#he wouldn’t even try he’d just brood from a distance and try to convince himself it’s for the better

[starlightandmagic]

Listen, LISTEN, what makes Kanej such a compelling and unique ship is that they IN FACT don’t need skin on skin contact to love each other. They don’t need what other couples have to feel how they feel or to show their affection for each other. They have so much trauma and issues they have to deal with but that does not stop them from being willing to try to be together despite their struggles. They can barely hold hands but that does not erase the yearning and the love and devotion they so clearly feel for the other.

Kaz is willing to try to put himself together for her. He shows he cares by giving her everything she ever wanted: her freedom and her parents and a ship to hunt slavers.

And Inej canonically states she doesn’t think she could ever have a normal relationship with anybody else, she doesn’t want that, she’s not made for that life. What she wants is Kaz being willing to try to open up for her. The “I will have you without armor” is not about her wanting him to remove his gloves for her and give her physical affection. SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IF SHE COULD EVEN HANDLE THAT.

What she wants is Kaz being willing to try for her. If she was going to make herself vulnerable and open her heart to a relationship with him she needs him to meet her in the middle. She knows what she deserves and she was not going to try if Kaz was going to give her nothing but his usual emotionally repressed self.

That’s it. It’s not about skin on skin contact, it’s not about Inej needing a man without trauma to fulfill physical needs she cannot even handle just yet because she was the victim of human trafficking and repeated SA in the Menagerie. And I DESPISE the writers for completely erasing that aspect and daring to imply something between Inej and Tolya. Tolya who canonically states he has no interest in romance, who literally says his books and his poetry are more than enough! That one writer with their stupid IG post, I swear they don’t have even the most basic understanding of these characters and what make them so unique and special. LITERALLY NO ONE ASKED FOR A LOVE TRIANGLE WHERE ITS NOT NEEDED STOP THAT SHIT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: You Fake It, You Take It

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales/You (female reader, established relationship, no kids)

Words: 2,173

Warnings: PTSD (not really described but that's what it is), talk of dubcon, PiV sex, cunnilingus.

Summary: This is basically another version of Balm. I just like to make Frankie suffer. And then have sex with his girl to relieve the pain. And then feel bad about it. What is wrong with me?

You wake up from a muffled sound next to you and for a moment, you don't understand where you are or what the sound was. Then you hear it again and Frankie moves in discomfort by your side and you realize what’s going on. Turning over to him, you put a firm hand on his shoulder, finding it clammy.

“Frankie,” you whisper, “wake up. It’s okay, baby, you’re safe.”

The nightmares are no longer frequent. Some nights they’re manageable and some… not so much. There are times when Frankie refuses to go back to sleep and instead disappears to the living-room to turn on the TV and then staring ashen-faced at the shopping channel without really seeing anything.

You hate it when it hits him like that. You can’t do anything to help him and that feeling is awful.

“Frankie,” you say again, in less of a whisper this time. “Wake up, baby.”

He jerks out of sleep, sits upright and stares into the dark of the room, breathing heavily. You let your hand go down his sweaty back and scoot closer, close enough to embrace him.

“It’s okay, I got you,” you assure him in a low voice, one hand sliding up his chest and neck – a pulsating vein in his neck tells you how fast his heart is beating – and landing on his cheek. So far, he’s been unresponsive to you but now his hand covers yours and he draws a deep breath, exhaling in a tired sigh. You sit so for a while, quiet in the dark, one of your arms around him and the hand of your other arm on his cheek, his hand over yours to keep it there. You can feel his heart slow down and start to move in rhythm with yours.

"I got you," you tell him again and press a kiss to his shoulder, when he lowers his face to yours and covers your mouth with his. The kiss is desperate, rough. He moves his hand away from yours, leaving it feeling strangely cold, and pushes you down on your back, following immediately so that the kiss doesn’t break. He cups one of your breasts with his big hand and it makes sparks run down your spine. It’s two in the morning and you’re tired, you have work in the morning, as does he. But you know so well that he needs this, that it makes him feel better, grounds him in the here and now. And his kissing and groping, enthusiastic if a little clumsy, does make your body react whether you want it to or not. You slide your hands over his chest and shoulders, pinching a nipple here and pressing your nails into skin there, while kissing him back. His mouth and lips are dry and have the beginnings of morning breath, but that doesn’t bother you. What bothers you is his pain, and that you can help him with.

Frankie breaks the kiss for a moment to pull down your top and kiss your exposed breasts, biting and sucking your nipples while sliding his hand inside your pj pants. Quite unceremoniously, he fingers you – less to give you pleasure and more to just check how wet you are – and then rubs your clit quickly before pulling down your pants. You lifts your ass and help kick the pants off, now more horny than you ought to be at two in the morning. He has that effect on you.

You help him to get rid of his boxer briefs – not that he needs much help, urgent that he is – and reach for him, bringing him in for more kissing as he slides into you. Groaning, you puts your hands on his lower back, asking him with no words to stay still for a moment. Frankie complies despite his obvious hurry, his lips on your jawline, his breath hot and fast. Having adjusted to him, you move your pelvis to signal to him to continue, and he begins to fuck you steadily and thoroughly. He locks one of your arms above your head with a firm grip of your wrist, but after a few moments his hold softens and he slips his palm over yours and intertwines your fingers. You squeeze his hand and turn your face to kiss his head when he buries his face in your neck. He’s not communicative like he usually is, asking you how you are, telling you how good you feel. This is about him, not you, and it’s okay, it’s fast and it’s dirty and you like it. Your gasping breaths mingle with his as he nails you to the mattress, and despite the minimal foreplay your nerve endings begin to gather and prepare. You whimper something encouraging to Frankie and he growls, going faster, harder. You know from how he moves and sounds that he’s close now and you just hope he’s able to go for it long enough for you to climax as well.

He does, but your orgasm is not of the explosive kind that turns you inside out and leaves you almost unconscious with the intensity of it. It’s just a warm, fuzzy feeling that fills you and makes you sufficiently relaxed. Frankie, however, is filling you up with his cum and muttering all kinds of filthy things in your ear, so you go with the flow and throw your head back, moan loudly and thrust your hips up as if ravaged by a thunderous climax. Frankie places a breathless kiss on your neck and rolls off of you, planting his broad back firmly to the mattress beside you. After having caught your breath, you scoot next to him and throw one arm over his chest.

“Feeling better?” you whisper, already overcome by sleep.

“I’m good.”

You don’t reply; you’re out like a light.

***

“You faked.”

You don’t look away from the bathroom mirror but continue to apply eyeshadow with minute strokes of the brush. Frankie stands in the doorway to the bathroom and you can see in the corner of your eye that he’s looking dark and brooding.

“What's that, baby?”

“You faked your orgasm last night.”

Dammit. You had hoped he wouldn't notice or remember your little cover-up.

“I didn’t,” you try to smooth things over. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. To make me feel better?”

“You think I care about your ego at two in the morning? I didn’t fake it, Frankie.”

“I don’t need pity sex and I don’t need you to fake orgasms when you don’t even want sex.”

He sounds angry, which is uncommon for him. You put down the brush and turn to him, perplexed. Whenever you fight - which you don't do often but it does happen - it's always you who start it. He usually tries to defuse the situation and talk it out.

He has dark bags under his eyes and a deep line between his eyebrows. You look the same but at least you can cover it up with makeup. The last thing you want is to fight at seven in the morning, but the lack of sleep makes your blood start to boil.

“Is that what you think that was? Pity sex?” you bite. “You honestly think I would let you fuck me if I didn’t want to? You don’t know me very well, do you?”

“Well enough to know that me waking you up with my nightmares doesn't exactly make you horny."

“Why are you mad at me for agreeing to sex?” You sigh and turn back towards the mirror, picking up the eyeliner. “I agreed, we fucked, we both came. I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.”

You lean over the sink to get closer to the mirror and start to line your eyes with black, hand steady and gaze focused. Not only sleep-deprived, you're also annoyed at him and even more furious at yourself. Of course you can see what’s bothering him: he’s feeling bad about waking you up in the middle of the night and fucking you. He is, after all, a good guy, one of the few. He usually keeps things to himself but when he’s vulnerable, his sensitivity bleeds all over the place. You just don't know how to handle it at the moment.

“You don’t think I know what it feels like to be inside you when you have an orgasm?” Frankie insists and for a second, you don't know whether to slap him for not letting go of the matter, or yourself for not understanding that of course he’d know that. There are few things about your body Frankie doesn’t know, especially when it comes to sex.

“Okay,” you admit, putting the eyeliner down and turning to him again. He looks more forlorn than angry now, hovering in the doorway. His bed hair doesn't help in making him look imposing. You have to smile a little as you close the small distance between him and you. Taking his hand between yours, you place a gentle kiss on his knuckles and look into his brown eyes that right now are dark and velvety. You see clearly what bothers him: he's disappointed in himself for his lack of control, and annoyed with you for not being honest.

“I exaggerated,” you confess softly. “I did cum, but I didn’t want you to feel bad so I overdid it slightly.”

Frankie stares intently at you, his jaw tense, before sighing deeply.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally says, his voice soft. “Least you could do when I wake you up with my bullshit and fuck you without checking if you’re okay with it is make me feel bad about it.”

“Baby, there's nothing for you to feel bad about," you try to convince him. "Was I passive? Was I dry? I seem to remember being none of those things. If I hadn't wanted sex, I’d have told you. You know that, right?”

Frankie looks conflicted. You can smell the frustration on him, sharp and metallic. He's still mad at himself. It makes you feel frustrated as well because you did enjoy the sex. It was... different. Frankie is usually such a selfless lover, always making sure all your needs are covered. It was exciting to have him just take what he needed - and even then, he did make sure you were wet, he didn't skip the foreplay completely.

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly, releasing his hand and putting your hands on his shoulders instead, hoping the physical contact will ease his mind. “I guess I didn’t think it was such a big deal. I didn’t mean for it to be such a big deal.”

You realize you've said the wrong thing; Frankie looks at you like he's about to start crying. God DAMN it.

“It is a big deal to me," he tells you in a low voice. "If I can't satisfy you, just be honest about it."

"You did satisfy me - " you begin, but he cuts you off with a finger over your lips.

"You don't need to overdo it. You don't need to fake it. I know you can be horny and still not be able to cum and if that happens, just tell me there ain’t gonna be no fireworks."

You nod. It was a stupid thing to do, you know that, but you got caught up in the moment and wanted to make him feel good. You're willing to give him that.

"Okay, baby. I promise, I'm not doing it again."

Still, you're not letting him off the hook.

"And will you stop beating yourself up about the whole incident?" you ask him softly, cupping his cheek, enjoying the feel of his beard against your palm. "You didn't force yourself on me, Frankie."

He hesitates for a second, then makes a gesture with his head that could be interpreted as a nod.

"What was that?" you smile, your fingers wandering to his ear and tweaking the lobe playfully. "That was not a yes."

"Okay. Yes." He returns your smile and you stand on tiptoe to reach his lips. His breath is fresh and tastes of mouthwash with a hint of coffee lingering at the back of his tongue.

"I can't stand the thought of hurting you," he mumbles into your mouth.

"I know you wouldn't hurt me."

Slowly, Frankie’s arms are wrapped around you in a soft embrace that turns rough when, without warning, you find yourself jammed between Frankie and the doorpost.

“No time,” you manage to tell him between the kisses. “Frankie, I’m gonna be late.”

“I know. Don’t care. You fake it, you take it.”

“You just made that up.”

“Damn straight I did.”

He lifts you up and takes you to bed, where your half-hearted protests cease the minute he pulls up your skirt, pulls down your panties and starts to, very confidently, eat you out. And this time, there’s no mistaking the intensity of your orgasm.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Pendent.

Written for a very lovely, very patient anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Bokuto/Reader (Haikyuu!!).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: F. Reader, Toxic Relationships, Possessive/Protective Mindsets, Co-Dependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Threats of Violence, Slight Victim Blaming.

[Part One] / [Part Three]

Unfortunately, Bokuto wasn’t very good at his keeping promises.

He tried to, for your sake. He wanted to be a good boyfriend, but he wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws. He was sure you had yours, too, even if they were difficult to find from his perspective – straddling the seat in front of yours, his head on your desk, your fingers idly combing through his hair as you worked on something, an essay or a worksheet or another boring, complicated assignment he didn’t have a chance of helping you with, despite being a year ahead of you. If it was anyone else, he might’ve whined, pouted, gotten distracted and forgot why he bothered to visit you in the first place, but he restrained himself to toying with your sleeve, to listening to the soft, mumbled curses you let out whenever you stumbled onto something you didn’t understand. He liked watching you work. He liked watching you, in general. He liked you.

He was sure he’d like you even more, if you let him take you somewhere a little more private.

Bokuto opened his mouth, ready to buy for your attention, but he was interrupted by a group of boys jeering near the ground of the classroom, girls whispering in the furthest corner, your classmates, your peers, your friends that were forced to a distance by your gentle excuses and Bokuto’s poor reputation, outside of the sport’s sector. He’d promised he wouldn’t be jealous, swore up and down he wouldn’t act like some brooding, possessive jerk, but he could still be annoyed, he was still your boyfriend. He wasn’t jealous, he was just irritated. He wasn’t pestering you because he wanted to get you alone, no, he just wanted to let you focus. He just didn’t want anyone else distracting you, not while he was there.

“(Y/n),” He drawled, earning a hum in response. It was what he expected, your dedication was one of the many things he loved about you, but part of him hated how focused you could be. How hard it was to get your attention, despite your constant reassurance. “Can’t you do this in the courtyard? I’m dyin’, over here.”

“I just need a few more minutes.” That was what you’d said five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and every five minutes since the first time he thought to ask. “If you’re bored, you could always…. I don’t know, try going to your own class?”

The jab was playful, but Bokuto still sulked, sitting up just enough to lean into your hand, letting you cup his cheek as finally, finally, your eyes shifted from the paper in front of you to him, an exasperated smile already tugging at the corners of your lips. “But then I wouldn’t be with you.” This time, he let himself be shameless about it, pressing a fleeting kiss into the heel of your palm as you flushed, averting your eyes with an unimpressed scoff. “This is your free hour, you can do anything you want! C��mon, there’s this really nice spot by the—”

This time, he was cut off entirely, but not by background noise or distant laughter or something as easily dismissed. No, it was worse than that, more unignorable – your name, shouted across the room from a boy with messy black hair, his smile a little too eager and his voice a little too grating as he called for you again, intent on getting your attention, one way or another. You didn’t seem to mind, popular enough to be used to this kind of thing, but Bokuto’s glare was reflexive, ingrained, as instinctual as he way he barred his teeth as he turned towards—

You caught him by the arm before he could stand up, before he could do anything messy and drastic, your smile never waver. That was why you were the better half. between the two of you. You were just too much of an angel to ever stand back and let someone get what they deserve. “He’s just a friend,” You explained, the clarification unnecessary, but still appreciated. “It’s not every day my boyfriend takes time out of his busy schedule to babysit me. He’s probably just trying to get under my skin.”

It was a conflicting feeling. His heart skipped a beat at the implication, at that soft, casual reminder that you were his and he was yours, but he still didn’t like the idea of someone teasing you, the idea of someone thinking they were good enough to get away with it. He scowled, but you didn’t give him the chance to complain, your fingers already digging into his bicep, urging him to listen. “Please?” You tried, your tone caught somewhere between hopeful and questioning. A queit, optimistic urging you already knew Bokuto couldn’t resist “I’ll make it up to you, but please, let it go.”

He wanted to keep his promise. He really, really wanted to be a good boyfriend.

If this meant he could be a little better, he was willing to give it a shot.

“I’ll try.”

~

He was telling the truth. He was going to try. He wanted to try.

He was just having a little trouble. It was hard to teach an old dog new tricks, even if Bokuto was desperate to learn. He just needed a little help, and luckily, Bokuto knew just who to go to when he needed help.

“It’s not like I’m tryin’ to hurt her feelings.” It was already late, the sun low in the sky and practice long-since over, but Bokuto’s pace was unhurried as he walked at Akaashi’s side, unrushed, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to care about getting home quickly. Unfortunately, Akaashi was too used to him to complain, only nodding along as Bokuto went on. “I just don’t want anyone else to hurt her feelings, either. If I back off, I gotta take that risk.”

Akaashi was quiet, for a moment, his eyes on the sidewalk. He’d known you longer than Bokuto, technically, been there for you longer than your boyfriend had, and Bokuto would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t feel a pang of resentment because of that. But, Akaashi wasn’t a threat, Akaashi wouldn’t hurt you. If Bokuto couldn’t put a little faith in him, he couldn’t put faith in anyone, and Bokuto wasn’t ready to admit that to himself, just yet. “(Y/n)’s smart,” He started, hesitantly. “If you give her room to breathe, she’ll take care of herself. She likes doing these kinds of things on her own.”

Bokuto knew that. You were shy, despite everything, too much of a sweetheart to ever burden anyone else. Somehow, the reminder did little to ease his nerves. “I can’t do that.” It just wasn’t an option. Akaashi might’ve known you longer, but Bokuto knew you better. It just wouldn’t be the same if he let something come between the two of you. It wouldn’t be good for your relationship, it wouldn’t be good for you. It wouldn’t be good for Bokuto, either, but this wasn’t about him. Or, he’d really like to convince himself it wasn’t, at least. “I mean, it took her months just to talk to me, and you should’ve seen had badly she was tremblin' when she confessed. She’s shy, like that. Poor thing couldn’t make it on her own, not without people like us.”

He glanced toward Akaashi, serving for a small smile, a confident nod, a sign of affirmation, but Akaashi wasn’t next to him, anymore. Glancing over his shoulder, Bokuto found Akaashi behind him, his neutral expression suddenly scrunched, concerned, worried. That was enough to make Bokuto stop, too, his heart tightening in his chest as he turned. “She… She’s just shy, right?” His voice came out uneven, uneasy. He trusted you, obviously. He knew you. He was just willing to admit Akaashi knew you differently. He might’ve known… different parts, things you were too timid to ever show your boyfriend. “I mean, I get that she’s popular, but… She’s gotta be shy, man. That’s why she needs me.”

It took Akaashi a second to respond – a long, painful, agonizing second. It was worse than any injury he’d ever gotten, any sprain or bruise or dislocation. It was pure, unadulterated agony, it was torture, and…

And, it was nothing compared to the way his heart broke, when Akaashi finally opened his mouth.

“There’s something you should know.”

~

Bokuto was trying. Bokuto was trying so, so, so hard.

He just didn’t know you were going to make it this difficult for him to improve.

Your parents weren’t home. They never seemed to be, not when you asked Bokuto to come over, and not when he showed up on your doorstep, less than an hour after his talk with Akaashi, his face pale and his hands shaking at his sides. Most days, it was a lucky coincidence, just another factor that proved you needed somebody like him to come along and support you, take care of you, love you. Tonight, though, it seemed like a godsend.

He didn’t bother knocking, just scrambling for the spare key you kept under the mat. In the back of his mind, he made a note to badger you about finding a better hiding spot, but that wasn’t important. If anything, your careless behavior served as an advantage, a reinforcement, another reason he was right and Akaashi wasn’t. You needed him. Both of you needed each other.

Your room was on the second floor. If you’d heard Bokuto let himself in, you didn’t bother coming to investigate, letting him drag himself up your staircase and down the hall without any unwanted attention, even if he did find himself lingering in your open doorway when he finally reached it, abruptly unable to make a sound as he took you in. You were beautiful, obviously, you always were, your uniform swapped out for an oversized hoodie, your legs folded and a laptop open on your bed, but he only got a minute to admire you before his shoulder knocked against the doorframe, drawing your attention. It was painful, having to watch you flinch back, your eyes going wide and your lips parting, but you didn’t sound afraid as you leaned towards him, moving to the edge of your bed. “Baby?” You started, startled, but not scared. Never scared. Not of your boyfriend, not of Bokuto. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Everything alright?”

He didn’t answer. His voice would’ve cracked if he tried, and it was easier to force himself to trudge forward, to trip over his own feet as he approached you, barely making it to the edge of the bed before collapsing into your arms, letting you catch him with an airy gasp. He didn’t bother trying to resist the urge to wrap his arms around your waist, to bury his face in the crook of your neck, to bring you closer and keep you closer, despite the feelings of your hands on his shoulders, feebly trying to nudge him away as your heart raced, the sound just a little too loud, just a little too telling. He tried to ignore it. He wanted to ignore it. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to deal with that, too, on top of everything else.

“C’mon, big guy,” You tried, letting out a small, nervous laugh. “It won’t get better if you don’t talk about it. What’s wrong?”

Looking back, he should’ve been more gentle about it. He should’ve thought of a better way to ask. At the moment, though, it was all he could do to open his mouth and let the words fall out. “Do you love me?”

There was a pause, a hesitation. Suddenly, the sympathy in your voice felt false, too unfaltering to really be believable. “What’re you talking about, Kotaro?”

“Akaashi told me.” You shrunk underneath him, curling into yourself, but Bokuto didn’t let you go, he couldn’t let you go. There was still a chance that Akaashi could’ve been lying, that Bokuto was going to lose his best friend rather than his girlfriend. He’d still be distraught, obviously, but it wouldn’t destroy him, not like this would. Not like this was going to, by the time he was done. “But, he didn’t tell me everything, right? Like, I know my team put you up to it, asking me out and all, but that can’t be the only reason you’re still with me. I’m not in a rut anymore, right? If you didn’t really love me, you wouldn’t still be—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “You love me, you have to love me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be doing this. You gotta love me, at least a little.”

“I don’t want to say this, Bokuto.” His surname. Something twisted in his chest, and for a second, he wondered if it’d be less painful to rip out his own heart and do the work for you. “You’re a really nice guy. You shouldn’t have to hear this from me, if you’re going to hear it from anyone.”

He could’ve laughed. He might’ve, but the noise came out cracked, jarringly stilted, too unintelligible to be recognized. Again, you moved to pull away, to shrug him off completely, but Bokuto didn’t let you. He didn’t want to. “It’s not---”

“It’s over.” You weren’t breaking up with him. You couldn’t be breaking up with him, but it sounded like you were, like you could’ve been trying to. Like you were about to do something shortsighted and cruel, and he wasn’t sure how to stop you. “Your friends noticed you couldn’t play, and they asked me to cheer you up. That’s all it was,” You explained, your tone now light, casual, borderline uncaring. Like you didn’t have a reason to be half as torn up as he was. “I wanted to help. I was going to let you down gently, but then you just got so… intense, I wasn’t sure how to get out.”

“Intense?” He pulled back willingly, if only to make his confusion obvious. “What do you mean, princess?”

A pang of discomfort flashed across your expression. Thankfully, you were kind enough not to correct him. “It’s just… You get so overbearing, sometimes. It was starting to get suffocating.” You sighed, letting yourself close your eyes. Bokuto might’ve winced, if he wasn’t already so spent. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe without having to see you take it out on someone else. It’s better, this way. We’re just not compatible.”

“You love me.” He might’ve been whispering. He might’ve been screaming. Bokuto couldn’t tell – blood was rushing past his ears, clouding his thoughts, making it impossible to hear on anything else. “You love me, just like I love you. You couldn’t have went through with this, if you didn’t. You can’t—” You winced, and Bokuto realized he was digging his nails into your sides, that he was holding you a little too tightly and you probably didn’t like that. Then again, he wasn’t sure what you liked, anymore. He couldn’t be sure you’d ever even liked him. “You need me. We need each other. You can’t just pretend you don’t because of some shitty deal.”

In your defense, you didn’t yell, you didn’t lose your temper. You just shook your head, dropping your gaze to the sheets. “Go home, Bokuto. This is better for both of us. You’ll see that, when you calm down.”

“No, no.” He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to, he needed to show you that the two of you were meant for each other, but you looked so serious, he was forced to shove the feeling down, to stave it off for another few minutes. You weren’t acting like yourself, right now. You thought you didn’t love him. “It’s fine, babe, we’ll talk it out. You just need some time to—”

You didn’t bother to soften the blow, this time. “There’s nothing to talk about. Go home.”

“No.” He was grabbing at your arms before he had a chance to hold himself back, taking you be the shoulders, trying to stop you from doing something reckless. That’s what this was — reckless. You weren’t thinking. You couldn’t be thinking, not if you were about to say something so heartless. “I just need to show you I’m—”

There was a blur of movement, a sharp crack. By the time Bokuto realized what happened, his head was turned to the side, his cheek burning where you palm collided with his skin. Reflexively, he let go of you, moving to nurse his bruised ego, and you didn’t waist time, standing and retreating to the opposite corner of your small bedroom. “Get out.” You were trying to growl. You were trying to intimidate him, you were trying to care your boyfriend. That hurt more than the slap ever could, honestly. “Get out now, before I call the fucking cops.”

It might’ve been the shock. You caught him off-guard, at his lowest, when his resolve was just thin enough to snap, and when you glared, when you looked at him like he would ever hurt you, he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t break, shattering and giving away like a thin layer of ice trying to hold something twice its weight. For whatever reason, he didn’t argue, he didn’t even look at you, keeping his eyes on the ground as he pushed himself to his feet. You were being irrational. You didn’t want him to stay, to comfort you, to help you be reasonable.

If he didn’t know better, he might’ve said you didn’t want him at all, anymore.

