. “Real good,” he says Her name through his mouthful—crumbs falling out of his mouth—and she sighs. Her hand twitches on the table, and Dean wants to hold it. He can’t hold it. He’s not even supposed to be talking right now—that was the deal he’d made with himself—so holding hands if defiantly off the table. It would probably freak her out, too, and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. He’s freaked Her out enough for a whole lot of lifetimes, so she should be smiling instead.

Dean’s usually really good at making Her smile. He’s proud of that, because She worries more than Sam and has more nightmares than Dean, but he can always make her smile.

She’s not smiling now. She’s tense, and she keeps looking between Dean and the girl at the bar.

“You’re good.” She repeats his words slowly, but it doesn’t sound like she believes them. “And you think the spell worked.”

“Did work.” Dean swallows, and immediately takes another bite. Cheeseburgers are good, the not-bloodlust had decided, so Dean should eat more cheeseburgers. “Don’t think it did, I know it did.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks, pulling the cheeseburger across the table, away from Dean.

“Hey!” Dean reaches for his plate, and Sam moves it away faster. “What the fuck, Sammy, do not touch my burger-”

“It’s distracting you, Dean, and this is serious. We really need to know if the spell worked-“

“It did work. I don’t want to gank anything, I just want my cheeseburger and-“ He has to cut himself off, because that is exactly why he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Look, man, it worked. Trust me, I feel good. No bloodlust, just, uh, not-bloodlust.”

Sam glances at the cheeseburger, then at Her, then at Dean. Dean gives him a very winning grin—all teeth and bright eyes, and give me back my burger, I’m not going to kill anyone—but Sam’s attention just moves back to Her. She mostly looks confused and tired—Dean still needs to make her smile—but she nods, making a loose gesture of surrender, and Sam, finally, slides the food back to Dean.

“If he’s really good,” Sam’s pretty clearly talking to Her, but Dean listens anyways. They’re a team, he’s allowed to hear this stuff. “We should get back to Kansas tonight. It’s not smart to linger in a town after a hunt finishes-“

“I know,” She glances back to Dean, and he offers her his widest, most reassuring smile. She doesn’t smile back, but her face relaxes a little, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Do you want to finish that, or-“

“Gimme three-“

“Chew, Dean.”

He does, holding up three fingers in a silent signal, and inhales the rest of his cheeseburger.

“Holy crap, dude.“ Sam blinks between Dean and the empty plate. “That was really fast, even for you.”

Dean shrugs, standing out of the booth. “Don’t blame me, blame the not-bloodlust. Cheeseburgers or murder, Sammy, gotta be one.”

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to the door, and Dean lingers until She’s on her feet and they can follow Sam together.

“Not-bloodlust is a bad name,” She mutters, staring at the floor as she walks. “What about, uh, what’s the opposite of blood?”

“Dunno.” Dean watches Her carefully, raking his brain for a good answer. “Water? Waterlust?”

That gets him a small, huffed laugh. “That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“Doesn’t have to. It’s my lust.”

“It is.” She meets Dean’s eyes, and her attention is soft, but it feels strange. Like she’s trying to find something on Dean’s face he doesn’t know how to get for her. “And if you really want, we can call it waterlust, but I like betterlust.”

“Betterlust?“

“Starts with B,” Her attention turns back to the floor, and Dean feels something sour twist around his heart and forearm. “Fun to say. Makes sense, too, you’re lusting after better stuff.”

Dean was lusting after better stuff. It was a good name—better than not-bloodlust—and he was willing to concede waterlust to Her. It was, overwhelmingly so, the least he could do.

“Betterlust it is, Sweetheart.” He tried his most charming, cocky, look at me, I’m a cowboy and I can be yours if you offer me just a few kind words because I’m a pathetic, worthless wet dog that barks and bites, but man am I good at sex, smile on Her, and this time, he got a real smile back.

End Note: Wow what's this something I write that's actually going to be short? We'll see!

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Eight

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: A real long one. Honestly don't know how I did it but it was one session and now I'm dead, hopefully it's good enough! Lots of cuteness though and another snippet with Danny! Be warned cake mix is too baking. So :)

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

“This is a bad idea, right?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Marsh.” I admonished, sighing as I rolled my head to the left to level him with a long look before my eyes eventually wandered back on over to the store’s front. 

“What? You said it.” Marshall chuckled lowly, hands interlocked in his lap. 

We were currently sat in the car park of a Trader Joe's, in a spot at a roundabout the midway mark. I hadn’t thought too much of the ask during my sudden excitement to roam around a grocery store I’d yet to see (What? I was showing my age. Bite me.). But it was now hitting me at full force.

“Why’d you say yes anyway?” I was quick to shoot back at him, voice a tad bit strained. I shook my head and eventually resolved into brushing the whole idea away, “Let’s just forget it.”

A scoff and Marshall was rolling his eyes at the notion, “We’re already here. No point in leavin’ now.”

“We didn’t think this through though. I mean, what if somebody spots us?” I pointed out, gaze already surveying the mostly empty parking lot for the next potential pap. 

“You make it out like we’re about to case the joint,” Em snorted, earning a wry smile off of me in retort, a reaction I couldn’t quite help. “Said you wanted to bake a cake, so we gonna. ‘Cause I’ll let you know now, I ain’t got the shit to make this back at the house.”

I blew a soft breath from out of my nose, vaguely amused. “No shit.” I replied, unable to imagine the man in a frilly pink apron and covered in flour on a casual Tuesday afternoon. I ended up sighing again anyway, “You sure? I mean, I could just run in.”

Marshall was already shaking his head at me, “Nah, it’ll be fine. If you really that worried you can take my cap. Or think I got another hoodie in the trunk.”

Blinking, I was unable to say much else before Em was hopping out and rounding the car to pull apart the contents of his boot. He muttered away, mostly to himself, before he returned a couple of moments later, standing by the driver’s door with an oversized hoodie in his hand. He held it out towards me and I found myself taking it with a gentle smile in thanks. 

It didn’t take long for me to tug the jumper on over my head, the hood messing up my hair and catching on the seat belt before I had the commonsense to just unbuckle the stupid thing. Marshall watched the struggle with a mirthful smirk, the silver watch on his wrist glinting in the sunlight from where it rested against the edge of the door, until he eventually moved to close it, cropping up outside of the passenger’s side a second later. He tugged on the handle and I blinked over at him when a gust of wind washed over me.

I guessed I must have looked a tad bit pathetic as I turned in my seat to face him, legs moving to dangle out the side of the car, or at least it felt that way, what with how Marshall’s expression had since settled into something almost akin to fondness. 

My nose wrinkled just as he let go of a soft laugh. It was a sound I found myself feeling a hint of pride about whenever I heard it, even if it meant that I was the victim of the current joke.

“Here, let me.” He spoke, already reaching out to fix my hood and to brush a tangled strand of hair behind my ear. If he heard the way my breath hitched at the sudden motion he didn’t mention it, but I witnessed how his keen eyes flickered back and forth between my own. “There. Screams incognito.”

Snorting at the heavy use of sarcasm, I smiled up at him, only to notice then how he’d crowded himself between my legs to help aid me. My stomach swooped at the realisation and I swallowed thickly, but before I could question the feeling, Marshall was stepping away again, sporting a wry grin of his own.

“Need my hat, Kim Possible? Or you good?”

Rolling my eyes, I shuffled further forward in my seat to jump out of the SUV, feet hitting the gravel with an audible scuff. “She doesn’t wear a hat and even if she did, I doubt it’d be Kangol.” I retorted, slipping by him to reach out and shut the door. 

“Aye, what’s wrong with my cap?” Marshall prodded as the headlights flashed behind us to signal the car locking. I noticed how his brow had wrinkled at the slight when I looked over at him and so I nudged my shoulder with his as we walked across the lot. 

“Nothing.” I claimed with a growing smile, reaching up to knock the brim of his hat just as we made it to the entrance. “Suits you.”

Marshall hummed a sound that was vaguely disbelieving, eyes lingering on me before he turned to pick up a basket. “Know what you need?”

“Sort of.” I replied distractedly, trying to take everything in. “This place is like every Hallmark movie I’ve ever seen come to life.”

“The fuck?”

Rolling my eyes, I just continued on, walking past Marshall, who’d since paused to shoot a bewildered glance my way, and towards a horde of fruit and veg stalls. “It’s just so fuckin’ American. Back home the closest place you’d get to this is a Big Tesco’s and even that’s like a standard food shop. This. It’s something straight out of one of them films.”

“It’s Trader Joe’s.” Marshall deadpanned, blinking back at me now with an expression that just had me cracking up.

“Stop making me feel dumb.” I rebuked lightly, head darting every which way as he slid on over to catch up to me before he then barrelled straight past. I let him lead, figuring he’d be better off knowing where everything could possibly be more than I ever would. “It’s just a big change, ‘s all.”

His cheek twitched with the beginnings of a smirk. “Everything's a big change with you.”

I poked his side in retaliation, pleased when he bristled but didn’t comment further on it. “Where do you reckon cake mix would be then?” I wondered out loud, peering around the aisle we were headed down. Honestly, cereals galore. Captain Crunch, Coco Pops, Cinnamon Toast Crunch… And those were just the C’s. Hang on a second, Eggo’s?

“Cake mix?” Em questioned me, flicking a raised brow my way and tugging me from my observations, “Bitch, I thought you was bakin’.”

Snorting, I couldn’t do much other than shrug. “It is baking!” I attempted to defend, but he was having none of it, shaking his head mockingly back at me. “Just the easier version?” I attempted to argue sheepishly.

I was rewarded with a soft tut, but Marshall did in fact then tilt his head over towards the right to signal where he figured the box mixes might be, “Cheat.”

Giving into the childish urge, I poked my tongue out at him and dipped around the next corner, smiling at the way his low humoured huff followed after me. It was only when I saw an all too extensive stock of baking goods parked up ahead that I quickened my pace, leaving him to trail behind.

“What do you reckon then, red velvet or vanilla? You sort of seem like a vanilla guy.” I commented when he finally caught up, gaze flitting between the two cake mixes I’d since picked up off the shelf before my eyes then darted over to meet his teasingly as he approached.

He kissed his teeth and batted the box of vanilla I held away from his view, rolling his eyes even though we both could see that he was trying to withhold another grin. I allowed the motion. “You don’t know me at all.” Marshall scoffed, getting in my space once more today to make a grab for a box sitting on the shelf just above my head. “All about the chocolate, sweetheart.”

Biting my tongue, I worked hard to keep my face from giving way to how the proximity seemed to make my skin prickle. His eyes found mine though as he held the winning mix up between the two of us. I swiped it from his hold, scanning over the necessary ingredients to keep myself from focusing too much on– whatever it was I was feeling. “Hm, only need to add eggs and milk. Could deck this out though.”

“Whatchu thinkin’?” Em asked me in that way he usually did, like he was genuinely invested in everything I had to say. He’d propped his forearm up on the shelf as he waited for me to weigh in and my stare tracked its way up from the back of the box to roam over the steady way he was now watching me. I reached up to tuck another fallen strand of hair behind my ear, the hood making the typically effortless action that much harder. 

“A shit ton of chocolate?” I proposed with a raised brow. 

“That mean you gone put my kid to sleep then?” He said, then snickered at my sudden change in expression, the corner of his lip tugging upwards. “Z will be bouncin’ off the walls.”

“It’ll be portioned!” I rebuted in the face of his amusement, quick to fall back on all my so-called years of parenting, “She’ll be fine!”

Marshall snorted in retort but appeared to relent, pinching the cake mix from my hand and throwing it into the basket haphazardly, “I’ll be sure to bring this moment back up when I’m right.” He added before he took off, probably in search of the confectionary aisle. 

But see, since knowing the man, I’d long since come to realise that he had a big enough sweet tooth that could rival that of my own, meaning that all this posturing back and forth about decking out the cake was just a facade of sorts, him attempting to put my neck on the line for when the fallout eventually happened. I couldn't bring myself to mind though, not when he was wearing that stupid smug smile and not even when he ended up tossing a majority of the chocolate we’d collected into the basket. 

I ended up grinning all the way back to the car.

“See! It was well worth it now, don’t you reckon?” I said with a sardonic smile, covered in cake mix, egg and frosting, my dirtied hands settled on my hips as I stared down at the hazardous cake we’d gone and created.

My head tilted just so, allowing myself to look at it from a normal perspective seeing as it had somehow managed to slant far left whilst it’d been baking in the oven. But I blamed Em for that one, the idiot having set the temperature up way too high.

“What, so we can cover up the monstrosity?” Marshall shot back at me from where he was stood by the kitchen sink, washing his hands free of all the frosting he’d been licking from the bowl moments before I’d stolen it out from under him. “Yeah, but you know what they say, a pig in lipstick is still a pig.”

Haughtily, I spun around on my heel just enough for my hip to press against the counter and for my eyes to hone in on him. I smirked, “Saying’s actually, a hog in armour is still but a hog.”

“Same fuckin’ thing.” Marshall admonished in a grunt, flicking his sopping wet hands out at me when he pulled away from the sink in search of something to dry them with. I tensed at the attack, feeling the splatter hit me before I peered down to spot a couple soup duds clinging to my arm and the collar of my top. He just chuckled, greatly amused.

“Dick.” I huffed and picked up an M&M from the bowl I’d just poured the bag into to toss back at him in retaliation.

Irritatingly, Marshall managed to snap the treat up out of the air with ease, pushing the blue ball forward on his tongue to flash it tauntingly between his teeth before he finally chewed on it. The crunch resonated in the quiet hum of the house. “You were sayin’?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Show off.” 

But all that did was earn me another light laugh, Em sliding on closer to pinch a few more from the same bowl. “I’m just that good.” He retorted egotistically, before he turned to level me with the last M&M he held, titling his chin ever so slightly to goad me into trying to catch one myself.

Relenting to the fight all too easily, I braced myself in a steady stance and waited. When he tossed it, I managed to extend my neck near enough that I was close to capturing the colourful sweet, but just not close enough, my nose scrunched in annoyance when it bounced off the side of my cheek and onto the counter with a clatter. “Fuck.” I sighed, but not one to be outdone I looked towards him again, “Again.”

He raised a single brow at the demand but followed, picking up another handful and smiling as he prepared to pelt them my way one by one. It was something we continued on with for a short while, tossing the things back and forth between us as we tallied up a score, he was winning of course, but surprisingly I wasn’t too far behind, which actually eased the loss a fair bit. 

We were actually at it long enough that we’d begun to squabble, calling one another a cheat, aiming for anything other than our mouths, even going as far as to switch up tactics by propping ourselves up on counters and barstools to annoy the other, before then crouching down as low as we could on Marshall’s tiled floors. It was there that we were eventually found.

Marshall spotted her first, arm already propped up before him and preparing to aim when his eyes shifted over to the left and caught sight of something standing in the kitchen doorway. His grin wobbled in further amusement, most likely due to the face I’d gone and pulled when I followed his line of sight, still stuck in my current position; squatting by the backdoor. 

We were trying for a record, okay?

“Hey creep, what’s with the face?” Marshall greeted, his laughter carrying throughout the room when he finally tossed the chocolate treat my way only for it to actually make it into my mouth this time around, hitting the roof and sending my startled frown into a gasping smile. 

