#hey would you like to see the Educational Bone Pile?

[graveyardrabbit]

[purecantarella]

My Ball of Sunshine

my tags and posts are still blocked, but i hope that the people who see this still enjoy❣️also, BELATED TZUYU DAY! also, i live for clichés so leave me be HAHAHAHA highschool AU : nerdy!chou tzuyu x athletic!reader disclaimer : some hate speech and curses, just be wary and don't do this to other people.

Since you were a freshman, you were the school's golden student. Perfect grades, linebacker for the school team even a candidate for captain, running for team captain, healthy social life, and it helped that you were easy on the eyes for both men and women. Everyone wanted to either be you or be with you. There was no in between.

You were the sunshine of the entire school.

So it came to the surprise Chou Tzuyu, the resident quiet average student, when she caught your eye.

The both of you had gone to the same school since you were in elementary school. You'd always briefly passed one another while never actually acknowledging each other's existence. But even so, both your eyes were on each other when neither of your attention was on the other.

It had been one of those serendipitous moments. The rain had started coming down hard, cancelling your team's practice, when you'd formally met Tzuyu for the first time. You were driving home when you saw her fallen over, picking up her soaked textbooks, scratched up knee, dirtied uniform, and wiped away the tears that had had melded in with the rain the chilled her to the bone.

You pulled over hastily and got out the car to help your peer. You covered your head with your hand, squatting down to help her collect herself. Her eyes went wide seeing you of all people. You looked up at her surprised face, a laugh bubbling up through your chest as you picked up her books.

"Come on, let's get you out of the rain, yeah?" You offered, beckoning her to the car.

Once inside, safe from the rain. You reached into the back to grab one of the many hoodies that you had stashed there in case of emergencies. Carefully, you placed the jacked around her, brushing the wet hair from her face. A blush coated her usually pale features as you fussed over her.

When you were sure that she was at least relatively dry, you offered her your usual bright grin. Tzuyu's heart jumping at the sight of your warm smile. As for you, upon seeing her curious brown eyes, pink lips, and her soft and adorable aura, butterflies erupted in your stomach. You bit the inner layer of your cheek gently before saying, "Uh, hey, I'm Y/F/N."

A her lips quirked up into a fleeting but blush-educing smile. She shook her head. "Yeah, I know who you are." Tzuyu leaned back shyly, in attempts to hide the blossoming color that had begun to stain her cheeks. "I'm Chou Tzuyu."

From then on, it wasn't like you could ignore her any longer. The Taiwanese girl was in every one of your classes and even on some occasions you caught her eyeing you during lunch when before her friends giggled at her broken demeanour.

Not long after that, you gave into your desire and began courting her in secret. It was often that Tzuyu would find notes in her locker talking about how amazing she was or how you were happy to be there for her if ever you were needed. Of course the apex came when you were both partnered together for a project.

Like what was previously mentioned, it'd felt like serendipity.

"Chou!" You called, running down the busy school hall. The tall girl had looked back to you, the flutters in her stomach appearing at the sight of your familiar smile. "How about I drive you home again today? So we can work on the project today." You offered, the sparkle in your eye mirroring that of a pup seeing their favorite chew toy.

She tilted her head to the side curiously. "Don't you have practice today?" Tzuyu asked softly

Again, you chuckled softly. The aura around you remaining the warm and welcoming one that brought the other girl so much comfort. "As important as football is to me, I want to give time to other things that are valuable to me." Your teeth snagged your lower lip softly. Thinking for a moment. "That is, of course, if you'd want me to."

Tzuyu controlled the urge to coo at your adorable blushing face, the way your head tilted down in a way it never did usually. You were confident and it took a lot to faze you. So seeing the way you played with your fingers, shifted from side to side, the warmth from your aura had seeped so far into her chest. She could only nod, making your eyes light up like stars.

"Great! Here let me..." You trailed off, taking her books in your hand before leading her to your car in the lot. Catching the eye of almost all the by standing students. You walking some random girl out, holding her books, and most especially, driving away with her was a huge deal.

In a matter of hours, people were texting both of you non-stop, which did trouble Tzuyu a little but she couldn't dwell too much on that with you being a mere table away. Your eyes were dedicatedly trained on the laptop in front of you. Typing away, researching everything you needed for the project. A smile graced her lips, you really were the golden student everyone praised. As you craned your neck, seeking some relief from the tension, your eyes landed on the tall girl startled and her gaze shooting back down to the references before her.

You made an attempt to conceal your smile as you stood up to sit beside her. Wordlessly continuing your work. After a while, both of you gradually scooted each of your seats closer to the other until both your hands were flushed against one another. Tentatively, you moved your hand slowly to intertwine your fingers with hers.

Tzuyu honestly had no complaints, she sat there, reading the same page over and over again. Her focus long gone from the books in front of her. Then again, the soft tapping from your side had ceased a little bit ago as well.

The two of you just sat there, feeling the warmth of each other's hands. Letting the memory mark in your minds. Not long after that your mom had called, prompting you to come home. Tzuyu didn't hesitate to walk you to your car.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" You asked, opening the car door slightly, your bag lazily slung over your shoulder. She nodded, a wide smile gracing her lips. You mirrored the smile and fully swung the door open. She stood there, silently waiting for you to say something more while you hesitantly entered the vehicle. The tall girl disappointedly and slowly made her way to their house door.

Your vision lingered on your classmate before you thought, 'fuck it.' Your fingers thumped the wheel briefly before you rolled down your window. "Hey Tzuyu?" You called as she whipped back to face you hastily. You bit back the smile that had wanted to erupt onto your lips. "Would you, uh, maybe be okay for me to pick you up before school tomorrow? We get some coffee and get to know each other?" You asked, your head sticking out the window.

The smile on her face returned, eyes turning to crescents before she nodded enthusiastically. "I would love to, Y/n." Your blood rushed at the sound of her voice saying your name. You bit your lower lip before nodding and driving away, leaving the tall girl to place a hand on her forehead. Her cheeks hurting from the growing smile on her face. Meanwhile you your gaze flicked from her form in the rear view to the street, your lip caught under your teeth.

"Oh sweet Lord." You whispered to yourself, running a hand through your hair.

The next morning you stood there nervously tapping at your bag quietly. The cold morning air blew against you and made you shudder despite the thick varsity jacket that you had draped over your shoulders. You were spacing out, listing out the potential things that could go wrong.

A door quickly opening and closing snapped you out of your daze. You looked up and saw the Taiwanese beauty in all her glory. You could tell that there was a little more effort in the light make-up she usually had on but you didn't mind. You pushed yourself off of your car to help her once again with her books.

"Good morning, miss Chou!" You greeted her with a small yet still gleaming smile. She responded with a soft, "Hello." To which the grin on your face grew into a toothy one. You moved to open the car door for her before placing her belongings carefully in the back.

She quirked a curious brow upon seeing your clean backseat. "No piles of hoodies this time?" You laughed softly eyeing the now free space. "That day was an exception. Had I known I would pick you up that day, it would have been clean." You said making her giggle softly.

"Sure," She said rolling her eyes and leaning into the seat.

You looked at her ensemble. It was the school's standard uniform but you noted that she had no way to cover herself from the draft that circled the South Korean air. You slipped off the jacket that you wore and offered it to her. Her brown eyes went wide as she stared at it.

"It's not a big deal, I promise. It's just that it's extra chilly today and I don't want you to get cold." You explained quickly, hand still out waiting for her to take the school jacket. Tzuyu took it quietly before pulling it around herself, savouring your earthy scent that lingered on the fabric.

"Let's go?" You asked before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

After you'd gotten some coffee, you'd realized there was little to no time for you two to sit and chat. So you decided to get to school and hang out during lunch. You pulled up and helped her out of the car. Both of you could feel eyes on you both the moment you walked out. Not only did you both exit the same car together, but she was clad in the jacket with your last name embroidered on the back.

She shied away from the glances of the other students. Seeing her unease, you took her free hand in yours. "You're fine...Okay? I've got you." You assured her quietly before she offered you a shy smile.

Once her books were in hand you both made your way into the school, hands still tightly intertwined together. Her locker was already swarmed with jealous girls and cocky looking jocks that you didn't particularly like too much off of the field.

"Y/n!" One of the jocks called, a dumb smile on his face as he eyed Tzuyu. You maintained your composure and gave him a warm smile. "Hey, what's up?" You greeted meekly in attempts to keep the interaction short.

"Just didn't know you were with Chou Tzuyu." He paused to whisper in your ear. "Fine piece of ass don't you think." Your jaw immediately clenched at his crude words. You felt the shorter girl beside you flinch only doubling your anger yet your expression still stayed the bright and cheery one.

There was no need to get involved with any drama.

"We aren't together, man. I invited her to coffee 'cause I wanted to get to know her better." You tightened your smile. "No fuss in that right?" Tzuyu looked up at you, seeking some form of safety from the jocks and mean girls who surrounded her locker. You glanced down at her, trying to bring her some comfort.

"You could do better if you'd ask me, Y/n..." A snarky girl said, checking her nails. With her words, Tzuyu shrunk under everyone's gaze. Even yours. That's when your gaze shot to the girl who'd spoken. The aura around you immediately changed. The hallway went quiet as they saw your expression darken. Once warm and welcoming eyes turned hard and bore holes into the shocked girl's.

You pondered for a moment, releasing Tzuyu's hand briefly to shove your hand in your pocket. Your stance adjusting so you towered over all of the student's. "But I didn't ask you did I?" You sneered at her.

"What I do or who I hang out with is none of your business. In all honesty, I don't even know any of you all that well." You looked around. "But you have no right to speak to anyone, much more her, that way and if you think that I'll take all of this lying down, you've got another thing coming. You've got me coming for you." You said lowly but it resonated in their ears.

"Do I make myself clear?" You asked, your expression cold and unnerving.

Everyone nodded and dispersed at the loud ring of the bell. Once everyone had left, your shoulders fell as well as a held breath released. You turned back to a stunned Tzuyu. Your expression softened as you saw her still petrified.

"I'm sorry about them...and about that whole scene." You said softly, almost remorsefully. The silence hung over you both. While she was surprised you had that side to you, she couldn't help but feel giddy that it was because of her that that side came out at all.

Tzuyu offered you a small smile before leaning up to peck your cheek quickly. "Thank you for trying to defend me." A heat rushed up to your cheeks before you cleared your throat awkwardly. "Uh, can I walk you to class?"

She wordlessly took your hand and leaned into your touch. Your ears pricked up at the action and you both made your way to her first class.

'This is going to be different than I thought...' She thought to herself as she looked up at the little ball of sunshine that was you.

okay this was kinda messy but bare with me HAHAHAHAHA in any case though, i hope you all enjoyed this! again, this wasn't my best but after every revision this went though this was one of the best. i'm working through some stuff HAHAAHH anyway, requests are open and criticism and opinions on my work are completely accepted. i think some of my functions are working as early as when i post this but my tags i believe are still broken. uh anyway, keep safe everyone and i will see all of you very soon 💖 taglist: @labrachrosite

[nerdzzone]

-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Note: Again, just a reminder that all the information I have about covid restrictions in Massachusetts is from google, not first hand experience, so if something seems wrong please just go with it.

Part Three

______

Part Four

If avoiding difficult conversations was an Olympic sport then it's pretty safe to say that I would have earned myself a gold medal by the end of the following week. It wasn't all that hard to do though as the exhaustion from parenting during a pandemic was hitting us both. Especially because the weather for the first couple of weeks of April was abysmal. It was cold, stormy and raining almost every day and we were all getting quite stir crazy from being inside constantly - especially our lively and spirited child.

So, it was a massive relief when the sun finally came out.

It was also a relief that it lined up with Grayson's third birthday.

He was going to have a very different birthday than previous years - as most people would over the next few months - but we wanted him to have fun and he was quickly tiring of all the indoor activities that we could come up with.

We set the living room up the night before after he'd gone to bed, putting up a birthday banner with several clusters of balloons, and there was quite the mountain of presents in the corner as most of our family members had sent their gifts in advance. I had hoped to wake up before him, but when I woke up to excited cheers and Dodger barking from downstairs, I knew I was too late. A quick glance at my phone told me that it was only six thirty, but clearly the excitement had gotten him up earlier than normal.

"Whoa, Dodger, Grayson, shhhh," I heard Chris warn the pair of them, his voice still raspy from sleep. "You'll wake up the whole neighbourhood."

I smiled and quickly climbed out of bed. Chris wouldn't let him open any presents without me, I knew that, but I didn't want to keep him waiting for too long.

When I got downstairs, a very excited Grayson was bouncing on the couch as Chris sat next to him, watching him closely with a smile on his face.

"Happy birthday!" I cheered, catching his attention.

He sprang off the couch and bolted towards me.

"Thanks, Mama," He shouted, throwing his arms around my legs and looking up at me. "I'm three!"

"You are!" I smiled as I knelt down in front of him and pulled him into a hug. "You're such a big boy now."

He let me squeeze him for another moment or two before wiggling free.

"Can I open presents?"

Chris laughed at his clear priorities, shaking his head as I stood up.

"Let's just wait for Uncle Scott," he suggested before glancing up at me. "He's putting the coffee on."

"Very smart," I nodded. "I think we're all going to need plenty of that today."

Grayson proved my point by grabbing at his balloons and waving them frantically, setting Dodger off barking again.

"Dodge!" Chris scolded. "It's just a balloon, buddy. Chill."

The poor overwhelmed dog hung his head and came over to me for some sympathy. I happily obliged, cooing some comforting words and rubbing his back.

"Gray, leave the balloons, okay?" I requested. "I don't think Dodger likes them."

Grayson frowned, but instantly let go of the balloon in his hand.

"Sorry, Dodger."

"It sounds like we have quite the party in here already," Scott commented as he sauntered into the room. "Shall we see what's in some of these boxes?"

"Yes! Yes!" Grayson cheered, running over to the presents. "What first?"

"Whatever you want," I told him, smiling as I went to sit on the couch next to Chris. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I can do it!" He insisted, making a bee line for the biggest box and quickly ripping the paper off.

We watched as he opened gift after gift, an ear to ear grin on his face the whole time. Just as he was at Christmas, he was incredibly grateful for every present from the Paw Patrol Lookout Tower that was almost as tall as he was to the dinosaur books that were more educational than flashy and fun.

But there was one gift at the bottom of the pile that Chris wasn't particularly impressed by. The one that my brother had sent.

Grayson opened it, pulling out a t-shirt first.

"What does it say?" He asked, holding up the shirt towards us.

Chris' jaw dropped as I stifled my giggles and Scott burst out laughing.

"It says 'Team Iron Man'," I read. "Remember how Uncle Rob was in a movie with Daddy where they had a big fight? Iron Man was Uncle Rob's character and I think Uncle Jack wants you to be on that team."

"Oh," Grayson smiled. "Okay!"

"Okay?!" Chris protested. "You don't want to be on my team?"

Grayson shrugged as he pulled something else out of the box from my brother.

"Look!" He shouted, his excitement clear as he held up a very fancy electronic Iron Man helmet. "I love it!"

I wasn't even sure that he knew what it was as he hadn't seen any of the movies yet, but his enthusiasm compared to Chris' displeasure was killing Scott and I.

"Oh, it's such a shame that your brother wasted his money," Chris said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he had a forced look of pity on his face. "Those things are expensive and Grayson is never going to wear it."

"I'll wear it!"

Grayson's insistence was followed by him putting the helmet on his head and another howl of laughter came from Scott as a look of betrayal crossed Chris' face.

"Your brother is a jerk."

His words were quiet so Grayson wouldn't hear and I smiled.

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "We're an Iron Man family..."

Chris shot me a glare, but turned his attention back to Gray.

"Well, if you don't want to be on my team then I guess I'll just have to find someone else to have the last present that I got for you..."

Chris was teasing, but Grayson whipped off the helmet faster than we could blink. He looked around, a puzzled expression on his face when he couldn't see anymore boxes on the floor and I shared his confusion as I wasn't aware of anymore gifts either. But the Evans brothers exchanged a knowing glance and I knew they were up to something.

"Maybe Miles would like it," Scott suggested. "He loves Captain America."

"Me too!" Grayson insisted, tossing the helmet aside as if it hadn't been his new prized possession moments ago. "He's my favourite!"

"Oh, is he now?" Chris laughed. "Doesn't take much to make you change your mind, does it?"

Grayson shook his head, oblivious to the fact that he was being teased, but Chris didn't torture him for too long.

"Alright, do you want to see what it is?"

"Yes, I do!"

Grayson leapt up, bouncing up and down with excitement, making Chris laugh as he stood up from the couch.

"C'mon then," he told Grayson, nodding his head towards the door. "It's this way."

Grayson scurried after his dad and I followed, my own curiosity piqued as well.

"What is it?" I asked Scott, but he just shot me a smirk.

"You'll see in a second."

I narrowed my eyes at his secrets and paused at the front door where Chris was waiting for us, his hand on the door knob as Grayson practically vibrated with excitement.

"Okay, close your eyes," Chris instructed. "No peeking!"

"I won't, I won't!"

Grayson covered his eyes as an extra assurance and Chris' grin widened even more as he swung open the door. I put my hands on Grayson's shoulders and guided him through it, seeing a shiny blue bike with a big bow on the handlebars. I felt a flash of worry at all the potential ways for Grayson to get hurt riding it, but there was no time to dwell on that as Chris told him to open his eyes and he gasped with excitement.

"A bike!" He squealed with joy, leaping off the doorstep and running towards it.

He circled it for a moment as if he was really trying to take it all in while I looked up at Chris.

"There better be a helmet with this present," I warned him. "I'm already imagining broken bones and missing teeth."

"He'll be fine," Chris assured me with a chuckle. "It has training wheels, but of course I got him a helmet."

I opened my mouth, ready to share some more potential disasters that could come from this - because even with training wheels he could still fall off or lose control and crash into a tree - but Grayson cut me off.

"Help me, Daddy! Help me!"

He was trying to climb onto the seat, but as I took in the sight of him barefoot in his pyjamas standing in the driveway, I stopped Chris as he moved towards him.

"Wait, why don't we have breakfast first?" I suggested. "We have all day to play on your bike, but you're not dressed or even wearing shoes..."

Grayson's face fell and I felt bad being the mean parent, but Chris nodded in agreement.

"Your Ma's right, Gray," he told him. "Let's go get ready and then we can come right back outside, okay?"

Grayson looked sulky, but reluctantly agreed as he walked back over to us.

"Hey now," Scott said, catching his attention. "No pouting on your birthday! We've got some chocolate chip pancakes to make! Unless that sad face means you don't want them anymore?"

His previous smile slid instantly back onto his face at the promise of such a sugary breakfast and the pep returned to his step as he grabbed Scott's hand before dragging him into the house.

-

I had no evidence to prove my theory, but by the time breakfast was over, I was almost certain that it would have been more relaxing to be in the middle of a hurricane. There was pancake batter all over the room and we practically had to pin Grayson to his chair to stop him from sprinting around the room with food in his mouth. It was a miracle that he got through the meal without choking.

It was impossible to be mad though when he was having such a good time. He'd had so much to adjust to lately, seeing him happy on his birthday was all that I wanted and I was willing to put up with a little more chaos than normal if it made that happen. Within reason, of course. I did stop him when he suggested that we put the entire bag of chocolate chips in the pancake batter and I did make him help me clean them up when he dumped them on the floor in protest of my ridiculous restrictions.

Once the breakfast circus was over, Chris whisked him off to get him ready to play outside while I helped Scott clean up the kitchen before going upstairs to shower and get ready myself.

When I came back down almost an hour later, I felt considerably less frazzled, but the sound of excited squeals and giggles echoing from outside told me the energy levels hadn't died down much. It really was a relief that he was having such a nice day though so I braced myself for more chaos and headed out to find them.

The sight that greeted me melted my heart completely.

Chris was running backwards across the driveway as Grayson rode towards him. He shouted encouragement the entire time, reminding him to keep pedaling and to look where he was going and cheering as Grayson rode past him before turning around and circling back.

"Look, Mama!" He shouted to me as he spotted me by the door. "I'm doing it!"

"You are, baby!" I smiled. "Good job!"

I sat on the doorstep and watched him ride in circles, proud of how fast he'd figured it out, but after a few moments, my attention turned to Chris.

There were few times since I'd known him when I'd seen him look as happy as he did in that moment. When Grayson was born, when he took his first steps and when he first said 'Dada' were probably the only comparable moments I could think of. He looked absolutely gleeful as he chased after Grayson, laughing as he passed him before dodging a different way and waiting for Gray to catch up before bolting off again. The sound of their giggles and shouts filled my heart so much that it genuinely felt like it was about to burst out of my chest and a feeling of contentedness hit me so hard that it almost knocked over.

It was a feeling that told me that they were all I ever needed. Those two boys, making each other dizzy as they ran in circles. Their happiness and love was all I could ever hope to have and moments like these were all I ever wanted to see. I wanted us to spend every weekend soaking in this kind of joy. I didn't want to fight and argue and transport Grayson back and forth every other week. I wanted to give Grayson what he deserved, I wanted us to be a family.

But as fast as that clarity hit me, the knots in my stomach were there to remind me that it wasn't just about what I wanted. It wasn't about what would bring us the most moments of delight, it was about what would provide Grayson with the most stability and being a family might do more harm to that goal than good.

It was a constant battle between my heart and my head, but I was starting to realize that my head was losing. I was clinging to my resistance with all I had, but it was slipping away. I knew I needed to talk to Chris, to sort out the fog in my brain, but for the time being, I pushed it out of my mind. This was Grayson's day and we didn't have time for anymore heart-wrenching conversations.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as Scott appeared from the side of the house on roller blades and the unexpected sight pulled a laugh from my lips as he sailed past Chris and Grayson and headed down the driveway.

"Gray, follow me!"

Gray nodded, frantically pedaling to catch up with his uncle as they sped off down the long drive. Chris watched them for a minute before jogging over to me.

"He got it so fast," he puffed as he fought to catch his breath. "He's a natural."

"The training wheels help," I pointed out, shielding my eyes from the sun as I looked up at him. "But it's fine because he'll be keeping those on until he's at least eighteen."

Chris barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

"No way," he smirked. "We'll have them off by next week."

"Not a chance. I need at least six months to get used to that idea."

"How about we meet in the middle and aim for three?"

"Hmm, maybe," I bit back a smile. "We'll have to see how many injuries he gets with the training wheels on first."

"He'll be fine. He's a champ," Chris grinned proudly. "We've got a pretty great kid."

"We do," I patted the step next to me as I made room for Chris to sit down. "I can't believe he's already three."

Chris accepted my silent invitation and sat down next to me.

"I know," he sighed. "It feels like just yesterday that he was born..."

"He was so tiny," I reminisced. "And you had those huge Captain America muscles."

Chris laughed as he nodded at the memory.

