#he's been scurrying about and has been very awake and aware whenever I come to his tank the last 24 hourso I offered him his favorite treat

[famewolf]

went on a big adventure and ended up getting gas and mailing our ballots out on top of getting snacks

and the outlet timer for my blue tongue skink showed up too so I got that all programmed

Gromble has deemed it to be spring time as of yesterday, and he ate a bunch of food. including his very favorite blueberries

[jaegckerman]

Notes in Constellations

~ This fic was inspired by the song of the same name by Chiodos ~ Description: Eren wasn't as oblivious as everyone thought - Mikasa's feelings for him were perfectly clear to him. However, it seemed that everyone around him was very oblivious to how he felt about his best friend... even if he could never let her know. Set in canonverse, leading to a slightly different way more smutty version of Chapter 123, but don't expect a happy ending. Tagging: @kirsteiiins because she's awesome. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.6K CW: : Smut, I guess?; Angst; Mentions of death and violence; Manga spoilers! Link to AO3

I see her smile in her sleep I know that she's a dreamer I follow every move she makes

If you asked anyone in the Survey Corps, and even before that in the Scouts Regiment, everyone would have told you that Mikasa Ackerman was hopelessly in love with Eren Jaeger… which was too bad, since the boy seemed to have nothing but killing titans on his mind. He was constantly barking at her, taking her kindness for Mikasa simply being annoyingly overbearing, and didn’t shy away from snapping at her for it. Eventually, Armin tentatively came up to him one night and suggested he have a conversation with the girl to let her know that her affections were misplaced. Gently, Armin emphasized, knowing how much it would hurt her and how tactless his best friend tended to be. It made Eren blush furiously; he did run hotter than a normal human being due to his Titan powers, but he could have sworn his whole head was on fire. He was just glad that it was dark outside and his best friend’s keen eye couldn’t make out the color of his cheeks as Eren just hummed noncommittally during Armin’s speech, then scoffed at his words. He stammered something about how Mikasa only saw him as a brother, and changed the subject, with no intention of adhering to the blonde’s advice in any way, shape or form. Neither of them was sure who he was trying to convince.

I know that this is the last thing on your mind, Eren, but what you’re doing is unkind to her and Mikasa deserves better, Eren recalled Armin’s voice as he watched the girl in question, holding back a smile. Levi’s squad was traveling from Trost to the port, and with the railway still a few months away from being completed, they had to go by horse and camp out for the night in a cabin that belonged to Flegel Reeves. They were currently setting the table for dinner, and she was humming absentmindedly before she abruptly stopped and scurried off to the other side of the room… only to return with a bundle of flowers she had picked off the side of the forest path they had traversed early that morning – she was probably the only human on Earth who wasn’t scared of angering Levi; she just hopped off her horse, crouched down, and started plucking flowers from the ground while he snarked at her to stop “farting around” and get going, and Eren had to suppress a chuckle at the scene. He had almost forgotten about his own task of hunting down enough plates and mugs for the entire squad until she looked up at him, probably because she felt him staring. He hurriedly averted his eyes and turned his body back towards the stupidly high cabinet to hide his blush, stretching as he felt around the wooden boards and grabbing what felt like ceramic. With a triumphant little “hah!”, he pulled down a stack of plates and turned around only to find Mikasa watching him; he wondered for a second if he should maybe listen to Armin after all. She quickly shifted her own gaze, her usual stoic mask on, but he had still caught the look on her face just before that, and it was nothing short of… Adoring didn’t do it justice, but his vocabulary was limited when it came to matters of the heart. He suddenly realized just how domestic the scene was, and what that must be doing to her. While she may be as skilled as a hundred soldiers, and damn good at pretty much anything she did, he knew this was a piece of the kind of life she craved the most. Maybe he really was being a selfish, unkind monster in more ways than one.

Because as observant as they were when it came to Mikasa’s feelings for him, what Levi’s Squad never seemed to notice was the way his own heartbeat would pick up whenever she entered the room. They never noticed how his face flushed when her hands brushed his whenever she took pails of water or wooden boards or whatever else he carried from him to alleviate his burden in any way she could. They had no idea that he snapped at her, not because he was annoyed or still jealous of her abilities, but out of concern, since she was always so busy taking care of him and everyone else, she never took proper care of herself. None of them ever seemed to catch his longing stares and, thankfully, no one ever caught him in the dead of night, when his mind was consumed with the fantasies the sight of Mikasa provoked, and he convinced himself it was her hand or her tongue stroking his aching length.

Eren had taken over watch duties with Armin while she fell asleep next to the fire they had built, her need to be close to him overwhelming even her desire for a comfortable resting place. When she didn’t follow Sasha to the cabin and instead shut her eyes right where she was sitting, she had said she wanted to stay because she was cold and didn’t want to leave the heat of the flames. Of course, she never said it was because she wanted to stay with him, because she knew that he would inevitably argue with her, but Eren knew and decided to stay silent. He was so painfully aware that he would not have many more opportunities to see her look peaceful as he snuck glances at her sleeping form while Armin babbled on about something Onyankopon had told him about his home country’s landscape – he didn’t register a word his best friend was saying, and he felt bad, because he was sure it was as interesting and smart as anything Armin has ever said. However, all he could think about was how Mikasa’s sleeping position looked uncomfortable, so he bundled up his coat and made a makeshift bed on the ground for her. She squirmed and her eyes fluttered open for a second when he tried to lay her down gently, but she quickly fell back asleep, with a small smile on her face.

And no one knew just how much his heart ached at the sight, wishing he could give her everything she had always dreamed of, could always give her comfort, and peace and stability and, most importantly, all the love that was threatening to make his heart burst out of his chest. No one knew that he never openly and decisively rejected her, not because he really didn’t believe that she loved him like that, as he always argued when confronted, but because he could not bear the thought of her looking at another man the way she looked at him. He could not, for the life of him, reconcile with the idea that Mikasa, his Mikasa, would shed the mask and be soft and loving and devoted to someone else.

Well, when he turned to look back at Armin, his best friend gave him a smug smile, and maybe one person did know. But still, Armin had no idea how right he had been about Eren being unkind and undeserving… and yet, he couldn’t find it within himself to forgo his selfish desires completely. Not yet.

It's been a long, long night Say you're mine, say you're mine Can I keep you tonight?

He had no idea what had gotten into him. He had never planned on doing this – well, to be fair, he had definitely thought about it, or more like fantasized about how she would tell him that she wanted him, how he would crash his lips against hers, what they would taste like, what she would feel like in his arms, pressed against him…

But he had never planned on the words actually leaving his lips, hoping for an answer that would allow him to cross that line and leave everything behind once and for all. He was so, so tired already, and the fight hadn’t even started yet. And then Mikasa had come to him with her ice cream cone, her eyes shining like they used to when they would play-pretend being Armin’s mom and dad when they were children, and he had tasted the sweet treat that had just been in her mouth, and she had looked so lovely and soft and relaxed for once and… he knew, he could not leave her behind without exploring the possibility, without making completely sure whether his fantasies could actually become reality or not. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would have the resolve to do what needed to be done with no regrets.

So when she came to find him, crying at the knowledge of what he had to do as he stared at the low light emitting from the refugee camp, knowledge that had been plaguing him for three years, feeling weak and exhausted beyond words, he couldn’t stop the awkward question from tumbling from his lips.

“What am I to you?”

As she blushed and her grey eyes started to shimmer despite the lack of light, he wondered if his own betrayed how much he wanted her to say he was… her everything, her most beloved, wanted her to ask him to follow her to the ends of the world, just the two of them. That she was his, and his alone. And in turn, he would take her hand and lead her away, away from all the war and death and show her that he had always been hers.

We dance around just like constellations You keep my body warm And we dance around just like constellations You're keeping me awake at night You make my body warm

Eren had known earlier that, had they not been interrupted, Mikasa might have elaborated on her answer. She might even have corrected herself, retracted the dreaded f-word that had left her lips, might have told him what he wanted to hear. Maybe she would have added that by “family”, she meant the type of family that husbands and wives made up. Or maybe he would have found the guts and the selfishness to fess up in spite of her answer. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be, and it seemed the path he was on was truly the only one available to him.

He would take what he could get before he began the hardest and last journey of his life, though. He indulged in one last night of fun with his friends and the refugees… The kindest strangers he had ever met, willingly sharing their limited supplies with them, and he knew he would crush them under his feet in just a few months. Thankfully, the liquor they were served helped a great deal in repressing that knowledge, at least for tonight.

And when his teal eyes blinked open sluggishly as he awoke from his drunken slumber, he indulged in the warm feeling of Mikasa pressed close to him. Her alcohol-addled breath came out in hot and steady puffs as it fanned across his cheek. When he turned his face to look at her, her lips were so close to his, and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard at the pain that the sight instilled in his racing heart. He clenched his fists against the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes once again, and an unbidden hiccup spilled from his lips, startling the black-haired beauty beside him awake. Silently, he cursed the lightness of her sleep before he twisted his head away from her.

“Eren…?” she murmured, her hand leaving his lapel to rub at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, Mikasa…” he murmured, surprised and perturbed at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“We should go back to our beds. This isn’t good for your back.”

Her warmth from beside him disappeared as she gracefully stood up. He took a deep breath, willing the tears away, and took her outstretched hand to help him to his feet. The moment their hands touched, he felt something like an electric current pass through him, and by the quiet gasp she emitted, he was sure she must have felt it too. He looked down at her face, his eyes boring into hers, feeling and conveying an intensity of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since that fateful medal ceremony. Mikasa simply stared back, the silence between them growing heavier, until he broke it with a soft, “c’mon, then,” and led her outside, never letting go of her hand.

And I fall for her, like snow from the sky Gracefully I land in her arms

They arrived in front of the room Kiyomi had organized for Mikasa. They all had plush, comfortable beds, but when she opened the door and turned on the electric lights, he saw the woman had decided to splurge on Mikasa specifically. Her bed was twice as big as his, and the décor looked both cozy and pricey, not almost bare like his room.

“Eren… would you come in for a second?” She looked down at the floor when she asked the question, shuffling her feet nervously. They still hadn’t let go of each other. Ignoring his, once again, racing heartbeat, he nodded and pulled her inside with him. They both sat on the bed and finally disentangled their hands.

“Eren, I’ve noticed, uhm…” She was nervous, and Eren really couldn’t blame her. He had never been the most pleasant person to have serious conversations with, and judging by her behavior, this was definitely going to be a serious conversation. He mentally steeled himself for all the lies he would probably have to tell her.

“What, Mikasa?” His tone was supposed to be harsh, but it came out soft, almost alluring, and seemed to encourage her to continue.

“I’ve noticed how… depressed you’ve been all day. And then, you asked me those questions and… are you sure you’re okay?”

Inhale slowly. Exhale even more slowly. Dig your nails into your palms until you bleed. Hurt yourself, just don’t hurt her, he reminded himself, because really, all he wanted to do was curl up in her lap and cry about how much he just wanted to stop existing, to find a way to escape all the pressure. He wanted to wail and scream about how unfair everything was. Instead, what he said was, “Of course I’m okay, Mikasa.”

He had never been good at repressing his emotions, but over the last three years, he had learned a lot.

“Why did you ask me those questions, though? It was so… unlike you.” She had started fiddling with her fingers, and he could see her cheeks had turned red again. He didn’t answer as he studied her delicate features, because he had no good one; he thought – hoped, really – the interruption would have been it, and she would pretend it never happened.

Suddenly, she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes, and despite the blush still staining her face, determination shone in those onyx irises. “Were you hoping for a different answer? Because I think you know –“

He hushed her with his lips before she could say anything else. He had no idea what came over him, but with the electric current running down his spine once more, with the gasp she emitted, the way she grasped at his shoulders and with how his hands automatically found the sides of her face, tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, taste her sweetness even more intensely, he couldn’t regret it or overthink it.

Just one more piece of heaven before he had to throw himself into hell. Was that too much to ask?

Mikasa suddenly pulled away, her lips swollen and eyes glazed over. “Eren, what – why – I…”

He put a finger to her mouth. “Just for tonight… can’t we just… be?” His eyes were the clearest green, with specks of blue intermingling, a glimmer of hope he thought he had lost forever reflected in them. Mikasa herself studied him with that special look reserved just for him, making his chest swell, and nodded.

So when he leaned in to kiss her once more, they silently decided talking could wait for the next day. Her hands wandered to his hair, longer than she had ever seen it, and pulled a little. A gasp escaped Eren’s lips and she took the opportunity to slide their tongues together, both of them moaning at the sensation. His fingers flew down to her waist to pull her closer as heat began to pool in his abdomen.

Their tongues danced as they fought for dominance, Mikasa’s intoxicating taste overwhelming Eren’s senses. Her hands wandered down from where they were still entangled in his hair to grapple at the buttons of his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and throwing it… somewhere, neither of them cared. She caressed up and down his back, feeling the muscle ripple below the fabric of his thin shirt. Eren pulled Mikasa’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it lightly, and when a moan wandered from her mouth into his, another spark ran down his spine. He felt himself growing stiffer by the second, and without even thinking about it, he started playing with the buttons on Mikasa’s soft pink shirt, slowly working his way up as he opened them to reveal more of her skin.

“Eren…” she whispered against his mouth, causing him to pull back. Please don’t reject me now, he prayed silently, I need you so much, although what came out of his mouth was, “sorry, I never – is this okay? We can stop anytime…”

Her grey eyes were hooded, and she was almost on top of him, with how much closer he had pulled her, and she was a beautiful sight to behold, her upper body only clad in the pink shirt that had caught at her elbows and her bra, her chest heaving and her skin already flushed. She shook her head. “No, I…”

Suddenly, she was straddling his waist and pushed him down on the bed, shrugging out of her shirt and letting it fall to the floor behind them. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…” She took his hand, which he only now noticed was trembling, and ran it up her defined abs to her covered breast. Her voice was breathy, but her tone determined, when she continued. “Take me.”

Something inside of Eren snapped. With a growl, he pulled her down on top of him and, arms wrapped tightly around her, flipped them over so he was pressing her into the mattress with his entire weight. Their mouths clashed together, all initial insecurity replaced with hunger as they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, licked into each other’s mouths, exploring every millimeter they could reach. Eren’s clothed hips rutted against hers, and the only coherent thought in his mind was more, he needed more.His lips traveled to her neck, and he bit down experimentally, relishing in the moan Mikasa gifted him with.

“Do that again,” she whined, and he was happy to oblige, suckling and biting and eliciting the same response a few more times. He was painfully hard by now, and he moved on instinct when he made his way down her torso, continuing his ministrations. He pulled one of her breasts out of the confines of her bra, and licked over the pebbled, pink nipple.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her back lifting at the new sensation.

“Oh, you like that?” Eren grinned against her sternum as he made his way over to the other side, but her hand against his head stopped him.

“Wait-“ She forced him back on his knees as she sat up and reached behind her back. Eren was confused for a moment, until she pulled her arms free of the bra straps and let the garment join her shirt and his jacket. He was so busy staring at her beautiful chest, wondering if he should resist or succumb to the urge to bury his face in it, he barely registered when she murmured, “You too,” copying his movements from earlier as she unbuttoned his shirt, although she was doing it considerably faster than him. She stared at his newly exposed skin just as unabashedly as he had been looking at her, an expression of pure want etched onto her face.

The sight made Eren unfreeze from his position, pushing Mikasa to lay back down and letting his fingers graze over the soft mounds, not wasting a lot of time before he let his mouth join in. He squeezed and licked and sucked, alternating between each tit and catching the hard nubs between his teeth. He did his best to ignore the way his cock was throbbing, to ignore how badly he just wanted to bury and lose himself inside the gorgeous woman beneath him, how much he wanted to know which sounds of pleasure he could coax from her beautiful, moaning mouth when she was filled with him. Because more than that, he wanted her to enjoy herself. He couldn’t help feeling that, if he could just watch and listen to her come undone, he wouldn’t mind if he never found his own release.

With that thought, he trekked further south, the tip of his tongue tracing the dip in her abs until he reached the waistband of her skirt. He looked up at her for any sign she was uncomfortable after all, but all she did was smile and nod once more. “I said take me, and I meant it,” she panted, and without further ado, Eren pulled down both her skirt and underwear in one swift motion. He kept his eyes on her face, lest he lose all composure, as he rid himself of his own pants and boxers so there would be no more interruptions, no more barriers to overcome. Only then did he allow his eyes to wander.

The sight of strong, collected Mikasa laid bare in front of him did something to him. It wasn’t even just the way she took in his own naked body with so much desire, pupils dilating when they reached his throbbing length like she was starving for him – the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever seen her this vulnerable, the only one she trusted so much she would give herself over to him without a second thought, made him feel like he was on top of the world. It made his eyes sting, and his own appetite reached new heights. He found himself salivating as he pulled her legs over his shoulders and his head dived down to bury his face in the crease of her inner thigh. He peppered kisses up and down and back up before he became overwhelmed with holding back and let the flat of his tongue run up her slit. Her thighs tensed and she cried out, hands flying into his hair much like earlier, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. He licked back down, to where she was dripping, and hardened the tip of his tongue to thrust it inside, pushing and licking in and out of her, relishing in her taste. Mikasa pulled on his hair as another whine left her lips, and he couldn’t hold back the groan escaping his own throat. His cock was literally aching for some friction, but he was sure he wouldn’t last once he was inside her if he touched himself now, so he ignored the urge to stroke himself. Instead, he moved his lips and tongue up a little to lick and suck on the little bundle of nerves above her entrance and let his fingers join in, circling her before he pushed one in slowly. It slipped in easily, her wet heat wrapped around the digit, and his length twitched between his legs, begging to replace it.

“Eren…!” she gasped, her hips starting to move in time with his finger and tongue. “More, please…”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he teased breathlessly and added another finger, thrusting them in and out of her while he continued to lick and periodically suck on her clit. Her sweet smell and taste and the way she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders, her legs clenching around him, was slowly chipping away at any semblance of self-control he was hoping to maintain.

“I’m – ah – not – Eren! Oh my God, Eren, I –“ She cried out, her hips lifting and her grip on his shoulders and around his fingers tightening as all the muscles in her body tensed. Eren continued to lick and finger her through her release, until she slumped back down, and her breathing started to slow. He pulled his fingers out of her and locked eyes with her as he lapped them clean off her juices, watching her flush deepen at the lewd action. He moved his body back up, caging her between his elbows and trapping her beneath him once more, and pushed his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself.

“I assume that was good?” he asked in between kisses.

“Unbelievable, but… I still want more,” she confessed, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. Her calloused hand reached down between them and found his cock, giving it a couple of experimental pumps.

“Don’t,” Eren gasped into her mouth. “I won’t last…”

“That’s okay…” Mikasa started, but Eren didn’t let her finish, ripping her hand off himself and slamming it into the mattress beside her head. He did the same thing with her other hand that sought to replace the touch, and held them there, interlacing their fingers.

“No, it’s not,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He pressed his forehead against hers, and, with a softer voice, continued, “I want this to be perfect for you.” Their lips locked once again as he rubbed his length over her folds until it caught on her entrance, and he finally pushed inside of her. Green eyes clenched shut at the feeling of Mikasa’s silky warmth enveloping the head of his cock, and her fingers squeezed his hands at the intrusion. She broke their kiss with a drawn-out moan of Eren’s name.

With every ounce of self-restraint that he had left, Eren forced himself to slow down instead of just sinking into her completely in one hard motion, like he so desperately wanted to. He felt the way she sucked him in, inch by inch, to his bones, making him shudder and bury his face in her neck to muffle the pathetic whine he couldn’t hold back. His hips stilled when he finally bottomed out.

“Feels so good,” he choked out. “God, Mika, you’re so tight…”

Mikasa placed a kiss behind his ear and wrapped her legs around his waist. Next thing he knew, she thrust her hips up, making his cock move in her, and making Eren gasp again.

“Fuck me,” she breathed against the shell. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

Something feral awakened in Eren at her words, and much like earlier, he found himself growling as he pulled almost all the way out and thrust himself back in hard. Mikasa cried out and Eren felt her head turn away from him to the other side. “Like that?” he hissed, repeating the motion again and again and pushing her hands and forearms harder into the mattress. He pulled his head up to look at her and their eyes met, hers almost black with desire.

“Yes – yes – make me yours,” she sobbed. He swooped down to catch her lips in a kiss and began fucking into her fast and hard, letting his animalistic side take over. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest, and he felt her hardened nipples brush against his as he moved inside her wet, silky heat, her walls embracing him like she never wanted to let him go. With every push inside, Mikasa cried out against his open, panting mouth, and he used the sounds he ripped from her throat as fuel to hold on just a little longer, to keep that coil in his abdomen from bursting, knowing that after tonight, he might never get the chance to bring her pleasure ever again. If there had ever been a time to show he had perseverance, he thought, it was now.

Her legs fell from his waist, and Eren took the opportunity to take a hold of the left one and hook it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but when he was suddenly even deeper inside Mikasa and the woman positively screamed beneath him at the new angle, he knew it had been a good idea. He hooked her other leg over his other shoulder and let his strokes become long and deep, putting as much force behind them as he could.

“Oh God, Eren, yes! Right there, just like that, yes!”

Mikasa was writhing under him, eyes screwed shut and throwing her head from side to side as a string of her sobs and screams tumbled from her lips, echoing through the room. Her breasts were jiggling with every one of Eren’s thrusts, and her hands flew to his chest, nails digging in and scratching down his torso. Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes as she forced them open to lock with his. Eren was bathed in sweat by this point, both from the exertion of the act and holding back. Just a tiny bit longer, he told himself, even as the heat in his lower body threatened to burn him up from the inside. He let go of one of her legs and let his thumb rub over the bundle of nerves, slick with the same desire that was coating his length.

“Oh, fuck… Eren – Eren!” Mikasa chanted and suddenly, she became even tighter, her walls clenching around him as she wailed his name over and over, sucking him in even deeper, and the dam inside him burst. He shuddered and his skin broke out in goosebumps. Letting his body fall on top of hers, his hips twitched once, twice as he released himself and painted her insides white with his cum, her name like a prayer on his lips.

Mikasa reached up with a trembling hand to stroke his hair. He turned to face her fully and caught her lips with his own. When they broke apart for air, a smile blossomed on her beautiful face. The brightness of it put the rays of sunshine beginning to permeate through the curtains to shame, and he couldn’t help but return it with his own.

They didn’t exchange any words as they reveled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, nor when they got up to get cleaned up. They remained silent, afraid to break the spell, as they climbed back into bed, Eren wrapping Mikasa up in his arms and drawing random patterns into whatever part of her skin he could reach. Eventually, her breathing slowed down, and Eren thought she had succumbed to the exhaustion, until he heard her whisper “I love you” into his skin so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. And as much as he ached to return the sentiment…

It was easier to pretend he hadn’t.

But I melted away like snow into the ground I told her I've gotta go, I've gotta go

Eren had no idea how he would find the strength to go through with leaving Mikasa behind after last night. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber after their… activities, a flush still on her face and continuing down all the way to her cleavage. Eren, on the other hand, remained restless. He went over everything again in his head – how she had blinked at him lazily, a blissful smile he had never seen from her before curving her mouth upwards, the same mouth that had been singing him praises in the shape of sweet sighs and wanton moans just minutes before, the same mouth from which his name had spilled over and over again in soft cries and literal screams as she came undone beneath him. He pulled her closer, his chest against her back, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her scent and the feel of her skin against his to his jumbled memory, just in case, but… He couldn’t go.

So now, Eren was hoping against hope that the conference today would go differently from what he had seen. He would not steal away after what Mikasa and he had just shared; how was he supposed to break her heart like that? How would he find the strength to deny both her and himself? How could he accept that he would never have her like this again? Not just her body, but her heart and soul laid bare for him? How could he leave and accept that one day, she might show the same vulnerability to another man? Might gift her heart to someone else? As he stroked over her bare arm, Eren was aware his thoughts were in the very least unfair and selfish, bordering on possessive, and in some ways even sexist, and he would never voice them out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling this way in his weak moments, when his guard was down. Armin was like a brother to him, and he could not stomach the thought of losing him. It was Armin’s dream that inspired him to venture outside the walls in the first place. But Mikasa – no matter what life threw at him, he knew that as long as she was with him, he could survive anything. She was the reason he continued to move forward.

If you want to save Mikasa, and Armin… and everyone else… you have to complete your mission.

The words rang clearly in his ears, like Kruger had just said them to him instead of his father decades ago. It was an unpleasant reminder, and Eren had to restrain himself from yelling back at no one, why me? I just want to be with her. Let me be with her!

Mikasa stirred in his grip and groaned quietly. She jumped slightly at the sight of a tan arm wrapped around her waist, but quickly regained her composure when she remembered what happened last night, and another one of those blissful smiles stretched her cheeks as she turned around in Eren’s strong hold and looked up at him lovingly.

“Good morning,” she whispered and pecked the corner of his mouth. Eren couldn’t hold back the grin blooming on his own face.

“A very good morning indeed.” His hand reached up to stroke over the scar on her cheek, like he could remove the mark if he poured enough love into his touch. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

“Do you think the others are back yet?” Her fingers traced random patterns against his chest and abdomen. Eren couldn’t suppress the shiver her touch elicited.

“It’s still early, and they were really drunk…” He pushed her on her back and rolled on top of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if on autopilot, and her eyes were heavy-lidded not with sleep, but lust. For him, and only him. The thought went both to his head and his hardening length, and he grinded against her. His mouth found her neck, tracing soft kisses up the sensitive area until it reached her ear. “We have time…” he murmured. One of his hands wandered down the expanse of her torso, stopping shortly to squeeze her soft breast and rub at the hardened nub before continuing his trek down south. This time, it was him who coaxed a shiver and a moan from her.

“Eren… Please…” she whined, and the sound sent a pang to his gut. Eren’s long, slender fingers found her folds, already slick with her desire, and he groaned.