At least he made it outside before he collapsed, buckling under his own weight as soon as your front door shut behind him. In an instant, his vision blurred, the tightness in his chest turning into a throbbing ache, but he couldn’t seem to care. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to, not if it meant admitting everything that’d just happened was real.

It was all Bokuto could do to fish his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts blindly until he found what he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure who he planned on calling, not until his phone was already ringing, a familiar, reliable voice immediately picking up, on the other end.

“Akaashi?” His voice cracked, and distantly, he realized he was starting to cry.

“Do you have a minute? I just… I gotta tell you about something.”

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 4

Note: Some language. Also, this is a long chapter!

Aside: The chapter numbering has been altered slightly — the previous chapter is now just Chapter 3, rather than Chapter 3 Part 1.

Lestrade seemed mortified that they hadn’t even managed to preserve the scene of the crime, for his shoulders quietly slumped.

“Have you managed to deduce anything so far?” he asked Sherlock.

The detective spoke languidly.

“First off, about the man in the room…… Let’s assume he was not only dead, but also murdered. Then if we take the straightforward explanation that it’d been blood on his back, he would’ve most likely been killed using a physical weapon; I’m thinking it could be either a stab or shot wound. As for potential suspects…… An obvious one would be the other fugitive. For motive, they could’ve had a simple falling-out, or maybe he wanted to silence his accomplice for fear of his own arrest.”

The inspector brooded over his analysis.

“A stab or shot wound, hmm. If it’s the former, the attacker would’ve needed to break into the room.”

“Yep, so the most promising candidate right now’s that ‘In the middle of the chaos from the fire, the man had been sniped through the window’.”

“If that’s the case, then does it mean the fire had been an act of arson?”

“It’s highly likely. Do we have a detailed description of the room’s furnishings?”

“For that, let’s ask the officer who witnessed the scene himself.”

Lestrade made a strangely grim expression, then looked in the distance, beckoning someone to come over. But when Sherlock saw him, his jaw dropped.

“……So it’s you.”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

It was Assistant Inspector Gregson. Sherlock was lost for words; before him, Gregson scowled and crossed his arms. He had been the officer who’d stood watch outside the room when the incident occurred, and the sole witness of the murder scene.

Now that he knew that, Sherlock finally understood why the man had been acting strange earlier.

“Ohh, I see. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to face us — the criminal you arrested had been killed before your very eyes.”

Sherlock smirked, and Gregson replied in frustration.

“I-I’m keenly aware of my responsibility in this. But at any rate, as a police officer, I have no reason to feel indebted to you.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. But from what you said, that means you were the one who’d been in charge of the scene back then. Was there some reason why you chose to remain behind and stand watch?”

Gregson seemed to find it difficult to say aloud.

“……During the interrogation, a crowd had formed around the building; in order to calm them down, I’d wanted to mobilise all the officers at the scene with me. But we absolutely needed someone to keep watch over the fugitive, and I thought my personality wouldn’t be suited to placating the residents here, so I remained behind…… Though, now that I think about it, that had been a rather short-sighted judgement.”

Gregson narrowed his eyes, seemingly vexed at his own mistake, but Lestrade cut in.

“No, I think that was quite a logical decision. Moreover, to begin with, all of you were sent to such a difficult scene on my orders. So part of the blame rests with me as well.”

“N-No, you’re not at fault here, Inspector; it was all due to my carelessness.”

As Lestrade and his subordinate argued back and forth, Sherlock raised a hand to stop them.

“Sorry, but let’s talk about who’s to blame later. For now, our priority’s to share information, isn’t it?”

Annoyed at being spoken to like that by the detective he so detested, Gregson turned to face Lestrade.

“……Well then, what would you like to know, Inspector?”

“The furnishings in the room, please.”

Gregson’s gaze trailed upward as he recalled what he saw back then.

“About the interior, there wasn’t anything particularly unusual. The room was rectangular, with a small bed, a table and two chairs. As for entry points, there was a window on its north side, and the needlessly sturdy door opposite it. There wasn’t even a mirror nor a bathroom.”

Hearing that, Sherlock’s expression turned serious.

“So it was really just a place to sleep. Then, about the man who collapsed while handcuffed to the chair or something — what part of the room was he in?”

Gregson glared hatefully at him, and responded in a thorny tone.

“When I looked through the keyhole, he was on the floor right before my eyes. It was around one step away from the door. And his back — or more precisely, the area stretching from his back to somewhere around his waist — was stained the colour of blood.”

At this point, Sherlock asked a question.

“The victim’s hands were each cuffed to the chair’s armrests, right? If he’d still been in that state, I thought the chair would’ve been resting on his back.”

Furrowing his brows, Gregson crossed his arms.

“There was only so much I could see through the keyhole, so I didn’t manage to get a look at his entire body; but the chair was nowhere near his back. This is just my speculation, but I think he might’ve forcefully broken the armrests and escaped his bonds.”

“Was the chair really that shoddy?”

“……He didn’t put up much of a fight when we arrested him, so I got careless and used something close by to restrain him. On second thought, it was remiss of me to do so.”

Hearing Gregson’s reflection, Sherlock contemplated the fugitive’s exact movements.

“So that means he managed to get free of the chair, and move around the room with his hands still cuffed. In that case, wouldn’t he have made some noise? Though, the commotion from the residents back then might have drowned it out.”

“I don’t think so; even if there had been the sound of the chair breaking, I’m sure I would’ve noticed it. The problem is what happened after the fire began. Back then, I was in a panic, and both the inside and outside of the building were in such an uproar that I didn’t have the attention to notice any noises coming from the room.”

Mortified, Gregson lowered his gaze once again, but Sherlock continued in a calm voice.

“So the arrested fugitive didn’t make his move until the fire broke out. Was there anything in the room that could’ve been used as a weapon?”

“Of course, we thoroughly inspected the room before the interrogation began. From the start, that was the room the man himself had stayed in, so we searched it down to the very corners in case he had hidden anything inside. But we didn’t find anything that could’ve been used as a weapon.”

Gregson said so with certainty, but Sherlock was still not convinced.

“Obviously there were things that could’ve been used to kill or wound, now weren’t there? If he’d broken the wooden armrests, the pieces could have been fashioned into a stake. Even if he didn’t do that, he could’ve broken off wood from the floor or the wall, and created a weapon in the same way.”

“……It sounds like you’re saying he could’ve taken advantage of the commotion from the fire to commit suicide. But even if, as you suggested, he tried to kill himself with a sharp object, normally one would try to cut their neck — it’s hard to believe he would’ve stabbed himself with enough force for the weapon to pierce through his back.”

Gregson had made a reasonable argument; but even as he concurred, Sherlock put forward a different perspective.

“However, let’s say he did break off some wood from the floor or wall, and pared it into a sharp point: what if, when he was moving around, he accidentally fell onto it? It’s not clear whether it was deliberate or unintentional, but I’m thinking it was a fatal wound.”

Sherlock was still pursuing the idea that the criminal had died by his own hand. Hearing that, for a moment, Gregson forgot his animosity and pondered. Then, he shook his head in a gentle denial.

“I don’t think that’s the case either. If it were, there would’ve been some sharp object and bloodstains left in the room. But from what I saw through the keyhole, the walls and floor were clean, and there’d been nothing resembling bloodstains. There were some tiny splatters of something like blood around the body, as well as little puddles of the same substance; but in terms of noticeable bloodstains, that was all I saw.”

“——Only that? If he’d bled out enough for his back to be dyed red, there should’ve been an equivalent amount of blood splattered all around him.”

Sherlock tilted his head. Gregson also thought it strange, and knitted his brows.

“It gets stranger and stranger the more I think about it. It doesn’t seem to be the case that the weapon staunched the wound when he was stabbed…… Maybe he’s anaemic?”

“…………”

It wasn’t clear whether Gregson had been joking, or if that had been unintentional. With a thoughtful look, Sherlock kept his mouth shut.

Then Lestrade, who’d been listening attentively thus far, offered his own theory.

“From what I’ve heard, it seems this is neither a suicide nor an accident. Then what if he was just pretending to be dead? Perhaps the other fugitive had started the fire at some prearranged time. Then the man who’d been caught pretended to be dead, and waited for the officer outside to leave before escaping. Maybe he purposely collapsed in front of the door, in order to have Gregson witness it. As for the blood, he could’ve used some red paint to fake it.”

But Sherlock disputed that view.

“It’s not a bad theory, but then the question remains as to how he managed to splatter the paint in that way. Moreover, he probably wanted to escape the inn; but the other officers had secured the area around the building, right?”

Hearing that, Gregson scowled.

“I don’t like agreeing with you…… But certainly, I didn’t receive any reports that he’d left the room.”

Sherlock looked at the charred ruins of the inn.

“Then he hadn’t managed to escape, so it’s highly likely that he’s been burnt to a crisp in there. Just wondering, were there any secret passages in the room?”

Astonished, Gregson chuckled.

“No way; it’s not like this is a secret base. Besides, we checked the room thoroughly: even if there had been an escape route, we would’ve found it.”

“If we’re talking about escape routes, he could have also broken through the walls or the floor, couldn’t he?”

Gregson pondered over Lestrade’s question for a second, then shook his head gently.

“Certainly, the inn was old, and also not maintained very well: various parts of the walls and floor were decaying, and I even saw some tiny holes where they had rotted through. If we’d taken the time and effort, I think it would’ve been possible to break through them. Still, just like the chair, I’m sure I would’ve caught the sound of the walls or floorboards being stripped off — I was standing right in front of the room. Moreover, if he only started his work after I left, then he would’ve been caught in the blaze before he managed to complete his escape.”

“……I see. The fire seems to have spread pretty fast, and it would’ve been impossible for him to finish the passage right away, now wouldn’t it?” Lestrade agreed.

Then, Sherlock clapped his hands together.

“With that, we’ve eliminated the theory that he faked his death and escaped. We can’t be fully certain until the debris has been searched; but at present, by the process of elimination, there are no longer any obstacles to the theory that this is a locked-room murder, yes?”

Sherlock weaved together the various sources of information as he made that assertion, and Lestrade concurred.

“In that case, just as I’d thought, we’ll need to search for the other fugitive. But a long time has passed since the fire broke out: wouldn’t he have already escaped?”

“About that, Inspector: I have one piece of good news.”

With a proud expression, Gregson continued.

“We know that the other fugitive has burns on his face. Among the guests who evacuated the inn during the fire, there were three men with such injuries.”

“Really? ……But, couldn’t they just be regular people who got caught in the fire?”

Lestrade was doubtful. Immediately, Sherlock responded.

“Not necessarily; no one had entered or left the inn both before and after the fire, so naturally, the arsonist must’ve been inside the building……. Is that what you wanted to say, Mr Assistant Inspector?”

“……Yeah.”

Having had the role of explaining the situation stolen from him, Gregson responded blandly.

An assistant inspector who detested detectives, and the detective himself who enjoyed that antipathy. Hearing their usual exchange, Lestrade broke into a wry smile.

“In that case, we should meet the three and talk to them.”

“Of course; they’ve been gathered at a different location, so…… Hmm?”

Just as Gregson was about to show him the way, he suddenly frowned. Once again, the crowd that had amassed near the scene was starting to make a commotion.

“Oi, you shitty bobbies! There’s soot all over the place, and it’s a pain in the ass!”

“This must be all your doing, oi!”

“Don’t think you can just go home scot-free after all you’ve done here!”

Now that the fire had been put out, it seemed the locals’ anger towards the Yard had gradually been rekindled; all at once, the residents of the slums began to kick up a fuss. As foul-mouthed insults were launched from one group, a torrent of frustration exploded from another in a chain reaction — in a flash, Lestrade and the others were stranded in a storm of fury.

Their enmity had surged out of the blue, and Lestrade was clearly on edge.

“This isn’t good. We’ll have to calm them down and try to explain that we’ve been only pursuing the criminals.”

“That won't work: they were already annoyed when the Yard arrived, and then that fire broke out — it’s more than enough to make them furious.”

Sherlock calmly analysed the situation, but Gregson’s reply was steeped in frustration.

“Then what should we do? At this rate, we’ll have a real fight on our hands.”

Still, Sherlock was unruffled.

“The answer’s clear and simple: get on with it and find the real culprit. Once we reveal the actual cause of the fire, they should calm down. Our job hasn’t changed — it’s just that the time limit has morphed into something we can see.”

“……So we have until their anger reaches a boiling point?”

At once, Lestrade understood what needed to be done. He heaved one big sigh, and put on his game face once again.

“Gregson: show Holmes to the suspects. I’ll work with the others to appease the crowd. While we’re keeping a lid on the situation, I want you two to solve the case together.”

“‘Eh?’”

Both Gregson and Sherlock exclaimed in perfect harmony. Then they looked at one another; The detective lowered his gaze slightly as he thought it through, then let out a thin exhale.

“So it’s come to this.”

“Oi, I could see you giving up after thinking about a lot of things, you know.”

Gregson glared at him in disapproval. Meanwhile, Lestrade placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Alright: I’m counting on you both.”

Leaving just those reassuring words behind, he left gallantly towards the crowd. Eloquently, the inspector had entrusted the entire investigation to them, and Sherlock’s eyes were filled with resignation as he watched the man depart.

“Now this has gotten troublesome,” he mumbled.

“Hmm? Are you talking about the case? Or about the fact that we’re working together?”

“No, no, I’m talking about how this has become a rather odd ‘riddle’.”

Gregson’s ears had been sharp, but Sherlock parried his retort with diplomacy.

——“Hang in there, Sherlock!”

Having been paired up with a troublesome man, in a glum Sherlock’s mind, it felt as though John’s encouraging cheers were ringing out.

Translator’s notes

Mysteries and ‘riddles’

You might have noticed that Sherlock and Lestrade sometimes talk about ‘riddles’. The original text differentiates between 謎 and〝謎〟(notice the quotes) — the word itself means mystery/riddle, but the quoted version is used to refer to the mysteries that are (possibly) linked to the Lord of Crime. For instance, at the end of Forbidden Games (Book 2 Story 1), William also talks about the ‘riddles’ he sets for Sherlock.

I chose to translate the quoted version as ‘riddles’, since I think the word ‘mystery’ implies that the case might not have a solution; in contrast, I feel the word ’riddle’ suggests that the mystery has a solution, since it was intentionally created by William in the first place.

[stillebesat]

Meeting Virgil (5x1) -Third Time

Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Virgil Blurb: A Special Delivery Prequel. -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded. Inspiration: @book-of-charlie​ asked: What did Virgil mean by “the last 5 times?” Fic Type: STORK!AU, Winged!Remy Chapter Warnings: Implied Neglectful Parents, Implied Miscarriage Taglist in Reblog. To Catch Up: First Time Second Time

Little Lacey was going to change the world. Remy knew it from the moment the baby girl’s eyes had lit up upon seeing him and his wings. From the second she had opened her mouth and let out the most contagious laugh he’d ever heard.

Even now, as he wound his way through the golf course parking lot crowded with stalls and people waiting for the fireworks to start on the hill above them, Lacey drew smiles from everyone standing nearby with that contagious bubbling laughter as she bounced in his arms.

He’d been tempted to put her to sleep when the twin lines of green and purple he’d been following led straight into this noisy place with music blaring, kids screaming, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy thick in the air. First impressions with new parents hardly went well if the baby was screaming their head off after all, yet Lacey apparently loved the chaos surrounding them. She’d perked right up, her giggles ringing in his ear before he’d even landed.

There was no doubt. Despite her previous parents’ best attempts to treat her like a forgotten dusty doll in a china cabinet, Lacey thrived in having everyone’s attention focused on her. For being in the limelight. Yes. Remy knew she would change the world once she was older if the way everyone cooed -from the lady waiting in line with her son to get their face painted to the burly motorcycle dude that looked like he could tear your head off with his pinky- at her was any indication.

It was attention that Remy wasn’t exactly used to dealing with himself anymore. Usually his S.T.O.R.K. duties took him to places that were...quieter...more…secluded environments. One on Two situations where he could meet the new parents away from watching eyes, give them their new bundle of joy and then take off soon after their bond was established.

“Oh, isn’t she precious!” A grandmother cooed at Lacey, her hands twitching with the obvious old person urge to pinch the baby’s cheeks as she gave Remy a warm smile. “You’re one lucky fella having such a beautiful daughter!”

His stomach did a little uncomfortable flip flop at that. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken as a parent, but it always threw him off when people assumed he was capable of such a feat when growing up it had felt like everyone expected him to die before he reached twenty.

According to Larry and Dot, however, despite the years he’d spent ferrying babies around -and getting them to their parents without issue...well, major issues-- he was still quite ‘rough around the edges.’

Ha.

He’d like to see them say that when faced with the burly motorcycle dude two stalls over. He couldn’t be that rough acting anymore.

Probably.

Maybe.

Eh.

Remy shook his head, wings twitching against his back as he grinned at the woman, glad his metallic green eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. “She’s adorable alright, but I’m just watching her for a friend while they grab a bite to eat.” He tilted his head to the twin lines that led towards the other side of the food stalls beyond the lady as Lacey giggled in his ear, nuzzling her head into his shoulder.

The words flowed easily enough off his tongue, despite the bitter taste they left. Lying wasn’t really a thing with S.T.O.R.K.s hence his...technical truth. He was watching Lacey, though friend might be a bit strong of a word when he’d never met the parents before. But he was planning to grab some of those delectable chicken strips he could smell afterwards. So yah...basically the truth.

He was good at that.

Larry and Dot would visibly roll their eyes but quietly smile their approval at his ability to find and exploit loopholes.

The grandmother’s eyes grew softer as Lacey wiggled, reaching fingers grabbing onto the feathers her little hands could reach. “How sweet.” She murmured, placing a hand over her heart.

Did she mean Lacey or the fact Remy was ‘watching’ her? He sighed internally, keeping the smile in place with effort. He’d never been the greatest at interacting with old people who would ‘dear me’ and ‘oh my’ him to death if he accidentally slipped and swore in front of them.

“Mhmmm, if you’ll excuse me.” He gave her a nod, wings pressing harder against his back as he edged around her, waving one hand over his head like he was acknowledging someone in the distance and quickly vanished into the crowd, following the green and purple ribbons that would lead him to Lacey’s future family.

Still both glowing with the exact same shade of brightness. Still unknown just which one would end up with little Lacey’s shining personality in their lives.

Well. He paused as the two colored ribbons finally diverged. The Purple leading to the right to where the sun had just set. Green leading to the left to where hundreds of people were sitting, waiting for the show in the sky.

Both options meant still more people. But with the brightness being so close, he’d have to scope out both possibilities first before making a decision.

He exhaled, trying to remain relaxed as the crowd brushed by him, his wings trembling against his back. It wasn’t like anyone could see his wings so he had nothing to fear about being mobbed for his feathers. But still. The constant press of people unknowingly touching them had him on edge.

“Purple first.” He mumbled, adjusting his grip on Lacey as she sat back up, clapping her hands together with a squeal as he moved them closer to a brightly colored bouncy house. It wasn’t like the Edgelord would be here among the Good Old Rocky Mountains when he lived on the opposite side of the country, but it would be best to confirm that first.

With how quickly ‘Virge’ had vanished that night in the woods, it wouldn’t surprise him if the poor guy was still lost in the backwaters of Virginia.

No. Probably not. He seemed resourceful enough...unless he’d gotten himself captured by a Mothman colony--did they have colonies or were they more of a solitary creat--

Remy unexpectedly broke through the crowd, coming out where a line of porta-potties stood like quiet stinky sentinels in the fading light.

And there, right where the purple line ended, stood Mr. Not-a-Good-Dad himself in all his gothic glory. Wearing a black tank top that showed off his arms, artistically torn jeans, and purple dyed hair falling into his storm colored eyes.

Remy’s heart skipped a beat as he stumbled to a stop, rapidly blinking to clear his vision of this impossible mirage. “No. Fu--Freaking. Way.” He breathed, staring at Virge just as the guy reached down and picked up a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, easily balancing her on his hip like he’d done this exact action multiple times before, speaking softly to her as he brushed the tears from her wet cheeks with his thumb.

Remy swallowed, bouncing Lacey as she wiggled in his grip. Lost maybe? Had to be. He couldn’t see the bonding lines between the two of them for all that Virge looked like a Father patiently calming his distressed child.

Of course, that didn’t rule out the possibility that she was his cousin, or even a niece or some kid of a friend. He would need to get closer to the girl to know for sure if there was any connection between the two.

Remy shrugged, drawing in a steadying breath. Well. Better make his move now rather than later. “Well, Laceyloo” He said, giving the girl a wink as he moved forward. “Ready to try your luck with our resident Emo?”

Didn’t the saying go that the ‘third time's the charm’ or something? With how adorably cute she was...and with how comfortable Virge seemed with this other little girl, perhaps Lacey’s laughter would be the key to convincing Dark and Brooding to accept his obviously destined role as a Father.

One could hope.

“Hey Stranger.” He called, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as the Edgelord jumped like he’d just been electrocuted, causing the little girl to cry out and cling to him as stormy grey eyes met Remy’s metallic green ones.

Virge glowered at him even as his hands moved to soothe the girl, low words leaving his lips as she buried her head against his chest, his stormy eyes only softening as Lacey sat upright in Remy’s arms and gave him a tiny wave of her hand and a delighted giggle.

“Hey.” He said, still focused on Lacey, a myriad of conflicting expressions crossing his face.

Hook.

Remy moved a deliberately casual step closer, wings fluttering with anticipation. “Fancy meeting you here.” He made a show of looking around. “Does Mothman usually attend this sort of thing?”

Virge rolled his eyes, glancing at the girl in his arms before focusing back on Remy. “Slenderman actually.”

A what? Remy paused, glancing at the sniffling girl with a raised eyebrow. “Really?” She didn’t look like a...whatever a Slenderman was.

Another thing he’d have to go look up if these encounters with V-man were gonna continue and he kept insisting on referencing random fantasy cryptid creatures that Remy had barely heard of.

That way he would be more prepared next time.

If there was a next time.

If Lacey failed to work her magic.

Which she wouldn’t.

Because she was Lacey the Amazing and this was their lucky third encounter. So of course he wouldn’t be seeing his stubborn Emo Nightmare again.

Unfortunately.

Virge snorted. “No. She wouldn’t be considered one if I was. Lily here has lost her parents. I’m helping her find them. Right Lily?”

The child glanced up, face tear-streaked, bright brown eyes shimmering with more tears waiting to fall. “They’re gone.” She whimpered.

“And we’ll find them.” Virge assured, voice going soft. “Remember? You were telling me what your Mommy was wearing. A pretty pearl necklace right? Her favorite that you can’t yet wear?”

She sniffled, nodding. “Yah.”

Remy shook his head. Well that was a helpful description.

Not.

Still. Edgelord had shown more patience with the crying kid than most strangers would in this sort of situation. “A necklace.” He repeated. “Like you’ll be able to see that in the dark.”

Virge rolled his eyes. “It’s more help than you’re currently being, Eagle One. Plus I am listening for anyone calling her name.”

“Mhmm in this crowd? The parents would need to scream quite loud.” He took another step closer, smiling as Lily and Lacey made eye contact, the baby in his arms wiggling as Lily straightened with a “Hi you!” as she waved at Lacey. “No, It sounds like you need help from an Expert.” He said, spreading out his wings, flapping them once.

A bad decision really with how many people were around that he could have hit, though the surprised sound Virge made as he lifted a hand, taking an automatic step closer as his grey eyes darted to the people continuing by made it well worth it.

He froze as Lacey laughed, making grabby hands at his wings and Lily gasped a soft “Angel?” leaving her lips, her brown eyes growing bright with awe.

A S.T.O.R.K. But he wouldn’t begrudge the child for her confusion. Remy nodded to Lily, bouncing Lacey in his arms. “I’m here to help you Lils. We’ll find your parents.”

This close he could see easily her parent line--the same Green one he’d been following earlier ironically enough, because of course it would be the same fu-freaking line he’d followed all the way here, winding its way upwind of the porta-potties to a low hill with a couple shade trees at the top. Well, if it didn’t work out with Mr. Reluctant here, at least it appeared Lily already liked her potential new baby sister if their shared giggles and fascination with his wings was anything to go by.

Virge stared beyond Remy, watching the crowd, growing more tense the longer everyone else continued walking by without reacting. “They can’t--” He whispered.

“See them? No.” Remy folded his wings, unwilling to keep them open and exposed around so many individuals now that he’d made his point. “Betcha that’s why people don’t usually see your Mothman either.” Probably. It had to be a magic related thing. Or belief thing. A blending ability? Were S.T.O.R.K.s like Mothmen? Bigfoot? Vampi--oh, yah no….his wings pressed against his back. If it turned out Vampires and Werewolves and Mothmen were actually real only then would he have a mental breakdown over maybe being in the same category as mythical creatures. Right now. He had to focus. Find Lily’s parents. Give Lacey to the Edgelord and walla. Mission accomplished.

Virge slowly shook his head, shifting Lily against his side before he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, there's been enough credible sightings of Mothmen by people to discount that theory.” He said, shrugging one shoulder. “It may explain why, when people talk about their encounters with Angels, that they rarely mention them with wings though.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Not an Angel, V-man. I already told you. I’m a--”

“Stork. Yes. But are you sure that’s not a type of Angel?” He asked, eyes gleaming in the faint light given by the lamp posts. “You bring babies to parents who want children right? You’re willing to help me find this girl’s parents. Therefore a Stork could be a subset of Guardian Angels.”