"I was so scared to hold him in case I accidentally crushed him."

"I was so scared of everything," I admitted. "It wasn't until he was actually born that it really hit me that we were completely responsible for his well-being and keeping him alive."

"We've done well with that though!"

"We have," I agreed with a smile. "He's alive and thriving."

"We make a good team."

He flashed me a warm smile that made my heart beat stutter and it almost stopped completely when he stretched out a hand and placed it on mine. His touch was gentle and the warmth of his skin flooded through me even more than the sun streaming down on us. It was a simple gesture, but it eased the heaviness that had been hovering between us lately and I was grateful. I carefully flipped my hand over so our palms pressed together and let our fingers interlace. His smile widened as he looked back out at the driveway, his eyes settling on Grayson in the distance who was laughing at something Scott said.

"Thank you," Chris sighed, his voice quiet and filled with genuine appreciation. "I don't think I've ever said it, but thank you for making me a dad."

His words almost brought tears to my eyes, but I shook my head.

"Chris, you don't need to than-"

"I do," he insisted, cutting me off. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me and he wouldn't be here without you."

"I could say the same," I pointed out, trying to ignore the way his thumb was stroking the back of my hand. "He gets most of his good traits from you too. His kind heart, his sensitive little soul, his loyalty."

"His infuriating stubbornness."

"He gets that from both of us," I smiled. "He didn't stand a chance with that one."

"Well, I hope he gets some of your selflessness," Chris informed me, glancing over and looking a tad sheepish. "Because, as much as I disagree with it and I wish you'd be a little selfish, I get that you're trying to look out for him."

I felt my palms start to sweat and I wondered if he could feel it. I resisted the urge to snatch my hand away from his, trying to play it cooler than I felt. He was watching me closely as I mulled over his words until I found the strength to speak.

"I'm not so sure that it's just him that I'm trying to look out for," I admitted, exhaling a breath that I didn't realize I was holding.  "I do think we have more to talk about, Chris, but I don't think this is the right time."

"You're right," he nodded. "I just felt like I owed you an apology after the other night. I let my feelings get the best of me and I came across a little harsh."

I was about to reassure him that he hadn't when the sound of honking interrupted our conversation. Our attention was pulled to the end of the driveway where two cars - belonging to Chris' mom and his sister - were pulling in as Scott moved Grayson and Dodger off to the side to let them past.

"Did you know they were coming?" I asked, surprised by the little motorcade.

"Nah, I had no idea," Chris shrugged. "We'll stay outside though, keep our distance."

I wasn't worried about that really, I knew all of Chris' family were staying very isolated and being smart about staying safe and we were technically allowed to have outdoor gatherings of up to ten people anyway with the current rules in place. I was surprised to see them though as we'd warned Grayson that he would only get to see most of his family over FaceTime. His excitement at that being untrue was clear as he frantically pedaled back up the driveway to greet his guests.

"Mama! Daddy! Look!"

I let Chris' hand fall away from mine as we stood, smiling at Grayson's excitement as everyone started getting out of their cars. They burst into a rousing chorus of 'Happy Birthday' making Gray's grin grow even more.

"Happy birthday, Grayson!" Lisa beamed as Grayson ran towards her full speed. He threw his arms around her legs before we could even remind him to keep his distance, but Lisa seemed unbothered by it. "Have you had a good day so far?"

"Yes!" Gray smiled up at her. "I got a bike!"

"I saw that!" Lisa matched his enthusiasm. "You're a lucky boy!"

Grayson shot her another smile before turning his attention to his cousins.

"Wanna try?"

His older cousins were probably too big, but Stella's hand shot up first and beat them to it anyway.

"That's really nice of you to share," I called over to Grayson. "But share your helmet too, okay?"

He nodded and struggled with the clip for a few minutes before Lisa helped him take it off and placed it on her granddaughter's head.

Once they were all happy, chasing Stella and Dodger around the drive way, the adults moved over towards us. Lisa was the first to speak, a guilty look on her face.

"I hope you don't mind us just showing up like this, but we couldn't stay away on his birthday..."

"It's great!" Chris assured her. "Don't worry about it."

"And Grayson seems thrilled," I added. "It's nice for him to have other kids to run around with for a bit."

We all turned to watch them as they played until Carly let out a laugh.

"Are Grayson's shoes on the wrong feet?"

I hadn't even noticed, but I laughed as well when I realized that she was right.

"Some days just getting him in shoes at all is a victory," Chris defended himself. "And today was one of those days."

"He's like the energizer bunny this morning," Scott joked. "I can't imagine what he'll be like after we get some cake into him."

"Just think how well he'll sleep tonight," Carly pointed out. "He has to crash eventually."

"I hope so," Chris smiled. "He had me up at six o'clock this morning, I need an early night."

That earned a laugh from the group as his siblings teased him about being such an old man, but I felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing that he'd been up early with Grayson a lot lately. Maybe it was because we were at his house so it was what Gray was used to, but Chris was definitely the favourite for the early morning wake up call.

We stood in our little circle for a while, just catching up as we watched the kids, all of us enjoying conversation with someone other than the people we were locked up with twenty-four hours a day. It was nice for me to have some female company as well even though Lisa was very pleased to hear that her boys were pulling their weight around the house and not just treating me like some kind of live-in maid.

It didn't take long for the kids to get tired of sharing the bike, especially the older boys who were too big for it anyway, and soon they were swarming around us demanding that we all play a game. After being cooped up for so long, it didn't seem like a bad idea to get us all moving around a little so we agreed and set about the daunting task of finding something everyone was willing to play.

Eventually, we settled on capture the flag - girls against boys. Lisa decided she'd make a better referee than a player so the boys team had one extra member, but they had three children to our one so it hardly seemed like the extra person would cause any unbalance. 

The rules of the game were simple: each team had three flags in our 'end zone' at opposite ends of the large grassy part of Chris' yard and the other team had to try to steal those flags. We had to grab it and run it all the way back to our own end zone to score a point, but once it was safely 'captured' it couldn't be stolen back. If someone managed to snatch a flag, but was tagged on their way back to their end zone then they had to give the flag back.

Lisa was very firm in reminding her children that tackling was not allowed as the Evans siblings were fiercely competitive and it had apparently led to trouble over the years. Once the rules were all set, we took our places and started the game.

The teams were fairly evenly matched. The boys had more strength, but we had more agility and were much better at communicating and working together which led to us easily scoring the first point. While Stella distracted Scott, Carly snuck past him to snatch the flag and she tossed it to Shanna who faked a pass to Stella before throwing it to me to get it to the safe zone. It was a beautifully executed play that showed the boys we weren't messing around.

"Oh, it's on now," Chris called out as he sprinted past me.

Shanna bolted after him, but he managed to grab the flag and throw it to Ethan before she caught up. With all the other boys guarding him, he made it all the way back to their end zone without getting tagged.

"I think having a super soldier on your team is an unfair advantage ," Carly huffed, but Chris shook his head with a smirk.

"Nah, because we have Scott too so it balances out."

"Hey!" Scott protested. "I'll switch teams if you're going to be rude!"

Stella jumped for joy at that idea, pleading with him to come onto our side, but the rest of the boys voiced their protests and he decided that, as long as there was no more hurtful comments, he would stick to his team for now. I used their bickering as a distraction though as I snuck closer towards their unguarded flags. I managed to grab one before Scott noticed and called out a warning to the rest of his team, but when I took off running and Grayson charged towards me, I didn't have the heart to out run him on his special day. I slowed down enough that he wouldn't realize I was letting him win and groaned dramatically as he tagged me, making me give up the flag.

"I did it!" He cheered. "Daddy! Did you see? I did it!"

Stella had a disappointed scowl on her face, but everyone else was understanding as they watched Chris scoop him up onto his shoulders, chanting his name as if he'd just won the World Cup while he carried him back to replace the flag.

Their celebration was short-lived though as we managed to steal the flag again almost as soon as Chris and Grayson were far enough away from it. After another perfectly executed play, the score was sitting at 2-1 for us. The pressure was on after that as we only needed one more point to win, it ramped up the competitive spirit.

We were off to a great start in the next round. Shanna got the flag quickly, but Scott had her cornered almost immediately so she tossed it to me. I got about ten steps before Chris was on my heels and I was forced to throw it over to Carly. Chris turned and went to chase after her instead and without even thinking, I leapt on his back to stop him.

"Hey!" He protested, slowing to a stop despite how he was clearly unaffected by my weight. "Is anyone seeing this? This has got to be a foul! She tackled me!"

"I did not tackle you!" I insisted, clinging to his shoulders with my legs wrapped around his waist. "If it was a tackle, you'd be on the ground."

Chris wiggled around, trying to throw me off his back as Carly sauntered into our end zone with the flag.

"The only reason I'm not on the ground is because you're too weak," Chris argued before shouting to his mom. "That doesn't count!

"No, Mama," Grayson joined in, running over to us looking very disapproving. "No cheating!"

I laughed, but slid down from Chris' back.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" I held my hands up as I apologized. "I can't outrun Captain America, I had no choice!"

"Well, now you lost the point," Chris teased me, shoving me playfully and making me stumble a step away from him. "So, lets keep it fair and stop trying to cheat."

I swatted back at him as I stuck out my tongue while Lisa made the official call that the point didn't count and Scott took the recently captured flag back to the boy's end zone.

Chris had a new twinkle in his eye as the next round started. He hadn't let me get very far away from him and I quickly realized that I'd made a mistake by antagonizing him. I would be useless to my team if he was on my tail the whole time, but he was a tank and incredibly fast so getting away from him was next to impossible. I watched helplessly as Scott and Miles easily took our flag and dashed it back to their end zone to tie the score.

"Chris!" I whined as I tried to get around him like I was a cornered puppy, trying not to get caught. "Get away from me, you big oaf!"

"Oh, wow," Chris chuckled. "Let's not start calling names and being mean."

I tried to dart past him again, but groaned as he blocked my path.

"You're infuriating!"

"It's all part of the game."

The smirk on Chris' face had my competitive side firing up as I could see behind him that Miles had snatched our last flag. Stella was hot on his heels though, so he had no choice, but to pass to Grayson who was coming our way. Was I going to stop my three year old son from scoring the game winning point on his birthday? Probably not. But I had to at least make my attempt genuine so I came up with a plan.

"Is that..." I squinted off into the distance on the other side of the yard. "Is that Dodger chasing a cat?"

My Oscar worthy performance had Chris spinning around to check out what I saw and it gave me enough time to bolt away towards Grayson who wasn't far away from winning the game for his team. I made it an impressive five steps before Chris figured out what I'd done and came after me. Grayson saw what was happening and dodged to the left so I followed, but my change of direction gave Chris an opportunity. The next thing I knew, I felt a crash against my hips before I was lifted from the ground and found myself dangling over Chris' shoulder.

I let out a squeal of surprise as I kicked my legs, trying to get down, but Chris had a tight grip on me and there was no getting away. The ease with which he threw me around wasn't at all distracting and there wasn't a single part of me that was revelling in his strength. Not at all.

"This is absolutely a tackle!" I protested, focusing my mind back onto my predicament. "Put me down!"

"If this was a tackle, you'd be on the ground," he mocked me. "This is payback."

I had a nice view, my head only inches above 'America's ass' so, swept up in the moment of playfulness between us, I reached down and gave it a smack. He yelped and jumped, shaking me as he did.

"Chris! Put me down!"

My demands were weakened by the giggles that I couldn't hold back, but thankfully Scott stepped in to help me regain some dignity.

"Alright, you two," he called over. "Can we get back to the game now or would you like us all to give you some time alone?"

A blush covered my cheeks as I remembered that his entire family was around us and was relieved when he lowered me to the ground.

"Games over," Chris called back. "Grayson scored!"

Grayson jumped up and down happily, but Stella had a scowl on her face.

"Nuh uh! When Whitney tackled you, it didn't count!" She pointed out. "Grayson's point doesn't count too!"

The joy on Grayson's face fell into a look of anger as he stomped his foot at his cousin’s claim.

"It does!" He insisted. "I did it!"

"Now look what you've done," I playfully scolded Chris quietly before shouting to the rest of the group. "I think we're going to have to let them have the point, ladies. I wouldn't have been able to catch up to Grayson even if Chris didn't cheat..."

Stella's jaw dropped in clear shock that I hadn't supported her protests, but to stop the war before it could start, Chris chimed in.

"Grayson didn't need my help to score that point, I shouldn't have interfered," he started. "But why don't we call it a game and go have some cake?!"

The promise of sugar seemed to quash any animosity between the teams as all the kids let out a shriek of approval at that suggestion and took off running back to the house.

"Oh, yes," Carly sighed. "Because what my children clearly need right now is more energy..."

"It's Gray's birthday," Chris shrugged with a smile as we all followed the children at a much more reasonable pace. "We have to have cake!"

"And if it wasn't his birthday then I wouldn't have let you win."

My taunting earned a bark of laughter from Chris.

"Let us win? Yeah, sure, okay. You just keep telling yourself that you're faster and stronger than me," he teased. "Whatever makes you feel better."

I shoved him, but he was braced for it and I ended up more affected by the impact than him which proved his point, putting a smirk on his face.

"Asshole," I muttered as I shook my head, but I couldn't hold back a smile at how nice our affectionate teasing felt.

-

By the end of the day, we were all exhausted. It had been a fun and very special day for Grayson so we were thrilled for him, but exhausted nonetheless. Gray fought his bedtime with all the will power he had, eager for the day to go on just a little bit longer, but we won out in the end and he made it to bed on time. Scott had gone to his own room while we were fighting with him and Chris and I parted ways shortly after to get some much needed quiet time of our own.

I found myself distracted though, when I was finally alone, as the importance of the day had me feeling sentimental. Watching Grayson grow up and hit these milestones was a joy, but it left me feeling a bit reminiscent of the years gone by. Years when he was even smaller than he was now, just starting to figure out the world and how to speak, walk and be a part of it. The time was really flying by and as I began to scroll through old videos of his first year of life, the nostalgia was almost too much to bear.

Eventually, I stumbled on a video that had distinct parallels of today.

It was a video of Grayson's first birthday when we'd given him his own little cake and let him go to town on it. Of course, as many babies do, he'd stared at it for a moment before smashing his face directly into it. It was adorable and tugged on my heart strings considering how comparatively neat his cake consumption was earlier that day. He'd grown so much in such a short time and I felt compelled to share my discovery with Chris so I dragged myself out of bed and crept down to his room.

There was a fluttering of nerves in my stomach as I knocked on his bedroom door, the feeling only growing as he called out an invitation to come inside. I did as he'd asked and let myself in, finding him leaning back against the headboard of his bed - wearing nothing but his pajama pants - with his own phone in his hand.

"Hey," he smiled. "What's up?"

"I found a video," I told him, standing awkwardly near the foot of his bed. "I was feeling a little sad about how fast Gray is growing up so I was looking back, watching old videos and I found one that I thought you might like to see."

Chris’ smile widened and he eagerly patted the bed next to him, encouraging me to sit. I took him up on his offer and settled in as I unlocked my phone and started the video.

"He was so little..."

Chris' observation came as the camera settled on Gray where he sat in his high chair. Chris was right next to him, a grin on his face as he chatted happily to our son despite the nonsense babble that he got in response. I appeared on the screen after a few moments, carrying a tiny cake as everyone started to sing Happy Birthday. Grayson had a look of confusion on his face as he looked around at the crowd, but his eyes widened when the cake was placed in front of him.

"Go on, Gray," I prompted once the singing had stopped. "You can taste it."

He needed no more encouragement and simply face planted right into it, popping up a moment later with blue icing from the tops of his eyebrows to the bottom of his chin. He had a huge, cheeky grin on his face as he looked at us and, just as he did in the video, Chris laughed next to me.

"Oh, man, it kills you, doesn't it?" He questioned before clarifying. "How cute he is."

I hadn't realized that Chris' arm had found its way behind me when he leaned in to watch until I felt his breath on my hair as he spoke and I couldn't resist leaning back, tucking myself under his shoulder. The whole day, the knowledge that my baby was growing up, had me needing some comfort. It was exciting, to see him learn and shift from a baby to a little person, but at the same time, I felt the overwhelming urge for time to stop.

"It does," I agreed, letting my phone fall to the bed beside me. "I can't believe how much he's changed since then."

"In some ways," Chris agreed, looking down at me with a smirk. "In others, he's still that goofy, reckless baby."

"If he's anything like you, he'll probably never grow out of being goofy and reckless."

I felt Chris' shoulders shake as he chuckled at my teasing and I was reminded of the last time we'd been cuddled up, in a similar position to this, in his bed. I felt a flood of warmth run through my body at the memory as I was suddenly aware of how close we were, aware of how good he smelt and how strong his hard muscled arm felt as I leaned against it.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one," I assured him. "I like that you're goofy. Your recklessness used to give me anxiety sometimes, when you'd always insist that you just had to do your own stunts on Captain America as if you really thought you were a super soldier, but I like that you're willing to take risks."

"Awe, gee, Whitney," he teased, squeezing me closer against him. "It was nice of you to worry about me."

"Of course I worried," I rolled my eyes. "Your muscles are bigger than your brain sometimes."

"Not anymore..." Chris held up the arm that wasn't currently around me and flexed his muscles, showing off a bicep that was still much larger than most even if it wasn't quite up to the Avengers standard. "I'm out of shape."

Against my own best interest, I turned slightly, letting my hand drift up towards his arm as my head fell against his chest. I traced over the bulging muscle and watched as tiny goosebumps rose up on his skin at the sensation. Skin that felt so soft under my touch and I felt his breath shift as he clearly felt the mood between us change the same way that I did. I felt emboldened by how amorous our emotional day had left me as I let my head tip back to find him looking down at me with the same intensity he had a few months ago.

My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't help myself. Despite every alarm bell going off inside my brain, I stretched up just enough to press my lips against his. For a moment, he relaxed. His shoulders dropped as my fingers curled around the arm they were just stroking, but then suddenly his entire body tensed as if he'd been shocked by a bolt of electricity. He jerked away, sliding out from under me and off the bed before I could even realize what was happening.

"No," he said firmly, pointing his finger at me the same way he did to Dodger when he was being naughty. "No, no, we're not doing this again. Not until we talk about it what's going on here."

I felt the sting of rejection so harshly that it almost brought tears to my eyes, but I knew he was right.

"I'm sorry," I squeaked out, my cheeks burning. "You're right. I shouldn't have done that."

My voice was shaking as I scrambled to stand up, the stunned look on Chris' face only adding to my embarrassment. We stood there, staring at each other with the bed between us, but he didn't speak and after a few moments of silence, my shame was overwhelming, kicking my flight instincts into gear.

"I'll go," I mumbled. "Sorry again."

I didn't wait for a response before darting towards the door, but Chris' voice stopped me before I could make my escape.

"Whitney, stop." He didn't shout, but his tone was firm and demanding enough that I froze on the spot. "We need to talk about this. We can't keep going on with it hanging above our heads."

I turned to face him, discovering that he'd moved closer and was standing by the foot of the bed. He was still a few feet away from me, but close enough that it felt almost suffocating and I bit my lip as I stared at his feet, unable to look him in the eye.

"I don't know what to say..."

"I can take it," he insisted, a hint of resignation in voice as he continued. "You've had plenty of time to think it over since our last conversation and you said earlier today that we needed to talk. If you're gonna turn me down, put whatever this is to bed, just do it now and get it over with."

I furrowed my brow in confusion at his words, my heart beating in my chest so fast that I could hear the blood pumping through my ears.

"Turn you down?" I questioned. "Why do you think I'm going to turn you down? I just kissed you."

"That didn't mean much at Christmas."

He had a very valid point and I felt another pang of guilt at how badly I was treating him. I was hot and cold, affectionate and withdrawn, unwavering in my decision one minute and unsteady the next. I hadn't spared much thought to how cruel that was and now that I'd realized, I couldn't hold back the frustrated groan that fell from my lips.

"I don't know what to do, Chris! I think I know what the right decision is. It's what always felt like the safer choice, but then there are times when that's just..." I paused, taking in a deep breath to work up a dash of courage. "It's not what I want."

Chris watched me closely as if choosing his next words very carefully.

"If the safer choice isn't what you want then it sounds like maybe you need to take a risk. You can't live your life making decisions out of fear."

My eyes narrowed. He was over simplifying the situation. That way of thinking might work if it was just the two of us, but with Gray in the middle, things were more complicated.

"It's not that straight forward."

I shook my head as I spoke, but Chris countered with a nod.

"Sure, it is," he shrugged before asking a question that almost stopped my heart. "Do you love me?"

I stared at him, opening my mouth to speak and then closing it again when the words didn't come. I stood there, gaping at him like some kind of ridiculous puffer fish, until I finally got a word out.

"What?"

A smirk slid onto Chris' face at my floundering as he repeated the question.

"Do you love me?" He asked. "And don't say it doesn't matter or it's not important. Just yes or no."

I stared at him for a moment longer as a war between my head and heart raged inside me. Deny, deny, deny was what my head was screaming, but in the end the quiet reminder of now or never from my heart was what won out.

"Yes, I do," I admitted, proud of my voice for not breaking. "I always have."

There was a grin on Chris' face now, but my stomach churned because it didn't mean anything. As I said, I'd loved him all along and yet here we were, no better off.

"That's all that matters then," he insisted. "We can figure out the rest."

"But what if we can't figure it out?" I protested, crossing my arms as if I could somehow fold into myself and disappear completely. "What if it's nice for a while and then it all comes crashing down around us? What about Gray?"

He shrugged again. His whole demeanour miles away from my own. He seemed confident, hopeful, almost excited while I felt nauseous, terrified and paralyzed by fear.

"But what if it doesn't? What if it all works out nicely? Why are you so convinced that we wouldn't last?"

"Because you're you," I reminded him, my tone flat as I stated the obvious. "Hollywood super star, Chris Evans. And I'm me, a boring nobody. You could have pretty much any famous actress you want, the only person who wants to be with me is the creepy maintenance worker in our apartment building."

Chris looked taken aback as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What? I've never heard about this guy."

"He's just some weird guy who does the repairs," I shrugged. "He comments on my outfits and looks at me in this way that makes my skin crawl, but he's harmless."

"Doesn't sound harmless to me," Chris argued, crossing his arms as a thunderous look settled on his face. "Does he have access to your place?"

"No!" I assured him, but after my quick answer I realized that I wasn't so sure. "Well, I don't know. He might have a spare key, I guess. If most maintenance people do? They have to give me notice before they enter the apartment anyway."

"Unless he's sneaking in to perv on you."

"Chris! That's gross!" I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Why would you put that thought in my head?!"

"I told you that you should have let me buy you a house," Chris huffed. "You're moving when all this covid shit is over."

"Oh my god," I groaned having flashbacks to our conversation a few weeks ago about him buying me a car. "All of this is so beside the point! We're talking about how you'd get bored of me and leave me heartbroken for some flashy Hollywood babe, remember?"