Rosie was stood there, just off to the side by the counter now, seemingly content to simply watch us with a soft, goading smile on her face, her school bag settled by her feet. She shrugged, glancing over at her dad whilst I bounced on back to where I’d left Em to guard our semi-completed cake. “Nice to come home to noise, is all.”

The tip of Marshall’s nose did something odd then, a reaction to the words that went unnoticed by the girl, but he continued on smiling, dropping the few remaining M&M’s he held back into the packet we’d opened once the bowl had run dry. 

“Didn’t hear you come in.” He mentioned as he rounded the counter to pull his daughter into a hug, steering her away from the onslaught of chocolate that littered the side when Rosie attempted to make a grab for the nearest share-pack of Hershey’s Kisses. “Nuh-uh. Dinner first, kid, then we can talk about you gettin’ a slice of our masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece?” Rosie’s eyes widened as she gifted the two of us a disbelieving snort, gaze jumping back between her dad and me, I narrowed my eyes playfully in retort whilst Marshall settled for poking her dimpled cheek. “It looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

“Hey!” I chided, just as Marshall responded with, “What we were aimin’ for.”

The pair of us shared a mirthful look before we both started cracking up, Rosie merely shook her head at our antics but it was with the distraction that she finally managed to grab a wrapped Kiss. My eyes widened at the flash of silver I caught sight of just as she darted around the island to escape Em’s outstretched arms when he caught on too, crowding into my side when he shot her a long look, obviously hoping to put her off eating the treat. But it was already unwrapped and on her tongue before I could even blink back down at her. 

I snorted, forever amused by the duo’s antics, and ran a hand over the girl’s plaited scalp. “Snooze you lose, Mathers.” I said encouragingly with a lazy shrug.

Z grinned at the show of support and sent a smug look back at her father, baring her chocolate covered teeth to him. Marshall leant forward so that his palms could press against the countertop and levelled the two of us with another long look, only this one was out of exasperation.

Rosie and I shared a glance of anticipation before we both turned back to face him with a matching set of innocent smiles, Rosie doing a much better job than me seeing as she could work that whole doe eyed perspective. Em heaved a hefty sigh. “Dinner, then cake. Cool?”

The girl beamed and was quick to nod her assent, squeezing my waist in what must have been a delayed embrace of hello, or maybe thanks, before she took a moment to assess our handy work. The cake was sparsely decorated, topped with a plethora of icing, at Marshall’s demand, and scattered with pieces of chocolate that we’d managed to stick on during our M&M disaster. I grimaced a tad whilst Em just looked on in pride.

“This is what you did whilst I was at school?” Z asked, dipping down to get a closer look at the disaster we dubbed a cake. Her expression truly was hilarious when she slowly stood again to dart a quizzical look between us.

“What d’you mean ‘this’?” Marshall answered her, raising a brow high enough to rival his daughter's own. “This is where hard work gets you.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, only adding fuel to the fire with my next comment, “Besides, we made it just for you. Don’t you like it?” I asked teasingly, batting my eyes over at her in hopes to see her crumble just a tad. 

Rosie looked back at the sad excuse of a cake and didn’t falter, “Cake is cake. But next time you guys should probably wait for me.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re such a chef.” Marshall smirked, having moved to join us on the other side of the island to allow his eyes to roam over the tilting structure, he shucked Z’s chin in addition which only earnt him a prod to his bicep.

“A baker, actually.” Rosie corrected with a smile, ever so pleased with herself.

“Oo,” Em dragged out, taking a stripe of frosting off the cake’s side just so that he could wipe it across the tip of the kid’s nose. “She’s a smartass, too.”

Rosie’s eyes widened in alarm to the smear and her jaw dropped as she gasped, not having anticipated the move. “Dollar!” She exclaimed in turn, wiping the chocolate off her nose before smearing it down her dad’s front.

With a roll of his eyes, Marshall huffed but it was more of a chuckle than an actual sigh as he looked back up from his ruined tee. “Touche.” They shared a laugh as Em went to grab a kitchen towel to wipe his hands clean with, “Go ‘n grab my wallet.” He told her and I watched on as Z did exactly that, swiping a green bill from its contents so that she could go and stuff it in the jar.

I shook my head ever so at the dynamic they made, continuing to smile as Marshall dropped the tissue he’d just been using into the bin before he made a grab for his daughter, causing her to jump and laugh as they tumbled about the kitchen together. I was perfectly content to watch on, slowly packing away the ingredients we had yet to use whilst wiping down the sides, the pair of them eased up after a minute or two, making their way back to the island, Marshall still defending our chocolate monstrosity.

“It’ll taste good, so who cares what it looks like?”

“Most people, Dad.” Rosie countered with a sly smile as she settled onto a barstool, handing over a frosting covered spoon that had apparently strayed during our decorating. I smiled softly in thanks, grabbing the other utensils that littered the space and crossing the floor to wash up.

“I got that.” Marshall assured me, hip checking my side before I could even reach for the dish soap. 

My forehead wrinkled, “I don’t mind.”

He smiled in return, already moving to further roll up his sleeves, “I know, but I got it.”

I let it go, knowing when to pick and choose my fights with him now, and instead wandered back to see if I could make the cake work, picking up a couple of Whoppers that were supposedly meant to be the equivalent of a Maltesers, but I just couldn’t taste it. 

“Can I help?” Rosie asked after a moment, capturing my attention when she sidled up to join me.

“‘Course,” I replied easily, already handing over the bag, “I think if we just cover it with as much chocolate as we can it’ll look…”

“Better than it does?” Z finished for me, her giggles spilling from her lips seamlessly whilst she began to dot Whoppers around the rim of the highest tier.

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” I tried, nudging her elbow with mine, but ended up chuckling too. “It was your dad’s fault anyway, all my previous cakes have turned out perfect.”

“I can still hear you.” Marshall’s voice cut in from behind us, garnering our focus for a split second before I waved him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Just letting Z here know I’m not to blame.” I told him, scattering the remaining M&M’s we had to spare over the top, managing to cover up some of the frosting we’d gone and butchered with a colourful swirl. Rosie snickered, having since switched up with her choice of chocolate so that she could place a few Kisses to the lower layers.

“I was just followin’ your instructions.” Em argued with me, the huff that followed was evident.

“Not well!”

A giggle had me smiling down at Rosie, who was happy enough to let her gaze drift between the two of us. “I bet it still tastes good.” She interrupted, trying to soothe her father’s bruised ego probably. But it was sweet enough to have me agreeing.

“Yeah, I mean who doesn't like chocolate?”

–

Dinner was apparently a Mathers Household classic. Spagbol. Or well just spaghetti to these lot. Something I hadn’t been able to let slide what with me being a fan. Though Marshall seemed amused rather than put off by my attempts at rapping the opening to Lose Yourself whilst he’d cooked, something which earnt me points with Rosie seeing as she could spit it far better than the composer himself.

It was sort of strange to be a witness to him doing such a mundane task like cooking though, but I enjoyed it all the same, watching him talk with Rosie about school as he drained the pasta and added a couple of herbs to the ground mince. An odd sense of privilege came with the slight peak into his daily life, figuring that most would have just expected him to have a live-in chef or a plethora of meals waiting to be reheated in his fridge. But no, Marshall appeared to actually enjoy the activity, enjoy the hush of music that played overhead whilst the steam from a boiling pot simmered under his steady hand, enjoy how slowly the process came together so that he could boss Rosie and I into setting the table when the food was almost ready. 

Rosie had led me into the dining room they used, a room more intimate than the larger one the man had shown me during his grand tour, obviously used for when he had more than just one person over. As I set down a couple placemats, I guessed it was a room that only he and Rosie typically got use out of, the table circular and just large enough so that you had your own space but could easily be roped into another’s. It reminded me of the one we’d had as a kid, wooden, small and quaint, but that had been before one of mum’s boyfriends had fallen through it.

“You okay?” Rosie’s questioning broke me from my thoughts and I looked up to find her settling a fork down onto the mat opposite.

I blinked and then smiled, feeling how easy the gesture came to me. “Just lost in thought.”

She smiled too, hers crinkling the corners of her eyes as she finished setting up by dropping the last spoon down. “It’s nice having you here, you know. Sometimes it’s quiet just me and Dad, even when Ayla comes over.” She remarked, mentioning her older sister with the kind of sincerity that you only really held for your siblings, “You make him laugh, too. Like a lot.”

Blowing out a soft breath that sounded more like a chuckle, I reached out to fix a placemat that was a tad bit crooked, finding it simpler to focus on the small task rather than what the meaning behind Rosie’s words might possibly mean. “He makes me laugh too.” I replied and shot her a slight grin, it was then that Marshall emerged carrying two plates.

“And voila.” The man said as he set the dishes down, butchering the French word enough to have me hiding an indulgent smile.

“Smells good.” I commented, watching as a plethora of steam erupted up off the mountain shaped plate of spaghetti. 

Em flashed me a bright grin, an actual one with teeth that had my mind short circuiting for a split second before he was speaking again, “Lemme grab the last one. You want some drinks?”

Rosie, who had already settled into the seat she’d been standing behind, nodded eagerly in answer, “Soda?” When she received a single brow in retort, she giggled and relented, “Juice, please.”

Smiling at the exchange, I was only caught a little off guard when I looked back at Marshall to find him waiting on my own reply, I silently scrambled for an answer, “Um, just water, please.” I said and he gave a dip of his chin to show he’d heard before he turned to head back to the kitchen. “Want help?” I called out, just managing to catch him before he slipped past the hall.

He looked ready to wave the offer off, before he thought about it. Three drinks and a single plate was easy work for a girl who’d worked a majority of her teens in pub restaurants and the like, but Marshall seemed to realise the slight struggle he might face. “Sure.”

As easy as that. Or so it only appeared, because from the expression that clouded Rosie’s face when I glanced back over to shoot her a quick smile, the exchange seemed to have perplexed her ever so. 

Em had already continued on his route to the kitchen when I looked back to him, hoping to catch something in his answer to the face she’d pulled, but it seemed he hadn't been witness to it at all. “You okay?” I found myself asking, mimicking Z’s earlier question.

She looked a little startled when her eyes flew up to find mine, before she blinked and blew out a gentle laugh. “Didn’t think he’d go down without a fight.”

And oh. I had to chuckle a little at that too, having seen the way he’d been so prepared to deny the help just before he’d nodded. It made me wonder how much she’d bared witness to throughout the years. Em was strong, yes, but he also had a stubborn streak a mile long. 

“What can I say, Z?” I sighed dramatically as I headed towards the door, “I just have a way with people.”

Her cheeky grin was the last thing I saw before I was padding around the corner and then into the kitchen, finding Em stood by the counter with a bowl of grated cheese and the drinks we’d asked for already waiting to be picked up again. 

I snorted softly at the picture he painted, a handful of the shredded cheese halfway to his mouth and face only a tad bit surprised. He flipped me off as I came around to take hold of the drinks, only furthering my amusement. 

“I mean, what an appetiser.” I teased, the words followed by a bout of giggles when he flicked the remnants at me. Thankfully though, most of the cheese only made it about halfway over the countertop, causing my grin to widen that much more.

Marshall went to pick up another load and so I squeaked, grabbing the drinks and darting back out of the room before he could toss it at me.

I was chuckling away to myself by the time I made it back to the table, Rosie having already started in on her dinner, the dead giveaway being the slight red smear of sauce that stained her lower lip even as she pretended that she’d just been waiting patiently for us to return. 

I wiped the corner of my own mouth after settling down her juice in an attempt to warn her and watched as her eyes widened before she cleared the smear away with the back of her hand, the action seemingly saving her from another one of Em’s disapproving looks because not a second Marshall reappeared.

Taking to my seat in an attempt to hide my slight smile, I thanked him for the food, to which the man merely rolled his eyes, ignoring the gratitude altogether. I bit down on my smirk and instead opted for shaking my head as I picked up my fork.

The food was honest to God some of the best I’d had in a long while, whether it was down to it having been ages since someone had cooked a proper homemade meal for me or just him having mastered the art of the dish, I didn’t know. But I made sure to tell him.

Never in all my life would I have expected to have been a witness, let alone the cause of the light flush that coloured the tips of his ears. But it was impossibly endearing, so much so that I refrained from playfully mocking him for it. Rosie though, had no such qualms. “You look a little red, Dad. You gettin’ sick?”

If Marshall could have he would have scowled at the ask, but this was his baby and so I knew that the smile he gifted her as he turned was levelled with a strained edge. “Fine.”

I snorted quietly, but from the way the flush dropped to the back of Em’s neck it seemed he’d heard it all the same. 

Cake followed dinner, as promised. And to my surprise it hadn’t tasted half bad. The chocolate frosting wasn’t all it was cut out to be, not much of a shock seeing as I was alright with it in small doses but even my cupcakes lost their tops nine times out of ten, so Em was gifted the majority of it, something he seemed both pleased and a little guilty about, probably down to the excess amount of sugar. Still he worked his way through it, the three of us talking about Rosie’s day and then our own, leaving out the more exciting details as to not make her feel left out, before we all started packing away.

“Told you so.” Em commented when we’d loaded the dishwasher and wiped the sides free of cheese, his gaze was trained on his daughter, who appeared to be talking a mile a minute about the movie her and her friends had watched at their last sleepover whilst bouncing from foot to foot.

Ah, the inevitable sugar rush. I turned my face away to hide my growing smile before I lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “It’ll die down soon enough, might even make it easier for her to fall asleep.” I murmured, passing him a tea towel that he used to dry his hands.

With a grunt that was more an amused hum, Marshall paused by the counter and waited for Rosie to take a breath before he cut in, “You got homework?”

The girl seemed to think about it, eyes flitting to the ceiling as though she could see the inside of her brain and was set about working her way through a catalogue there, before dropping her gaze back to him and shaking her head. “No, but I did promise Sara I’d call her tonight.” At her father’s expecting look, she tacked on, “If you said it was okay, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Marshall blew out a soft chuckle, lips quirking ever so before he waved the kid off, tossing the tea towel over his shoulder. “Go on, just not too late, yeah?”

“Promise!” She grinned, darting around the kitchen to knock into his side, arms encasing his torso in a brief hug before she jumped to do the same to me. I barely had time to wrap my arms back around her before she was darting away again, this time headed for the stairs after stealing yet another Hershey’s Kiss from the last of the cake we’d yet to hide away. 

“Z!” Was the only scold she heard before she was gone from sight, leaving only a trail of laughter behind her. 

I snorted too, shaking my head mirthfully whilst I worked my way around the kitchen counter to place a cover over the cake slices and putting them up out of reach.

“Kid’s gonna be the death of me.” Marshall added in a low sigh, still staring off after his daughter before he cracked a soft smile, eyes then flitting over to meet mine. “Best pray the sugar wears off quick.”

I widened my eyes in jest to his warning, but paid it no real mind, knowing he was only being stupid. “Dinner really was good, you know.” I mentioned it again, mainly just to see if I could provoke the same flush from earlier, but also so he knew I meant it. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

To my pleasure the tiniest hue could be made out from across the island, but Marshall hid it all too easily with a calculated tilt of his head. He shrugged softly when he answered me, “Know how it is, sort of had to provide for myself for a long while. Mom wasn’t always around when I was a kid, Nate grew up and relied on me most nights, then when I was out in LA tryna make it big, was skimming money off the top of the odd jobs I worked jus’ so I could eat and send some back home.” He levelled me with another look then, palms coming to rest on the countertop, “Sort of enjoyed it, I guess. After a while, just helped me escape.”