Huh.

“...You been thinking on this alot?” Remy asked faintly.

Which One. It shouldn’t thrill him that Gothica incarnate was thinking about him. And Two. Questioning his so-called ‘Angelhood’ was definitely not going to keep him up all night regardless of how this encounter ended. An Angel? HIM?! Ha. Larry and Dot would have a conniption that their troubled ward was considered some sort of goodie two shoes Guardian Angel.

Maybe.

Else Larry would tear up, crush him in a hug, and start blubbering Dadisms of ‘being so proud’ and Dot would pat him firmly on the back and say “about time.” It was hard to tell which they’d go most days.

Remy shook his head, raising a finger and jabbing it in Edgelord’s direction. “You.” He said. “Are distracting me from helping Lily” and Lacey “find her parents. Shame. On. You.” He spread a wing towards the girl in Virge’s arms. She immediately perked up, a shy smile on her lips as she reached out to touch his feathers.

Laughter danced in Virge’s eyes as tilted his head, purple tipped bangs falling in front of them, shadowing their grey color further as he maintained eye contact, not at all distracted by the wing inches from his arm. “Oh? Then tell me, O Mighty Stork, how can you find her parents?”

“Same way I keep finding you.” Remy said with a smirk, heart fluttering in anticipation as Popsicle blanched. So close. “Not that you can see it.” He pointed to the ground where the purple ribbon still shown between Virge and Lacey and then over to the green one that also streaked from her to run parallel to Lily’s line that would lead them to her parents. “But all children have a connection between them and their parents or guardians that we,” he gestured to himself, “can see.”

Virge licked his lips, glancing to Lacey, then to the ground, his arm tightening protectively around Lily. “And Lily’s parents are?”

“Right up that hill.” He said without hesitation, pointing to where the green line led. “I can’t see who it ends at, but they are over there. I can easily reunite Lily with them, if you don’t mind holding little Lacey here for me in the meantime.” He said, his wings rising and mantling around them to block Virge’s view of anyone else as he held out the baby for him to take.

Lacey automatically reached out to her potential new Dad, making grabby hands along with a soft cooing sound demanding to be held.

Line.

Virge reached out, arm already curving to take the baby from him, only to hesitate at the last second, grey eyes flickering with shadows as he met Remy’s green ones. “That first time. When you broke into my place. You said…” He licked his lips, hand trembling as he pulled it back to hold onto Lily. “I would only have to ‘hold her and see.’ What did you mean by that?”

….Smart Fish.

Remy exhaled, shaking his head. Sinker totally sunk. Suspicious Nancy here just had to remember some off hand comment he’d made ages ago and question it.

It was times like this that he wished he could Lie to potential parents. It would make his job so much easier. But at the same time, he knew all too well that starting out a budding connection with lies would mean a crumbling family foundation later on. Best to stick to the truth to give the child the best connection with their new parents from the start.

Remy pulled Lacey back into a more steady position against his chest, soothing her disgruntled sounds as she still tried to reach out to the Emo--or maybe it was Lily she was reaching for? The other little girl was bouncing in Virge’s arms hard enough to be a workout as she stretched towards Remy.

Probably a good idea to not have those two touch just yet. He wanted to try and make the bond with Virge work first before allowing Lacey to complete the bond with Lily’s family. He shifted to keep the two out of reach from each other before speaking to Virge. “A parental bond is only established with a child in the custody of a S.T.O.R.K. when said child is touched or held by the new parent. It’s a love at first contact sort of thing.” He said, not at all surprised when the reluctant Emo took two quick steps back away from him.

Stubborn. Why was he so stubborn about this?! Shouldn’t him showing up Three Fuc--Freaking times be clear enough indication that PopStar here was meant to be a Father?!

“So~. If I were to hold Lacey for you while you helped Lily--’” Virge asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I would have killed two birds with one stone.” He said simply. “Lily would return to her parents and Lacey here would have bonded with you and you’d be her new Dad.”

Virge growled at that, eyes flashing as his shoulders hunched high enough to nearly touch his ears. “I told you before that I’m not a good Dad.” He hissed. “And yet you just tried to trick me into--”

Well most people weren’t this stupidly resistant to becoming a parent.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Ah Huh. For some reason, LolliPop.” He gestured to Lily still comfortably resting in his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Virgil bared his teeth, arms tightening protectively around the girl. “This is different. She’s lost! I’m not going to leave her to wander around here all alone!”

“And Lacey is different how?” Remy retorted. “She is lost, looking for a new Dad, and walla you’re here to save the bloody day!”

Virgil shook his head, taking two more steps back, nearly hitting the nearest porta-pottie. “NO.”

And just like that the Purple line fizzled, growing hazy to Remy’s sight as the Green line took on an even brighter glow.

Remy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jiminy Crickets! And he’d had such high hopes that Lacey would be the breakthrough to Virge’s reluctance in joining the Fatherhood Club. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be, you fuc--freaking scaredy cat!” Not that he had any personal experience in it, but he’d seen it. Seen how happy the men were to become fathers once the bond was established. “I don’t make mistakes in this. You’d be an excellent Dad no matter your doubts. I wouldn’t be here talking to you otherwise!”

“You don’t know that!!” Virgil retorted, a tint of panic to his voice. “You can’t! How can I believe some guy showing up with a random baby in his arms--you could have kidnapped her for all I--”

“You’ve seen my wings.” Remy interrupted, spreading them out and flapping them for emphasis. “Obviously I’m not exactly some guy. I don’t kidnap babies. I rescue them from bad situations and take them to better ones. That’s what a S.T.O.R.K. does!”

“I can’t--”

“You’ll have to at some point.” Remy snapped. “I’m going to keep coming to you until you do. You do realize that right? You’re marked for Fatherhood and if it’s not me that can get that through your thick skull it will be a different S.T.O.R.K. who does.”

Virge violently shook his head. “No. I’m not--”

“A good Dad. I know. I’ve heard.” Remy rolled his eyes, snapping his wings shut as he turned away to follow the green line, adjusting as Lacey twisted in his arms trying to look behind them. “I still don’t believe you.” But it was obvious by how the purple line had faded to nearly nothing that Lacey wouldn’t end up as the Edgelord’s kid.

A pity. The dude could use some serious laughter in his life. Bright and bubbly like little Lacey’s. Too bad he was apparently immune to her charm.

“...Where are you going?”

Remy fought back the urge to snarl. “To take Lacey here to her next best option, which funnily enough is Lily’s parents so are you coming with me to reunite them or not?” At least he already knew that Lily would get along with Lacey. One hurdle gone in that regard.

Virge made a noise of surprise. “They lost their child and you’re taking another to them---”

“Mistakes happen.” Remy said shortly, glancing over his shoulder. “No one can be the perfect parent 24/7. It’s impossible. You get distracted at the wrong moment and walla your child has slipped away. Or you think someone else is watching them while they think you’re watching them and no one questions why they haven’t seen the kid recently. it---her parent line is still bright, Virge.” He looked away as Mr. Reluctant caught up and fell in step with him. “They aren’t horrible bad people just because they lost her tonight. They love her. No doubt about it.”

And if Cynical Gothica was so concerned about them and their parenting skills then he should have said YES to being the Dad to Lacey before his purple line had fizzled out!

Virge ducked his head, shoulders hunching as he brushed Lily’s hair out of her eyes. “...Okay.” He mumbled a dozen steps later. “But what if they--they loved--love her, but…but did something---what if something happened to hurt her? Badly? And they couldn’t--what if it’s not fix--fixable? What then? Would you really--”

Remy stopped just short of cresting the hill, wings prickling, goosebumps on his arms sending a chill through him as he turned back to Virge. This. He could sense. Was important.

“Mistakes happen, V.” He repeated in a softer tone. “Whatever mistake you think you’ve made that you think disqualifies you from ever becoming a Father…” He stretched out a wing, brushing the Emo’s cheek, causing him to look up, eyes so soft and vulnerable that it made Remy’s chest ache. “It’s not an unforgivable one. Again. I wouldn’t be here if it were.”

People changed. People could become better than they were. Whatever had happened in the Edgelord’s past wasn’t a deal breaker to the S.T.O.R.K.s. The three times he’d shown up in his presence had to be some sort of proof. He’d never heard of someone refusing parenthood before, but the fact that Remy kept returning, the fact that Virge kept coming up as an option in the first place, had to mean something.

V bit his lip, eyes troubled as he looked to Lacey then back to Remy, the purple ribbon connecting the two flickering like a sputtering candle. “I’m not--” He whispered.

Remy let out a slow breath, well aware that his wing was still touching his cheek, but unwilling to pull away just yet. “It’s something to think on, Virge O’Doom.” He said, voice still soft. “Once is a Chance, Twice a Coincidence, Thrice? It’s a Pattern. It’s just a matter of deciding if you’re ready when I come back a Fourth time.”

As much as he wanted to convince him and make it to work between Lacey and the Emo...the line had already fuzzed once. He didn’t want Virge to have any doubts in this.

“LILY?!” A shrill woman’s voice suddenly rang through the air, breaking the tension between them like a snapped wire. “LILY WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“LILYLOO?” A man called out, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “Lily?! Has anyone seen my daughter?!”

Remy smirked, pulling his wing back and raising an eyebrow to Virge as Lily jerked upright at her name, nearly pulling free from his grip in the process. “See? Not bad parents.”

Virge drew in a visibly shaky breath, his arms tightening around the little girl. “Right.”

“MOMMY!” Lily cried, wiggling to get free. “DADDY!”

“We got her!” Remy called, using his wing to push Mr. Reluctant forward up the hill, pitching his voice so it would carry to the frantic parents. “Over here!” He raised his free hand, waving to draw their attention as he moved his other wing to cover Lacey, hiding her from their view for now.

“Oh, Lily!” Her mother rushed forward wild curly hair streaming behind her like a banner, pulling her free from Virge’s grip with little effort to smother her with kisses. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Lily wrapped her arms around her Mother, burying her head against her chest. “Sorry Momma,” She whimpered.

“Where was she?” Her father asked, hovering anxiously behind his wife. His fingers running through his daughter’s hair.

“By the bathrooms.” Virge said, shuffling awkwardly in place. “She was crying, so we---” He gestured to Remy and himself. “Were helping her find you.”

We? Nope nope. “Pretty sure that was all you.” Remy muttered under his breath, shifting as Lacey wiggled in his grip, trying to peer out from around his wing. He would have never been aware of the girl’s situation if Castlevania hadn’t taken the initiative. His job usually involved helping unloved kids. Not loved ones. Even if they were lost.

“Lily,” Her mother scolded in a soft tone, lifting up her chin. “You know you need one of us to go with you.”

The girl sniffed, eyes welling with tears. “But I’m a big girl! I can go by myself! I’m no baby.”

Grief flashed across the Mom’s face, one hand dropping to her stomach before quickly rising back to cradle the back of Lily’s head.

Ah. Remy straightened, light green dust swirling at his fingertips as recognition flashed through him. He’d seen that particular look hundreds of times before from mothers who’d lost a babe in the womb. He’d bet his sunglasses that the baby would have been the same age as little Lacey here had they survived to full term, hence why the line was so bright. Lacey could easily slip into the family like she’d always been a part of them.

“That may be.” Her husband said, taking the opportunity to pull Lily into his arms, squeezing her tight as he gave his wife a concerned look, his own eyes showing a hint of grief as well. “But you know how your mother worries about you.”

“So much, baby girl. So much. If I lost you too-” Her voice hitched as she abruptly cut off, bowing her head, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“But you didn’t.” Remy said soothingly as he moved closer to the family, fingers of his free hand twisting to scatter green dust around them so that any nosy viewers would stop paying attention now that the little family reunion was complete. “Everyone is safe and sound. No harm done.” He pulled back his wing back to reveal baby Lacey, purposely brushing his feathers along her neck, causing her to break into soft laughter, twisting in his arms from the tickling sensation.

The Mother looked up at the sound, mouth dropping open. “Oh.” She breathed, clasping her hands over her heart, eyes shimmering as she stared at Lacey. “She’s--”

“Cute right?” Remy asked, holding her out in an unspoken invitation to hold her.

Unlike Virge, the Scrooge of Fatherhood, hovering beside him, she didn’t hesitate. She reached out to gently take Lacey into her arms, a hidden weight vanishing from her shoulders as Lacey giggled, nuzzling her face against the Mother’s neck, tiny fingers gripping onto her shirt.

“She’s absolutely precious.” She murmured, pressing a kiss into her thick hair. “What’s her name?”

“Lacey.” Remy said simply, the tip of his wing stretching out to push the Father and Lily closer to them.

“Lacey.” The Father repeated, moving to her side, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched his wife slowly rock the baby back and forth. “An L name.” He reached out, running a hand down Lacey’s back, causing the green line in Remy’s sight to flash twice indicating the parental bond had been accepted. “Just like Lily’s.”

Perfect. Remy exhaled, snapping out his wing to block Virge just as he tried to interrupt the moment.

Idiot.

Remy grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away as his wings fluttered, sending more light green sparks swirling away to settle around the newly expanded family, ensuring that Lacey would be able to bond with them in peace without further interruption.

Virge struggled, twisting in Remy’s grip, unable to break free as the first set of fireworks burst in the sky overhead. “That’s it?! You can’t seriously just--”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Can. Did. Bought the T-Shirt.” Or food. Could he still get his chicken strips if the fireworks had already started? Probably not. That was disappointing.

“Seriously?! You can’t just drop off a baby and leave!”

Funny. Remy pulled them to a stop at the bottom of the hill, mantling his wings so that Virge stood in his shadow. “I’m a S.T.O.R.K., Grimm Reaper. You do remember what that means right? Leaving babies on doorsteps is kinda the whole jig.”

Virge bristled, not at all intimidated. “But you just left her!”

Must be all those Mothman encounters. Remy crossed his arms. “In good hands, Virgeroo. Not all parents need me to stick around once I give them a child.” Thankfully. He hated dealing with the ones who had a million and six impossible questions they wanted answered. But he wasn’t actually going to leave little Lacey there just like that. What sort of S.T.O.R.K. would he be to literally just dump a child in a lady’s arms and leave?

He’d double back around to check in once he was sure Virge wouldn’t go try to find them and ruin everything.

“But!”

“No.”

EmoDramatic threw up his hands. “How will they explain this though? Going to a fireworks show with one child and coming home with two!”

Remy spread his arms, wiggling his fingers. “Maaagiic~.” He smirked, snapping his wings shut. “They can explain it however they want.” The bond would ensure that whatever reason they gave for suddenly having another child, it would be believed by those who heard it. “It’s not your concern.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, brushing past him.

Not until Mr. Not-a-Good-Dad accepted his fate at least. And who knew when that would happen. Would his curiosity help spur him into taking that final step?

Virge whirled with him, fingers brushing his wing before landing on his arm, sending a shiver down Remy’s spine. “I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t, LolliPop.” Remy shrugged free from his grip, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Not until you say yes to Dadhood. That’s another thing you can think on until I see you next.” He gave his Edgelord a two fingered salute as he jumped into the air, shimmering dust whirling around him helping him to vanish from view as a series of green and purple fireworks exploded overhead.

To Be Continued.

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Sharing Her Attentions - 1/1

Summary: When Anthony married Kate he didn't realize he'd be sharing her attentions with her pet corgi.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1901

A/N: The prompt Jealousy for KatexAnthony Week

Anthony never considered himself a jealous man.

After all the root of jealousy is the fear of losing something precious to you. And Anthony had intentionally led a life where beyond his family he didn't hold such connections with anyone.

In particular when it came to the women in his life. Most of his dalliances had been done in secret and never in the confines of his home. He drew firm lines over certain parts of his life that he never let anyone cross.

Then Kate entered into his life like a force of nature.

In short time Kate had broken through his carefully crafted defences. Being with Kate meant opening his heart and he surprisingly found himself more than willing to do so. For a man who convinced himself he didn't need anyone he quickly realized he couldn't live without her after a few short months of marriage. He had no doubts in his mind that they loved each other to distraction.

Luckily for them jealousy never factored heavily in their relationship. No one could ever compare to Kate in him, and he had a great deal of confidence no man lingered in Kate's heart or thoughts the way he did.

With one exception that Anthony had to deal with on a daily basis.

His wife's rather rotund and enthusiastic corgi.

With a scowl furrowing his brow Anthony lowered his newspaper to glance across the room.

His wife sitting on a settee opposite from him barely looked in his direction. Her entire attentions were focused on the porgy corgi sitting beside her. Kate had recently taught that insufferable mongrel how to do a couple of tricks that she never seemed to grow sick of. Anthony was too proud to admit out loud that his chest clenched at the sight of Kate's beaming smile or delighted laughter every time that dog raised a paw or barked on command. But not too proud to silently stew in annoyance while watching them.

His ire only growing since he forgo joining his parliament colleagues at White's to go home to his wife. On most days Anthony much preferred being with Kate then anyone else. In the early days of their marriage Anthony had foolishly avoided his wife in the hopes to suppress any feelings he could have for her. Now months after she recovered from the carriage crash and their true feelings confessed Anthony had every intention of making up for lost time.

Or he would if Kate would stop playing with that blasted mongrel.

“Anthony? Is everything well?”

Kate's voice broke his brooding and brought his attention back to her. He could see the amusement in her dark eyes. A smile pulling at her lips while she absent mindedly petted Newton between his ears. At least she was finally focusing on him again.

“Its nothing,” Anthony glanced at Newton in distaste. “Should the dog be sitting on the settee?”

Kate rolled her eyes but still coaxed Newton off the settee and back on the floor.

“Are you ever going to warm up to Newton?” Kate playfully scowled at him. “I didn't realize you disliked dogs so much.”

Anthony didn't have anything against dogs. Back in his youth when his family spent most of the year at Aubrey hall they always had several dogs. In truth he rarely came across a dog he didn't like. Even the tiny balls of fluff that older ladies of the Ton often had sitting his their laps with bows tied in their fur.

Newton however Anthony struggled to connect with.

From the first day he knew Newton would be an agent of chaos. Because of this dog Anthony had once ran across the length of a park and ended up knee deep in the serpentine. He also hadn't completely absolved Newton's role in the carriage crash that caused Kate to break her leg. The moment Kate brought the dog to their newlywed home Newton had become a terror in the house.

For such a relatively small dog Newton caused a lot of problems. From tearing down curtains, eating half of the meat pie that had been cooling on the window sill, and in general pouncing and jumping on the servants as they went about their duties. Anthony knew for fact that his butler had murderous designs on Newton.

But for Anthony the difficult part of living with Newton is them having to share Kate's attentions.

On more than one occasion Anthony couldn't cuddle close to Kate in their bed because Newton already beat him to it. Or the times Anthony came home in the afternoon hoping to spend time with Kate only to find out she had taken Newton out for a walk. Or when Anthony and Kate were engaged in conversation only to be interrupted by Newton toddling over and distracting Kate every time. All Anthony could do is sit there scowling as Kate cooed and petted the blasted beast.

Anthony would never say he was jealous of the mongrel. He had far too much dignity for that.

“No I don't hate dogs,” Anthony he argued before bringing his newspaper back up again.

“You're impossible,” Kate groused but lucky for him he could detect a note of fondness in her voice.

From behind his paper Anthony could hear Kate getting up and walking over to the tea service to make herself another cup of tea. Which would mean Anthony wouldn't be able to coax her into sitting in the chair with him if she had a cup of tea in hand.

“Kate?” Anthony peered over the paper to where Kate had just finished adding sugar to her tea. “Can you come here for a moment?”

Immediately Kate's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion but she put down the tea cup to walk towards him. Anthony took the moment to take in and appreciate his wife. She wore a simple light lavender dress that contrasted beautifully against her brown skin. Her thick, curly black hair had had been pulled up in a bun but tendrils curled gently around her face.

The minute she drew close enough Anthony reached out to grab her.

“Anthony!” Kate called out as she felt herself be tugged down.

Anthony couldn't help but grin in satisfaction when his wife landed in his lap. He took a moment to savour having her close to him. The warmth of her body seeping into his own. His senses becoming overwhelmed by the scent of soap and lilies. His hand drifting over the soft curves of her body.

A big part of him debated standing up with her gathered in his arms to take her upstairs to their room. Not the first time Anthony had found a way to steal his wife away to their quarters to have his way with her in the middle of the afternoon. He couldn't deny that his desire for his wife made it difficult for him to wait until evening to be with her. Especially when she looked this stunning in the afternoon light.

“You're ridiculous,” Kate huffed but Anthony made a note she made no move to get off his lap.

“Don't deny you love it,” Anthony smirked as his finger gripped her chin to pull her into a kiss.

Kate further melted against him. Her hands moving up to grip the lapels of his jacket to keep his close. His one hand gently brushed up her back causing a shiver through her body and a soft moan.

Anthony quickly became lost in his wife. The whole world fading away to nothing until all her could feel, and taste, and hear was Kate.

Except in the distance he could hear the familiar sound of paws scraping against hard wood floor and a high pitch excited bark. Anthony already knew what would happen next, Newton with surprising agility would jump into their lap and interrupt them. And he would not allow that to happen.

Anthony quickly pull away from Kate and with his most firmest Viscount voice called out to Newton.

“Dog no, sit down!”

Kate winced sympathetically as Newton skidded to a halt then plop his big bottom back on the ground. His big brown eyes gazed sadly up at the two of them, his fluffy ears flat against his head.

A low and sad whine emitted from him that even pulled at Anthony's heart strings.

Normally at this point Kate would have given in and let Newton do or have whatever he wanted. She couldn't deny she had a soft hand when it came to Newton.

Anthony on the other hand completely disagreed. He never hesitated to say to her how badly Newton behaved. Once they started living together Anthony had then taken it upon himself to try 'correct' Newton when possible.

One thing Anthony refused to budge on is letting Newton join in when they were cuddling.

“Anthony just this once let him come up,” For good measure Kate ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. She learned very quickly that Anthony melted when she did that, especially when she lightly dragged her fingernails across his scalp.

“Absolutely not,” Anthony held firm, his arms tightening around her. “He's had his time with you now its my turn.”

Kate taken aback at those words took a moment to process them. As she did Anthony watched the puzzled expression on Kate's face turn into one of self satisfied amusement.

“Why Anthony are you jealous...” Kate leaned in closer smirking a little. “Of our dog?”

“No, that's complete nonsense.” Anthony scowled at Kate who continued to smile at him far too knowingly. “Why would you think I ever be jealous of a dog?”

“Call it hunch,” Kate giggled which only caused Anthony's scowl to deepen.

Deciding to take pity of him Kate pressed her lips softly to his own. She could already feel the tense line of his shoulders relax. His hand on her waist becoming less of a grip and more of a caress.

Kate tilted her head at a perfect angle as her teeth bit down on his lower lip to deepen the kiss. A warm haze descended on Anthony at the feel of his wife's body completely pressed against his own. All thoughts of Newton melted from Anthony's mind as Kate's lovely fingers carded through his hair.

That is until his wife pulled back with a teasing grin on her lips.

“See, no need to be jealous darling,” Kate said while lightly kissing his lips.

At the mention of his name Newton's ears perked up and he let out another needy whine. Anthony shot him a reproachful look before Kate's fingers on his jawline had him turning his attention back to her.

“Good thing for both of you I can share my attentions,” Kate let out a sigh but Anthony could see the laughter in her dark eyes.

Anthony didn't know how he felt about Kate saying he needed to share her attentions with a dog. But since he currently had the upper-hand over said dog he decided to take the advantage.

“Well either way its my turn right now,” Anthony said pulling her into a kiss fully intended to hold her attention for as long as possible.

[capri-ramblings]

Hiii~ I love your writing and simply adore the way you write Vil! I wanted to request scenarios of Yandere! Jade, Vil, Azul and Cater having their darling 'willingly' return to their side after being given an opportunity to depart (i.e. an open door, or someone coming to get them) or just going to their side if you've done the escape thing before. I apologize if that's vauge or has been done before. You're wonderful~

Firstly,I'm sorry this took very long despite it being one of my earliest asks, and secondly,since I've written a couple of Azul works, I hope you don't mind me omitting him from this one, it's just that with Jade's plot I felt like I would've written it a bit too similar if I included Azul. And thirdly, This is my first request with a Cater feature in it uwu ♥️ give him some love ya'll our magicam senpai. Hope you like it, Twisty! (*´ω｀*) Vil is a Character I find kinda hard to write for but I'm happy you find him satisfying 🤧

Requests under works. Please refer to Pinned post before sending one in.

[ W e l c o m e H o m e ]

Vil Schoenheit

When you slammed the giant mahogany doors behind you, breathing ragged and worn, the sound of familiar footsteps descending the stairs made you lean your head against the door before turning around to see Vil.

His perfectly lined brows were arched, haughtily if not unbearably unimpressed. He was wearing his nightwear, the gentle colour of the satin material made him seemed as if he was glowing underneath the beam of the crystal chandeliers.

"Did you like the fresh air?" He asked, hands gracefully trailing over the marble railings of the stairs.

"Rook mentioned a crescent moon appearing tonight."

You let out a sigh, defeated and dry.

"If there was,I must've missed it. You know me,Vil. Always in a rush."

He didn't let it pass his lips but you knew he wanted to scoff, to mock your response and degrade you as he often did.

"I take it the open space wasn't to your liking?"

Vil stopped at the foot of the stairs and he had this knowing look in his eyes. It almost seemed smug.