"Right," Chris nodded, letting his arms fall to his side. "But that's such a ridiculous idea that I thought it was hardly worth acknowledging."

His dismissal of one of my biggest fears sent a flash of anger through me.

"How is it ridiculous?" I snapped. "It's true!"

"You know me, Whitney," Chris sighed. "You know that my team had to practically force me into doing Captain America because I had one foot out the door of the whole acting gig and I hated the way Hollywood made me feel. Do you really think that I would give up a chance at a having family with you, someone who I really care about, for some wild, short-lived fling?"

His tone conveyed his disbelief, but he hadn't quite accurately interpreted what I meant.

"I think you'd regret it," I clarified. "I think that once the initial excitement wore off, you'd see that I'm nothing special and that I don't fit in your world."

Chris was looking at me as if I'd grown an extra head and I crossed my arms a little tighter around myself.

"We were friends long before Grayson came around and I've always thought that you were something special. Where is all this insecurity coming from, Whitney? Because I just don't get it."

I swallowed hard as I bit my lip. I felt incredibly vulnerable and the urge to run away and continue ignoring all my feelings seemed much preferable to standing here and analyzing them all, but I stayed strong. We were both adults and this was the only way to move forward. Whether it ended how Chris wanted or not, he deserved to know how I felt.

"I spent a long time convincing myself that you didn't care about me as anything more than a friend. I told myself that it was an insane idea because we're in two very different leagues so there was no point getting my hopes up. Then that night happened and I thought that maybe I'd been wrong, that it could be the start of a really good thing, but then you were gone by the time I woke up and you never called."

I barely choked out the last few words as I fought back the tears that were swimming in my eyes. An unmistakable look of guilt flashed onto Chris' face and he opened his mouth to comment, perhaps to defend himself, but I held up a hand to stop him. I needed to get it out or I never would.

"Then three weeks later, I found out I was pregnant," I continued. "I assumed from your silence that you didn't want to be with me and I knew that we were good together as friends so I kept my feelings to myself and spent the last three and a half years beating myself up for thinking for even one second that you would want to be with me."

"I did want to be with you..."

Chris was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes that he'd mastered and I sniffled as a tear slipped down my cheek.

"I know that now, but I can't just turn those thoughts off."

Chris sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before holding out his arms.

"C'mere."

I shook my head, wiping my tears as I worried that I'd fall apart completely if I stepped into his arms, but when he persisted and gestured me over again, I couldn't resist. I took the few steps needed to close the space between us and let my arms slide around his waist. He hugged me close to his body, burying his face in my hair as pressed mine into his muscled chest. We stayed like that for a few moments until Chris broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I was an idiot," he apologized, his words muffled by my hair. "I should have fought for you. At the very least, I should have stayed until you woke up and I should have called, but I was scared too."

I felt more tears fill my eyes as I choked out a soft "I know".

Another silence fell between us before Chris spoke again, his words making my heart almost stop completely.

"I was going to propose." I pulled back at that confession, my eyes wide as I looked up at him unable to process his words fast enough to speak before he continued. "I called my mom up as soon as you told me you were pregnant. I wanted her to help me pick out a ring, but she talked me out of it. Said you'd think I was doing it for all the wrong reasons."

My heart fluttered back to life at the sincerity in his admission, but I nodded my head.

"Your mom is a smart lady," I told him. "I absolutely would have thought you were only doing it because you felt you had to."

"It wasn't out of obligation though," he insisted. "Maybe I was getting a bit ahead of myself leaping straight to marriage, but I cared about you. It was an opportunity to make it official, make that commitment and be a family. That's what I wanted."

I stayed quiet, resting my head back against his chest as I tried to take in all this new information. It was a lot to process especially when it directly contradicted the belief I had clung to for so long - that Chris and I would never work and for Grayson's sake we were better off apart. That assumption was so deeply embedded in my brain that it was hard to find the courage to take such a risk.

As if Chris could sense my lingering indecision, he continued.

"It's still what I want," he said softly. "Being here these last few weeks with you and Grayson as a family has been a dream come true. I wouldn't give it up for anything or do anything to jeopardize it if you'd just give me a shot."

The word 'okay' was so close to the tip of my tongue that it shocked me.

That was all I had to do, just open my mouth and agree and he would be mine.

My heart was pleading with me to do it, to take that leap and ignore any of the arguments against it that were running through my mind - especially now that those arguments seemed much less sound than they had a few short weeks ago. I was so conflicted that it almost physically pained me to have to make a decision and I couldn't help, but wonder how he could be so certain.

So, I leaned back and tilted my head so my eyes could meet his.

"How can you be so sure?" I questioned. "After how things have been these last few years, how can you be so confident in your feelings?"

"Because I love you," he told me plainly and with unwavering surety. "If you tell me right now that it's not what you want, then I'll accept your decision. But if there's a hint of a chance, then I'll wait as long as I need to. I've been waiting for years, thinking that I didn't even have a shot, I think I can wait a little longer now that I know that I might."

It was another heart wrenchingly honest explanation, another vulnerable admission, and something in the openness with which he spoke made me realize that over the last three years he had done nothing to earn any distrust from me. Even after the fallout from Christmas, he'd put his hurt feelings and pride aside to make things easier for me. He'd been sincere during every discussion we'd had since then and hadn't been cruel or impatient about my indecision. I had no reason at all, other than my own fear and insecurities, to assume that he was going to break my heart and tear apart our family.

He deserved a little bit of trust from me as well and a clarity washed over me as I finally knew what I had to do.

There were words I could have said, probably should have said, but I didn't feel like there was anything that would accurately portray how I was feeling. I settled for a more direct approach as I pressed up onto my toes and let my lips fall against his.

He tensed at first and for a brief, heart stopping moment, I thought he might push me away again, but he didn't. He relaxed, pulling me closer as my hands slid to cup his neck.

It was a soft kiss. A gentle, loving kiss, that I hoped conveyed what I couldn't figure out how to say. But when our lips parted and he leaned down to rest his forehead on mine, there was a concern in his eyes that told me I wasn't going to get away with it that easily.

"What does that mean?"

I bit my lip, staring up past his long eyelashes into his eyes. There was still a tiny voice in my head telling me to run, to stop being so foolish and leave now before I made a mistake, but my heart had found its footing now and wasn't going to back down. Listening to my head all this time hadn't made things any easier, so it was time to try something else.

"It means," I started, taking in a shaky breath. "I don't want to keep you waiting anymore."

Chris let out a breath of relief as a tentative smile slid onto his face.

"Really? You're sure?"

I swallowed hard and nodded my head.

"Yes," I breathed out, my voice thick with all the emotions swirling through me.

He dipped his head a touch lower until our lips were reconnected. It was a deeper kiss, more desperate than the first as his tongue slid against mine and his grip tightened on my waist, my nails scraping against the fuzz of his recently cut hair. I caved into him, clinging to him like he was a lifeboat in a storm until he pulled back to take a breath.

My chest heaved against his, the adrenaline of his touch and what this finally meant, almost too much to handle. I settled back down, flat on my feet and nuzzled my face back into his chest as I fought to calm my racing mind and just enjoy the moment.

"You really mean it?" Chris asked again, the shakiness of his voice filling me with another pang of guilt. "You really want to give this a try?"

"I mean it," I nodded against him. "Doesn't mean my concerns have all vanished in the last five minutes, but I...I think I need to trust you."

"I won't let you down," he murmured into my hair as he pulled me even closer. Another silence fell between us until I broke it with an embarrassingly large yawn and Chris' chest shook as he chuckled. "Do you wanna sleep down here tonight?"

As soon as he'd asked the question, it suddenly hit me how exhausted I was. Even just the thought of walking upstairs seemed like an impossible task when there was such an inviting, comfortable bed only steps away from where I stood. But a thought popped into my head that I couldn't ignore and I turned my head slightly so I wasn't speaking directly into Chris' muscles.

"What about Gray?" I asked. "He always comes to you in the morning..."

"Would it matter?"

His tone wasn't accusing or annoyed, but genuinely curious as sharing a child did add a strange new element to all this. I didn't really know what the best way to handle it was since Grayson didn't really understand our relationship or know how a typical family was set up anyway, but it didn't seem like the best way to introduce him to the idea.

"I think we should talk to him about it instead of just letting him stumble on us in bed together," I suggested. "But I think maybe we should wait a while?"

Chris' face fell as the look of worry returned.

"You want to keep this a secret?"

"I didn't mean it like that," I shook my head. "You can tell whoever you want, but I think we should figure things out, make sure things are stable between us before we try to explain it to Gray."

"Alright, that's fair," Chris agreed before leaning down to place another soft kiss on my lips. "I'll wake you up before he comes down."

"Okay," I nodded as I let my thumb stroke his cheek.

We reluctantly slipped out of each other's arms, but it was a brief separation as we climbed into opposite sides of the bed. Once we'd turned the lights off, we met in the middle and he pulled me back against his chest, letting me hook my leg over his hip as we settled against each other.

Chris ran a hand up and down my spine as he nuzzled in my hair.

"This feels nice..."

"It does," I hummed. With the darkness around us, the quiet that had settled in, I felt encouraged to say something that I'd felt I should have said long ago. "I'm sorry, Chris."

I felt him tense.

"For what?"

"For messing you around so much," I admitted. "Especially at Christmas...that wasn't cool."

"If I had expectations, I should have laid them out before anything happened." His answer sounded rehearsed, as if he'd spent a long time convincing himself of that fact. I wasn't entirely sure it was a fair statement, but he continued before I could question it. "I can understand where you were coming from, but I promise I won't hurt you."

I felt a pang of uncertainty because that wasn't always a promise that could be kept, but the sincerity in his voice gave me hope. I placed a soft kiss against his chest as his hands slid up under the loose shorts I was wearing to cup my bum.

"I love you," I mumbled against his skin.

"I love you too," he replied, making a feeling of warmth flood through me. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

I sighed happily as my exhaustion had my eyes fluttering shut. I wanted to stay awake, to keep this moment before the brightness of the morning could bring any doubts or second guesses, but I was powerless to resist as sleep overtook me.

-

Part Five

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10

[itssuppertim3]

Second Chance (Miraak x Reader) Part 4:

The truth,

Before we knew it, a week had already flown by. Much like a mother educating her child, I taught Bjorn many things he might've forgotten about the world. I reminded him about the war, to which he was thoroughly shocked over, I demonstrated how to plant various plants and crops, and I even gave him a few spell tones to study.

The two of us sat in the shade for a while, chatting away. I remembered Elsbeth throwing several mischievous glances my way throughout the week. In my own confusion, I let it be and pretended to act aloof. "Did you know that you can even heal plants?" I flipped over to a certain page in the book and ran my finger across the wording.

I provided him a quick example by plucking a dandelion from the ground and snapping its stem in two. I focused a small percentage of healing magic over the damage and let the energy flow from my palm. With a swipe of my hand, the flower was replenished in seconds. "How interesting, though I fail to see how it can be beneficial," he confessed. "It usually helps with alchemy, but judging from how skilled you become, you could even fasten plant growth and create a barrier for defense!" He truly seemed to be intrigued by the lesson. "You're a good teacher, Y/n." My cheeks burned at his compliment and I scratched the back of my neck bashfully. "I'm really not that good. I just read a lot and work hard. Plus, there's still so much I need to learn," I clipped. "Hey, you two! I have some jobs for you to do," Elsbeth called from the porch. Bjorn rose to his feet and lended me a hand, which I gladly took.

Once we made it back to the cottage, we were both given a task. Bjorn was requested to cook dinner, and I was sent to feed the chickens. One would only think our roles would be the opposite. "I'm gonna visit Alvor for some supplies before it gets too late. Don't let me down!" We waved her goodbye as she slowly retreated down the hill. "Would you like for me to help you with the feed?" he asked. "No. I think I can manage," I laughed. "Just make sure not to set the kitchen on fire."

When he retreated into the house, I went to fetch the chicken feed. Roosters and hens combined, they swarmed around my feet, demanding their supper. "Alright, Alright! No need to get aggressive!" Their attention diverted in a flash as soon as I began to scatter their food around. While they were busy pecking away, I exited the pen and headed back towards the cottage. Before I could reach it however, I saw two figures approaching.

It seemed to be a woman and a man dressed in gawdy uniforms. "You there," the man snapped. I stood my ground and flashed a cautious smile. "Yes? Can I help you?" They both stopped just feet in front of me. Now that I could see them more clearly, they looked like something straight out of a nightmare! Their apparel was oddly fashioned, both torn and sloppily stitched. But what frightened me the most were the masks they wore over their faces. I gulped and tried to remain calm.

The woman retrieved a rolled up slip of paper from her pocket and held it to my face. My stomach flipped upon examining the illustration of a character with the very same mask that I still had in my bag. "Have you seen someone who looks like this?" he interrogated. I was somewhat able to maintain my stoic facade, though I could feel it cracking. "No. I haven't," I said, stiff as a log. "She lies, just as that deceiver did," the woman hissed. "I will ask again." I yelped when he grasped my shoulder. I sucked in a breath after feeling a dangerous heat emitting from his hand. "Where is our Master Miraak?" My eyes grew as wide as stones at his words.

"What...?"

My blood ran cold as he ignited a flame into his other hand. My shoulder started to burn painfully. "I don't know what you're talking about," I whimpered. Still, the man refused to release his hold on me. My heart drummed against my ribs and my throat ran dry. These people were going to kill me. I didn't even have enough time to watch my life play out in front of me.

Suddenly, I heard the door open from behind me and a heavy pair of footsteps marched over to us. The two culprits beamed in delight at his presence. "Master Miraak--!" A large hand swooped in and clutched the exterior of the man's face, while another shielded my eyes. I could hear my attacker kick and squirm under my savior's deadly grip. I flinched in terror as his entire body burst into flames. The heat completely overwhelmed me, licking my face as it did. And oh, the screaming. That agonizing screaming. My ears couldn't take anymore.

I knew the other one had been running by now. I cringed at the thought of being forced to endure the same awful shrieks of pain again. I tried to claw my way to safety, but I couldn't move. I was completely and utterly paralyzed under Bjorn’s touch.. "Fus, Ro Dah!" A deafening force reverberated through my very bones and melted through my skin. I couldn't even begin to comprehend it. Was that what a shout sounded like?

Although I was finally granted permission to see, I didn't dare open my eyes. I couldn't. But eventually, I did. All that remained was a pile of ashes, though there were no signs of a second one. Bjorn, or Miraak, had already left my side and was now facing away from me. I peered at him in a mixture of fear and disbelief, and something else. Sadness. I was sad. I was so terribly sad because I knew he was going to leave us; he was going to leave me. Now that his secret was out, there was no reason to stay. We were both aware that I was scared, but I wasn't scared of him. I was scared for his safety, I was scared of those people that were after him. But most importantly, I was scared for myself. I didn't want to say goodbye to someone who had brought so much light into my tiny world. And I was selfish for it.

On impulse, I ran forward and threw my arms around him. He stiffened sharply, but didn't utter a word. "Don't leave. Please don't leave." My voice was barely above a whisper, so I was certain that his ears didn't catch my plea. But he eventually tilted his head down at me in a sullen silence. My chest panged at the sight of his face. He didn't want to leave, but his words spoke the opposite. "There will be more. Your life has already been endangered once, and I can't let that happen again. Let me go, Y/n," he demanded. "I won't," I cried. I only held him tighter. "I know I'm selfish and naive and foolish, but I won't let you go!" One by one, tears slid down my cheeks and bled through the fabric of Miraak's shirt. I always loathed the way I sobbed. They were a loud and ugly mess, but that didn't stop me regardless of how embarrassing it was.

I soon found myself trembling on the ground with my hand now clutching the hem of his trousers. The tall ravenette slowly crouched to my level and reached out. However, he stopped himself and went to retract his arm away. Before he could, I grabbed his hand and held it against my damp cheek. He traced his thumb over my eyelid to rid of my tears, but frowned at his unsuccess. "What would your sister think? She'd have my head for making you cry like this," he said suddenly. "Yeah, she probably would. Don't tell me that's why you're so eager to run away," I jested. He was relieved to see me revert back to my cheerful self, but the corners of his lips flattened once again.

"You are hurt because of me. If I stay, then..."

His sentence escaped him when I shuffled closer to where we were only a breath apart. "Then take me with you." I then leaned in and softly connected our lips. I was fairly inexperienced with kissing, so I didn't know if I was doing it right. All I could do was scrunch my eyes shut and pray that he understood. My heart leapt when he returned the kiss. His lips were chapped and his scruff tickled my cheek. Everything felt so surreal. It was as if I was under some sort of hazy hypnosis. Miraak's hand cupped the back of my head while his other squeezed the small of my waist. I enclosed my arms around his neck in wild euphoria. We both seperated with great reluctance, exhaling heavily. I giggled as he began to peck every inch of skin of my face starting from my jaw to my temple. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t even held a woman in centuries.

I grimaced, instantly reminded of my current delima. Miraak threw his arms back as if he was the cause for my pain. "Come, let's go back," he recommended. I nearly released a squeal when he hoisted me into his fit arms. "What are you--what are you doing?" I stammered, face as red as the evening sky. I knew our body comparisons were different in both height and size, but this was the first time he made me feel so tiny. "I am carrying you," he stated a-matter-of-factly. "It's just my shoulder. I-I can still walk!"

“You’re still injured. It’d be shameful of me not to at least take you off your feet for a short while. Such a gentleman! Miraak's bicep curved against my back and my other shoulder bounced against his broad chest as he walked. I wasn't convinced that my face could get any redder! After acting so boldly a moment ago, I should've expected the embarrassment to catch up with me. I couldn't help but voice out a squeak after his fingers slid a bit further past the bend of my knee. "Are you alright?" It was an easy question to answer, but my mind was so scrambled I couldn't form a single syllable!

I buried my face into his shirt and shook my head. "Are you in any pain?" How could I be? I was far too distracted by my current situation, I couldn't focus on anything else! Again, I managed a silent 'no'. Miraak stood in contemplation before resuming towards the porch steps. He placed me down with great care before sitting down beside me. I avoided eye contact as he closely examined my face and held his forehead against my own. "You're warm. You must be running a fever," he concluded. I fidgeted under his touch. "Um, I don't think I have a fever," I timidly denied. Miraak's confusion roused. "Then why are you so red?" He was so close, it was like he was trying to see through my soul! "I just--," I stumbled. "I'm just a little embarrassed, is all..." He sat there a minute before also averting his gaze. "Oh. I see." The First Dragonborn cleared his throat. The two of us sat there quietly, a blushing mess.

Once Miraak was able to regain his composure, he slowly etched forward once more. He then directed his finger to my shoulder. "May I?" I nodded curtly and steered my sights to the floor. Miraak gingerly tugged at the neckline of my blouse and inspected the raw burn on my skin. I waited with interest to see how skilled he was with Restoration magic. He probably had hundreds of years’ worth of experience. A soothing warmth enveloped the entirety of my arm. It reminded me of the many hugs and kisses Pa gave me on the days before he left for yet another journey. The nostalgia brought a smile to my lips as I continued to reminisce back on my childhood.

Alas, with a snap of a finger that warmth had abandoned me. I peeked at my injury, which vanished without a trace. "If I would've known how good you are, I wouldn't have wasted time teaching you things you already know," I chuckled. The man hung a light smirk over his features before drawing me in for another kiss. "You've taught me many things, Y/n. And I am hoping for you to teach me many more." By now, the only thing I could hear was a high-pitched ringing with Elsbeth's voice echoing in the background. Wait, Elsbeth's voice? "Well, well~! I'm hardly gone for thirty minutes and you two are all over each other," she taunted, clearly amused by the display in front of her. Miraak and I both jolted away from one another and fiddled our fingers in ungodly embarrassment. “El...! When—when did you get back?” I stammered. “Oh, not long. But just in time to see the juicy bit! Tell me, how long have you been together?” Knowing that she had already seen him kiss me was humiliating enough, and she wouldn’t be my sister if she didn’t make it worse by talking about it!

That night, I told her everything, well, almost everything. Miraak and I decided that it would only complicate matters further by revealing the truth to her. Even now, she was terrified of the stories. I couldn’t even begin to imagine her reaction after realizing that it was him the entire time. I neglected to mention the assaulters, as well as the ash pile on the ground outside. As odd as it was, Elsbeth was completely unbothered by our newly founded relationship. “Y/n, you’re my little sister. Sure, I’m mad. I’m mad that a man succeeded in stealing your heart, but I’m not Pa. If you two are in love, who am I to stop you? I want you to live a full life, as well as a happy one,” she had said. In a matter of seconds, I took her into my arms and thanked her profusely. In addition, she even consented in allowing me to travel with him.

Although Miraak was paranoid, we stayed at the ranch for another week before packing our gear. I searched around my room, collecting an assortment of knickknacks and storing them into my bag. As I opened my satchel, a certain mask greeted me. I held it gingerly in my hands. The eye slits peered up at me in such an eerie way, yet I felt no fear. If anything, staring down at the pitiful thing made me feel almost melancholy. That damaged wood carving was once a shell of such a wonderful person. I brought the mask to my chest and held it there a moment with a somber smile. “Is something the matter?” I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, causing me to turn around. “No, I’m good. You’ll probably be needing this back, huh? I’m sorry I kept it so long,” I chuckled. Miraak examined the worn face piece with uncertainty. He ran his thumbs along every edge and crease and even tipped it upside down. “How do you feel?” I asked him. His green orbs met mine in a look of puzzlement. “I feel... nothing,” he stated simply. “Seeing this mask after so long, I imagined I would be more impacted. But instead it just feels silly to be haunted by it for so long. It all feels like a tucked-away nightmare.” My lips stretched into a grin as I leaned forth and wrapped my arms snuggly around him. "And that’s exactly what it is. It’s all a tucked-away nightmare.” Miraak hummed, smiling at me with adoration. He then bent down to my level and gave me a soft Eskimo kiss.

When we left home that day, we bid our farewells to Elsbeth and I made sure to do the same with all of the cows, goats, chickens, and pigs as we went. Once we reached the gate, I looked back at the ranch one last time. I thought about all of the many times I walked past this gate thinking about how extraordinarily dull my life was. Everyday, I fantasized about romance and adventure. I didn’t think someone with my position would be blessed with such an opportunity, but here I was, madly in love and on my way to start an adventurous life of my own. “Did you leave something behind?” I faced him and shook my head. “No. Let’s go!”

——————————————————————————

Yayy, finally finished the 4th part (this took me freaking forever)

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.15 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is still dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. Like he needs anything else to happen right now?

~~*~~

Read ‘First Step’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

As hot as the days were, these last, lingering sticky days of summer, the nights in Backwater tended to cool off as soon as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

It made for a good time to sit out on the back porch for a quick smoke. Usually only tobacco, Stretch didn’t have Red’s resilience when it came to getting up the next day after smoking his atom bomb version of weed. The last thing he wanted was to give the local kids their first view of an ugly hangover, he’d leave that sort of education for their parents to dole out.