“So wet already… Is that what I do to you, princess?” His voice was deep and gravelly. Two of his fingers easily slipped into her, looking for the spot from last night while he rubbed against the swollen nub above her entrance with his palm. Mikasa gasped and started moving her hips in rhythm with his movements. He took in the expression on her face, her furrowed brow, her luscious pink lips slightly open as she panted softly; her cute nose, and the blush spreading over her milky skin; her beautiful eyes, silver with unshed tears…

“More, please…” She begged. “Want you inside me again, please…” Eren’s quip about how he was technically inside her died on his tongue at the desperate look in those glittering irises. It was almost like she knew, he thought as he pulled his fingers out. He felt the same desperation take a hold of him, a different kind of desperation than the hunger they’d already succumbed to. This was about making every second they could steal together count. Just in case, his mind repeated, just in case this was the last time.

His mouth captured hers and he licked at the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, morning breath be damned. Mikasa seemed to think the same thing, tangling her tongue with his in a passionate dance and rutting her hips up against his pelvis in an attempt to get some friction. Never breaking their embrace, she rolled them to their sides, her legs still wrapped around him. Her hand took a hold of his cock and, bringing her hips closer to his, she guided it to her entrance and thrust down until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

They moaned against each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss. Their lips remained touching as they opened their eyes. Eren’s emerald irises locked with Mikasa’s silver ones, and he began to move, thrusting languidly and watching even the tiniest twitch in her facial muscles as a symphony of her moans broke through the silence of the room, accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

Remembering the effect from last night, Eren moved his hand down to the leg he could reach, and hiked it up a little. It seemed to do the trick as Mikasa’s lids screwed shut and she threw her head back with a cry. He took in the way her long, thick eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and his arm wrapped around her back to bring her even closer, crushing her against him. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin, every knob on her spine as he caressed it, her wetness spreading over his pelvis as she rubbed against it with every push. Despite the desperation they both felt, they were unhurried, taking their time to savor each touch. And he committed all to his memory, certain that even after he died, the memories and the feeling of it wouldn’t.

When she came in his arms, it wasn’t with the same screams as last night – this time, she cried out his name softly, her face buried in his neck as she tensed up, her walls milking his own release from him once again, making him groan and shudder in turn before they gradually relaxed in each other’s hold. She leaned in for a short, sweet kiss before they continued to just stare at each other, drinking each other in. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, and she nuzzled into it, giving it a peck, eliciting an adoring smile from the green-eyed man.

Suddenly, they heard voices pass by Mikasa’s room and a knock on her door.

“Mikasa? Are you in there?” It was Hange. Eren hid his face in Mikasa’s neck and groaned quietly, this time out of frustration. Then, he had an idea, and with a smirk, he began to give the skin little kitten licks, making the girl squirm and giggle.

“Yes, Hange,” she called back, trying to sound normal, “but please don’t come in right now, I just got out of the shower and I’m not decent.”

The doorhandle was halfway down already, the door almost creaking open, but at Mikasa���s request, Hange let go and left it closed.

“Alright, just… meet us in the kitchen in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” Mikasa called back.

“You too, Eren!” With that, they heard Hange’s footsteps retreat.

The pair looked at each other with wide eyes. Maybe 15 minutes would have been enough to enjoy each other’s closeness some more, maybe even go for another round, but with the knowledge that Hange somehow knew, they scrambled up to clean themselves up and get dressed as quickly as possible. Mikasa left a couple of minutes ahead of Eren, so as not to make anyone else suspicious, and when Eren joined the squad a few minutes later, no one seemed to give them any strange looks or made any comments. It seemed like, thankfully, Hange hadn’t told anyone, and they made sure to keep some distance between them so as not to rouse any suspicions. Mikasa sat next to a groaning Sasha for breakfast, who was grabbing her head but still shoving copious amounts food into her mouth, and he sat with Levi and Armin as they went over his security for today’s outing.

When they arrived at the lecture hall later, they still left a couple of spaces between them. As Eren listened to a man’s impassioned speech about Eldian rights, which explicitly excluded him and his “island devil” friends, he was both glad for the distance and felt hollow at the same time.

But somehow, he had always known that the kind of life he wanted for Mikasa and himself, the life she had been dreaming about since they were naïve children, was never meant to be. Maybe that was why he had been dragging his feet and had never confessed to her how he felt. Maybe he wasn’t even supposed to have last night or this morning. But he could use it to strengthen his resolve – because, his strongest and perhaps most selfish desire, was for Mikasa to live a long and happy life, regardless of what role he got to play in it.

And so, he fought the magnetic pull begging him to stay by her side, and quietly left to fulfill the mission he had been given long before he was even born.

It's been a long, long night You said you were mine I felt so bad but I had to go No she never wanted me to leave her behind No she never wanted me to leave her

“I want to share your burden.”

Mikasa’s voice echoed in his head. Even after telling her she was a slave and that he had hated her forever, beating up Armin, not to mention the people he killed in Liberio, Sasha… And now, he was literally trying to kill every living being in the world besides the residents of Paradise.

He thought that maybe, at least that night they had shared, and his subsequent disappearance, might have stirred up some resentment in her. The war wasn’t personal, so he could see how she might be able to justify his actions, but that… had been deeply personal. He had basically taken her heart and stomped on it until it was dust, just like the titans under his control were flattening the earth. He tried to make her believe he had only used her body, and that the only passion he had for her was anger and disgust, his own heart threatening to pound out of its cage with how loudly it was screaming at him for the obvious lie. But her devotion to him… her love for him knew no bounds. It transcended time and space and circumstance. It was the only constant he had left, the only thing that still made sense to his muddled mind. It was as certain as the rise of the moon and the sun and the stars, as the ebb and flow of the sea.

Just as certain as his untimely demise.

Here she was, still offering her unwavering support. She acknowledged all the worst parts of him, all the cruelty and the stench of death, and still loved him. After everything, still, still, all she dreamed of was a quiet, peaceful life by his side, and if she couldn’t get the quiet and peaceful part, she would settle for him simply being there. And although every fiber of his being was screaming at him that he wanted the same, it was too late, and he had to let her go. He had to make her let him go.

But would it be so bad to make her happy one last time before he did? This was literally his last chance to be honest with her. And was it so bad that he wanted to defy his cruel fate and feel happy, be free at least one more time, before he succumbed to it?

Eren looked to the side at the small blonde girl, and she nodded, allowing him to use her powers to give into his selfishness before his final moments.

Suddenly, he was transported back to that night, to their conversation in the dim lights of the refugee camp, and he let them live in the reality of what might have been had her answer been slightly different, had there been no interruptions, had he finally taken her hand and just given in and followed her into her dream.

So long, so long, And we dance around just like constellations We dance around just like constellations We dance around, we dance around, You make my body warm, You make my body warm.

[in-tua-deep]

Prompt idea that I sincerely don't know anywhere else to put out, but what if, one mother of the seven like... delayed giving up the baby idk why, but like, in the end the child goes to the academy, but like... they know the world outside this mansion full of all sorts of abuse and violence, and so is trying to bring good sense and awareness to all of other children somehow, even though like... you don't know very much or correctly the things in general, but is trying anyway because yeah

okay okay i will bite

it's gonna be Five bc u know how I roll by now and you didn't specify a child, so this is a non-twin world uwu

I see some people naming him Fievel so we're gonna have to go with that, nicknamed Five by the other kids who thought it was absolutely hilarious to ask "which one?" whenever Reginald snaps “Five!”

Though officially, of course, Five is number seven.

So Fievel is born in a park to a mother who was never prepared to have achild, but held him in the hospital and looked into the eyes of a man offering her money for her newborn and she says - no. 

Because she’s poor, yes, and she’s working two jobs to make ends meet, and this man might be able to provide for her child but - she doesn’t like the fact that he offered her money. As though he could place a price on a human life.

(His stupid mustache might have played a role as well. Bastard.)

So she keeps little Fievel, and it’s hard. It’s so hard. Babies are expensive, and she was barely making enough as it was, but her best friend works from home and offers to take him sometimes during the day instead of a more expensive daycare. Some of her other friends ask around relatives and friends and hunt through garage sales until she has a passable amount of baby items.

It would be easier if Fievel wasn’t such a precocious child. He’s curious and into everything, a loud baby that demands attention. 

“C’mon Fi,” She begs her three-year-old son from where she’s draped across the sofa. Aren’t kids supposed to sleep a lot? Why did she end up with the one kid in the world who is on the go twenty four seven? “Can we please take a nap?”

“No.” Fievel says with a mulish look in his eyes and he shoves a book towards her face and almost takes her eye out with a corner of it, “Wead to me.”

And she sighs, and she’s so tired, but she hauls herself up and pats the sofa next to her and her little boy beams at her with such - such love that it almost takes her breath away. “Dogger, again? How many times have we read this?”

Fievel kicks at her with his little soft foot, and she catches it in a hand and smiles and she drops the book in her lap to bring her other hard over to dust feather light fingertips against her baby’s sides.

He’s terribly ticklish and giggles even as he shrieks “NO” loud enough that their neighbors will probably complain to her about it again. But in that moment she doesn’t care as she brings her head down to blow raspberries on her son’s stomach and make him laugh.

She loves him so much. 

(But she never has any time. Her friendships are more distant now, because she’s either at work or spending time with her son. She’s always exhausted because she works such long hours and Fievel keeps her awake when she’s a home. She doesn’t blame him, he didn’t ask to be born into the world any more than she asked for him, really. But it’s hard.)

Fievel is a curious child. She takes him to children’s museums and zoos on the discount days and watches him run around with seemingly endless energy. She has to keep a careful eye on him otherwise he will disappear, get distracted and wander off no matter how many times she’s tried to tell him to never do so.

Then he turns four.

Her baby is so smart. And he’s restless. And even though the place she works has a daycare through them, the people there are one incident away from banning Fievel. She thinks that’s dumb, considering they’re the ones that didn’t watch Fievel closely enough and lost him almost four times in recent months. 

So she signs him up for preschool.

She gets him a brand new outfit for the day, fussing over him until he’s all squirmy and pouty and slapping her hands away with all the grump that a four-year-old can muster. 

She sends him off to daycare with ruffled hair and a wide smile and tries not to worry too much.

She’s at work when she gets a call from the school informing her that they’ve lost her son. She hurriedly lets her boss know and sweeps out of work without a backwards glance, showing up at the school just as her phone rings again and a flustered individual informs her that they’ve located him.

“I have no idea how he got out.” The frazzled teacher looks close to tears when she meets with the poor woman, giving Fievel a fierce look that promises that they will be having a talk about this. 

“I din’t do anything.” Fievel pipes up mulishly, “I didn’t go nowhere, the class did.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, and faces the teacher apologetically. After a pointed comment from a friend, she’s been vaguely looking into ADHD since her kid is like this, “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“I’ll - I’ll make sure to keep a better eye on him.” The woman looks floored that she isn’t tearing strips out of the school administration for losing her toddler. Actually when it’s phrased like that she probably should be more pissed off. But she also knows her kid and what a handful her is.

So she takes him home and sits him down.

“This can’t happen again, Fi.” She tells him, and he’s got his little arms crossed and he’s pouting with his entire body. “I mean it. I had to leave work, and you know I have to work.”

“You don’t hafta.” Fievel says harshly, “What about me?”

She sits on the couch next to him, heart heavy, “Baby, you know I have to work so that we can have things and go places.”

Her son scrabbles up on his knees and puts his hand on her arms and gives her big eyes, “I don’t need lotsa toys. An’ we don’t hafta go to the zoo.”

“Oh baby,” She pulls him into her arms and lets him snuggle into her, “I gotta work. And you gotta go to school and be good. Okay? You can’t be leaving the classroom again.”

“I din’t mean to.” Fievel sniffles, and she hugs him just a little tighter as the tears start to flow.

“It’s okay.” She murmurs into his hair, “I got you.”

To his credit, Fievel does his best. He still manages to leave the classroom somehow, seemingly whenever the teacher is looking away. No one seems to know how he does it. Emma who sits next to him exclaims that he just vanished like he went BAM and wasn’t there all of a sudden!

(Oh, the imagination of four-year-olds, the teacher thinks to herself.)

But whenever he does he seems to come back within fifteen to thirty minutes. Sometimes the teacher doesn’t even notice he’s gone before he’s knocking on the (locked) classroom door to be let back in. They don’t call his mother about the incidents anymore and the teachers nickname him Houdini with a sort of despair. 

Fievel is four-and-a-half when he’s taking a walk with his mother down to the park. He’s got his little rainboots on because he always wades into the pond and he likes the slosh of the water on his feet when it goes over the top, and his little duck shirt. He’s making loud quacking noises which don’t actually sound anything like a duck but when he looks at her for approval she nods with a smile.

They’re crossing the road at the crosswalk, holding hands because they always do, when the car comes careening around the corner.

She can’t react in time, eyes widening and she’s hollering and she moves to push her son and she only has eyes for him as she places her body between him and the car and - 

She watches his eyes go wide and afraid and she 

watches

him

disappear

and then the car clips her and she’s sent sprawling and that’s the last thing she remembers.

She wakes up in the hospital hours later with a concussion, a broken arm, several broken ribs, and a lots of scrapes. She’s lucky, they tell her. She demands to know where her son is. 

Hours later, when she’s worked herself up into a right tizzy, her son sprints into the room followed shortly by some very harried looking cops and she has to haul him into the bed so that he doesn’t hurt himself getting up.

“Gentle, gentle.” She warms him, wincing when he bangs a knee into her bad ribs, “I’m a little tender at the moment, baby.”

“You got hurt!” Fievel yells at the tops of his lungs and then immediately bursts into loud and terrified tears. So she ignores her bad ribs and messed up arm and cradles him close to her making shushing noises and stroking his back until he’s cried himself out and drops off right there in the hospital bed.

She gets out of the hospital with a cast and a bill she can’t afford right now and she sits Fievel down on the couch.

She wants to write off the fact that her son literally vanished before her eyes to the concussion. But - she thinks about a locked preschool classroom and a son that has a tendency to vanish when she takes her eyes off of him and -

It makes too much sense.

“Baby.” She asks, “Can you teleport?”

“What’s tell-ee-port?” Fievel asks, scrunching up his nose.

“Do you find yourself in other places without getting up and going to them?”

“Yeah.” Fievel states it so easily, like she’s dumb. “I told you so.”

She pressed her fingers to her face, “Can you do it now?”

Fievel frowns and then scrunches up his face real hard and then -

He’s gone. And then he’s opening his bedroom door and scurrying back out. He runs over and tugs at her pants eagerly, “I did it! Did I do good?”

She crouches down and ruffles his hair even though it kills her ribs, because she can’t pick him up with a broken arm. “Yeah baby,” She praises him, mind moving at an hour a minute, “You did good.”

That night she lays in her bed and watches Fievel’s chest rise and fall as he sleeps. He sprawls out like a starfish but sometimes in the night always buries himself into her side like a tick. She’s put a pillow in between them to try and spare her poor ribs, but she has doubts it will work.

Her son can fucking teleport.

That’s when she cries. Because she loves her son, but he’s a handful. She didn’t even notice. She didn’t notice that he son has a superpower. Doesn’t that make her the worst mother in the world?

Crying is a terrible idea. Her ribs are painful enough that she can’t sleep. She needs to ration her pain medication because they really can’t afford it. 

How is she supposed to handle this? How is she supposed to raise a child that can vanish without a second thought? Her bright beautiful boy who loves feeding the ducks and being pushed on the swings and playing unfathomable games with his friend Emma that she can’t even begin to understand the plot of.

(She’s almost certain one of them is supposed to be a cheetah for some reason? Or a lion? There’s a lot of running involved in the game, and hiding.)

It’s a few months later when her arm is healed and her ribs are better and Fievel is turning five when everything comes crashing down. Because she doesn’t get a call from the school. She gets a call from the police.

Apparently Fievel managed to get out of the school far enough away that he got lost. He admits tearfully to her that he’s been getting further and further away when he ‘jumps’ - and it’s not his fault. He tries not to jump. But it happens whether he wants it to or not and if he keeps getting further and further away then -

She thinks of a car and a road and putting her body between death and her son. And she thinks about the fact that when he jumps, she isn’t there.

Look. She’s not stupid. She always knew that her kid wasn’t exactly a normal child.

(Hello. He’s practically a miracle. She wasn’t exactly a virgin but that doesn’t really matter when she was very suddenly nine months pregnant where she hadn’t been before.)

So she reckons that the powers have something to do with that. And who does she know that definitely has a child who was also one of the miracle babies?

(He’d mentioned he’d already acquired like, what, four kids when he came to see her. As though that was supposed to make her want to give up her kid even more.)

So she requests some vacation days (that she can’t afford) and she pulls Fievel out of preschool for a week (it’s preschool it’s not that important) and they fly over to a city where she can hopefully get some answers.

(Fievel spends the whole flight with his face pressed to the window and his plane toy clutched tightly in one hand and his stuffed dog in the other as he enthusiastically makes whooshing noises.)

And she goes up the the big mansion thing and knocks and goes inside where she smiles at Fievel and tells him to go play with the other children while she talks to Mr. Hargreeves, thank you baby.

As she clenches her hands into fists and listens to Sir Reginald Hargreeves condescend to her about her ability as a mother, Fievel enthusiastically bounces over to the kids his age who stare at him like they’ve never seen anything like him before in their life.

(“I’m Fievel!” He introduces himself loudly, “And this is Doggy! My mama is here to speak to your dad.”

“Uh. I’m Six.” A bewildered little girl says back.

Fievel blinks, “Oh! I just turned five.”

The girl giggles, “No! No I mean my name’s Six. but I’m five-years-old as well.”

“That’s a funny name.” Fievel says.

“Nuh uh.” The girl refutes, “Your name is weird. See, ‘cause we’re all numbers ‘n you’re not.”

And he’s introduced to them all. One is tall and awkward looks. Two hides behind the others a little bit. Three has her hands on her hips and she looks at him, but softens when he tells her that he likes her hair. Four is a skinny wisp of a kid, with big wide eyes and no sense of personal space. Five sticks pretty close to Four. And Six, of course, is the one who talked to him first which obviously means that they’re temporary best friends.

Temporary, because of course Emma is his best friend. ‘Cause she’s in his class and they sit near each other and play together with each other first.)

And his mother comes out to Fievel bossing the others around and them going with it, all with bewildered little expressions on their faces. Fievel is balancing on the back of the sofa next to a little girl who is holding Doggy, possibly in the middle of an evil villain speech? The little girl is solemnly petting Doggy like she’s a Bond villain at the very least.

It makes her smile, just a little bit. 

“Fievel, baby, can you come here for a second?” She asks, and her son beams at him and vanishes from his seat over to by her leg where he pulls on her leg so that she’ll sweep him up into her arms. 

(The children gape at him, all wide eyes and staring between them and their father like they’re shocked. And they probably are. Reginald has informed her that none of them can teleport, but they do have a variety of weird powers between them.)

“You know that you’re getting big.” She says, and she tries not to cry, “And you’re not going to be in preschool soon enough.”

“Yeah!” He enthuses, “Gonna learn real stuff!”

And that’s just like her son. Voraciously hungry for knowledge. 

“Well, this is a school for very special people.” She tells him, and watches his eyes go big and round, “People who... can teleport, for example.”

Fievel considers that. And then twists around to look at the other children, “You can teleport?” He demands loudly, like it’s a betrayal of the highest form that they’ve been friends for an hour and this hasn’t been brought up. And maybe it is. She doesn’t claim to understand the intricacies of children’s hierarchy.

“Uh uh!” A little boy exclaims, frowning. “I can just throw stuff real good.”

“I’m strong.” Another little boy offers. And then proceeds to demonstrate this by picking up half the couch and sending the little girl careening onto the floor with a shout, but she gets up and dusts herself off easily enough.

“Okay.” Fievel says brightly, appeased by this somehow as he twists back to his mother expectantly. 

“Okay.” She says, her mouth dry. “Well. This is a special school for special kids. It’s, uh. It’s a boarding school.”

“What’s that?”

“It means you stay here.” She tells him. “I’ll - I’ll come and see you when I can. And you can call me whenever you want. But you have to stay here.”

“Like a sleepover?” Fievel asks, scrunching his face up in confusion.

“A little bit.” Her smile feels weak and forced and she can’t even see it. “Like a lot of sleepovers all in a row. And when you wake up, you don’t need to go anywhere because you live at the school.”

“Uh uh. I live at home.”

“Baby...” She cards her fingers through his hair. “I know it’s scary. I don’t want you to go either - ”

“Then I don’t gotta.” Fievel says, matter of fact as he starts wiggling to get down. She hefts him up in her arms.

“Baby. Fievel. Listen to me.” She says firmly, “I can’t take care of you well enough.”

He looks at her with betrayed eyes.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t control your powers.” She tells him softly, because she loves him and she doesn’t want to give him up but - “I can’t keep you safe, baby. And the teachers can’t keep you safe. But you’ll be safe here.”

“I don’t want to.” Fievel says, loudly. In the tone which says that a tantrum is approaching.

“You’ll learn how to control your powers!” She says in a forced cheery voice.

“I’m going to school with Emma.” Fievel insists in a slightly louder voice.

“You’re already getting along great with the other kids.” She insists.

“NO.” Fievel says, at maximum volume, and then he’s gone from her arms and she’s stumbling because it’s weird to go from holding something to nothing.

“He’ll show up in a bit.” She assures Sir Hargreeves, beyond tired. He’s been watching the whole interaction and she hopes he hasn’t gotten a negative impression of her son. 

If he’s able to handle six other super powered children then surely he can handle hers. No matter what he asks. No matter how difficult it was to sign over the rights to her child. He promised that she can visit Fievel on weekends whenever she wants, for however long her son wants to do so.

He’s going to keep her child safe. He won’t be running out onto streets. He’ll be able to train his powers, be able to control them, and maybe one day - 

(Maybe one day she’ll get her baby back. Safe and sound in her arms and able to control his powers so she doesn’t have to worry at all.)

So she leaves, and she leaves Fievel alone. And no matter how much he screams and cries and begs, no one lets him go back to his mother. He tries to run off, tries to jump away and follow after her - but a blond woman in pristine skirts comes and retrieves him. 

(He tries to jump away, but she keeps coming and finding him until he’s too tired to protest when she carries him back to his new (prison) school in her arms.)

Reginald tries to lock him in his room. He jumps out. Reginald tries to put him in time out. He jumps out. Reginald says he doesn’t get any dinner. Fievel jumps downstairs and raids the cupboards in the night.

It becomes an intense battle of wills between Sir Reginald Hargreeves and little Fievel.

Locks go on the cabinets, Fievel breaks them off by bashing them with one of the bookends he manages to snag. Reginald refuses to let Fievel play with the others. Fievel runs away again and has to be brought back by the blond lady. 

(“You can call me Grace if you’re so against mom.” she had told him demurely, after he yelled himself hoarse telling her that she’s not his mother that he has a mother and that she’s so much better in every way)

Then Reginald takes Doggy away, and Fievel begrudgingly has to fall in line lest he risk his stuffed companion. One of the only links to his real life he has.

(He doesn’t even get to keep his clothes. He has to wear the stiff awful uniform that the other kids wear. It’s the absolute worst. He looks stupid but no one listens to him.)

When his mother comes to visit, Fievel is sullen and still angry with her for abandoning him. He sulks and doesn’t talk to her a lot.

He grows like this. The Umbrella Academy turns six, and then others receive names after Fievel loudly points out that having numbers for names is weird and that no one should ever trust a man who names his kids numbers it’s lazy and stupid.

So One becomes Luther and Two becomes Diego and Three becomes Allison and Four becomes Klaus and Five becomes Ben and Six becomes Vanya.

And Fievel becomes Five.

They all think it’s really funny, that they all get names instead of numbers and Five gets a number instead of a name.

He’s six and Reginald sits him down and tells him in no uncertain terns that his mother essentially sold him. That Reginald controls him. And if Five isn’t a good boy then... well. Bad boys don’t get to visit their mothers.

(Reginald finds a far more... effective way of controlling Five than a stuffed animal.)

(Good boys also don’t talk to their mothers about their training. They smile and act happy and lie because they want to keep seeing her. They don’t tell her about how scary it is, how they desperately want to come home, how maybe their mother could take all the kids because they don’t even have mothers and it isn’t fair.)

So Five grows bigger, gets new uniform, clashes with Reginald as much as he dares, and settles in to life at the academy. He sprawls across Vanya’s floor and tries to remember all the story books he read with his mother.

(There’s only grown up books in the manor that they’re expected to read. And Five likes them, he loves to learn, but - he misses storytime. He misses the wonderful books about adventure and other worlds. He misses when he felt like he was going to go on an adventure because he had powers and was special!

He doesn’t wish he’s special anymore.)

Vanya asks him once why he hangs out with her, because she’s normal. Because she doesn’t have powers.

And Five looks at her and tells her that that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. He spend years surrounded by people without powers. He tells her about his best friend Emma, who definitely didn’t have powers. 

“I wish I had a best friend.” Vanya tells him, face sad and drawn and Five pulls her into the fiercest hug he can.

“You’re not my best friend,” He tells her, and she looks even sadder until he finishes it up with, “You’re my sister.”

“But you have a mother.” She says, sounding confused.

Five shrugs, “Doesn’t matter. Reginald is legally my dad, and he’s legally your dad, and so we share a dad. That makes us siblings.”

“Is a sibling better than a best friend?” Vanya asks after a long moment of silence.

Five doesn’t think so. He misses Emma. He misses his preschool. He misses his life, the life before the Academy. But Vanya looks so sad and pale that he hugs her again and says “Yeah, of course. We’re family.”

The others tolerate him in varied amounts. Luther thinks he’s dumb because he’s always mean to Reginald. Five thinks Luther is dumb, and he’s definitely right. Allison constantly bugs him for information about what she terms “the outside world” and Five has told her about birthday parties at least a dozen times and she still looks wistful and asks him to tell her about them again.

(They turn eight and Five produces a paper crown for his sister because she looked so wistful when he described Emma’s birthday tiara. Allison wears it until Reginald snaps at her to get rid of it, but Five sees her tuck it in the waistband of her skirt rather than throw it away.)