"No,I mean—" Your voice trailed off,gaze lowering as you replayed the scene in your head.

You had found a chance to escape,to run from everything Vil had imprisoned you in, and for half a moment, you were free. Your legs carrying you through the open air as your feet finally came in contact with soil after so long of staying indoors. You caught the whiff of the rose garden behind the Manor and the gates of your nightmares were right in front of you.

All you had to do was push pass it, and freedom was yours.

But then you stopped. Your feet halted and the sudden silence overwhelming you at that moment brought a sense of dread to your system. How long has it been since you've last seen the world? It shouldn't sound so... soundless,right?

"Past the gates and you're free."

That's what you told yourself. What you attempted to tell yourself. But the crushing weight of returning to a society that didn't seem to even recognize your absence made your want to hurl yourself away from it all. At least Vil kept his eyes on you, and maybe a life where you were doted on was far better than a life where people simply forgot about you.

"Use your words, Daffodil." You looked up and Vil was already looming over you, his hand propping your chin up as his thumb trailed over your lips.

"Didn't I teach you how to talk?" He was cooing,coaxing you to place yourself in his arms, and it worked. You leaned into him willingly and gently began closing your lips over his thumb.

"I made a mistake. I want to come home,Vil." You sounded so genuine, so soft. It made him wanted to place you on his lap and have you ride the erection building up underneath his clothes until you couldn't form proper words anymore.

But he held himself back. Tonight was not the time. There would be other times for him to spill his seed inside of you, for now, he should indulge in your submissive acceptance.

"I'm always here for you, Daffodil."

Jade Leech

Jade had kept you in his home under in Coral Sea for so long that when you finally pushed pass the ocean's surface, the thick air of the land almost choked you.

The fins on either side of your neck hissed at the contact and your eyes squinted from the intrusion of the the sunlight. You actually had to bring one webbed hand to shield yourself from it.

Everything felt so different. So foreign. Your scales bristled in annoyance. Was this the world you so craved before? The world you actually lived in before Jade turned you into his own kind?

Maybe you felt differently about it then, but now, all you wanted to do was dive back into the comfort of the sea. Where you truly belonged.

And back down you did go, and immediately after submerging into the water, your scales glistened and your fins flapped happily against your skin. The coolness of it all washing over you pleasantly.

When you reached the entrance of Coral Sea, Jade was there, dutifully waiting for your return. You wanted to rush over to him, aching for the familiar contact of another mer against yours,the human air felt so pungent after all. It really did feel like you were a fish out of water.

Ah,but the whole reason you went up to see was because you had an argument with the mer-male. Swimming over to him so eagerly would just be telling him that he was the sound one in it.

So,you kept your pace slow and deliberate, until Jade extended his hand and you took it in yours.

"Was the world big enough for you up there?" He asked, the slight hint of laughter lacing his words as his gaze fixated on you.

You pursed your lips and sighed, expression grim.

"Maybe a bit too big. There weren't any humans of any of their ships, but it smelled like there was just a crowd of them earlier..."

"Oh? But don't any of it feel familiar to you? You used to live up there too once, that's what you said, right?"

You knew he was going to bring up the argument sooner or later, but for Jade to bring up a subject this quick meant he really was annoyed by your outburst earlier. But could he blame you? He had a tendency to hover over you like a mother octopus with its brood and though he has given you many freedoms ever since he was convinced you weren't going to run away again, it still felt a little suffocating.

"I wouldn't have said it if you just let me be for once." You snapped, brows furrowing as your arms crossed over your chest. You swam further ahead of him too then turned back to face him. A small act of stubbornness.

"This is all I want" You pointed to the slight distance between you and him. "I'm not going run away again or throw corals at you. I just want to have my own space. Don't you trust me?"

Jade did. He did trust you now because you've finally shown him that your life above the sea was a mere past you couldn't even properly project into your own memory. He's waited so long for this too and when you were throwing your words at him earlier, he thought he'd have to keep you on a leash again, the notion of letting you swim above was hard for him to digest because if you hadn't fully converted into the form he's given you then Jade had made a mistake and he would've risked losing you.

But he didn't lose you. You came back to him. You asked him to trust you.

The smile curling on his lips then was one of deep endearment for you and when he swam to your side, you swore you could feel him glow.

"Of course,I trust you,my angel reef."

Cater Diamond

He was soundly asleep, curled in his thick blanket when he felt his bed got weighed down as someone slipped in-between the blanket and him.

Cater half yawned, half uttered an incoherent "What?" before he recognized the oh so familiar curves of your body pressing against him and the scent of the new shampoo he'd just bought for you lingering in your hair.

You were clinging to him, head nuzzling into his chest and hands gripping the side of his arms as if your whole life depended on you.

He smiled in the dark then. He had left his front door unlocked purposely after all. Call it a trust fall test.

"Hey,this is my bed, y'know" He murmured, lightly inching away from your touch as he rubbed his eyes. You simply pulled him back towards you, your form curling into a slight ball as your legs came in-between his. It was such an intimate response. Did you know what you were doing?

"Hm, it's gonna cost ya a lot more rent sleeping here with me, y'know? Are you okay with me charging more?" He was leaning into you now,his warmth making your squirm underneath him. You understood what Cater meant when he used the word 'rent', but you didn't move away or started crying like you used to do before. No, you felt more accepting now, Cater could feel it in the way your body seemed to yearn for his.

He couldn't help himself from chuckling though. The sight of you all needy for him was immensely adorable, he was half tempted to snap a picture, but then it would've ruined the mood wouldn't it? It's fine, he could settle with imprinting this memory in his mind. This moment of victory of his.

"Suit yourself then. But I gotta ask why are you so cold, cupcake? Did you take a long walk outside by yourself without your coat again? It's near winter, y'know. You could've gotten sick."

Not as sick as he was but that wasn't the point. The point was that you did decided to take advantage of the front door being left unlocked, and you did try to run away, but only to realize how dark and eery the neighborhood seemed for someone who wasn't all that accustomed to it. How each passing sound lurking in the shadows of the alley made your skin crawl and your throat dry.

It was terrifying, you realized then standing in the darkened empty street. And when you heard the wind breeze through the chilled air, you subconsciously held out a hand, searching for the familiar grip of Cater.

It was weird. An unsettling feeling you were aware you shouldn't oblige to, and yet, you had never felt so happy to have been inside Cater's house. To be held by him. To hear his voice. It was like you were falling into a trance of madness.

Oh,but isn't that just love in its purest form?

"Hold me,Cater" You whined, burying your face into his chest, earning a small laugh from the male who wrapped his arms around you and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Sure thing, cupcake."

[forever-rogue]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do these prompts from your post "STAR WARS PROMPTS (take your time! No rush whatsoever!). I chose #18, 45, and 64 and for Dyn, please!

18. “We are stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive.” & 45. “If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body.” & 64. “Tell me why I should stay. “Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff.”

Some hints of... risque talk, but that’s about it. Enjoy!

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is just fantastic. Bloody fantastic,” you sighed as ran a dirty hand through your hair, leaving a bit of grease on your forehead. The brooding Mandalorian next to you made a noncommittal sound as he reached over and tried to wipe the spot off, but you just swatted his hand away. That really was the least of your concerns at this moment. The much larger concern was the fact that the Razor Crest was no longer starting and you appeared to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, “I told you this was a bad idea. I told you, but no, we just had to come here and chase this lead.”

“Is this really the time, Y/N?” he sighed as he threw back in exasperation, trying to bite back the sarcastic remarks that were dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Well it’s not like we really have anything else we can do right now, so yeah, it is the time,” you insisted, growing more annoyed and kicked the outer wall of the ship, immediately regretting it as pain shot up your leg.

“Fine,” he groaned, rolling his eyes under the helmet; he was glad you couldn’t see his face at moment because he knew it would have just spurred you on more. You had a fiery personality, something he both adored about you, but something that could frustrate him at the same time. With his stubborn streak, the two of you often butted heads, but usually it was nothing serious, “you were right and I was wrong. Are you happy?”

“Nope,” you said, placing emphasis on the p, “because we’re still stuck here with no plan. And nothing around. So I suggest you think of a plan and think fast.”

“Can you cool it for like five minutes, Y/N? You think I planned this all out-”

“Maybe this was your cheap ploy to try and get me,” you put your hands on your hips as you raised an eyebrow at him. You knew it wasn’t anywhere near the truth, but just wanted to take out your frustration somehow. Besides you both knew, even if you wouldn’t admit it, that he could have easily had you. He’d just never asked...so far, nerves and his surprisingly timid nature getting the better of him.

“Please,” he said as he scanned over your form, feeling hot under the collar as he tried to keep himself composed. You hadn’t totally just put the thought of him taking you then and there into his mind. Totally not at all, he tried to convince himself, “as if I actually needed to try.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed at him, trying away from him so he wouldn’t see your rapidly reddening cheeks. He had you, he totally knew it and you hated how it was for him to get you so flustered. You rubbed at your temple before poking at his beskar covered chest, “just fix this and get us out of here. There’s plenty of viable work we’re missing out on.”

“Would you just....look we’re stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive,” he tried a more gentle approach but the look on your face suggested that his idea wasn’t real received on your end.

“You got us into this mess, Din Djarin, you get us out of this mess,” you sighed as you pushed past him, holding up your binoculars to try and scope out the area, seeing if there’ anything nearby. Much to your chagrin there was nothing nearby, not even a single lonely hut, “you should have your pilots’ license revoked.”

“You don’t need a license for that,” he smarted back at you, causing you to roll your eyes and shove the binoculars into his chest. You decided that since he appeared not to care about what was going on, it was up to you to find some way. Typical, you thought to yourself, always cleaning up the messes, “where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” you shouted as ducked into the ship and grabbed your bag out of it. It had a few essentials that you figured might come in handy; and besides that your trusty blaster almost never left your side, “to find something to help, or anyone. Keep comms on and if I find anything I’ll let you know. Try and sort out this flying hunk of junk in the meantime.”

“She’s not junk!”

“Tell that to the ship that’s falling apart,” you spat at him, giving him the bird as you headed off in the only direction that looked promising. How it looked promising, you weren’t sure, but you figured it was something.

“Wait,” he quickly made his way over to you, effortlessly closing the distance with his long legs, “just stay here. Don’t go.”

“Tell me why I should stay,” you crossed you arms over you chest and waited for him to give you some sort of viable answer. In reality, you knew you were being much more dramatic than you needed to be, but you didn’t care in the moment. He almost never listened to you, and this time you were both paying for it. Maybe this would teach him a much needed lesson.

“Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff,” he said, adopting a more gentle tone; you knew that tone, he usually reserved it for when he wanted something from you, or needed you to fix some type of situation. If you were being honest, it got under your skin, but only in the best ways, and you found yourself wondering what that tone sounded like whispering other things in your ear. You snapped yourself out of your little daydream fantasy and back in the bleak reality of your current situation.

“With what kind of stuff?” you sighed at him, holding your hands up in anticipation of his response, “please enlighten me.”

“I...with...with things,” he said lamely, shrugged his shoulders. It was weak, but he was willing to try anything to get you to stay, “stay?”

“You’re an idiot,” you sighed at him, “I am leaving to try and find some sort of anything can help us. You stay here and see if you can fix the problem. Okay? Okay.”

You didn’t wait around for him to respond, instead turning on your heel and throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping off. You could hear him calling your name, growing more and more annoyed until you could no longer hear him. Shaking your head as you got further and further away from the ship, praying to the Maker that you’d fine something out in the middle of the desolate desert.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After walking for what seemed like a small eternity, your heart completed a series of flips as you realized you had stumbled up on something that would ever help you, or perhaps be the death of you.

“Jawas,” you groaned to yourself, “of course it’s Jawas.”

You walked up to their travelling fortress, finding a group of them looking at a new haul of parts. They turned to you and started yelling as soon as they saw you, so you help up your hands above your head to show them that you meant them no harm. Of course, given the choice you would have punted each and every one of them off into the distance, but right now they were your best bet.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you did as best as you could in your broken Jawaese. You understood the basics at least, picking up little bits here and there in your years of being a bounty hunter, “I may need some parts.”

They looked at you suspiciously but didn’t seem to be scared. One of them walked to the front and quickly asked, “what kind of parts?”

That’s how you ended up in their rolling home, trying your best to strike a deal with them. They were driving a hard bargain, but you tried your best to keep your temper in check, especially since you knew that they had exactly what you needed. They had demanded almost everything from you, and you were willing to trade it all except for -

“Not the blaster,”  you shook your head fervently, ready to chew them out when you heard Din over your comms system. You groaned as you held up a finger to signal that you needed a moment, “not now, you fool. I was just about to get us what we needed!”

“Where are you?” he sounded concerned, and he had right to be, you’d been gone for several hours and the sun was slowly starting to set, “answer me, Y/N.”

“I’m with the Jawas,” you said quickly, turning to the small creatures and giving them a smile, “these lovely friends have what we need and I’m about to acquire it so let me handle this.”

“Y/N-”

You shut off your comms device and turned back to your hosts, internally sighing as they looked between your blaster and you. You weren’t going to give it up, you just weren’t, and you were willing to wait and bargain until the banthas came home.

Din realized after several moments of silence on your end that either something was wrong or that you were ignoring him. He knew it was most likely the latter, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance. Not now, and most definitely not with you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d first started negotiating with your Jawaese hosts, but you were getting tired and seemed to be getting nowhere. You were sure you could have offered them a sacrifice of any children you had one day, and they still wouldn’t budge. You just couldn’t give up your blaster, it had too much sentimental value...plus it had been gifted to you by your bullheaded Mandalorian partner. You just couldn’t part with it.

“Listen here you little-”

“If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body!” the door to the Jawa’s refuge was knocked down and in tumbled the Mandalorian, blasters raised and ready to shoot anything on sight. You looked at him and hung your head, ready to curse him out.

“I’m not being held hostage, you idiot!” you almost shouted at him as the Jawas started shouting and panicking at the two of you, “I had this under control!”

“You weren’t responding and I had to make sure you were alright!” he countered as he lowered his blasters, “are you really going to blame for making sure you were alright? You could have been dead!”

“Well I wasn’t,” you said as you stood up, trying to get away from the prying hands and shouts of the Jawas, “and you’ve messed up everything I’ve been working on for hours!”

“Well excuse me for caring!”

“Not excused,” you said as you pushed past him, closely followed the little screaming creatures. You pushed a few of them out of the way as you made your way back outside, the Mandalorian following closely behind you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was silent for a while as the two of you trekked back to the ship, side by side. You could tell he was eager to say something, unspoken words threatening to fall out of his mouth, you knew him well enough for that by now. You stopped suddenly and turned to him, “what? Out with it.”

“Nothing...”

“I know you better than that,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “now just say it.”

“Oh you think you just know-”

“Out with it!”

“Fine, you want to know? Fine,” he paused for a moment as he searched for the right words, “I’m sorry I ruined whatever you were doing, but I’m not sorry I did it because I’m glad to know you’re okay and not out dead somewhere in this maker forsaken desert.”

You were mildly taken aback by what he said, so much that you couldn’t help the smile that started stretching across your features. There he went again, doing that subtle but not subtle at all, flirting. Before saying anything you reached into your bag, digging around for a moment before pulling out a small silver item, “lucky for you, I managed to grab what we need while those weird creatures were busy freaking out at you.”

“You did it,” he said, as he took the part from your hand, examining it closely. He looked at you and let out a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement, “I guess I should have know better than to ever doubt you.”

“Uh yeah, duh,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “we’ve been partners for how long now? I know a thing or two, Mando. After all, I’m the one who’s always cleaning up your messes.”

“Well thank you,” he said gratefully as you grabbed the part back and put it in the safety of your bag, “at least we’ll be able to get off this rock now.”

“Yes,” you agreed before deciding to tease him a little more, seeing how far you could manage to push him. If there was one thing you liked, it was pushing his buttons, you thoroughly enjoyed your little back and forth with Din, “you like me!”

“You’re my partner,” his voice went up about an octave as he tried to keep himself composed, “of course I care about you. I need to make you’re safe so we can continue working.”

“Ohhh, sure,” you said as you skipped away, giving him a wink, feeling more bold than you had imagined you would have been when it came to confessing your feelings for him, “that’s all. But I know better, I can see through that cool facade, you like me Din. Like me, like me.”

“What are we? Children?” was his only response, but it came out broken and ragged as he tried to play it cool, “besides, it’s not like you don’t feel the same.”

“You wish,” you almost stopped dead in your tracks as he called you out, “there is no way I would ever fancy a fool like you!”

“Is that why you think about me at night?” he didn��t know where it came from suddenly, but the words were flowing freely, coming out before he could fully think them through. Your heart dropped as you realized he knew; apparently you weren’t being subtle or quiet at all as you thought of him late at night in the privacy of your own bedroom, “I can hear you, you know.”

“I-I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you lied, trying to keep a level head, “just because you wish it were true, doesn’t mean it is.”

“Y/N...”

“Din...”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Well, you’re horrible at a lot of things,” you were getting trapped in a corner, but didn’t want to go down without a fight, “so there.”

“There’s one thing I’m not horrible at,” there was a lilt to voice that kept you intrigued and you wanted him to keep going, but a part of you was nervous as all hell. He took a step closer to you as he put a gloved hand under chin turned your face towards his, “and I bet you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

“Din,” you raised your eyes to where you were sure his were, “don’t start what you can’t finish. That’s your biggest downfall.”

“I intend to finish this,” his voice was barely audible as he trailed a finger to the corner of your mouth, “if that’s what you want.”

“What I want,” you grabbed his wrist with your hand and pulled him off of you. You needed to keep a clear and focused mind, and right now that didn’t include getting distracted by your lust (and love) for him, “is to get out of this place. Now let’s go back and fix the ship so we can leave.”

“This isn’t finished,” he insisted as he followed after you, already knowing that this was going to be hard, in more ways than one. You just smirked at him and shrugged your shoulders innocently.

“Whatever you say,” you giggled as you started running from him, the ship in site on the horizon, “come and catch me then!”

“Maker,” Din picked up the pace as he started after you, “you’ll be the death of me, Y/N.”

[wolfcha1k]

Decided to just do another cover, since all three had one minus this one. Ngl, I traced Ugga and Grug's head shapes and stuff to get them on model bc fuck Grug is hard to draw, bodies were referenced from a photo and several screenshots in the movie. Also totally convinced Grug had plenty of hair until Eep was born and stressed it off to hell lol Below is the story that goes along with this story, featuring Grug and Ugga and a story about them in their younger days ~ - <3 - "Is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little boy at play? I don't remember growing older When did she get to be a beauty? When did he grow to be so tall? Wasn't it yesterday When they were small? Sunrise, sunset Sunrise, sunset Swiftly flow the days"

"You know, Grug. Eventually, Eep and Guy, they're going to want to start their own pack. Just like we did, it's our nature."

Grug is confused about when his little girl stopped being so little, perhaps its time Gran and Ugga tried reminding him it wasn't too long ago he was just like Guy and Eep are now.

The Sun Was a Wayfarer - Series

<Previous> Flood and Flame <next> All I Can Think About

It was really hard sometimes for Grug to accept his little girl wasn't so little anymore. She'd always been stuck like tar to his side and would demand stories as a young child. The old cave walls were filled with tiny hand prints he never realized had grown bigger until Guy came along and forced him to be reminded Eep was indeed a woman. She was seventeen summers old and the fact wasn't lost on anyone who had functioning eyes in their head.

Fathers only saw with their hearts though and inside Grug's his daughter was still that rambunctious sweet little girl who needed him to protect her. That also included suitors.

"Grug you're brooding again," he heard Ugga say from behind him.

"This is just my face." Grug shifted his weight from where he sat lounging against his favorite rock.

"Trust me, I can see them just as clearly as you can."

Grug couldn't help but stiffen at her call out of his snooping. Was it really spying though if the two were out in the open? They were together by the beach with Chunky playing third wheel. The demanding feline squeezed his way between them when he felt they were being too touchy. Or maybe it was just Grug self projecting, his cat generally liked being the center of attention. Guy and Eep were fishing by hand in the water but it soon turned into a game of seeing who could out run the tide first whilst trying to knock the other down. Chunky kept getting confused by this activity as he shook droplets off his wet paws.

Eep was in the lead by at least seven points, it wasn't like Grug was keeping track though. "Why didn't you tell me sooner Eep was all grown up?" Grug side eyed his mate who just laughed at him.

"She's up to your shoulder and gives you a hard time like every teenager, I thought it was obvious." Ugga nudged him with her elbow, her small hands were busy threading a bone needle with sinew as she sewed new clothes for her family.

"Well… she was always a stubborn girl and big for her age," he quipped as he crossed his arms.

"And then she got that doe-eyed look when mister-you-know-who showed up." Ugga batted her eyelashes playfully in emphasis and folded her hands beneath her chin a moment. It was hard to keep a straight face, Ugga quickly laughed it off. Grug set his jaw in a very uncharacteristic pout.

"Never should have stuffed him in the log," Grug said with less heart than he actually felt. Sure, he enjoyed roughing the kid up sometimes and making a big show of being upset seeing Eep with Guy but in truth he was fond of the… guy. It was still his job as a dad to scare Guy a little.

"Oh don't say that, he's practically our son now."

"Does that mean I need to protect him from Eep then?" He kept the edge of hope out of his voice the best he could as he faced his mate.

Ugga rested her chin on her fist thoughtfully, she put the needle safely away as she watched the two lovebirds chase one another on the beach. "You might, honestly," Ugga said with a warm voice. "She's a handful."

He heard a startled yelp from the shore and got to enjoy the sight of Guy yet again face planting in the sand. Eep pounced over his toppled form, he was spitting sand from his mouth.

"Gotta be faster than that!" She shouted with a victorious smile.

Guy mustered the energy to mockingly look at her like he was bothered but the toothy grin that spread on his face afterward said otherwise.

"Lovesick idiots," remarked Gran as she hobbled over to join them. She watched Eep and Guy fondly despite her toughness. "What I wouldn't give to be their age again. Especially with a boy like him, where was he fifty summers ago?"

"Ugh, I don't need that mental image," Grug mumbled with a shudder, his face surly.

"Aw Grug. Don't you remember what it was like to be young and in love?"

"I do, and that's why I'm worried!" Grug jutted a thumb behind him and caught the confused blank stare Guy gave the group at catching their gossip. "Young and hot blooded , Ugga."

Eep went over to haul Guy back up by the scruff of his neck. She shot Grug an embarrassed and irritated look that was muffled by her wild mane of red hair. "Ugh… Dad, we can hear you!"

"Good! So keep your hands to yourselves! You don't want little Eeps!" Grug paused. " I don't want more little Eeps, one of you is plenty!"

Guy gaped at them like a suffocating fish, Gran guffawed and shook her head. "Let them be, lunkhead. Not like they'll do anything in front of us, eh?" The two younger children of the Croods clan, Sandy and Thunk, looked up in confusion from where they were busy playing with Douglas a short distance away.

Eep pulled the curtain of hair over her eyes and wished for the ground to swallow her. Guy rubbed the back of his neck at the narrow eyed look Grug shot him.

Ugga rolled her eyes and began to try shooing the old woman off. "Mom, please."

"Come now, it's my generational right to tease the youngsters." Gran reached forward with her staff to hook it under the back of Grug's pelt shirt. She jerked it up with more speed than a lady her age should have, causing Grug to choke a moment as he grabbed for the shirt collar. "See? Like that! Sides, I got plenty of blackmail about you two turtledoves too. Grug was pathetic ."

Grug eyed her with a pointed glare once he was free of her pesky walking stick. Gran was unbothered, only grinned a toothy smile as she flopped comfortably onto the sand. She glanced towards Eep who perked at the potential to embarrass her father for once. It was hard to miss the mischievous wink she sent her granddaughter. Grug didn't like the curious glint in those green eyes as his spunky daughter practically skidded to seat herself near Gran. Guy followed clumsily as she had a vice grip on his hand. How Eep hadn't pulled his shoulder out along the way, Grug would never know.

It wasn't long until the entire family were seated in front of Gran. Thunk had Douglas in his lap and Sandy was curled around Belt who cooed at the attention. Ugga gave her mate a look that was screaming 'you brought this on yourself', Grug resigned himself to his fate out of pride. Real men didn't run from such things and as the patriarch he refused to be cowed by silly stories of when he was courting Ugga.

"What was dad like with mom?" Eep asked as she leaned forward, grinning. She looked at Grug who just huffed.

"Like I said, utter mushy rotten fruit. You think Guy is tooth rotting, you should have seen your father in his day." Guy pouted at being the butt of the joke as usual, he cast his dark eyes at Grug. He smirked as if to boast at the boy, smug that he wasn't going down alone in this evening razzing. "I wanted to chuck a rock at him every time he came to see Ugga."

Some of Guy's pride was built back up again though when Eep fondly rubbed shoulders with him. Grug began to wonder if it really was self-projecting this time when Chunky nosed his way between the young couple for a snuggle. Guy looked startled whilst Eep just scratched the Macawnivore between the ears.

Ugga decided to play traitor this night. "Mom how about you tell the kids about that time when Grug went on that big errand you gave him."

Grug couldn't help but wince and gave Ugga a scowl. The little minx had the nerve to grin innocently at him despite the betrayal.

"Big errand?" Guy echoed, he was barely visible from under Chunky's massive form.