I nodded slowly in understanding. Before I could say anything though, the silence the kitchen had gotten swept up in was quickly broken by the sound of my phone.

Jumping at the ring, I blinked out of the dazed staring match I hadn't even realised I’d been a part of with Em before looking around to try and spot the last place I’d left it. Marshall picked it up and handed it over with a sly smirk, having caught on to my short term memory. 

“Thanks.” I breathed out in appreciation and then looked down to see who it was that was calling, my grin grew. “It’s Danny.” I let slip to Marshall before hurrying to pick up the call, “Hey stranger!” I greeted the second the line connected, surprised to note that the signal wasn’t as shitty as it usually was.

“Oh, it’s you.” Came my brother’s short reply as though he hadn’t expected exactly that, his face cropping into view from where he perched on a lower bunk, all tanned from the Cyprus sun. 

I let my eyes fall into a narrowed glare, “Know you’ve always been short of two brain cells, but who did you really expect to fuckin’ see when callin’ me?”

Danny’s smirk came into full focus before he was grinning away, stare jumping away from the camera for a brief moment before it darted back. “Love you, too.” He chided halfheartedly and with a slight tut, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees whilst I moved to settle my phone down onto the kitchen counter, “Just figured I’d give you a bell whilst I had some time, that so hard to believe?”

Even when rolling my eyes, I couldn't dampen my smile. “Yeah, it is.” I chuckled, taking in the background and anything else I could, “You at camp?”

He hummed around a nod, looking off to the side probably to get a feel for what I was seeing. “Told you, din’t I? At a base here for a couple weeks, doin’ some more trainin’ for the deployment followin’ my leave.”

“Well, you mentioned the first half.” I acknowledged, but wasn’t surprised. Danny always tended to stick to the most basic of explanations, such as the time he’d gone away with his mates to a festival for a weekend and said he was on his way back– failed to mention that it was a days fucking trip though.

The twat just waved me off, “Exactly. Anyway, what you up to, where you at?” He came in a little closer then to the screen as though he was attempting to look behind my head. “Not still in New York are ya? Thought you’d want shot of ‘em by now, all them Americans.”

Snorting and casting a chance glance up, I found Marshall by the sink, rinsing the few glasses we’d used earlier, he shot an unimpressed brow my way. “Not in New York, no. But still in The States, with said Americans.” I answered him, shaking my head at the way his lips pursed in a low hum, “So be careful, there are big ears listening in.” I also remarked, thinking back to Drew’s nickname for Em.

“Aye.” The man mentioned then warned, having since finished by the sink so that he could now point a warning finger my way, I rolled my eyes but my smirk was far too playful. 

Danny’s voice dragged back my attention to how he had since crowded in closer in an stupid attempt to see through the screen and into the kitchen. “Oi, who’s that? Don’t tell me I was spot on with the mystery man, El! Shit!”

The reminder of Dan’s earlier words the night before I’d met Em had me flushing slightly and immediately my traitorous gaze shifted over towards the man himself, who seemed far too amused as he slid on closer. “Fuck off, Danny.”

The twat only laughed though, all too happy with my reaction it seemed. “Ah, come on! Lemme meet him, just wanna say ‘ello!”

I pressed my lips together to keep the biting words which lined my tongue from springing forth, could always trust your own flesh and blood to turn on you at the drop of a hat. The traitor. “Fuck off.” I repeated, but my words lacked any real heat when Marshall rocked into the side of me to catch a quick peek of Danny’s glinting eyes.

My brother paused as he took in the sudden newcomer and his face was a right picture when he started to stumble over his next sentence, “Ah– right, hang on. Fuckin’ what?”

Unable to help myself, I laughed freely, feeling a little euphoric now that I was no longer on the end of all his ribbing. Em seemed to get a kick out of it too, even now that he was no longer in view he was still close by, smirking at both Danny and I’s reactions.

“Elia!” Danny called hotly, eyes wide as they flickered all over my face as if he hoped to find some sort of answer there, “Tell me that wasn’t who I thought it was.”

Snorting, I gifted him a smug smile, “Can’t do that, sorry.”

“Lia.” Danny practically hissed, before pulling out the face he knew I hated, one which he’d mastered decades ago and had since taught Lottie, seeing as it was the kind that always had me feeling guilty or had the two of them forcing my hand. “Come on, you know you can tell me anythin’.”

I flipped him off, scoffing at the attempt to butter me up but even so, I still felt my walls crumble. “Ugh, you’re such a prick, Danny.” I blew out, eyes straying away from the screen and over to where Marshall still stood, looking back at me, “Do you mind?”

With a smile that I couldn't quite place the emotion behind, Em rolled his eyes at the ask and slid back into view, close enough now that his entire side pressed against mine. I chewed on my lower lip as I watched my brother observe Marshall whilst slowly losing his mind.

“Jesus Christ, man. Shit.” Were the first few words he spouted, a hand coming up to rake across his face whilst Em shook a tad with a light chortle, “I mean, fuck.” Danny continued once his arm had fallen away, attempting to take in the scene again before his stare dragged back to me, “I know you’re in with these lot, El. But shit– Eminem? How the fuck does that even happen?”

I had to laugh at that, knowing full well how he was feeling.

“I mean, come on! Mate! It’s an honour, I swear.” Danny started to fangirl, jaw still agape and eyes almost starstruck.

“Good to meet you, man.” Marshall said in his usual voice, not the one reversed for the public, for interviews and the like, but the one he used with Rosie, with Soup and Drew, with me. I was immensely thankful for it. “Heard a lot about you.”

Danny seemed to remember himself at that, sitting back a bit in his bunk, dog tags rattling with the motion, as he dragged out a long breath. “Only good things I hope.” He chuckled in that charming way of his, the type that used to get him free sweets down at the local shops and have the old ladies outside the cafe swooning.

“Nah, I let him in on that laundrette heist you committed when you were fifteen and told him ‘bout the times you wet the bed.” I interrupted, smirking when Dan’s eyes cut to me.

“You know that weren’t me, it was Danny Evans.” Danny sniped back far too quickly, “How many times do I gotta tell you?”

I chuckled around a small a-huh, “Sure, Dan. How’d you barrel into the pub the same night and piss away a load of ten pences on the fruit machines then?”

He sniffed, feigning ignorance as he glanced away, “No idea what you’re on about.”

Shaking my head, I found Em watching me with a smile of his own. 

“So you ain’t gone deny pissin’ the bed then?” Marshall wondered out loud, chin coming to rest on the fist of his hand.

Startled, Danny’s head shot back round to the camera, he raised a finger at Marshall, “It’s slander, is what it is.” He told the man, “Always been jealous of me, she has. Me bein’ the fitter one of course.” 

“Ha. Hilarious.” I deadpanned, but allowed a small smile to creep through when Em’s knee knocked into mine. “What you been up to anyway, arsehole?”

“Fuck me and all my shit, question still stands, Li.” Danny was hasty to retreat back to his previous ask, “How’d you two meet?” 

Thankfully Em was the one to answer him. “I reached out.” He told him, gaze straying over towards me as he carried on, “Listened to her stuff for a while before I saw that video your sister posted online, figured it was a shot in the dark.”

“One which worked out,” I teased, before I shook my head over towards Danny, who appeared to be watching the pair of us with a dopey grin, “Acting as though I didn’t shit myself the second I found out it was him.”

Marshall snorted beside me, probably remembering the conversation, the way I’d stressed over sudocrem spots and my sound system, whilst he'd been perfectly content.

“Nah, I can imagine.” Danny laughed in ridicule, knowing how much of a fan I’d been growing up, “Failed to fuckin’ mention it though, din’t you?”

The way he’d levelled me with a look, which spoke more words than said, had me shifting somewhat sheepishly. “It was new!” I exclaimed, “Didn’t know how it would all work out. No one but Mila knows where I am, well Lotts too– sort of, I know she’d kill me if she knew knew.”

Smiling at that, Danny’s chuckles dimmed into a low titter before his eyes wandered back on over to Marshall, “Take good care of her for me, yeah? She acts tough but she’s soft as.”

I scoffed lightly, already prepping to roll my eyes when Marshall’s reply caught me a tad off guard. “I’ve realised.” He said gently, giving me a quirked smile when he caught me watching, “But no, she’s in good hands here. Me and my daughter are enjoying havin’ her here.”

My heart warmed at his words, the smile which overwhelmed my face too sappy even for my own liking. I made a vague sniff, pressing further into the man’s side as I hung my head to hide my reaction. Em didn’t falter, in fact he pressed closer too.

“Good to hear it.” Danny’s voice came through before there was a rather loud crash on the other side of the call, one which had Danny’s head shooting up, his eyes widening a fraction before a rowdy figure flew into him, knocking my brother sideways. 

I shared a startled look with Em, completely confused, but noted the way Marshall backed away ever so at the new figure who’d come and intervened. A few more blokes fanned in and around the background, though those seemed to be preoccupied, not even paying Danny and his fellow soldier anymind, as though it was all normal.

“Er?” I heard myself say and it was after Danny had managed to shove the man off him with a breathless laugh, attempting to right himself once more, that I caught sight of the slight amusement which shone in Marshall’s eyes. 

“Fuckin’ lump, I told you to stop doin’ that.” My brother exclaimed, and where I’d expected him to sound a bit miffed by the sudden attack, I was surprised to hear real affection there.

“But, my darlin’, I missed ya!” Came a bright Irish lilt just as a plethora of fawn coloured curls spilled over the bunk’s bedsheets before following his body back up into a standard sitting position. His grin was overwhelmingly white and almost large enough to hide his green eyes from view.

There was a bit more roughhousing as Danny shoved his army mate away when the kid started making kissy faces at him. “Piss off, you twat. I’m on the phone.”

It was that which had the other lad pausing in his messing, his head rolling over to the left where he found Dan’s phone, as well as me, I supposed. I waved, still a little surprised by the whole ordeal. “Hiya?”

“Fuck me.” The Irish man murmured lowly, eyes wide enough for me to see just how light his green eyes actually were, before he shuffled forward to flash a charming grin my way, “Aye, you’re lovely, have we met before? You look awfully familiar, mhuirnín.”

I had zero idea how to answer that, though I wasn't confused enough not to recognise the sweet name he’d used for me there. “Uh.”

“Leave it out, Lynch.” Danny huffed, swatting the other soldier who was still geared up in his tactical vest. “That’s my sister, you dickhead.”

“Wha?” Was the reply Danny received, before his mate turned back to the camera with another endearing grin, “I’m Tadhg, darlin’.” He introduced, name sounding more like Taig. “But I swear I weren’t lyin’ when I reckoned ye looked familiar. We din’t mess ‘round behind a Spoons on me last leave, did we?”

His brash words and assumption startled a loud laugh out of me, one which had Em’s brow furrowing slightly and Danny’s face falling into a scowl. “No we did not, you little shit.” I said, my head shaking at the cheek of it even as he continued grinning cheekily.

“Lynch, I’m warnin’ you.” Came my brother’s low mutter as he yanked his mate back away from the camera, Tadhg didn’t seem to mind the manhandling much.

“I’m just introducin’ meself, Danny boy!” 

“Well don’t, she’s taken.” Danny retorted, confusing me a tad, yet I didn’t deny it, rolling my eyes at my brother's obvious displeasure. 

My stare wandered over to Em, who was fiddling with his thumbs, he looked up at me as though sensing my gaze, I smiled. The gesture grew when it was returned. 

“El. El– aye, Lia!” Dan’s voice rang through, I snapped my attention back towards him but it was almost as though he hadn't expected his shout to draw in one of the lot behind him–

“Oh shit, is that Elia?”

It was sheer impulse, the way my head turned towards Marshall at the unexpectedness of hearing my name. Em seemed to sense my sudden dismay because he was plastered back to my side in a second, arm coming to wrap around my waist. The touch settled the anxious response that had been drilled into me and I was a tad bit thankful for the fact that he was only portionally in the frame when I looked back to my brother.

A third guy seemed to have joined our Facetime call, his eyes as dark as his braided hair and caught on me from where he’d come to kneel on the bunk behind both Danny and Tadhg. “Shit, it is!” His voice was layered in a thick Mancunian accent, one which reminded me of a friend I had back home, “How’d you know Elia, pal?”

“Elia?” Tadhg wondered, eyes flitting across my face before a sheen of recognition settled in there, “Fuck, I just asked Elia if we shagged behind a Spoons.”

“You did what?” The Manc spluttered slightly, his eyes alarmed.

I bit my tongue to keep from chuckling at that, but Em had no such qualms, apparently having picked up on a bit of slang whilst he’d been in the UK, that or just having been ‘round me far too long. 

“Idiots.” Danny sighed, giving Tadhg one last final shove before he let his shoulders drop and glanced over at me, “Sorry, El. I wouldn’t have called if I’dve known this lot would come bargin’ in.” 

“You’re alright.” I told Danny genuinely, I’d take any sort of interruption if it meant I got to talk to him for a little while. “It’s nice to meet your mates though, you lads doin’ alright over there?”

“All good, Els.” Danny assured me, but it was short lived because Tadhg was turning to grace the third soldier with a perplexed look. 

“How’d you know who she was anyway, Sully?”

Sully, the dark eyed lad with the Manc accent, shrugged as he looked back down at his friend, “Mate, she’s been like my crush for years. Had a poster of her on me wall when I were back home.”

My eyebrows raised at the admission (I mean how old was this kid? Fresh out of school?) and it was then that Marshall chose that exact moment to clear his throat. I shot him a knowing look, one which he returned with a rueful smile.

The three lads turned to us at that exact moment, Tadhg laughing at the sudden sheepishness Sully’s smile took on, whilst Danny just heaved another prolonged sigh. 

“Fuck, that’s well awkward.” Sully noted, only furthering said awkwardness. 

Marshall looked over to me, that smile still as present as ever, “Didn’t know you had posters.”

“Me neither.” I snorted quietly in return, leaning into him until our moment was cut short.

“What the fuck, Danny!”

Both Marshall and I’s head spun around to see what had happened, only to realise that it had been us. We were what had happened.

“What the fuck, man?” Tadhg said after a long moment had passed. Too long.

I cringed a tad, expecting to have Marshall move away now that he’d been spotted too, having leaned too far into the camera’s view when his head had ducked down to join mine. But he didn’t, move that is. Didn’t shy away at all. In fact, he nodded to the duo in a small hello. “Sup.”

Tadhg and Sully’s eyes were boring into us now, utterly stunned, which would have been funny if it wasn’t for the shock of it all. Danny sat off to one side with his face buried in his hands before he slowly lifted his head, showing off an all too apologetic smile.

I waved him away before he could open his massive gob to say something as stupid as sorry, it wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t like we’d really discussed anything, about his army friends knowing who I was and certainly not about them meeting Marshall, who Danny himself had only just realised was said ‘mystery man’.

“Alright, clear out.” Danny ended up saying instead, shooing his pals off his bunk. 

Seemed that the pair weren’t all that easily led though. “Oi, whaddya mean? Let us meet the famous people!” Tadhg hassled, shoving back on the hand Danny was trying to push him away with.