Most of the time, Stretch kept it to one cigarette. His first paycheck was better than he’d expected but it was still wiser to be frugal, so he stuck with his one cig and tried not to think about how that would have pleased his brother. Blue’d been trying to get him to quit for years now and in the past months whenever his bro brought it up, his ex always chimed in with a similar opinion on it, both of them citing statistics as if they were practicing for a damned public service announcement.

Quitting his smokes was something Stretch resisted for no damn good reason other than he didn’t want to quit, thanks, sorry for him trying to adult a little around here. All the nagging did was take the joy out of it and left him smoking out of resentment rather than recreation. Cutting down to one a day was milestone he’d never managed to get to back in Ebott. Not even when the Docs told him it might help with—well.

Anyway, tonight he’d decided to indulge himself; after the day he’d had, he figured he deserved to go through a whole damn pack.

The porch light was a stark, sodium-yellow and the furniture cast strange shadows in it, bones of the true darkness that lay beyond. Stretch sprawled out on the dusty old sofa, blowing lazy smoke rings up at the overhang covering the porch and occasionally tapping ash into the rusty old Maxwell coffee can that Red kept around as an ashtray. The other skeleton had already gone inside, and the living room windows were dark, a pretty big clue that he’d probably already headed off to bed. Early for him, but, eh, Stretch figured he’d had a hell of a day, too, and his guilt over his own involvement in that sat in his chest like a lead brick.

At his feet, the dog curled up in a tight little donut of fluff and Stretch absently pet him with his bare foot, wincing as strands of hair caught in his bony joints. The dog didn’t seem to care about the little yanks and tugs, only huffed out a contented sigh, pushing demandingly into the touch.

“dunno if you deserve pats,” Stretch told him absently. He tried for something resembling stern, though he didn’t stop petting, “you weren’t being too friendly out at edge’s place.”

The dog only snorted and rolled to his side, giving Stretch access to his belly for more rubs.

Stretch hadn’t even realized Red brought the dog along at first. Not until he hauled his bike over to truck bed, still flustered over the almost-could be-kinda-a-something that his boss/landlord’s timely arrival interrupted. Before he could even start heaving the bike in, the dog popped up like a slobbery jack in the box and began attacking Stretch’s face with kisses.

“wha—stop, you shit!” Stretch sputtered, laughing and trying to fend off the dog’s eager advances. The bike was heavier than a normal one and awkward to hold, and between that and the doggy love attack, Stretch lost his grip. The handbars swung into the side of the truck and shrieked their way down in a scrape of metal against metal as it fell, the rest of it finishing off with a loud clang. Not that it did any damage; Red’s truck probably only qualified as one by a technicality, held together by vague hopes, rust, and the liberal use of miles of duct tape.

Behind Stretch, Edge spoke up, “Here, let me help.” But the moment he stepped forward, the dog’s excited wriggling screeched to a halt and morphed into stillness couched with a sudden, unexpected growl.

“woah, hey, boy,” Stretch said with surprised caution. The dog hadn’t even growled when those guys in town were trying to use him as a pinata, too scared, maybe, but Edge wasn’t a threat so why the hell—

A low, deep throated snarl came from behind Stretch and the dog yelped, ducking down into the truck bed, cowering. Stretch whipped around to stare at Edge in disbelief, okay, yeah, that one wasn’t on his bingo card for weird happenings. "did you just growl at my dog?"

Edge only looked back steadily, "You have to assert dominance."

Well, uh, that was…it did seem to work, sort of. The dog chose that moment to abandon ship, scrambling up and wriggling through the little back window that led into the cab to curl up against Red. The moment he was safe, he looked at Stretch and Edge with wounded betrayal, like he hadn’t started it, the little shit.

Good thing the dog didn’t know what the memory of that growl was doing to the inside of Stretch’s pants, (fucking rawr). The pooch would never forgive him.

“quit traumatizing mutt," Red snorted. He ruffled the dog’s ears soothingly and the pup settled, resting his chin on Red’s femur as he looked up with a mournful ‘the big kids are pickin’ on me’ expression. "c'mon, armstrong, let’s hit the road, s’getting dark."

That woke Stretch up from his dual versions of shock and unf!shock. He grunted with the effort of heaving the bike into the truck bed, mumbling a grateful ‘thank you’ when a second pair of strong hands helped out, and he really, really tried not to feel the way Edge was pressed up against his back, a line of warm moving against him as both of them settling the bike securely in. It was only when Edge stepped back and took his fatal distraction with him that something clicked.

Wait. Not the mutt, but—

Stretch stuck his head in through the open window, looking at the skeleton and his dog, who pointedly weren’t looking back. “you named the dog mutt?”

“didn’t name it anything,” Red scoffed. He scruffed the dog, whose name was totally Mutt, gently.

“technicalities won’t save you,” Stretch told him gleefully, “there was a list on the counter, you had options, and you still named the dog…dog.”

That got finally got him a look, or more precisely, a glare. “could always let you walk home.”

That was true. Stretch abandoned ribbing without even getting to pun about it and climbed hastily into the truck. The door hinge squalled when he pulled open the door, flakes of rust falling in a shower as he slammed it shut. No wonder Red didn’t drive around much if this was his primary vehicle, but in the interest of not getting kicked out, Stretch decided it would be for the best to not bring up the rubber banded pile of newspapers Red was sitting on. He definitely wasn’t gonna ask how Red was reaching the pedals.

Edge rounded the truck to Red’s side, briefly outlined in the glare of the headlights. With the remains of the sun at his back, his eye lights were stark in the growing darkness. Bright crimson glaring in at his brother as he stood next to the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “You could always come in for coffee.”

It wasn’t a question and Red didn’t answer it. “tell the kid i said hi.”

Edge replied tartly. “Tell them yourself.”

“heh.” A strange laugh, humorless and somehow still tinged with amusement. “see ya around, bro.”

Yeah, there was some kind of story there, all right, and Stretch was the guy who waited too long at the concession stand and came into the play during Act 3.

There was only one person who might give him any answers, since two-thirds of the people involved already turned him down and it was the same guy who didn’t even give Edge a chance to say goodbye, only threw the truck into reverse and with a clumsy three-point turn that barely avoided any of the flowerbeds, they were headed back down path that led to town, out of the woods.

The ride back wasn’t exactly quiet, the bumpy road and rattling complaints of the truck took care of that. But it was wordless, for a while. Until they got closer to the main road and the bumps smoothed out a little, droning hum of tires on asphalt an invitation.

“red—” Stretch started, slowly. He wasn’t even sure what he was gonna say yet, uncertain if he really wanted any other revelations tonight. He was feeling a little epiphanied out.

Red only sighed deeply, “pretty sure you, the kid, and my bro had a helluva chat, you sure you really wanna talk to me about it now?”

No. Yes. “maybe?”

The newspapers under him made a dry shuffling sound as Red shifted his weight to change gears. “one question, kid, that’s all i got answers for. choose wisely.”

Great, now he was on an impromptu grail quest.

Stretch hesitated over his options; there were so many, how could he pick only one? Like, why didn’t Red live with Edge and Frisk, why had he refused to even go into the house, and what the hell was up with Edge being so salty about it? Hell, there were deeper question than that, if he wanted to dig. How had they gotten out of their Underground to here, what happened to Red’s leg, so many whats and wheres and whys.

A look at Red showed he was grinding his teeth, his crimson eye lights focused solely on the road and at the end of the day, there was only one question Stretch really needed an answer to tonight, for reasons he desperately didn’t want to talk about.

He ran his tongue over his teeth nervously, looking down at his hands in his lap rather than the passing blur of road in the headlights out the windshield. “you knew who i was when you first saw me here, didn’t you. edge said you watched the tv when we first came to the surface.”

The joints in his hands creaked as they went tight on the steering wheel and Red exhaled with weary slowness. “yeah, i knew.” He slanted a brief glance at Stretch, eye lights flicking between him and the road. “gave me a hell of a start, don’t mind tellin’ ya. you were busy chasin’ beer cans and didn’t notice me almost fallin’ on my ass.”

“that’s why you helped me, isn’t it, when i first came to town?” The accusation that Red was ‘adopted’ him because he looked like Edge stung, but it was true enough, wasn’t it. Someone with his kid brother’s face, someone to feed and clothe and take care of, like he couldn’t with his own bro for whatever their secret reasons were. Like he was a fucking pet, another dog, woof woof, and the care that seemed so genuine that morning felt suddenly tainted, as stifling as his own brother’s.

“heh,” Red’s mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “kid, come on.”

Stretch said nothing. He could see the neon sign from ‘The Whistling Cow’ slowly approaching, looming closer, blurring in his vision and there was no subtle way to wipe at his sockets, he could only do it quickly and hope it wasn’t noticed.

A failed hope, like most. Red made an impatient sound, loud enough that the dog sleeping his lap stirred, then he said roughly. “yeah, okay, you reminded me some of my little brother, but that ain’t why i let you stay.”

Let it go, let it go, Elsa, you don’t have anywhere else to go. “then why?”

“‘cause i like ya, that’s why!” Red snarled. His ever-present grin curled into a grimace, tight and strained, each word as sharp as one of his jagged teeth. “been rattling around alone in this old shop for awhile now. been kinda nice to have someone underfoot, since i ain’t got goddamn feet. good enough?”

“yes,” Stretch admitted, a threadbare little word. It was, helped ease some of the pained tightness surrounding his soul to know that Red wasn’t simply another person who wanted to be around him not out of friendship, but mere circumstance. He’d had plenty of that in his life and all it left him with was an empty contact list on his phone and an emptier ache in his soul.

He startled at a hand awkwardly touching his own, bony fingers briefly squeezing before they withdrew. “stretch? you and my bro ain’t nothin’ alike. c’n trust me on that much.”

“is that good or bad,” Stretch couldn’t help asking. He thought of the little borrowed room he was sleeping in at night, his part time job hawking groceries, of Edge’s home in the woods with its beautiful gardens and delicious meals.

Red shrugged. He turned the wheel, guiding the truck into a parking spot that was nearly hidden on the other side of the shop. “beats the fuck out of me, just is, and it don’t matter, anyway. don’t care what the charts and graphs and shit say, ain’t no reason to compare ya. ya ain’t the same person. you’re you and bein’ you should be good enough for anyone.”

The engine ticked slowly as it cooled and Stretch thought of the way their landlord back in Ebott kept mistaking him for Papyrus, of getting bitched at once for a window he hadn’t broken or thanked for muffins he hadn’t brought. Not anybody or nobody, only himself, at least here in Backwater. “thanks.”

“s’fine,” Red grunted. “just don’t forget i ain’t your bro.”

“oh, fuck, no,” Stretch blurted out. He winced as he realized how that sounded. “i mean, you’re more like a mom, anyway.”

“heh,” That laugh was more a little more genuine, not much, but it was something. “fuck you.”

“nah, that wasn’t in the rental agreement.”

“and thank the fucking angel for that.” With a groan of hinges and a slam of the door, Red got out of the truck, the dog at his heels. He didn’t turn back to see if Stretch was with him, only went as fast as he could, cane swishing at his side as he practically ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him.

Stretch followed more slowly, stopping off at the porch and that was where he stayed, thinking about having a cigarette and not at all about giving Red some time to himself after having the asshole he was trying to help question his motives, exactly like an asshole would.

Mutt hesitated, debating for a minute over choosing between them before finally decided that Stretch was the victor, and whether or not that was because he thought Stretch needed watching over more didn’t matter. Stretch appreciated the company, anyway.

That left him here, smoking and watching moths flutter suicidally close around the porch light.

Stretch dropped a used butt into the coffee can and debated lighting another. On one hand, he was starting to feel a little nauseous from so much smoking, on the other, he sort of wanted to feel nauseous. Wanted to feel something that he could name.

What was the proper term for how to feel when you were living in a weird town with alternate version of yourself and your bro, which, by the way, one out of the two has been crawling up your top ten list of spank bank partners? If there was a definition for it, it was gonna take more than a quick google search to ferret it out.

He still hadn’t decided whether or not to light another when at his feet, the dog suddenly lifted his head, ears perking up.

“what is it, boy?” Stretch leaned up on his elbow, squinting out into the darkness outside the protective ring of porch light. “if this is about a kid in a well, you can tell timmy he’ll have to wait, this is not a good time—hey!”

A threatening line of fur rose up on the dog’s back as he let out a low, deep woof, nothing like the little growl at Edge earlier. Before Stretch could grab for him, Mutt was scrambling to his feet. He leapt off the porch and ran off into the night, fuck, in the direction of the forest.

“hey, wait! no, no, no, damn it!” Stretch shoved his feet into his shoes, wincing at the friction and almost immediately tripping over the laces. “not that way!”

There was barely time to hope he didn’t break his damn leg as he chased after the dog, following the little puff of whiteness through the dark as he tried not to go facefirst into anything. It was sheer luck there weren’t many obstacles in the path; town was in the opposite direction and there was nothing much behind the shop but parched earth and dead grass. Right up until the edge of the woods where saplings rose up in clusters, little ponds of greenery that led to the ocean of trees and that was where Stretch skidded to a halt, watching helplessly as that patch of white disappeared into the darkness.

Yeah, okay, he wasn’t about to go in the woods, ignoring warnings around this place was bad for life expectancy and Stretch wasn’t the kind of guy who’d feed weird critters after midnight.

“fuck, fuck,” Stretch muttered under his breath, pacing right outside the treeline and slapping away any sapling that tried to get in his way as he wracked his brain for what the hell he could do now.

Maybe if he stood outside and shouted at the damn mutt, he’d at least have something to follow back out. He wasn’t sure there was much else he could do, the townsfolk were nice, but he didn’t think asking them out for a midnight search party for a dog would go over very well.

Overhead, the bloated circle of the moon faded in and out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even have his phone, it was still in his bag on the porch, safely beneath that splash of light that seemed so far away now. Stretch dug into his pocket for his lighter, the rasp loud over the faint rustling of leaves overhead. It flared to life and the tiny flame barely illuminating the space around him, but it was better than nothing.

“mutt?” Stretch called tentatively, then more coaxingly, “c’mon boy, come back out!” He tried a few iterations of that with increasingly sappy endearments, feeling as stupid as he had when he’d tried them on his ex. The dog responded about as well, stubbornly refusing to bow to any version of baby, sweetums, or snooky that Stretch tried.

“damn it all to hell,” Stretch cursed softly. First, he’d gotten caught nearly macking on Red’s little brother when he’d said he wouldn’t, not a broken promise but still, then he’d blunder into giving Red’s traumas a quick poke, and now he’d lost the dog that he’d only just gotten for Red. He was obviously already pretty attached to the so-named Mutt and after hearing him vague about how he’d been lonely, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

But going into the woods after him felt a hell of a lot like making a bad situation worse.

Stretch sighed heavily. Nope, better not to chance it. Maybe if he brought out a bowl of food, the dumb mutt would smell it and head for home and—wait.

…what was that? Stretch tipped his head to the side, straining to listen.

He hadn’t really even notice that soft sound at its beginning, the soft lilt of a melody winding its way through branches and leaves out of the woods, a song he almost but didn’t quite know. It was the seductive peal of a silver laugh of delight, it was the delicate caress of the wind, the chuckling burble of a cool stream pouring invitingly over smooth rocks, and the intangible caress of unearthly desires

It was the alluring sweetness of a siren, the song of a temptress calling one who was no sailor into a dry sea and doom.

His vision was cast into paleness like the bloom of the moonlight, filling him to the brim until nothing was left within but that endless song. Without a single thought of his own left crowded in amongst the tangled notes in his head taking mastery over him, Stretch took his first dazed step into the woods.

tbc

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Mind Your Secrets

Theo/Steven Crain x Reader - 3044 Words - More Freaky Fics

Prompt: ‘the void is calling’ prompt with theo/steve x reader from haunting of hill house where the reader and Theo tag along with Steven for an investigation of another haunted house that manipulated people like Hill House does. (Thanks anon for the request!)

Warnings: horror situations, descriptions of rotting things/people.

- - -

It was raining when Steven called. You blushed when you saw his name light up your phone screen. You were sitting with Theo who had dropped by to visit. There was a fire going and some cheesy movie playing in your living room.

It felt wrong that Steven wasn’t there, that you hadn’t included your other oldest friend. Mostly because when Theo showed up that morning you had the same butterflies in your stomach that you did now answering your phone.

“Hey! You’re on speaker,” you said, “but just so you know The-“

He cut you off, “that’s fine! So I’m going to investigate a new house but the owner will be there at first and I’m worried about their kids. Would you mind coming with me?”

“Of course I’ll go,” you had always wanted to sit in on one of his investigations and this sounded amazing.

“Yknow I wouldn’t mind some sibling bonding,” Theo said with a snarky grin that you knew he could hear on the other side of the phone.

“I was trying to tell you, Theo’s here.” Your voice wavered slightly and you felt your face flush again.

“Yeah Theo, I guess that’s fine... Could you take me off speaker quick?”

He sounded so dejected that your heart threatened to burst.

“Sure,” you said quickly, standing to change the call. You smiled at Theo before stepping out of the room for a little extra privacy.

“Okay, it’s just me now!”

“I had hoped we could use this as a chance to hang out alone. But I guess Theo could be helpful here.”

You heard him sigh, “what I’m trying to say is I’ve really missed you. Maybe in the morning I could take you for breakfast and we could catch up?”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you responded, “I’ve really missed you too, that would be awesome.”

In that moment the last five years apart didn’t matter to Steven. Hell- he was even looking forward to disproving this haunting with you and Theo. He made the arrangements to pick you up soon, and you could hear his smile the entire time he said goodbye.

When you got back to your living room you noticed Theo put her gloves back on and all of a sudden you felt cold, like strangers.

“When’s the boy-wonder getting here?”

She threw the words at you with venom you hadn’t expected. She would never tell you, but she had loved you for the last six years. Almost, as long as Steven.

You smiled softly and sat back down, pulling her hand in yours until you were both cozy again, and Theo couldn’t help but smile.

“Not for a few hours,” you said watching her frosty demeanor thaw almost instantly. The relaxed tone returned to your living room, but her gloves stayed on even after you left with Steven.

The Manor was empty when the three of you arrived, and the light rain had escalated into a storm that left the world in a sparse fog. The light conversation about your education and last relationship died immediately as the car pulled into the grand driveway.

There was something familiar about the manor that stuck terror in the Crain’s minds. A true terror that felt uneasy, as if they knew what would await them around every new corner and behind every unknown door.

Children’s toys littered the front lawn creating a haphazard maze. Some of them looked exceptionally old, others as if they’d just unwrapped them. It made the entire property feel lost, outside of time. The door was already open, the family seemingly unable to wait for Steven.

Theo’s hands itched and aches from that first step out of the car onto the grass lawn. This place felt heavy in her hands. Looking around she felt apprehension and fear sneaking up her spine. She could feel the manor watching her, sizing her up. The only thing Theo didn’t know was if it was preparing for a meal, or defending from intruders.

Steven felt colder the second his feet touched the ground. He felt a familiar force, one he had been searching for since he was a child. This was a truly haunted house, he knew it even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

You huddled closer to Steven under the umbrella, unaware of the intense dread the siblings were feeling. You could only see the house peaking through the fog and rain, you knew it was a grand and old manor on a lush estate. But the scene reminded you of a scary movie. Unconsciously, the thought made you shudder and you were beyond thankful when he put an arm around your shoulders to lead you inside.

“I don’t like this,” Theo said as you stepped into the manor, “I thought you said the family would be here?”

“They did,” Steven said darkly.

You shrugged and flipped on the lightswitch next to the door illuminating the room, “I’m sure something just came up.” You walked farther into the room, marveling at the opulent style. “Besides they were going to let us stay overnight alone, so I don’t see a problem with starting a little early!” Your enthusiasm felt misplaced among the straight and weathered walls.

The manor had raked up a list of lost and hidden things that remained undigested in its walls. Their bones were not yet buried when the last brick was slid into place over the hearth. For them, and all those who remained unseen, this house was a mausoleum. It was hungry. The ghosts were lonely. And you’d just walked in.

Steve motioned wildly at the grand entryway, “according to the owner’s this is one of the most haunted spots in the manor,” he walked across the space quickly to rap on the staircase, “but I think as we can all see this is just a very old house.”

The crooked stairs were laced in dark wood, and the bannisters were coated in cobwebs. Steven led the way, you walked along with Theo a few steps behind. Up close the manor wasn’t as perfect as you had assumed. Although the bricks ran even, and the walls met the floors steadily, You started to see cracks creeping up the walls.

“Allegedly the place was built as a wedding present back in the 1800’s for a man’s wife. She was some sort of heiress and after the wedding she was never seen again, and the place was left abandoned.”

Steven’s voice carried through the empty space, making you feel very small as if the vastness of the house was a gaping maw and you were walking into a place that wouldn’t spit you out.

As the three of you made it to the second floor landing and turned the corner you heard a whisper that sounded like your name. There was no one else around, you were sure of that. You shook it off, but couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was watching you.

The landing split off in hallways on both sides and proceeded to a large sitting room straight ahead. On the center most console table there was a note.

“See,” Steven said, waiving the paper around, “they just had business out of town and wanted to beat the rain.”

Theo laughed, “unlike us who will have to swim home in the morning.”

“Well, now what?” You asked, failing to hide the trepidation in your voice, that whisper still clinging to the back of your mind.

“Now we explore,” Steven said grinning, “and find some place to sleep for the night.”

Theo snatched the letter out of his hands and skimmed it quickly, “well if this is to believe there are six color-coded guest rooms so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at both of them before setting out. To the left of the central room the hallway ended at what you assumed to be the children’s room. The massive pile of plush toys in the corner was a dead giveaway. The beds were traditional four posters, the bedding modern. It was a nice reminder that real people still lived here.

The walk-in closet was really an alcove shaded by sheer curtains, behind them stood two ancient bassinets. Flecks of the paint littered the ground, the names were illegible from the years of use and then subsequent neglect. The legs were shaped like storks, and for a moment you thought you saw something reflected in one of their glass eyes.

A gaunt paper face seemed to smile at you, it’s rotten teeth falling out as it whispered your name- eerily like a nightmare you had as a child. You gasped, blinked, and it was gone except for the whispered words carried along the air. Words that not only knew your name but where you lived, and who you loved.

“What is it?” Theo was the first to your side, she had been holding a few of the toys in her hands trying to get a feel for the quality of life the children lived there.

“Did you hear that? I thought I heard my name…”

Theo looked scared for just a second, “No… but the storm is getting pretty bad out there. You know old houses make noise.”

Steven crossed over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, “stuff like that happened in these houses. People expect things, want to see things. Nothing to worry about, probably just the wind.”