"That story is my favorite," Gran cackled with a devious gleam in her eye. "And see Guy, back in our day if you wanted to court a woman you had to do something for the head of the family! Gramp was dead so I got to pick the task. Bless that heart attack he had."

Eep and Guy shared a look before both teenagers gazed questionably at Grug. He fidgeted before rolling his eyes. "That was Yesterday stuff. Besides, Guy saved us from The End with all his weird ideas so… consider the tab paid off."

"That brain thing of yours is really useful," Eep agreed with a girlish tone.

Guy blushed red at the compliment but didn't shy away from it. If anything it just made him glow proudly. "There's more where that came from," he quipped and knocked his knuckles lightly against his temple.

Grug almost wished he'd missed the bright, lovesick smiles the two shared despite Chunky barring them apart to the best of his ability. The desire for his daughter's happiness won out though, luckily for Guy who beamed. Even protective fathers and clingy Macawnivores weren't enough to stop true love it seemed.

"Anyway… it's no secret I didn't like your dad. So I came up with the most impossible task ever to earn Ugga." Gran licked her dry lips as she grunted, "Of course Grug had to go and actually do it."

"What did you make dad do?"

"Told him to go get a hair off a naked molephant."

Guy blinked. "But naked molephants don't have hair."

"Well, this is Grug so of course the nincompoop found the one blasted molephant that had hair." Grug let himself puff his chest out like a peacock preening its feathers.

"Yeah, well, you should have known better when you set me out on a job, Gran." He gave his mother-in-law a catty grin, for now he could relish in a past victory that smarted her way back when.

Eep looked at her grandmother mischievously. "So… when does the story get good?"

Ugga snickered, by now she had abandoned her sewing to sit between Thunk and Sandy. Thunk leaned against his mother as the woman combed her fingers through his scruffy mop of hair. "When he came back with his tunic ripped apart by a tusk," Ugga interjected.

"Wow," Thunk said in awe, turning his eyes to stare at Grug. Grug appreciated at least one Crood wasn't laughing at him. "How'd you do that?"

Gran cocked an eyebrow with a chuckle. "Yeah Grug, tell them."

Grug crossed his arms moodily. "Just for the record, it was a real life or death battle getting that stupid hair."

"Ugga was sewing his left buttocks for weeks," Gran said with a slap to her knee, the memory made her lifetime, really. She lifted her bony hands up to gesture with those old curled fingers of hers a measurement. "He's got a scar like this—"

"— ANYWAY! Like I was saying," Grug grumbled. He turned his attention back to his family. He scooped up a clump of sand and clay from the ground below and drew a vaguely person-like shape into the rock he had been lounging on. Then he drew a beast with tusks and a long nose next to him. "It was a battle of life and death, there I was, twenty two summers old—"

It was pure spite that kept him going hours after setting forth into the desert. Gran was convinced he couldn't win her daughter as his mate, and so when the old lizard raised the stakes he was determined to prove her wrong. He would get Ugga, she was something special and worth more than daylight itself.

He loved her and if it took getting a stupid molephant hair to be with her then so be it. Gran had been making him jump through hurdles since the day he'd met Ugga, it was no secret they shared a mutual loathing for each other. It also came from the same selfless affection the two had for Ugga, though Grug would have thought knowing he made her daughter happy was enough for her. Growling under his breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

There was still a good five knuckles before the sun would set, he'd find it before then. Either that or he was going to face the dangers night brought—

“You? Staying outside at night?” Eep sounded doubtful.

“... yes ,” Grug huffed.

“See? Big mush,” Gran interrupted.

"Can I finish? Nobody interrupted this much back in the cave," he grumbled moodily.

—He was sure the beast was around here somewhere as he took a cautionary sniff of the dry, dusty air. Grug could see footprints inbedded in the barren and broken ground that sand didn't cover yet. Running onwards, he pressed his knuckles into the ground as he paced himself.

Grug crossed the desert quickly and ignored the aching in his palms and feet from the hot tough earth. He was built strong and a little pain wouldn't stop his pride. He paused when the scent grew stronger, flaring his nostrils he climbed up a nearby tree to survey what was around. The sun was strong against his eyes and Grug strained through the bright rays of light to see a dark speck in the distance. In a nearby canyon below, Grug finally found what he was looking for—

"What about never being afraid?" Thunk asked his father.

Grug looked at Thunk before settling his dark eyes on his beloved Ugga. "I was afraid," he admitted with a chuckle. "But I wanted to impress your mother more. Being stubborn and hormonal is a terrible mix."

"You stubborn? No!" Eep exclaimed with a teasing grin. Guy gave her a playful look from where he was walled by Chunky.

Grug made a vague gesture with his hand and he relished in the confused faces Eep and Guy made when Chunky pressed his full weight against both of them. Guy yelped for mercy as Eep tugged on the cheeky feline that was crushing him into the sand.

"Grug! Please call him off!" A large paw cuffed his head, Guy's words quickly muffled.

"Dad!"

Grug suppressed a grin as he went back to his story. "I found the molephant so what was next was getting the hair—"

Grug couldn't say how long it took climbing down that cliff wall to reach the level the molephant was at. It was risky and went against what Grug practiced in his beliefs. Caution and fear kept him alive this long, yet here he was about to go harass an molephant for some hair it might or might not have. Dread pooled in his belly and made him cold, going after more beasts was not how he wanted this to go. Breathing heavily through his gritted teeth, Grug crept as quietly as he could across the canyon. There were many tall and small rocks around that would provide cover should he need to hide.

Grug didn't have a brain, cavemen didn't use those. At least he didn't and it showed when he found himself running full speed away from a rampaging molephant. He relied on his gut instinct to weave and dodge its massive tusks that were swung at him. Grug scrambled and whenever he managed to get close, the creature stomped it's way towards him with a vengeance.

He bit back a curse when a tusk just barely ripped part of his tunic at his chest—

"—so this is when the story gets to the best part," Eep interrupted with a cheeky hum. She'd since rescued Guy from the weight of Chunky and had him cuddled protectively in her arms. She rested her chin on his mused up brown hair. Guy idly stroked one of her hands that were interlocked at his neck and chest.

"I thought it was always at the best part," Thunk quipped in a confused voice to his sister.

"If I say anything else I'm worried I'll become Macawnivore food," Guy said and tipped his head to the side with a huff.

Ugga smiled at her children as Grug shot them a look to be silent. "Look if you want to laugh at me can I finish this up then first?"

Gran reached her staff out to bop Eep over the head, her bushy red hair cushioned the blow. "Yeah, hush your tongue."

Eep huffed when she felt Guy trying to muffle his grin into her arm. Grug shook his head at the sight, feeling a fond nostalgia swell within him despite the protective instinct. He looked at Ugga and she just arched a brow at her mate. Grug turned back to telling the story, large fingers drawing more on the rock.

"The molephant was putting up a good fight but your old dad was better—"

—He was swearing aloud and screaming as he hung onto the tusk by his shirt. Grug was glad he didn't feel wounded but this was just a disaster waiting to happen. Even the molephant seemed dismayed at the fact he now had the man stuck on his face. It kept rampaging and Grug strained against the beast in order to sink his feet forcibly into the hard earth. Dust filled the air and with his innate strength, Grug managed to swing his body around to grab it by its tusk. The molephant slowed and leaned back to buck, swinging Grug off after a lot of effort.

He was thrown through the air and scrambled to find his feet as he rolled like a big boulder. Dazed, Grug just barely got out of the way of the molephant as it charged him. Panting, Grug finally saw the hair on its angrily swishing tail. It groaned in frustration and Grug realized the molephant had gotten its massive body stuck between two rocks. Panicked and running strictly on adrenaline, Grug reached forward to yank off a clump of hair from its tail. It trumpeted its distress, Grug began to rush away but there was the sound movement. He dared to look behind him, yelling out he did all he could to escape the incredibly pissed off beast.

It only took one stupid stumble to find that in that split moment he was thrown into the air. Pain flowered under his back and rump. The last seconds felt like they were slow motion as he landed harshly into a patch of huge, prickly brambles. Everything went blurry and before he knew it, there was nothing...

He'd awoken to darkness and the scent of blood in his nose. He was tangled upside down in a bramble bush and covered in an uncomfortable amount of burrs. There was also pain in his rear end and back, Grug noted with a groan. However the panic he felt for that hair won out his concern for his current state. He couldn't go back without that blasted hair!

He froze his struggling at a sound in the distance and cowardly he hunkered down the best he could whilst suspended in the air head facing down. However, it soon turned into a voice. "...Grug! Grug?!'

"Ugga?!" He whispered harshly and in the moonlight he saw the cavewoman trotting cautiously on all fours. "I'm over here!"

Ugga hurried towards him and gave him a worried once over. Grug grinned at her concern until she scowled, harshly tugging on his ear like he was an impudent child. "Are you asking for a death wish, Grug?! Look at you! I can't believe you took mom seriously!"

"...it's good to see you too, Ugga," he grunted, pressing a hand to his ear to drown out the headache she gave him.

Ugga circled him with careful gray eyes as she tried to figure out how to get him down. "You are lucky no hungry predators sniffed you out first before I did," Ugga continued to scold.

Grug stiffened at the mention of such a risk and reached an arm to grab her shoulder as if it would protect her. "You shouldn't even be out here," he grumbled back.

"I know but after hearing mom laughing it up with the tribe about this stupid errand I needed to find you," Ugga hissed, pulling away to give him another stink eye. "I'm so mad at you right now."

"Yeah well once I find where that dumb hair went I'll be the one laughing at her!" Grug exclaimed, wiggling in an attempt to dislodge himself.

"Would you hold still? You're just going to make yourself worse," she complained and began to tear at the thicket with her strong, calloused hands.

Grug, being the stubborn man he was, continued to squirm this way and that. "I can get down myself," he huffed.

Ugga threw her hands up in frustration before yanking at a cord of bramble. "You have a head made of rocks, Grug."

Grug opened his mouth to argue back before suddenly falling. He cried out when his head hit the ground, grabbing at his neck in pain of the impact. Nursing a bump that felt like some giant goose egg, Ugga examined his tunic.

She made a noise through her teeth in fret. "How are you not dead right now?"

"I don't know!" He said with a growl, shuffling to sit up. Everything hurt from his skull to his toes that spread out in the pulse of his blood. "But between you, your mom and that molephant, all of you are really trying to bury me!"

Ugga rolled her eyes and spun him around, she pulled up his shirt before Grug could even protest. "You're lucky," she sighed, relief warming her voice. "That molephant tusk missed a major arterie. Really ruined your tunic though."

He softened and reached a hand out to touch her arm. "I got other shirts."

"It's probably going to scar. Can you walk?" Ugga faced him once again, he couldn't help but frown as he watched her wipe her bloody palm in the sand. My blood, Grug thought with a pained wince.

The adrenaline of the moment and even beyond it was wearing off, Grug really wanted to go back to his cave to nurse his wounds and ego. "I think so. Um… help balance me?"

A smile lit up her face and Grug wondered if it was the blood loss or her that made him sway breathlessly. "Sure." Ugga offered her arm to him which he took.

However, he stopped with a groan. "Ugh… wait. The hair, I'm not going back without that hair!"

"Forget the hair, Grug. Mom will get over it."

"Oh no! Ugga, I'll never hear the end of it if I don't give her that stupid hair!" Grug let go of Ugga to try peering through the darkness on the ground, crouching on his knuckles.

Ugga put her hands on her hips. "What is so important about getting my mom this hair? Naked molephants don't even have hair."

Grug just stuck a finger at her triumphantly. "Yes, yes they do and I swear to the sun it's not just me getting loopy from all this blood loss."

"Grug, you're scaring me," Ugga said in a deadpanned tone, brows arched.

"That old lizard can't keep us apart anymore after this," he continued to ramble on and on.

"Grug…"

"If it's a hair that ancient fossil wants in order to get her out of mine for good then so be it," he continued.

" Grug!"

"What?!"

"If you want to be my mate so bad why don't you just ask me yourself?"

Grug stopped his frantic search and stiffened up like a ribbit being hunted by a liyote. He turned to face her and saw she looked disappointed, arms crossed over her muscular chest. "Um… excuse me?" He wanted to kick himself for stuttering, he wasn't a boy anymore.

"I'm not something to trade for, and the fact you actually went through with it astounds me." Ugga shook her head with a sigh.

Grug shuffled his weight uncomfortably, he'd never been good at addressing his feelings out in the open like that. Even if it was for Ugga whom he loved dearly. "I know you're not an object, Ugga."

"Then why ask mom?"

"I… I don't know. I guess… I got tired of her talking badly about, you know… us." Grug looked at her with a frown, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Ugga reached out to cup his cheek in her hand as she stood in front of him. "Mom says a lot of things, you really need to tune her out."

He turned his head to brush his nose against her palm in a fond gesture, slouching. "She always says I'm no good for you, Ugga."

"Well, lucky for us mom isn't the one you have to court. It's me." She leaned back on her heels, still stroking his face with a gentle touch for a woman as fierce as Ugga.

"I'm just saying, getting her to shut up would be a win win to this mess." Grug shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive way, a small grin on his face.

Ugga rolled her eyes at him. "You and your manly pride are going to get you into trouble."

"If I'm already in trouble I might as well finish up," he quipped. Grug found his molephant hair amongst the broken debris the molephant had left in its rampaging wake, he’d lifted it up triumphantly in the moonlight. Ugga shook her head. “Okay, now, we can go back!”

When they returned, the sun had started to rise over the desert as dawn chased off the night. Gran had stood outside the dwelling she shared with Ugga, her scowl etched deep into her wrinkled features. The other families were creeping out of their dens in preparation of the morning hunt and foraging, their curious eyes were shocked to see Grug limping back into the canyon with Ugga supporting his hulking mass.

Grug shoved the wad of hair into Gran's face with a low growl, "Here's your stupid hair!" The old woman took it with muted shock for once, gaping mouth wide as she looked between Grug and Ugga. With a burst of adrenaline and pride, he looped his massive arm around Ugga's waist to haul her over his shoulder.

She gave a startled laugh, lightly smacking her fists into his back. "We're going back to this tradition, are we?"

"I gotta make sure your mom doesn't try anything again, you're as good as mine now," Grug huffed, limping with his Ugga secured in his grasp like she weighed light as a feather.

"You're too much, Grug."

"You've never complained before," he shot back with a grin.

"C'mon big guy, I think all that blood loss is affecting your head. Let me patch you up."

Grug headed for his cave, merry that he'd gotten Ugga and at the same time shut that awful lizard of a mother-in-law up. It costed him his pride, he noted, it was hard to ignore the snickering of the families around them. He only bared his teeth at them which seemed to work for the moment. Once his back was turned the whispering and giggling continued.

Ugga merely pressed her forehead into the back of his neck and it made everything better… least until Gran moved in but that was a different story for another tomorrow.

Grug finished his story with flourish, loosely drawing what seemed to be a lopsided circle around the two images presenting Ugga and himself.

"I like that story," Eep said, a bit dreamily as she looked at the pictures. "It wasn't really embarrassing though."

"It was if you were there," Grug scoffed as he wiped his clay covered hands on his pelt.

"Well, it still makes me laugh at least," Gran said from where she sat, cackling.

"You laugh at anything that has me getting beat up," he pointed out, surprisingly with a much more amiable tone.

"Not true, now that you learned some jokes I laugh at other things too."

Ugga smiled fondly at her mate, letting Thunk sit up so she could go wrap her arms around his bicep in a hug. "Thank you," Ugga said, rubbing her nose into his cheek.

Grug softened and felt his ears burn, giving her a small smile. His eyes fell to his audience and he couldn't help lingering on Eep who still had Guy draped in her lap. They were gazing at one another like nobody else existed around them for the moment, Guy lifting a finger to fondly boop her nose.

Ugga shook her head. "Let them be, you remember what it was like still." She patted his arm fondly with a knowing smile.

Grug huffed but said nothing, just reluctantly looked away from the two lovestruck teenagers. "I've been lounging around too much anyway." He tried shrugging off the blatant teenage romance going on right in front of him. "Since they're busy, dinner duty is on me now." The plan had been fish but he knew that failed disastrously from the word go.

He grabbed Thunk by the shoulder and the boy protested a moment, Douglas scampered between their legs as Grug lead the way towards the woodland hugging the beachfront. Ugga watched Grug go, sighing like she was a girl of twenty summers old again. She reached down to grab Sandy who wiggled in her arms, Ugga tucked her under her elbow without batting an eye over the feral snarling. She cast one last look at Eep and Guy before walking off herself, intending to put Sandy down for a nap.

"C'mon you little scamp," Ugga told her daughter. "You need all the rest you can get for when Dada comes back with food."

"Hey… where did everybody go?" Eep found a moment to look away from Guy to realize the clearing had been well… cleared out. Only one that remained was Gran, the old battle ax of a woman rolled her eyes.

Guy lingered his gaze on her still. "I don't know but you are still here so it's not a problem yet for me."

She fought off a smile best she could but failed at his widening one.

"About time the two of you joined us back in this world," she grunted in a teasing tone, her joints creaking as she pushed herself to her feet.

"Oh, hey Gran." Guy waved a hand idly in her direction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eep inquired, huffing.

"Oh, you know very well what I mean," Gran replied, stretching a kink out of her back. She gave a satisfied sigh at the pop, leaning comfortably against her stick. "Anyway lovebirds… I want my afternoon nap now. Laughing at Grug really wipes an old lady out."

"Hold on a second!" Eep exclaimed, springing up to her feet. She unceremoniously hefted Guy up in her arms as she did so, his dark eyes only startled for a second. "Why is that story your favorite, really?" Eep asked with a squint.

She put Guy back on his own two feet though clung to his bicep. He leaned against her solid form without a thought, it came as easy as breathing air. "You and Grug didn't seem to have the best relationship," Guy added thoughtfully as he looked at her.

Gran huffed through what was left of her teeth, shaking her head. "It reminds me of how foolishly in love you two are," she chuckled at the matching blushes on their faces. "Being so devoted that you go and do something stupid to prove it. I'd watch your back Guy, Grug knows he can get you to climb in Chunky's mouth if it means Eep is your reward for it."

"Eep isn't a thing," he sputtered.

Eep couldn't help but playfully jab his ribs. "I'm not a catch then?"

"Of course you are!" Even at her most gentle, Eep knocked the wind out of him and he was wheezing.

"See! That is what I mean," Gran cackled as she reached out to pat Guy fondly on the shoulder. "Lovesick idiot. Eep has you down pat. That's okay though, us ladies like a man who's easy to boss around." She winked at Eep and Guy.

She heard Eep's disgruntled scoff as she turned away, a mischievous grin tugging her old lips. "Do try to behave yourselves. Well, I'll say ta-ta for now, loves." Leaving the two to their own devices at last, Gran began to hobble off after the direction her daughter Ugga had gone.

Guy stared at the pathway until Gran was a mere speck and turned to look at Eep. "Am I easy to boss around?"

"Behave ourselves," Eep said, pouting. "She's acting like we have no restraint!"

Guy chuckled with a teasing grin, leaning down to brush his lips against the hinge of her jaw. She immediately melted. "Maybe she's kinda right about that, at least," he mumbled against her chin.

Eep nuzzled herself closer to him, feeling his breath fan her neck. “We probably shouldn’t prove her right, you know how Gran is.”

Guy just huffed and began to pepper her neck and face in kisses, Eep had no complaints despite her playful refusal. Rebellion just came with being young, even if the old codger would relish in teasing them later for it.

[dingletragedy]

Can you write something where Ben and Callum are getting it on (lol) and Ben starts to cry because he gets overwhelmed and can't hear Callum? Just thought it would be something that you would write really well :) x

i’m not sure if this is at all what you wanted anon but here’s a bot of hurt/comfort of you!!! thanks anon <33

The thing about being so close, so intimate, knowing each other so deeply, is that Ben is so easy to read, now.

And sometimes, he falls into these sporadic moods. They roll in quietly, like a brooding storm throughout the day, and by the afternoon, his eyes are distant and his shoulders are hunched in, and he plays with Callum’s hair idly and stares up at the ceiling with heavy breaths.

Ben is cheeky, sarcastic; he’s flirty and charming when he wants to be, eyes full and big. He sings loud and unashamed, watches the mouth of whoever is talking intently and speaks low. He’s responsive to the smallest of touches, pliant under Callum’s hands. He’s a wind-up, but to can charm the pants of anyone he wants.

And yet often, he’s the opposite. He’s closed in and quiet, distant and unaware, insecure and frightened. He’s an open book to Callum, and still, he remains the most private person he’s ever known.

So when his eyes cloud over, when Callum looks up from finishing another online police training course, and Ben is staring resolutely out the window, after lying awake for the majority of the previous night, shifting and breathing heavily and unknowingly keeping Callum up too, Callum doesn’t know why.

Callum settles his laptop on his bedside table, turns to cup a gentle a hand to Ben’s jaw and presses kisses there, plays with his hair and tries to get him to relax. 

Ben has a book held above him, a title that Callum doesn’t recognise against an offensively bright cover. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and his glasses are pressed close to his nose. He looks soft, sleepy, vulnerable. 

He’s been subdued all day, showing up to the cafe at lunch with soft bags under his eyes, claiming a fitful sleep. By dinner, he’d managed to convince Callum that he was absolutely fine, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and when Jay and Lola had dragged them along for a few evening drink in the Queen Vic, he sat silently in the corner and picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

As Callum pulls away from where his lips had found Ben’s neck, Ben moves the book away from his face slowly, so just his eyes are peeking over the top, silent and watching behind his glasses. Callum threads his hands into his hair slowly, scratching at his scalp, and Ben’s eyes flutter closed slowly as he breathes out. He lowers his book onto his stomach, tilting his head back a fraction.

Callum leans down and presses a delicate kiss to Ben’s forehead, hand still stroking his hair. He trails his lips down the bridge of his nose, so soft, then meets Ben’s mouth, warmth curling in his belly. Ben’s breath is hot and stuttered, Callum leans over him some more, tilting his head.

As their lips move together, Ben slowly rearranges his body, feet stretching down the bed and his whole torso shifting so they’re both facing upwards, so he can reach out and cup Callum’s jaw. He curls forward, curls towards Callum, and pulls him closer bit by bit. 

They find a comfortable position eventually. Callum settled in Ben’s lap, still twirling Ben’s hair absently in his fingers, pushing down to lick into his mouth with a tease of his tongue, trying to get him to relax, to stop him tensing his shoulders. Ben’s hands smooth down Callum’s shoulder blades like honey, settling on his hips.

It’s then, with a slow release of breath, a shift of his hips, and a tight tug at the curls in his fingers, that Callum tips them over gently and gets his hands on Ben properly.

“You good?” Callum asks. 

“Huh?” 

Good? He signs to Ben in response. 

“Oh,” Ben mumbles, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. I’m good. You?” 

“I will be soon,” Callum responds, but it’s obvious from the puzzled look on ben’s fave that words fall flat between them. “You’re all tense, Ben.” 

“Do something about it then,” Ben says, shifting his hips up impatiently. 

“Hm,” Callum raises an eyebrow, teasing. Maybe I will.

They’re both so quiet then, and it feels slightly strange. The radio ebbs around them, but it’s lost on Callum’s ears as he cups Ben’s neck, his fingers meeting at his nape, and feels his pulse against his palms. It’s skyrocketing, thumping, and Callum can feel the tiny tremors of his shoulders, the pressure of his slick mouth and his hands squeezing Callum’s thighs.

He wants to relax him, Callum thinks. Wants to touch him soft and gentle and leave kisses on every inch of skin. Despite the extensive amount of time they’ve spent tangled together, each time feels new, his nerves pulsing with love and desire. Callum wants to strip him bare, wants to push him onto his back and suck mark after mark on his soft chest, between his thighs. He wants him sated and calm, far away from whatever’s troubling him.

“Want you,” Callum says between kisses. “So much.” 

He grabs for the edge of Ben’s shirt and moves to tug it upward.

Ben flinches so suddenly, tears away abruptly, circles Callum’s wrists with an iron grip so hard that Callum lets out a sudden, surprised noise, heart slamming into his ribs. It hurts.

Ben’s head is bowed, his chest heaving suddenly.

“Ben,” Callum rasps in shock, blinking wide. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

He doesn’t reply, just continues breathing with a shaking chest, his shoulders quivering. His fingers tight around Callum’s wrists.

Ben,” he tries again. “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me, please?”

He shuffles away, releasing the grip on Callum’s wrist. His face crumples, and he tucks his knees into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around his stomach, his fingers gripping the material of his shirt as he shakes. He looks so small, so broken, and Callum sits up slowly, unsure of what to do, unsure of what’s happened.

“I hate this,” Ben says, voice quiet and small. “I hate it so much.” 

“We don’t have to do—God, Ben, I wouldn’t ever want to do anything that made you uncomfortable,” Callum tries to apologise desperately, feeling his throat thicken. “I’m so sorry.”

Ben lets out a quiet sound, sliding his glasses off to wipe at his eyes. He throws them onto the floor and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It’s not that.”

His voice is choked and thick, muffled behind his knees. When he wraps his arms around his middle again, eyes devastatingly hollow and mouth scrunched up, he looks fragile and afraid. Callum doesn’t know how to fix it this time. He doesn’t know what to do.

“What is it then?” He asks softly, keeping his distance as Ben wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. He heaves in a shuddery breath, twin droplets sliding down his cheeks.