“Yeah, man! I mean, fuckin’ hell, Eminem was the last person I figured I’d be meetin’ today, lads.” Sully added as he rocked further into the little space that sat between Tadhg and Danny, elbows coming up to rest on either man’s shoulder. 

“He’ll be the last person you’ll ever meet if you two don’t piss off.” Danny huffed, swatting Sully’s hand off. 

“Ooo, tetchy!” Sully laughed, prodding Danny further by deeming it alright to hang over his shoulder instead now, Tadhg’s face being squished against his torso. “Heya, mate! Your last album? Fuckin’ fire, fella!”

Surprisingly, Em seemed to snort at the kid’s words and had since settled into the fact that he was now wholeheartedly a part of this conversation. “Appreciate it, man.”

I watched on as Sully continued to rant about all the emotions he’d felt whilst listening to the LP and was warmed by the way Marshall answered each of his and Tadhg’s questions with a genuine acknowledgement, delving when and where he could. Danny appeared to watch it all too, observing how his mates fawned over Marshall and even me at times, though Tadhg’s, I figured, was more down to the fact that he was a massive flirt, having picked up on him even trying his luck with Marshall, much to the man’s obliviousness. 

A while must have passed before Danny finally cut in, giving Marshall a small reprieve, “Alright, as enlightening as this has been,” He mentioned, eyes flitting over to Tadhg, who simply winked at him in return, “I wanna talk to my sister for a bit.”

“Awh, mate! We’re soldiers, this is like our make a wish or summat!” Tadhg almost whined, Sully and Danny snorting at his huffy behaviour as though it was typical, but the pair did eventually make a move to leave, Sully giving us a big thumbs up and a toothy grin whilst Tadhg shot us a joint wink. “Here if you ever need a rebound!”

Danny kicked his arse with the side of his boot as the man dipped out of view, though we heard the hearty laugh that followed in the Irish boy’s wake. He was shaking his head ever so when he glanced back at Em and I, “Sorry ‘bout them. Army life makes meetin’ normal people that more exciting, you know?”

I huffed a quiet chuckle whilst Marshall gifted Danny an easy but tired grin, he rapped the counter as he pushed to stand back to his full height. “I’ma go check on Z,” He mentioned to me before turning back to face Danny again, “Was good meetin’ you, man. Have to do this again sometime, for real.”

Knowing my brother like I did, I could see the slight ripple of surprise that echoed through his reaction to that statement, but on the surface he just dropped his chin and gave Em a sporting grin in turn. “‘Course, mate. Lookin’ forward to it.”

Just before he could slip away, Marshall lingered a second longer, hand squeezing my waist where it had failed to fall away in all the time we’d spent speaking and his smile widening just a fraction for me to see. “I’ll come find you in a bit.” I promised, he dipped his head and I listened as he padded out of the kitchen and over to the stairs.

Danny was the one to break the quiet we settled into. “He’s nice.”

I peered back at him to find him wearing a genuine smile, not a trace of animosity to be found in his voice. My grin was small, an attempt to hide the fondness I knew he’d find there. “Yeah, he is.”

Shaking his head around a knowing smile, Danny took his phone into his hand, “I was so right about there being a mystery man.”

Scoffing at the words, I cut my eyes at him but still looked back over my shoulder to make sure that Em hadn’t heard, even though it was impossible that he had, he was upstairs with Z. 

“Shut up, idiot.” I told him, slipping over to the backdoor and into the cool air the garden offered. I’d only been out there the once but it was just as lovely as the house’s front driveway, though a lot larger. “It isn’t like that.” 

Danny hummed, unconvinced. “Sure it ain’t. Remember though, I know you.”

“And what’s that meant to mean?”

He laughed giddily in reply, “You’re smitten!”

“Fuck off.” I huffed, looking away.

He wasn’t having any of it though. “You fuckin’ are! Know it too.” He continued to chuckle, all smuglike, “Deny it all you want if that’s what makes you happy though.”

I rolled my eyes, “It really isn’t like that, Dan. He’s– well, he’s him.”

“You’ve always been a right idiot, you know that?” Danny fired back, voice a little heated though his sigh told me that he wasn’t willing to expand on his statement, “What you been up to anyway? Seen his Porsche yet or is that reserved for red carpets?”

“You’re such a prat.” 

Danny grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

Blowing out a breath, I resolved to let the argument go. “It’s been good here, nice. It’s so different from London. I mean, I’ve seen so much already. Even had a fuckin’ rap battle with this friend of Em’s.”

Danny looked like he didn’t believe me.

“I swear it, Dan!” I laughed in defence, pressing my knuckles into my mouth to keep from being too loud.

“Come off it, you?” He asked, though there was a slight note of awe there.

“Me.” I retorted with a great big old smile, “It was so surreal, like I don’t know how it even happened.”

Danny started chuckling and he shook his head at me in utter disbelief, “Only you, I swear. Wish I could’ve been there.”

“Me too.”

A wave of quiet passed between us. 

“I’m glad you’re havin’ a good time.” Danny finally murmured, looking at me with those eyes that so often reminded me of Lotts, of Mum. “If anyone deserves a bit of happiness, it’s you.”

My eyes flickered between his, a tad bit teary after hearing that, and so I sniffed and looked away in hopes to cover it up. “Hush up.”

Danny’s chuckles resonated even through the phone, bouncing around me and filling my chest with a sense of nostalgia. “Okay, only if you let me know when it happens.”

Brow furrowing, I looked to him with a question, “When what happens?”

All I received was a gentle smile, “You’ll know.”

[aenariasbookshelf]

you say you want (me) (part two of ?)

Title: you say you want (me) (part two of ?)

Author: Aenaria

Weekly Prompt: it's breakfast week at the @darcylewisbingohq!

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

Rating: G

Tags/Warnings: soulmates AU

Summary: In a world where having a soulmate mark is the norm for most people, Darcy Lewis is one of the rare few unmarked people. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from finding the right partner. 

Part one can be found here (though you don’t need to read it to understand this).

*

The topic of soulmates comes up again about six months into dating, in a roundabout sort of way curled up on the couch watching some cheesy and silly movie while pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist (it had been a long couple of weeks, what with saving the world tasks for Steve involving a suspect alien goo while Darcy was making sure Jane didn’t accidentally go full on supervillain and get the world sucked into a black hole).

“This is…interesting,” Steve says, squinting in the direction of the finest schlock that Hallmark Movies has to offer currently blaring on the television. 

“Come on, you can’t tell me that there weren’t terribly sappy and unrealistic romance stories around when you were young. It may be a different time, but I can’t imagine people were all that different.” Darcy shifts so she’s curled against Steve’s side, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her curled up legs. He drapes his arm around her and pulls her close.

“People have always been people,” Steve murmurs. “So I’m sure there were, even if I didn’t see them.”

“Too busy sneaking into Dodgers games?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any stories of alleged mischief from my youth.”

“Uh huh.”

A few minutes later the soulmates meet in the movie, complete with sparkly lens flares and what sounds like it could be a minuscule bird choir chirping in the background, and it’s impossible to miss the wince on Darcy’s face. “It never happens like that in real life. I was there when Jane and Thor met, she hit him with her truck. Twice.” She pauses, and stuffs another fist full of popcorn in her mouth. “Maybe I’m the one who lives in a movie,” she mumbles.

“When Bucky and I met, there definitely weren’t any sparkles. More like fists flying and plenty of black eyes to go around.” 

“More youthful mischief?”

“Mmm, more like self defense.”

“People are people, which means there’s also always going to be bullies too.” 

“Yeah.” Steve looks down at Darcy, hoping she can see the sly grin that’s crossing his face. “And then there’s how I met you.”

“Not your soulmate though,” she can’t help but point out. It’s a bad habit by now, even if Darcy doesn’t want to admit that out loud.

“You took me down to the canteen back at the compound and made me breakfast for dinner because you thought my shield looked sad.”

Darcy shrugs, burrowing deeper into Steve’s side and soaking in even more of his warmth. “Well, you had just gotten back from a trash heap of a mission, going by what Thor had said. You looked like you needed a bit of a pick me up and there’s nothing better than pancakes and bacon to do that.”

“It was exactly what I needed.” He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Darcy’s head, she’s the perfect size for him to be able to do that. “It’s too bad the rest of the team had to crash our breakfast for dinner party.”

Darcy snorts, entirely unladylike and Steve absolutely loves the sound of it. “Definitely too bad. If they hadn’t shown up I may have laid you out on the table and had you for breakfast instead.”

[cerisesakurainspring]

IWAIZUMI'S ROUTE

January 2013

3RD POV

A tall figure scurried off the school hallways, carrying a stack of workbooks higher than his head. Beside him was the famed volleyball captain carrying sheets of paper he was trying to balance with one hand.

"Lazykawa, if those exam sheets scatter, a smack in the head will be the least of your worries." The tall ace threatened.

"Geez Iwa-chan, you're so short-tempered. No wonder girls don't flock around you."

"I'm not a flirtatious, affection-starved man like you."

"Eek! What a bully." Tooru stuck his tongue out and pouted with a loud humpf.

Hajime sighed, "I should probably apologize for hitting you with volleyball so often."

The setter was struck with surprise at his comment.

"Eh, what brought this up?"

"Because you've been hit so many times in the head, it seems you are now suffering developmental issues." The smirk on the ace's lips gave Tooru a sudden realization.

"Kya! You just called me immature in a roundabout way!"

"Well, your childish theatrics are getting tiresome."

Hajime gave half of the workbooks he held to the captain and proceeded to walk faster.

Tooru paused to adjust his arms, struggling to see what was in front of him from the heightened pile he was holding. "Wait up, Iwa-chan!"

The olive-eyed lad ignored the poor 3rd year and kept walking ahead.

Now that he had a better view of the hallway, he could see a raven-haired girl walk nimbly towards the music room. As she opened the door, a breeze welcomed her, her soft hair fluttering away from her face, revealing her angelic features.

A smile stretched on his lips, eyes entranced. Though far away, he could smell her sweet scent, charming his already yearning heart.

Suddenly, the setter bumped into him, and the stack of papers and workbooks landed on the ground. Hajime turned toward his best friend, a tick mark evident on his face. "What did I tell you?"

"It's not my fault you instantaneously paused! It didn't help that I couldn't see where I was going either!" complained Tooru.

The spiker ace sighed and knelt on the ground to pick up the papers, the captain following suit.

"Why did you stop walking anyway?"

Hajime furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't want to say he saw Celeste because he knew his best friend would happily hop towards her and banter all day. The thought of their closeness brought about a slight pang in his chest.

Without further thought, he said, "Nothing that concerns you."

Tooru was surprised but let it go nonetheless.

Though keeping quiet about it may seem self-serving, Hajime reasoned that a part of him needed an alone time with his dearest Celeste. Once he dropped off the books at the teacher's office, he decided to see the girl.

He started moving relatively quickly, raising a curious look from Tooru. When he got up, he beelined for the teacher's office without sparing a glance at his best friend. The setter followed quietly, trying to discern what the wing spiker was up to.

Once they finished, Hajime struggled to devise an excuse to dismiss his captain, but he no longer needed to because the latter waved his hands at him.

"See you later, Iwa-chan! I just remembered I have to meet with Aoto-sensei." The brow-haired setter rushed out of the office and disappeared into the hallway.

The slight frown on Hajime's face slowly eased into relaxation. With a slight smile now showing, he moved toward the music room.

Hajime POV

As I approached the closed door, a sound of melodious playing drifted through it, enticing my senses and, along with it, a surge of excitement.

I let out a nervous breath, hands slightly shaking at the knob I was holding, for beyond the door was the girl my heart had covertly yearned for.

I slowly slid the door open, peeking through the crevices. The action did not go unnoticed as Celeste slowly turned her head to look at my direction, surprise apparent in her alluring blue eyes.

Though she didn't stop playing the piano, she gave me a subtle smile as acknowledgment.

Not wanting to disturb her peaceful playing further, I quietly closed the door behind me and leaned my back towards it. With hands in my trouser pocket, I nodded for her to keep playing.

A content smile etched on her angelic face then returned her gaze to the piano in front of her.

Aside from her remarkable talent in ballet, she had an exceptional gift at playing the piano, proving her aptitude for classical arts.

"Would you like to sit beside me?" Celeste asked, her attention still fixed on the piano.

Her innocent invitation sent a flurry of butterflies in my stomach, and for a moment, I stood frozen in place.

Mustering up what little courage I had, I nodded meekly.

"Sure." I internally winced at the obvious tremor in my voice.

Each step towards her felt like a journey through uncharted territory, making my brittle heart pound in anxiety.

It echoed in my ears and added to the rich and vibrant melody of the song she was playing.

As I settled into the seat beside her, her sweet scent enveloped me, and I had to refrain myself from resting my head on her shoulders.

Her lithe tickling of the ivories made me want to caress her fingers, and my hands fidgeted nervously but glad it found refuge in the safety of my pockets.

The supple movement of her fingers glided across the black and white keys, creating an enchanting tune. Each striking note enveloping me in a warm embrace.

Not long after, the song came to an end, and she tilted her head to the side to look at me.

"Is there a song you'd like me to play?" Her soft lips stretched into a smile, and it held me in a spellbind. "Ha-chi?"

"A dance." I absentmindedly replied.

Her innocent face changed into an inquiring one, "A dance?"

I may have been quiet for far too long as I heard a snap of fingers in front of me. I gulped and compelled my hypnotized self to look her in the eyes.

"You'd like us to dance?" She asked again patiently.

The words struggled to come out of my throat and I could only nod.

"But how are we going to dance without music?"

I shrugged, and forced myself to stand. With trembling and cold hands, I held her left hand to rest on my right shoulder while I grasped the other up in the air.

The closeness sent a rush of adrenaline in my veins, stupefying me in place.

With the silence stretching on, I worried she really would hear the frantic beating of my heart, but she took control and moved her left hand behind my shoulder as if readying me to dance.

It dawned on me then that I didn't even know how to dance. Why the hell did I ask her, when I couldn't even lead?

Sensing my uneasiness, Celeste smiled reassuringly.

"Follow my lead. First, move your left foot forward, right foot to the side, move your left foot towards your right, then right foot back, then left foot to the side."

"It's called the basic box."

We started slow, and once I got the hang of it, gradually danced to a regular pace. Feeling comfortable and somewhat confident, I looked up from my feet and stared into her blue orbs that were already on mine.

We continued to waltz around the room to a melody only we could hear.

The softness of her touch, the warmth of her body, the scent of sweetness, and her oh so beautiful smile all sent me into a frenzy of thoughts and a fit of intense emotions.

It was pure bliss.

It made me wish time would stop, so I could bask in her light forever.

But still, I couldn't help the feeling of disbelief. Am I really holding her in my arms? It's not a dream, right?

"Wow, you picked it up quite fast." She interrupted my thoughts, to which I could only say a soft hum.

Being in an entrance state made it difficult to form a coherent response. It was as if my tongue was heavy, and it couldn't find the right words.

It was never like this when we were around friends, but somehow, when it's just the two of us, the air gets knocked out of me.

She smiles, a silent message of patience and understanding. That's when I realized that words were not needed to convey what my heart already knew.

I didn't have to tell her everything now.

At least engage her in a discussion. A small voice in my head quipped.