When Reginald snaps at Diego for his stutter, Five snarls and snaps back, getting between the man and his new brother and yelling because he knows that’s not how you help kids! Yelling doesn’t help! His teacher said so! And his mama!

Diego is never particularly thankful for his interference, but Five doesn’t care. 

Five is nine and he jumps into the mausoleum with Klaus and holds his most fragile brother and snarls, threatens to run away. To take Klaus and just go, that they’d go to Five’s mother and she would take them away from Reginald and this place and - 

Klaus always buries himself into Five’s side with his hands over his ears until the morning when Five either jumps away or glares with furious eyes at Reginald even when he’s punished after.

He’s nine when he gets into a screaming match with Diego who says that Five isn’t one of them that he has his mother and if he had the chance he would abandon them in a heartbeat.

Reginald threatens to cut off his mother’s visits if he finds Five interfering with “Number Four’s training” one more time.

Five looks at Klaus, who is his brother. Who is frail and skinny and pale with dark bags underneath his eyes.

Reginald looks satisfied because Five has always backed down before when his mother is threatened. It’s his ultimate trump card.

Five is so very very tired of his mother being used against him. And he loves Klaus. And these kids, they are his siblings. (He tries not to think about the fact that next year he’ll have officially been here just as long as he was with his mother. He hates it.)

Reginald finds Five in the mausoleum with cobwebs in his hair and his brother against his side and a glare on his face and Reginald forbids his next visit with his mother.

Five keeps jumping into the mausoleum. Klaus looks at him with wonder in his eyes and Five pries up the floorboard that hides Doggy (because even after Reginald found a better way to threaten him, he remembers) and cries himself to sleep. 

“You chose us.” Ben states instead of asks, very quietly, when they’re studying together. 

“My mother can look after herself.” Five says stiffly, not taking his eyes off the page. “Klaus can’t.”

Ben doesn’t say anything more, but Five feels eyes on his back for a good long while after that.

When Five is ten, they debut for the first time. They go to the bank, and stop the robbers.

(“We can’t send Ben in,” Five insists, “They’ll die!”

“They’re robbers.” Luther scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re still people.” Five insists. “You definitely aren’t supposed to kill people. It’s a law.”

“Shut up, Five.” Diego says grouchily, “We just need to get this over with.”

“Dad’ll be pissed off if we let any of them escape.” Allison says, and the whole group goes quiet as they consider their father’s disappointed fury.

“I’ll go.” Ben mutters reluctantly, and Five tries to meet his eyes but the other boy slips into the vault before he can. The group stands silently as they listen to the screams and watch the blood splatter.

“This is wrong.” Five whispers.

“This is how it is.” Klaus whispers back, sounding defeated.

They don’t talk about it, after.)

Five smiles for the camera and lets Klaus lean on his shoulder and steals a thing of tissues from a reporter’s purse and uses them to wipe more of the blood from Ben’s face with a tight smile and the world goes on.

(He doesn’t know his mother watched. Doesn’t know the fury she flew into. Her son was supposed to be safe - he was supposed to be at a school. Why the fuck was he stopping a bank robbery like some kind of little child soldier?

She becomes a problem. And Reginald can be awfully practical about problems.)

Five is ten-and-a-half and he hasn’t seen his mother in a year and a half. And he’s tired and he’s rebellious so one day he sneaks out and finds a pay phone and the only reason he remembers his number is because his mother made him memorize it and quizzed him frequently.

(He’d gotten lost so often from wandering away and accidentally jumping. His rules were to approach either women with children or people who worked wherever and ask them to call her.)

Except the call can’t connect. Disconnected number. 

Five frowns, and end up doing some research which involves massive lies to the library, and then he has a picture of a newspaper obituary in his hands and a hole in his heart.

Car accident, the paper says.

Five crumbles it up, and then smoothes it out again because there’s a picture of his mother next to the article and Five doesn’t have any pictures of his mother. So he hides it under the floorboards next to Doggy and cries himself to sleep and then he gets up and does his training and doesn’t talk about it.

He doesn’t tell his siblings. Not even when Luther blows up and calls him a stuck up brat who can go cry to his mommy if he think it’s so bad here. Not even when Klaus jokes about running away with a cracking voice in the mausoleum, not really jokes at all. Not even when Vanya asked him for another of his mother’s stories and he started crying in the middle of them. He’d just told her it had been a hard day of training.

(Vanya never asks him questions if he mentions training. He feels bad about lying to her and using it as an excuse but...)

He waits for Reginald to tell him. He waits, because surely someone would tell him that his mother is dead. He’s her son. 

Reginald never tells him. He tells Five that he’s bad and still hasn’t earned back his visiting privileges. Five hates him so much. So so much. 

Five is twelve-years-old and he is sprawled across Vanya’s bed after a particularly brutal day of training. Reginald has been trying to overtrain Five the day before he puts Klaus in the mausoleum overnight so that Five will be too tired to jump in. It doesn’t work, but it’s an exhausting enough punishment. 

“I wish I didn’t have powers.” He tells Vanya.

“No you don’t.” Vanya says back fiercely, fists clenching in her blankets, “Not having powers sucks.”

Five tilts his head and looks at her, “No.” He says gently, “No one knew I had powers. And I was loved. I was so loved, Vanya.”

“Stop it.” Vanya says, face tight. “If you were so loved, why did she leave you here?”

And Five opens his mouth and nothing comes out, because it hurts. 

“You don’t wish you had powers, Vanya.” Five tells her finally, and there are tears in his eyes but he’s looking at the ceiling not at her so it doesn’t matter. “You wish you had a family. A proper family. Not this - this stupid academy. I hate it. I hate it here.”

“Don’t call it stupid.” Vanya says, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you have a family and we just - we just have the academy, okay? So don’t call it stupid.”

“We deserve better. We deserve a childhood.”

“We have a childhood.” Vanya scowls, “Just because it’s not as nice as yours was or whatever - ”

“This is my childhood, Vanya.” Five snarls, propping himself up to face her, “I know you all think I’m so spoiled and - and I’m not one of you or whatever, but I came here when I was five. My memories of before - Vanya they’re fading. I couldn’t pick Emma out of a crowd if I tried. I’ve been here for years longer than I was ever there, and it’s not fair.”

“You still have a mother - ”

“No I don’t.” Five cuts her off, his voice ice. Vanya’s eyes are wide, startled by his tone. “Vanya, look around you. When was the last time I saw my mother?”

Vanya’s lip wobbles as she realized she can’t remember.

“It’s been three years.” Five tells her, eyes hard and cold and angry, “She’s gone. I made a choice, and I chose you. I chose the academy. Because despite everything, I love you guys. You’re my siblings, even if sometimes you don’t act like it.”

“Five - ” Vanya tries.

“No.” Five cuts her off, hopping off the bed and shaking his head, “I’m going to - I’m going to go to my room. You get some more practice in or something. I think Pogo picked out this piece and you know what he’s like.”

He doesn’t let her get a word in before he jumps up to his room.

Five is twelve when he stands in front of Reginald and says “I’m not using my powers anymore.”

“You have an assignment.” Reginald says severely.

“No.” Five refuses politely, and his family watches with wide eyes from the sidelines. The only family he has left. “I’ve got control now. I’ve decided I’m going to be normal now.”

Reginald locks Klaus is the mausoleum early and watches with unimpressed eyes as Five picks the lock and strolls in. 

Reginald handcuffs Five to a rail. Five plucks a paperclip from his sock and picks those as well.

Reginald locks Five in a room from the outside and tells him that he’ll get dinner when he jumps out. 

Five opens the window and shimmies down the drainpipe and has to be picked up at Griddy’s where he’s charmed the owner out of a free doughnut and hot chocolate with a sob story about school bullies to explain his grubby appearance (the shimmy down the drainpipe hadn’t exactly been graceful. or clean.)

He locks Five in the basement in a weird room that’s soundproofed. Five tries to hunger strike but - it’s so quiet. He can hear the sound of his own heartbeat. He can’t stand it. It’s like the room was made specifically to torture him.

(He looks at the little bed in the room. The sheets were dusty. This room has been around for a very long time. He wonders who it’s for, Allison, perhaps? She’s always been fairly obedient, maybe this is the reason why.)

He jumps out on the second day, and doesn’t talk to anybody. Reginald is smug like the cat the got the canary, and Five hates it.

Then Five is messing around, and something slots into place, and he realizes - oh, he might be able to time travel. 

Once he figures it out, he’s desperate. He’ll save his siblings that way. He’ll take the to a time where Reginald can’t get them. They’ll be out of reach.

(maybe - maybe they can travel back in time. maybe he can save his mother -)

Five is thirteen-years-old when he time travels for the first time. When he runs out of the house like he’s done so very many times before, except he’s angry and frustrated and he’d tried to bait Reginald into telling him his mother’s dead again and he hadn’t and - 

Five jumps. It’s snowing. He did it. He jumps again, laughing. He jumps again - 

Ash.

He tries to jump, but his power fizzles out. He calls for his siblings. No one answers. He finds the academy - rubble.

So Five lives in the apocalypse. He tries to go home, he does. He buries his siblings as well as he can. He wanders around gathering food and textbooks. He picks up a mannequin and names it Dolores.

(He searches the rubble of the academy, but he can’t find Doggy or the picture of his mother. Either they were found and removed years ago, or they’re buried beneath too much rubble. Five doesn’t know.)

 He takes Dolores on a road trip. He tells her it’s to see if they can find any people, any survivors.

he arrives in a graveyard and traces his mother’s name with trembling fingers. this is the first time he’s been to visit her grave. this is the first time he’s seen her in four years.

So he survives. He grows up, desperately clinging to life by his fingernails. He does complex calculations, wondering what his mother would think of him now.

He meets the Handler. He becomes an assassin.

(he’s glad his mother is dead, so that she will never see what he has become.)

And then one day, he gets home. He falls into the courtyard, and looks at the faces of his grown up siblings and - 

(he’s so tired of losing people. he’s so tired of being taken away from his family.)

He hops to Griddy’s, he gets into a fight with assassins, he cuts a tracker from his arm, and he goes to Vanya’s apartment.

And he’s Five, but he’s also Fievel. And somewhere inside he’s still that same kid who loved his mother and wanted her to fix thing, who trusted her even though she didn’t have powers. His mother wasn’t ordinary, and he’s never seen Vanya as such.

So he asks her for her help.

(Later, she tells him that they hunted down his mother when they were fifteen, because they’d been absolutely convinced he’d just run away and gone back to herno matter how much Reginald insisted he was dead.

That’s when they found out about her death. Her date of death.

“I’m so sorry, Five.” Vanya says, tears in her eyes as the whole family shuffles and looks away.

And Five puts his hand on Vanya’s. “I knew, Van.”

Her head snaps up. Klaus blurts out a what in the background.

Five shrugs, “I’ve known since we were ten. It’s okay.”)

Five sends Vanya to investigate the eye. 

(He asks Klaus - “Have you - ”

“No.” Klaus says instantly, shaking his head. He knows what Five is asking. 

Five considers that answer, then shrugs. He’s not sure if it would be better or worse for his mother to be one of the ghosts that tormented Klaus. “After I - after, did dad get worse?”

“Yeah.” Klaus says simply, because it’s true.

Five hadn’t been there to jump into the mausoleum and try and shield his brother from invisible enemies. 

“I’m sorry.” Five says quietly.

“Me too.”)

Vanya comes back and the eye hasn’t been made yet. Five swears, loudly and at length.

And maybe in another world Five snaps at Klaus and denies Vanya and goes off on his own and ignores Allison but - 

In this one, Five was the only kid who not only didn’t care that Vanya was ‘ordinary’ but actively challenged her on it. Who told her in no uncertain terms that he was jealous of her. 

(It’s a very different book that comes out.)

In this world, Five shielded Klaus and challenged Reginald. He jumped into the mausoleum and hugged his brother and, most importantly, he chose Klaus over his mother. And Klaus knows that. Klaus has... a lot of loyalty to Five, and even though he’d though for a long time that Five abandoned him... he knows better now and he feels - he feels guilty for doubting his brother. That guilt may or may not manifest in being a bit clingy.

In this world, Allison thought Five was fascinating because he’d been in the real world. He’d been to real school. She remembers him telling her about his mother, about trips to the zoo and the museums and the birthday parties, about sleepovers and playdates and parks.

(She has a daughter, and she takes Claire to the children’s museums and to zoos. She tries her best for her daughter and hears Five’s voice telling stories in her ears. She does her best to be a good mother, she tries so hard.)

It’s a slightly more united family that stands against the apocalypse.

But there’s always something with them, isn’t there?

“Don’t you know?” The Handler says, with her perfect lipstick smile, “I don’t have to win, I just have to take you out of the game. Your weak spot has always been the same, hasn’t it?”

“You don’t have shit.” Five says, unimpressed. “My family is fine.”

“Are you so sure about that, Fievel?”

(Five already chose his siblings over his mother the first time. The choice is... much more difficult the second time.)

[vegalocity]

So bc everyone's really enjoying that Protag Swap AU with Red Son I've been thinking about it myself quite a bit and so now here i am

Here's a scene from The Beach Car

--

The cat's pod was... minimally challenging to fix. no more complex than his Inferno truck. He knew there was a heavy enough chance that the cat was lying about having connections to the conductor, but if her only payment was fixing up her travel pod for her and a lightning protection charm, then it was worth taking the chance. (Though she had tried to have him sell OneOne to her, it seemed like legitimate magic was far more interesting for her. And it made sense to have a lightning charm, who knew when her pod would malfunction again and electrocute her)

“Tomcat, tell me something-” The cat poked her head into his line of sight and Red Son raised a brow.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why did your parents choose such a... literal... name for you?” The Cat continued as though he hadn't spoken. “out of all the names in the world, why did they look upon their child and say 'ah yes, 'Red Son' will be perfect for our red haired son? Why not something less descriptive? Isn't it also a naming custom to affiliate your child with what you hope of them? Though I admit I wouldn't know.” The cat primly began to groom herself. “Never had any kittens of my own.”

“None of your business.”

“Red Son!” OneOne chimed in rolling up to his work area “How tall are you?”

“172 centimeters, why-”

“What is your hair? Is it fire? Is it hair?” “Is it a reflection of your inner turmoil bubbling to the surface?”

He felt his hair spark to life at the surprisingly pointed commentary. “That's none of your-!”

“Why DID your parents name you after your hair color?” OneOne interrupted again.

“Ugh! Why does that matter?”

“The orb is rather talkative Tomcat, you sure you don't want me to take him off your hands for you?”

“OneOne isn't for sale fleabag.” The cat gasped in mock affront.

“how rude! I was only trying to take such an irritating thing off your hands!” She was enjoying this. He could see the amused glint in her eye as her tail swished back and forth.

A wire darted across his hand and with a prick of pain he was now bleeding. Red Son let out a shout of frustration and rolled out from beneath the pod. He had some small bandages he could use to patch up his hand but he was flustered and it was making his hands shake.

“Fine. You both want a story so bad?”

“Frankly I could care less, Tomcat.”

“Story!” OneOne scurried up and made themself at home in Red Son's lap.

“Well it's not much of one-...” then again father did love to tell it when he was young, every year on his birthday, the exact time right down to the minute. And whenever allies would come over and make some idle comment about his strength, his father would launch into the story with the premise of 'My son has been a fighter from the moment he was born'

He wondered if father would tell it any differently now that Red Son was a disappointment.

“Technically they named me Red Boy, I changed it to Red Son myself when I became of age and thus was no longer a boy. But as my father tells the story, I came out... Early. Very early.”

His hands had stopped shaking, so he began to apply the bandages to the sluggishly bleeding wound. “Back then a premature birth was gravely dangerous for mother, but a death sentence for me. Healers had long since known there was no point in working in favor of the child if it wouldn't last a week let alone the customary month, So they prioritized mother's life instead. Which s it turned out, didn't matter because I was born anyway. And I didn't die. When I'd first come out my hair was black like mothers, though I didn't have much of it. I was alive, but I wouldn't stir. I wouldn't open my eyes or cry or een give the smallest twitch on my own. The healers informed my parents I wouldn't live to see the sun rise.

“Father couldn't stand the idea of any offspring of his perishing without a fight, so he ordered the servants to make the fire in the room burn as hot as they could possibly get it, as he thought I would fight harder if my surroundings better resembled the womb I left too soon. But I don't think he truly believed I would survive, he just wanted me to last longer than the healers predicted. It was a somber affair, So I've been told, the two of them waiting for the end. Mother recovering from her injuries in a sweltering room and my life slowly fading, father the only one in the room whole and hale enough to be acutely aware of the fact that one or both of us would perish."

“Oh my!” “Did you die?”

“No OneOne, I didn't die.”

“Sure enough the sun rose, and I was still breathing. Mother was resting still, and Father was feeling restless. He felt as though he had to stay awake to ensure that should I slip away I would do so with one or both of them there to send me off. And in a state of restlessness took to tending the fire himself.

“At the time even when he was shrunk to the smallest size he was comfortable with I was still small enough to fit in a single hand. Or so he told me.

“So he had me in one hand and tended to the fire with the other. Then the wood gave an unexpected crack, loud as a catapult he told me; cinders and embers went everywhere, and a few landed on me. But when father went to check me for wounds, he saw me do something I had lacked the strength for previously. I stirred. And for just a moment, I'd opened my eyes. “Immediately he shouted for mother to awaken and barked orders to the servants to throw the bassinet into the hearth, Mother thought he'd been thrown into a fit of rage and wanted all of the things they'd set up for me to be destroyed and began to insist that such an action was a waste of furniture, but the bassinet was already burning by the time she did so, and father placed me inside.

“The fire was all around me, and so the story goes, I stirred in the heat, opened my eyes to the warm glow, I breathed in the smoke-” he lit his fist aflame, careful to keep it far enough from OneOne that he wouldn't damage the little guy. “And I screamed. Father considers that the moment I truly was born.” He remembers waking before the sun in his childhood eager to begin his days, and just as the sun began to raise over the horizon on a certain day his father would pull him aside and begin on the story. “They uh- they left me in there chucking more and more bassinets into the fire until they were sure I'd grown strong enough to survive without it. And by the time that had happened a few months later, my hair had turned red like black coal turning to red embers. So they called me Red Boy.”

“That's a mighty ability tomcat.” The cat chimed in, striding forward and leaning as close to the flame as she was willing to risk. “You say your father realized that ability was yours simply on the fact that you weren't burned by the fire?”

“You were a very brave baby. You already knew what you needed to live but since you were a baby nobody listened to you” OneOne chimed, their cheerful voice surprisngly somber, before the dour voice came in “I can relate, Nobody listens to me either.”

“I didn't know what I needed OneOne, I was a baby. I didn't know anything.”

“I bet you were cuuuutteeee” OneOne chimed again, far closer to their normal tone. Red Son felt his hair spark to life again, his face burning in turn. The cat chuckled.

“Settle down Tomcat, don't want you burning my pod up much like your numerous bassinets before you can fix it.”

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 1)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing

Word Count; 2.2k

Notes; Originally posted on AO3, this was the first ‘x-reader’ fic I had ever written. Since it’s finals/death season at my uni, I won’t be doing much original writing and figured that this would be a good time to re-upload this old thing to my current blog. It’s full of flaws, but it has a special place in my heart. ((will have minimal editing, so I mean it when I say full of flaws))

Soulmates aren't all the things the media makes them out to be. Some people have one, while others don't. Sometimes, people's soulmates can change. That's exactly what happened to your parents. Hank Anderson fell in love with a woman he met in during his first year at the Detroit Police Department. He just knew she was the one. Being the suave man that he is, Hank marched up to her, said some cheesy one-liner, and took her hand in his. The moment they made contact with each other, the world around them exploded into color. As soon as he let go, the world sank back into its grayish hues. Over time, whenever they touched, the world seemed less and less colorful. The colors finally faded away when your little brother, Cole, died.

There was a little theme park not far outside the city. Hank had taken the two of you for the evening because your mom drew the short straw for the graveyard shift at the station. As the sun began to set, the snow fell harder. Hank eventually tore the two of you away from the park and got everyone packed into the car. He muttered swears under his breath as the engine sputtered to life. “Can't see five feet in front of me with all this fucking snow,” Hank growled.

“Yeah, look at all of that shit in the road,” you commented. Hank snorted. A lopsided grin crossed his face.

“Don't let your mom hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she'll kill me,” he said with a huff.

You and Cole played spotting games in the back seat to pass the time. He was only a few years younger than you, and the two of you usually got along fairly well. Cole was leaning forward to look out of the windshield in an attempt to find whatever blue object you were thinking of. He reached over to unbuckle in an attempt to move and see better. “Dad! Cole is trying to unbuckle!” you tattled. Hank peered up into the rearview mirror to see what was going on.

“Cole, sit down and buckle up. It's snowing too much for you to--” The car skid on a patch of ice. Time seemed to slow. The car spun as Hank struggled to control it. Without warning, the vehicle rammed itself into a nearby tree. The sudden impact caused you to hit your head on the car's interior. Your ears rang violently, and everything seemed out of focus. It didn't take long for the darkness to overtake your vision and consume you.

The first thing you noticed was the yelling of your parents. The second was the smothering smell of cleaning supplies. You started to open your eyes, but it felt like the lights were trying to blind you. A steady, hammering sensation radiated from the front of your head. You began to toss and turn in an attempt to get comfortable. Your parents noticed your movements and quieted. “I'll go tell the nurse that they're awake,” your mother sighed. There was no doubt that she just needed a moment to escape. Hank nodded, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He gently touched your shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo, how ya feelin'?” You turned your head to face him. It took a couple moments to process his words.

“Lights are...” You paused, taking a breath. “too bright.” Hank glanced up at the overhead lights as he stood from his seat. He switched them off before sitting next to the bed again. You slowly opened your eyes, squinting at him. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, you hit your head pretty hard and got a bit of a concussion, but the doctor said you'll be fine.” You furrowed your brows, eyeing the few cuts across his own face. He shook his head with a scoff. “Don't worry about me. I just got a few little scratches. I'm fine.” You continued to survey your surroundings.

“Where's Cole?” Hank looked away. “Dad?”

“He was thrown from the car when we hit the tree. He's in surgery right now, but...” He sighed. “He's not in good condition. They've got one of those plastic bastards operating on him right now.” A heavy silence filled the room. Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

“That's why you and mom were fighting,” you whispered. Without you having to say anything else, he realized you had picked up on more than he would have liked. Your mom blamed him for what happened to Cole. After all, he was the one driving. Hank opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to disagree and tell you that everything was okay, but he couldn't. You were right.

Cole didn't make it through the surgery. The android surgeons assured your parents that they did everything they could, but it was no use. Hank wrapped his arms around your mom as she wept. He'd be lying if he said he didn't weep alongside her. When he opened his eyes, the world had lost all its color. They knew the day was coming, but they never expected it to come at a time of such tragedy. They stayed together for a few more weeks, mainly for your sake. They wanted to tough it out at least until you got a little older, but things at home just got worse. They fought more often, which usually turned ugly. They would scream at each other until they lost their voices. Your mom would throw things at Hank, who would then turn and climb into a beer bottle and shut out the world around himself. Then, one day, she just left without a trace. She mailed in her letter of resignation to the DPD, and that was the last bit of contact anyone had from her. You and Hank never heard from her, but then again, you two never really tried to track her down either.

There's no doubt that life was rough after that. You and Hank had an unmeasurable amount of grief weighing down your hearts, but you two tried to tough it out. You had to be strong. You had to be strong for each other.

You always had a fascination with your dad's job as a detective. Every time you walked into the DPD, your eyes would fill with wonder. It didn’t take you long to decide you wanted to follow in his footsteps. As soon as you were able, you joined the department's K9 unit. You loved the dogs and spent most of your time training them. You were quickly able to get even the most stubborn dogs to listen to your commands, which earned the respect of a few of your peers. Several of them, however, still made you the butt of all jokes since you were one of the youngest in the department. The worst one was Gavin Reed. He loved to get under Hank's skin, which often led him to you. Unfortunately, that often left him with a bloody nose and you with bruised knuckles.

You sat at your desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork littering your desk. You groaned, running a hand through your hair. The german shepherd laying next to your feet lifted its head. A grin twitched at the corner of your lips as you reached down to pet it. A steady stream of officers trickled in to start the day. You noticed an android make its way over to Hank's desk. It poked around his desk, analyzing everything. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed yourself away from your paperwork and approached the android. You always found the bots intriguing. You thought it was interesting that they made them colorblind to be 'more relatable to humans.' 

"Hey, you must be the android CyberLife sent to help investigate the deviant cases," you chirped before introducing yourself. The android looked at you and tilted its head slightly.

"Yes, I'm Connor. I have been assigned to help Lieutenant Anderson with the investigations." You couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to confuse the poor android. "I do not understand what is humorous."

"You're his partner? No wonder he's been so grumpy lately," you said with a grin. "He's not very fond of androids." Connor furrowed its brows with a nod. As you turned around, you spotted Hank walking into the bullpen. "Speaking of the son of a bitch, there he is." Hank rubbed his face.

"Give your old man a break. It was a rough night." He stopped in his tracks. Hank's face paled as his eyes widened. "God.. I saw you get shot in the head last night." You turned to face Connor. The android seemed unfazed.

"My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation." Hank looked disgusted, while you grinned.

"Interesting, so every time you get destroyed CyberLife produces another android that looks and sounds exactly like you as a replacement?" Connor nodded. You crossed your arms with a hum. "How many models have there been before you?" His LED indicator flashed a different color. He opened his mouth, but someone interrupted him.

"Hank! In my office!" Fowler boomed. You shot Hank a look.

"Well, he looked pissed."

"Yeah, wish me luck," Hank grumbled as he trudged into Fowler's office. You glanced back at Connor.

"I'm gonna get some coffee if you want to tag along. I know androids don't eat or whatever, but you might just want to explore the place a little bit," you said with a shrug. A small grin tugged at the corner of its lips.

"I believe it would be beneficial for me to be aware of my surroundings." You smiled and looked at your desk. You whistled, and the dog sat up in attention. You pointed to the floor beside your foot. The dog bounced up from its perch and quickly scurried up to you. As you continued to walk towards the break room, the dog paused to stare at Connor before following you once more.