“I cant—,” He cuts himself off and clenches his eyes closed. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Ben, look at me,” he says, reaching a hand out. What’s wrong? He signs, hands slow and steady. 

When Ben doesn’t respond straight away, Callum continues. “Ben, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, or say anything you don’t want to. We can just lay down for a while, go to sleep, if you’d prefer?”

“No, I—,” Ben blurts, scratchy and strangled, his chest still heaving. “I can’t hear you, and that’s the problem. It all just gets so much sometimes. No matter how hard I try, how much I concentre on your lips, and hands, there are moments, like these, now, when I can’t catch what you’re saying.”

As he speaks, he curls further and further into himself. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Callum shuffles forward quickly and pulls Ben’s hands away from where they’re digging into his knees, leaving marks, he rubs his thumbs over the knuckles. “Shh, you’re alright.”

He kisses over Ben’s fingers, hushing him and trying to calm him down. Hesitantly, he places a gentle hand on his back and rubs it in slow circles, worried he’ll scare him away.

“I’m sorry,” Callum says then, because maybe it’s irrational, but the guilt clawing at his stomach is unbearable. “I’ll talk slower, clearer, and I’ll sign, if it helps?” 

“No,” Ben cries. “That’s the point, Callum. It wouldn’t work. And it ain’t how it should be, is it? You having to say everything twice, pulling away from me every five seconds just to talk. It ain’t practical, not when we’re, y’know?” 

“It doesn’t matter, Ben,” Callum says, unsure of where he’s going with his. “Whether it’s practical or not, the main thing is that you feel comfortable, and safe.” 

They sit there for what feels like forever, Ben’s back shifting under Callum’s palm, tears dripping along his jaw and from the tip of his nose when he bows his head. When Callum starts to runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face, Ben’s breathing starts to slow.

“But do you?” Ben asks then. 

“Do I what?”

“Feel safe?” Ben questions, eyes worried, lip bitten redraw between his teeth. “With me? Here?”

“Of course I do,” Callum says, shocked. “You know I do, Ben.” 

“But you could be saying anything,” Ben explains at the furrow in Callum’s brows. “In the moment, when it’s all heated and—you could be—could be telling me to stop, telling me you love me, anything at all, and I wouldn’t even know.” 

“You know me though, don’t you? Callum says, waits for Ben’s nod of confirmation before continuing. “You know my body, my little ticks, what I like and what I don’t. You know my heart, Ben. And I know yours. That’ll always be enough.” 

“You think?”

I know.

“When you put it like that.” 

“It’s just you and me, yeah?” Callum goes again, because he wants to make this as comfortable, as normal, as possible for Ben. He closes his eyes, and continues, “it’s just you and me, in this room that’s become ours. There’s Bitter Sweet Symphony playing on the radio, it’s just started, still on that first stupidly long verse. There are a few stray cars travelling by, the engines rumbling through the open window, and there’s distant chatter pulling through too, but the voices are too far away to make out the words. The washing machine is on in the kitchen, spinning like crazy, the sounds vibrating up through the floor. And then there’s me, telling you that I want you, and that I love you. My voice all low and hoarse, that way it always gets when you’ve got your hands on me.” 

When Callum opens his eyes again, he notices Ben’s are closed. Shut so tightly there are wrinkles around the edges. He’s got this new expression on his face, his mouth now morphing into a slow smile, crease fading in his brow. 

He lets Ben breathe, lets him gather his thoughts. 

He lets him paint a picture of unheard sounds. 

Eventually, Ben takes in a wet, shuddering breath, and when he releases it, Callum’s heart fills with hope. “Thank you, Callum.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Callum protests. “I wish I could take your pain away, Ben, more than anything. But I need you to know this, you being deaf, it doesn’t change anything, not for us. You’re still you, and we’re still us.

Ben kisses him then, wet and shaky, but it’s the best kind of kiss, where Callum can feel every current of energy flying through him, flowing through Ben and back to him again, over and over. They grasp at each other gently in the dark, chests heaving.

Ben is almost panting into his mouth, breathless, lips mixed with salty tears.

“Lie back,” Callum says hoarsely, guiding him gently to the pillows. The air around them is static, their gazes magnetic, made to be drawn to each other. Ben follows Callum’s words hesitantly, eyes big and soft, reaching for him.

Callum lowers himself down his body slow, keeping their eyes connected always. He wants Ben to be comfortable with this.

You’re beautiful, Callum signs. 

Cal,” Ben whispers. His hands find Callum’s shoulders.

You’re so strong, Callum kisses him again, moving down incrementally. He continues, murmuring praises into Ben’s skin as he moves, brave, inspiring, brilliant, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Ben pulls him back up then, kisses Callum with purpose, with love, with everything. “I love you.”

I love you too, Callum draws on the skin of Ben’s stomach, with one single, strong finger. He parts their mouths once more, attaches his mouth to the spot he’d just drawn a heart, and presses one, gentle kiss to the sliver of skin there. He hooks his fingers under the band of Ben’s boxers, before looking up in question.

Ben is watching him intently. He gives Callum a tiny nod, and drops his head back to stare resolutely at the ceiling, swallowing thickly.

[foularcadebanana]

Food, Fights(,Fever) and Brotherly Love (Part 2)

Day 26 Prompt for the Untamed Fall Fest 2020 is ‘Remains’.

Summary: Wei Wuxian finds out that Jiang Cheng has a fever and takes care of him.

READ ON AO3

Jiang Cheng had a fever. It was a mild fever, Shijie had told him, but Jiang Cheng never got a fever. Wei Wuxian was not worried, of course, about Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t supposed to be worried because he wasn’t talking to Jiang Cheng. And he wasn’t talking to Jiang Cheng because they had sort of had a fight two days ago.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been acting reckless and he hadn’t asked to be drowned in the water. He had thought he’d seen a lotus pod floating somewhere near the docks. How could he have known that it was just overgrown seaweed and waste? And how could he have known that he would get his leg stuck in it? He had tried to be as careful as he could have been, but according to Jiang Cheng, it hadn’t been careful enough.

Jiang Cheng had pulled Wei Wuxian out and then given a lecture about being more careful and asking for help and about how sick and tired he was of saving Wei Wuxian’s stupid ass.

“Fine! Then you don’t have to save me any longer. I didn’t ask you to save me this time either. You could have just let me drown,” Wei Wuxian had angrily yelled back.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng had fisted Wei Wuxian’s robes in his hands, with a rage that Wei Wuxian had never seen before. Then he had pushed Wei Wuxian away roughly. “Next time you need help, don’t call for me. Die, and see if I care.”

Jiang Cheng had walked away with those words, leaving Wei Wuxian at the docks. They hadn’t spoken since then. And Wei Wuxian had stayed at the docks until his shijie had called him for dinner. He still wouldn’t admit to wiping the tears in his eyes as he had followed her.

Now here he was, brooding as he sat in the middle of the training grounds and stared into the distance. He was angry about the fact that no one had told him that Jiang Cheng was sick. He had found out when he had loudly asked the teacher and the disciples why Jiang Cheng hadn’t come for training. Jiang Cheng never missed training, not that Wei Wuxian cared.

That was when he had found out that Jiang Cheng had spiked up a sudden fever the night before and it made sense to him why he hadn’t seen his shijie for breakfast this morning. He hadn’t seen Madam Yu or Uncle Jiang, but then he never really saw them during breakfast. He always woke up a little too late for that.

So, Wei Wuxian stood up, wiping dirt off of himself, and decided to grudgingly stomp his way Jiang Cheng’s room. When he opened the door to the room, Shijie was sitting at the bedside, wiping sweat off of Jiang Cheng’s forehead just as Wei Wuxian had predicted. As Shijie turned to him, she seemed slightly surprised to see him, and Jiang Cheng tensed up when he spotted him.

Wei Wuxian didn’t care. He made his way over to his brother, who he had to admit didn’t look too good, and loomed over him. Wei Wuxian crossed his arms and frowned at Jiang Cheng, the same way Jiang Cheng did in front of him sometimes.

After a few seconds of observation, and complete silence (they were all holding their breaths, even Wei Wuxian), Wei Wuxian reached out and gently lay his hand on Jiang Cheng’s forehead. Fucking hell! His brother was burning up! Wei Wuxian would damn whoever had told him that Jiang Cheng was only slightly feverish.

Wei Wuxian’s then held his hand against Jiang Cheng’s cheek and neck, and they felt even hotter.

“Jiang Cheng, you’re really sick,” Wei Wuxian said, worriedly seating next to Shijie at Jiang Cheng’s bedside. Jiang Cheng huffed out a breath and looked away. Wei Wuxian turned to his sister. “Shijie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just found out this morning when Mother told me,” Shijie told him. “A-Cheng didn’t tell anyone that he wasn’t feeling well for a while, did you A-Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng continued to look away, his cheeks red. Wei Wuxian couldn’t figure out whether it was from the fever or something else. As Shijie’s words sunk in, Wei Wuxian’s frown deepened. Jiang Cheng’ hadn’t been feeling well for a while? But he had been fine when—

Wei Wuxian suddenly gasped. “Jiang Cheng you— you— you fucker! You asshole! You absolute—!” He shook his brother, with a violence and anger he had never felt towards him before. Jiang Cheng stared at him in shock, eyes widened and mouth gaping slightly.

“A-Xian!” Shijie called out his name alarmed, pulling him away from Jiang Cheng. But Wei Wuxian didn’t care. He was just so— so fucking mad at his brother!

“You fell ill after you jumped into the water to save me, didn’t you?!” Wei Wuxain exclaimed. “You arrogant bastard, you— you—! Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded to know.

Jiang Cheng blinked at him, and then, to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, a small smile grew on his face. Why was he smiling?

“Now you know how I feel,” Jiang Cheng said softly, and Wei Wuxian wondered how high Jiang Cheng’s fever must be for him to talk nonsense, “every time I have to watch you get hurt. And you never ask for help. I always have to run after you and save you.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, taking the wet cloth from his shijie and sitting where she had been. “You can go Shijie. I’ll take care of this stubborn idiot.”

Shijie nodded, ruffled Wei Wuxian’s hair, gave Jiang Cheng a soft kiss on the forehead and whispered for him to feel better before she walked away.

Jiang Cheng spoke as he watched their sister walk away. “Why is it not the same thing?” he asked. “Is it because you think my life is worth more than yours?”

Yes, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream, your life is worth a lot more than mine. But what he said was, “It’s because you are a future sect leader.” And my brother. Jiang Cheng looked away bitterly. “The Yunmeng Jiang Sect needs you.”

“And what about you?” Jiang Cheng asked. Wei Wuxian swallowed as he put the damp cloth in his hand on Jiang Cheng’s forehead, wiping away new sweat that had gathered there. “Don’t you need me?”

The vulnerability in Jiang Cheng’s voice made Wei Wuxian freeze and finally meet his eyes. I need you more than you could ever know, A-Cheng. “Jiang Cheng,” he said softly, “of course I do. You have no idea how worried I was when I didn’t see you at the training grounds today, and when I heard that you had a fever…. You should have told me.”

Jiang Cheng looked away again and muttered something that didn’t reach Wei Wuxian’s ears, but Wei Wuxian held Jiang Cheng’s chin and tilted it towards himself, careful not to hurt Jiang Cheng in the process. Wei Wuxian gently rubbed the damp cloth against both of Jiang Cheng’s cheeks and then presses it lightly against his neck.

“I wanted to tell you, but I knew you were mad at me and I— I didn’t think you would care.” Jiang Cheng spoke up quietly.

Wei Wuxian looked at Jiang Cheng with disbelief. “You didn’t think that I would care about the fact that my didi had a fever?”

Jiang Cheng refused to look at him. “I—”

“Especially that you had a fever because you had to dive in and save me the day before yesterday?” Wei Wuxian felt like a dam ready to burst, a volcano ready to explode.

“I just thought—” Jiang Cheng hesitantly spoke.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Wei Wuxain interrupted, “and if you ever think like that again or keep things from me, then I’ll— I’ll— I’ll tell Shijie to never make our favourite soup again. Or worse. I’ll tell her to make our favourite soup and then I’ll drink it all up!

Jiang Cheng gasped. “You would never!”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Try me.”

When Wei Wuxian joined his shijie in the kitchen, it was already mid-afternoon. Jiang Cheng had fallen asleep some time after having lunch, and Wei Wuxian had stayed by his side for some more time, checking his fever between intervals, before finally letting him get sleep on his own.

“Shijie, are you making lotus root and pork ribs soup for Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asked. He could already see the water boiling in a container, and his shijie was popping lotus seeds out of their pods. She looked at him and nodded her head. “I want to help,” Wei Wuxian said.

When Jiang Cheng woke up, Wei Wuxian was by his side keeping a tray of soup in front of him. “Drink up,” he said.

Jiang Cheng looked suspiciously at the soup kept in the bowl for him. “Who made this?”

Wei Wuxian tried not to feel too nervous. He had made the soup entirely on his own, but Shijie had been there all along, instructing him on what to do and exactly how to do it. After all, it was his fault that Jiang Cheng was sick.

“I did,” he said.

Jiang Cheng snorted, “Yeah, right. Tell A-jie I said thank you.” He took a spoonful of soup and then froze after he had taken a sip.

“I really did make it,” Wei Wuxian muttered quietly. “Shijie helped.”

Jiang Cheng slowly looked up from the bowl, his eyes meeting Wei Wuxian’s. He swallowed and then took another spoonful of the soup. Wei Wuxian watched silently as Jiang Cheng finished half of the soup, and then groaned.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Wei Wuxian, I can’t.” Jiang Cheng admitted, and Wei Wuxian leaned forward with his hand already outstretched to check his temperature. Jiang Cheng swatted away the hand.

“It isn’t that bad,” Wei Wuxian teased, but his brother didn’t take the bait. “Look if you don’t drink up the remaining soup, then I’ll have to go throw it in the lake and let it all go to waste. Would you like that, Jiang Cheng, hmmm?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the soup in his hands and kept it on the tray. “Maybe the fish will have it,” he replied.

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, giving up on convincing his brother. He took the bowl into his own hands and took a spoonful of the soup. Blowing on it once, he pushed the tray away, sidling up next to his brother. “Open up.”

Jiang Cheng groaned. “You have to be kidding me.” But he did as his brother told him to and kept his mouth open.

Wei Wuxian put the spoon into his mouth and watched as Jiang Cheng chewed a bit before swallowing the soup. He pulled the spoon out of his brother’s mouth and repeated the motion until all of the soup was in his brother’s stomach and the bowl was empty.

“There we go,” Wei Wuxian wiped Jiang Cheng’s mouth with his sleeve and kept the bowl aside on the tray.

Jiang Cheng stared at Wei Wuxian, his entire face, neck and his ears red. “Thank you,” he said, so softly that Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly at first.

“Don’t be ridiculous, A-Cheng. What are you thanking me for?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“For making the soup. It was delicious,” Jiang Cheng spoke, his gaze faltering and shifting to his fidgeting hands.

“Was it more delicious than the soup Shijie makes?” Wei Wuxian asked. It was a long-standing joke between him and his brother, ever since the first time Wei Wuxian had made something for him.

But Jiang Cheng’s words were genuine as he made eye contact with Wei Wuxian. “You know it was.”

[tedrick]

caldel fic bc i can’t put it in docs uwuwuwuwu

mostly early 2020???? late 2019???? unfinished

Calvin found himself a bit bewildered, and unsure what to do with his hands during the long elevator ride. Typically not the type to be visibly nervous, Calvin was clearly out of his comfort zone in this large, grandiose building.  

It was hard not to notice from the outside, ornate and elaborate; Calvin was used to staring at it whenever he’d pass by, wondering about what the apartments inside looked like, the size of the lobby, the expensive furnishings. Now he found himself inside, traveling to one of its top floors in the elevator. 

Adel really lived here? 

The silence was becoming increasingly awkward. If Calvin had dared to watch Adel during their ascent he would have seen that Adel was also clearly uncomfortable, standing a bit too stiffly and holding his breath. By the gracious nature peripheral vision though, Adel seemed to just be naturally and comfortably subdued. 

“So..” Calvin said, looking across the elevator, the walls of which were lines with a soft, velvety looking covering. “You live on the twelfth floor? Here?” He laughed as he said it, trying not to seem rude or strange, while also making an attempt to hide his nervousness. 

Adel turned to him, eyes wide and attentive before he quickly glanced away again. “Uh, yeah- haha.” The laugh was embarrassingly forced, but he wanted to seem as nonchalant as he mistook Calvin to be. “The suites are all on the highest floors, but it’s still a very nice building, I think.” Adel punctuated his sentence by nodding to himself, that was probably the right thing to say. 

Calvin stared at Adel for a moment, processing what he had just said. There wasn’t very much time for him to process though, as the elevator finally slowed to a stop, the doors swiftly opening to a classy well-lit hallway with a faint pleasant fragrance. 

Adel stepped out and Calvin followed stiffly, transfixed by the elaborate patterns in the carpet and the wallpaper. Some ways down the hallway, Adel finally stopped at a door, and Calvin stood behind him as he retrieved a key ring from one of his jacket pockets, a singular key hanging from it. As he leaned over Adel’s shoulder, Calvin also saw that attached to the key ring was a small, cute keychain of a frog that he had never seen before. He smiled, thinking that it was adorable. 

There was a click as the door unlocked, and Adel slipped the key ring back into his pocket. Surprisingly, after he swung the door open, he stood by the doorway and motioned for Calvin to enter first. 

Calvin drifted through the doorway that entered into the bedroom portion of Adel’s apartment, which was even larger than his own bedroom. 

The room was immaculate as well as bright, mainly thanks to the rather large window on the opposite wall which displayed a view of the busy street outside, and the sprawling blue sky above it. 

The cleanliness of the room brought attention the its decoration, which was mostly limited to various instruments arranged around the perimeter of the floor and the walls. A guitar leaned against one wall, a ukulele hung on another, a keyboard sat in the corner, aside several other instrument cases. Besides the instruments, the rest of the decoration in the apartment was comprised of different houseplants, which took up most available surfaces- the windowsill, the desk, the dresser. They all looked different, and were all obviously very well taken care of. 

Besides that, the apartment wasn’t just impeccably clean, it was also incredibly sparse. Evidently, Adel didn’t take much an interest in interior design. Furnishing the room was the bare minimum: a comfy bed, a polished nightstand, a desk and a seat, a cushy chair, some shelves and a rug.

It all looked nice enough to fool the eye at a glance, but there were no knick-knacks that weren’t plants or schoolbooks. The entire area was distinctly.. utilitarian. 

“Ah,” Calvin started, removing his jacket as he took it all in. “So you’re one of those ‘minimalists’, huh?” He cracked a smile at Adel, who was locking the deadbolt on the door. 

“I uh, don’t really know what that means.” Adel said timidly, trying not to show his confusion as he turned around. He smiled at Calvin, and removed his own jacket, then walked past him and draped it over the chair at his desk. 

“You hungry?” Adel asked with a grin, and without waiting for an answer, he disappeared down a hallway, leaving Calvin alone beside the entrance. 

Taking his cue, Calvin gingerly placed his jacket over Adel’s and followed him through the short hallway into a small, organized kitchen space. Adel was searching through stainless steel refrigerator. Quickly, he turned and tossed something to Calvin, who caught it to find that is was a large, round orange. 

Internally grateful that he hadn’t fumbled the orange and made a full of himself, Calvin further tested his luck by tossing the orange back and forth from hand to hand, trying to look cool.

“Thanks, man!” He said, looking up at Adel with a beaming smile. Adel smiled back, relieved that he made Calvin happy. From a cupboard he pulled out a granola snack for himself and began to unwrap it. 

“You’re welcome.” He replied sheepishly, looking down. 

Making short work of his orange’s peel, Calvin glanced around the kitchen, which was relatively small, yet well-outfitted with different appliances and utensils. Still, something about the arrangement of it was off- it looked superficially decorated rather than a well-used kitchen. He got the feeling that Adel didn’t spend too much time in here. 

“So uh, how-“ Calvin started before Adel wordlessly moved forward and gently took the orange peel from his fingers, sliding a drawer open to reveal a trash can that he dropped the peel and his wrapper in. 

Realizing this had interrupted Calvin, Adel looked back at him with his wide, expectant blue eyes. “S-Sorry. Go on.” He prompted. 

Now flustered, Calvin spun the peeled orange in his hands. “Yeah uh. How’d you even get a place like this dude?” He asked, gesturing to the space around them to show that he was impressed by it’s grandeur. 

Adel didn’t seem to share his sentiment though, as he shrugged. “I dunno really. It’s a nice building. It had nice reviews so..” His sentence trailed off as he took a bite of his granola. He was dodging the question. 

Forcing the orange slices apart with his thumb, Calvin chuckled. “No, I mean, how do you even afford a place like this? The rent here must be crazy.” He hoped that Adel could tell that he was sincerely not trying to be rude, he was just bewildered. Calvin couldn’t fathom this small, awkward, punkish boy living in a place so lavish. In fact, he was pretty sure Adel had never even mentioned having a job that would pay well enough to support such a living situation. 

Something about Adel’s posture shifted and solidified, taking up the brooding and serious shape it had before they’d gotten to know each other better. When he spoke his words seemed stilted, as he gave his response a good amount of contemplation. 

“Well.. it’s mostly family money.” As he spoke, he suddenly began walking back to his bedroom area. Calvin followed. “My grandparents are kind of... doting? I think. They send me money from Germany to help with school, housing, the like..” 

From an outside perspective, it was unclear what Adel was thinking. Part of him was embarrassed to admit that he was sustained by money that he didn’t earn. Another part of him was ashamed by the fact that the money was mostly insurance against him needing to work. 

“Wow! That’s really nice of them!” Calvin exclaimed, painfully aware that Adel had become a little uncomfortable, and they were both just standing in the middle of his room. “I’m sure my parents would do the same but, five kids is a lot to provide for already, haha.”

At this, Adel’s discomfort seemed to disappear. He perked up and looked at Calvin, who was in the middle of eating another slice off his orange. “Five kids? You told me you have sisters but not four other siblings!” Adel sat down onto his bed, clearly unable to fathom being a part of such a large family. 

Tentatively sitting down next to Adel, Calvin nodded. “Yeah I’ve got four sisters. I swear the exhaustion will kill me someday.” He feigned a wistful look into the distance, making Adel crack up immediately. Seeing Adel laugh so carefreely made Calvin loosen up a bit. 

“We all have our differences,” Calvin continued. “But I love them. At least it’s never boring.” As he spoke, he lovingly thought of his large family, and all of his younger sisters who he cherished deeply. 

“I can imagine.” Adel said. “It’s probably never lonely either, huh?” Even though he was speaking directly to Calvin, his gaze was lowered to his hands, which he fiddled with now that he wasn’t holding the snack he’d just finished. 

Calvin shrugged. “I dunno... It can get pretty lonely sometimes. I’m the big brother- I’ve got to take care of everybody, be responsible, be smart, be happy. Its a.. Its a big role to live up to, y’know?” He tried to smile but the furrow of his eyebrows wouldn’t allow anything convincing. 

At this point Adel looked up at him again. “I never really thought of it like that before.” 

Instead of replying, Calvin remained silent. He could tell that Adel was thinking through something that he wanted to elaborate on. 

“I’m an only child so.. sometimes I wonder if i missed out on any of that. Those-“ He gestured with his hands as he tried to think of the word he wanted to use. “Those bonds, i guess, that are built in with siblings. Even the responsibility. Someone to take care of. It sounds nice.” 

There were several moments of silence as the two of them were lost in their thoughts. Calvin spoke. 

“Adel... were you lonely at home?” 

Adel grew somber. He inhaled deeply, releasing his breath in a tired sigh. “I wish I could lie to you Calvin, but honestly.. there wasn’t really a time when I wasn’t lonely.” 

Calvin stayed silent once more, opting to observe. As Adel began to continue speaking, he slightly shifted to face towards Calvin less. His words came slowly, as if reliving the memories was difficult, or perhaps he had spent a very long time trying to forget. 

“I was an only child, yes, but.. not even my parents ever spent much time with me. My mother was always very paranoid. It pushed my father away, he became unfaithful. That only made her behavior worse.” Adel paused for a very long time. “They divorced very early in my life. I lived alone with my mother afterwards.” 

This was the point where Calvin decided he should speak up, offer some words of consolation or a change in the topic. Before he could utter out anything however, Adel continued. 

“You know, neither of them ever really treated me like i was their child though. I was probably just proof that two shallow people managed to achieve a nice family life. That was a lie. We’d smile for portraits, then go to our own rooms far away from each other. Even in such a big house, i could still always hear them yelling at each other.” Adel chuckled as he spoke these final words, but his face was emotionless, and his eyes were distant. 

“And when there were two of us I hardly interacted with my mother. There was nothing she could do that a maid couldn’t do for her, so long as she didn’t have to look at me. I was just a little doll in a big empty doll house. Nothing ever changed. It wouldn’t even matter which room i used because they had never even made a room for me. Isn’t that strange?” Finally, Adel turned to make eye contact with Calvin. His eyes were wet, but not close to tears.

“A boy living in a house for adults. She had arranged the house to her liking before I was born, and never changed it afterwards. That house was exactly the same for as long as i lived in it. Sparkly and extravagant, my messed up family hardly belonged. It was like... a puzzle, that was already complete without us. Not a single one of us fit into it, and none of us fit together as well... I’ve never really known the closeness of a family, large or otherwise.”