Mustering up some courage, I finally forced out whatever words I could let out.

"You're wonderful."

"Me?"

"The song."

"Ahhh." she nodded her head in comprehension. " It's called Comptine d'un Autre été by Yan Tiersen. He composed this music for the movie Amélie." she answered merrily. "You should watch it sometime."

"Watch you with."

She let out a hearty laugh at my mixed up words.

Despite my best efforts to engage her in conversation, they all came out in jumbled words, and I cursed myself for my inability to be charming and confident.

It made me wonder how Tooru could effortlessly converse and enchant other people without struggling.

"Then, me watch you with," she teased at my predicament.

Her soft giggles held me captive once more, and my bittersweet longing lit the incontrollable desire in my heart on fire.

The content smile and tranquil look in her eyes gave me a honeyed flicker of hope - a glimmer of possibility that maybe, just maybe, this moment could lead to something more.

To something I have always yearned for.

3rd POV

The sound of the camera clicking was muted by a sudden phone ringing, startling the two mesmerized figures.

Celeste let go of Hajime's hands to fish out the phone from her school bag while the ace bit his lip at the sudden loss of warmth.

"Hello?" There was a short pause. "Sorry, Fuyuko-san, I didn't notice the time; I'll come to meet you now." After ending the call, the girl apologized and turned her attention to her best friend.

"I won't be long. Do you want to wait for me here?"

"Okay." Hajime smiled softly. Once the girl exited the room, he turned his body towards the window, the winter breeze blowing through the slight opening.

After closing it in place, his phone chimed, signaling a text.

He sat on the piano bench and opened the chat box to read Tooru's message.

       Loserkawa:

       There's this really stunning and wondrous girl.

After it came a photo of Celeste giggling, her eyes radiating happiness. Hajime smiled at the sight, but a scowl soon replaced it.

In the photo, his hand that held hers was visible, though it was cropped intentionally not to show his face.

It meant that it was taken in the piano room not long ago, and from what he recalled, it was just him and Celeste then.

When did Tooru get a chance to take it?

The realization sent a tingle of guilt in his veins. Did his best friend figure out he was dismissing his presence so he could spend the time alone with her? Would that be considered betrayal?

The past month has been a constant exchange of looks between Tooru and him. Both were wondering whether the other had romantic feelings for their best friend.

Still, neither took the chance to voice out their thoughts.

Another chime echoed in the empty room.

       Loserkawa:

       She'd be the best girlfriend, don't you think so, Iwa-chan?

Hajime blinked at the last message; his heart split into two. One half of envy and panic.

Will Tooru pursue Celeste? He didn't want that, but he knew he'd be helpless because he had no right or say in the matter.

The other half of him screamed resolved. He didn't even want to know anymore if the captain setter was indeed in love with Celeste as long as they pursue her fairly.

If it didn't end up in his favor, though the thought pained him, he would need to swallow the bitter pill.

Without further thought, he rushed out of the music room to survey the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sneaky best friend.

And he did find him, but he wasn't alone because both of his best friends were there, chuckling at a joke they shared.

His phone slipped off his hand and startled the two figures walking towards his way.

The view stung him more than he thought. Could he really bear losing her? Or worse, both?

"You good, Iwa-chan?" A hint of tease and a knowing look was displayed on Tooru's face.

Is he challenging me? Hajime could no longer shake off the uncertainty he was now feeling.

[deafmangoes]

An Album of Christmas Carols - 5

It's time. The one you've all been waiting for. Somehow universally seen as the best adaptation of Dickens' classic.

"A Muppet Christmas Carol" (1992, Michael Caine)

This was the first full-length adaptation of A Christmas Carol that I recall ever watching, and has pretty much been my favourite to rewatch ever since. I was actually so used to this version that the first time I saw a different one I was confused why there weren't two Marleys.

We open with a sweep over London and an introduction to our narrator, Gonzo the Great Charles Dickens, and his friend Rizzo the Rat. From Brooklyn, NYC. The addition of the narrator is a clever touch (and, I suspect, the only way they could think to use Gonzo), and marks this adaptation as the most "book-accurate", according to the BBC (due to the large amount of text quoted directly from the novella).

Michael Caine really epitomises the role for me. Soft-spoken but hard. Trigger temper. Intimidating and heartless. After the opening song, early scenes with Nephew Fred, the charity men, Kermit Cratchit (and the other bookkeepers), he departs home and Cratchit sings a song that gets stuck in my head around this time every damn year.

Ghosts? Ghosts!

Back home, the doorknocker very creatively morphs into (Jacob) Marley's face. I don't know how they did it. Maybe vacuumed it but reversed the footage. We only get a brief bit of the other 'tells' before Jacob (and Robert) Marley appear to heckle their old business partner. Their song is great, probably my favourite part of the film.

"Doomed, Scrooge! You're doomed for all time / Your future is a horror story written by your crimes / Your chains are forged by what you say and do / So have your fun, when life is done a nightmare waits for you!"

Christmas Past looks to me like the thing that comes out of the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones, right before it turns into the angel of death and kills all the Nazis. And because of that, I never feel very comfortable while it's on-screen. Weird childlike angel spirit whatsit.

(In the outtakes, Gonzo manages to get his grappling hook through his own head. The puppeteers play it off wonderfully).

The scenes in the school are hilarious to me, particularly Sam the Eagle's two major jokes:

"Work hard lad, and some day your life will be as solid as this very building!"

/Gonzo and Rizzo break the shelf in the background

"Hrm. I've been meaning to fix that shelf."

And of course:

"You'll love business. It's the American way!"

/Gonzo corrects Sam

"Ah. Hrm. It is the British way!"

Fozziwig's party is shown, where the filmmakers manage to fit in all the other Muppets they'd be hard-pressed to place, like Doctor Teeth's band and the Swedish Chef. Rizzo ends up on fire for the first, but not the last, time this film.

Now, depending on when you were introduced to this film you may or may not realise there's a big emotional award-bait song here after Belle breaks up with Scrooge. It was in the original cut, and the VHS edition, but got cut for broadcast. When DVDs were first printed, the master had been lost so you could only get the version without the song. Apparently it's now back on Disney+ as an extra.

The song isn't all that, to be honest, but without it the reprise later in the film doesn't hit quite right, so... Swings and roundabouts. Past departs, Scrooge is deposited back in bed, just in time for...

... Okay, this might be controversial, but. Christmas Present is the weakest part of the film. The costume is impressive, and made specifically for this film (well, all three ghosts were), and the song is nice, but this version of the ghost just doesn't have the sarcastic bite that I enjoy so much. Even when he does deliver the ironic echo to Scrooge, it sounds out-of-place precisely because he's been nothing but 'nice' up until that point.

Anyway. We get Nephew Fred's party and the Cratchit's Christmas (the second time Rizzo ends up on fire), with the scene-stealing Miss Piggy giving it her all as Emily Cratchit. "It's a chef thing, dear" was a very common refrain around our house when we were eating something out-of-turn.

As Present fades away, Scrooge is left with the tall, ominous Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, who speaks entirely in deep bassoon audio cues. The tone of the film shifts considerably in this segment, so much so they even have Gonzo and Rizzo depart to make it more serious. Old Joe and the others who benefit from Scrooge's death are all creatively shown as vermin and carrion feeders - a spider, a moth, a crow and a bug*.

(*Well, she's described as a potato in Muppet's Treasure Island, but eh).

The Cratchit household sans Tim is a sad place and Scrooge can only bear so much of it before tearfully confronting his own mortality and begging repentance from the mute spirit.

Then, of course, it's Christmas Day! He hasn't missed it! Scrooge engages the services of the caroller seen previously to haul an absolutely massive turkey downtown. In a departure from the book, he stops only briefly at Fred's to deliver presents then goes directly to the Cratchit household, where Miss Piggy violently threatens him. Misunderstandings cleared up, Scrooge helpfully invites half of the entire city of London into this one-up, one-down Camden house and we close out on everyone singing a happy reprise of Belle's "you suck and I'm breaking up with you" song.

Highlights and Humbugs

Despite anything I said above about the film's few flaws, they really are very few and far between. The serious, professional acting of Caine opposite the Muppets is the thing that sells the whole film, and I really wish they'd do more of this sort of classic literary adaptation.

It also holds a special place in the hearts of those who worked on the film - it was the first Muppets outing after Jim Henson, the creator of the original show, had died. The cast were unsure if they should or even could continue without him, though Jim's son, Brian Henson, was encouraged by co-creator Frank Oz to take up the puppets and the result was this masterpiece. Michael Caine has also spoken about this being one of his favourite roles, and how easy it was to forget that he was acting against puppets.

The songs are great. The jokes are funny. The effects hold up. The core of the story shines through. It's just a very good version overall.

10 out of 10 Humbugs. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

[bigmacsg]

Tour De Batam 2024

This years race seems to be cursed. Signups were notoriously sluggish - with only 35 riders committed a week before starting. A last minute spurt saw sign-ups hit 85 but still only a fraction of what it normally gets.

Someone smarter than me dubbed it the Fyre Festival of cycling. There were minimal updates, distances kept changing, sketchy route maps and almost no infrastructure upon arrival. Its really weird and no-one seems to be organising the chaos.

I came across on the Friday lunchtime with Keiichi. The hotel is alright so treating it like a training holiday!

Stage 1:

We were woken at 3:50am by the hotel announcing that a small breakfast was available in the foyer. FOMO of there being only limited food made me get up & it proved perfectly adequate. We left the hotel & got a scooter escort to the bottom of the hotel hills as there were zero streetlights. We then had to ride in pitch black 4km along the road to find the startline.

Start times & arrangements were confused. The UCI event was due to start at 5:30 but the UCI raised concerns as the sun doesn’t come up till 5:45! The race started around 5:50 with the fondo going soon after at 6:00. No age category or gender split - just 1 big group in the end. Just before the start, a race official admonished us for not wearing the official free race jersey & it genuinely felt like he wasn’t going to let the peloton ride!

We started up the Nongsa loop hills and the group immediately split. I bridged over but maybe 25 were gone out the back. I sat on the back till we hit a roadworks gravel section at 14km. I got gapped on the dodgy surface & someone at the front gassed it. On a road in heavy traffic, I couldnt make it back on despite chasing for 10km.

Being just behind the peloton was a nightmare as there was no protection from traffic and the motorbikes would pull in front at the junctions. By the red road, I stopped chasing and cruised along waiting for the group behind to catch me.

Eventually they caught me at 50km mark. My average was still 38.5 here so Id clearly been pushing. I hooked up with a group of 6 mostly IR riders and started working with them. Signposting was shit & we managed to ride past the uturn point.

On the way back, i caught up up to a small group of 4 in front & then dropped all the IR riders. Was fortunate to meet this group as the traffic on the way back was much worse. We got stopped at junctions full of motorbikes and navigated a huge roundabout with no marshals. Was literally like racing through city centre traffic whilst having no real idea where you were heading.

The NBAS lady was being ganged up on by an Indo female rider & her male team mate. I set the pace for the last 20km - navigating bad traffic at the gravel section and managed to drop the Indonesians with 10km to go. Sign posts at the final were terrible - jumping from 5km, 4km to 1km within the last 2km of the race!

Keichi ended up winning his age category and getting 10th overall. I came in 20 minutes down and yet still 5th in Age category. It was a shit-show of a race.

Stage 2:

Stage 2 continued the shitshow theme although maybe less the organisers fault. We went to bed on Saturday not knowing what the actual start times might be. Due to the likelihood of peletons being merged, we were cautious and went down early for a potential 6am start.

The skies were black with torrential rain & lightning starting just as we arrived. There were maybe 30 people at the start and universal confusion. At one point, there was talk of the 45+ groups all starting together at 6:30 and just doing 1 lap. However as most of the 7am riders weren’t there, this was postponed.

Eventually a combined peloton rode put at 7am. There were maybe 30 riders and it was still raining. I rode to the hotel and went for an early ferry. With the huge puddles and sand everywhere, i just didn’t think it was worth risking.

Sadly Keiichi punctured on the circuit and lost his yellow jersey.

Was a shit race. Won’t be back unless theres some big changes to the organisation.

[xarrixii]

Chapter_43 : " 'Sight' "

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CW: archive masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▼

Alph heard the sound of a foot scratching along the ground and kicked left, leg stopping on the area they’d hit until they could run a hand along the little dots along the wall. Then the sound of a hand swiping over a table. They punched, again feeling the dots where their hit had connected with the wall they were training with.

“You ever get enough of that?” Mark’s voice drifted in from the, left. The hallway.

“Not particularly.” Alph grins and starts up the buzzer again, connecting their fist straight into the braille on the ‘head’ and pulling their hand back to wave it off.

Mark’s quiet for a little longer, letting Alph use the different sounds to make hits on the standstill wall. “You get tired of having to put the mannequins up each time? Just taped it all to the wall instead?”

Alph grumbled.

“There are people you could spar with, you know. The decommissioned ones.”

“Like me,” Afyer, by sound of it, had joined the conversation. “I’ve got not much else to do around here, if you’re really up for it. I’m also notorious for being easy to fight.”

“You say proudly?” Mark questions.

“It can be good for a multitude of reasons. Like being a living training exercise. Being a reference for minimum skill levels for the science team. Getting underestimated on the battlefield and managing to hit a surprise attack.” Afyer pauses. “I shrugged, by the way, Raiden. Sorry. But fighting people that are too busy laughing at how unassuming you are is very funny when you punch them in the face.”

Alph snickers, “He gets it.”

“I do agree though. Fighting the wall is not much fun, so you can fight me instead. It also won’t be the same sounds over and over again.”

“If anyone asks, I didn’t leave two pyrokinetics alone to spar.” Alph hears Mark’s footsteps recede now that they ceased punching the wall.

“Oh, I get it. Because one of Storm’s goals is demolishing that. Raiden, I’m nodding right now.”

“Thanks for the callout.”

“Really good time for Storm to invest in earpieces, right?”

Alph is digging blind through a bin full of stuff. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, okay.” Afyer giggles slightly before clearing his throat. “Storm’s big on the nonverbal callout stuff. Like, you always gotta be looking at other people. But that’s such a thing of the past, and I’ve been trying to advocate for earpieces, but everyone keeps saying it’ll encourage talking and giving info away to the enemy.”

“In a roundabout way, yeah. It would.”

“But you can’t see nonverbal cues. And you’ve quickly become one of Nacht’s favorites around here, so Nacht will definitely start adding more additions for disabilities around here. Which is really great to see.”

“Afyer,” Alph chuckles. “Not many disabled people really join the fighting business.”

Afyer considers this, suddenly a lot closer to Alph. “Oh you’d be surprised. Some of Cinder’s most powerful operatives are disabled somehow. Like Five. Five would be your uncle, right? ‘Cause Nacht’s your uncle, and Five is one of Nacht’s brothers. Five is also blind.”

“Think I could sneak in for some tips?”

“No, Five would see you.”

“You just said Five was blind.”

“Yes. But Five sees, like, heat. It’s super cool. I’ve been experimenting with it.”

“Oh.” Alph frowned. “Get anywhere?”

“No.”

Alph grumbled, still digging through the bin. “Any others? Or is it just the one? Because then, we as organizations would be even.”

“There’s also Isle. Jackstalk’s closest confidant. Really great telepath. Also deaf.”