Gavin sat at one of the small tables, talking to another officer. You nodded at the two in greeting. Gavin stared at you, while the other officer gave you a small wave. They continued their conversation, leaving you to fix your coffee in peace. Gavin stopped talking for a few seconds before going on about ghosts. You turn away from the coffee machine to see Connor standing in the middle of the small room. The android looked at you, and you just rolled your eyes with a shrug. "Hello, Detective Reed," Connor greeted. Gavin approached the android, asking what model it is. You decided to answer the question instead.

"It's clearly written on the front of the jacket, dipshit."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you ask nicely," you said with a wink. Gavin scoffed, returning his attention to the android. He ordered Connor to make him a coffee. No one said a word. They all watched Connor to see what it would do.

"I'm sorry, but I only take orders form Lieutenant Anderson."

"Oh!" Gavin looked around, feigning an apologetic look. Without warning, he punched Connor in the stomach. The android doubled over. Gavin kneeled down beside it, threatening it. You set your coffee down on the counter. Storming over to the two, you shoved Gavin away from Connor.

"Alright, Gavin, that's enough."

"Oh, come on, (y/n)! Don't tell me you're actually humanizing this thing. It's just a tin can!" Gavin raised his voice, pointing at the android.

"If it's just a tin can, then why do you feel the need to assert your masculine dominance over it?" You quipped. The other officer sniggered. "Why don't you go find a middle schooler to steal lunch money from?" Gavin glared at you. He looked over at the android and shoved its head downward. Your dog broke its silence and growled.

"Get control of your dog, (y/n)." With that, Gavin sauntered out of the break room, the other officer trailing behind.

You sighed, sticking your hand out towards Connor. "He's such a dick." Connor looked up at you and blinked. Androids didn't need help getting up, but you were offering assistance as a sign of camaraderie. Connor took your hand, and you helped him to his feet. Right after he stood, your breath got caught in your throat. His jacket was the first thing you noticed, then his eyes. There were bright colors all around you. Connor furrowed his brows. His LED briefly flash red before settling on a steady strum between blue and yellow. He stared at your eyes, then your hair. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature.

You quickly snatched your hand away from his. The color slowly drained from your field of vision. Your eyes were wide and frantic. It felt like someone replaced your heart with a drum. You rushed out of the break room, calling for your dog to follow. Connor watched you retreat. A message clouded his vision.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

~*~*~

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[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE - Given Time (Part 12)

Previous chapters: [x]

A/N: You know how I said I would wait to post this? I lied

Three and a half weeks.

Three and a half weeks since Marvin had wrenched awake with a ragged scream, feeling like someone had punched a hole in his chest.

Three and a half weeks since he’d half-stumbled, half-crawled from his room to the others, everything in his body singing, Wrong! Wrong! Danger!

Three and a half weeks since they had broken down Chase’s door to find nothing but his hat, phone and wristwatch strewn on the floor. Weeks of terror, rage, grief and determination warring within Marvin as he drilled through every tome on his shelf, searching and scanning for answers in every line, for some kind of sign.

By only the sixth day his fingers were bloody with papercuts and burnt from entangling too many spells at once but the others knew better than to try stopping him. They were far too busy with their own search methods.

Jackieboy had scoured the city, cashed in as many favors as he could spare, dragged as many police officers as he could get his hands on into the search. It was a testament to how much of their faith he had earned, working with them over the years. “He’s my friend,” he said, and that was all they needed to know.

Schneep contacted every hospital, every urgent care, every house caller he could think of in the city, then as many as he knew in the Ipliers’ city. Dr. Iplier had sworn he would do what he could on his end, though who knew how much?

Whenever he wasn’t on the phone, Henrik was crying into scarred, shaking hands. “I wish it were me. If the monster has him, if Chase must endure what I did…” There were nightmares and horrors in his eyes that wouldn’t let him elaborate. “I wish it were me. I would take his place, I would endure it all again if it would spare him!”

Jameson, meanwhile, did the work that was left by the wayside: food, water, blankets when the others finally passed out with their desks as their pillows. After the initial panic he seemed to go into shock. China-pale and puffy-eyed, he drifted from task to task in a daze. His speech slides were scarce, his signs nonexistent. On the rare occasion that he rested, he prayed.

There were no traces of static lingering in Chase’s room—not a speck, not a flicker. Emergency calls and hospital reports of stab wounds came up empty. Chase’s gun was still in its locked drawer, as were the bullets. There was no note to detail a goodbye. When Marvin grit his teeth, swallowed his pride and bitterness and called Stacy, she said that neither she nor the children had heard from Chase in a couple of months.

That should have been a relief, a sign that this wasn’t another attempt. Chase wouldn’t dare try to leave this world again without telling Brianna and Connor that he loved them one last time. Nevertheless the fear churned, always, in the back of Marvin’s mind.

What if he did try to reach the kids but couldn’t get through, so he gave up? What if he doesn’t have his gun because he’s going to try some other way? What if he took the note with him so it would be on his body when he’s found?

No. No. I would know. I would have felt it.

That tether he held, that thin lifeline tangled up around Chase’s soul was all that Marvin could count on every day. Chase’s face card, the King of Clubs, could not locate him, aimlessly fluttering up and down the streets. With every dead end the card’s enchantment found, Marvin was taken back to the days of watching Schneep’s card tumble in the wind, unable to reach him in the pocket dimension where Anti had stashed him away.

That train of thought found a new track.

Three and a half weeks since this new twist of their living nightmare began and at long, long last, they had found something solid to stand on.

Marvin’s plan had been to utilize his soul bond with Chase from the start, combing through dimensions one by one, searching for any pang, any sensation. Yesterday afternoon, however, Dr. Iplier had called Henrik to pass on a message.

“The Host is well aware of the Septic Egos’ trouble. Marvin the Magnificent approaches it on too small a scale. Pocket dimensions will prove trivial, fruitless…but the Host Sees beyond. For the price of a future favor, he may be of assistance in locating Chase Brody’s thread of reality.”

It was the easiest debt they could ever agree to. Another nine months with a hole in their household was not an option.

Marvin emerged on the opposite side of the portal, the opposite side of the universe, with Jackieboy tensed for a fight beside him. Schneep was quick on their heels, machete raised for an upswing, and Jameson had his sword cane drawn before his feet even hit the rocks. It wavered in his hand, however, as he laid eyes on the city in the middle distance.

“Jeepers…That truly is Elvery Heights. It’s the spitting image of our own…yet darker,” he murmured in wary disbelief.

“I don’t understand. Should this portal not have taken us straight where we should be? We are on the outskirts,” Schneep demanded.

“The Host wasn’t about to do all our work for us—and it’s probably better that we haven’t been dropped into the middle of a fight,” Jackie pointed out. “We know nothing about this place. We should find our bearings first.”

“We should find Chase; he’s waiting for us somewhere in there and I’m not going to waste any time sightseeing! We need to get in, get out and get him home!” Marvin snapped, pushing past him into a jog toward the far street. “I’m going to West General, Schneep; if he’s hurt, the Anti of this universe would probably dump him there for you to find!”

He had hardly sprinted ten feet before Jackieboy caught up with him. “Marvin,” he began in a warning voice.

“I feel him now. He’s here and he’s frightened,” Marvin snarled, dodging the hand that grabbed for his shoulder. “Isn’t this how you felt when Schneep was gone? Can’t you understand, you of all people?! Wouldn’t you do anything to get him back, no matter the risks? You would’ve plowed right in too if you knew where he was and I will not hesitate to do the same! Chase is—”

“I know. I know, Marvin.” Jackie matched pace with him, gaze steady, low voice unfaltering. “But even if I had found out where Anti kept Henrik, I would’ve been an idiot to go alone, with no reconnaissance and no plan. I don’t doubt for even a second that I would’ve gotten us both killed.”

“I don’t plan to make that mistake.”

“It would be an even bigger mistake to leave us behind! He’s not just your brother. You think JJ wouldn’t do whatever it takes to save his dad right now? But he’s keeping it together and coming along with a level head. We’re all here to help you.”

Muscles twitching in his jaw, Marvin quickened his stride. I’m coming, Chase. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All of the buildings, the streets, the parks, shops and walkways—They all seemed to be “right” but Henrik couldn’t shiver away this uneasy chill from his back as he followed Marvin and Jackieboy toward the hospital. It was his hospital. Shouldn’t he feel at ease, knowing this street so well? But as intricate as the familiar surroundings may be, they didn’t hold up well when he truly looked. It was like an optical illusion or a spot-the-difference game, everything further skewed as he ventured further in.

The passing cars were few and far between, the pedestrians dotted across the street so rarely that it was startling to see one. None of them smiled. None of them even seemed to care about each other’s existence. Unlike the civilians at home, these people didn’t give a second glance to the “quadruplet” Egos passing them. They didn’t bat a lash at their attire, didn’t bother meeting their eyes.

“You feel it creeping up on you too, doc?” Jameson shivered beside him, leaning on his sheathed cane to keep up. “The cold? The strangeness of it all? I can’t rightly put my finger on why but this place feels…ill, like the heart has drained from it. I find myself hoping that the hospital will show happier signs of life!”

“I hope that too.” Thanks to those words his patients’ faces were already flashing in his mind as they stopped before the double doors. “Okay…it looks normal enough, the way I know it…”

“You’re obviously the one who can get in and check around for any sign of him the fastest without being suspected,” Marvin announced, wasting no time to steer him forward by the shoulder. “You know where they keep the patient logs, right?”

“If they keep them where they do at home, yes, but that is an ‘if’,” he reminded him tersely. “This is a different world, Marvin; we do not know if I even work here, if I have ever worked here. Hopefully my coat and expert doctoring will let me pass through at a glance but if it doesn’t—”

“Henrik? Is that you standing dillydally around I see? I thought you were scurrying out to fetch our coffee twenty minutes ago!”

All other fears fled his mind at the call and left him paralyzed at the sound of that voice. Marvin and Jameson retreated a few feet, taken aback, but Jackieboy wasted no time shouldering defensively between him and the approaching figure.

“What’s going on? Henrik?” Albrecht repeated, glancing curiously between the rigid pair. “If you don’t hurry to the shop, our break will be over before you’re back.”

Henrik could only stare at his old enemy, openmouthed, drawing a blank on any possible response. The mere fact that Albrecht was unmasked, ungloved and clean of any bloodstains was enough to render him speechless. Jackieboy didn’t suffer that malady.

“What are you doing here, Doll Maker?” he barked.

“That’s the Doll Maker?” Marvin breathed, glancing at Jameson as he tightened white knuckles around the head of his cane.

“Well?” Jackie spat, eyes burning. “Have you been waiting for us to arrive? Are you the one who’s taken him?”

A snort of bewildered concern escaped Albrecht as he shifted back, hands lifted placatingly. “Very sorry, sir, but I imagine you think of someone else. I have never heard of any ‘Doll Maker’; I do not know why you call me that. Do you need a doctor’s help? Who was taken from you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Are you trying to mock us?”

“Not at all! If you are looking for a patient, you can ask the front desk in there—or if you would like to wait just a tick, my friend Dr. Schneeplestein and I can gladly listen to your story and see if there is anything we can—”

A nearby crash, splash and clatter cut him off before he could finish, making them jump. As he spun sideways Albrecht lit up, calling out, “Oh, hello! There is the coffee! I—”

“Schneep,” Marvin whispered.

Jameson flinched. Jackie swore.

Albrecht wavered uncertainly, glancing to and fro with the same disbelief mirrored on the others’ faces. “W-Wait. Wait a moment…How can there be—?”

As the steaming brew collected in a puddle that stretched for his shoes, Henrik remained absolutely still, unable to breathe. On the other side of that gap, his other self, bony, pallid and haggard, stared him down with sunken eyes that still shone as cold and sharp as razorblades.

“What is this?” he hissed.

___________________________________________________

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@egopocalypse 

[purpleandgreen13]

Stardew Valley Inktober 2021

Inspired by @buttonso 's SDV Inktober list, I'm writing a one shot every day for October. I have done 4 already (the fifth will be later today) but thought I would post them here too.

October 1st Junimo

Inspired by the Star Trek original series 'The Trouble with Tribbles'

Dammit Lewis, I’m a doctor not a vet.” Grumbled Doctor Harvey at his clinic where he, Marnie and Mayor Lewis are stood looking the five tiny figures laying in a large cardboard box on the examination table. They are covered in scratches and making distressed cooing noises.

“Please Dr Harvey?” Pleads Marnie, her eyes filling with tears, “I found them in the barn, the cows didn’t mean to rough them up, they were just curious.”

“What are you doing with these creatures anyway Marnie? Junimo’s import to Ferngill is strictly controlled.” Doctor Harvey peers over his glasses.

Marnie looks shifty all of a sudden and Mayor Lewis shuffles uncomfortably, “Lewis got me a special license!” Marnie protests a little too loudly, “We’re breeding them as pets. Look how cute they are! People are going to love them!”

“You are aware of their other reputation?” Harvey asks, “They’re prodigious breeders. They can have up to seven litters a week and they’re banned in some places. In the wild they have plenty of predators but in domestic situations you can easily get overrun."

“Please Doc. We can make it worth your while.” Lewis wheedles.

“Lewis. I don’t want your money, except for the medical bills. I don’t like seeing any creature in pain. Leave them with me, I’ll make sure they’re well looked after and I’ll patch up their wounds, give them a course of antibiotics and they should be right as rain in about four days.”

“Thank you so very, very much, Doctor Harvey.” Marnie gushes with relief as she clutches Harvey’s hand. Harvey frowns. This is very much against his better judgement, but the animals need care and he WAS the closest thing this town had to a vet, he supposed.

Once Marnie and Lewis left, Harvey lifted the blanket covering the box.

“Oh Yoba.” He muttered quickly lowering the blanket again. Already the junimos, which he had to grudgingly admit were cute, were In flagrante delicto, busy at work in the cardboard box creating the next generation of apple-like creatures.

Harvey mused that the small animals were getting more action than most people in the valley, including him.

He fetched his medical equipment and carefully lifted each Junimo out of the box, whenever one was free from its activities. Each one squeaked in protest as Harvey checked it over, applied antiseptics to cuts and grazes, then administered antibiotic in a small pipette to each of the five Junimos. They’d need a few days care, but they were mostly badly shaken up. They would all be fine, he was confident.

He supposed he should separate them into males and females, but honestly, Harvey had absolutely no way of telling them apart, so he left the blanket on the box after giving them some guinea pig food provided by Abigail and a bowl of water, and retired for the night.

Maru was first in the clinic the next morning and when Harvey entered the reception area, still a little bleary-eyed from sleep, she looked furious.

“What- what’s up Maru?” Harvey asked nervously.

“Why are you keeping so many animals in such a tiny space Doc? It’s downright cruel!”

“What are you talking about?”

There are almost 50 Junimos squished into a cardboard box in the hospital section! I can’t believe you left them like that? You do know it’s illegal to keep them without a license?” “Fif-FIFTY? Harvey suddenly felt a bit faint. “There were only 5 yesterday!”

Well, there’s about 50 of them now. We’ll need to find them better housing.”

After searching through the clinic for boxes big enough to house 50 Junimos, Maru makes a decision, that Harvey mutely agrees with.

They let the Junimos loose in the hospital wing of the clinic, leaving them food and water. At the end of the day locking the door behind him, Harvey couldn’t help but feel he’d made a terrible mistake.

‘Junimos reach sexual maturity within 24 hours of birth’, he read in one of his encyclopaedias, ‘as beings who derive their bright coat colouring from magic in the air around them, they live relatively short lives and breed as much as they can to ensure survival of the species. The magic that sustains them, makes them attractive to female junimos also kills them. Their twin purposes in life are to procreate and eat.’

In the morning there were more than 500 Junimos on the hospital wing. Maru could barely open the door and then could not close it. There were junimos everywhere, in the pharmacy cupboards, under every chair in the waiting room. Maru found two in the drawer of the till.

Harvey was going spare. His beautiful clean, sterile clinic had turned into a zoo. He coped as well as he could, but that evening, he called Lewis in a panic. His first attempt to pick up his phone he picked up a Junimo instead, he swept 7 of them off his chair in his office. Several of them piled on his warm lap once he sat down. There were several of them sleeping on the examination table. The noise of Junimo mating was cacophonous.

“Hello!” He bellowed into the phone when Mayor Lewis picked up. “LEWIS! It’s Harvey here! You’re going to have to do something about these Junimos! There’s hundreds of them!” “Sorry Doc! I can’t hear you! Are you having a party? I will come and pick up those Junimos from you on Friday! You said 4 days for the antibiotics to work didn’t you? I’ll see you then!” and with that the line goes dead.

Harvey has had enough. He wades through the Junimos lining the stairs to his apartment, grabs his jacket from the hook behind the door, empties the pockets of Junimos that have settled there, and makes his way gingerly out of the clinic and to the saloon. He stays far later than he should and he dreams in junimos the entire night.

Wednesday is hell. Exponential Junimo growth means that every surface is covered with squeaking, breeding and pooping animals with no regard for Harvey’s cleaning routines. He opens his kitchen cupboard for his coffee mug and is rewarded by e seemingly never-ending shower of small apple like creatures bouncing off his head and scurrying away. He tries to count them but here are far too many. That night he goes hungry because there is not a crumb of food in the house. When he climbs into his bed, he is surrounded by the creatures, cocooned in a kind of living Junimo blanket. The sleeping creatures start snoring. By itself a junimo snoring is a sweet sound, like sighing, but by the thousand, the noise is deafening.

When Maru arrives on Thursday morning, Doctor Harvey is a broken man. She pushes the door of the clinic open with some difficulty, the sheer weight of the creatures holding back the door.

Harvey is seated behind the counter, asleep, head in arms, dishevelled and unshaven. Junimos on his lap, his shoulders, in every one of his pockets. The squeaking and chirruping is so loud that Maru has to cover her ears as she approaches the sleeping man covered in the apple creatures.

“Doc!” She shouts above the row. “Doc!”

Harvey jolts awake. The junimos on his lap fall off, but are replaced with many more, jostling for a place on the doctor’s warm knees.

“I’ve brought someone who might help!”

Through the mounds of apple shaped bodies Harvey can just about make out a large cowboy hat and a purple beard. He scoffed to himself, the crazy guy from the tower? What was he going do here? Set traps? Give them all contraceptives. (Harvey had already considered it, but he calculated that the cost would be more than he made in a year).

With some difficulty the self-proclaimed wizard moved to the wall of the waiting room and in chalk drew a large circle with undecipherable symbols within its parameters. He yelled one word “Quiet!” Which made Harvey and Maru both jump. Surprisingly, the Junimos still and there is peace in the clinic for the first time in days.

He grinned at the medical staff, “Couldn’t hear myself think in here.”

Harvey has to keep himself from rolling his eyes when the wizard gets out a wand. Seriously? He’s muttering something that Harvey can’t quite catch and is sure is gibberish. He almost wants to laugh when the man turns around and makes an extravagant gesture with his arm. Harvey takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, feeling overwhelmingly tired. When he opens his eyes again, the Junimos are gone.

He blinks. Not a single Junimo remains.

The place is a mess however. Chairs are overturned, the plants have all been eaten. Magazines shredded. Harvey dared not look at the damage in his neat pharmacy and sterile hospital room.

“Where did they go?” He stammers, his entire belief system shaken.

The Wizard smiles enigmatically, “Somewhere I think they should be.” With a dramatic swirl of his cape, he exits, leaving Harvey and Maru to clean up the mess. Harvey thinks he can smell sulphur, but blames his overtired fevered brain.

**~~**~~**

In the Mayoral Manor, Lewis is doing his weekly book work for the town finances. A little bit off the top here and a little added to his own bank account. No-one ever asks to check the books. The amounts would not be missed.

There is a flash and suddenly Lewis is surrounded by small apple shaped creatures. They’re everywhere. A heaving mass of Junimos covers the floor and already some of the creatures are getting into his food cupboards, locust-like they start to methodically eat everything they come across.

Over in the clinic, broom in hand, Harvey swears he can hear screaming coming from Lewis’s house.

[7wanderingpaws]

Simply, Yours. (5)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: cursing

a/n: Finally I am updating this little story! I havent updated it in a long while for which I apologise, it wasnt my intention :( But there will be a slight twist in their “planned” pregnancy so... I cant wait to have a little fun 😁  I am always eager to hear your opinions.🙌 Stay safe!

MASTERLIST

PARTS: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5

This time, Baekhyun was the first one to be awake. Stirring a little bit around, he turned to his right side where your back was facing him, your hair splayed out on the pillow like a wild willow tree.

Scurrying a little closer, he brought his pillow to yours, his arm finding your sweet middle as he breathed in your fresh scent. He really liked moments like these, when the sun had yet to rise, the clock had yet to struck 6 and  you had yet to wake up, while he could just indulge in looking at you without being interrupted by anything or anyone.

Plus, the fact that few days had already passed since both you and him found out about your state did not mean he got used to the idea of suddenly three people occupying this bed. What a miracle, he thought. What a blessing.

Baekhyun carefully maneuvered himself out of the bed, his feet gently tapping on the wooden floor as he tiptoed to your side to turn off your alarm clock. He wanted to be the one to surprise you and wake you up with healthy breakfast in bed before both of you would have to head out to your work places.

Today he had a hapkido class with university students and as much as he loved the class, he just wanted to spend time with you.

He was just in the middle of pouring thick and rich pumpkin porridge into the last bowl when he heard you open the bedroom door.

“Baekhyun, what are you doing up so early?” you murmured, your voice low and heavy. “Sorry, it seems like I forgot to turn on the alarm clock. I would have done the breakfast myself,” you continued walking to his side to take the big pot out of his hand so that you could do it instead of him.

Baekhyun continued his job, not budging once at your prying hands. “Why are you up if your alarm clock didn't go off? I worked so hard this morning to turn off your alarm, and yet here you are beating the nature clock.”

“You turned off my alarm?” you asked, surprised.

“Of course I did!” exclaimed Baekhyun, as he put the pot back down on the stove and reached for the drawer to take out two spoons. “Now go back to bed, we have a breakfast to eat and you still owe me a face of surprise when I bring the food in,” he said, preoccupied with putting the bowls on the tray.

You held back the giggle that was threatening to spill at his antiques. “Alright, let me just pee real quick.”

By the time you were back, Baekhyun was bouncing on the bed, eagerly waiting for both of you to indulge in the hot porridge that was one of your favourites. You made sure to look completely taken aback when you sat down on the bed, giving him a loud peck on the cheek before making yourself comfortable. “You know this is the food we have after a hangover,” you murmured, taking a big spoonful and swallowing it in one.

“Oho, slow down, hungry cub. You will get a tummy ache if you eat so fast,” scolded Baekhyun gently, making you smile.

“Yes, chef.”

He gave you a wink. “And anyway. You love this porridge, might as well please your taste buds.”

You nodded, devouring a spoonful after another until you were done before him. And that rarely ever happened. “Done!”

he shook his head at you, trying to swallow the last bids of his porridge.

“Look at me! I rock today,” you laughed loudly when he pouted.

“It isn't fair,” he whined, putting down his spoon into now an empty bowl. “I am alone while you guys are two!”

Your laughter halted, melting into an endearing smile. Warmth spread through your insides. “I don't think its the matter yet,” you responded. “It has long way to grow for me to eat for two, you know?”

“No, it doesn't. It still counts.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you reached over the tray to mess up his bed hair. “Alright, whatever you say, mister. Still does not change the fact that I win for today, ha! And now, you better hurry, you need to be at the university in an hour!”

“First a kiss,” he demanded, crossing his arms on his chest.

Smiling, you pressed your lips to his warm ones, tasting the porridge. 

“Love you,” he murmured.

Once Baekhyun was out the door, you rushed to prepare for your work only to end up with your head in the toilet, throwing up all the porridge and more. 

____

You made it your absolute, utmost priority to keep your blessed state as far away from the workplace as possible. Not only was it all so fresh and new, but you also needed to wait till the first trimester was over to be 100% sure the pregnancy was safe and actually happening. Besides, you would lose your job immediately if your boss as much as whifs a baby around you. Thankfully, he was not the smartest man, as much as he insisted himself.

It only got proven when he called you into his office few days later, his meaty index finger pointing at the contract in front of him. It was a deal between yours and a Chinese company, but it was written in English. “I am sure there was a mistake on their side,” he mumbled, frustration slowly, but surely boiling in his facial features as he was gripping the piece of paper. He chuckled bitterly. “And they think I wouldnt find out? Just who do they think they are? I find out everything,” he seethed through gritted teeth as he suddenly snapped his eyes up at you, catching you off guard in the process.

You winced, taking a cautious step back, trying not to give too much attention to the meaning behind his words. “Sir, I believe this is correct,” you tried to explain gently, “the deal does not have any mistakes in English, we have already skimmed through it.”

He frowned. “But the calculations aren't correct. There should be one more zero.”

As calmly as you possibly could, you explained to him that he, indeed, bought much more than he actually thought. Making business was not always rainbows and unicorns, and today this fact seemed to dawn on your boss. “You were in a conference call last week,” you kept reminding him, “and because they offered you a good deal, you decided to buy more. Therefore you had to pay more, and we received less.”

He snatched the paper out of your small hands and gave you an ugly stare. “Whatever. I know my things,” he mumbled, turning his face back to the table.

“That is my job, sir.”

He whipped his head back at you again, but you only bowed at him politely, turning to walk out of his office when he started: “I still haven't scolded you for lying to me.”

Raising your head from your bow, you looked at him with worried eyes. “Lied to you, sir?”

He scoffed. “You lying about having a boyfriend was not the best move. Even if it is a white lie, I don't want any of it in my office. Nor in this company.”

You nodded, fully aware and guilty. You saw this coming sooner or later.

“And,” he started, giving you a side-look. “You plan on getting married?”

Holding back your breath, you knew you could reply to him truthfully. “No. Definitely not anytime soon anyway. As you know, it is a pricey matter.”