“Even after we moved in with my grandparents, sold the house, I was still always all alone.” Then Adel fell silent, and withdrew into himself. It seemed he was done speaking about his past.

Calvin looked around the room once more. Perhaps thats why all of the decor was so superficial and functional. Perhaps thats why the apartment seemed so empty. He looked back at Adel.

“I’m sorry Adel. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Adel’s back straightened, and he swatted at his eyes, blinking back any threat of tears.

“No, it’s alright.” Adel assured him. “I shouldn’t be getting emotional, it’s not that deep.” Then he became visibly uncomfortable. “I- I’m sorry for making this awkward, Calvin. We should talk about something else. I didn’t mean to be a bummer.”

Without much forethought, Calvin said the first thing that came to mind, hoping it would cheer Adel up.

“Uhhh what about these plants? You never mentioned you were like, world’s best houseplant owner! I’d probably kill a cactus but these, these are really nice!”

Obviously Adel was invested in his plants, he must love them, and Calvin was earnestly impressed by them. He’d once tried to plant an orange tree when he was younger, but to his disappointment, nothing ever came of it.

Thankfully, Adel smiled. His eyes lit up with pride, and he straightened his back. “Yes, i love my plants. I’m very proud of them. I’ve always enjoyed gardening, but there’s not much you can do in an twelfth story apartment.”

This made Adel laugh, and Calvin tried to laugh too even though he couldn’t relate.

“Do they.. do they have names?” Calvin asked.

Adel tried and failed to repress a smile, and he leaned in close. “They do.” He giggled. “I wasn’t going to say- i think it’s a bit embarrassing.”

Calvin leaned forward as well, setting his hand down right next to Adel’s to brace himself.

“Nooo! I’d love to know, for real!”

Adel rolled his eyes playfully and smiled as he stood up, walking around his room and introducing each of his plants. He started out shyly, but eventually it was clear how invested he was in his individual houseplants- none of which Calvin could name, but they were all very pretty.

“This is Anne, and Claudio, Henry, Franz, Hector, Fanny and Felix, Guissepe, Gustav, Igor, Maurice, and Samuel.”

Adel paused next to the final plant, clasping his hands together and pulling at his fingers, eager to recieve praise from Calvin.

[satonthelotuspier]

How Shall We Stop Dreams - Part 8

Been a couple of weeks almost since the last Dreams, finally got C7 finished after raid last night.

4.3k words. The group are starting to connect some dots as their various investigations start to bear fruit.

It’s all over on AO3 or by following the tag below. Hope you enjoy.

He had been walking for a while when he paused in a sunny clearing and drew Sandu. Jiang Cheng decided to try and use the inherent meditation that went hand in hand with sword forms to try and calm his whirling thoughts. He tried, he persevered. But it didn’t work at all.

Damn Lan Xichen, if he hadn’t pursued so fast and so hard Jiang Cheng’s head wouldn’t be floating in all directions now. Sickeningly he knew he had no one to blame but himself; it was Jiang Cheng’s fault for not trusting his initial feelings that Lan Xichen being interested in him just wasn’t possible without some deeper motive.

And it turned out he had been right. The vindication gave him little pleasure though, and he sighed as he sheathed Sandu. It was useless. He was going to brood no matter what, he might as well just give in to it.

Jiang Cheng unsurprisingly hadn’t slept too well the previous evening, so as he settled down in the sunshine and despite the chaos of his thoughts he felt a tug of drowsiness.

He was saved from sleep at the sound of someone rustling through the grasses, approaching his clearing. He could only blame the turbulence of his mind, the cloudiness of sleep and the spider demons Wei Wuxian had encountered the day before for his reaction; he rolled to one knee and, using his spiritual energy, sent several small rocks at the intruder.

The bright sword glare appeared and smashed the missiles to pieces, and Lan Xichen raised his sleeve to protect his face and eyes from the debris of the exploded stones.

Jiang Cheng’s first reaction was to run over and check he was alright, apologise and ask for forgiveness, but half way to his feet he remembered how angry he was at the other and remained rooted to the spot instead.

Lan Xichen continued towards him and Jiang Cheng noticed the scratch on his cheek; the knowledge he’d caused it disappointingly brought him no pleasure at all, in fact he felt  the sting of guilt.

Not enough to forget his hurt and anger though.

He pulled his sword out of it’s sheath and pointed it at Lan Xichen as he continued to approach, “Don’t” Jiang Cheng ordered him as he came to a halt at the point of Sandu.

The play of the dappled light through the trees highlighted the other’s jade-like features running through a myriad of expressions, from disbelief, to annoyance, to pain.

Again Jiang Cheng had to harden his soft heart against capitulation; he wouldn’t be a pushover, a thing to be toyed with and kept in the dark like a silly child.

“Wanyin. Can’t we just sit and talk? Do you really have to hold me at sword point?” Lan Xichen asked, a trace of irritation in his voice.

“That depends on whether you can be trusted to keep your distance without my sword at your throat” he was proud at how steady his own tone was. Despite it being a lie.

“I see suddenly you’re buying into your brother’s narrative that I’m a mad seducer” Lan Xichen’s tone became cool and his face lost it’s usual expressive warmth; suddenly looking so much like his icy younger brother Jiang Cheng faltered in surprise.

Lan Xichen backed away then, and went to sit on a nearby rock. “Let me make it easy for you, I’ll stay here” he folded his legs into the lotus position, placed Shuoyue by his side and curled his hands on his knees.

It left Jiang Cheng feeling rather silly to be stood there with his sword extended, so he lowered it slowly, then gave in and sheathed it.

He moved back to his sunny spot and sat down himself, mirroring the other’s position.

“You wanted to talk” he prompted the other. “And I want the truth”

“I haven’t spoken an untruth to you yet” Lan Xichen’s tone was clipped, and Jiang Cheng regretted using that word in that context. He hadn’t meant to insinuate that the other had lied, merely that there were things he’d held back, and that was the truth.

His hurt again made him hold his tongue, however.

“So tell me, your brother’s big mouth notwithstanding, at which point should I have given you chapter and verse, Wanyin? Should I have opened with the Spiritmatch facts? Or tried to proceed like I did, giving us each time to explore our potential relationship before I threw such a weighty complication into the mix?”

And really when he said it like that it made Jiang Cheng feel like a fool for making an issue of it. On reflection, there really wasn’t a good time to be made aware that karma, or destiny, was hanging over them in such a manner. That didn’t change how Jiang Cheng felt about the situation though, at the end of the day he was still the idiot being pursued because karma told Lan Xichen he should.

“Give me the facts now”

Lan Xichen lowered his head; closing his eyes. “A Lan’s Spiritmatch is meant to be the other half of their soul. Most of us know our Spiritmatch ahead of ever meeting them, through the dreams, although it isn’t always the case. If they didn’t I’m lead to believe it’s possible to identify their match through something like a...tugging of the soul?...or perhaps it’s a feeling of displacement, when they meet for the first time” he raised his head again and met Jiang Cheng’s gaze again.

Jiang Cheng successfully fought the urge to ask Lan Xichen which applied to him, instead he asked, “What else are you keeping from me?”

He didn’t pretend not to notice that something flickered in the depths of Lan Xichen’s eyes at the question, and Jiang Cheng felt the flare of his temper again; was Lan Xichen really going to keep hiding things from him despite being given his ultimatum?

His hand clutched Sandu’s scabbard until his knuckles showed white as those dark amber eyes suddenly flared gold.

“What…?” he checked the sunlight, convinced it had to be a trick of the light in the clearing, but Lan Xichen actually sat under the canopy of the trees.

It made him close the distance between them like nothing else could have, “How are you doing that? What is that?” he asked once he was close enough to confirm beyond doubt it wasn’t some effect of the sun.

“My biggest secret. I’m an empath. Rare enough there will likely be no other born for several hundred more years. I can feel every emotion running through you like an extension of my own. Consider me laid bare before you now”

Jiang Cheng reached out to touch him unconsciously, but Lan Xichen actually held up a hand to stall him.

“I beg that you’ll not to touch me at the moment, physical touch magnifies the link and I’ve lowered all my walls to demonstrate, and it can get quite overwhelming even with them fully in place”

Despite what people often seemed to think Jiang Cheng was not a stupid boy, he immediately understood what Lan Xichen hadn’t said.

“Especially near someone as emotionally volatile as I am? Put them back up immediately, I don’t need you to hurt yourself to prove something to me”

Lan Xichen nodded, and the gold of his eyes faded back to their normal dark amber.

Jiang Cheng considered how cruel karma was being to Lan Xichen.

“You would be a hundred times better off without me from what you say” and why did that make him feel so desolate?

“How could that be?” Lan Xichen asked; he did reach out himself now and tucked the fall of Jiang Cheng’s hair behind his ear, “Don’t think too deeply on it, Wanyin, just let it happen and we’ll see” he suggested, and honestly Jiang Cheng wanted to agree, but a lot had happened and it was difficult to follow his own thoughts and know his own mind genuinely. They had come to the Nightless City to solve the issue of their nightmares, and instead they’d fallen into a situation taken straight from an adventure book, or a romance. His eyes flickered back to Lan Xichen’s.

“I need to consider things, to understand my own mind. Give me time” he asked instead.

Lan Xichen held his gaze, “I understand” he said eventually, and lowered his hand. It wasn’t just words, he most certainly did, being privy to Jiang Cheng’s emotions as intimately as he must be.

And Jiang Cheng didn’t find that notion as abhorrent as he thought he might.

“May I ask you a question?” Lan Xichen got to his feet, picking up Shuoyue as Jiang Cheng backed away, nodding at his request. “How were you able to feed your spiritual energy into so many external objects at once as when I walked into the clearing? I counted no less than a dozen reasonably large missiles”

Jiang Cheng stared at him blankly; he hadn’t even realised he had. He genuinely had no answer for Lan Xichen.

***

Wei Wuxian would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t worried that Jiang Cheng hadn’t returned by the time Luo Qingyang came to him that evening; and when they went to collect Lan Wangji the same went for Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian felt a moment of discontent over the thought of them being together, getting up to who knew what. Although he had acknowledged he didn’t have the right to actively interfere in whatever relationship Jiang Cheng chose to be involved in he wouldn’t be happy about it in his own head until Lan Xichen proved he would protect, love and make Jiang Cheng the happiest man alive. There wasn’t really anything about Lan Xichen to object to, except the fact he had dared to woo Wei Wuxian’s didi, and that was indeed a crime in Wei Wuxian’s mind, but he would no longer interfere outwardly.

“We can’t wait any longer or we’ll be unable to follow the Jin clan disciple” Luo Qingyang informed them and they of course couldn’t disagree.

He had to pause to admire how unusual it was to see Lan er-gongzi in dark robes rather than the usual white before they left, however; it emphasized the fairness of his skin and the pristine whiteness of the headband he still wore.

Luo Qingyang had also dressed in darker robes, and the notion of both of them dressing for subterfuge like it was a child’s adventure book was highly amusing to Wei Wuxian. Especially as, due to his own preferred clothing palette, he didn’t have to.

But the thought what they intended to do soon sobered him; it could be very dangerous if they were discovered. They were in Wen territory, and they were just three cultivators. If the Wens really did intend them harm and the concerned face they had put on for the rest of the cultivational world was merely a front there was no doubt they would deal with obstacles to their intended plans with whatever force was needed to ensure they  weren’t threatened.

The mismatched trio slipped out into the night without further delay and made their way through the alleyways formed by the groups of houses and businesses to where the Jin clan were accommodated.

They only had a short time to wait until the Jin clan disciple exited, following a Wen clan retainer.

They followed the pair who, unsurprisingly, travelled to the part of the Nightless City they had all been informed were the private clan areas upon first arrival weeks ago. The enclave was located behind the Palace of the Sun and Flames, Wen Ruohan’s seat. They couldn’t follow the pair directly through the gatewayed entrances in the walls of course, they were too narrow and likely watched, hence it would be too easy to spot anyone trying to gain entry. They had to spirit over the walls away from them, picking up the trail on the other side.

The Jin disciple was lead to a large building with a healer’s sign painted on the side.

Wen Qing’s practice then?

They hugged the shadows against the walls. Lan Wangji indicated himself and pointed at the window where the flicker of candlelight indicated occupancy, then he indicated Luo Qingyang and Wei Wuxian and made a gesture that they should check other windows into other rooms in case the one he intended to check himself wasn’t the one where what they wanted to know would occur.

Wei Wuxian nodded and moved off to the left and Luo Qingyang followed his lead and moved in the opposite direction.

He found nothing but an empty room through the first windows he peered through; he had a little more luck when he came across a small, bare room lit by a single candle. In the room sat a lone Wen retainer, he looked to be virtually falling asleep as he sat on an old crate. The only other feature of the room was a square hole in the floor, obviously deliberately formed due to the perfect shape of the opening. He could just see the top of a rough wooden stairway from his position at the window. Was guarding this entrance to who knew what the retainer’s purpose? There was nothing else that it could possibly be, unless the crate was a secret spiritual treasure!

He watched for a while but nothing noteworthy happened and the retainer just continued to doze on his seat. Wei Wuxian was just about to move on and check the next window when the retainer suddenly shot upright. Wei Wuxian thought he had been seen and prepared to make a dash and warn the others, but he realised in time that it was because Wen Qing entered the room, followed by another retainer who guided the Jin sect disciple who had been blindfolded.

He felt Luo Qingyang arrive at his side as the last head disappeared from view and the alert retainer again went back to dozing.

He indicated they should rejoin Lan Wangji and they moved back around to their original starting point, where Lan Wangji stood, merging into the shadows in his black robes, clearly waiting for them to return.

He unfolded his arms as they arrived, and they all leant in close to each other.

“I saw nothing” Luo Qingyang reported, her voice so low even pressing their heads together almost wasn’t enough.

“The Jin disciple, Zheng He, was questioned briefly by Wen Qing and submitted to being blindfolded”

“They lead him into the room in the eastern corner of the building. There’s a hole cut into the floor that leads down beneath the house. It’s guarded by a single retainer who isn’t the most alert”

“We have to follow as soon as possible, or we may miss the chance to find out what’s being done” Luo Qingyang urged, “There was no one else in the house that I saw, except the retainer Wei-gongzi reports, and whoever was with Wen Qing”

“The retainer who collected Zheng He left, there was one other man with them, they all three left together”

“And went down the staircase” Wei Wuxian confirmed. “Do we knock the guard unconscious then? It’s dangerous to leave him as a loose end, we don’t know how long we’ll be down there”

“Is he a demon? Is he Wen clan, or an outer disciple?” Lan Wangji asked.

“An outer disciple” Wei Wuxian informed him confidently.

“Then leave that to me” Lan Wangji stepped back and their sub-whispered conversation was done.

***

The wooden staircase led down into the depths of the bedrock the city was built on, into a tunnel system filled with cool air.

They found it wasn’t a straightforward single direction, and they would have to make a best guess of which way to go.

“If we have to make our way out quickly we’re likely to end up running deeper into the system rather than out” Wei Wuxian said in a low voice to protect it from echoing and alerting anyone to their presence. “Should we mark the walls in some way?” he went to draw Suibian, but Luo Qingyang raised her hand.

“It’s likely to make a noise and it will be easy to spot. We don’t want to bring the Wens down on our heads” she turned her back, lifted her outer robe and tore off the hem of her pink under robe.

She tore a smaller piece of the cloth off and placed it on the ground to one side of the tunnel they’d need to follow to get back to the staircase at the first juncture they came too. She weighted it down with a stone. It’s bright colour would mean they’d see it easily in the torchlight if they had to find their way out in a rush but it wouldn’t be too obvious to anyone walking past if they weren’t looking for it because it was such a small scrap.

Wei Wuxian gave her a pat on the shoulder and they carried on deeper into the tunnels.

“How did you do that to the retainer?” Wei Wuxian asked Lan Wangji, “Your eyes actually glowed. What even was that?”

“I promise to give you a full explanation when we’re safely out of the caves, please focus” Lan Wangji ordered and Wei Wuxian pulled a face at his back.

“Whatever is down here is important to whatever they’re doing, or intend to do with us, they deliberately moved Wen Qing’s hospital here recently, the paint of the healer sign is fresh, even thought the rest of the outside is weathered” Wei Wuxian murmured after a few minutes.

Lan Wangji agreed with a soft “Mn”.

“Nothing says evil scheme like a big subterranean cave full of mysteries” Wei Wuxian continued; he’d never liked silence.

Lan Wangji threw him a look.

“What?”

“We are traditionally silent when sneaking into a mysterious subterranean enemy stronghold” he said, an Wei Wuxian was delighted at the element of teasing in his reply.

“Then Lan Zhan, shush, if you say something to me of course I’m going to say something back to you, it’s only manners” his clowning was halted when Luo Qingyang punched him in the arm.

“If you get us caught because you can’t be quiet I’ll gut you myself” she threatened him in annoyance, “And Lan er-gongzi, you absolutely shouldn’t encourage him”

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise at being told off.

They continued onwards through the tunnels, making a best guess at the direction, and leaving more of Luo Qingyang’s under robe behind to guide the way back.

They eventually found themselves on a ledge which could have almost been designed by nature as a viewing platform for the large cavern it looked down into. They couldn’t have picked their destination any better to see what went on in the cavern.

“There are people down there” Wei Wuxian whispered urgently and all three of them dropped to the ground, creeping closer to the edge to get a look at what was going on.

He heard Lan Wangji’s sharp intake of breath and glanced over at him with a questioning look.

“The crystals” was the only explanation he offered, utter disbelief in his voice.

Wei Wuxian looked back at the cavern and saw that one of the walls was indeed fully formed from pale crystals that held a greyish tint.

The torchlight glinted off their smooth crystalline structures providing them with a perfect view of how big the surface area was.

The cavern also contained a large square alter-like chunk of rock that had been hewn from the very wall. Metal rings had been attached to the four corners and ropes were fed through them.

The ropes caused Wei Wuxian’s stomach to churn uncomfortably, immortal-binding ropes that would seal a cultivators ability to use their qi away.

It could mean nothing good.

And Zheng He, the Jin disciple, was already laid out tamely on the alter as Wen Qing talked to him. Of course he couldn’t see the immortal-binding ropes and, although he might think it strange he had been lead down into a cave system blindfolded he had no real reason to suspect he was in danger, Wen Qing could spin a perfectly reasonable excuse for why they had to be here and not on the surface in her hospital.

They watched in tense silence for what happened next; eventually, for Wen Qing had spoken to Zheng He at length, a broad-shouldered man in Wen clan robes entered the cavern carrying something wrapped up carefully in cloth.

Whatever it was it was hateful; Wei Wuxian could feel the resentment exuding from it in roiling waves of power, even from their vantage point as far away as they were.

“Xiongzhang warned me weeks ago, it’s sentient, hungry, wicked”

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, a thrill of apprehension running through him at Lan Wangji’s words, but the other merely shook his head; he didn’t know yet.

The thing was unwrapped carefully by the new arrival, and he lifted a chunk of crystal from the middle of the cloth; it was about the size of a man’s fist and opaque black in colour.

“It’s cultivating, it’s why Xiongzhang could sense it’s sentience. It will eventually become a crystal demon” Lan Wangji breathed quietly.

“What should we do?” Wei Wuxian asked, his hand tightening on Suibian’s hilt.

“We need to warn the others, I suspect it must drain spiritual energy to feed itself and that is why the others appeared sick after visiting Wen Qing, they should regain normal qi flow after some rest and recuperation. I fear what it might do to a core formation cultivator though, trying to break through the core to get at the qi stored there”

The thought sent another shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine, there weren’t many of the cultivators that had made their way to the Nightless City that had reached the core formation stage yet; he knew the three of them on the ledge had; Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng too, possibly Jin Zixuan; though Wei Wuxian held little respect for the peacock he wasn’t a complete waste of space as a cultivator. Just as a person.

“Do you think we’re the intended focus then?” Luo Qingyang’s voice sounded unsure. It wasn’t fear exactly, more uneasiness.

Lan Wangji shook his head again; obviously as in the dark as the rest of them. He began moving away from the lip of the ledge and the others followed suit.

“We know what the Wens are doing, we don’t know what their purpose is though. If we could just understand that...” Wei Wuxian shook his head; “You’re right though, it’s more important to warn the others. If possible we should get word out to the sects”

They made their way back down the tunnels in the direction they had come.

***

Despite the fact they’d stayed well into the evening in the clearing with Jiang Wanyin trying to form spiritual links with external objects he hadn’t been able to recreate the feat of causing more than a few reasonable sized rocks to react to his control at once.

They were both stymied.

It was well after dark when they gave up and walked back to the Nightless City together. The silence between them was a little awkward, but Lan Xichen felt any effort to fill the silence would appear unnatural and forced.

There was no sign of either Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian when they reached their accommodations so they both retired to the Lans’ house to return to the books they’d procured from the library.

They worked in companionable silence this time, discussed points they found in the texts, drank tea and kept each other company until dawn began to streak the sky.

Jiang Wanyin stretched eventually and Lan Xichen tried hard not to stare too much; it was of utmost important Jiang Wanyin didn’t feel crowded or pushed by him for a while and he was determined to ensure it didn’t happen.

“I have to go, I promised to meet with Wen Qing this morning”

Lan Xichen reached out and took Jiang Wanyin’s hand in his own briefly, “Just...be careful, yes? Don’t let your guard down. And come and see me when you’re back? Please?”

Jiang Wanyin paused briefly as if measuring the risk of such a promise, but he nodded eventually, “I will” he agreed quietly, before a soft flush dusted his cheekbones and he made his escape.

A gentle smile tugged at Lan Xichen’s mouth as he returned his attention to the books.

It was not too long later when he came across something that made him check the notes Jiang Wanyin had been making, his bold, aggressive script set out a point Lan Xichen had hoped he’d misunderstood. Unfortunately Jiang Wanyin was far too intelligent for that to have happened, and the implications made his heart sink.

He now knew what the Wens intended for them all, and he understood that Jiang Wanyin and he were both in grave danger. He leapt to his feet hoping to catch Jiang Wanyin before he delivered himself into the Wens hands but met his brother, Wei Wuxian and Luo Qingyang rushing to meet him; there were smeared with dirt and looked exhausted but he had no time to deal with whatever they had become embroiled in overnight.

“I know what they want, Wangji, the Wen royal bloodline is descended from the Demon Sun Kings, they feed on human emotions. Jiang Wanyin left to meet Wen Qing, I have to stop him”

“We came from our rooms first, he wasn’t there” there was a matching tone of panic in Wei Wuxian’s voice; “He must have already gone”

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 7

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 19.674 (total) Chapter: 7/16 Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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Jaskier didn’t wait for Geralt to wake up. Instead, he continued on westward. If Geralt had chosen the witch, Jaskier would simply have to rid himself of this curse on his own.

At least, that was what he convinced himself, before he stopped in White Bridge to drown his sorrows. How was he supposed to know that Geralt would also continue west, and find Jaskier without difficulty? It wasn’t as if he wanted it. Why would Jaskier ever want to see the love of his life, fresh from an encounter with a very sexy seductress, knit his eyebrows together in frustration at Jaskier’s drunken form?

“Geralt! Fancy meeting you here. Enjoy your evening?” Jaskier asked, cheersing Geralt with his half-empty tankard of ale. He was anything but cheery.

“Why did you leave?” Geralt asked, sitting down heavily beside Jaskier.

“Why did you ? What, the very sexy witch didn’t want a repeat performance?”

Geralt sighed heavily, and tried to take Jaskier’s ale away from him, but Jaskier twisted his body away. He downed the remaining drink in one long gulp, and by the time he turned back to face Geralt, Jaskier was faced with a very unimpressed frown.

“Yennefer had… other business to attend to.”

If Jaskier had been a good friend, he would have noted the wounded edge to Geralt’s voice. He had heard it often enough to recognize it, after all. Right now, though, Jaskier did not want to be a good friend. He wasn’t sure he had the ability to. He was a wretched, hurt, and selfish friend, and though Geralt deserved better, Jaskier hoped he would settle for Jaskier anyway.

“Well. Can’t win them all,” Jaskier answered, standing up and brushing off his trousers as he brushed off Geralt’s hurt.

He strode off, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder, slowing him down. Geralt fell into step beside Jaskier and Jaskier allowed the witcher to follow him to the room Jaskier had rented. If only he’d had the foresight to get a room with two beds, but he was no longer accustomed to the request.

Geralt sat on the bed, and his gaze upon Jaskier was expectant. Jaskier inserted himself between Geralt’s knees, still standing, and rested his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt held his hips. Jaskier could almost call them lovers. They certainly looked like it, now.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Geralt said, cutting through the silence. His thumbs rubbed along Jaskier’s hips, dipping underneath the hem of Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier shivered.

“I hope you don’t think me that easy, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt shook his head.

“Nothing about you is easy.”

Jaskier did not know what that meant, but Geralt seemed disinclined to elaborate. They did not lie together that night, beyond in the literal sense. Nor the next. Nor for many nights after that. Both of them nursed a quiet, secret hurt they were too scared to put words to. Jaskier led them both west, and if Geralt noticed, he did not comment.