“All of these people seem like they’ve been handed cheat codes to their disabilities because of their kinetics.” Alph sighed, finally finding, through texture and sheer will, the protective plates to give Afyer.

“I know, right? So who’s to say you won’t, too?”

“‘Cause. I’m, like, super average.”

“No,” Afyer laughed.

“No, really. I am. Like, Urban’s really, really precise, Mum’s real damn powerful, so are all her siblings. I’m just kinda, I don’t know. Some PY lucky enough to stand near a fire alarm and get accepted into a police academy program.”

Afyer hummed, randomly delighted. “That’s not average.”

“Just⸺here,” Alph tosses the plates to wherever they remembered hearing Afyer talking and gets in stance.

“Also, Nacht’s son, Raijin, has inherited some of Nacht’s power. Also, kinetics are far more likely among kinetic-wielding parents. So we know kinesis runs through blood. It’s very likely you just haven’t needed to tap into the power Amaterasu passed on.”

“I’d rather be less like my mother if at all possible.”

“Storm was a good start. Smiling, by the way.”

Alph nodded, dawning a smile of their own. “Storm was.”

next chapter

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▲ missing a content warning? let me know

[strawberryhierophant]

Teddy renewed

From the top of the hill, downtown Browning was like an open palm. Teddy could read the criss-crossing streets like heart lines, finding their origins, tracing their paths. On a normal day, he could follow the flow of traffic as it sped towards the heart of downtown where every street fed in a central roundabout. Here, the vehicles entered and spun a circle and departed, just like fish following the flow of a gentle whirlpool.

But today, there was no traffic, no pedestrians. Most businesses had closed early. As Teddy hobbled down the hill, he felt Browning's open palm become a fist, closing around him. Huffing madly as he descended, with the chill and wind scratching his face, Teddy's eyes flickered upwards and watched Browning's brick buildings loom up before him, clouding the sky. Like huge men rising from their stools, they crowded around him, encircled him. Teddy's vision swam.

At the base of the hill, Teddy rounded the corner blindly, blinking away the dizzy vision, as he groped his way along the brick wall. When he opened his eyes again he found himself standing before a small shop — closed — its dark glass mocking him with a glimpse at his own reflection. Suddenly, he was glad to be alone, that nobody was around to see him.

—that Rebecca was not around to see him.

The thought reawakened Teddy to his task. He turned from the window, pivoting on his one good leg to face the heart of downtown Browning where the roundabout stood before him like an abandoned carousel, still and silent On the other side of it, Teddy could see the pub where Rebecca worked. Its windows were framed with blinking red-and-green Christmas lights. Beyond that, it was a slick and cold walk back uphill, about a mile or so, to the bridge — older than Teddy himself — where the old man had a date with Fate.

Teddy stepped off the sidewalk into the empty road. The sky above him looked low and heavy, and already light flakes were beginning to fall. With renewed urgency, Teddy plodded across the streets towards the center of the roundabout, where a short stone pillar marked the center of the traffic circle.

Wincing against the sharp snowflakes, his eyes were set ahead on the sight of McElroy's with its twinkling windows. Even at this distance, he could hear the shouts and singing of the crowd spilling out the doors onto the sidewalk. He had not intended to, but he was headed straight for it. It was too late for apologies, but something in him needed to see her one last time. One last glimpse of her and Teddy could face the bridge alone.

His mind a flash of images, all of them shifting and blending into one another like Proteus, Teddy found himself suddenly at the stone pillar in the center of the roundabout when a violent clatter suddenly rang out and stole the silence from the streets. It might have been a dumpster lid slamming shut, in an alleyway perhaps, but the noise traveled along the empty streets like invisible traffic and slammed into Teddy. It hit him like the tolling of a great bell, and he fell back against the stone pillar. The falling snow had grown thicker by now, turning Teddy's vision white. And suddenly, it was 1976 all over again.

Teddy in the stool. Old Pat in his corner, shouting into his ear. Overhead, the white-hot glare of the arena lights. A roar of voices. The crowd invisible behind the snapping blasts of camera flash all around him — those photographers hungry for blood. Sweat and blood mingling into a hot stench which rose off the canvas as Pat growled into his ear, "Watch those jabs! A big man like Sullivan can't keep this up!"

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 17 - cockwarming

nct 1.1k words female reader insert Reader x Mark Lee NSFW

🖤 warnings: almost entirely Markspeak aka my favorite language, mark lee is inexperienced but well-meaning and ready to learn, penetrative sex, unprotected sex 🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

"Yo, I don't think it's like...physically possible, I'm serious."

"What's not?" you ask, groggy.

You'd been almost asleep, but Mark's very serious, very inquisitive statement dragged you right back out of it, much to your frustration. It's suddenly very hard to remember why you let him sleep over so often.

"This."

He slides his phone right in front of your face, resting on the pillow, and you blink against the sudden light. When you adjust, you can see a stupid tweet from someone with an anime profile pic talking about, of all things, cockwarming.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"It just came on the TL, I dunno."

"Do we have to get your internet usage monitored or something?"

"No, fuck you!" he says automatically, "I just don't - how would that even work?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Do you see anyone else here to ask?" Mark pulls his phone back, squinting down at the screen through the thick square lenses of his glasses that sit askew on his face.

He's well and truly woken you up, now, so you sit up more. A closer glance at his phone (that tweet still open - he's obsessed) reveals that it's barely two in the morning. You'd been in that place of mostly-asleep for maybe an hour, and you get the feeling you won't be nodding off again for a while.

"Do you even know what it is?" you ask.

Mark snorts. "Duh. Googled it."

"You couldn't figure it out by context clues?"

"The last fuckin' thing I need is to guess another sex thing wrong, yo," he mumbles.

You give him a vague sympathetic sound and a smack on the shoulder that mostly misses. "Don't wanna get bullied at Dream practice again?"

"As if those guys even get any."

"I'm sure Jeno could if he-"

"Ew," Mark interrupts.

He still has not put the phone down.

"Is there...something else to this?" you ask gently.

"Maybe."

Mark is ridiculous and distinctly teenaged-boy in his sense of humor, but he's not stupid. You know he's trying to roundabout his way into saying something. He wouldn't be fixating on it for any other reason.

"Does that something involve me?"

Mark gives you a half-grin, finally dropping his phone into the sheets. "Ha, maybe."

"Well, let me know when you figure it out." You roll over onto your side, facing away from him.

As soon as you're not looking directly at him, Mark seems to get himself together. Out of the spotlight, as it were, which is ironic.

"Kinda wanna try it."

You smile to yourself. "There we go."

"Is that a yes?"

Mark isn't even in the top 10 horniest guys you've ever met, content to do mostly nothing even when you're spending nights together, which is why you're being patient. He must be really interested in this, to mention it beyond a comment and a quick laugh.

"You need to ask for real so I can answer," you tease.

"I wanna try it," Mark says.

"Neat."

He groans. You hear a clatter that's probably his glasses hitting the bedside table, flung off as he does something dramatic. You peek back over your shoulder, and yep, he's got his head in his hands, slumped into the pillow.

"You could just say yeah and let me try the thing like a normal person," Mark says, through the muffle of his hands.

"That's no fun."

A second later and Mark's gathered up behind you, big spoon. "Please?"

"Go ahead," you say, wriggling into him a bit, "But I'm telling you, based on some things I know, I don't think you're gonna like it."

"Don't underestimate me, yo."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Whether or not you think Mark is going to ultimately like what he's getting himself into, he's determined to try. Obviously, as he presses even closer and lets his hand wander over your waist, under the loose fabric of your pajama shirt, his distracted mouth finding your neck.

You'll always marvel at Mark's natural hesitation manifesting itself as the perfect kind of anticipation game.

Fingers splay across your stomach, dipping ever so slowly toward the waistband of your panties. His breath is hot on your throat as he picks a place to bite down, moves over an inch, moves back, excruciating amounts of time between each action. He's not trying to tease you, but every time he pauses to second-guess himself, he's making you wait, and it kills you.  

Perfect Mark Lee form, honestly, being inadvertently good at literally everything.  

He doesn't have to understand why he's so good at this, and you're sure he doesn't, but regardless of intent and finesse, you're slipping off your own clothes in frustration after what feels like hours of slow exploration. You've done this enough times. He doesn't need to take his sweet time night after night, but he always does.

Mark doesn't even seem to notice that you've gotten yourself undressed until he goes to grind his clothed cock into you and finds...nothing.

"Aw, shit," he mumbles, and his hands leave you to get his own clothes off.

"Your Google search told you everything, right?" you ask.

It's all skin on skin when Mark returns to his spot behind you. "I don't need Google to tell me how to fuck."

"...Well-"

"Anymore!"

"Not what I was going to say but thanks for the honesty."

"How d'you wanna..." he trails.

You hum, noncommittal. "Like this?"

He huffs out a laugh. "Convenient."

It's easy enough for Mark to haul your leg back over his, giving himself better access as you both lay on your sides, still spooning comfortably. It's even easier to let Mark line himself up and slide home, the angle not particularly deep but letting his head rub over your g-spot with every gentle rock.

It is not easy to get Mark to sit still.

He's energetic at the best of times, a guy with insane body control that translates well into the bedroom despite his stubborn lack of skill or pacing. It's a mystery to you why he's so interested in trying something where the point is to do nothing.

"Gotta stop moving," you chide.

"I know, but damn..."

Eventually he gets comfortable. As comfortable as he's gonna get, anyway.

"How long - I mean-"

"That's the point, isn't it?" you say. "How long can you hold out?"

"Not sure."

You yawn, despite the stimulation. You were tired before, and you're still tired now.

"Well, if it's not gonna be long, let's just do the damn thing and go to sleep," you suggest. "You know, if you can't hang."

You can feel Mark's entire body, pressed so close to yours, tense up. Predictable. Framing it as a challenge is a surefire way to get a top-notch performance from Mark Lee.

"I can."

"You can?" you ask. "You can just lay there, inside me, and not do anything?"

Just to be an asshole, you clench around him, and relish in his fingers digging into your side.

"I can," he repeats.

"We'll see, won't we?"  

[falconcoast]

Tighnari will be that one student who might scold you for doing something wrong (like for an experiment or activity) but they're just worried for your well being. He helps you do it correctly after that and will probably hug you to show that he's not angry 🥺🥹

college au iii | tighnari x reader

masterlist

tighnari shows his affection in roundabout ways, including in the chemistry lab.

a/n: GUYS IM SORRYYYY i was playing enstars aggressively these last few days (why can i not get a full combo on melody in the dark) anyways take this !! i had to literally get my chem notebooks from last year out to look for a lab we did LMAO

warnings: a lil bit of yelling and chemistry (in more ways than one HAHA there is literally an entire experiment in this fic)

after missing class for a few days because of a sickness, you were stuck in the laboratory after classes had ended. tighnari, ever the sweet friend, offered to help you complete your lab report for your chemistry class.

the way tighnari went about the experiment was much more organized than you could have ever done yourself. each of the materials were lined up in a neat row. the beaker with water was filled as accurately as possible, and even the pens you didn’t use were discarded into a clean line.

“cut about half a centimeter of the solid potassium and set it aside. it should weigh about one gram,” he read aloud, crossing his legs after reading out the instructions. you did as he told, slicing a little bit off of the bigger piece of metal.

“okay, now what?” you asked.

“now, place the metal into into the water and watch the reaction. make sure that your goggles are secure!”

you adjusted your glasses, pulling them over your forehead so tightly that you were sure it would leave a mark later. snapping your pair of gloves once more, you picked up the metal and dropped it into the water.

the reaction was certainly not what you expected. it started off as a small, pink fire consuming the top of the metal. it sparked slightly, specks of fire bouncing off of the glass beaker and falling into the water. as you went to go write down the reaction in your notebook, tighnari spoke up quickly.

“hold on, that’s too much—!” he started before grabbing your arm and pulling you close to his chest. his arms held the back of your head firmly, and your arms clung to his lab-coat. his heart beat was rapidly slamming against the walls of his chest.

before you could even respond, a loud bang! echoed throughout the empty lab and the beaker let out a soft sizzling noise. a minor amount of smoke fogged up the walls of the glass. at the bottom of the container was a bright pink and transparent liquid.

after a deep breath in, your best friend relaxed the tension in his arms. “that was too much potassium!” he scolded, letting you go in favor of placing his hands on his hips. pointing at the remaining potassium, you realized that only the gram of the metal was left. “you dropped nearly ten grams of it into the the beaker. the farther down the periodic table the alkali metals go, the more likely it will cause a violent explosion and ignite when hitting water. my archons, what were you thinking?!”

ducking your head down in red-hot embarrassment, your lips turned downwards. “i’m really sorry, tighnari! i swear i didn’t mean to put in the bigger metal!” you apologized, cheeks burning. “it won’t happen again and i was too careless. i’m sorry!”

after a soft sigh, tighnari stood and wrapped you up into his arms. “no, it’s not your fault. you’re still coming back from that illness after all. i should have offered to put it in for you,” he breathed. his scent of lavender and basil brought you some comfort as you reciprocated the action. “and i’m sorry for yelling at you. i was concerned.”

after a moment, he turned his head and looked away from you. curiously, you tilted your head. “tighnari?” you asked. looking at him, you realized that he had reddened cheeks and a troubled expression. patting his soft ears, you smiled. “aww, are you too proud to admit you worry for my safety? that’s real cute, ‘nari.”

with an even more embarrassed expression, he removed himself from your arms. “no, that’s not it. i was just thinking about how much work it would have been if i had to bring you to the infirmary is all.”

“yeah, yeah, keep saying that!” you laughed. casting a look at the pink liquid, you sheepishly scratched the back of your neck. “i, uh, guess we have to redo this whole thing now.”

shaking his head, he smiled. “no, i won’t make you redo your work. it ends up the same anyways. potassium being stable requires it to give away one more valence electron. oxygen in water can take that electron, and thus, the products are potassium hydroxide and h2 gas. the heat produced from the reaction is so strong that it ignites the flammable h2 gas, and creates an explosion like the one you just caused.”

“none of those words made sense, but i’m just gonna take your word for it!” you shrugged, writing it down in your lab notebook.

“in return of not making you redo this experiment, i have a request,” he spoke up as you wrote away.

“yeah? i’m all ears.”

picking up the pink liquid and preparing for its disposal, he smiled. “well, i get to choose what we have tonight. i wanted to try a new boba place down the street. i think it’s a new branch from a liyue franchise.”

“you know what? i would usually argue about mondstadt hash browns, but boba sounds good,” you replied happily.

“and i also want that mushroom special from the restaurant down the street from here.”

“again?! that’s the fourth time we’ve had something with mushrooms in the last week!”

y/n: i hate having mushrooms everyday

tighnari: i really don’t give a shit

[petrichorium]

𝚞 𝚙 𝚍 𝚊 𝚝 𝚎 𝚍  .  .  .  .  apr. 9, 2024

if any of these wips interest you and aren't progressing fast enough, learn how to sponsor one here!

Blood in the Water {jade leech} in which jade leech is hungry for something only you can give him and, because he's jade leech, has a roundabout way of asking for it.

period sex ✧ one-shot ✧ explicit

“i can smell it,” jade says hazily.

“wh—what?”