“Well, if you keep up the good work here, you might be able to save some money for such occasion,” he replied, his poker face giving you a slight unease. “Besides, I'm sure your handsome boyfriend would earn loads with that face of his.”

To that, you did not want to reply. Baekhyun, indeed, was a handsome man. This was a fact ever since you got to really know him back in the high school days, when he already graduated but still would sometimes visit your school for physical work around the building. The girls would be drooling and swooning in the big hallway windows during break, but he saved his handsome boyish smiles only for you,  always giving you a wink that would swoosh away the unwanted company of other girls.

When your boss realised he wouldn't get an answer from you, he ended the conversation on a very straight-forward note. “Whatever. Just don't get pregnant with him. Or anyone. No pregnancy in this company.”

-

It has been a few weeks later that the battle with the rollercoaster of your emotions had gone downward. There were still no direct signs of a small human being inside of you, but oh my goodness, were your hormones and emotions acting up. Tired of constantly puking your guts out on the morning, then rushing to work, dealing with the moody bastard of a boss, being either desperate for Baekhyun's touch or just plain hating his presence in the same room was driving you up the wall. 

Countless times you ended up bawling your eyes out in the bathroom in your work, or in the shower at home, because you didn't see a way out of this. Plus, the stress of accidentally revealing your pregnancy even to the ever-so-kind Sukyeong left you with a heavy soul. You needed to talk to someone of your age, you needed some help but your own independent self couldn't as much as think of such an option.

Another issue was scaring Baekhyun away from you and him leaving you alone in this mess that HE created… No, scratch that. Your slight change in weight made you feel so utterly unattractive that you were trying not to physically shudder whenever he complimented you about your looks. And the poor boy hadn't even a clue about your internal turmoil.

You sighed.

“You look freaking gorgeous, love.”

He said it again. And he meant it, he honestly did. You saw it in his eyes.

Being now almost past the first trimester, you and Baekhyun were both dressing up for your scheduled ultrasound at the doctor's. Although you were a bit nervous, you were thankful Baekhyun was always there throughout each check-up you had. And yet, here you were pissed at him, but you said nothing.

“Are you alright?” he asked you carefully, knowing how your mood could change within a nanosecond. He came closer to you as you were standing in front of the mirror you had in your tiny bedroom.

Swallowing harshly, you nodded, but did not look into his eyes. Ever so gently, through your tight dress, you saw a gentle baby bump. It could easily be covered up (and you did passionately cover it up for work) but it was there. Solid. A prove that it was real.

“Do we want to know the gender, honey?” asked Baekhyun gently, as he made another step closer to you and he let his hands hold your hips before his wide palms ever-so slowly slid over your stomach where he let them rest. Then his chin came resting on your shoulder as he turned his face to give you a gentle kiss to your neck.

You heart-rate picked up and it wasn't because of the high blood pressure you had been experiencing recently. “I don't know,” you whispered looking at him through the reflection in the mirror, “do we?”

This topic has been on your mind for the longest time. Do you want to be surprised? Or do you want to be prepared? Surely, in the nature of the village life, the answer would be an immediate: yes, we do want to know. Poor villagers always wanted certainty, and it was only understandable. But maybe this unpredictable city life of Seoul made you more adventurous. You might have not wanted to know.

He hummed, the vibrations in his chest sending electric shocks down your spine, causing you to squirm in his arms. He let out an amused laugh through his nose before he whispered into your ear: “So sensitive, my love.”

“You fucking tease,” you glowered, but leaned back into him.

He gasped softly and squeezed your body. “Now there, sweet cheeks, we do not swear with a baby inside of you.”

“Then stop teasing, love” you snapped back and he laughed now with an open mouth. “You know exactly what you are doing. You're sneaky.”

“Sure I am. You know me, hun. And now back to the point,” he emphasized, and you rolled your eyes but smiled anyways. “I don't mind if we get surprised. But if you want the gender to be revealed, I am supporting that as well.”

You nodded as you held his hands on your belly, letting your fingers caress the top of his knuckles. “Alright,” you said, nodding. “I think I will, ehm, see how I feel once we are there?”

He hummed in approval before he turned his head again, waiting for you to turn your face to see him. So you did. And then he gave you the sweetest smile of support before he leaned in and gave you a breathtaking kiss, ending it with a loud smack. “Shall we go then?”

-

Usually it was always an uncomfortable experience to sit in the waiting room of your doctor with other pregnant ladies. When you weren't pregnant, you felt so out of place, despite you having an active lovemaking life. That was why you were sitting there, right? Even at those times, Baekhyun was going with you, just because he wanted to be responsible and also to support you. He knew how much the village ladies didn't go for regular check-ups.

So now, sitting there with your tiny belly as your hands were intertwined with your boyfriend, it was a completely different feeling. You were still shy to as much as lie on that stupid chair, let alone spread your legs in front of a stranger - even though it was a woman and a doctor. But now it just felt right. You were eager. Excited. Happy. Curious. And Baekhyun felt your excitement as your knee was bouncing up and down. He was excited as well. The sparkle in his eyes was proving it.

Once finally inside, you both took a seat opposite your doctor, who gifted you with a kind smile as she also took a seat and skimmed through your papers. “The lovely couple I could never forget,” she noted, briefly looking at you and Baekhyun before diving back into your records. “And the unplanned baby. So!” she exclaimed, folding quickly the papers before she rested her laced hands down on the table. “Any abnormalities?” she looked at you, obviously expecting you to answer her questions.

Squeezing Baekhyun's hand under the table, you shrugged, not sure if what you were about to say was an abnormality. “Crazy mood swings. Emotions are a mess. Throwing up is still on, but thankfully not so often… And my boobs hurt,” you mumbled the last sentence, looking at your hand engulfed in Baekhyun's, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. This time Baekhyun squeezed your hand, although you didn't notice the affectionate look he sent your way. You dared to look up when you heard the doctor laugh.

“Those are all completely normal signs. Is your blood pressure still acting up?” she asked and as she was waiting for your reply she turned in her chair and grabbed the little machine. “I will check it now.”

You nodded but Baekhyun answered for you. “She had a couple of dizzy moments, but it wasn't as severe.”

The doctor nodded and checked you up, writing down the final results. “It's normal today. But if it will get too high, you need to go to the hospital. You know that, right?”

Not the happiest with her advice, you nodded.

“Good,” she replied cheerfully. “Any questions before we start the ultrasound?”

You were just about to shake your head when your boyfriend cleared his throat, stopping you from doing the action. You gave him a wary look, and he squeezed your hand again when he spoke: “How is it with, eh, sex? As the baby is growing, we are not sure how far we can go or if we should even do it. And I wouldn't want to hurt my girlfriend or the baby...” he trailed off, his ears growing pink. You felt your heart swell with love for him as you smiled like a little high school student.

“Oh my god, please do have sex,” replied your doctor, her eyes worried as she gestured with her hand to you. “She might not be showing it, but the sexual frustration can get out of hand, to put it nicely,” she continued, her stance confident. “Paying attention to your pregnant lady is very important in every phase of pregnancy and it is completely safe. Of course, around the due date you might want to be more careful, however it does not necessarily affect the baby in any way, so there is no need to worry, Baekhyun. It is more than healthy,” she laughed loudly, making you and Baekhyun giggle in the meantime.

“Any more questions? No? Good! Then let's get to it,” she clapped her hands, swiftly getting up from her chair and walking to the bed where you lied down, now familiar with the process. Baekhyun was sitting on a chair just where your head was, and he ran his fingers through your hair, giving you a reassuring smile while you tried not wince at the cold gel touching your hot skin covering your stomach.

“So do we want to find out the gender?” she asked as she spread the gel evenly, now digging into your tummy while she was already looking at the screen.

You contemplated quickly but before you could answer the doctor cut through: “Or do you want to know how many babies you would have?” she asked, but her voice was light but a bit unfocused as she stared at the screen. 

Not seeing Baekhyun's frown, he asked: “What do you mean?”

It was silent for a little longer, your doctor going through the same trail on your belly again, probably to double check whatever she saw there. Letting out a tiny laugh, she turned to look at your puzzled looks. “Well, this is fantastic!” she exclaimed and for some strange reason you had a feeling this might not be the best news, nor the news you were expecting when you were coming there. So when she uttered the next words, you felt your world crumbling down on you, and this time you could be sure Baekhyun wasn't as confident either. “You are expecting triplets!”

[moonb-eam]

Hi, sorry if you're already answered it, but i wanted to ask about the dinner at Eliott's castle, when Lucas went to the drawing room to the teleskope and Eliott came to him, can you please tell me (if you want!) what was Eliott thinking? He wanted to say something to Lucas and they were interrupted by Arthur. It's totally okay to not answer, thank you so much for that story! ❤️❤️

hello lovely!! 🌷you’re so sweet thank you!! ☺️

I actually haven’t answered this question before, so let’s dive in!!

It goes like this:

They finish dinner, and decide to play cards.

Eliott doesn’t know where the suggestion comes from, somewhere between Arthur and Herman’s conversation about horribly lost bets, and Daphné’s insistence that she had never lost a hand of cards in her life (which is true), but he’s grateful for the enthusiasm with which the idea is received, because it means that they stay.

It means that Lucas stays. Just a little longer.

Eliott can feel minutes falling from the gaps between his fingers like water, and inevitable end to the storybook night where every smile was shy and every glance was a secret between two people.

Eliott remembers the story only vaguely. Perrault, with a young woman who ventured out her cruel household to a ball. Then, the chiming of midnight, and it all goes away. A dress that turns to tatters. A carriage that turns to a vegetable.

It’s far from midnight still, but Eliott fancies himself the young woman counting down the minutes at her ball. Or maybe he’s the carriage.

He wants to follow them into the drawing room, because he wants to see their faces when Daphné holds her promise to win back any money she lays down, and because he wants to get a spot at the card table where he can be across from Lucas again, and watch the way candlelight caresses his skin.

But he stays behind to help clean from dinner, because the dishes are heavy and the staff must be tired, and because that’s what he always does, whenever they finish a meal. He waves off Daphné with their guests and tries in vain to ignore her when she points at Lucas’ turned back and mouths at Eliott, I like him.

Eliott makes a face at her, picking up another plate.

How could you not?

Clearing the table is usually a quick process, quicker tonight for how distracted Eliott is throughout, thinking of Mr. Savary’s obvious and alarming admiration for Daphné, Mr. Broussard’s keen eyes that seemed to catch every heartfelt look Eliott sent to Lucas that night, and of Lucas himself, and the sweet way he smiled at Eliott over his glass of wine.

It’s likely that Eliott was too obvious in his longing, his heart a phantom weight in his palm, and that was what Mr. Broussard noticed when he stared at him. It’s likely the reason Mr. Broussard was staring at him in the first place. Eliott would be embarrassed by it, if it weren’t for the shrewd grin that accompanied Mr. Broussard’s appraisal, something that was more approving than judgemental.

But perhaps Eliott is overthinking it.

Perhaps he’s overthinking Mr. Broussard’s perception just as he may be overthinking Lucas’ smiles and soft gaze. Just because he didn’t exude any outward ire towards Eliott doesn’t mean that he...

It doesn’t mean that...

(It doesn’t mean that a garden of hope needs to bloom in Eliott’s chest like this.

Yet, it does.

It does.)

“Eliott?”

He started when Madeleine touches his arm.

“Yes? Yes. Um.” He glances around the room. “If that’s the last of the dishes then you can...um.”

“Yes, we’re headed down.” She grins, patting him on the arm. “Best to return to your guests, chéri.”

The glint in her eye makes Eliott want to hide under the dining room table.

Tonight, it seems as though everyone knows.

“I shall...do that,” he says lamely, and he scurried away from Madeleine’s teasing smile, turning towards the drawing room, before he recalls the conversation he had with Mr. Leplein about literature, and how Herman said he had not yet had the chance to read Candide, and Eliott pivots on his heels, heading the opposite direction down the hallway.

He’s certain has a copy of the novel in the smaller drawing room. The study, as he likes to call it, even though it’s more a reading room than anything else.

Eliott has never been one to shy away from lending things out, and he can’t imagine anything that’s better to share than a book. Besides, the copy he’s thinking of is new, purchased to sit on the shelf and be an addition to his library. He has an older copy, one that is well-thumbed with tightly-scrawled notes inked into the margins. It’s the copy Eliott bought for himself after his father died, a delayed act of rebellion for the man who banned any and all Voltaire from the house.

Eliott bought himself a copy in Paris, on a trip to see the family lawyers, and he’d spent that entire night awake in his hotel room, reading in a daze. Then, on the journey home, he read it again. Then, he read it again, with a pot of ink at his side.

There was something about the novel that speaks to Eliott directly - its insouciance, its boldness, its humour, the main character’s journey of disillusionment. It gives him a feeling that someone has looked directly into Eliott’s mind, his heart, and has given him the words they pulled from him, but rearranged them differently so they make sense, so that Eliott can find and be found all in the turn of a page.

This is, at its most basic level, what literature has always done. It’s why Eliott adores it so.

He thinks, that even if Mr. Leplein doesn’t have the same epiphany Eliott does, that he will enjoy the humour in it, and the exciting pacing of events. He seems like a man who appreciates nothing more in the world than a good story.

Eliott stops at the entrance to the study, and as he squints into the dark room, he sees something shift there. A layer to the dim that is thrown into awareness by moonlight. For one wild moment Eliott wonders if he’s being burgled, but then his eyes catch on the slope of the figure’s shoulders, the tilt to their head as they examine the brass telescope in the corner of the room, and Eliott’s heart begins racing for another reason entirely, because he knows it’s him.

Lucas has found the telescope.

(Really, there could never have been any other fate.)

Eliott’s eyes adjust to the darkness, and he can see more of Lucas now. He can trace the slope of his neck and notice how his fingers are clenching in the air, as though they want to close the distance between warm skin and cool brass, but don’t dare to.

Now that he’s here, now that Lucas is seeing the telescope and seeing Eliott’s beating heart in his hand, and extended, the worst thing would be for Lucas not even to use it. Or to touch it.

So Eliott says, “You can touch it, if you want,” and Lucas startles like he’s a rest bird that’s been shaken from its nest.

“You scared me,” Lucas says, and Eliott’s stomach turns when he thinks of the last time those words were said to him, right before his disastrous proposal.

But he does his best to push forward. They’re not they’re, no - they’re here.

He spots the copy of Candide on the small table between the chairs and waves it through the air like a white flag.

“He says he’s never had a chance to read it,” Eliott explains.

Lucas seems to take this in stride, and then he asks, “You wouldn’t mind? If I touched it?”

Would Eliott mind.

He nearly laughs, a hysterical giggle building somewhere deep in his chest, and it would be so simple to tell him then, to say what Lucas has likely already guessed: You don’t even need to ask. It’s yours. It’s always been yours.

Yet there’s a fragile peace building between them, something a Eliott understands is fragile and young. This is Lucas asking, and so he says, without any irony, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Watching Lucas hesitantly reach out, then become more confident as his fingers meet the brass, caressing and travelling and touching so throughly and wondrously makes Eliott’s heart stutter and head swim.

He wonders what it would feel like, to be touched like that. To be touched like that by Lucas.

But watching Lucas fawn over the telescope also tugs in something fond and underneath Eliott’s ribcage. It fills him with something equally wondrous, to watch Lucas be so intrigued by something Eliott was able to give him.

He takes a step closer. “Do you like it?” He asks, at once desperate to know, to hear it, and when Lucas laughs, Eliott can’t help but smile.

“I like it,” Lucas says, and then: “I’m very fond of the stars.”

Eliott thinks of every time he saw Lucas’ head titled back to the sky, every time he saw him inhale the night air as though it keeps him alive, every time he smiled at the mention of a telescope, and he feels himself soften.

“Yes.” He says quietly. “I know.” I know you, he doesn’t say.

He didn’t even realize he’d taken another step forward, and he’s closer to Lucas now than he first thought he was, close enough to see to the depths of his midnight ocean eyes.

In the reaching hand of the moonlight, he looks ethereal. Untouchably beautiful.

Yet somehow, Eliott knows him.

“Lucas,” he says, and he can hear how pained his voice is, straining with the weight of everything that he hasn’t said but is at once desperate to: I know you, It’s always been yours, you can keep it if you like, I love you, I still love you, Do you know what you do to my heart when you smile at me?

And, above all: Do you think you might be beginning to know me? Do you think of me differently now?

Lucas raises his eyes to him, and Eliott’s throat is tight, but he’s opening his mouth again, mortifying honesty dripping from his tongue like too-sweet caramel, and he’s-

“Lucas!”

Eliott leaps to attention as though he’s a boy who’s been caught daydreaming again. The Voltaire drops to the floor with a smack and Eliott’s ears are ringing as he stoops to retrieve it, and he barely manages to take a step away from Lucas before Mr. Broussard is poking his head into the study. When he sees Eliott, then sees Lucas in the room with him, the shrewd smile returns.

It’s still not close to midnight, but Eliott accepts the interruption for what it is, and lets any magic that had been building in the moonlit space between him and Lucas fade to nothing.

Except-

Except there’s Mr. Broussard asking Eliott to join them at their inn, to try some of that famous scotch, and there’s Lucas, saying, “One drink, Mr. Demaury?”

And there’s magic, still.

[squaaash]

something familiar

a fic inspired by this lovely drawing by @sidetrek because the idea just would not leave me alone

Read on AO3

Summary: Aziraphale is laid out on the couch, seemingly asleep. This is not shocking.

What is shocking, however, is the giant black snake coiled around him from head to toe.

Anathema and Newt drop by the bookshop and make a startling discovery. Aziraphale and Crowley are just trying to have a lazy Saturday morning.

Keep reading:

Aziraphale and Crowley had recently developed a tradition on Saturday mornings.

The past winter had been particularly cold and bitter, and Crowley often had a bit of an issue keeping warm. His cold-blooded origins weren’t helped by his lanky form and bony extremities, so he enjoyed spending his nights snuggled up against his space-heater of an angel.

Aziraphale woke one morning to very peculiar sensation. He felt almost swaddled. The gentle pressure and weight elicited a pleasant feeling in his chest that warmed him to his very core.

He opened his eyes to find a large serpentine head resting on his sternum, still dead to the world, with an incredibly peaceful expression on his face. Crowley has shifted forms (likely without waking, Aziraphale surmises) and successfully coiled himself around Aziraphale’s entire body, the end of his tail brushing against his ankles as it lazily swung back and forth. The warmth in the angel’s chest grows. He can feel the love radiating off of the sleeping serpent, and does his best ensure that he feels the same in return, extending his contented aura outward and brushing his thumb gently over the snake’s head.

But then Crowley wakes and the lazy Saturday morning spell is broken. The serpent’s eyes widen, and suddenly they’re peering out of Crowley’s human face instead. He’s lying flush on Aziraphale’s front, his arms and legs wrapped soundly around him. Aziraphale would find himself endeared by the blush rising on the demon’s cheeks if it weren’t for his absolutely shamefaced expression.

“Sssorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Aziraphale rests his hand on Crowley’s cheek, running his thumb across his cheek before carding his fingers back through his hair. Crowley closes his eyes, sighing pleasantly at the sensation.

“Don’t apologize, my love.”

Crowley rests his cheeks against Aziraphale’s chest, still looking somewhat crestfallen. He focuses on the steady thump-thump of his angel’s human heart. “But I–”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Surely you’d rather not cuddle with a reptile.”

“I think you’re underestimating what a good cuddler you are in your serpentine form.”

Crowley tilts his head to better see Aziraphale, a look of quiet awe on his face. A look that reveals all his fear. That he doesn’t deserve this, that Aziraphale is simply humoring him, is too good for him, that he’ll misstep in his usual demonic way and Aziraphale will leave him and that’s just the way the world is meant to be.

Aziraphale kisses the doubt right off of Crowley’s face.

Slowly but surely, Crowley allowed himself to become comfortable sleeping coiled around Aziraphale in his serpentine form. On Saturdays, Aziraphale would leave the shop closed until the late afternoon so that he and Crowley could bask in the sunlight that streamed in through the front window and onto his well-loved sofa. (He knew that Crowley was particularly fond of the way that the golden light warmed his scales. On the rare occasion that Aziraphale woke first, he loved watching the serpent sleep, tracing his fingers along his spine. He rarely saw him so relaxed.)

This random Saturday morning in March, while rainy and dreary, should have been like all the others. Except for the fact that it wasn’t.

---------

Anathema Device knew that Crowley and Aziraphale were not… people, per se.

Their auras were tinged with something pearlescent and odd-looking that her eyes could never manage to focus on long enough to truly see what it was. Not to mention the odd little magic tricks they would perform now and again, under the impression that Anathema wouldn’t notice that there always happened to be a tray of fresh tea and little sandwiches on the coffee table whenever she and Newt would pop in for a visit. (She did notice.)

Not long after the failed Armageddon, Anathema had come across an unfamiliar contact in her cellphone saved under the name of “A.Z. Fell and Co.” Upon calling the number, Aziraphale feigned ignorance as to how the number came to be in her possession but invited her to stop by the shop anytime if she’d like to take a peek at his extensive library.

And thus, Anathema and Newt had a very odd new friend.

Whenever they were in London they’d stop by the shop, knocking on the door if it happened to be closed. (Anathema learned very quickly that the shop wasn’t for the purpose of selling books so much as storing them, but after a few trial runs to ensure that she was trustworthy, Aziraphale was more than happy to let her borrow to her heart’s content.) While bumbling and awkward at times, the man was sweet as all get-out and knew his books well enough to debate them to the earth’s end. Eventually, Anathema was dragging Newt into the city at least once a week to accompany her and discuss Aziraphale’s vast collection of literature, so it really should have only been a matter a time until they ran into his red-headed companion.

Except Anathema was fairly certain that Crowley was avoiding the bookshop whenever she and Newt were there. In fact, she was absolutely certain. Mainly because she once spotted him out the front window of the shop over Aziraphale’s shoulder as he was ranted passionately about Oscar Wilde’s Garden of Eros. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted the young couple on Aziraphale’s couch and slumped his shoulders dramatically, making an exasperated expression before turning on his heel and briskly walking away. So, yeah. Anathema could say with confidence that Crowley was avoiding them.

It all came to a head on a rainy morning in March.

Anathema and Newt had plans to be back in Tadfield in the early afternoon for Pepper’s birthday party, but Anathema had accumulated a rather large hoard of finished books and felt too guilty to hold onto them for any longer. She figured that Aziraphale didn’t really seem the type for a lie in and that popping in and out around ten in the morning shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.

Perhaps she should’ve thought that through.

Anathema can immediately tell that something is off. She’s holding a stack of books up to her chin so Newt knocks heavily on the door, knowing that Aziraphale sometimes can’t hear from his back room, but the door swings open easily. They exchange a look. Aziraphale generally does whatever he can to keep people out of his shop At All Costs, and leaving the door unlocked is… out of character, to say the least.

Anathema worries her lip between her teeth as she nudges her way past Newt, opening the door further with her shoulder, quieting his stuttered protests with a quirked eyebrow in his direction. Surely, if something was wrong, Aziraphale wouldn’t mind them letting themselves in. She looks back towards his desk, as they often find him wrapped up in his notes and annotations, but his chair sits empty. She’s only distantly aware of Newt following her timidly into the store until she hears a strangled gasp.

She whirls around and follows Newt’s wide-eyed gaze before squeaking in shock at the sight.

Aziraphale is laid out on the couch, seemingly asleep. This is not shocking.

What is shocking, however, is the giant black snake coiled around him from head to toe.

It appears to be sleeping as well, resting its large head on Aziraphale’s chest, slung over his shoulders and wrapped around his torso, winding around his right leg with its tail curled at his ankle.

“What the– I mean, well I can tell that it’s– But, I–” Newt whispers, struggling to form proper sentences. “What the fuck is this? Is he a witch? Is this a witch thing?”

“I mean, maybe,” Anathema hisses back. The snake, which doesn’t look like anything she’d imagine is native to the UK, is bigger and heftier than anything she’s seen in a zoo. The longer Anathema looks at it, she realizes that it’s giving off an aura of its own, intertwining with Aziraphale’s until one is indistinguishable from the other.

“Has he been, like, cursed or something?” A look of realization passes over Newt’s face, and he gapes anew. “Oh my god, is he dead?!”

Anathema narrows her eyes, studying the man carefully for the rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t think so.” She steps forward to look more closely, but her movement startles Newt and he throws his arm out, instinctually wanting to put himself between Anathema and the snake.

But all he succeeds in doing is sending her very impressive stack of books to the floor with a large crash.

A couple of things happen at once.

Aziraphale starts awake, clutching at the large serpent, still sluggish from sleep as he slurs, “Wha’s goin’ on?” Simultaneously, the snake’s eyes fly open, a brilliant gold hue, as it rears up protectively over Aziraphale, hissing in surprise and ready to strike against its perceived attackers. As people with just an inkling of self-preservation, Anathema and Newt scurry backward, but Anathema trips over one of the fallen books, taking Newt down with her when she scrambles to steady herself on his arm.

Anathema stills as she sees something peculiar in the snake’s eyes. It’s a startlingly human expression that looks almost like recognition before transforming into something akin to embarrassment. And then the snake is gone.

And red-headed gentleman is in its place, staring back at them with the same golden, serpentine eyes. Crowley.

What the fuck.

Unfortunately, the sudden appearance of a grown man on the couch sends (a still very sleepy) Aziraphale careening off of the couch and onto the floor with a pathetic sounding oof, from where he finally spots Anathema and Newt.

“Oh, lord. Crowley, dear, did you lock the door when you came in last night?”

Crowley sits stock still on the couch, his voice thin as he deadpans, “Obviousssly not, angel.”

Anathema regains her voice first, tentatively venturing, “So, you’re a snake?”

Aziraphale winces. Crowley maintains a carefully blank expression as he says, “Uh-huh.”

Something occurs to Anathema. Between the strange auras and generally peculiar behavior, it wouldn’t be the craziest conclusion to draw. “Are you Aziraphale’s familiar?”