You smile up at him, and then over at Theo “Thanks, I guess the whole ‘ghost hunt’ thing is just getting to me.”

Theo nodded before opting to turn back to the toys. Steven lingered for a moment longer before steering you across the narrow hallway into the study.

You approached the dilapidated bookshelf in the corner. The titles were faded with use, the structure covered in a thin coat of dust. You waved Steven over and picked up the only clean book, it wasn’t necessarily part of the job to snoop but it was out of place, it practically called to you.

He held the book and turned it over, the language wasn’t one either of you recognized and curiosity got the better of both of you. He opened the book in half, and began thumbing through the pages.

As the pages turned, you could almost see your reflection move across the pages like a zoetrope. The flesh on the face peeled and flakes with each passing page until it was no longer yours and again it grinned. But this time the paper face screamed your name and demanded things you didn’t dare repeat. Suddenly your legs felt weak. You grabbed onto his arm for support.

“I heard that!” Theo yelled running over, “I fucking heard that.”

“I think someone’s watching us,” you said slowly, your hand still gripping Steven’s arm. “I heard someone whispering when we first walked in, and before in the nursery.”

“We swept the entire house before we started investigating,” Theo said, “besides that didn’t even sound human.”

“I think they’re right Theo,” Steven said gently, “someone probably snuck in. Maybe they followed us here.”

“I think we should leave,” Theo said her face going pale as she started to see all too familiar shadows move in the darkness.

“We don’t have to stay the night,” Steven conceded, “but these people are expecting me to give it a good chance before-“

“Before what?” Theo crossed her arms over her chest, “this isn’t even your job! And it’s not like you need another bestseller?”

“No you know what? You’re just jealous. This whole time you keep weaseling yourself in where you’re not wanted and I’m sick of it.” Steven’s typical resolve snapped and his entire mood shifted.

All around him he could see the walls closing in, his mind replaying scenarios where his family hated him and you did too. The real threat wasn’t Theo, the real threat was creating those very thoughts. But he couldn’t see that, he couldn’t believe it. Theo would have believed it, but her fears were overwhelming and everything she thought she saw approaching clouded whatever clear judgment you desperately needed

You heard footsteps on the third floor, the manor’s attic and long-closed servants’ quarters. “Hey, I think there’s someone-“

“Oh shut up! You always have to play Mister Perfect,” Theo said interrupting you, “as if you have no issues or anything. Newsflash asshole I can feel when you’re lying!”

“The only thing you know how to feel up is bridesmaids!”

“Shut up!” As the words rushed out of Theo’s mouth the ceiling shook with a noise that certainly wasn’t thunder.

“Those footsteps are right above us,” you said pointedly, finally holding their attention.

“We’ve been friends since I was twelve. I like spending time with you both. So maybe we can put that aside for now and get back to the whole haunted house thing?” You looked between them both and noticed they couldn’t really see you. Both Theo and Steven looked miles away, their eyes hazy as if someone else was in control behind them.

“You don’t get it,” Steve scoffed, “after all these years you still don’t get it!”

“Shut up Steve,” Theo begged, her eyes clearing for a fraction of a second.

“No not this time Theo just because you love them too, doesn’t mean you can keep trying to orchestrate this entire mess! Ghosts. Aren’t. Real!” His voice thundered over the rain but couldn’t drown out the paper face’s frail voice screaming into your mind.

You didn’t have time to process their accidental confessions as the voice echoing through the walls kept saying things that made your head spin. Between Steven and Theo bickering, and this thing that knew your name- you reached a breaking point and you bolted from the room. You had to get out of here before whoever was on the other end could find you. But as you moved through the manor it changed around you. It heard you, and did what it had to do to trap you.

Your feet slammed against the hardwood floors, unsure of where you were going in the darkness. You had to leave, you had to get out of there. Whoever- whatever it was knew your name it knew your thoughts...it knew your secrets. You tried to rationalize the experience but kept getting stuck on time. How long has it been watching you? How long had it been following you?

After an impossible stretch of time the hallway ended at another room and you slammed the door behind you. Shaking, you sank to the floor leaning against the wood to keep it closed. It was like every nightmare you've ever had come to life. Hallways with no end, someone who’d been following you, unseen threats… you felt like your mind had been cracked open and all it’s worst thoughts twisted out from the sinews of your brain into the last hours of your life.

You were beyond frightened and for a moment it seemed like the room around you was safe. It felt cozy, safe. A door on the other side of the room you hadn’t noticed slowly creeped open. You still held your head in your hands, and you couldn’t hear the approaching footsteps behind your shallow sobs. Wet feet walked right up to your huddled form, footprints colored with blood, dirt, and rainwater closed in around you and their owner simply stood there watching you dry heave and gasp for air.

You felt cold all of a sudden and remembered something Theo had told you once about growing up in her family home. “If you don’t look, it’ll go away.”

You could hear her voice as if she was sitting there and you screwed your teary eyes shut. The cold lingered and you slowly grew silent. You heard footsteps retreating as the thing that watched you crawled back into the wall. The coldness left with it, hopefully you were now alone.

Even without looking you knew that thing was whatever had been whispering to you earlier. It had been inside the house for a long time, and on some level you knew if you opened your eyes, you’d be in this house for a long time too.

You couldn’t cry so you trembled violently as you yelled for help, you screamed for Theo and Steven until your throat felt raw and bloody and you didn’t know if the pounding was in your head, or from the door behind you.

The thing to snap you out of it was your name, it wasn’t said in a thin whisper from a rotting paper face, it was Theo’s voice and Steven’s.

“Please open the door,” Theo called gently through the wood.

“We’re right here,” Steven said, his voice breaking over the syllables.

Your heaving slowed, your screaming stopped. Trembling, you slid forward moving your weight off the floor.

They pushed the door open and froze in place. Part of the wall across the room had a gaping hole torn through the wallpaper and insulation. Behind it the original bricks had fallen out of place to reveal a pit of blackness, the edges coated in sludge and what looked like blood. You sat on the floor huddled with your head between your knees, a trail of the same muck reaching just before you.

You felt Steven’s arms around you and heard Theo’s voice urge you to open your eyes. You blinked your eyes open and saw Theo investigating the rotten hole. What you saw terrified you more than anything you’d already heard. The room was a dead end, there were no doors or windows; the trail was exactly where you heard the footsteps. Even Steven looked truly scared, as Theo shrieked and jumped back from the hole.

Later, as the cops interviewed you about the two skeletons in the wall, the one old the other new- you noticed the rest of the wallpaper was mottled with mold. Nothing was what it seemed and leaving the home you knew nothing between the three of you would ever be the same.

[not-delicious-milk]

unspoken

pairing | fushiguro megumi x itadori yuuji, kugisaki nobara x zenin maki

content | um i think this counts as slow burn maybe, idk instrospection? sort of fluffy and sort of angsty? just two emotionally constipated bois and one (1) really bad wingman. or maybe a great wingman. depends on how you look at it. i think this is funny.

word count | 3.2k

form | oneshot

originally posted | 30 December 2020

author's note | i really wanted to make a joke about sukuna having 2 dicks but unfortunately there was no opportunity to. also i did all that research about heian period courtship and what did it amount to? like 3 sentences

He met Fushiguro's eyes, and balked slightly at their intensity. They always seemed to bore right through him, as if his skin was glass and Fushiguro interested himself more in what lay underneath. Not that there's anything he cares about in there.

"You're not hurt, are you? I did push you kind of hard."

Yuuji shook his head quickly. "No, I'm fine." He tried to set his mouth in a neutral line, like Fushiguro so often did.

Fushiguro nodded curtly, and turned to leave, back to where Ijichi was waiting with the car. Yuuji's fingers twitched.

or

yuuji doesn't know how to talk to fushiguro. sukuna "helps."

Fushiguro sure looks nice today. 

Yuuji sighed and looked away. He really needed to focus on the mission. There was a grade 2 curse somewhere on the premises of this abandoned building, and if he kept staring at Fushiguro, he'd probably get— 

"Look out!" Yuuji was only briefly aware of the curse's presence before he was aware of concrete, a dull throbbing in his side as he realized Fushiguro just saved him — again — and was busy siccing his Divine Dog on the curse that appeared while he was distracted. 

This is embarrassing, he grumbled to himself. 

You've got that right.

Yuuji did his best to tune out Sukuna's voice as he got up and into battle position. Fushiguro seemed to have the situation under control, so he focused on cleaning up the lower-grade curses swarming around them. 

Something flickered at the edge of his perception. This time, he wouldn't be caught off guard — Yuuji launched himself at the curse on the other end of the room, intercepting it before it had the chance to so much as look at Fushiguro.

"I didn't need your help for that one," scoffed Fushiguro as his Divine Dog slunk back into his shadow. "Honestly, I could have done this alone. Don't know why you insisted on coming."

Yuuji bit back a retort. "I need the experience, right?"

He met Fushiguro's eyes, and balked slightly at their intensity. They always seemed to bore right through him, as if his skin was glass and Fushiguro interested himself more in what lay underneath. Not that there's anything he cares about in there. 

"You're not hurt, are you? I did push you kind of hard." 

Yuuji shook his head quickly. "No, I'm fine." He tried to set his mouth in a neutral line, like Fushiguro so often did. 

Fushiguro nodded curtly, and turned to leave, back to where Ijichi was waiting with the car. Yuuji's fingers twitched. 

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

Movie night was usually somewhat less stressful than fighting a curse. Usually. 

The film was something Yuuji was pretty sure Gojo-sensei had found at the very back of the clearance shelf. The DVD store probably paid him to take it off their hands. It wasn't even so bad it was good, it was just bad. 

Kugisaki had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the opening credits. At first, he'd been a little confused and concerned for her health — it was only 6 pm, after all — but sneaking a peek at her phone screen when it lit up intermittently afforded him all the clues he needed. Kugisaki had been texting Maki-senpai, probably for a while, and probably all night. 

Her phone screen lit up again — they were a few hours into the movie, and surely Maki realized she wasn't going to respond, right? Yuuji strained his eyes and recognized the thumbnail of what could only be described as a cursed image. Is that a floating banana? What the— 

Something stirred in his chest. Jealousy? Why? Because Maki and Kugisaki had only been texting for a couple of weeks, and they already shared inside jokes that made Kugisaki laugh like a hyena in the middle of the night? Because they never needed to ask, to confirm, before sharing something — a word, a bag of chips, a seat, a jacket? Because when Kugisaki looked at Maki, with that vulnerability in her eyes that she always disguised with harsh words and thinly veiled threats of violence, Maki looked back?

Yuuji couldn't stop himself from looking at the other person on the couch with him. Fushiguro looked like he was going to cry of boredom. Or punch someone. Or both. 

Should I switch the movie? I don't think he likes it. 

Well, Gojo-sensei picked it. He would probably be offended.

Yuuji looked around. His teacher was conspicuously absent. No way! He's the one who forced us all to watch this shit, and he just leaves before it's over?

"Hey, um…" The question was past his lips before he could stop himself. "Fushiguro, is there something you'd rather…" Yuuji already knew what his answer was going to be. There were plenty of things Fushiguro would rather be doing, let alone watching. Reading a book, for one. Alone. 

He received only a vague shrug in return. "Do whatever you want."

Yuuji found himself staring blankly at the floor. An oppressive silence blanketed the room, even with the vague sound effects and poorly dubbed dialogue coming from the TV. 

This is torture. Say something already.

I would if I could, okay? Unless you have any better ideas.

That managed to shut Sukuna up, at least for a moment. Good. All that was left was to sit through the last scenes of the movie and go back to his room and scream into his pillow. 

Yuuji could feel his forehead flushing and his eyes starting to burn. Oh, no no no no no. Why is this so awkward? At least Fushiguro can't see anything since all the lights are off. Or maybe he can see in the dark, like a vampire? Come to think of it, he is pretty pale… He's probably not saying anything to be polite. I bet he can see everything. I bet he's reading my mind right now with that stupid look of his. 

"I need to go to the bathroom," Yuuji said, a little louder and a little higher than he intended. Fushiguro only raised an eyebrow at him and went back to watching the screen.

As soon as he was out of the dorm common room, Yuuji sucked in a breath of air. 

"Coward."

This time, the cold voice he was so used to hearing came from the back of his hand. Yuuji didn't have anything to say in response. If he did, it would only be in agreement. How pathetic of him. 

"You're damn right that it's pathetic. It's a miracle you can even stand up straight, given your lack of a spine."

Yuuji was almost at the door to his bedroom. 

"I'll help you, just this once."

He froze. Since when did Sukuna help with anything?

"I don't believe you," he muttered.

An eye opened on his hand just to roll itself at him. "I'm the one who has to listen to your self-deprecating monologues, and I'm getting sick of it. Just tell him how you feel, brat." Sukuna's disembodied lips curled into a smirk. "If you don't, I will."

"No way!" Yuuji whisper-shouted. He practically sprinted into his room and, in the absence of a lock, pushed a chair behind his door to grant the illusion of privacy. But Sukuna wasn't done yet, and the next time he closed his eyes, Yuuji found himself ankle-deep in what he really hoped wasn't blood, and looked up a pile of ox skulls at the last person he wanted to hear romantic advice from. 

Sukuna absentmindedly picked at long, black nails. "Why don't you switch with me? I'll be sure not to embarrass myself, so don't worry about that."

"That's kind of creepy. Aren't you like, a thousand years old?" Yuuji wrinkled his nose. "Do you just want him all to yourself?"

Sukuna made a face. "Oh, that's disgusting." He made a retching sound, like a cat coughing up a hairball. "Imply that again and I'll kill you in your sleep."

Yuuji was, at the very least, thankful that the murderous curse sharing his body had standards.

"Now the image is burned into my brain. Look at what you've done, brat." Yuuji only recognized the sensation of being cut into pieces and immediately restored because of how many times his conversations with Sukuna had ended that way. Still, he stumbled a little at the sudden disorientation. 

"Hmm." Sukuna tapped his nails on a skull. "Brat, what have you been educated in?"

"Huh? Aren't you the one who complains about having to sit through my algebra classes? You already know what I'm educated in. Um," Yuuji furrowed his brow. "I took piano lessons when I was 8? Not that I was any good at it."

Sukuna sighed. "I don't care about your algebra or your piano lessons. I mean your courtly skills."

"Uh."

Yuuji heard the creaking of bone, and he was met with two pairs of blood-red eyes suddenly before him. 

"Calligraphy? Poetry?"

"No…?"

Sukuna leaned in closer. "So, nothing then? You know nothing?"

Yuuji pushed him away. "Um, you've seen my handwriting."

"Kids these days." Sukuna clicked his tongue. "How standards have fallen."

"You know, a lot of things have changed between now and when you were alive. For one, there's this new thing called personal space."

The curse ignored him. Yuuji blinked and saw the ceiling of his dorm room, back at home in his body. 

Do you at least have a brush, then?

No, weirdo. I have a pen, if that's good enough for you.

Tch.

Seriously, how are you this far behind? I thought you were starting to get this modern era stuff. 

I am trying to salvage the situation you've put me in, brat. How will you write a letter to him without putting care into your calligraphy?

Nobody said anything about a letter! 

This is how it was done in my time. You certainly don't have any better options.

"Fine, I'll Google it then," Yuuji mumbled. He opened his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys. Slowly, he typed out "how to tell someone you like them."

The advice was all very vague. It was awkward enough to admit to himself that he liked Fushiguro in a way that went past friendship. It was worse that Sukuna's eye was wide open on his cheek and reading everything he did, reminding Yuuji somewhat of a teacher hovering behind him in the computer lab and reading over his shoulder. 

"It says you should give him a gift. I have an idea." Yuuji didn't want to hear Sukuna's idea. "You should give him the carcass of a beast you slew yourself." Yuuji didn't want to hear any more of Sukuna's ideas. 

"Sukuna, have you ever actually done this before? Because I don't think that would work, even if it was a thousand years ago."

"Why would I need to do such a thing?"

That was a little surprising. "Well, you sounded so confident, I thought you had experience or something."

"Love is a fruitless endeavor. The only thing that matters in this world is the spilling of blood upon the earth, and everything that comes between. But you're so annoying that I decided to stoop down to your level so I could help you. You should be grateful."

"Stoop down to my level? What, is this wounding your pride?"

"My pride isn't something so easily scarred. Hearing your constant chattering, all revolving around that Fushiguro boy, is much more painful than condescending to help you." 

"What's with the flowery language all of a sudden?"

"You really are uncultured."

"Well—" 

The sound of someone knocking at his door startled Yuuji out of his carefully constructed comeback, laced with a few choice words he'd learned from Kugisaki the last time she stubbed her toe. 

"Itadori? The movie's over." Oh fuck. "You left your phone on the couch." The doorknob rattled. 

"Uh, just a second!" Yuuji slammed his laptop shut and dragged the chair out of the way before opening the door.

Fushiguro blinked. "Itadori, were you watching po—"

"Nope! No, I wasn't," Yuuji said, fully aware that every word he spoke only cemented that conclusion in Fushiguro's mind. "I'm just going to take my phone now. See you tomorrow!" 

Yuuji grabbed his phone and made a move to close the door, but Fushiguro caught his wrist. His grip was firm and cool to the touch. 

"You've been acting strange lately. Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," Yuuji said automatically. His lips had probably memorized the shape of those words by now. 

"No, you aren't." Fushiguro's grip tightened a little, as if worried that Yuuji would try to snake out of it. I could try. I'm stronger than him.

"Itadori, look at me."

Shakily, Yuuji turned. Blue eyes met hazel. He felt naked somehow under the spotlight of Fushiguro's penetrating gaze. Oh god, that sounds so wrong. I don't want to think about that, not now.

"Is it something I said? Or did something else happen to you? I want to know." 

(It had nothing to do with anything Fushiguro said, and everything to do with what he didn't.)

Itadori. I need you.

"I said I'm fine."

"And I said you're not." Fushiguro sighed a little and closed his eyes. The flutter of his eyelashes was distracting. "I'm worried about you."

Fushiguro? Worried about him? 

"Why?" Yuuji knew it was a stupid question, but he was feeling pretty stupid at the moment. "Why would you do that?"

"Why—" Fushiguro's grip on Yuuji's wrist loosened in surprise. Yuuji twisted himself away, ready to cache himself in his room, but Fushiguro caught the sleeve of his hoodie instead. Worse, he stepped inside and uncomfortably close to Yuuji.

He could already feel his face turning red, and this time he couldn't rely on the cover of darkness. 

"You're seriously asking me why I worry about you?" Fushiguro's voice didn't sound quite as even as it usually did. Yuuji didn't let himself hope it was concern. "You died in front of me, Yuuji. I… I had nightmares about it for months. Of course I'm worried."

He didn't know if it was Fushiguro's sudden use of his first name, or the quiver that accompanied it, but Yuuji's blood froze. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. 

Fushiguro positioned himself in front of Yuuji, and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. His sapphire-blue eyes, normally so cold and distant, glittered with repressed tears. Yuuji stared at his lips instead. They looked so soft. Fushiguro had been biting them again; they were slightly flushed and raw in some places. 

"Please." Fushiguro was barely whispering now, his words only meant for the two of them. "I don't…"

I don't want to lose you again.  

Yuuji opened his mouth to speak, but didn't know where to start. How could he claim insecurity now that Fushiguro had been so vulnerable with him? His anxieties suddenly seemed very small and pitiful in the face of the burden he'd saddled on his friends. It was his fault that Fushiguro was close to tears now, when he could face curses on his own without a flicker of fear. Dark, thick shame sat heavily in his throat, and all he could do was gasp for air. 

You should take off your shirt.

Indignation replaced guilt in one swift motion. I am not taking off my shirt. 

"Sorry, Fushiguro." The apology was too quick, too shallow. "I'm sorry. For… everything." The back of his throat stung. "I'm sorry for bothering you. Please, just…" Just go. Just leave me alone. 

Just leave me to die. 

"You don't have to worry about me."

It's only going to hurt you in the end.

"I'll be f—"

Fushiguro grabbed him by the back of the head, subtracting from the distance between their faces. "How many times are you going to say you're fine? Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?" 

Don't say it. 

"Is it so hard to consider that I—" Fushiguro's voice broke. A gentle flush crept across his neck as he seemed to realize how close their faces were. 

Yuuji's vision blurred around the edges. Time crawled to a standstill, and there was nothing but the slope of Fushiguro's lips, trembling with words unsaid. Yuuji could hear his heart beating in his ears. He wondered if Fushiguro could hear it too, and if he felt some small comfort in knowing that the heart he had seen torn from its body and discarded like offal had been restored, and that it could beat and bleed and break again. 

"Would you just kiss him already?" 

Yuuji would have liked to think Sukuna had kept that comment for his ears only, but the way Fushiguro reeled back and turned beet red confirmed otherwise. 

"Your purple prose is getting on my nerves. I think I preferred it when you couldn't string sentences together." The lips on his cheek curled. "Honestly, if you had just taken your shirt off like I said, this would have been over already. I should have done it for you."

"What do you have against shirts? Haven't you ruined enough of my hoodies?"

Fushiguro cleared his throat. "Um."

Yuuji's face burned. "Oh. Uh. Sorry about that."

"What is it with you and apologies? You don't have to be sorry for everything." But Fushiguro was laughing. His mask had cracked, or perhaps he removed it himself. 

Yuuji couldn't help but smile. "I'll stop being sorry when you stop acting like you don't need anyone."

Fushiguro's face darkened slightly, as if wrapped in a shadow. "Is that what it was? I—"

Yuuji punched him lightly in the arm before he could apologize. "You're so emotionally constipated." 

The tiniest of grins played on Fushiguro's lips. "So…" He leaned in closer. "What was that about kissing me?"

And this time Yuuji leaned into it, letting Fushiguro take everything he had. His eyelashes, still wet from almost crying, brushed against Yuuji's face as they breathed each other in. Yuuji found himself clinging to him like a lifeline, as if any moment he might slip away.

I'm not going to leave you behind.

He was laughing and crying at the same time. "I never thought you liked me back," Yuuji gasped when he broke away for air.

Fushiguro traced his thumb under Yuuji's eye. "You really are dense, you know that?" "So I've been told."

Is this what I was looking for?

Yuuji melted into him, kissing him like a drowning man gasps for air. How could he have deluded himself into thinking he was alone? How, when Fushiguro's body fit him like a puzzle piece, and they were embracing each other like they had never been separate? 

You're welcome. Brat.

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

"You know, I thought you'd at least notice all the times I was staring at you," Fushiguro mumbled sleepily. Their rhythm had slowed and now Yuuji was small and limp in his arms, playing with a strand of his hair. 

"Nope. Not even once." A sea of drowsiness threatened to engulf Yuuji, but he stubbornly resisted, if only to stay with Fushiguro for a moment more. He suppressed a yawn. 