“it’s… maddening. all-consuming. it takes everything in me to remain civil when you’re dry but then you bathe and it becomes agony.” his eyes seem glazed over, a look that reminds you of his erratic other half and has you feeling a little like a butterfly pinned under glass—or maybe like you’ve been carefully placed in one of his beloved terrariums. his chest heaves with a long, slow inhale. clawed fingers grip harder at the flesh of your thighs and he moves closer, lifting your knee to rest atop his shoulder. when he speaks it’s a murmur, and you wonder if you’re meant to have heard at all. “blood in the water. all of my instincts searching for the prey, writhing and helpless, ripe for the taking.”

current wc: 2.4k ✧ estimated wc: 5k

Mending {capitano} in which your husband rectifies a grave mistake he made in the first year of your marriage: neglecting your needs

misunderstandings ✧ one-shot ✧ explicit

he removes his thumb slowly, running the pad carefully over your tongue to the tip—lingering in your mouth momentarily, grazing along the edges of your teeth, so dull in comparison to the fangs that glint behind the helmet he still wears.

leaning in, his voice is low and intimate and almost warm with fondness as he says, “is that all that this was about? my little wife was feeling neglected?”

indignation flares up within you. your mouth snaps shut, your face going hot, something twisting in your stomach. he pulls back; on sheer instinct you surge up in response, gather the saliva that had pooled at the back of your throat, and spit at him.

the wad hits his helmeted cheek. he freezes. for half a moment the two of you stay like that, staring at each other.

then he lifts his hand and, with the thumb that had been in your mouth just moments ago, wipes the wetness from his face guard.

current wc: 1.6k ✧ estimated wc: 6k

Collared {jing yuan} in which you are the only one who can say you've collared the legendary dozing general.

roughhousing ✧ one-shot ✧ smutty

tilting his face up and to the side, you stare at jing yuan; run your fingers along the stubbled surface of his cheek, let your eyes trail from hooded eyes to quirked lips to the neck you’ve displayed for yourself. the bright red of your lipstick still stains his skin in more places than you can count. under the pad of your thumb, just beneath the hinge of his jaw, is a deep, darkening mark you don’t even remember making.

“just what is going on inside that pretty head, hmm?” he asks lightly.

frowning at the teasing lilt in his voice, you press hard with your thumb, digging the nail into the fleshy underside of his mandible. “merely wondering if a leash would keep you in our bed.”

yet another burst of laughter. his eyes are brilliant; they shine with his grin. “my dear, i highly encourage it. you’ve long had me collared already.”

current wc: 1.2k ✧ estimated wc: 3k

The Couch {itoshi sae} in which you banish sae to the couch, and for the first time in his life he has to earn back his rightful place in your bed

established relationship ✧ one-shot ✧ implied nsfw

sae has stood up by the time you return. his hands are shoved in his pockets, and he’s scowling, but he looks up when you re-emerge and still manages to bring his arms up to catch what you fling at him (damn those pro athlete reflexes; you wish he were clumsy enough to let them hit him right in the face).

“since you were so willing to leave me alone, you won’t mind taking a few more days, right?” you cross your arms and meet his wide-eyed look with a glare. “really, i like having the bed to myself.”

“you’re not serious,” he says in disbelief.

“sleep on the fucking couch, itoshi.”

current wc: 1.2k ✧ estimated wc: 5k

Untitled {akagami no shanks} in which you go into heat—as always—and shanks is there to help—as always

omegaverse ✧ one-shot ✧ sfw

“eight months?”

you scowl. the knot in your throat burns. “you shouldn’t have to guess the last time your mate went into heat.”

“i wasn’t guessing!” he lifts his arm, palm raised in surrender. “we were in the north blue, hard to remember if it was august or september with the climate—“

your empty bowl slams into his chest; it clatters to the floor with a hollow wooden thud and then rolls along the planks, taken by the heavy rise and fall of the ship until shanks reaches out to snatch it up before it can get too far.

“The start of september,” he says soothingly, easily. “seven months and a few days.”

current wc: 2.5k ✧ estimated wc: 5k

𝚖 𝚘 𝚗 𝚝 𝚑 𝚕 𝚢 𝚏 𝚘 𝚛 𝚎 𝚌 𝚊 𝚜 𝚝 . . .

Sobachka {childe, capitano} threesome ✧ one-shot ✧ explicit ✧ estimated 8k

Sleeping in the Garden {bakugo katsuki} single dad ✧ 6 parts ✧ eventual smut ✧ estimated 80k

Great Celestial Hieroglyphs {gojo satoru} reverse isekai ✧ one-shot ✧ sfw(?) ✧ estimated 20k

Villainy {midoriya izuku} villain au ✧ one-shot ✧ sfw ✧ estimated 15k

Noble Intent {bakugo katsuki} royal au ✧ one-shot ✧ sfw ✧ estimated 20k

⇚   𝚜 𝚝 𝚘 𝚛 𝚖   𝚠 𝚊 𝚛 𝚗 𝚒 𝚗 𝚐

[bitacrytic]

...but red is mine [2]

Read Previous Chapter Here

♧♧♧

“Are you here for a business talk with Mr. Korn?”

***

There was a certain poetry to the way things turned out. Not that Vegas would ever want things to go the easy way, but at a certain point, things started to feel a little roundabout. It had never been this hard. What with his cousin choosing, over and over again, to give his trust to men who were easy to read, Vegas had thought this would be over in no time.

But Porsche was turning out to be quite the inconvenient challenge. 

Expensive gifts didn’t work. Elaborate home tours didn’t work. Even when Vegas had tried to lure him with the idea of promised dreams, Porsche’s guard had risen so high that Vegas had to back off.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t working. Vegas could tell. Everything was working on Porsche. Porsche would sooner bash his head on a rock than out rightly refuse Vegas. Even in the bathroom, that night, he’d been uncomfortable, unwilling to submit to Vegas’ touch. And yet, he’d barely struggled. There was a chance that he could have relented, in the end, because if Porsche really wanted Vegas off of him, he was able to make that happen. Drunk or not.

Vegas knew that. The fact that Porsche hadn’t done that, only solidified the truth in Vegas’ mind that this was working.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t working in the way Vegas had hoped. At first he couldn’t tell why. He couldn’t understand why the man basked in the joy of a night ride, but pulled away from a hug, why he laughed at Vegas’ jokes, but kept looking around, why he followed Vegas into a bathroom and undressed, but wouldn’t let Vegas kiss him.

It was rather simple, really. Porsche was loyal.

What a shocking discovery. Porsche couldn’t be bought. He couldn’t be seduced. Simply because Kinn had managed to get to him first. Irritating and naïve as that was, Vegas was glad for this important bit of information. 

Because if Kinn had found himself a man who would follow him to the ends of the earth, the only way to combat that was with another man, whom Kinn had once promised that he’d follow to the ends of the earth.

***

“I love you, Vegas.”

***

He didn’t like that he couldn’t keep Vegas all to himself, but he had to understand. After all, Vegas was busy. Vegas was out of the country. Vegas was underground. Vegas was here, there and everywhere else. The excuses flowed from Vegas easily because he knew that the leash was short and taut. Too much tension and it would snap.

Tawan was probably Vegas’ biggest mistake. He was a loose cannon with aggressive ideas. No amount of training could do away with who he really was on the inside. There were a few ways to keep in line, however. On the off chance that strict words didn’t work, softness always did the trick. 

“It’s lovely,” Tawan said, kneeling between Vegas’ legs.

Vegas was lying on his stomach while working on his laptop because a spurt of inspiration hit, mere seconds after Tawan had cum in him. He was still very hard. He loved the rough rub of the sheets against his dick, even as he pressed into the bed and steadied himself. His mind was reeling with thoughts that he had to put down before he came down from this high.

But Tawan, Vegas sighed. Tawan just couldn’t read the room, some times.

“I wonder if he’s out there,” he said, caressing the mark on Vegas’ back. “Searching for you. Longing for you, the way I do.” He crawled up to his knees, hands braced on either side of Vegas, as he leaned down to kiss Vegas’ mate mark. “I wonder if a part of him still feels it when I do this.”

He licked the mark, once, and then sucked on it, catching the malleable silver of the seal between his teeth. Vegas closed his eyes, enjoying the light tingle around the mark as Tawan toyed with it. 

“Can you do that later?”

“You didn’t cum.”

“Tawan, I have to work.”

He was in a prissy mood. He always got like this whenever he fucked Vegas from behind, digging his fingers into the mate mark like it was the eye of a competing lover, aimed at snatching Vegas from his grasp.

“I’ll be quick,” he said, reaching under Vegas, as he used his knee and his other hand to lift Vegas up, so that he could get to Vegas’ dick. “You have something I want.”

Vegas scowled at his screen and continued to work. It wouldn’t be much longer. Soon, he’d launch this loose cannon and never have to worry about him again.

***

“Don’t make this hard on me.”

***

Vegas should have known. He was impressed, and honestly, he’d offer Kinn a compliment if he thought this was an indication of Kinn’s leadership skills or any ability to hone such dedication in his people. But Vegas should have known. He should have seen the delayed fear that hid sharp eyes, the friendly giggle that was meant to mask the steadfast focus that lay within Pete.

When he moved to apprehend, thinking that Pete was too focused on Porsche to care, the gun shifted swiftly in his direction. Vegas skidded to a halt, putting his hands up in surrender. Too stunned to do anything, he’d had to rely on Porsche’s command to move.

He hadn’t known, hadn’t seen it, until he was standing outside the cell, watching Pete walk down the stairs with a gun in his hand. He’d seen this man before. He’d fought beside this man. But it was something else when that much venom was aimed at Vegas, as the opponent.

“Go, Vegas,” he’d said, pulling Pete away so that Vegas would leave.

He could have stayed behind to fight. He could have helped Porsche get the upper hand. But what good was Porsche to Vegas, if he couldn’t fall behind and keep the problems busy while Vegas made his escape?

***

“He’s not home.”

***

Fuck, Vegas thought, reading the message. 

Tawan had done what he was supposed to do. With Porsche in prison, it was easy to take him away from Kinn. The thumb drive was a trojan horse and there was nothing anyone else could do. All Vegas had to do was get Chay, take Porsche and they’d be gone before anyone knew what was going on.

Fucking Tawan had to go and do his own thing. Who told him Vegas needed information? Vegas was the one with all the information. He didn’t need shit from Kinn. One phone call and he’d be up to date on the events in the major family’s home. No one asked Tawan to get Chay. Because! That! Wasn’t! The! Fucking! Plan!

He didn’t want to be in a fucking warehouse, improvising to use Porsche now as the mole. He needed time. If he’d been able to get Chay and Porsche all to himself, then he’d release him back in a couple of weeks, filled with love and unfailing loyalty to Vegas. Ken was already dead weight with everyone on edge. If Vegas offered Ken up as the mole, replacing him with Porsche would be the best option.

Which could no longer happen, because, now, Porsche knew about Vegas and Tawan.

Because Tawan was a fucking problem.

“Boss, Kinn is on his way here.”

A few shots to the chest immobilized him enough to keep him from coming after Vegas. By the time Kim showed up, Vegas was out.

From one problem to another problem, with no time to even enact his back-up plan, there was only one way this could go. If Tawan stayed behind, he’d be a good patsy to keep Kinn waiting. He had on a vest that Vegas himself had given him.

A shoddy escape that could have been so much better and he hated that so many people were in on it, now. No one would buy any story he could cook up. No one! And he’d lost Porsche altogether, now. There was no helping that plan. It was done and gone. Months spent, prepping Porsche to trust him, leading him to the fire, and it all went to dust.

“We’re sorry, Boss,” his men said as Vegas stood in his study, staring up at the only blank wall in the room.

His father was going to be livid when this all blew up. And there was no one around to sink his teeth into. Vegas hated everything. He grabbed the center table in the room and tossed it at the wall, watching the metal fixtures crash and fall.

“Ken followed Pete to your rooms where he downloaded work schedules, shipment routes and God knows what else. He,” the man hesitated. “He’s the reason they knew how to find you.”

“FUCK!” Vegas slammed his hand on his desk.

“But there’s good news, Boss.”

“Spit it out.”

Both men in the room looked at each other before the one speaking looked back at Vegas.

“He’s still here.”

“Who is?” Vegas asked.

“Pete, Boss. He never left.”

Vegas closed his eyes as tranquility settled upon him. Because he didn’t have to go to bed pent up in aggression and frustration. After all, the cause of all his problems was right here.

For Vegas to do with, as he pleased.

[brighteststar707]

Hey Fay! Happy blogiversary again!

1, 5, 8, 12 & 34 For the ask game if you don't mind!!

Hi Lucy! Thank you again <3

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

When I'm writing from a prompt, it usually depends. Some combinations are interesting enough that I'm ready to just write them and see where they go.

For other fics/oneshots, I spend a lot of time daydreaming about where I want it to go. Then, sometimes an idea hits and I just have to write it. So that's a roundabout way of saying it's a mix!

5. How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

Just did a quick count, and I have 17 documents sitting in my WIPs folder. Most are just a few paragraphs laying out what I want to write for when I have the time/am in the mood to work on them.

They're mostly all Saeyoung x reader, a couple that I want to write for him and a future OC (hehe), one for GE Saeran and one for Suit. I'm not sure how many will make it out of WIPs but we will see!

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

I was hoping someone would ask this!

She just needed a minute away from the beeping, the clipped tones of nurses, from the smell.  It was doing nothing to soothe her nerves. Luckily, on her way in a few days ago, she spotted a door marked [VISITORS’ BALCONY]. She had been meaning to use it

12. Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

I usually start with some sort of a rough outline. I write the scene that I want to be the main point of the fic in some detail, then write a really rough draft of the scenes leading up to and following it.

Very often I end up doing something completely different to my initial, or completely changing the set up of the scene, but the outline is always helpful to steer me in the right direction.

34. How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

That being said, the reader in my fics often shares some traits with me. It's easier (and more interesting in my opinion) to have the reader still be a person with a loosely-defined personality of their own. I definitely use some of my experience to shape the way they react to different situations.

I also write Saeyoung to reflect some of my life experiences and thoughts. He is a character I heavily relate to and especially in regards to his identity and attachment to people I like to add some of my own experience in.

Also, I've definitely drawn inspiration for some of the interactions I write from real experience from previous relationships.

[dahlia-coccinea]

Wuthering Heights - Chapter 5

This chapter is rather short but still has a number of points that are worth discussing.

Nelly again asserts Heathcliff is essentially a harbinger of doom and Mr. Earnshaw’s dislike of seeing anyone speak against him was “rich nourishment to the child’s pride and black tempers.” Really, this is not Heathcliff’s fault despite Nelly placing the blame on him. 

We get an interesting mention of the Lintons, that they are taught by the curate along with the Earnshaw children, they are taught separately. When we later meet the Linton’s I get the impression that the Earnshaw’s, though fairly well off, are certainly not only seen as being a lower class than themselves, but perhaps even that the Earnshaw’s are not very socially accepted, and are all somewhat isolated from each other.

I love the description we get of Catherine in this chapter. Despite the popular assertion that Heathcliff and Catherine are the same - we get wholly opposite descriptions of the two. While in the previous chapter we heard Heathcliff is “ a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment“, Catherine is described as a “wild, wicked slip” and, “her spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always going—singing, laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the same.” While Heathcliff is perceived to be emotionally distant and unconcerned with the opinions of others, positive or negative - Cathy on the other hand is boisterous and people orientated. 