“As in a familiar to a witch? You think that I’m a witch?” Aziraphale asks with an odd look on his face, not dissimilar to a parent trying their hardest to not let a child know that they’re displeased.

Anathema nods hesitantly.

Crowley sputters and then absolutely cackles. Aziraphale shoots him a thoroughly unimpressed look and he laughs even harder, tears streaming down his face. Eventually, he stops wheezing and wipes the tears from his face. “Oh, that was really good. Thank you for that, I’ll never let that go. A witch. Ha!”

“So,” Newt furrows his brow, “If you’re not a witch and a familiar, what are you two?”

Aziraphale exhales, looking rather chagrined.

“You know, I thought you said they knew?” Crowley asks, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“It’s not actually–Hey!” Newt attempts to interject, only to be cut off when Anathema elbows him in the side. It makes her feel slightly guilty, but she has a desperate need to be in control right now, as there’s nothing she hates more than feeling out of her depth.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look, seemingly have an entire conversation in a few moments without saying anything at all, each man wearing a combination of sheepishness and exasperation, until they appear to reach an agreement.

“Get up off the floor, angel,” Crowley tugs Aziraphale up off the floor to sit next to him on the sofa, before looking to Newt and Anathema. “Alright, kiddies, pull up a chair.”

They scramble upwards, not particularly interested in disobeying the unknown supernatural entities, no matter how many times they’ve shared tea.

“Well,” Aziraphale clasps his hands together, suddenly smiling pleasantly. “In the beginning, in the Garden, there was– Well, he was a wily old Serpent and I was technically on apple tree duty. And I–” He cuts himself off as Crowley sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I love you, angel, but you do this every time,” Aziraphale opens his mouth to protest but Crowley turns to their guests. “Anathema. Newton. This is Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He is an angel in the literal sense. My name is Crowley. I am a demon, also in the literal sense. Any questions?”

It’s painfully quiet for a moment. Newt chuckles uncomfortably. Anathema shoots him an incredulous look. He stops. She needs to process this.

“So you’re, like, the snake? From the Garden of Eden?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re an angel? Halo? Wings? Harp?”

“Wings, yes. The halo and the harp are a bit of a stereotype, my dear.”

“And you guys are,” She searches for the right word, “Partners?”

Crowley snorts at her dumbstruck expression. “Yup.”

“Well, that’s…” Newt weighs his words, “Bizarre.”

“I suppose so, Mr. Pulsifer,” Aziraphale says, more to Crowley than Newt as he takes the demon’s hand, smiling sweetly at him. Crowley smiles back before averting his gaze to downward, clearly attempting to contain a much bigger grin. “Now was there something you two needed, barging in here on a Saturday morning?”

“Oh!” Anathema hops on from her chair to gather the books from the floor as she abashedly explains. “I was hoping to return these to you because we have to be a Pepper’s birthday party this afternoon, she’s a friend of Adam’s. We’re really sorry for intruding, but your door was unlocked, and that was so unlike you that we were a bit concerned.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s expression softens at that. “Well, I understand my dear, an honest mistake. Do pass our regards along to young Miss Pepper.”

“Of course! And would it be alright if we stopped back in tomorrow? I just finished The Cloud Atlas and I’d really love to discuss it with you.” She smiles hopefully, if somewhat sheepish.

“That would be delightful, Anathema.”

As they're making their way out of the shop, Anathema pauses and turns back for a moment. “And I’d love to see you around sometime, Mr. Crowley, and maybe we could all get to know each other better.”

Crowley quickly masks his surprise, settling on a subtly content expression. “Why, yes, Miss Device, I think that would be lovely.”

Perhaps now they would have two very odd new friends.

Once they’re sat in Dick Turpin once again, on their way back to Tadfield, Newt asks Anathema, “So, that all really happened right?”

“Mhm.”

“Giant snake?”

“Mhm.”

“Your book club buddy is an angel.”

“Yup.”

“And his boyfriend is a demon.”

“Seems so.”

“Right. Just checking.”

[timewormbloom]

(Please note that Halt’s entire characterization here is based on the one scene where he just looses the ability to function in front of Lady Pauline and that is purely Crowley and Halt being mutually touch starved and being slightly in love with each other)

       Halt was not a tactile person. Sure he was more than willing to give someone a hug or two, but for the most part it just wasn’t something that came naturally to him. His upbringing simply didn't allow it. All affection happened behind closed doors, away from the court. Halt could go an entire day with nobody but the servants handling his clothing touching him. Which is why Crowley threw him for a loop. You couldn’t get within three feet of him without being casually touched in some way, weather it was merely a friendly shoulder touch or Crowley going full on octopus. He didn’t dislike it, but it threw him off so much that he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

        Crowley could spend years figuring out the puzzle that was Halt. Like how he tensed up whenever Crowley threw an arm around his shoulder, but would hug him in an instant. Maybe he didn’t like physical contact unless it was on his own terms? Should he tone it down? It might be for the best. Crowley was touch starved, sure. It was part of being a Ranger. But he didn’t want to make Halt uncomfortable. Toning it down it was.

      “You have got to be kidding,” Halt grumbled, scowling down at the tarp that had apparently offended him. Crowley looked away from the fire for a moment to answer with a small hum. Halt wordlessly held up a tarp with a sizable chunk taken out of the middle. “If it was torn I could fix it, but there’s not much I can do about this,” Halt signed and looked to the horizon, where conveniently some storm clouds were forming.

   “I saw a cave about a kilometer back. It don’t know if it’ll fit both of us, but if it doesn’t we can just fold the tarp over and turn it into a one person tent while the other sleeps in the cave,” Crowley offered, gesturing in the direction that they’d come from. Halt grunted in rely as he started to pack up the camp. Crowley wordlessly joined him in the familiar routine that they had countless times.

   They made it to the cave just in time to settle before the rain hit. Luckily both of them could fit, but they were noticeable closer than they were in their tent. The first few droplets of rain fell as Crowley wiggled around trying to give Halt as much space as possible. He knew how he felt about physical contact. Eventually Halt poked him hard in the ribs to stop his movements, so Crowley called it good and fell asleep with his back pressed against Halt.

   The first thing that Crowley noticed when we woke up was that it was warm. Then he noticed how Halt has his arm slung around his waist and his head leaning against Crowley’s neck. Crowley was at a loss. Should be wake up Halt? Or try to escape so Halt isn’t embarrassed?

       His musing were cut short by Halt’s eyes flying open. They had a few seconds of eye contact before Halt’s brain processed what was going on. He held his head up slightly and looked from his arms, that was still around Crowley waist, to Crowley’s face. Halt showed no outward signs of surprise, but Crowley could see traces of pink on his cheeks and ears. He abruptly pulled away and walked out of the tent.

      Crowley followed slightly behind and fell into a slightly more awkward routine of making breakfast. Soon they were both sitting around the fire. Halt flashed him a ‘you don’t mention it I don’t mention it’ look. Crowley nodded in understand before pulling out a map.

       “If we take the path here….”

        Crowley has planted himself next to Halt’s bed. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t been shooed out because nobody had noticed him or because they were scared, but at the moment he didn’t care. All of is attention was on the medic steadily sticking the wound on Halt’s leg closed. He was trying very hard to not look at the trail of Halt’s blood that had fallen in their wake as Crowley rushed Halt through the halls of Castle Redmont.

       “How is he?” He asked, desperately, when he saw the medic tie off the stitches. They jumped and spun around, apparently not aware that they had an audience. They stared for a moment, before blinking away the surprise and letting professionalism take over.

       “He should wake up soon, though he’ll be a little loopy for a few hours from the blood loss. Don’t let him strain his leg too much,” they advised before scurrying out, leaving Crowley to immediately move closer.

       Which was probably a bad idea since when Halt woke an about an hour later they nearly knocked heads. Halt had a spaced out look and just looked at Crowley.

        “How are you feeling?” Crowley asked, barely able to contain his relief at seeing Halt awake.

        “Hug me.” Crowley just stared at Halt after he said that.

        “What?” he finally managed to choke out.

       “You heard me,” Halt demanded, grabbing Crowley’s conveniently located arm to pull him onto the bed with him. Crowley was so surprised that it wasn’t too hard for Halt to manhandle him. Before Crowley’s thoughts could catch up Halt was sprawled out in top of him.

        “Hey, I thought I told you to hug me,” Halt demanded, pinning Crowley with an intense stare. It was weird seeing Halt’s face sporting that somewhat blank look. Still, he hesitantly put his arms around Halt who seemed to melt into the touch.

       “I thought you didn’t like it when I touched you?” Crowley asked, confused.

        “I like it. I’m just not used to it. Hug me a lot,” he ordered. Well, who was Crowley to argue with that? Even if he was delirious because of blood loss. Crowley was touch-starved, okay?

        Crowley treasured moments like these. There was no nationwide disaster they needed to take care of, just drinking coffee in the middle of the woods with all of his comrades. Comrades that included Halt. That part was especially nice. King Duncan gave him a knowing look whenever Crowley mentioned Halt, which was weird.

        Speaking of weird looks, nearly every Ranger was giving Crowley and Halt some rather unimpressed ones. They could just be looking at him since he was the Commandant, and Halt was sitting very close to him. Very, very, close to him. Okay maybe that was why. Though was it really that weird to sit less than a few inches away from each other?

        “Oh for crying out loud just kiss already,” someone shouted from within the woods. Crowley laughed, putting a friendly arm over Halt’s shoulders.

         “Why not,” Halt called back, much to the disbelief of everyone around them. He reached up and laced his fingers through the hand currently resting right above his collarbone. Of course, it would have been cooler if his face hadn’t promptly turned roughly the color of a ripe tomato. “Of course, if you’re okay with, I mean…”

         Crowley had a feeling that Halt would have rambled on for ages if he left him, so he solved the problem by softly pecking Halt on the lips. Crowley could hear the explosion of noise around them as the rest of the Corps lost their minds. Several shouts about bets rang out. Halt sprang up, grabbed Crowley by the shoulders, and dragged him off. The people behind them were going absolutely wild.

          Somehow Halt’s hold on his shoulders traveled down until they were very much holding hands. Several minutes later, and Crowley was having an epiphany. Mostly because of how natural holding Halt’s hand was. And how thinking back on it, maybe regular friendship didn’t make you gush to friends for nearly an hour. It would explain the looks he got from King Duncan whenever he brought up Halt.

      A minute later, and they were sitting across from each other in the two person they still shared whenever they happened to meet up, which was mostly during Gatherings.

       “So we’re doing this? The whole relationship thing?” Crowley asked. Please let them be doing the relationship thing.

       “I’m cool with it if you want to,” Halt muttered.

       “I am completely okay with that,” Crowley responded, not afraid to admit that his face had long since joined Halt’s in terms of redness. Halt scooted over to sit next to Crowley, and they seamlessly relaxed against each other.

       “This is nice. I can’t remember the last time I actually hugged someone. Wait no ,I hugged you that one time a few months ago,” Crowley muttered sleepily. Halt just grabbed some blankets and pulled Crowley back to lie down. Crowley gladly leaned into Halt’s touch and smiled at Halt’s nervous sputtering.

        And if Crowley remembers Halt’s tendency to act like a total mess whenever something even slightly romantic happens for all eternity, well who can blame him.

[bnha-hcs]

FantasyAU! Self proclaimed king and dragon bestie Bakugou falling in love with a normal village baker girl? Headcanons or scenarios are fine! Love you blog so much btw

Okay this became more of Katsuki seducing you as a town baker more than some fluffy slow falling in love stuff so... It kinda got away from me ahaha

You were a simple girl really. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened and if it did, it was a fleeting moment inside the long, arduous day. You’d wake up before the sun even rose, getting up to get ready before heading up to the lower floor of the building that held your bakery. You weren’t the only bakery in town, though, but that never deterred you from starting your own little business. Your parents were in the town over, close enough to help out from time to time, but most days, you were by yourself unless a few local friends stopped by to help out.

Today was like any other day, though, you always hoped someone other than the local wives and errand girls and boys would stop by. You hoped that maybe, just maybe, an interesting character would come in and give you a little taste of what the world was like outside of this dingy little town. Stocking the cookies and other pastries in the front cases you sighed, a little melancholy from the stagnant business. Sure you had your usuals and people you knew would come in and chat with you, but after a while it, it just got a little predictable you know? The same old crap was going on. Like, “Oh did you know the prince was looking for a wife?” or, “They said taxes would be going down soon! Maybe I’ll be able to buy that dress I’ve had my eye on!”

“Ugh, I wish something exciting would happen!” You groaned, the empty bakery seeming to ignore you.

Leaning on the counter, you sulked until you felt something nudge your arm. Looking up lazily you saw your cat, Beanie, looking at you with unimpressed eyes. You knew he just wanted that other half of minced fish from this morning. Sighing, you proceeded to go into the back and grab the covered dish from your cooling area in the back. Just as you set down the bowl in front of the cat you heard the bell on the door ring.

Rushing out to the front you saw that it was Mrs.Rivers, a middle aged lady from down the way who had 5 children already. You groaned thinking about all the trouble her kids got into all the time, mostly because she always came in here talking about it. Most of the time she talked about her kids, but occasionally she came into the bakery to share with you some recipes and the rare bits of gossip she’d heard around the town. This time she looked as if she’d seen a ghost as she quickly rushed over to the counter.

“(Y/N) dear! Have you heard??” She asked with her voiced laced with panic. You knitted your brows together in confusion.

“Have I heard what?” You asked, unsure of what she meant. “Why are you so scared?”

“There’s a barbarian from the Dragonlands spotted just outside of town!” She shrieked, fumbling with her hands. “And they say he’s been known to cause havoc everywhere he goes!”

“Oh I’m sure it’s not all that bad… “ You brushed it off, knowing that the woman was known for her gossip and stories. “Everyone likes to exaggerate.”

“Oh but it’s true!! The mayor said for everyone to stay indoors if they see the man!” She insisted.

Her hands suddenly found yours, holding them tightly over the bakery counter. You looked at her quizzically, unsure of what to even do to respond. It was odd just how serious she was taking all of this… Surely this guy wasn’t as bad as she was saying? Sure the Dragonlands were a little scary and normal humans never strayed there out of fear for the dragon tribe, but that didn’t mean they could be inherently bad right? You weren’t too sure, but that could’ve been because you were a little naive. And honestly, you were fully aware of that fact.

“Please, (Y/N), take my warning to heart and stay safe.”

You were about to say something when she made her leave, quickly going out the way she came and leaving with the door to the bakery sounding. With a shrug you turned back to the rows of pastries on the rack. Why should you be so careful? It’s not like a big ol bad guy would come to a bakery or anything like that… Plus your little shop was hardly noticeable on top of it. You decided not to take much of it too seriously, but out of caution, grabbed the crossbow your dad leant you in the back of the shop to keep behind the counter. You were pretty sure you wouldn’t need it, but there’d be no telling what your parents would tell you if you had to shut down your shop because you had been robbed. With your skills, you were sure you could give any brute a run for their money.

Gazing out the store window you saw others scurrying along the cobblestone path, a little more hurried you noticed, due to the rumor floating around town. You couldn’t name all the times people got scared because someone had let loose some sort of rumor. For all they knew, it could’ve been a rumor started by the town drunk or all people. Or least you forget one of the school boys literally crying wolf because a neighbor’s dog had wandered into the boy’s yard after a hunting trip covered in blood and mud. That one got everyone up in a tizzy.

A sigh flew past your lips until you heard the door’s bell sound. You jolted upright and focused your eyes on the person who decided to pay your bakery a visit. Your breath caught in your throat upon gazing at the bare chest of, who you assumed to be, the so called barbarian. He seemed a little annoyed as he made his way to the counter, probably due to the fact that no other shop was open at the moment. Only you were brave/stupid enough to keep your doors open.

“Oi, get me a few loaves of bread.” The bare chested male barked hoarsely. He lazily slammed a handful of silver coins on the counter causing you to jump.

“S-Sure!” Crap. You stuttered that out like a nervous fool, and as you scrambled to pack a cloth bag with some of your fresh loaves of bread you hoped he didn’t catch you staring at him earlier. Your cheeks burned as you tied the cloth in a neat little knot and handed it over to him.

“You got any meat or cheese here?” He asked you, a frown painted on his lips as he looked around cautiously. His eyes locked with yours for a second and you quickly averted your gaze away from what you could only describe as his smoldering eyes.

“No, but I have this pastry here that has a sort of cream cheese-”

“Okay whatever give me one of those, too.” He grumbled cutting you off and putting a few extra coins on the counter.

You took a pair of tongs and pulled out a single one of the cream cheese danishes that you had in the case before sliding it in with the loaves of bread. Barely starting to count the coins on the counter the boy grabbed the bag and left before you could finish counting and giving him the proper change. He left without another word, and you then realized he had given you more than enough for just the few loaves of bread and danish. You stood there, slack jawed and a little flustered from the whole exchange. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Rivers and some of the other local wives came in asking all about it. You couldn’t tell them much about the mysterious, yet gorgeous visiter to your shop.

-----

It had been a few weeks, but you had grown used to his visitations. The day after your first meeting he had returned, blush dusting his cheeks as he placed, this time, a few coins on the counter and asked for the pastry you had given him before. He didn’t know the name of it, but as he looked at you with a childlike want you couldn’t help but think how cute it was that such a scary man like him could have a little bit of a sweet tooth. As soon as you had handed him the treat he left just as silently, and abruptly as he did the first time.

From then on he came in and got the same thing, along with a few loaves of bread here and there when he’d come in around mid morning and sometimes the evening if you were lucky. He didn’t talk much, but you enjoyed seeing him nonetheless. And after a while you had gotten a few answers out of him about his life. You found out, weirdly enough, that he was a normal human just like everyone else in town, but traveled with a dragon tribe member who was too… scary? Or rather he was so different looking that he attracted way too much attention whenever they stopped in towns.

Today you had gotten up like any other day, though you were a little early when it came to baking and got done a little before you were supposed to open. So you wandered into the field just behind the shop where a few of the kids played in from time to time. But no one was awake yet, so it gave you time to appreciate the sunrise at its fullest. Walking down to the river you spotted someone, very familiar you’d like to say, as you walked the gravel path. It wasn’t until you got close enough in the early morning haze to realize just who it was. Your breath was caught once more as you saw your usual gruff visitor wading out into the river seemingly rinsing off in the cool waters.

Blood rushed to your face and you quickly made your exit only to run face first into something very hard. Falling back on your arse you squeezed your eyes shut in the momentary pain before you could move past it to look up at what, or rather whom, you had run into. A gasp ripped from your throat when you looked up to see the lightly scaled face of someone who you could only assume as the friend from the dragon tribe. He gave you a confused look, obviously expecting you to scream of something of that caliber. You didn’t, however, only opting to simply sit there and gawk at him. He seemed to fluster slightly under your intense gaze and shifted uncomfortably from side to side.

“Can I… help you…?” He asked suddenly, clearing his throat. You suddenly realized how much you were staring and quickly averted your gaze to the side.

“O-Oh! Sorry I saw him, over there, in the river and recognized him so i was going to…” You trailed off, trying not to sound like you were trying to peep at the ashen haired male by the water. The explanation earned you an amused chuckle, as the dragon tribe boy scratched the scales along his arm he nodded seemingly to understand.

“You know Katsuki? He’s not really sociable so I didn’t think he’d know someone as cute and unassuming as you.” He commented unabashedly. You felt your cheeks heat up even more at his words.

You were about to reply when you heard footsteps behind you and craned your neck to see the familiar face of your regular at the bakery. He looked… confused as to why you were here, but otherwise didn’t seem mad about it. You realized from the first week in seeing him that it was pretty easy to understand his emotions, even when he constantly looked pissed off it was really just how his face was. So looking up at him you tried to quickly come up with an excuse to explain just w h y you were here to begin with.

“Sorry I was going down to the river to get some water for my cat a-and saw you there, but then I forgot to actually grab the bucket so I went to go back and…” You cursed at your luck for stumbling over your words.

“I didn’t ask but okay,” he said simply, making you feel like your fib was completely useless, “and don’t you open soon?”

“Crap, you’re right!” You yelped jumping up. “I forgot to set up the pastry case!”

Grabbing your skirts you went to hurry off to the shop, leaving the two behind in your haste you completely forgot that you had dropped your keys to the shop when you fell. Feeling around for your keys you muttered phrases of dismay upon realizing that they were absent from your possession. You heaved a defeated sigh until you felt a hand on your hip that guided you to the side albeit a little harshly before a arm jutted out and unlocked the back door for you. You squeaked out a few confused noises before realizing it was Katsuki, or so you believed his name was from what you gathered from his friend.

“Get your ass moving already.” He chided.

With a quick thank you his way you made your way inside to gather the pasty lining for the case, grabbing a fist full of flower to fling onto the paper as you set it down inside the case before hurriedly setting up pastries in a neat row for each kind. You heard rustling in the back before you put together that the boy was still in the back room. Pausing your work you poked your head into the back and saw him pulling a tray of bread off the top oven and put it onto the cooling rack, wrinkling his nose at the smell of slightly burnt bread. Oops…

“Ah, you can toss those! I guess I left them in a little too long.” You laughed nervously.

He waved you off, saying something about how he’d just give them to his friend, seeing as how he ate nearly anything anyways. You chuckled at this, unsure of how you should take that. Maybe you’d give him a few extra pastries today for troubling him. Why did he decide to help little ol you anyways?? You were sure he had better things to do than help over at a bakery.

Once you had set up the pastry case, you hurried into the back to set the empty tray back onto the cooling rack, unsure of where to put it at the moment. You then went over to the center island in the kitchen to finish mixing a new icing that you had tried to start before you left to do take your little break… it seemed like it had soaked up everything nicely as the mixture whipped easily in the bowl. Whisking the rest up, you moved to grab a filling bag when you found yourself nose to nose with Katsuki. He didn’t seem fazed at all, in fact, you were sure he was waiting behind you for this very moment as his arms rested on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in.

“Ah, you…” Your words died in your mouth as he leaned in. Squeezing your eyes shut you felt a wetness at the corner of your mouth before it traveled slightly towards your cheek, the coolness that came after it sending goosebumps across your body. Gods, did you get the icing on your face while mixing it so quickly?? You must’ve because he went over the spot again, though, a little slower this time. Suddenly your head felt dizzy and the heat that washed over your face was unfamiliar.

As soon as he pulled away, you cracked open one of your eyes to get a glimpse of what his expression was. You found, very quickly, that it was nothing short of smug as he inspected his work. And just like that he walked off and into the front of the store, leaving you confused, flustered, and more than a little aroused. What the hell just happened?

Holding your face in your hands you tried to calm the raging blush that had spread like fire across your cheeks. As you were trying to get over the whole incident, he walked back into the back where you were, acting as if nothing had even happened a few seconds ago. You looked at him with a half glare, and while he passed you, you swore you saw him smirk. The air was… thick, much like the icing as you tried to fill the icing bag. Though, as soon as you started to get back into your usual groove and managed to push your wandering thoughts out of your head, it seemed to happen all over again.

What was that about you being cute and unassuming again? Well, that dragon boy was right about the unassuming part, because you had managed to get caught between Katsuki’s arms again, but this time, you were sure you weren’t going to get away anytime soon. His hot mouth was on yours quickly, the icing bag now set aside on the counter. Nibbling on your bottom lip he went from kissing your lips to kissing the corner of your mouth, to leading all the way down your jawline while you tried to hold in any unsavory noises. You wanted to push him away, but how many times had you let your thoughts wander to something like this the past two weeks? It was selfish, but when were you going to have another chance?

When his teeth grazed the spot just below your ear you left out a surprised squeak. You could feel his coy smile against your neck, the hot feeling of blood rushing to your cheeks becoming all too familiar. Gripping his shoulders you tried to keep yourself from falling since you were very sure your knees were going to give out at any moment. Many thoughts were racing through your head at the moment, but one in particular stood out more than any other else.

You were sure no one would mind if the shop opened a little late today.

[whoisntgayforgatsby]

The Invitation That Taught Me To Dance

Gatsby sends his dear friend of nearly two years a confusing letter to tea and lunch at twelve.

There’s a knock on my door at dawn. By dawn, I don’t mean the kind where the  world is mostly alive once more, bathed in light, also known as, my kind of dawn. I sadly mean the kind where even the sun is still not even fully awake in the sky. I answer to Gatsby’s butler, I think his name is Alfred or Henry. I know they both were servants of Gatsby’s.

“Hello?” I croak, leaning against the door frame, rubbing my eyes.

“Mr. Gatsby sent me to give this to you.” He hands me a fancy looking, red envelope with fancy golden letters spelling out ‘Carraway’ on the back.

“Okay…” I yawn. “Thank you.” I get a nod from him and he turns, heading back to Gatsby’s.

I fall asleep quickly after he leaves, forgetting to open it until I awoke at around ten. It was under my stomach as I’d tossed and turned fitfully throughout another one of my dreams of Gatsby. All of them were about him since the day he reunited with Daisy. They used to be either him and I just doing something pointless, talking about nothingness, or about him being with Daisy and my heart being torn out, or about him and I instead of him and Daisy.

Now, they were mostly the first and third of those options but, with the ones of the day he got shot. Horrible, horrible nightmares. He was hit in the abdomen and just about drowned, no thanks to his butler, he lived. I dove in after him and pulled him from the pool. Since that day, nearly two years ago, I’ve woken from night terrors all about Gatsby not making it.

Daisy and Tom had returned by now and it was found that it was all Tom’s fault that Gatsby was shot. He wouldn’t just own up to his selfish affair with Myrtle. I despised them for that. Gatsby, though, still saw Daisy as this larger-than-life figure. That’s what I think, though. He has her over often and I’ve tried to drift from them all. I tried too, to stay close to Jordan, but, I don’t love her and she’s petty and fake, just like the rest.

Daisy, my own cousin, has betrayed both myself and the man that I deeply care for. What I truly wish to know is, would Gatsby have become so close to me if it wasn’t for Daisy being my cousin?

I roll onto my back and pluck the paper, now stuck to my sweaty skin, from my stomach and the fancy writing was now slightly smudged. I tear the top of the paper open with a pocket knife near my bed, pulling the page out and it was nice, from a stationary I’d seen on his desk hundreds of times over the years.