"Gojo caught me watching you train once. He tortured me about it for a week." Fushiguro chuckled softly. "Um, he takes a lot of pictures of you. If you ever find a really blurry photo of you sparring in my room, that's why."

"Mm-hmm." Who knew Fushiguro was so warm? 

"Hey."

Yuuji's gaze flickered up to Fushiguro's eyes. Oh, he thought. They're so open. I can see right through him. 

"I'm here. Okay?"

I'm not going anywhere.

"Okay."

Neither am I.

And there was nothing but Fushiguro's breathing, and the heaviness of sleep, and the weight of words unspoken between them. 

[artificialqueens]

Love is a Dog From Hell, 1/5 (Rosnali) - Mattels

is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)

aka denali’s a figure skating coach, rosé’s a ski coach; the rest is history

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322/chapters/73479360

-

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“ As of currently? I’m here, as of currently! ”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt ? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip . And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

tags: rosé, denali foxx, gottmik, rosnali, rivals to lovers, coach au, figure skating au, skiing au, lesbian au, love is a dog from hell, mattels

show my blog ! <3

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift que.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–didn’t you snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully, splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“As of currently? I’m here, as of currently!”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip. And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on the board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

[kyidyl]

Kyidyl Explains Bones Part 5

(These are under the KyidylBones tag.)

How to dig up dead people.

So, in my Kyidyl Does Archaeology series I talked a bunch about how digging up places was different than digging up people.  And you don’t have to read that to understand this, but it might be a little easier for you because I’m not going to re-address the same basics I covered there.  

Ethical Stuff: So is digging up dead people ethical? I mean, I think so if strict rules are followed, but honestly the POVs here are as different as people themselves are.  Some cultures routinely dig up their own dead and do all kinds of things with the remains.  I wish they wouldn’t but, hey, that’s just me.  I respect that their culture and choices aren’t the ones I’d make.  It’s part of being an anthropologist of any flavor.  And, like that one post implies, there really isn’t much of a different between grave robbing and archaeology.  The biggest difference is the care we take, the respect we try our best to show, and the purposes to which we put the remains.  However, there is a difference between exhumation and archaeology.  General rule of thumb: if there’s someone living still that would have first-hand experience of them or if they still exist strongly in cultural memory, it’s exhumation. There’s no hard and fast number of years where it moves from exhumation to archaeology.  Sometimes it’s the context that makes the difference.  For example, Richard the 3rd’s bones were excavated from that carpark.  If they were removed from where they were reinterred, then they’d be exhumed.  But the TL;DR of it is that digging up people is incredibly ethically complex and you have to do your best to be respectful.  If you aren’t the type of person who can really put yourself in someone else’s shoes and be ok with respecting the desires of a specific culture regarding their own dead...then archaeology is not the right area for you, and that goes double for bioarch.  These people had lives and were loved and valued by those around them, and you need to be sensitive.  

The legality of digging up human remains also varies wildly from country to country.  In the US, we adhere to NAGPRA.  If you want a primer on what NAGPRA is and how it works, you can check out this post that I made.  

Also a quick reminder that we don’t name the individuals.  They had names and you don’t get to give them a new one.  

Beyond this cut there be pictures of human remains.  

How do you know where to dig? Sometimes, honestly....we don’t.  We’re just making educated guesses based on migration patterns and known settlements and research into local history.  Generally, if there’s a group of people who lived somewhere, they also did something with their dead.  So if you have a settlement, you’ll probably find bodies in it or near it at some point.  Sometimes people find remains and are like “uuuuuhhhhh....” and we come and dig ‘em up.  This is especially true on private property.  Farmers are notorious for this.  Construction, too, obviously.  Sometimes we look in caves, because very old caves have lots of dirt on the floors and a lot of times if it’s a good cave there’ll be bones in it.  Sometimes people threw their dead in bogs and now we have stuff that isn’t skeletons but is really old.  

(Source)

That is a whole ass human dude.  He’s around 2000 years old.  You can still see his facial hair.  

So there’s a lot of science behind how and why different environments preserve bodies differently, and I couldn’t possibly get into the detail of that here, but it’s definitely a factor we consider.  A swamp in Florida isn’t a good place to expect to find remains, you know? General rule of thumb is: more water = less body, unless there water isn’t standard water (it’s very alkaline, very acidic, or very frozen.).  Dry, cold landscapes like the Andes are great for preserving bodies.  

So what you find when you go looking is going to vary wildly depending on the environment.  My personal experience, though, is in graveyards.  Graveyards are an easy thing to dig because it’s not uncommon to just like...know where one was.  But graveyards aren’t the orderly things you’d expect them to be, not even modern graveyards.  People bury their loved ones on top of other people, graves intersect, and sometimes people would sneak bodies into the consecrated part of the graveyard when the priests/monks/etc. said they couldn’t be buried there.  So you can have bodies mixed with other bodies or under other bodies or just like random parts of people that were dug up, someone said “oops”, and then they were re-buried in a different spot.  So when we dig a graveyard, we keep complex records of where all of the remains were found, including in-depth drawings.  This is one way in which it’s similar to digging up a settlement.  It’s...pretty much the only way in which it’s similar.  Because part of the reason we do this is so we don’t mix up peoples’ body parts.  Graveyards aren’t what you expect - when I was digging in one we thought we’d gotten most of the bodies out so we were using a mattock to make sure and the site director missed cracking the skull of an intact child by about a centimeter.  Luckily the swing tore up a little bit of dirt and exposed it, but if it hadn’t? The next swing would have gone right through and inflicted heavy damage.  So you have to be careful even in a graveyard.  

Another thing about graves is that it doesn’t take long for the wood of a coffin to decay, so when you dig them up you will often just find the body and sometimes some nails.  The nails are good, because they show you the outline of where you can expect to find parts of the same individual.  This is one of the ways we show respect - we do everything in our power to NOT mix up the remains of different individuals and to separate them when we can.  

Let me sidebar here for a minute to explain.  See, your bones fit together.  I don’t meant “ah yes, everyone’s shin bone connects to their thigh bone”.  No, I mean that those bones have grown together in the same space for YEARS and they fit exactly.  They have the same texture and thickness, they go together like puzzle pieces....at the spots where the bones touch.  Or, as we say, articulate with each other.  See, if I were to take, say, my cuboid and try to trade it with someone else’s, it wouldn’t articulate right.  But something big like a tibia and femur will not be as easy to piece back together.  That, and we don’t always have complete bodies.  So we have something called “MNI” meaning “Minimum Number of Individuals”, and the maximum.  So...three left femurs mean at least three people.  Four right humeruses mean at least four people, so the minimum is 4.  However! We don’t know if any of those left femurs or right humeruses belonged to the same person because they don’t articulate with each other.  So the maximum is seven people.  We have between 4 and 7 people in that set of remains.  This becomes really important when you’re dealing with intersecting graves, mass graves, etc.  Any time the remains are what we call comingled (mixed).  This is what we’re really meticulous when recording where we found a given bone or set of bones.  

Ok, back to the main thing.  So...how DO we dig up dead people, anyway? It’s generally done in three stages: 

Exposing - This is where we dig down just enough to cleanly expose what we believe to be the margins of the grave.  We dig to the edges of the grave, not to a set square size like you would with a settlement. This is where we dig really cleanly, expose any grave goods, take pictures, etc.  And it looks like this: 

(Source.  Was super frustrating searching for this bc I have several of these pics on my phone of the graves we dug and can’t use them for privacy/ethical reasons.) 

Pedestaling/Cleaning - This is when we dig down around the skeleton and the grave goods, and then we start digging under the bones in preparation for the last stage.  This is time consuming, detailed work.  When I was doing this with the child we found, I used a mini trowel the size of my thumbnail and a dental pick.  It’s *especially* important with juveniles because their bones aren’t fused and those unfused pieces are *tiny*.  They literally look like clods of dirt.  Most archs - rightfully - can’t stomach the idea of throwing pieces of a human body into the spoil heap, so we’re as careful as we can be.  This part, when done right, takes days.  It’s a difficult thing to get a picture of, but this one is close: 

(Source)

The tags aren’t something I was taught needed to be done, but I can see why someone would.  They’re basically just grave goods and features of the grave.  They’ll be used to make a map of what’s what later on when the writeup is being done.  

Lifting - We never just pull a bone out of the ground because it damages them.  So we dig around them until they’re ready to come out on their own (and in the case of a large set of broken bones like you see above in that person’s skull, we’d just take the whole pile - dirt and all - for processing in the lab later.  And no, it’s not normal to have the skull glued back together.  We don’t glue remains together.).  If one piece comes out before the others, it is bagged and tagged.  We try not to have them come out separately, but it’s better to do that then to lose one.  When we’ve cleared all the dirt out, we “lift” the skeleton, IE, remove it from the grave.  If I included a pic of this it would just be an empty grave. :P 

We make sure to take all of the grave goods and any soil samples with us, all carefully labeled.  Fun fact about soil samples BTW.  The soil around the bones and especially in the abdominal cavity can retain molecular traces and bacterial from the flesh that tell us about their gut flora and diet or about any parasites they had (parasites were super common back in the day.).  It’s....really cool.  So a sometimes, if we suspect that there might be money for that kind of analysis, we’ll take soil samples of the gut region.  

We are...well, we’re very ritualistic about all of this.  It is, of course, for scientific rigour.  But part of it is that we’re systematically dismantling these peoples’ final resting places.  They had lives and loves and spiritual beliefs that we are disturbing.  This is sacred ground for so many cultures.  So it always feels a bit like we’re doing these things in a specific way to show respect to the resting dead.  That’s why in my 4 types of anthropologists post awhile back I said that archs are chaotic outside the pit but anal inside it. We want to learn from the dead, and it all feels a bit ritualistic if I’m being honest.  And there’s this juxtaposition of digging in the dirt, in the chaos of earth and time, in a very structured, clean, orderly way.  

Aaaannnyway I think that’s it for this installment.  Ask box is open, I check comments and tags and whatnot.  Tomorrow I think I’m gonna do age determination.  How old were they when they died? Hmmmmm... 

[rotationalsymmetry]

Thinking about the twitter "villain of the week" phenomenon and call outs that turn into dogpiles. Imagine you're with your family or some other large group for a holiday dinner. Everyone's eaten and you're back in the kitchen washing dishes, with someone else drying. Suddenly, the person drying the dishes notices you missed a spot on one of the plates. Now, people who aren't assholes (and even quite a lot of assholes for that matter) will just be "oh, you missed a spot" and hand it back to you to clean up. Because missing a spot when you're washing dishes is normal and no big deal. So you say "oops" or something and fix it and all's good. But maybe it doesn't go like that. Maybe they go "tsk, (your name) is being so irresponsible, they can't even do something as simple as washing a plate" and then suddenly your entire family show up with a list of everything you've ever done wrong since age 5. That would be utter bullshit, right? That would be emphatically not accountability, right? That would be your family deciding to make your life miserable just so they could feel superior or whatever, right? (That would be abuse, or at least something very close to abuse, since y'know it's important to name things what they are.) (I mean...a lot of people do the "let's talk about 20 different things you've done wrong at one go" thing without it being abuse per se...but it sure as fuck isn't functional.) (And no, the degree of the offense doesn't really affect things. If you, say, abandoned your terminally ill spouse to run off with the affair partner you'd been cheating on them with for the entirety of your marriage, that would be really bad, and it still wouldn't make sense for your family to all get together to tell you what a terrible person you are while bringing up things you did ages ago and so on. The focus should always be on making it better, not on painting the offender as a shitty person. No matter how big the offense. Figuring out who's going to take care of the ill spouse, not determining the exact level of assholery of the abandoning spouse and whether everyone should have known from one thing they said 15 years ago, right? There can be consequences, like not inviting especially nasty people to future events, without engagement.)

So, at one point I joined this one group on Facebook, when I was relatively new to social media. I mean, I'd been on FB for ages, but I'd just been following what my friends posted, I hadn't joined any groups specifically to engage with people that I didn't already know over shared interests. (A very different FB experience.) This group was nominally about being bisexual, but an awful lot of the posts (several a week) involved someone innocuously equating genitals to gender, or some other language thing that ignores the existence of trans people. (This was before I ID'd as nonbinary, but on a personal level that sort of thing still doesn't bug me. I recognize it bugs other people, and it is reasonable for people who do care about this to want other people to alter the language they use.) I'm not talking blatantly hostile stuff like calling trans women men. I'm talking the things that people who grew up being told there's boys and girls and you can tell which is which by looking at them, just do because they haven't yet adjusted their worldview yet. Intent isn't the same as impact, but there is a difference between an innocent mistake and outright hostility. And there'd be literally dozens of people making the exact same callout. And because there were so many responses, everybody in the group would see the post, because that's how FB's algorithm works. And then this would happen again the next day and a couple days after that. And I (being new to this sort of thing) was just like, wtf? Wouldn't it make more sense to set things up so that the mods have to approve posts so they can quietly shut those down and privately tell the posters what rewrites they have to make? Or at least shut down those posts as soon as a mod catches them, or make one callout and shut down replies so it doesn't turn into this snowball that you can't miss? If the problem is this is hurtful to trans people, why intensify that hurt by making sure every trans person in the group ends up seeing the post?

I eventually left.

I imagine people had good intentions, or at least thought they did. That "educating people" this way was the important thing. But thing is, mostly it teaches people that that behavior is OK, that behavior that recall I've already explicitly described as verbal abuse or at least as something very close to verbal abuse, and that's a terrible lesson. This is not how decent human beings interact with other human beings. In similar groups I've also seen one person make a brief call out and the called out person say "oh, I didn't realize, I'll (edit the post, or whatever)" and that's it, and that's entirely different, you know? A single low-key call out, not the entire group piling on. Which is why I don't really like the term "call out culture", because sometimes people have cultures around making call-outs that are actually healthy and reasonable and not abusive, that are much healthier than the cultural default of "if you bring it up, you're the one making trouble," and it really should be normalized for people to do small low-key "hey, you missed a spot" checks without it turning into "I don't have a racist bone in my body". If the person doing the dishes goes "I am a perfect dish-washer and therefore that plate is clean, and how dare you say I don't know how to wash dishes right", that's also a problem. But I do think we should have a way to distinguish between normalizing saying "you missed a spot" about social justice language, and normalizing everybody within a mile radius jumping on and amplifying the message and bringing the person's past behavior into it and also literally telling the person who missed a spot that they're a terrible person.

Especially since, y'know, follow the money? Social media companies financially benefit from those pile-ons. They encourage them. It's in their business model. It's "engagement." If you're cynical about corporations in general or social media companies in particular (and if you're on tumblr, you probably are)...then part of that should be recognizing when social media companies are manipulating people into being more assholeish than they would be on their own. Even when, especially when, it's done in the name of social justice.

[spaceskam]

pull out the heart that keeps you feeling alone

Summary: Lan Sizhui and Wei Wuxian go on a night hunt together. It does not go as planned.

Word Count: 11,973

ao3

Wei Wuxian was gone for six months before he found himself.

That being said, what he found was a deep seeded need for stability and an even deeper need to get Hanguang-Jun naked. He made his way back with full intent to tell him that, but he ended up losing the words. He spent an entire week trying to find different times to tell Lan Wangji that he wanted him, but it never came. Even when they were alone in the Jingshi well past curfew and Lan Wangji was in nothing but his thin night robe and he would sit so close because he wanted to be there and…

So Wei Wuxian very quickly found an excuse to leave again.

It came in the form of a man-eating cave of sorts. It wasn’t really man-eating, as far as he could tell, but it had too many ghosts inside it and it caused people who went inside to become disoriented. Or, at least that was Wei Wuxian’s working theory. There were no monsters and the spiritual energy didn’t necessarily feel resentful as much as it just felt sad. It was, however, plaguing one of the less wealthy cities when people wandered inside for shelter and it’s leader had pleaded to Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji for assistance.

Wei Wuxian had jumped at the opportunity and he invited Lan Sizhui to come along. If he was correct in thinking it was disorienting, he really only trusted Sizhui not to cause more trouble by being too overwhelmed. That also meant he had to convince Wen Ning to stay behind. He was stubborn all the way up until introducing him to the bunnies.

Now Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui stood outside the entrance to the cave and he was more sure than ever that he was right. He could feel the sorrow from the ghosts inside the cave, spirits who had never been laid to rest properly. It was full of them.

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui breathed, his eyes wide. He could very clearly feel them too.

“Right, so, here’s the plan. While there's definitely a lot of spirits, I have to assume it’s one in particular that is so lonely that it’s keeping the rest of them around. There’s no way there’s so many lingering spirits in one place even if they did all die here. So we need to find the body of that one. We’ll probably come across a lot more bodies in all different states of decay,” he warned. Sizhui nodded solemnly. “We need to remember them properly, which we’ll use Inquiry to do. But the entire pull of this cave is disorientation. Do you know Clarity?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If it gets too much, we’ll stop and play that to help a bit. I think we’ll be alright though, just keep your focus set. And don’t leave my side because I don’t know how bad it’ll get.”

“Yes, Senior Wei,” he said. Wei Wuxian smiled at him. He was such a good kid, smart too. Lan Wangji gave him an education and the proper care Wei Wuxian never could’ve given him. Maybe things worked out exactly as they should’ve.

“Alright, lead the way,” Wei Wuxian said, but he quickly stepped in front of him anyway, “Actually, I’ll lead the way.”

Sizhui laughed softly in a way that reminded him of Lan Xichen more than anything, “Yes, Senior Wei.”

The air changed almost the minute they stepped into the cave and Wei Wuxian could feel the loneliness. There were so many spirits that were so close to each other and all craving someone. It was bitter and sad and reminded him too much of his time in the Burial Mounds. 

Loneliness, however, could be poison in spirits as it could be in the living. Wei Wuxian made it a few steps in before he no longer saw the light from the entrance of the cave and he was beginning to wonder if he took more than a few steps. He reached out behind him and felt Lan Sizhui’s robes, so he took hold of them.

“We should’ve held onto each other when we walked in,” Wei Wuxian said more to himself than Sizhui. That was his own mistake. Hopefully, he was actually holding onto Sizhui and not just something that felt like him because of his mind being distracted.

“It’s alright, it’s not too bad,” Sizhui said, “I can still see the entrance of the cave.”

Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh, “Well, at least we know it won’t give us the same hallucinations.”

Lan Sizhui used a talisman to light the way when things got dark for him as well and they would check things by saying them out loud. Did they both see a pile of bones with a Jin Sect robe as a blanket? Yes. Did they both see a puppet standing up and staring at them? No. When they couldn’t see the same thing, it was a matter of logic. If that didn’t work, then they hoped it wasn’t too dangerous for whoever was wrong.

But then Wei Wuxian started hearing things as well.

It started with small ‘hey’s, but it bled into him hearing Xiao Xingchen and Wen Qing and all the Wen aunts and uncles and the voices of disciples he grew up with who gave their lives at the Lotus Pier siege two decades prior. All of them calling for his attention. He struggled to ignore them, but when he heard shijie, he had to stop. 

“Okay, okay, stop,” Wei Wuxian said, closing his eyes and gripping Lan Sizhui’s robes a little tighter. He took a few deep breaths as that familiar feeling of resentful energy poking at him, asking him if he needed the assistance to soothe whatever was plaguing him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you hearing things at all? Or is it focusing on me for some reason?” he asked. Lan Sizhui shuffled a little.

“I keep getting a little confused, but it’s usually not being able to tell how many steps we’ve walked. And I can’t tell how long we’ve been in here. It felt like an hour, but now I think it was only a few minutes. Or… or, do you think it’s been a day?”

“Okay, so it is fucking with both of us,” Wei Wuxian clarified, nodding to himself. He involuntarily looked over his shoulder when he heard Madame Yu’s scoff. She wasn’t there. “Alright, alright, can you play Clarity for a moment?”

“Good idea,” Sizhui said. Wei Wuxian focused on him to the best of his ability, trying to block out any distractions from his mind as he sat in the Lotus Position. But, in the time it took Lan Sizhui to ready his guqin and begin playing, it’d already turned into Lan Zhan’s Wangji and Jin Guangyao’s nameless guqin before it looked like Lan Sizhui’s Xingtian.

He took a steadied breath and watched as Sizhui plucked the strings. It wasn’t the greatest rendition of the song he’d ever heard, but he wasn’t using it for evil and none of the notes were inherently wrong, so he listened anyways. He couldn’t be blamed for finding it less than perfect when he had heard perfection in every single thing Lan Zhan played. 

 Sizhui played diligently, but it wasn’t exactly helping. He could still feel his mind being clouded and pushed and pulled. Wei Wuxian shook his head. They just needed to play Inquiry, put to rest the main ghost, and get the fuck out of here so he could think straight. For the days he spent feeling out of place in the Cloud Recesses, he now just wanted to go back. Maybe he should “accidentally” scratch his arm on the way out so Lan Zhan would insist on watching him through the night. 

“Sizhui,” he said, “Just play Inquiry. Ask for the one who is the loneliest.”

Sizhui didn’t respond with words, simply slipped into a new song. Except it was distinctly not Inquiry, and that’s because it was… well, whatever Lan Zhan named that song and refused to tell him. The pretty one.

“No, Inquiry,” he corrected, voice a little more stern. He opened his eyes to see what the hell was going on only to see Lan Sizhui wasn’t even playing anything. Instead, he just looked concerned. Then his mouth moved and no sound came. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and focused on the tiny, weak golden core he’d been training after Lan Zhan told him Mo Xuanyu had left one for him to grow. It was harder and inconvenient than he remembered from the first golden core he’d had, but he couldn’t use resentful energy in a place like this. There were too many corpses, too many minds that he didn’t want to disturb. Not when he wasn’t sure which way was out and especially not when he was alone in the dark with Lan Sizhui.

So he focused on his own spiritual energy, willing it to earn him just a bit of control over his mind. He would need to have a proper talk with Lan Sizhui when they got out, but he was sure these spirits were being harder on him. Maybe he was just an easier target. 

He felt the moment it clicked enough inside him so that he was spared a moment of clarity.

“Sizhui,” he said quickly, “Please play Inquiry and ask for the loneliest. They might come all at once, you will have to pick the voice that is the most powerful.”

“Senior Wei, I don’t think that will work,” Sizhui said, his face still twisted in concern.

“What? Why not? Why wouldn’t it work?” 

“Because I don’t think it’s a ghost,” Lan Sizhui said, “I-I don’t know what it is. I don’t understand. It doesn’t feel right. I… I think it might be a fae.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a second, his heart sinking. He hadn’t considered that. Had the ghosts really clouded him so much? It would make sense though. A lonely fae, wanting all the friends they could get and not understanding that they were taking lives and making them more lonely. 

“Explain,” he asked anyway.