In the last chapter, I think everyone can agree that Nelly’s judgement of Heathcliff is rather questionable. With that in mind, I feel it’s only right to give the same careful consideration while reading her descriptions of Catherine. 

I always found this chapter to have some noteworthy descriptions of Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship. First, in this description of Joseph: 

“He was relentless in worrying him about his soul’s concerns, and about ruling his children rigidly. He encouraged him to regard Hindley as a reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long string of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding to flatter Earnshaw’s weakness by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter.”

Then we hear from Nelly:

“She was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than any of us on his account.”

And finally: 

“...she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Joseph’s religious curses into ridicule, baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most—showing how her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do her bidding in anything, and his only when it suited his own inclination.”

Nelly seems to again present Heathcliff as a bad omen - she must believe Catherine’s later demise is in part because she is too fond of Heathcliff. What else could it mean to be “much too fond of someone” unless negative consequences were being considered? In a similar vein, she says that Catherine, “got chided more than any of us on his account.” This is another subtle yet revealing remark, showing that even while they were quite young (when children are at their most petty), Catherine seems indifferent to or at least sides with Heathcliff despite her father’s favoritism. Then in the last quotation from Nelly, it becomes clear where Heathcliff’s loyalties lie, which shows that it is certainly not one sided. 

Nelly really does her utmost to paint Catherine as an awful overactive child, but I’ve never felt that she is being totally truthful. We’ll later hear Nelly give very similar (but now rosy-tinted) descriptions of her daughter. And even these descriptions are constantly tempered by Nelly in a roundabout way. Even her “insolence” is understood to be “pretended,” and “she meant no harm” in her actions. When faced with serious disapproval she is truly hurt or would try and make it up to the person. Nelly even gives multiple flattering descriptions of her, such as having the “bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish.” Both Catherine and Heathcliff are such unique characters. She’s such an embodiment of much of Emily’s poetry I think - it’s the same intangible feelings she would write about, and now given a human form. She’s oddly sage, yet wild. She encapsulates innocent naivety while also having an element of the incorporeal and a suggestion that she has some hidden knowledge. 

In this chapter we also get more of the weather symbolism that is so prevalent in the novel. The night Mr. Earnshaw dies, “A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold.” Knowing what will later happen makes this so ominous. The wind roars outside while they are comfortable and untouchable - for now. While there may be a storm outside, Mr. Earnshaw, being not an ill-meaning man,  the night he is sent out of the world is still “not cold” and he dies “quietly in his chair...seated by the fire-side,” with his presently calm and affectionate daughter and his favoured foster child by his side.

After he passes Catherine, Heathcliff, and Nelly "set up a heart-breaking cry” for Mr. Earnshaw. Later that night when Nelly returns to the house after visiting the doctor and the parson finds them in their room: 

“The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we were all there safe together.”

An intriguing end to the chapter. In part it foreshadows their later desire to be together in death, and that despite many of the negative (and sometimes outlandish) things said about them, they are indeed human. Also, I’ve sometimes thought this (and some other scenes later) mimic Emily’s poems discussing death? I’ve wondered if she imparted her own beliefs onto the characters in this way? 

@astrangechoiceoffavourites

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

So this is not actually the next part of the unedited v!Wind fic but I got the sweetest anon ask in my inbox and like, suddenly *m o t i v a t i o n,* y’know?

So have this sort-of one-shot, set in some nebulous hypothetical future of that fic. Idr if I’d brought up the possibility of Phantom traveling with the boys before (I really need to find time to reread what I’ve written), but this would be set after they'd been past that point for a while.

Nonny, I hope you enjoy <3 This one’s for you! (And the amazing @w1lmutt, of course.)

TW: cursing, bleeding and self-inflicted harm. Nothing graphic, I promise. (Also, the hero boys being stupid martyrs, but that’s practically par for the course.)

They manage to make it to camp before Phantom explodes.

"What the fuck, old man!" the boy snarls. He grabs Time by the collar and drags the taller man down to his level. Time lets him, which only serves to incite the boy further. "What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of charity case?" He spits.

Time says nothing. He doesn’t even have the decency to wince when Phantom jostles his broken arm.

"Look. At. Me!" the boy demands, punctuating each word with a small, ineffectual shake. "I am more than just another one of your failures! I make my own damn choices! I can deal with their consequences! You are not responsible for me, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Time shakes his head, still too calm to be doing their youngest’s temper any favors. He doesn’t look at Phantom like the boy’s a perfectly capable hero in his own right, and Phantom cannot stand that. "I understand that you-" the man begins.

Phantom decks him.

"That’s enough!" The others step in then, pulling them away from each other. Time, however, won’t stop looking at him like that.

Phantom rips himself away, snarling. He needs to get out of here.

He stalks off before he can do something really rash, like go for his sword.

~o0o~

"You here to lecture me?"

Phantom kicks his feet in the air from the branch he’s perched on, eerily reminiscent of the first time the heroes had met him. His eyes are dark.

"Not gonna lie, I was expecting the captain or the puppy," the boy drawls.

Four sighs. With a quick burst from his Roc’s cape, he climbs his way up to a branch nearby, settling so they’re vaguely facing each other. "You did go too far."

"Fuck off," Phantom growls, jabbing his blade at Four threateningly. “He was asking for it.”

Four eyes the blade, then its wielder. "You shouldn’t point that at someone you don’t intend to use it on. It’s a weapon, not a toy."

"If you think I’m merely playing around, then man have I got unpleasant news for you."

Four sighs. "I know being babied sucks, but watch what lines you cross," he tells the younger boy bluntly.

"Oh, shut up. What would you know?"

"Who do you think got the brunt of the group’s mother-cucco tendencies before you came along?" Four points out, dry. In the ensuing silence, he ticks off, "I'm the shortest of the lot, and sometimes that means they like to pretend I’m not mature enough to handle ‘adult things’," he makes air quotes with his fingers. "Meanwhile Hyrule regularly overextends himself, but he’s got one of the best senses of when to cut and run, so he’s better about tolerating the fretting and gets hurt less frequently than, say, the Champion. And Legend gets out of most of it by being an asshole." A pause. "Though even he has the good manners to thank someone who saved him, however roundabout the Vet might be about it."

The boy looks nearly contemplative, under the stubborn mulishness. Four lets the silence sit for a minute. Then, lightly, he tacks on, “Though if you’re trying to pull a Legend to get out of being fussed over, I should warn you: that ship has long sailed for you.”

Phantom stares at him with that fantastic pissy face he makes sometimes. “Was that a boat joke,” he deadpans. Four grins at him, quick and impish, and the boy rewards him with a groan. "The sailor puns are getting really old."

"You're not the one who gets to decide that," Four giggles. Then, "Feeling better? Ready to face the music?"

"Absolutely not." But the kid climbs out of the tree anyway, no threats or violence necessary. Four will count it as a win.

~o0o~

Back at camp, Phantom marches up to Time. With everyone else not-so-discretely looking on, he makes a show of leaving his sword out of easy reach and points at the ground.

“Sit,” he orders, as though the armored hero were a very large dog.

Time stares down at him. “If you mean to hit me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he says wryly. Phantom scowls.

“Sit, you big lug. I know a spell for that arm of yours, and I’m not doing it with you standing over me. You’re too tall.”

Time lowers himself to the ground obligingly, even as he prods, “A spell, hmm? What exactly does it do?”

Phantom, somewhat alarmingly, snaps his fangs over his fingertips hard enough to draw blood. “It’s not quite a healing spell, but it’ll get rid of that shiner I gave you, and probably patch up your arm too. Gonna use your magic to do it, though.” He lifts bloody fingers to his own face, dabbing marks on his skin with a hesitance that speaks of relying on borrowed memories, before pausing. “Close your eyes, old man. I’m not teaching you this spell, you’re an idiot who’ll misuse it.”

“So pushy today.” Time closes his one eye, reluctant but confident that the others will stop the boy from attacking him if it comes down to it. “I don’t see what the problem is. It sounds useful; it’d be good to take some of the burden of healing off Hyrule.”

“You would think that,” the boy huffs, right before wet fingers brush at his cheek. Time twitches away with a faint grimace.

“Are you bleeding on me now,” he asks, plaintive. Phantom huffs.

“Don’t be a baby; it’ll flake right off. Quit moving.”

The man exhales slowly, obviously uncomfortable. But despite his suspicions and reservations, Time doesn’t move and he doesn’t ask. He merely lets the boy do as likes, lets him keep his secrets. This, Phantom knows, is Time’s own kind of apology.

He’s not above taking advantage of that.

The former villain dots a final smear under the hero’s eye, then immediately presses his wide sleeve over his work, obscuring the design from the curious eyes of their audience.

“I’m starting it now,” he warns.

Time feels a tug on his magic—much smaller than he was expecting. A song on his Ocarina might cost him the same amount. The pain in his eye and then his arm ebbs away, pulled somewhere by the spell, and the dampness on his face ashes off right off, as promised. Time raises a hand to scratch at the lingering itch even as he opens his eyes.

“I still don’t see why-” he begins. Stops.

Phantom turns away swiftly, but the boy is standing too close to hope to hide the bruising on his face. Bruising he did not have before.

Time seizes the boy by the arm before he can flee. He drops that arm just as quickly when Phantom yelps in pain, registering too late that it’s the same arm Time himself had just had broken—had just had healed.

“What have you done,” he hears himself ask, even though he already knows.

Phantom rocks back on his heels, trying for nonchalance and failing badly at it. “This isn’t something I plan to do often,” he huffs, refusing to look Time—or anyone—in the eye. Time clenches his jaw hard enough for his teeth to creak. “You can suffer from your own mistakes. But if you’re gonna take a blow meant for me, again-”

“This isn’t happening again,” Time cuts in, cold down to his bones. He needs to nip this in the bud, right now, or it'll only get worse as their battles grow harsher. “I forbid it.”

Phantom gets a mulish look on his face. Time feels his horror mount as the younger hero growls, “Just try and stop me.”

Time grabs the kid by the shoulder—the uninjured one this time. What does he need to do to make the boy see sense? “Do not use that spell again, Phantom.”

“Let go of me,” Phantom snarls, futilely trying to claw his way out of the older man’s grip. Unfortunately, Time doesn’t think he could make his own fingers loosen if he tried. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Don't pretend you wouldn't do the exact same thing if literally anyone got so much as a scratch on them."

"That's-" different, he almost says, but he recognizes that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say right now. He deflates ever so slightly, just enough for Phantom to rip himself free and start rubbing at his arm, shaking faintly. A distant part of himself remembers the boy's issues with touch guiltily. "What made you think that was remotely acceptable? Why do you even know a spell like that?" He demands, side-stepping the accusation with what little grace he can scrounge up in his rattled state.

In his own display of blatantly dodging around a topic, Phantom looks away and snaps, "Gee, I wonder why Ganondorf would possibly know a spell that let him pass off wounds to hapless victims. Such a mystery for the ages."

The silence is deafening. Too late, Phantom snaps his mouth shut, realizing he's said too much.

"Are you saying you used a fucking torture spell on yourself-" someone begins.

"Why in the world would you even-?"

"Are you actually out of your mind-!?"

"When I said 'thank him' this is not what I meant-!"

"We're not all this bad, are we? It's just the two of them?" Warriors groans loudly, looking pained. At his words, Twilight whips around just in time to catch sight of the terrifyingly thoughtful look on Wild's face.

"Cub, don't you even think about it-!"

"ENOUGH!"

The bellow comes from, surprisingly, Hyrule. The boy scowls at them all disapprovingly.

"Wild, dinner's burning," he starts, very evenly. The aforementioned hero takes the chance to duck his mentor's fretful clutches, scampering over to the fire.

"Phantom, congratulations, your arm's broken," the wandering hero continues, voice more than dry enough to make up for his homeland's lack of a Gerudo desert. "That means I'll be working on you instead of our leader. Do not-" he interrupts preemptively, jabbing a finger forward and speaking over the boy's attempts to protest. "Just. Don't. We're out of potions, and that means I look over everyone that gets hurt. I'd be looking at that arm if you'd gotten your injury naturally. I'd be looking over Time right now if you'd been a bit less hasty with your ritual. And I think we'd all prefer it if you didn't use that spell again, or teach anyone how to do it."

A glance around the clearing reveals a show of nods, no one disputing Hyrule's words.

Phantom tries to cross his arms before dropping them with a wince. "You can't actually stop me," he sulks at them all. The pout really brings out the bruising on his face.

"It would be hard to, yeah," Sky agrees, soothing. "But it should be fine if there's no need for you to use it, right? Because Time," he shoots a Look at their stoic leader, "isn't going to do something reckless like throw himself in front of a monster with no shield again, right?"

Time grimaces faintly. "I'll try," he promises, which—from the looks on his companions' faces—isn't nearly good enough. But they all recognize that it's entirely honest, and the best they're going to get out of him tonight.

So ends the incident; they let the matter lie there, awkward and ignorable, and move onward with their evening.

OMAKE:

Phantom corners Twilight during his watch shift.

"Tell me you have blackmail on that idiot," he hisses. His request comes out like an order.

There's no need for their youngest to clarify who he means. The rancher pats the kid on the head, just once, like he thinks Phantom's cute but also knows he bites. "I'm not giving you blackmail on Time," he replies cheerfully. The younger hero has far too much influence on the man already. "You'll use it for evil, which I'm afraid goes against my personal code of honor. So sorry."

Phantom narrows his eyes, letting the needling slide entirely. "So you do have dirt on him," he divines.

Twilight rolls his eyes. "Leave him alone, brat. Do we need to have this talk again? Quit tormenting him."

"I'm not. Blackmailing him into self-care will only be good for him, promise."

"You can't honestly think that'll work." A pause. "Or that we haven't tried it already. It doesn't work."

"Bet you I could do it." Phantom's eyes have that disturbingly obsessive gleam in them again. "Bet you I've thought of something you haven't."

"Uh huh. And what would that be."

"All have to do is threaten to snitch on him." The boy's grin widens mischievously. "To you."

"..."

"Come on, think of it," the sailor wheedles. "He hates you fusing over him. It's why you never give me those don't-touch-my-almost-dad talks while he's still in earshot, yeah?"

Twilight's face does a funny little twitch.

"I know it, you know it, and I'd bet good money the others know it too," Phantom presses on. "How much more self-preservation do you think we could squeeze out of him if we pretend that the alternative is me giving you more reasons to shoot him worried looks all day and do that hovering thing you like to do?"

The older hero appears to consider this seriously for a long, long moment. Phantom leans in, eyes wide and imploring.

"...Nope. Still not telling you anything." Twilight tries to keep his face stern, even as a traitorous twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You're not going to trick free blackmail out of me that easily."

The boy deflates. "Screw you," he grumbles. "It would've worked. I know it would've worked."

Twilight ruffles the grumpy kid's hair. "It was a nice try," he offers, and accepts the kick to the knee he gets in return as his due.

(In his bedroll across the clearing, pretending to be asleep, Time feels something tight and anxious in his chest finally begin to relax. He's nearly giddy with the sheer relief of his epiphany.

That's how he'll keep Phantom from pulling stunts this stupid again. Tell Tetra.)