Why didn’t he just come and give me this himself? Or just tell me?

What a weird man.

Dearest Nick,

Or should it be 'Dearest Carraway’? Or was it 'Dearest Mr. Carraway’?

Please excuse my poor letter writing skills, old sport. I’m not used to writing letters to friends as I only truly write letters as correspondence between myself and some business partners. I’m not sure how to address a friend as close as you.

Anyway, old sport, This was not the point of my invite. Yes, invite. I would like you to come for tea and lunch today at about noon time. You can come whenever you please, though, so, do not worry too much about being on time as this is very last minute.

I wanted to invite you myself but, sadly have been far too busy with work to do much of anything. Calling seemed too impersonal as we haven’t seen each other in nearly a fortnight. Or was it longer? For I cannot remember.

I hope that you do show. I understand if you cannot or just prefer not to.

Sincerely,

Jay Gatsby.

I stumble from bed and rush to get ready. I was very stressed suddenly. He wanted to see me . I felt like a woman stressing over a date, putting on outfit after outfit, causing my bedroom to become a horrid mess. It was quite astounding how somebody could cause me to worry about how I look, especially when they had feelings for my cousin. I check my watch and notice that it’s barely eleven by the time I’ve finished readying myself. It felt far longer.

Now, all there is, is for me to pace and worry and play out the scene a thousand times. Most end with me kissing him until my face goes numb. Which, that shouldn’t be considered ‘the scene’ because that is most definitely not what is happening.

I sit on my bed after about fifteen minutes of stress-pacing and pick up the letter again. The way he writes my name is so fancy, so lovely. He seemed to not think when he wrote, unlike when he spoke. His letter was long and rambly and sweet, beautiful and his voice was always strong and sure, careful but, never to ramble, never to struggle with finding something to say.

Jay Gatsby was calm and cool, just like his blue eyes and his bright smile.

I let myself read it again, two, three more times.

I realize it says ‘ about noon ’ and not ‘ at noon ’, which means that I can head over now. That thought lights a ball of nerves aflame in my stomach but, I stand nonetheless. I brush my hands over my clothes to smooth them. I decided upon an outfit that I don’t normally wear. A delicately pink top that would usually have a tie but I don’t bother with one, a pair of black, tighter-than-normal slacks and my normal shoes. My hair was slicked back in a wavy-brown swoosh atop my head and behind my ears. I hate slicking my hair back like this but, I need to look the best for Gatsby.

I stroll over, a saunter that makes me seem much more confident than I feel. Inside I was shaking like a baby’s rattle. I’m clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door.

Once I do, the door flies open and my fist lands on Gatsby's chest. Thankfully I hadn't been trying to knock hard.

We both look shocked for a quick moment and he wipes his expression with a fast smile instead while I just stammer, my hand still in place on his chest. “I am so-... I was just trying-... You- I… See, I-...”

Gatsby laughs and places a hand over mine, lowering it back to my side. “Easy there, old sport. It's alright,” He pats my shoulder. “You're early.” He notes.

“You-... Your letter… It- It said about noon, so I though, um…”

“Yes, I know, Nick. I was just giving you a hard time.” He gives a warm smile and a gentle tap of his knuckles to my cheek.

“I knew that…” I laugh awkwardly and we both stand there for far too long.

“Come in!” He jumps as if he just realized he had to let me in, moving out of my way and I step in. Gatsby looks me over with his mouth ever-so-slightly agape. “You-... You’re wearing?...” His voice trails and he pulls at the open collar. I had the top three buttons undone and he seemed to be highly aware of that fact.

“I decided to wear this as I haven’t yet found the right place to try it out. Is it too riskay?” I ask, peering over at him.

“I-I… The ladies will… Never be able to keep their hands off of you,” A look I’ve never seen on his face passes quickly over him before he smiles again. Gatsby coughs meekly into his fist before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Alright, old sport. I will go check on the food preparations. Feel free to wander.” He tells before scurrying away.

I can’t help but to wonder if Gatsby is alright? He seems off today. He probably didn’t get much sleep is all. He was just not thinking, I guess? Normally he’s slow and composed in everything he does but right now, he’s stumbling over himself, fumbling for things to say. I’m concerned to say the least.

I stare at some kind of painting on the wall the whole time that Gatsby is gone.I honestly am not even paying the slightest bit of attention to it, my brain is running through all of the things that could be wrong with him.

“Old sport, lunch will be ready soon.” He says and seems to have nothing more to say. Well, more like, he can’t think if more to say.

“Gatsby.” I turn to face him and he takes a step back.

“Yes?”

“Are you well?”

“Am I well?” He returns my question without an answer.

“Yes, Gatsby. Are you well? Are you alright? You’ve been acting strangely since I’ve arrived.” I say and he seems to flinch at my accusation.

“I always act like this, Nick,” He laughs nervously. “How am I acting strange? I always act the same way. I mean, I was taken aback a bit by you coming here early but, that’s not acting strange . That’s just me being a bit surprised is all, old sport! Wouldn’t you be taken aback by-”

“Jay, you’re rambling.” I interrupt.

“I-... I wan’t rambling! I was just making conversation.”

“You’re acting like the first time you saw Daisy again. You’re skittish and jumpy and can’t shut up,” I say and he frowns. “I’m not trying to be mean to you Gatsby, I just want to know if you’re okay. Have you been sleeping?”

“Not much but, I have been getting sleep.” He says, nodding at me.

“Well, if you want to tell me what's bothering you, I'm always here to listen.” I tell him, patting his upper arm.

“Thank you, old sport. Same to you, my door is always open.” He touches my hand as I drop it from him. He blushes and pulls away like a spooked deer.

“What is for lunch, Jay?” I ask and he then, without thinking, grabs my hand.

“Come with.” He says and pulls me along behind him.

⚣

We eat together and make small talk and tell a few stories. He tells me more about his childhood than I had heard before. He seemed to miss North Dakota a lot more than I thought originally. Someday I plan on having him go back home to see his family.

Now, we wind up leaning over that railing that overlooks the pool.

“Ah, old sport, somehow, I always seem to end up here,” He let's out this breath that sounds like he's been holding it for years. “With you.”

It takes my breath away and I stumble a little. “We're like the friend versions of soulmates.” I laugh feebly as my breathing regulates.

“Yeah,” He hums, letting silence hit us. I can hear the waves on the Sound from distanced boats and such. “Nervous and excited are two emotions that shouldn’t mix, if you ask me. Makes it hard to concentrate.” He huffs, more to himself.

“What do you mean, Jay?” I quirk a brow at him.

“Hmm?” He turns to me. “Oh, did I speak aloud?” He seems panicked.

“You did.”

“I didn't mean to…” He frowns. “Would you like a drink?” He stands suddenly.

“Sure. Not much though.” I follow after him into the house as he makes a quick paced walk to what I assume is a distraction from his slip-up before.

“What would you like, old sport?” He says, sliding behind his bar. I follow him and he jumps. “Sit down, I can get you what you'd like.” He says quietly.

“I can get things on my own, Jay,” I smile. “You're not my servant.”

“You're my guest, Nick.” He tells me, like I don't know that.

“So?” I grab the brandy from one of his shelves.

“Not that one, that's the cheap one.” He takes it away and grabs one from a higher shelf, he pours me a glass and drops some circular ice cubes in it. He holds it out to me with a smile and I take it, our fingers brush and he drops it before I get a good grip on it, causing it to hit the floor and shatter.

“Oh!” I gasp as it scares the hell out of me, making me jump.

“I am so sorry! I-... Wasn’t paying attention.” He pours me a new one and places it on the bar this time.

His hands are trembling so hard that he can barely hold onto the bottle of bourbon as he pours himself a glass. I take the bottle away from him and grip his hands in mine. “Jay, breathe…” I say.

He pants and looks at me with big eyes, pulling away from my touch. “I’m fine.” He croaks and swallows hard.

“You’re trembling.”

“I just need a drink.” And he picks up my glass, downing it.

“I’m not in the mood for any, anymore.” I sigh, shaking my head. Gatsby frowns as he realizes that I’m disappointed.

“I’m sorry, old sport,” He says, dipping his eyes to keep from looking at me. “Come with me.” He brushes past me and disappears into another room. I hurry after him and we wind up in his ballroom. He sits on the couch of pillows that’s placed against the side of the stairs and I join him.

“Jay, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing, Nick,” He answers. “Do you dance?”

“Can’t, I’m horrible at it.” I lean back and nearly sink into the pillows completely.

He laughs beautifully. “Be carefully, those pillows will eat you alive,” He covers his mouth to smile. “And, I bet you’re wonderful. Come.” He stands again and holds a hand towards me. I can’t keep up with this man.

I take it and he pulls me up, making me stumble and crash into him. He catches me in his arms to steady me and my heart nearly implodes. I shy away after a moment or so and Gatsby lets me.

“Let me teach you how to dance, old sport!” Gatsby sashes to the middle of the floor. “Klipspringer! Play something beautiful, will you?”

And, so he begins, playing some sort of jazzy-swing song that I didn’t quite know. Gatsby holds a hand towards me, it brings me back to that wonderful first day, he spoke to me and held his glass outward just as fireworks exploded.

I take it and he beams, yanking me into him. “Just follow along.” He breathes in my ear just before spinning me around and pulling me back.

I quickly realize this to be a Viennese Waltz, his steps are fast as we spin around one another and I step on him more than once. He simply winces and smiles at me as I apologize each time. He pushes me away and holds a single hand of mine, spinning me around like a ballerina before tugging me back into him.

He’s a beautiful dancer.

He’s a beautiful man in general.

Gatsby blows a puff of air upward to push a strand of hair from his eyes.

He then twirls me once more, yanking me back and gracefully dips me, leaning over me as he pants lightly from the fast-paced dancing. And suddenly, something in me just bursts as I look up at his perfectly tired face and I cup his cheek in my palm, gripping his collar in my other hand, kissing him with so much force that he stumbles and his hands unclasp from behind my back. I fall and bring him down with me. We break apart just before we hit the floor.

“Nick?” His voice is but a whisper.

“Gatsby.” I say as if I’m answering a question.

“You kissed me.” He states.

“I did.” I confirm.

“Can I talk to you about that problem that I’ve been having?” He asks and rolls onto his back, off of me.

“Of course.” I huff, he completely brushed it all off.

“I’ve never been in love.” He says.

“You loved Daisy.” I comment.

“No,” He shakes his head. “I-... I was just obsessed with her. I held onto this fantasy because if I had her and I had money, everything would be perfect, I thought, at least… I believed that I loved her and made her larger-than-life to fill a void that I had within me. I kept trying to fill that hole and nothing worked.” He sighs.

“Gatsby, you could have anything you could ever want.” I furrow my brow.

“Was that kiss just for fun?” He suddenly asks.

I panic and start to nod. “That’s how the dance usually works.”

“I can’t have everything, old sport.”

“Jay, you’re not making sense.” I gasp in frustration.

“I’m making perfect sense, Nick. I cannot have you . I cannot fill that void.” He then stand and starts towards the door.

I jump to my feet and catch up to him. “What are you talking about?” I grab his wrist to stop him.

He looks at me, a strange emotion on him that I’d never before seen. “Listen, old sport, that kiss, it was not a just fun to me. It filled that void with cement and then, you shattered it back open with your rejecting words, telling me it was all just some game to you.” His voice is hurt but his words are steady and he rips his hand away.

“Gatsby, I panicked. Do you really think I would do that for fun ?” I ask him with my voice tight.

“Of course. Plenty a person does.” He had turned away from me by now.

“What if I did it again?”

“What if?” Was his reply. And, so, I do. I turn him around and kiss him, letting my lips fit to his like mended pottery, he tastes of strawberries and cigars, a hint of bourbon and chocolate left behind from before. He was soft and warm and his cheeks had a light stubble as I held them.

I pull away from him before it goes any further than just a kiss. Gatsby looks me in the eye in that moment, blue and shining, more beautifully blue than the sky on a cloudless day. “You kissed me.” He says yet again.

“I did.”

“Do it again.”

And, I do.

[land-under-wave]

Lotus Lying

I promised @kiradax this fic over a year ago, and I am so, so sorry. I don’t know if she’s even still interested in this, but anyways, here it is. I hope it’s not too disappointing. It would’ve come a bit earlier, but there were a lot of circumstances you probably don’t want to know about.

The author notes were getting too long for a Tumblr fic, so you can find them here. I threw in additional fun facts so they’d be worth their own post.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: death of an infant, postpartum depression, suicide, enormous consent problems/hinted sexual assault, abusive family dynamics, and unhealthy relationships in general. This is full of really creepy stuff. Please do not read if any of those might be detrimental to you and your wellbeing. The fic notes include some more information about the warnings, if you want to know more.

Lotus Lying

When her baby dies, Esme thinks the world has ended.

Staring blankly at his small, horribly still body, she can mark the exact moment that she stops believing in a good and just God. A good and just God would not kill such a small child, one too young to be guilty of any wrongdoing.

She does not understand how this could be possible. She cannot comprehend how she could’ve failed her son so badly.

Could it be because of his father? she wonders, and shudders at the thought of Charles Evenson. Could her baby have inherited his father’s sins? Or could God have killed her son to punish her abusive husband? But he did not even know she was pregnant, and it would be no punishment to that man for his child to die, so to accept that would mean believing that God is not omnipotent.

Either way, the concept of God is incompatible with the death of her son. She wonders, if He exists, that he knows he has lost a believer. She wonders if it matters.

To set His existence on the life and death of her child is a very self-centered view of things, but she doesn’t really care.

Having lost her son and her faith, it makes sense that she doesn’t care about her life either.

Her head is numb and hazy, shrouded in a cloud of black fog that wisps treacherous and gentle into her head whenever she thinks she is about to escape. Her thoughts keep warping back to her baby, the image of his dead body, thoughts about the man he could’ve become. Lost inside her head, she is startled when people speak to her and jumps at sounds.

She is a wreck. She is falling apart. She is absolutely useless.

When she first escaped from Charles Evenson, she felt like a lion. She felt like she owned the world. But now she is only a scurrying little mouse.

The teachers and students all know something is wrong. She can hear them whispering about it, staring at her. Some of them approach her, trying to help. But they cannot lift her out of the fog. She is unable to take even the slightest step out of the darkness.

She doesn’t know what to do.

She is so weak.

Jumping is the easiest thing in the world.

It’s the falling, the waiting that’s hard.

The pain comes first, once she’s awake again.

It sears through her like she’s been burned alive, lighting every nerve on fire. If she could move her jaw, she would scream. Perhaps this is Hell, she thinks dazedly. Is this her punishment for being a bad mother? Letting her baby die?

She gradually becomes aware that she’s lying down on something cold and hard, with the smell of hospitals and something nauseating in the air, so it may not be Hell after all. Hell is not supposed to make her shiver. Hell is not supposed to smell of rot.

But just because it is not Hell does not mean the pain hasn’t faded. She is in desperate need of a distraction from the fire, so with great effort, she forces open her eyes, trying to find something she can focus on.

At first, everything is blurry. Then a patch of colors becomes a blessedly familiar sight, and it’s enough to bring the faintest touch of a smile to her face. The face of Dr. Carlisle Cullen wavers above her.

The hazy images of running around the farm and climbing up trees come with him. All of a sudden, she remembers being sixteen and infatuated, carefree and happy in the flush of her youth. The days were all sunshine, hard work with her family, her half-formed dreams of being a teacher. The smell of the fields and the warmth of the spring wash over her, displacing the dank, rotting air and coolness of whatever slab she’s lying on. For a moment, everything is easy and nothing hurts.

Then the pain comes back, all in a rush. She still can’t move her jaw, but her eyes roll back in her skull with the force of it, and she makes a half-moan of agony in the back of her throat.

Dr. Cullen puts his mouth to her ear, perilously close to her lips. She thinks she might have even blushed, but she can’t tell because of the aching in her face. “Esme, don’t worry. I’m going to fix you,” he whispers, his eyes shining with a dark intensity.

Fix her? Can she be fixed? she wonders. The idea is wonderful, but how could it be possible to fix something that’s broken as badly as she is? Then again, if anyone can do it, it would be Dr. Cullen. The miracle worker who fixed her leg, who made everything go quiet again for a moment.

Still. She doesn’t like that look in his eyes.

But in the end, she doesn’t have a chance to say anything about it, to voice all her lingering doubts. Before she can muster up the strength for anything, his lips are sliding down to the hollow of her throat, brushing over her skin. Like a kiss.

The room suddenly seems so much colder as she tries to figure out what he’s doing. Shivers run through her body, and she cannot tell if it’s merely from the temperature. She wants to move, to at least try and get out the word, “Wait,” but she’s completely frozen. Every ounce of strength left in her is locked away in her limbs. She’s never felt so small.

And then he bites.

Everything is a blur for a while. She remembers nothing but the pain and the red.

At last, Esme awakens to the dying light of sunset rippling above her on a white ceiling. She hisses and shuts her eyes, burned by the startling intensity of the dim light. There’s so much sensation against her skin that she would swear it’s crawling with insects, and the soreness of her rough, dry throat is so acute it feels like someone’s slowly, repeatedly rubbing sandpaper inside.

Someone pushes her lips apart and tips something cool against it. Water floods her mouth, and the change in temperature is so sudden that she nearly spits it out in shock.

That’s when she realizes the pain is gone. She can move her jaw now, and her head and her arms and legs. She has control over her body again, even if everything around her is so strong that she doesn’t to use it.

But the realization rings strangely hollow, and that’s how she knows the numbness is still there.

She drinks down the water. Lesser pain is still better, even if it does not fill the hollowness. And once her throat feels less like a desert, she tries to open her eyes again, little by little. It’s less painful this time, now that she knows what to expect, and as her vision slowly adjusts, she begins to see the things in the room. Including a very familiar back.

She manages to croak out, “Dr. Cullen—”

“Please, Esme. Carlisle.”

She does her best, and she isn’t sure whether it’s the pain that turns her voice into a plea. “Carlisle. What’s going—?”

“I’ve turned you into a vampire, Esme,” he says, looking out the window. “It would’ve been such a tragedy for the world to lose your beauty,” he explains, and lays a hand on her shoulder. She jumps at the sudden sensation, but tired as she is, it comes out more as a wince.

Then he turns around and smiles, and it’s so easy to forget when she sees the way he’s lit up by the sunset. All the years fall away from her, and she’s a blushing, giddy girl who’s so in love that she doesn’t even remember she has a broken leg. Any thoughts of vampires fade from her head just like that.

But once he leaves, the warmth goes away, and her mind starts to function again, unclouded by the blissful haze.

Oh. He fixed her body. She looks down for a moment, then closes her eyes and puts a hand to her chest, feeling the solid strength of the rhythm beneath it.

She thought he would fix her heart.

Then she meets Edward, and she has a son again.

(She does her best to ignore the things he does, and it’s so, so hard. But he’s her son)

It turns out having a son does not fix her either.

She tries to fill the emptiness with beauty, at first. Makeup, jewelry, fine clothes, all the luxuries that glittered tantalizingly just out of reach when she was a little girl. She thought they would never be attainable to her, too expensive to afford and too impractical to be worth the money. But it’s easy for Carlisle, who doesn’t care how she spends his money. After all, he saved her because he thought her beautiful, didn’t he? The more beautiful she looks, the happier he is.

It helps, at first, the thrill of the newness and the freedom to buy things without looking at the price. Not having to budget every cent. But everything is fleeting. Soon, everything fades back to grey.

She didn’t know it was possible to be this empty.

There are so many questions Esme wants to ask him.

Why did you bring me back when all I wanted was to die? But she’s too afraid he’ll be angry and leave and take the goldenness away with him, and it’s been her only respite since her son died. So she stays quiet.

Why didn’t you give me a chance to answer? But then he will ask her what her answer was going to be, and she will have to say yes to avoid his fury and the loss of the golden days. He will smile and say, “That’s what I thought,” and then they will be right back where they started. Maybe even further back.

Why wasn’t it even a question? But then he will raise an eyebrow and ask, “Did you have something to say?” and what’s the point in answering now? It will not undo her transformation to complain. So she stays quiet.

Why were you in Ashland? But she is afraid of the answer, afraid that it might be something like the things Charles Evenson would say to her. She cannot bear to imagine that she will be trapped with Charles for eternity. So she stays quiet.

What have you done to me? But Carlisle has a way with words, manipulating them until you’re not even sure what you were saying and you think you were the one who wronged him. She is sick of being manipulated until she no longer knows her own mind. So she stays quiet.

There are so many questions Esme wants to ask him. She asks none of them.

Eventually, she lets go of the questions. It stops mattering.

Rosalie struggles, the poor girl.

She’s screaming and screaming for the first few years, lapsing in and out of angry fits where she goes from vacant expressions to throwing objects in moments. Sometimes, Esme will go to her room to call her downstairs and find her listless, lying about in bed. She spends so much time in the shower.

Esme wants to tell her that she understands the emptiness, but she does not have the words for that. Instead, she tries the same idea that had saved her at first. She brings her pretty things, items of luxury that are full of color and dazzlingly bright. She pushes them into her hands and urges, Just try it, knowing that once Rosalie does, she will find a kind of peace.  

She sees Rosalie stare at herself in the mirror, and she knows she has brought her salvation, and she smiles.

They say that you can discover yourself at college. You’ll figure out your passions, you’ll change your life’s course. You will broaden your horizons and discover a whole new world.

She tries going back, once she hears. She’s always loved school — it’s part of why she wanted to be a teacher. But Carlisle keeps a careful watch. He sits down at the table when she’s choosing her courses and says, “You must be careful, Esme. They cannot learn our secret.”

“I know, she says, as her hand strays to classes on the education.

Then his hand folds over hers. “No,” he tells her, the gentleness hiding the iron beneath his voice. “These people are learners. They notice things. They are too dangerous to be around.”

He flips open to the arts section. “These are better for you,” he said.

She wants to do something, anything, so she signs up for them anyways. Photography, art, architecture. Beauty, beauty, beauty, and she wonders if it will save her. Even if beauty itself has not, perhaps the creation of beauty will do something different.

She goes to classes and searches for meaning. Her search is in vain.

“I only want to protect you,” and he looks into her eyes.

“No one else will understand you, Esme,” and he smiles like an angel.

“Everyone will think you’re strange,” and he leads her to bed.

Esme dreams.

In her dreams, she is happy and healthy and growing old, her baby now eight and fourteen and twenty. She feels the aches and creaks in her joints, she sees her hair turning grey, and she knows she is not in limbo. It gives her a feeling of such delirious joy.

And then she wakes up with Carlisle, and everything resettles.

She stays with him because Carlisle is a reminder of the good old days, the giddiness of youth and her idealized infatuation of the handsome doctor who’d visited her farm. He is a relic from the days where nothing hurt. But she does not love him so much as she loves what he symbolizes. She craves the quiet in her head and is addicted to the light. Her marriage is nothing more than a way to keep those bound to her.

She still doesn’t know what Carlisle did to her, and she doesn’t think she wants to. Finding out would destroy the fragile remains of Esme Platt.

But on the outside, she is not fragile. On the outside, she smiles and laughs and lives a life of perfect bliss. Perfect husband, lovely children, all the riches and pleasures money can buy. In reality, everything is meaningless. She pretends because she needs something to do, something to fill out the long stretch of time into infinity.

It is probably unhealthy. None of it matters anymore.

Rosalie, dear Rosalie, has let all of this kill her inside. Esme, on the other hand, floats far, far away from it all, her mind high in the sky even while her body wanders the earth. Untouchable.

[ladyjafar]

Prologue – Summer of 2008, Istanbul, Turkey.

Ja’far never understood why he felt so pulled to Suleiman's Mosque. Ever since he was a little boy, every time he visited his grandmother, they always took a trip to the famous mosque built by the Ottoman Empire’s greatest sultan, Suleiman the Magnificent.

It was always the first and last thing he did, almost like he was saying hello and then goodbye to a place he had known before. But neither he or his parents had an explanation for it. Ja’far always got depressed leaving Istanbul, whenever the plane flew over the place he loved the most in the city besides his grandparent’s historical home in the heart of the bustling, ancient city quarter near the Topkapi Palace.

Every other summer – or when he decided – he always came to visit Nilüfer and his grandfather, who was also named Sulieman. He always loved being picked up by either of them, and carried around and hugged as a small child.

Years had passed since his parent’s death, and he was thirteen years old. At six, he had lost them both to a tragic fire that killed them both when he was visiting his grandparents in the summer. As a result, he was devastated.

Since they didn’t want to separate him from the country he grew up in, they allowed Hinahoho and Rurumu – very dear friends of Ibrahim and Sorcha – to adopt their grandson. Ja’far wasn’t unhappy, but at the same time he missed his parents very much and always had them in his own thoughts.

It was the summer before freshman year of high school, and Ja’far had been raised up a level and skipped the eighth grade entirely. His teachers sang praises for his academic work, and he smiled just thinking about going home and starting school, and meeting new people. Mystras, of course, would be in the same grade since he was an eighth grader when he was in seventh grade, as would Hakuei and Drakon. But his other friends would stay behind in middle school, much to his pain.

It was a late summer’s day, and his grandmother had cooked a good dinner for them both, since Suleiman would be working a little later than usual. It was his favorite, fish straight from the Black Sea with some saffroned rice and cooked lentils. He munched down happily on it.

"Ja'far, from the moment you were born, I knew your fate was already decided, like it has been in lifetimes before."

Emerald green eyes looked up from his dinner, the young teen curious. "Grandma, what do you mean?"

At thirteen years old, Ja'far was the spitting image of his long deceased mother Sorcha, Nilüfer thought with a pained look. Sorcha was her daughter in law, and easily one of the most beautiful women that Nilüfer had ever seen. Her grandson, Ja'far, inherited those delicate Celtic features, her pale blond hair, and stunning green eyes that seem to look into a person's very soul. Since he was a child, he had seen more than the human eye could. Nilüfer was sure he had the gift of second sight, albeit untrained, unlike her own gift.