“The disorientation. Yes, ghosts could cause that, but it is so severe. Senior Wei is hearing voices and I can’t play correctly and I can’t keep track of the time, what ghost is so powerful? And this cave. Chief Liu said it’d been worse recently which would mean that it is not a new occurrence, but it was getting worse a few months after they created a new pathway nearby. New disruption would cause the fae to be more active, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, Sizhui, brilliant,” Wei Wuxian said, hiding the fact that he was absolutely not interested in handling any kind of fae right now considering the circumstances, “I think you might be right.”

“But, truly, I think that is a fae because the moment I considered that idea, before I even said it aloud, something has been staring at me,” he said softly, “Over there. I can see its eyes in the darkness.” 

He didn’t seem scared like a boy who was being watched should be. He needed to remind himself to lecture him that a little bit of fear was extremely useful and that he should stop shoving it away every time he was accompanied by his Senior Wei.

“Sizhui, what color are the eyes?” Wei Wuxian asked, not turning around. He kept his back straight and kept his breathing sound. Something about this was almost nostalgic. Him, a Lan boy, a cave, and an immortal being. Ah, if only Lan Zhan were here.

“Yellow. No. Green. No. Pur‒ Senior Wei, they keep changing,” he said with a frustrated little sigh. Wei Wuxian furrowed his eyebrows and then remembered that whatever this creature was, it was a master of disorientation. Of course it’s eyes wouldn’t make sense.

“Alright,” he breathed, “I don’t usually say this, and if you tell anyone, I will deny it, but I think we should leave and come back with Hanguang-Jun.”

“But, Senior Wei, should we truly bother him for something like this?” he asked. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes forward despite the fact he knew it was behind him. It could hear him, most likely. And he certainly didn’t want to anger it.

“I confess that I’m afraid if we don’t leave and come back with Hanguang-Jun’s expertise then we will not leave at all,” Wei Wuxian said carefully. Really, he could’ve handled this without him if he really wanted to use resentful energy in this cave, but he was admittedly more reckless when Sizhui was involved and he trusted him less to hold his own because he was a child. He was strong, of course, but Hanguang-Jun was arguably the strongest cultivator alive. He didn’t need to worry in the same way. He didn’t need to watch him closely. He would anyway because it was very attractive, but he didn’t need to.

Besides, if Sizhui got hurt while he used resentful energy in a place like this, it would be the one bit of collateral damage he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

“Oh,” Lan Sizhui said, perhaps filling in the blanks, “Okay.”

“Slow,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up and helping Lan Sizhui up as well. He strapped Xingtian to his back as Wei Wuxian turned to the darkness and bowed as deeply as he could. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

He kept his eyes out for it, but he didn’t see the eyes Sizhui was talking about. It didn’t matter. He reached out for Sizhui again and grabbed his sleeve.

“Slow,” he repeated, “We go slow.”

Wei Wuxian kept his mouth shut as they slowly started to head back the way they came. Or, at least, what he thought was the way they came. He had all of one minute of peace before the fae was very clearly upset with them for trying to leave.

“Senior Wei,” Lan Sizhui said, clutching onto him a little tighter, “Senior Wei, something keeps grabbing my feet.”

“Ignore it, it isn’t real,” he assured him. Except it most certainly was real. If it truly was fae, it could make anything they’ve seen real. But Sizhui didn’t need to know that. “Don’t worry. We’ll go, get Lan Zhan or Wen Ning‒actually, no, not Wen Ning, it would be a bad idea to bring him here. Too many things to possess him, no, we’ll get Lan Zhan. I think he’ll get out of his duties if we tell them there’s a fae roaming.”

Wei Wuxian kept rambling. If he kept rambling, it was easier to ignore the voices and easier to pretend like the way his mind was running was his own volition. However, it really didn’t help that neither of them knew which direction they’d come from and it was nearly impossible to backtrack. 

“Sizhui, is there any Lan spell you can cast or a talisman to help lead you?” Wei Wuxian asked. Sizhui shook his head and Wei Wuxian nodded, being cautious as he leaned a little bit closer. “I’m going to show you one, okay? I can’t right now, not in her, so you’ll have to do it for me.”

“Yes, Senior Wei.”

Lan Sizhui watched closely as he showed him how to draw a talisman he’d created to help one find their way. It was how he’d navigated the unfamiliar terrain on his own and made it all the way to Qinghe without a problem. Well, maybe not without a problem, but that was a different story.

He nodded his head as Lan Sizhui memorized it and drew up the talisman. It took the form of a small bird and it began to lead the way. They followed, both watching it intently so they didn’t get confused. Only, something very clearly changed because all of the disorientation stopped. His brain didn’t feel clouded anymore and he could feel the air shift.

“Senior Wei, I think it’s letting us go,” Lan Sizhui said. But that didn’t feel right either. That was too easy.

He looked around and tapped his nose, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Why would it just stop? There was no reason for it to stop. It’d killed countless people, why would it suddenly just let them go free?

But then he understood that it wasn’t that at all. It’d simply resorted to more drastic measures.

The ground beneath them dropped and Lan Sizhui yelled in surprise. Wei Wuxian tried to keep a hold of him, but it didn’t work. He fell for a few seconds before he hit the ground with a thud. Pain shot up his spine and he pouted as he sat up, rubbing his back. 

“Ah, Sizhui, I thought I’d fallen into all the ominous caves life had to offer by now,” Wei Wuxian joked, trying to get his bearings in the dark. Both of the talismans that Sizhui had created had been snuffed out and it was pitch black. His eyes had barely adjusted.

The bigger problem came when Sizhui didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t make a single sound. Wei Wuxian did his best not to panic as he felt around in the dark for the body of the junior he was supposed to be keeping safe. Not just any junior, Huangang-Jun’s junior. His baby.

“Sizhui? Sizhui!”

His stomach dropped as he scrambled to his feet and turned one way and then turned another, unsure of which direction was the right one. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why hadn’t he thought about this more? Did he really think that the cave famous for disorienting people would be a simple fix?

“Sizhui?!” he called, deciding to say fuck it and used what little his golden core had to offer to create a talisman that gave him light. “A-Yuan!”

“Senior Wei?” Sizhui said, his voice weak and far away. He sounded hurt. It was suddenly harder to breath.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian yelled again, following the sound of Sizhui’s small little whimpers. There was no way they’d ended up so far from each other. He hadn’t walked after falling, had he? He couldn’t remember.

Gods, what had he done?

It took him too long, but he finally found Sizhui curled up on the ground. Beside him was a pool of blood and there a stick about the width of his finger that had gone clear through his abdomen. Wei Wuxian felt sick. But he refused to show it. Not to him.

“Ah, Lan Sizhui,” he said, voice as calm as ever as he crouched beside him, “Thank you for staying right here to wait for me to find you, that was very good.”

“I’m good?” he asked. Wei Wuxian tried not to feel like his heart broke into a million pieces.

“Yes, of course. You are so good, such a good boy,” he promised, petting his hair lamely. Lan Sizhui nodded softly and breathed out slowly. His forehead was beading with sweat and his eyes were half-lidded. How long had it taken him to get to him? How long had he been bleeding? Was this even real?

But it was real. It was so, so, so fucking real.

“Let me see, alright?” Wei Wuxian said, scooting a bit closer. He dragged the light down a bit so he could see it better. “Do you mind if I move your robes a bit?” Lan Sizhui shook his head and moved his arms a bit to let him.

Wei Wuxian moved them carefully, thankful for the Lan’s ridiculous amount of excess fabric. It made it so much easier to ease off the stick without irritating the wound. Once it was free of fabric, Wei Wuxian could see why it was bleeding so badly despite being plugged. The thicker side had gone through him first and then it’d been jostled a bit when he moved, stretching out the hole in his abdomen. God, where was Lan Wangji when he was needed? 

“Hanguang-Jun my ass,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. Lan Sizhui hummed softly and Wei Wuxian just shook his head. Of course he wasn’t here, it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t asked to come. He was very distinctly asked not to come. Besides, if he was here, Wei Wuxian would probably be dead because that’s what happened if you hurt the things he loved. And Hanguang-Jun didn’t love very many things. 

Sizhui just so happened to be one of them.

“Right, right, right, okay, ah,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to think of what would be the best way to make sure Sizhui didn’t die. “Fuck, okay, I-I’m going to try to send a butterfly messenger to Lan Zhan and he’ll come. You just have to hold out, okay? You’re a big strong cultivator, you’ll be just fine.”

“Okay, Senior Wei,” Sizhui said softly, nodding as he curled up a little more.

There was so much blood.

Wei Wuxian kept his shaking to a minimum as he carefully constructed a Jin butterfly messenger, whispering to it to make sure it got to Hanguang-Jun as quickly as possible. That Lan Sizhui was hurt. That Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to get out. He sent it and hoped it would make it. Then he turned his attention to Sizhui.

Never had he ever wanted his actual golden core back so badly. He needed to pass him spiritual energy. What he had would do nothing but leave them both weak. And what good was resentful energy when it came to this? Nothing. None of this was good.

“Senior Wei?”

“Yes, I’m here. Keep talking, stay awake with me,” he said. Sizhui nodded.

“Senior Wei, it’s very cold.”

“Ah, right, I’ve got you,” Wei Wuxian promised. He shedded his outer robe and draped it over Sizhui’s body. He shifted a little to pull his head into his lap, hoping that would make him a little more comfortable as well. “Just hold on. Hanguang-Jun is going to come and save the day. He always does.”

“So do you.”

“Not like him.”

“Mn,” Sizhui hummed. Wei Wuxian smiled. He never imagined his little A-Yuan sounding so much like Lan Zhan. Well, his voice was still much higher and softer, but he was a Lan nonetheless.

“You’re going to be okay. I’ve survived so many stupid things, so you’ll survive this. You’ve survived so many things, too. You’re so strong. And you’re a Lan, you’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian insisted. Maybe if he said it enough times, he would bleed less.

“Can I ask you something?” Lan Sizhui whispered. Wei Wuxian tilted his head back to avoid looking at the growing pool of blood and ran a hand over his hair.

“Ah, of course, anything.”

“When I was little,” he said, breathing in deep until it made him wince, “Did you plan to keep me?”

Wei Wuxian furrowed his eyebrows and looked back down at him. He was so pale and impossibly young. Why did he bring him here? He’s just a kid.

“What are you talking about? Of course I planned to keep you, I wanted to keep all of you safe. I did everything to make sure of it,” Wei Wuxian insisted. Lan Sizhui sighed softly.

“Yes, but…” he trailed off, taking a shallow breath, “Was I just an annoying kid you dealt with or… or did you actually like me?”

Wei Wuxian sighed softly and ran his fingers through his hair, undoing a knot in a messy sort of way like he did when he was little and didn’t like combs. He knew there was probably a Lan rule somewhere that made it against asking questions like this, asking questions that made it seem like you craved attention. He couldn’t remember exactly, but it seemed like the kind of thing they’d ban.

The fact that Sizhui was asking them now only made him feel sick.

“I adored you,” Wei Wuxian told him, “Things were very strange back then. I was writing an entire manuscript on demonic cultivation and trying to keep all of you alive and safe and trying to ignore the cultivation world trying to kill all of you. I was so in my own head, but I adored you and I took care of you. You… You were a group effort. We all cared for you and loved you. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I would’ve kept you.”

Lan Sizhui nodded slightly and said, “Okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

“I remember I used to take you to town because you got so bored. You saw Lan Zhan and you just attached to him right then. I guess I should’ve known you were meant to be his all the way back then,” Wei Wuxian said, touching the back of his hand to his neck. He was cold and his pulse was weaker than it should be. He swallowed hard. Fuck. “He’s going to patch you up when he gets here and, and do that whole dad thing he does when thinks no one’s around.”

“Mn.”

“Lan Zhan loves you,” Wei Wuxian said, ignoring the ache in his gut because it was true and Wei Wuxian had brought him to his death, “He’s going to take great care of you like he’s done your whole life.”

“Mn.”

“Don’t sleep,” Wei Wuxian told him softly.

He took another shallow breath before he said, “I feel sick.”

“I know, I know, but we’re not so far from Gusu. I’m sure Hanguang-Jun is rushing here right now as fast as he can. He’s going to be here any minute,” Wei Wuxian promised. And, gods, he hoped he was right. Wei Wuxian often found himself wanting Lan Wangji by his side, but the very few times he needed him there were always the worst moments. This was one of them.

“Senior Wei?” Sizhui murmured, his voice small and weak and fuck they needed to get out of here. Wei Wuxian rubbed his arm for a little bit of extra warmth.

“That’s it, keep talking, stay awake,” he encouraged. Sizhui took another ragged breath.

“Can you tell me what it feels like to die?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian answered quickly, “No because you’re not dying. You’re going to make it out of here and you’re going to be fine. You know I’d never let you die on my watch and I have no plans to start changing that today.”

“Yeah, but… Please?”

Wei Wuxian swallowed as he looked down at him again. He seemed to get more pale by the second. He hoped that it was just the disorientation that made him look like that.

“I’m the wrong person to ask, honestly. I don’t remember it,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, per say. He really didn’t remember it. He did remember the feeling of relief, though. But he wasn’t about to tell Hanguang-Jun’s son that dying felt nice because Sizhui wasn’t dying. Not tonight, not tomorrow, and definitely not when Wei Wuxian promised to take care of him.

“Oh,” Sizhui said, still small, “That’s okay. I just… wanted to make sure it was not painful.”

“You’re not dying, Sizhui.”

“Yeah, but… If I was, this would be okay,” he said, blinking slightly to look up at him. His eyes were so big and he was so young. Gods, he was so young. “It’s never scary with you, Senior Wei. So… If I die with you here… I’m not scared. Okay? I know you’ll keep me safe even if I die.”

And if Wei Wuxian wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like he was trying to comfort him for what was about to come. He hated that more than he had words for. He clenched his jaw and then willed away the frustration of this entire thing. Silly him to think he’d run out of people to let down, to let die.

“Ah, A-Yuan, you’re giving me too much credit here. Hanguang-Jun is the safe one. He’ll come, don’t think about those things,” he told him.

Wei Wuxian reluctantly moved the robe Lan Sizhui was using as a blanket to check on the blood. The blood stain on his white robes seemed to fluctuate either small or massive each time he tried to get a better look. It made it worse because he couldn’t even gauge how bad it actually was. Damn cave.

“Xian-gege,” A-Yuan said, only the voice was actually A-Yuan. It was the voice of a baby, the one he’d all but left to die so many years prior. He covered him up again and rubbed his arm, hoping to warm him up.

Wei Wuxian himself was beginning to feel a little drained and the talisman began to dim alongside it. As his spiritual energy drained, the more he realized he was being affected again. Great. Just great. Why did he come here with only Lan Sizhui again? Why did he come here at all? Was this really better than facing Lan Zhan and his pretty face and his nice smiles and the uncertainty of it?

“You can call me Xian-gege, you don’t have to call me Senior Wei,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Sizhui, hoping to keep them both alive and awake if he could help it, “You can call me anything you want and I won’t mind, just, please, stay awake, okay?”

“Mn,” Lan Sizhui promised, “Xian-gege?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong,” Wei Wuxian insisted, patting his head softly.

“You trusted me,” he said, voice small and faint and all perfectly designed to kill him, “And I let you down.”

“You didn’t let me down, Sizhui, you’re doing great. You’re so smart and a good leader and your observation skills are as good as Lan Zhan’s. I will trust you even more after this. We’re going to go on so many more night hunts, it’s going to be so much fun. We’ll, we’ll bring Jingyi next time. Maybe Jin Ling and that Ouyang boy, too. We have so much fun to have. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Wei Wuxian insisted. Next time he wouldn’t be so clouded by his own problems that he completely misread how dangerous a situation was. Stupid mistake.

Wei Wuxian tilted his head back and blinked slowly. He was tired. Where was Lan Zhan?

“If the light goes out, you’ll still stay awake, won’t you?” he asked, starting to feel too tired. Lan Sizhui didn’t answer. He dragged his head to look down at him. “Sizhui?”

He was still and pale and not answering which was possibly the worst thing he’d ever seen. He quickly moved to check his pulse and his breathing. Both were faint and there was not a damn thing he could do. In a fit of stress, he tapped him on the cheek.

“A-Yuan? Wake up. You promised you’d stay awake, now isn’t the time to sleep,” Wei Wuxian told him. The dread that had been sitting idly by in his stomach took over, rising to his throat and damn near choking him. “Please, wake up.”

He didn’t.

Wei Wuxian took another heavy breath and let the light go out before putting his hand on Lan Sizhui’s neck. He did his best to give him every ounce of spiritual energy his body could muster, but it didn’t help. He didn’t wake up. Maybe his pulse got a little more reliable, but that didn’t mean much.

“Lan Zhan,” he called, looking up and wishing that he would just float down. He didn’t care if he got banned from the Cloud Recesses and told he wasn’t allowed to see another Lan disciple ever again, he just needed this Lan disciple to live. He needed Lan Zhan to appear and whisk Lan Sizhui to safety and he could be left to rot. “Lan Zhan!”

He wasn’t sure if it was the disorientation or maybe he passed out because of his low spiritual energy, but when Wei Wuxian opened his eyes again, it seemed some time had passed. He wasn’t sure how much. He pressed his fingers to Lan Sizhui’s neck to check his pulse and his breathing. He was still alive. Good.

Only, this time, he felt eyes on him.

Wei Wuxian very reluctantly looked over to see for himself and, instead of just a set of eyes that Lan Sizhui had seen, he saw a little girl. She was small, maybe three or four, and had Nie braids in her hair and a Jin vermilion mark on her forehead and a Lan forehead ribbon in her small hands. She looked at Wei Wuxian directly with purple eyes that were that special shade the Jiang Sect loved so much.

“Hello,” he greeted, turning to her as best he could with Lan Sizhui in his lap. “Are you the one who lives here? Do you have a name?”

She stepped closer, her robes becoming a little more visible in the light she seemed to bring with her. They weren’t affiliated with any Sect distinctly, but they were all black and blood red. Tiny pieces belonging to the major Sects, eyes belonging to the YunmengJiang, all wrapped up in costume of the Yiling Patriarch. He smiled as friendly as he could, still petting Lan Sizhui’s hair. Maybe she would understand that he needed him to live.

“A-Mei,” she said softly. Wei Wuxian stared at her for a long minute before nodding. 

“That’s very pretty,” he said, “Are you lonely?”

She didn’t answer as she blinked, looking down at Lan Sizhui before looking up at him. Wei Wuxian kept his smile up. If he played his cards right, Sizhui might be able to walk out of here all by himself.

“Have you had fun playing around up here?” he asked, tapping the side of his head, “I know you saw memories of my shijie. She’s very nice, don’t you think? My A-Yuan is nice too, but he’s hurt.”

She reached out and touched Wei Wuxian’s head, patting like he was a dog. He just accepted it and nodded with an encouraging smile.

“I know you want friends,” he said, “I can be your friend. And I can find you more friends. My A-Yuan would love to be your friend. But, you have to understand, humans are so fragile. They need to be alive to be your friend.”

“Alive?” she repeated. Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and nodded, looking down at Sizhui. He looked so small.

“It’s when they breathe and when their heart beats,” he said, “My A-Yuan… He’s not breathing very well. And it, it would make me very sad if he stopped. I can’t be a very good friend if I’m very sad.”

A-Mei blinked a few times, tilting her head to the side. He just needed her to understand, needed her to empathize. But he wasn’t sure if she could empathize. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at her very seriously.

“His dad is coming to help him. Can you please, please, please make sure he gets to him? I’ll stay here with you as long as you can make sure he gets to him.”

“Friend?” she asked. He nodded.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be your friend. We’ll be best friends. I just want him to be okay, that’s all I want. That’s all I want. Just, please, this one thing.”

Wei Wuxian had never said please so many times in his life. He never, ever wanted to say it again.

And then, in response to a flash of light that blinded him for a moment, she disappeared. He looked around for the source of the light only to see Hanguang-Jun himself just floating down. Wei Wuxian shook his head at the dramatic entrance, but, truly, he had never been thankful to see his face. Which was saying something because he was regularly thankful when he saw him.

Except today he looked concerned as he knelt beside Sizhui. Wei Wuxian reached out to squeeze his arm.

“Take him, go get him some help, I’ll find my way out after I deal with the cave,” he said. Lan Zhan looked at him like he was crazy for saying that. “We said we’d deal with this, I can’t just leave until I deal with it.”

Lan Zhan ignored him as he very carefully picked up Sizhui. His face was entirely unguarded and entirely stressed in a way Wei Wuxian didn’t like. He’d wanted for so many years to see his guard down, but now… 

Without saying much, Lan Zhan grabbed Wei Wuxian’s arm and Bichen flew them out of the cave without any trouble. He could’ve argued, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. Not while Lan Sizhui was unconscious and bleeding. Not while it was his fault and Lan Zhan needed to focus so much more on his son than Wei Wuxian’s bullshit.

He could come back later.

Once they got outside of the cave and in the bright moonlight, Lan Zhan laid Lan Sizhui down on the ground, carefully inspecting the stick. Then he just pulled it out. Despite having seen so much worse, Wei Wuxian felt a little nauseous and he turned his back to them, clutching his hands at his sides and trying to stay upright.

They stayed there in silence for what felt like hours. And, when Sizhui was stable enough to be carried to the nearest inn, they stayed silent.

 Lan Zhan got two rooms that were connected because apparently he felt kind enough to get Wei Wuxian a room despite the fact that he almost killed his son. He carried Lan Sizhui to one and laid him down, cleaning and wrapping up the wounds that were already healing because his dad saved the day like he knew he would. Wei Wuxian excused himself to the other room. He didn’t belong there. Not right now, not anymore.

Wei Wuxian sat down on the bed in the other room, breathing in and out and doing a shitty job at trying to meditate. He was tired and weak and covered in Lan Sizhui’s blood and it made it impossible to relax. This was his fault. That little boy that he’d taken care of, that Lan Zhan had saved and raised, had almost died because he was careless. He should’ve been more prepared. He should’ve been smarter. 

He should stop being around people. They always seem to die.

Wei Wuxian slowly started to peel off his layers with shaky hands until he got to his trousers and his undershirt, but he still felt dirty. It was a good thing that he didn’t have many possessions. He didn’t even need to go back to the Cloud Recesses. They could part ways here and he would never have to remind Lan Sizhui that he’d almost been his cause of death. He would never have to remind Lan Zhan that he was a nuisance and unworthy of his attention.

He was in the middle of throwing all his hair up on the top of his head so he could start to clean the blood out of his clothes when someone knocked on the door that connected this one to the one Sizhui was in. When he opened the door, Lan Zhan stood there, tall and regal and stained with his son’s blood.

“May I come in?” he asked. Wei Wuxian nodded and moved out of the way, watching him with a bit of confusion. He was sure that he was going to stay beside Lan Sizhui all night. But maybe he was coming to scold him. Yes, that was fair.