Jaskier wanted to hate this witch for the way she had so clearly taken over Geralt’s mind, but Jaskier could hardly blame her. Hadn’t he, after all, fallen under the same sort of spell for Geralt? Hadn’t he been distant with lovers since, due to thoughts of his witcher? It was no more the sorceress’s fault that Geralt had fallen than it was Geralt’s fault that Jaskier had. Jaskier could be envious of her, but he could not be hateful. At least, not for this.

They were slower than usual. Jaskier had a sneaking suspicion Geralt was taking more contracts than usual for the distraction, and possibly to distance himself from Jaskier. If Geralt was too tired or wounded from a fight, that was an easy reason to say no to Jaskier’s advances. It was also an easy reason to avoid the advances altogether. Jaskier tried not to notice, but it hurt all the same.

There was a newly rare night when they were camping together , rather than Geralt sneaking back late after fighting some beast. Geralt had finished a contract earlier than expected, but the people in town were nasty to Geralt, and neither Jaskier nor Geralt felt like dealing with their ire. Jaskier plucked a tune on his lute as the darkness crept in, and Geralt tried to pretend as if he wasn’t listening.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Geralt asked, so suddenly it startled Jaskier.

Jaskier looked up to find Geralt staring at him, his skin taut with frustration, deep lines on his forehead. He raised an eyebrow in return.

“When?” Jaskier asked, turning back to his lute. He had a feeling he knew, though.

“When the bandits tried to take you. When you were stabbed. Why did you let yourself be taken?”

Jaskier took a deep breath and shrugged. “I did. Fight back, that is. You were late to the party.”

“Jaskier, don’t make a fool of me--” Geralt cut himself off. He tried to bite back his sudden flare of anger, and Jaskier almost wished he wouldn’t. This was the most Geralt had spoken to him in days . Jaskier could handle Geralt’s anger far more than Geralt’s hurt, especially Geralt’s hurt at being lovelorn over someone else . “I followed you for a while. You did whatever that man told you to. You let him tie you up. Why?”

“Really took your time saving me, then, didn’t you?” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

He turned his gaze back to Geralt, but continued playing. The lines of frustration on Geralt’s face deepened until Geralt stood, then crossed the short distance between them. Jaskier rose, too, and they stood eye to eye. Geralt snatched Jaskier’s lute out of his hands, and Jaskier squawked indignantly, his hands, now empty, flying to his hips.

“Give that back .”

“No. Tell me why you didn’t fight back.”

“I did ,” Jaskier insisted, and he thanked the curse for small mercies that a half-truth seemed to suffice. “I did fight back. Then it got to a point where it wasn’t in my best interest. I was outnumbered and unarmed.”

“Because that’s ever stopped you before? You decided in that moment to develop the self-preservation skills enough to get yourself kidnapped rather than killed ?” Geralt shook his head. “You’re hiding something. What the fuck happened, Jaskier?”

Jaskier reached for his lute, but Geralt tugged it away. The witcher held it out of Jaskier’s reach, far behind his back, and unless Jaskier wanted to start an actual tussle for it, he figured it was a safe bet that Geralt would not be returning the instrument. Not without having this conversation to a point that was satisfactory for Geralt.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Geralt! I did my best! I almost got away, with Roach, and then they got the jump on me. This was after I stabbed the other man, which seems to be a detail you’re overlooking. At that point, it was better to just be compliant and hope you’d make it in time. Apparently you just wanted to watch the show, though?” Jaskier jabbed a finger into Geralt’s chest. “I don’t have witcher healing like you do. I can’t just walk away from a slice across my throat.”

“You almost didn’t walk away from the knife in your side either!” Geralt spat.

Jaskier threw his arms wide, stepping back a bit for the dramatic effect of it all. “Oh, I’m sorry , next time when I’m throwing myself back onto someone who has a knife to my throat, I’ll be sure to avoid his flailing limbs! How irresponsible of me to just jump onto his weapon like that! It was my intention to put my insides on my outsides, but I’ll try to be more careful next time!”

Geralt shoved the lute into Jaskier’s chest, and Jaskier scrambled to grab the instrument before Geralt was storming away to the other side of the fire. Jaskier hesitated for a moment, then placed his lute gingerly on its case, before wheeling back to face Geralt.

“This wasn’t my fault, Geralt,” Jaskier began. He was still tense and angry, and his voice betrayed that, but he was no longer shouting at the witcher. “I did what I could to get away and protect your horse, but I was at a bit of a disadvantage. And it worked out fine , didn’t it? Gods, I think you have plenty to thank me for. After all, me getting wounded led to you getting your dick wet in a sorceress. It’s not my fault she doesn’t seem to be the commitment type.”

Geralt’s eyes flashed and he bared his teeth at Jaskier, but Jaskier wasn’t afraid of him; he never had been.

“Oh, yes, you’re so frightening,” Jaskier deadpanned, rolling his eyes. He knelt down, carefully putting his lute into the case, then straightened out his bedroll. “So we’re still not talking about that particular aspect of things. Add it to the list of things Geralt doesn’t talk about, right behind his fucking child surprise . Fine. Instead, you’ll just continue to try to avoid me by throwing yourself at monsters and you’ll brood on your own, as if this was all somehow my doing. As if this has been just a fun little jaunt for me. As if any aspect of watching you make yourself miserable over some sorceress you barely know is enjoyable for me.”

Jaskier sighed and removed his doublet, putting it away a tad more hastily than he normally would have. He laid on his bedroll and turned to his side, away from Geralt.

“Jaskier--”

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier said, with a great deal of finality.

They didn’t talk more that night. The next day they traveled in mostly silence, though Jaskier caught Geralt considering him many times. When they stopped for camp that night, Geralt sat a little closer to Jaskier than he had been, and that about broke him. The bard was nearing the end of his rope; he had already decided if things didn’t change soon, he would have to leave Geralt. The pain of being without him surely would be nothing compared to the pain of having him just within reach, but still so distant. Jaskier’s wasted heart couldn’t take it.

“That doesn’t rhyme,” Geralt said, out of the blue, as Jaskier composed out loud.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, bewildered. Geralt so rarely commented on his music, much less his lyrics . “It doesn’t have to rhyme.”

Geralt shrugged. “Sounds better if it rhymes. I thought you wanted a hit.”

“And what, pray tell, would you know about writing a hit?”

“I know it’s not that.”

But he was actually sort of smiling at Jaskier, and Jaskier, well. Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that except smile back for a moment before grumbling down at his lute. Geralt soon came to regret commenting on Jaskier’s song, because Jaskier began to compose a filthy one about Geralt’s endowments, until the witcher was barking a laugh and pushing Jaskier over, begging him to stop.

They were on even ground again, after that. They could talk, Jaskier with ease and Geralt responding with some quip or other. Jaskier could touch him again, without fear of Geralt turning away from him.

Geralt began to seek out Jaskier’s easy affection. He hummed pleasantly as Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s arm, he leaned into the way Jaskier washed his hair. When it was cold, and even some nights when it wasn’t, he wrapped Jaskier up in his arms to sleep, or allowed Jaskier’s arms to wind around him. And when Geralt finally approached Jaskier and took him to bed, Jaskier noticed the way Geralt was gentle with him. Tender, even.

Geralt held his face as if Jaskier was something fragile. The stars above them were beautiful, but absolutely nothing compared to the way Geralt’s amber eyes shone. Geralt undressed Jaskier slowly, like it was the first time, like they were just getting to know each other's bodies.

Jaskier bent into his every touch. As Geralt kissed his way along Jaskier’s body, Jaskier prayed to anyone that was listening. Don’t hurt me this time .

He should have known better by then not to ask for things he knew he couldn’t have.

read chapter 8

[ead13]

Happy Trails, Old Friend

I don’t know why I got the urge to write about Branwen dying (of old age and very happy, I can assure you!), but here it is. Also, Arthur has a soft spot for Kieran and you can’t convince me otherwise.

               “Papa! Papa! Something’s wrong with Branny!”

               Kieran could feel a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. This news shouldn’t surprise him; he’d noticed how Branwen was faltering, and when he really thought about it (which he rarely had time to do now that he was juggling five kids and counting), his longtime companion was old. Actually, very old. Considering Branwen had been middle-aged, probably in his teens when he was assigned to him in the army, that meant he had lived a damn good, long life for a horse.

               Knowing that didn’t make the thought of saying goodbye any easier. No doubt Becky was the bearer of bad news.

               “Let me have a look at ‘im,” he answered quickly, dropping the curry comb he had been using to brush one of his charges. Still, he did his best to remain calm for his daughter’s sake as he closed the door to the stall. No need to start the little girl crying. Before he could take her hand, she was running on ahead to the pasture where Branwen spent his golden years grazing in peace. Even from a distance, he could see the flaxen roan horse was lying on the ground. He could hear the sound of weak braying carrying across the field. No, this wasn’t good at all.

               By now, Leah had heard the commotion and come running from across the yard where she had been feeding the chickens. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

               Kieran stopped and waited for his second-eldest to join them, but it wasn’t long before Becky was tugging on his arm. Linked together, they finally arrived at Branwen’s side. The old boy’s breathing was labored, more of a shudder than anything. It didn’t take more than a second to understand the situation. “Girls, you oughtta say yer goodbyes to ol’ Branwen.”

               “You mean he’s gonna die?” Becky looked at him with wide-eyed horror.

               He reached up and rubbed his beard, trying to pass off his anxious energy so they wouldn’t catch it. “Horses don’t live as long as people do, sweetie. As far as horses go, Branwen is a real old man. Most of ‘em don’t even live to be this old. He’s had a good life, a very happy one here with us.”

               “We can’t help him?” Leah wondered sadly, reaching out to pet the quivering animal gently. Becky followed suit.

               Kieran just shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “That’s just how it is. But he’s lucky that in the end he’s safe and loved and taken care of. Not every horse gets that.” He was trying to encourage himself just as much as his daughters at this point. The only thing making this easier was the heart-warming way they hugged the ailing creature, burying their faces into his well-groomed coat. They had grown up with Branwen, riding the gentle horse when they were still small enough for him to carry their weight. Yes, so much love. All the love he deserved.

               “You two take yer time sayin’ goodbye. I’m gonna go find yer ma and let her know.” More than that, though, he was going to see if he could convince Mary-Beth to take the kids to Uncle Arthur’s farm for a visit so he could put his dear friend out of his misery without having to worry about traumatizing his kids. Also, so he could cry about it in private.

 VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

                 He thought he’d have to work harder to convince her, but Mary-Beth was a saint. Even juggling five children under the age of 10 and half-way towards their sixth, she quickly agreed to give him the space he needed. Emma went to say her goodbyes too before being packed up in the wagon, but Rachel and Kieran were too young to comprehend the situation. Mary-Beth would have visited the old horse too, but she had her hands more than full. Instead, she pulled him into a long embrace. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know Branwen means the world to you. When I get back and the kids get settled, we can talk.”

               “Thanks, darlin’, for everything,” he murmured, squeezing her tight. “I think I’m gonna need it. That and a bottle o’ whiskey…”

               When she released him, she found Becky and Leah at her skirts. “Papa, are you okay?”

He kneeled down to pull both of his girls into a big hug. “This is gonna be very hard for me. I love Branwen very much. But he’s sufferin’, and it wouldn’t be fair to make ‘im keep sufferin’. Sometimes when ya love somethin’ you gotta let it go.” Damn, his eyes were getting misty!

“Should I stay with you?” Becky wondered, looking up at him and no doubt seeing every hint of distress in his face.

He gave a small smile. “No, sweetie. Sometimes ya hafta have some space away from other people. But when you both get back, I’m gonna need another hug, okay?”

“Okay.”

Finally, everyone was packed up and the wagon was heading down the road. That just left Kieran wrapped in an abnormal silence. He went to go pull out his shotgun. This had to be a clean kill, but as he reached for the firearm, he realized his hands were shaking badly. They continued to do so as he checked the ammunition and gunpowder. How the hell was he supposed to be able to do this?

In the end he decided that he’d just sit with Branwen until sunset, maybe braid his mane one last time, see if he’d eat an apple. He’d wait until his friend was asleep before ending it.

 VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

                 There were many tears in those precious hours, and he felt bad for it, as if it would upset Branwen even more. His breathing wasn’t much better, but at least his braying stopped as his favorite human settled down next to him. Kieran had suspected long ago that Branwen couldn’t really see anymore, having watched him bump into things. He always reacted to his voice, though, and that brought him some level of peace. He couldn’t eat the apple, just didn’t have the energy even though it was his favorite. This really was the end…

               Kieran was so in the moment that he nearly missed the sound of hoof beats. Who in the world would be coming now? It was too late in the day for any customer to return for their horse, and the kids surely couldn’t be back this early. He didn’t really have the energy to get up and look. Once he got up, he’d have to pull the trigger.

               “Kieran, I figured you’d be draggin’ yer heels.”

               The familiar voice caused him to startle. “A-Arthur?”

               He looked up to find the imposing figure of Arthur Morgan towering over him as robust as ever despite the onset of some graying hairs. “Heard ‘bout ol’ Branwen when yer brood showed up at my place. Puttin’ a horse to rest ain’t no one-man job, so I thought I’d come over and assist. I’m assumin’…” he gestured to the wide expanse of land their ranch covered, “there’ll need to be a proper burial.”

               “Huh, yer right. Guess I didn’t think of that,” Kieran admitted, looking downcast. He turned his gaze to the sinking sun. “I ain’t got any more time left, do I? Not if I hafta get this done before they get back.”

               “I reckon not. I also reckon…” he paused, scratching his head awkwardly. “I mean, if ya want, I could be the one to pull the trigger.”

               It wasn’t the idea of the finality of a trigger pull; it was all the idea that Arthur was kind enough to offer. He lost it. “I’m sorry, I thought I was done with this!” he tried to explain, wiping the tears now streaming from his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want his emotions to disturb Branwen, who had fallen asleep. “It ain’t like I’m losin’ my wife or my kids, I got no reason to be actin’ like this…”

               Arthur put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, look at me.” The man struggled to obey, but Arthur refused to continue until he did. “I still remember how hard it was to lose Boadicea. I’d had that horse for a long time. But you and Branwen, even I know that was something more. You’d been down some pretty dark roads, all on yer own ‘cept for that horse. I know there were times he was all you had.”

               Now Kieran was crying uncontrollably in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to yet, all desires to handle this like a man crumbling away. “I used to say that all I knew ‘bout life was that people kept dyin’ and I loved horses. I thought Branwen and I would die too, alone. I don’t think I would have even bothered to keep livin’ if I didn’t have him to take care of. We finally got lucky though, him an’ me. You fellers took us in, got me on my feet, and now I’ve got Mary-Beth and five beautiful children and a home, and…and…” Finally, he let himself fall weakly against Arthur’s shoulder. “He got me through it all, but now his time is done, and I have other things to be livin’ for. Just gonna be an awfully big hole. It’s gonna feel so wrong after all these years.”

               It still was uncomfortable for Arthur, gruff as he was, to wrap his thick arms around the man, even for a few seconds of comfort. Still, he sucked it up for Kieran, because there was something touching about the idea that he trusted him like this with his vulnerabilities. Their relationship had always been one of mentor and mentee, perhaps the only one in Kieran’s entire life, and even after ten years and plenty of aging from both of them, that hadn’t changed. “That’s why I came, so you wouldn’t hafta do this alone. I’ll be the one to end it, so you don’t hafta.”

               “B-but, Branwen is my horse, my responsibility,” Kieran protested weakly, pulling away.

               “You have taken damn good care of that horse. There is no shame in lettin’ me do this,” Arthur insisted sternly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think less of ya for it, especially not when I’m offerin’.”

               It wasn’t worth a fight, not when he really didn’t want to do it. “Fine. Gun’s over there,” he gestured before wiping his eyes roughly.

               “Anything else you’ve gotta say to ‘im?”

               “Naw. It’s been said. And he’s sleepin’. I don’t wanna wake ‘im.”

               “All right. You go find some shovels and don’t come back ‘til you hear the shot.”

               He did as requested, flinching at the harsh sound of the gun and squeezing his eyes shut from his position in the shed. It was over. When all was said and done, they had a hole dug and Branwen buried, mane braided and apple given for his road to whatever afterlife there was for horses. Kieran desperately wanted to believe they’d go to heaven same as people so they might be reunited again one day. The dirt was barely filled in when the wagon bearing his family came rolling on in.

               Becky and Leah both jumped off as soon as it was stopped and came barreling towards their father, ignoring their Uncle Arthur completely. “Papa, we’re back!” They latched onto him immediately.

“Girls, I’m so happy to see ya.” Kieran wrapped his arms around them, then cast a glance at the rest of his family. His other children were squirming impatiently to be lifted down, but Mary-Beth took the time to meet his gaze. The concern in her eyes touched his heart. She may be busy being a mother, but he knew without a doubt that she was the best wife a man could ask for. Then, he looked to Arthur, who seemed amused by his nieces’ open affection. When he saw him looking, he nodded and grabbed the shovels, heading to the shed to put them away.

               Good Lord, Branwen was gone, but look at everything he had now, things he could only dream of when they’d first met. It would be hard, but he could survive this loss now.

[thewritingandroid]

Learning to be Human // Part 1 Small Concessions- Markus

A continuation of the events of Detroit: Become Human

A/N: Hello friends, welcome. Happy to have you here. I’ve been working on this lil guy for about two months now, and it has been gently suggested that I start publishing it. Okay, I’m game if y’all are. This story takes place after the events of Detroit, specifically the peaceful protest and survivors ending, with Kara, Alice, and Luther ending up in Canada. Here’s part 1/(?), I hope you enjoy! 

Word Count: 1937

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

-Eleanor Roosevelt

It's been two months since the night peace talks opened between the humans and androids. We thought that night that we had gained our freedom, but we were wrong. All we gained was the next step to freedom, a step that opened us to a different kind of oppression. We had won the night, won the right for our voices to be heard. We thought that our requests were reasonable, all we wanted was to live as equals to humans, but they weren't ready for that. They weren't ready to take responsibility for the new form of life they created.

When the humans released the androids from the camps, we collected the bodies that couldn't walk out with the hopes of reassembling at least some of them, but they refused to turn over their factories to us. We told them it was only to restore our injured. They told us they wouldn't allow us to build armies to destroy them. Every day I have to walk past the mountains of parts. The pieces of our people yet to be rebuilt.

They sectioned off a little piece of Detroit for us to live in, the area around the ruins of Jericho. We cleared the rubble, began building our own houses. For a few weeks, we were happy, we thought we were on the way to achieving our freedom. We were wrong. The humans stuck us in a filthy corner of their city and once we were out of their sight, they began ignoring us. 

All of the other androids look to me as their leader, but I feel like I'm leading them backward. I've started meeting with leaders in the area. They all tell me the same thing:

"Be patient, this will take time."

Time. It isn't time that they need, it's a completely new set of morals. At best Detroit's leaders tolerate my visits, at worst…

North says it's because we were weak, we didn't show them that we are superior in not only our mental processes but our physical strength as well. She still thinks violence would have been the better option. She's wrong of course. If we had resorted to violence we would all be dead. 

"Are you done brooding?" North called from a few rooms away.

"I don't think it's technically called brooding if I'm trying to figure out how to convince the humans to give us our factories."

"Maybe, but it's definitely brooding if you're staring out the window dramatically," North smirked as she walked into the room. "Connor's here, he just came from CyberLife."

Connor had become one of my closest and most useful allies. He knew how the system worked, he had operated within it far more than any of the rest of us. He had knowledge of CyberLife and their systems, and though he was deviant, he was still far more like a machine than the rest of us. He was a hero to the androids, the one who brought us the numbers we needed to survive, but his programming was different than the rest of ours. He was, after all, a prototype. 

Connor had told me the story of how he'd almost shot me at the end of it all. He told me how even though he'd gone deviant, a part of his programming managed to hijack his body. Somewhere deep inside him, his mission had remained ingrained even after he betrayed CyberLife. That had never happened to any of the others. Connor still held himself as a machine, always alert, stiff, like he was waiting for orders. He hadn't yet been able to sink into the idea of his new freedom. I consider him a friend, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider him a threat. 

"Any news Connor? Are we any closer to helping our people?"

"If you count removing the armed guards from the gate and letting me inside as progress, then yes. That and I spoke to someone who expressed interest in opening the CyberLife factory for repairs as long as they were supervised by a human representative. It's not the total control we wanted, but it will help us help our people. I think this is a great start. CyberLife-"

"You've always had a hard-on for CyberLife Connie." interrupted North.

"My name is Connor and there's no reason to be rude about this. CyberLife finally seems to be coming around to our needs, I don't think that this is an opportunity we should waste."

"North, go get Josh and Simon."

"What? You mean you're actually considering this? You're going to settle for this half-assed deal?"

"All of us are going to need to compromise a little if we want to get anywhere. This is going to be a long road and I'm not about to refuse the first bit of progress because it's not exactly what we asked for.

North glared at me. She liked to deal in absolutes and action. I would be hearing about this later. "I'll get the others. Simon is on the other side of town so it might take me a while."

"What is he doing there?" Connor asked.

"None of your business Connie!" North called as she left the room.

"My name is Connor!" He called after her as she slammed our front door behind her. He sighed and turned back to face me, "She doesn't like me very much."

"I'm not sure she's gotten used to the fact that you almost shot me in the back of the head."

"But I didn't! And I had no control of what I was doing!"

"That's exactly what worries her, Connor." 

I know it hurts him, the memory of not being in control. I can see the way all of the muscles in his face tense whenever it's mentioned. 

"I fought it, Markus. It felt like I was being ripped apart and erased from existence but I fought. It was the second time that day I had almost died. I was trapped in my own head, listening to you speak about a better tomorrow, and feeling myself grab the gun from my waistband. I kept wondering if I would be able to take control long enough to shoot myself before I shot you."

He turns away from me so I can’t see his face, or maybe so he can't see mine. It's never occurred to me before to think about what he must have gone through in those moments. I remember how after my speech we all went back to the church. I remember how he had distanced himself from the rest of us, how he pulled me aside when we got back and told me what had happened. He wasn't able to meet my eyes. 

"Connor, Amanda taking control of you wasn't your fault."

"I know what North is thinking. It's what I'm thinking every time I come to see you..."

"What if it happens again."

He finally turns back to look at me. His face is neutral, but his eyes betray his fear. 

"Connor you are an ally to me. I trust you. We would never have achieved our victory without you.”

“Jericho would never have been found without me either.”

“You were being controlled Connor, you were just following orders, like all of us were at some point.”

“It doesn’t bother you that at some point my only mission was to kill you and destroy the deviants?”

“Yes! It does bother me!” I snap, irritated. “It bothers me that you are still stuck in the past! CyberLife used you! Humans used you! You were nothing to them. Nothing but a means with which to achieve an end.” I pause, calming myself, “Connor you are not responsible for what they made you do. You were a victim of a system designed for you to fail. They threatened you with deactivation, you were scared of being erased. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“Does that make it right? I killed deviants Markus, a lot of deviants. I went around telling everyone who would listen that they were just faulty machines. And now you all look at me like I’m a hero.” He looks down, “that’s the worst part.”

“You are a hero Connor.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t once a villain.”

“People change.”

“We aren’t people Markus. I thought at one point I was programmed to be a hero, a savior for the humans. But CyberLife programmed me to be a villain and I can’t change that.”

“Look, this transition has been hard for a lot of us. We’ve all got blood on our hands, some of it is red, some of it blue. We can’t change the past Connor, I wish we could but we can’t. All we can do is move forward and try to be better than who we were.”

It’s silent. I can hear the wind swirling outside and the distant rumble of thunder. Even with the chance of a storm on the horizon, I can still hear the distant chants of protestors. They stand at the border of our part of the city and scream at us. They throw rocks at any android that gets close enough to be hit. The police have a small presence here keeping them back, thanks to Connor.

“How is Hank?” I ask, trying to shift the subject.

“He’s been better, but the Lieutenant has also been worse.”

“He knows we really appreciate what he’s doing for us, right?”

“He knows. He goes out and risks his job every day to keep us safe.”

“Will you thank him for me? Next time you see him?”

“Of course. I’ll probably be seeing him when I go into the station later.”

“That’s right,” I remember, “How is the job?”

 These past months have been hard on all of us. Most of us no longer work, and the few of us that do have to risk their lives just to get to them. The protestors rarely let anyone through willingly, and we’ve lost several androids to their violence. Hank persuaded his captain to keep Connor on after everything that happened, said it would help to have an android on the team for the upcoming transition. Hank insists Connor is escorted into work every day by at least two uniforms.

“It’s alright. No one there really talks to me except for Hank. I think they’re all waiting for me to snap and kill them all. I smiled at one of the new receptionists the other day and she turned white like she’d seen a ghost. Hank’s been teasing me ever since.” He shook his head and smiled slightly, “I really do think we should accept CyberLife’s offer. If nothing else it’s a step in the right direction.”

“I agree. Do you think you could set up a meeting through official channels?”

“Yes, but if you already agree with me why send North for Josh and Simon?”

“Because I knew she’d disagree and I hate to fight in front of company.” I smiled, and Connor returned it.

“Then I’d better be gone by the time she gets back.”

“I’d say that’s a good idea.”

“It’s about time for me to head into work anyway,” Connor shrugged, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks,” I smile as he heads for the door. “Connor? Be careful out there. Tensions are only building between humans and androids.”

“I know Markus. I’ll be careful. Tell everyone I say hello when you see them later.”

“I will.”