Sometimes it pained her. She knew her youngest son would die if he moved away from Turkey, but it was his fate, as it was Sorcha's. She could not prevent that.

And now, she knew her grandson would face misery in his life time, but this time, he could keep it from happening, and possibly live the happily ever after he hadn't gotten in his last lives.

"There will be a man who will change your world, Ja'far. You will know him on sight, for he has lived with you before in other times, in other places. Your fate has bound you to him, for at a time, you were both apart of the same flow of energy, and each time you meet, it either will end in chaos or happiness. Before this, you were never happy - but this time." her eyes had taken on an almost eerie glow, blue eyes turning into a bright shimmering silver.

Ja'far had paled. Other lives? Chaos? Pain?

"Grandma?" he said, tone fearful. Her eyes focused back on him.

"This time, you can keep the king of your heart from destroying himself and others. He is a dominant creature that has always been the adventurer, the paragon in his very soul. You must not hasten to weaken for him, for each time it has ended in his death and your sorrow. Become his anchor, and he shall not be quick to folly as he has been before. His rash behavior is because of you fighting your own fate. Do not fight it, flow with it."

And with this, she had fallen into a dead faint on the floor.

Ja’far panicked, and he got down to check her pulse. It was strong, and she was breathing normally again, but she was asleep.

“Ja’far? What happened?” he looked up to see his grandfather, worried but trying not to show it in front of his grandson.

“S-she had a vision, and fell into a swoon.” he was choking back tears, from being scared or relieved his grandfather was there, he wasn’t too sure.

He sighed with obvious relief. “She’ll be fine, my grandson.  Just needs some rest after she has her visions and you know it.” Suleiman picked his wife up – at sixty five years old she was still slim as a young woman, and still had a full head of deep, blue black hair.

“Eat the rest of your dinner, and I’ll join you. She’s left me something to eat as well, and you’ll tell me what she saw.”

Ja’far nodded numbly, not even sure he could eat the rest of his dinner.

King of your heart. Ja’far never revealed it, but he has had odd dreams where he was scurrying down a corridor, wearing robes that were far lighter than they looked.

And always, someone calling his name.  It was a masculine voice, one that sent shivers down his spine just thinking about it.

Or sometimes, the dreams were in a tropical forest where he was running after someone during the night, laughter on the wind, and when he reached for the person’s back, he would wake up, the elusive, heady scent of the forest around him even after awaking.

Was that the man that his grandmother talked about? His gaze fixed on the horizon, the sun sinking into the waters of the Sea of Marmara beyond the window. The sound of laughter, the city at night and the smells from other homes didn’t faze him in his thoughts.

Who was he? The person who haunted his dreams and sometimes his waking thoughts. His heart almost hurt thinking about it, and he couldn’t quite understand why.

“She’s tucked into bed.” the sound of Suleiman’s voice startled his grandson out of his thoughts, and he refocused his eyes on him when he came back into the room. He settled across from the far younger man, his own plate on the table. A small cup of coffee was in his hand, and he placed it in front of Ja’far with a small smile.

“Baba?” Ja’far said with a small voice, and it made Suleiman’s eyebrow quirk.

“You haven’t called me Baba since you were very young, my little lion. Are you alright?” he reached over and placed his hand on Ja’far’s forehead, feeling to see if he was sick. Ja’far smiled weakly, the warm hand a comfort to him when he was a little shaky.

“Grandma had a vision of my… my past lives.” Suleiman’s eyes widened just the tiniest bit, but he didn’t say anything, silently encouraging his grandson to talk.

“She mentioned a man that will change my life, that I’m bound to for eternity. I have to change his fate for him – since it seems in other lifetimes I fought against my own. Almost as if….” he put his hand to his face in thought.

“…. as if I was too weak to tell him no.”

Suleiman nodded. “Ja’far, are you aware of the idea of kismet?”

The younger man shook his head in the negative.

“Kismet means fate in the old language, in it’s simplest form. It comes from Arabic in its roots. My grandmother always told me, nothing happens for no reason. Your fate – your kismet – is written on your forehead. If you fought against it, it could cause problems in one life into the next one.”

He seemed surprised, but he stayed quiet. Suleiman seemed worried since Ja’far, normally pale, was almost as white as a sheet of paper. But he kept on going.

“Some souls are bound to others, as your grandmother told you. Some live many lives, even hundreds, but only remember a few. Your soul either can go onto the afterlife if what you have done is completed, but if you have unfinished business, you are reborn, and live another life trying to finish what you started. It seems, my darling grandson, you need to save someone – and save yourself – from heartache before you can truly move on.” he smiled.

“Many people would tell me I’m either insane or heretical, depending on if a person believes in science or religion. But my grandmother, my mother, and your grandmother have always held onto that belief. Even in ancient Ireland, where your mother’s parents descend from, have a belief that the soul recycles itself into another life. It’s not an unusual idea, and not a new one.”

“If – If I find this person, what will happen?”

“Who knows, my lion. Maybe you will fix everything, maybe you will fail. But try your hardest to fight to fix your own fate, no matter what the person you are bound to does. Guide him in the right direction – I have a feeling this time around he will listen to you if you try hard enough.”

“I don’t know his name, and he’s already turned my life upside down.” Ja’far put his head on his arms, grumbling. Suleiman laughed.

“That’s the grandson I know and love. Be stubborn as a bull, and it will turn out alright. I have a feeling whoever he is, he won’t be able to cause harm this time around. You have your mother’s stubborn nature, but your father’s quick mind. They’d both be proud of you, I know it.” Suleiman ruffled Ja’far’s already messy light blond hair, and the boy just pouted at him.

“Baba! My hair is already chaotic, I don’t need you adding to it!”

Suleiman let out a hearty laugh, and Ja’far couldn’t help but let his own silvery laughter follow it into the night.

Autumn 2011, Hillsboro, Oregon.

“I cannot believe we’re already at our junior year.” Hakuei Ren squealed. “Two more years to go, and I can ditch this place. I’ll miss Lady Scheherazade, and a few other teachers like Mr. Ugo, but that’s about it.” At sixteen years old, Hakuei was the star of the drama department, with her wonderful acting skills and beautiful singing voice. Her parents wanted her to pursue a business career, since it was the family business, but all she wanted to do was sing on Broadway. She wouldn’t tell her family that, however, and took business classes to satisfy them so they would allow her to continue taking drama and being in school plays.

She was one of Ja’far’s best friends next to Mystras Leoxses, one of the baseball team’s best pitcher and batter. He was one of the few jocks that talked to Ja’far like he wasn’t a freak, and they even dated in the past. Ja’far still had the letterman jacket Mystras gave him their sophomore year of high school.

And there was also Drakon and his girlfriend Saher. Both huge high fantasy nerds, they always had dungeons and dragons games in the cafeteria when they had their hour lunch. They formed a bit of a ragtag group with other “outcasts” and weirdos, including Hakuei’s girlfriend Serendine, who was a childhood friend of Drakon’s, and Mystras’ younger brother Spartos, who was just as gay as Ja’far was. There were others, but Ja’far didn’t talk to them much even though they were in the club he was president of.

Well. Ja’far was the founder of the schools first “lgbt” club, a place for those who knew – or were questioning – their identities, and could talk to someone in a safe space without the fear of being outed or made fun of. He realized at a young age he wasn’t what people considered normal, since he was mainly attracted to men and never conformed to the typical idea of what gender was.

At fifteen, Ja’far was an advanced placement student who was well on his way to being valedictorian of his class. Many thought it was because he was extremely smart. He was, he wouldn’t lie about it to please anyone. But he was also a hard worker that wanted to get into a good university to study archaeology. He was fascinated with the history of the world, and he more than wanted to work with people all over to find new things and learn more about the world.

“You’ve scooched by without getting your aunt Arba as a teacher, too.” Ja’far teased his friend. Arba wasn’t a very well liked teacher at the school, since she was super strict in all of her classes. She was a the only AP chemistry teacher besides Ugo, who was also an advanced math teacher and the opposite of Arba, very well liked by everyone. Even if he was a huge dork and had a hard time talking to female teachers. Arba also taught most lower science classes and calculus, but tended to favor her advanced placement students and had a hard time helping students who had issues with the complex matters understand them.

“I hope I never get her for calculus next year. Precalc with Setta will be easy.” Hakuei smiled.

“He’s great! I had him freshman year. I took honors math in seventh grade so when I skipped up that grade, they let me take precalc with him. I liked Mr. Ugo for calculus and advanced chemistry, he makes it fun. And when we went on a field trip to Portland State last year, his friend Professor Solomon – he hates being called his last name so he let us call him his first name, which was weird since that’s basically my grandfather’s name – almost blew the lab up. He and Mr. Ugo were blue for weeks.” Ja’far let out a laugh. Hakuei grinned.

“She never tells anyone why, but she doesn’t seem to like Mr. Ugo, or whenever he brings up Professor Solomon or his wife Sheba and their four month old kid. She gets this nasty look on her face like she’s eaten something rotten or whatever.” Mystras put in. He had the bad fate to end up with her for chemistry one his sophomore year.

“Mr. Ugo subbed for first period when she called in sick, because last year he didn’t have a class first thing in the morning. I think that was the first time I had fun in that class, honestly. He brought them up and when a student mentioned it the next day, she got super pissed and it ended up with the poor girl getting a detention for ‘talking out of turn’.” Mystrasl looked annoyed. “Old bat. She’s too sour for her own good.”

“I hope she never hears you say that, Mys.” Ja’far leaned onto his dearest friend with a smile. “She’d get you in trouble.”

“Psssh. She can’t do nothin’.” he smiled engagingly at Ja’far, and he couldn’t help but give a faint giggle, which did nothing but encourage the red-haired teen.

“Cutest sound in the world when you giggle. Can I get more out of you?” he wriggled his fingers, and Ja’far backed away warily.

“Mystras it’s almost time for lunch to be over, please don’t.” he was still laughing, more out of how silly Mystras looked, hands out, fingers wiggling around a little bit. He was taller than most in the group, and a little more muscled by virtue of his hobbies, but with the almost evil grin on his face, it made him look so ridiculous that Ja’far couldn’t help but double over and weaken with laughter.

The bell rang, and an almost mass exodus of students got up from the tables, groaning and grumbling about going back to class.

“SAVED BY THE BELL!” Ja’far picked his book bag up, his jacket and tea mug and dashed away, much to Mystras’ grumblings of “No fair!”

Ja’far’s next class was advanced placement Middle Eastern history, a new class that was put in this year. It was more or less a test class, and Ja’far was more than excited for it. It got the required minimum of 100 students enrolled in the class, and -

His train of thought was cut off the moment he stepped outside, and a football landed square in his chest, knocking the breath out of him, and to the ground where he hit his head. A shout and some yelling followed as he fell to the ground, on the verge of a black out. Darkness seemed to seep up into his line of vision, eyes dazed when he saw a teen lean over him in worry, profusely apologizing for hitting him with a ball.

What didn’t make him black out was the football, it was the person swimming in his darkening vision. Dark skin, bright gold eyes and purple hair.

“Sinbad.” the name slipped unbidden into his mind. He didn’t know the person who was currently rushing him to the nurses office, since Ja’far could hardly walk himself. Whoever he was, he was trying to keep him awake until he got there, with the fear of a concussion on his mind, he tried to force his eyes open.

“What’d you do to him, dude?” a familiar voice came to his ears – that kid, Tess? He was on the football team and was rather kind to everyone, even him. Once Tess even fought off some bullies that tried to hurt Ja’far when he was a freshman.

“I tossed the ball too far and it hit him in the chest, hard. He fell to the ground and hit his head, hard. I’m not even sure he’s awake.”

“I-I am.” Ja’far managed to force out. Golden eyes looked down to him and he smiled weakly.

“I’m sorry.” He was, thankfully, long legged so he made it to the nurses office in a short amount of time. Ja’far was almost clinging to the boy, and due to his disoriented state, which the nurse was distressed at.

“Ja’far, honey, let the poor guy go, you’re strangling him.” Falan, the school nurse, tried to pry Ja’far off of the taller teen and succeeded.

“What happened?” she felt Ja’far’s forehead, took his pulse and checked other signs. Falan was a registered nurse and had some pretty cool – and legit – equipment in the school’s health office. A blood pressure sleeve was on his upper arm at the moment, trying to register it.

“Well...” the older teen looked sheepish. “I threw a football too hard and it hit him in the chest and knocked him over.”

“It was… an accident...” Ja’far said weakly. “Head hurts.”

“Do you feel tired?” Falan, with Sinbad’s help, got Ja’far to sit up.

“Only a little.” strength was flowing back into his body, and the blackness was going away. Falan looked relieved.

“No concussion, at least from what I can tell. Can you stand?”

Ja’far swung his legs over the bed he had been placed on, and even though he felt a little off, it went away quickly.

“Your balance seems fine. No nausea? Fuzzy vision?”

“I did at first, but not anymore, just a headache.”

“Hmm. I’m going to send you home. I know.” she saw the protest in Ja’far’s eyes rising. “It’s only the first day of school and you want to stay and go to all of your classes. But missing the first day won’t hurt you any, Ja’far. Have Mr. Akhtar escort you to the office, Ja’far.”

The kid had to have a name other than that. “First name?” Ja’far said in a confused tone.

“Sinbad.” Falan laughed.

“Here, let me get your bag. Good lord, this is heavy! How does a skinny kid like you carry all this?”

Sinbad. His name was the one that was trapped in his mind, and suddenly, all those dreams, of hot and steamy nights, a forest overlooking a vast, turquoise colored sea and even feelings of his own heart breaking in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. The sound of someone’s voice calling his name, almost as if he was being summoned to somewhere beyond this time and place -

“Ja’far? Ja’far!” the boy waved his hand in front of his face. “We need to get you to the office. You’re lucky I have a free period and no class.” He tossed a winning smile at the nurse.

“R-right.” when he felt Sinbad’s hand on his elbow, in an effort to help him along, he almost jumped back with a yelp. It startled him. He couldn’t fathom why, but the words his grandmother told him so long ago came back to haunt him.

“There will be a man who will change your world, Ja'far. You will know him on sight, for he has lived with you before in other times, in other places. Your fate has bound you to him, for at a time, you were both apart of the same flow of energy, and each time you meet, it either will end in chaos or happiness.”

“Do not fight your fate.”

“You’re rather quiet.” his voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You seemed noisy in the cafeteria when I was there at the beginning of lunch.”

“I also got hit in the chest and knocked over.” He said with a touch of dry humor. “Are you in the habit of people watching then?”

Sinbad grinned. “That’s more like it. You’re feistier than you let on.”

That, for some reason, annoyed the shorter teen. “You barely know me.”

“Seems like I’ve known you forever if I can annoy you so easily.”

There it was, a simple statement with a complex meaning behind it. Confusion ran rampant in Ja’far’s head. Did he feel it too? Or was it an innocent statement taken out of context by him?

“Can your parents pick you up? If not, I could probably take you home. I only have two classes after this and I can blow ‘em off easily. Parents let me borrow the family car for school today instead of my normal ride.” Ja’far’s eyebrow quirked up.

“You so sure your parents would let you ditch school?” Ja’far’s comment was met with a laugh.

“I have two free periods then two last periods. One’s just gym and the other is just a business elective.” he shrugged.

“Ah, so you’re probably going to be in the same class as Hakuei.” Ja’far opened the office door, and asked if he could call his mother, Rurumu. One short phone conversation and she gave her permission for him to leave school.

“Can you come get me?” he asked her. There was a short sigh on the phone.

“Unfortunately I can’t, since I’m about to head into a meeting and your father is abroad right now. Is there a way you can get home or at least stay at the nurses office until I am able to?”

“Someone offered me a ride...”

“If its alright with the school, I would say take it. I’ll write a form later if need be for it, but I am pretty sure my word will work just as well.”

After having a conversation with the front office worker, Irene, Ja’far was released to go home.

“You’re stuck with me, then.” he grinned, overhearing the conversation. Ja’far rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure I want you knowing my address.” Ja’far snipped with humor. Sinbad waved the semi-insult off.

“Nurse Falan would kill you if you stayed at school with a possible head injury. You need rest more than anything at the moment. C’mon, follow me. My car is parked in the student parking lot.”

The early September air was crisp with the coming cold, and when it hit Ja’far in the face he felt much better than he did before. Something about cold air helped his head clear much better than normal.

“You know for a family car that’s pretty nice looking.”

Sinbad opened the door to a sleek and shiny black car, placing Ja’far’s button covered backpack in the back of the car, and popping open the front passenger side for Ja’far to sit in. It wasn’t unusual for someone to have a car like this, since his own family had a car just as nice, but to let a kid drive it?

“Yeah yeah, Mom doesn’t like minivans and we’re a one kid family, so what’s the point?” he shrugged. “Normally I have a motorcycle, have since last June, but Mom insisted I drive something ‘nice’ to school, just in case I would get anything I can’t pack in a saddle bag.” he crinkled his nose, and Ja’far almost laughed.

“Mothers are always worrying over their kids. Can’t say I blame her.” He had settled into the seat comfortably, eyes closing a little bit.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now.” Sinbad smiled. “I need to know how to get you home.”

“I live in Dawson's Creek. You know where the Costco is? Here, let me put my address into the GPS here.”

“Ah yeah, that’s near the Intel campus my mom works on, the one that’s around Kohl’s?”

“Your mom works at Intel? What does she do? Mine does, but she’s a business manager for the company.”

“Mom’s a computer geek. She knows how to build them and is an engineer, probably knows more math than all of our teachers combined. I can’t say too much, its a secret you know?” he grinned. “Dad is too but he works on a different campus in Portland. They both don’t get home until late, so I’m generally by myself most of the time. Not that I mind. They’re good parents and trying to do their best.” Sinbad flushed realizing he talked a little too much.

Interesting. With his looks and how suave he seemed, Ja’far figured he was the bad boy type.

“Sorry about that.” he muttered. Sinbad felt strange, almost as if he’d known this person for a while, but he had only met him twenty minutes before. Was something wrong with him? Maybe it was because he was always a little weak for a pretty face, and he had to admit, Ja’far was very pretty, with delicate features almost like a girl’s.

That made his face feel warm.

“Oh it’s fine. Mystras always tells me I’m someone that people talk to, even if they don’t know me very well. I’m the elected mom friend of the group.”

A sheepish grin formed on Sinbad’s face. “Thanks. I have a feeling we’ll get along well. Ah, you’re not all that far away are you?” Ja’far had barely noticed they had left the school grounds and were near the house he lived in with his large adopted family.

“Anyone home? I know your parents aren’t but any siblings?” Sinbad asked when he stopped the car in front of the sprawling home. Ja’far shook his head.

“My siblings are all at school. Elementary or middle school, so they might be off soon.”

“Ahhh you’re the eldest sibling. Tough job. How many?”

“You’re awfully curious for someone I just met.” Ja’far laughed, wagging his finger at him.

“What can I say, it’s not every day I nearly knock someone out with a ball and take them home. Normally there’s a date somewhere in between.” he smirked when he saw a bright red flush show up on Ja’far’s pale skin.

Breathe, damn it! He internally thought. He felt a little funny inside, like he’s seen that somewhere before.

“I rendered you speechless, mission accomplished.” The banter left his lips easily, mischievousness shimmering in his bright gold eyes.

“You expect a reward for that?” his eyebrow went up.

“Hmm maybe?”

“I’m in danger when I’m around you.” he opened the door, pulling his bag from the bag in a fluid motion.

“Can I ask one thing?” Sinbad’s hand shot out to wrap around Ja’far’s wrist, keeping him there for a bit.

“And what’s that?” Ja’far was sure if he made any jerking motion, his wrist would probably snap, his grip was so strong.

Why did he feel butterflies in his stomach? And why wasn’t this alarming?

Almost as if it’s a game they have played before.

“Will you give me your number? So I can check up on you later.”

“Riiiight. Well you’re in luck, I actually have a phone, unlike half the people at our school. Hand me your phone.”

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.” Sinbad was surprised. Ja’far rolled his eyes, happy to have his hand back so he could enter in the information into the other’s smart phone.

“You’re the new kid, right? I remember overhearing from the principle early this morning we’d get someone in from L.A, and I’ve never seen you around before. I’ve attended Liberty since my freshman year. You’ll need someone to help you get around.”

“Great excuse. Huh, that’s an interesting last name.” When Ja’far handed his phone back, he had put “Aga” in the last name slot.

“My biological father was Turkish. That’s why my first name is so out of place with how I look.” his brilliant green eyes twinkled.

“Explains a lot.” he was curious about more, but he’d hold his tongue. “I’ll text you first. And see you at school tomorrow.”

Ja’far flashed him a smile, and fled into the house, heart still flying at a million miles an hour.

Ja’far placed his book bag on the wooden floor, and he sagged against the door, and his vision scanned what he could of the house.

He wasn’t surprised to see it empty. It was one pm on a Monday afternoon. His dad was abroad on a business trip to Norway, mom was at work and plethora of siblings at school…

Though he had to admit it was very lonely. Especially since he was gone -

Wait, that was a ridiculous thought, feeling? In his head. How could he miss someone he barely knew? But he admitted everything felt cold. The cab of that car felt warm, a cozy feeling of familiarity and the banter that went between them made him feel like they were old and very good friends.

Or lovers.

Ja’far shook his head of the notion, his cheeks extremely hot, the rosy blush staining his pale skin a brilliant shade of red. He’d call his grandmother later when he had the chance to, maybe to talk about it. In the last two years, he had shared every dream and every scrap of weird memories with her, and she understood what was going on scared her grandson a little.

He wondered…. Would he have another dream that night? They weren’t all the same. Some of them contained mysterious places with strange creatures, the feeling of cold steel in his hands, the laughter of others, and a warm feeling of companionship, or a terror he couldn’t explain, like something precious had been torn from him and he wouldn’t ever get it back.

The teen scrambled up the stairs, not in the least startled to feel his phone vibrate ten minutes after he sat down at his desk, with a message from a 714 number.

Miss me?

Ja’far huffed. What a cocky little shit.

How can I miss someone I barely know? He typed back furiously. It didn’t help that it was true. Not like he’d ever own up to it.

You should be keeping your eyes on the road if you’re still driving, anyways, not texting me like an idiot.

There! He’d leave him alone for a bit if he told him that, right?

You’re in luck, freckles, I’m just sitting at home ~ Thinking about you.

He was arrogant!

Why didn’t you just go back to school? They might be looking for you if you don’t go back?

Not one minute later, he felt his phone go off again, with a message from not just Sinbad, but it was a call from his mother.

“You doing okay? Still at school? I got out of my meeting.” her voice came over the line, and it soothed his frazzled nerves.

“No Mom, I’m home. A new friend drove me back. No one else could so he was more than okay with it.”

“Him? New friend? Oh was he cute? What’s his name?” the slew of questions came fast, and Ja’far couldn’t help but let a chuckle out.

“His name is Sinbad. Don’t tell him he’s cute, it might blow up his ego even more.”

“Sinbad? Did you manage to catch his last name?” there was a catch to Rurumu’s voice.

“It was…  Akhtar? I hope I said that correctly, I heard it earlier but I think I messed it up.”

“Oh! He’s the son of one of our new workers, Esra! I got to meet her today and she’s a lovely woman. Sinbad’s hers and her husband’s only son.”

“Mom that name is like one in a million -” he was a little bemused by the whole situation. It felt like something was almost pushing them together, much to Ja’far’s annoyance.

“You sound flustered over the phone. You tired or fighting against liking him so much on the first day of meeting him?” on the other side of the line she grinned at the indignant squeaking that came from her son.

“MOM!”

“Oh fine, fine honey. I’ll stop teasing you – over the phone at least. I’ll be home a little early today, so we can all go out to dinner at Sherri’s. I love you.”

“Love you too Mom, see you when you get home.” he huffed.

The message that greeted him when he looked at the screen didn’t help at all. It completely disregarded his previous message.

Hey! Feel like carpooling tomorrow?

Mistake number one was about to be made.

Sure, it makes sure you get to school on time!

He could almost feel the smirk in the reply he got.

Aw! Freckles you do care~ It’s a date!

“It’s not!” Ja’far exploded, completely fuming. Normally calm, cool and poised, he was alarmed by all the reactions this one person got out of him.

He needed to calm down, so he decided to read. After looking over his bookcase, Ja’far pulled out an old, worn book, and buried his face in it. He had no homework that day, since it was the first day of the year.

It was something that was saved from the fire that consumed his old home, and it was leather bound with scorch marks all over it, and extremely thick. There was no title, and the pages were yellowed with time and use – stains here and there as well, but over all well loved.

The older pages were written in a language never used in this day and age, old Ottoman Turkish. Those dated back to supposedly the late 1600’s. It progressed to modern Turkish around 1928, and he could read both easily.

It was worn with years of use, some of the words almost rubbed out due to the years. But still legible.

Ja’far had no idea how old it was, but it held a lot of things, from recipes, magic spells to forms of fortune telling. Generations of women in his father’s family added to it lovingly over the years.

He was glad it survived the fire, since it was a precious family heirloom. Since Ja’far had no biological aunts, his older uncles had no female offspring and their wives didn’t want it, Ibrahim had gained the tome of old family knowledge, and now Ja’far had it. He hadn’t added a thing to it yet, but he had ideas he kept in a notebook to add one day.

Ja’far didn’t realize how much time had gone by until he heard the door slam and the various sounds of his siblings and Rurumu chattering downstairs. At some point he had turned on the lamp next to his bed, and was reading by its light.

“Hey honey, feeling okay?” Rurumu popped her head in. “Does your head hurt still? And are you up to going out?”

“Yeah, probably.” Ja’far looked up from his book. “’s not pie night, though, so why Sherri’s?” Sherri’s was a restaurant their family tended to favor.

“First day of school is a good day to go out and eat! And I don’t feel like cleaning up after you all.”

“Sounds like a plan.” placing the old tome down on the bed, he swung his legs over to get up and stretch.

“Meet me down stairs, we’re all headed out in the minivan!” with a smile, she walked down the hall to the stairs.