Wei Wuxian left the door open and watched him as he placed Bichen down on the small table. He prepared himself for the fight, the punishment, the anger. He hadn’t prepared to watch Lan Zhan sit down and slowly begin to take his hair pieces out. Like this was normal. Like he planned to sleep here.

“Hanguang-Jun, Your Excellency,” Wei Wuxian said, easily getting his attention. He bowed in a way far more formal than he’d ever cared to before. “I apologize. I never should’ve gone into that cave with just Lan Sizhui and without proper precautions. Thank you for your kindness in still giving me a place to sleep, but I will leave if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Wei Ying,” he said, the floorboards creaking as he stood up. Wei Wuxian stayed in a bow, finding it harder and harder to keep his composure. Every time he blinked, he saw that little boy bleeding out. Another life on his conscience. The last truly living Wen descendent nearly gone because of him. “No apologies between us.”

“This is more than just us, this is your child who I let bleed out because of my own egotism,” he said. Lan Zhan touched his arms, lifting him out of the bow. When he met his gaze, tears pricked his eyes and he took a step back. “Please don’t touch me.”

Lan Zhan stood in his place, his face still open and unguarded and confused. Why did he think Wei Wuxian deserved that openness? Did he not understand that Lan Sizhui almost died? Why wasn’t he angry?

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked cautiously, trying to take a step closer.

“I’m fine, stop it,” he said, stepping back. When a tear slipped from his eye, he quickly wiped it away. Lan Zhan only seemed to get more concerned which was unprecedented and unfair. “Why aren’t you yelling at me, or whatever the Lan equivalent of yelling is? Why are you being kind? You need to be mean to me. You, you need to ban me from seeing you ever again and forbid me from ever seeing Sizhui and, like, throw me down a flight of stairs.”

“I,” Lan Zhan said carefully, “I do not understand.”

Wei Wuxian groaned, tilting his head back as another tear fought its way to be the next one to run down his face. Lan Zhan took another step closer and went to reach out to wipe his face, but he seemed to remember being asked not to touch him, so he stopped at the last second. That didn’t stop him from seeming conflicted.

“I almost killed your son. What’s hard to understand about that? I deserve punishment.”

“Sizhui is fine.”

“He is not!” Wei Wuxian said, staring at him with wide eyes. Had his unbridled loyalty clouded him from the truth? “He nearly died because of my selfishness and stupidity!”

“Wei Ying did nothing wrong.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, voice cracking as he desperately willed him to understand, “I almost killed your son. I don’t deserve your comfort.”

Lan Zhan stared at him for a moment and then reached out anyway. One hand went to the back of Wei Wuxian’s head and the other carefully wiped his cheeks. All that did was make him cry more. He didn’t understand why the hell he was being so nice. 

“Our son,” he corrected as if it was that simple. Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“No. He’s more yours than he could ever be mine. I watched him for a year, you raised him for 16,” Wei Wuxian said, “And I know he isn’t going to be angry with me about what happened in that damn cave even though he should be because you raised him too well and he’s too kind. So you’ll have to punish me for him.”

Lan Zhan seemed to ignore the second half of his statement. “Wei Ying gave him to me. He is ours.”

Wei Wuxian whined a shamelessly pathetic, “Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying,” he said, stern as he looked him in the eyes so deliberately that it made him feel lost for words, “Everything that he is, everything that he was raised to be, what is he if not…”

“If not what?”

“What is he if not us?” Lan Zhan asked carefully, like he wasn’t sure if those were the right words, “What is he if not what I had of Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a long while, slowly but surely deciphering what he meant by that. That he was theirs and it wasn’t a debate. That he’d raised them as theirs and that’s what he was. Wei Wuxian tilted his head forward to rest against his cheek. Lan Zhan hummed softly and his thumb rubbed a small circle behind his ear.

“So I almost killed our son,” Wei Wuxian said, “Sounds like an even bigger reason to punish me.”

“Do you truly want punishment?” Lan Zhan asked. Wei Wuxian swallowed and closed his eyes. Again, all he saw was A-Yuan dying in his lap. When would that go away?

“Yes,” he said honestly. Lan Zhan hummed in agreement.

“When we arrive back at Cloud Recesses, you will copy the rules 300 times,” he said. Wei Wuxian scoffed and lifted his head to look at him again.

“That’s it?” he asked, “That’s nothing. A-Yuan almost died because of me.”

“You will copy the rules 300 times and you will grade tests for me and Brother,” Lan Zhan said, taking a moment to wipe his cheek again, “And you will be in charge of entertaining Sect Leader Yao and Sect Leader Ouyang during each visit.”

“Okay, now you’re being a little cruel,” he said. Lan Zhan smiled just a little, but it was enough. He was okay. Lan Sizhui would be okay. “That’s fair. I accept punishment.”

“Mn.”

“Is Sizhui truly alright?” he asked.

“He needs rest.”

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and rested his head against his shoulder as Lan Zhan put his hand that wasn’t holding his head on his back. He couldn’t help himself as he thought about the conversation he and Lan Sizhui had had in the cave. They would need to have a talk about it once he was better. He didn’t think he could handle another ‘I’m sorry’ from him, not like that. He shouldn’t have said it in the first place

He took a deep breath, tracing a circle on Lan Zhan’s chest because he could. He was being selfish again. He shouldn’t be accepting comfort like this. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

“Lan Zhan, did you see what was causing all of those things in that cave?” he asked. Lan Zhan shook his head no. “She called herself A-Mei, but we think she’s a fae and that she’s keeping all these people because she wants a friend.”

“It was not disorienting to me.”

“I think she let you come save Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian said, tracing his collarbone, “I asked her nicely. But she was also in my head, so maybe she knew I was panicking.”

“Mn.”

“We still need to deal with it, but I don’t want to kill her. I don’t think she understands she’s hurting people, she’s just lonely,” he said, lifting his head and touching Lan Zhan’s jaw with his fingertips as he draped his other arm around his neck, “Do you have any ideas?”

“Ideas tomorrow. You need rest.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and thought about arguing, but he really was drained and running purely on force of will. So he nodded and let himself look up at Lan Zhan, taking a deep breath. He suddenly couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to get away from him in the first place. Then again, him casually confirming he raised a whole child in his honor was one way to make things easier.

“You really love me, don’t you, Lan Zhan?” he asked. Lan Zhan’s face grew impossibly fond and his ears tinted pink. “I only ask because, you know, the whole regret thing.”

“I loved Wei Ying long before I held regrets.”

“So,” Wei Wuxian said, pushing himself onto his toes and into him a little more. Lan Zhan smiled that little smile of his. “If I got you drunk, would you tell me when exactly that was, or…”

“Mn.”

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian mocked, laying his forehead against his. The little cloud pendant on his forehead ribbon pressed into his skin and he nudged his nose against Lan Zhan’s. “Mn.”

Lan Zhan blinked all slow and traced his ear with his thumb. 

“I’m going to check on Sizhui,” he said. Wei Wuxian nodded and peeled off him without argument. 

He followed for a moment as he walked back into the other room, peering through the doorway. Lan Sizhui was laying on the bed and he had a little more color to him which was good. Lan Zhan sat beside him and touched the back of his hand to his forehead and his cheek before checking his pulse. Then he peeled back the blanket to check the wound, presumably making sure it wasn’t infected. He was so good.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but watch the whole time, even when Lan Zhan pulled the blanket back over him and snuffed out all the candles with a simple wave of his hand. He walked back towards the door and Wei Wuxian didn’t move.

“You need rest,” Lan Zhan said.

“And he is going to be okay?” he clarified.

“You did nothing wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong before I died, but you still felt guilty, so I’m allowed to feel guilty about almost killing him,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan breathed slow and nodded once before grabbing his arm and pulled him towards the bed. “Ah, Lan Zhan, so forceful.”

“Rest.”

Wei Wuxian let himself fall into the bed and tried not to think too much about the fact his clothes would just be covered in Sizhui’s blood when he had to put them on in the morning. He watched as Lan Zhan sealed the exit to both rooms with a talisman and left the door in between the two rooms open just in case. Then he stripped down to just one under robe and his trousers. All three of them would have blood stained clothes, really, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Lan Zhan kept his forehead ribbon on as he laid down and then snuffed out all the candles in their room. Wei Wuxian waited a breath before scooting closer to him. 

“Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

“Goodnight, Lan Zhan.”

He had no intention to actually sleep. He wanted to keep an ear out for Lan Sizhui and the guilt he felt was showing no signs of leaving him alone. So Wei Wuxian made himself comfortable staring at Lan Zhan’s face as he closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered softly in the darkness after a few minutes, “You’re a good dad.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, turning his head to look at him. There was a pause before he spoke again. “Wei Ying?”

“Yes?”

“Do you plan to continue to travel?” he asked. The question sounded rehearsed, like he’d been waiting to ask and had considered asking in a million ways. Wei Wuxian leaned forward and nudged his nose against Lan Zhan’s again.

“I would like to stay in the Cloud Recesses,” he admitted softly, “If that’s alright with you. I think maybe I’ve traveled for too long.”

“It is more than alright.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, wanting so badly to just kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. But that was probably a bad idea if only because Lan Zhan was already falling asleep. “For always being there when I need you.”

Wei Wuxian put his hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. He let that keep him grounded as he started to think about the fae in the cave. How could they give her a friend so that she didn’t resort to confusing them or trapping them into companionship?

He thought about that moment before Lan Zhan had showed up. She’d clearly understood that, to save Lan Sizhui, Lan Zhan needed to get to them. And she didn’t try to fight when he took Wei Wuxian with him. Maybe she knew he was going to return. Would that be enough? The promise of returning?

But, no, that couldn’t be enough because he couldn’t do that every day of his life. He needed to find her an actual companion. Something to see her and spend time with her and want to be there without obligation. Something that could stay with her for eternity as she would be there for that long. Even if it was strange or unlikely or unconventional.

Something like his Lan Zhan was for him.

In a blur of an idea and his own impulsive nature, Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet and quickly grabbed his robe and left the room before either Lan could wake up. He didn’t want them with him there anyway. Less of a risk.

On the way back to the cave, he grabbed a stick of bamboo and carved it into a shotty replica of Chenqing. He hadn’t brought it because he didn’t want to be tempted, but now he needed that and he was going to use whatever he could get his hands on.

He made it back to the cave and saw a bloodstain on the ground outside of it. Wei Wuxian held his head up high and brought the flute to his lips. Quietly, he played Lan Zhan’s song and walked inside the cave.

It took him five steps before A-Mei showed her face again. She was still in her Yiling Patriarch robes and she watched him quizzically. He smiled and lowered the flute for a moment to wave at her.

“I told you I would come back,” he said. She smiled a shy smile and bowed her head, clutching the Lan ribbon in her fist. “I was trying to think of a companion for you and I realized you already have so many in here. But they’re all scared and lonely and it will scare away anyone new. So why don’t we let them go, alright? Let’s put them to rest.”

It didn’t take much convincing. Something about him must’ve seemed trustworthy because she nodded and led the way.

For hours, it seemed, he played for the spirits who needed guidance and peace and to be remembered and she would let them go. One by one, all different ages from all different moments in history. There were so many.

When the sun finally rose, he found himself sitting with her in the heart of the cave. It was bright, her power overwhelmingly strong now that she didn’t need to use it to keep all the ghosts around. 

“You did so very good,” he praised her. A-Mei smiled at him. For a moment, he was reminded of little A-Yuan and he couldn’t wait to see him up and walking again. “You understand I can’t stay, don’t you?”

Her smile faded, but she nodded solemnly. 

“I have my companion out there, I can’t,” he said, “I think I know where I can find you a friend, but for that you’ll have to do something very important. You’ll have to leave the cave.” Her eyes widened. “I understand it’s scary. But sometimes you have to go where you don’t expect to find a nice place to call home. And I’ll be with you the entire way until we get there.”

Wei Wuxian sat with her for a while, telling her the story of a mountain that had tons of ghosts filling it that were already there and already lonely. She would be a nice, new thing and they would all take care of her. They took care of him. It was obviously different for him, but they kept him alive despite the horrors of it. She wouldn’t be as hard to take care of and she would fit in much easier. 

“I’ll be back later to come get you and we’ll head straight there,” he promised, “But I have to go tell my companion where I’ll be so he doesn’t worry. Do you understand?”

A-Mei nodded her head and he bowed to her before leaving.

He made his way back out of the cave and to the inn, feeling a bit better about the situation. As long as Lan Sizhui was alright and Lan Zhan still loved him, then everything would be fine. It had to be. He didn’t need to think about how he could’ve done that the first time he went and Lan Sizhui wouldn’t have gotten hurt. He hadn’t, there was nothing he could do about the past.

Fatigue wore heavy on his shoulders as he slowly climbed up the steps to his room. When he opened the door, Lan Zhan was already dressed in clothes that had not a drop of blood and was cleaning up Lan Sizhui. Lan Zhan looked over at him with that slightly pointed gaze that showed he was not amused that he’d been gone all night. It made him feel warm so he smiled.

“Did you miss me?”

“You should have woken me,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian walked up behind him and draped himself across his back, looking down at Lan Sizhui from over his shoulder. He looked much better.

“I just went to talk to my new friend A-Mei and we put to rest some ghosts,” Wei Wuxian told him, giving him a little squeeze around the neck. Lan Zhan sighed and moved Lan Sizhui’s blanket. “I’m going to take her to the Burial Mounds so she can have friends.”

Lan Zhan froze and looked over his shoulder, concern creased in his eyes. Wei Wuxian smiled wider.

“Don’t worry so much, Lan Zhan, it’ll be fine. I plan to set up wards so she can’t get out. I’ll come right back to Cloud Recesses afterwards to annoy you again, you won’t even notice I’m gone,” he insisted. Lan Zhan looked at him with a very serious expression.

“Be safe, Wei Ying.”

“I’m always safe, what do you mean?” Lan Zhan very clearly didn’t find that funny. “Enough about me, how is he?”

“He should wake up soon. I have someone coming with a cart,” he said. Wei Wuxian nodded, dragging his fingers over Lan Zhan’s chest. He closed his eyes when Lan Zhan exposed Lan Sizhui’s wounds. 

He didn’t actually know when that guilt would go away. It weighed heavy on him even though Lan Sizhui was okay. Maybe when he saw him up and about again he’d feel better. Hopefully. Still, he bowed his head against Lan Zhan’s neck and tried to think of anything but the fact it was his fault that little A-Yuan was lying unconscious with a hole through him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said after a moment, his voice deep and resonating. It seemed to show Wei Wuxian just how tired he actually was. He’d been tired before he spent the night playing a song for ghosts and talking to thousand year old fae children. Now, laying against Lan Zhan, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Hm?”

“Wei Ying,” he repeated, reaching back and stroking his hair gently, “Get some rest.”

“That’s so boring,” Wei Wuxian groaned, nuzzling into his neck a bit more, “Can’t you just ravish me first to make it interesting?”

Instead of the dramatic reaction he would’ve gotten from a teenage Lan Wanji, Lan Zhan’s neck just felt a bit hot and he actually laughed. It was breathy and short and quiet, but it was a laugh. He followed it up by scratching his scalp.

“Mn,” he said, “In the Jingshi.”

Wei Wuxian lifted his head, eyes a little wide as he looked at him. He didn’t seem to be joking and all that did was make Wei Wuxian let out a flustered little laugh. He still was unsure how to navigate a response to this much more shameless Lan Zhan.

“Please rest,” he requested and Wei Wuxian nodded his head.

It took more effort than he was willing to admit to peel himself off of Lan Zhan’s back and then he was left craving him again. He made it to the connecting doorway before he turned back to him only to see he was already watching him. 

“You should come lay with me,” Wei Wuxian suggested, “I know it’s against GusuLan Sect rules or whatever to sleep during the day, but I think you should break one for me. Just one. That’s it.”

Lan Zhan tilted his head and asked, “Just one?”

Wei Wuxian smiled and leaned against the doorway, gently kicking the floor. He was so fucking tired, but he wasn’t sure he would sleep if he tried to do that alone. Sleeping had always been difficult. He always did it a little better with Lan Zhan there.

Besides, he wanted to think about anything other than the fact that he’d gotten Lan Sizhui hurt and that he would again not see Lan Zhan as he walked A-Mei to the Burial Mounds.

“It’s so boring by myself,” Wei Wuxian pouted, resting his cheek against the door frame. Lan Zhan smiled fondly and rose to his feet. He walked towards him in that elegant way he always did. Wei Wuxian would swear that he was just gliding always. 

And he walked straight up to Wei Wuxian, not even trying to push past him. Instead, he stood in the doorway with him, making it impossible to do anything but be pressed up against the door frame and his body. He could feel his cheeks burning.

“You need to sleep,” Lan Zhan said, touching his fingers to his jaw. Wei Wuxian laughed softly, but Lan Zhan just leaned a little closer. “I do not blame Wei Ying for Sizhui being hurt. Do you understand me?”

Wei Wuxian let out a breath and nodded his head, feeling a little more overwhelmed than he’d anticipated. Lan Zhan didn’t move as he blinked and stared at him. He seemed to make up mind, though, and leaned forward just a little more and used his fingers to tilt Wei Wuxian’s chin up a bit. 

And he kissed him.

It was short, but it was slow and sweet and it had Wei Wuxian feeling like he was going to melt. He laughed a flustered laugh as Lan Zhan pulled away. It took Wei Wuxian a few minutes longer than he’d ever admit to adjust to a reality where he could do that.

“Sleep,” Lan Zhan told him. Wei Wuxian nodded.

“Okay.”

He kept his eyes on him the entire time as he took off the dirty robe for a second time. Lan Zhan just sat on the bed and waited for him. He got in bed quickly and let his head hit the pillow, staring up at Lan Zhan as he took his time taking his hair pieces out. He truly was the best distraction in the world.

When he laid down, he pulled Wei Wuxian close without a thought and pushed his head into his shoulder. It gave him no choice but to close his eyes and focus on sleep. And he really, really dreaded a day he would have to sleep alone again.

Wei Wuxian didn’t actually know how long he slept for, but he’d clearly needed it. He woke up feeling sore from where he’d fallen in the cave and had all but forgotten about until he slept so hard that it reminded him. Then again, he regularly woke up feeling sore.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Lan Zhan was kneeling at the table and pouring tea. Wei Wuxian yawned and climbed out of bed, walking towards him. He could’ve sat anywhere to eat, but he chose to drape himself over his back again. Lan Zhan didn’t fight him as Wei Wuxian touched his jaw and urged him to look over his shoulder where he was met with a kiss. Because they did that now. 

He did a much better job at reacting like an adult this time.

“I wish you would’ve waited until after I took A-Mei to the Burial Mounds to kiss me,” Wei Wuxian pouted, “How am I supposed to survive without them now? Lan Zhan, it will be horrible.”

“I suppose you will have to come home soon, then.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I see. You knew exactly what you were doing then.”

Lan Zhan didn’t confirm nor deny which just told Wei Wuxian everything he needed to know. He smiled wide and moved in for another kiss.

“Senior Wei?” that very familiar, sweet voice said. Wei Wuxian looked up towards Lan Sizhui and he was on his feet in seconds. He sat on the bed beside him, offering a wide smile as he slowly opened his eyes.

“It’s about time. You’ve slept so much! What would Grandmaster say?” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan carefully checked over him as he slowly adjusted back to waking life after sleeping for so long. When he moved to sit up, he gasped in pain and Wei Wuxian quickly went to make sure he laid back down. “Ah, I didn’t say sit up!”

“How are you feeling?” Lan Zhan asked.

“I’m fine,” Lan Sizhui said.

“Lying is forbidden,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Sizhui sighed softly.

“I will be fine.”

Wei Wuxian was all too reminded of inside the cave when he had tried to comfort him while he was dying. He couldn’t tell if Sizhui was truly that considerate or had too many role models of people who couldn’t just be honest when they were in pain.

“You need to eat,” Lan Zhan said, “I will be right back.”

Wei Wuxian watched the door and waited until it was fully closed before he turned back to Lan Sizhui. He only had a few minutes to have an actual talk with him without Lan Zhan hearing and, truthfully, it wasn’t a conversation he was keen on Lan Zhan overhearing.

“Did we fix it?” Lan Sizhui asked, “The cave? Did we figure it out?”

“You were right, it’s a fae,” Wei Wuxian told him, “I’m going to take her to the Burial Mounds so she’ll have ghosts to befriend and no one to kill. But I want to tell you that I am very sorry about what happened. I should’ve taken better care of you.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Lan Sizhui said, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. He was such a good kid. “People get hurt during night hunts all the time.”

“Ah, yes, but I went in very unprepared and you suffered for it. And,” he paused, trying to find the best way to find the words. He hated having to have talks. “And I refuse to have you in a position where you feel the need to apologize to me for my mistakes again. I think it will be best if we don’t go on night hunts any longer unless someone who is my superior also attends.”

Sizhui’s concern grew into something even bigger and he tried to sit up despite the pain. Wei Wuxian tried to make him lay back down, but he was far too stubborn.

“That isn’t fair. You know that won’t happen often. If it was your fault, then why am I being punished for it?” Sizhui demanded. It was very un-Lan-like of him, he’d clearly been around Jingyi too much.

Or maybe he’d been around Wei Wuxian too much.

“You aren’t, I’m being punished for it. I enjoy going on night hunts with you very much, you’re very smart and observant, but I have been the cause of too many people dying and you won’t be the next. Do you understand?” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Sizhui stared at him, breathing hard through the pain with red cheeks. He fully expected a Lan-like ‘Yes, Senior Wei’ and for him to lay back down.

But clearly almost dying did something to a man.

“No,” Lan Sizhui said firmly. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “No, I don’t understand. You are being unfair which is against the rules. I want you to teach me. You owe it to me to teach me.”

“Oh, I owe you?”

“Yes! Hanguang-Jun taught me, Zewu-Jun taught me, Wen-shushu taught me, but you stopped teaching me when I was little and I only just now got you back to teach me again. So, so that is your punishment. Teaching me when you don’t want to. Do you understand, Xian-gege?” Lan Sizhui said, his face getting redder by the moment either from the anger or from straining himself. Wei Wuxian scoffed before he slowly broke into a smile. Sizhui’s angry face started to falter.

“Well, damn, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Wei Wuxian laughed, feeling lighter than he had since they first walked into that damn cave, “So commanding! And giving me punishment?! Ah, you truly are a big strong cultivator. Aren’t you in line to be Sect Leader? If not, you should be! You have all the makings of it, clearly.”

Sizhui swallowed visibly and slowly went to lay back down. Wei Wuxian leaned over him and straightened his forehead ribbon before pinching his cheek. 

“Ah, my little A-Yuan, you’re so grown,” he sighed, leaning back, “Fine, fine, I’ll teach you. If only because it’s my punishment.”

“Good,” Lan Sizhui said, glaring half-heartedly at him. Wei Wuxian laughed.

“You Lans get hurt bad enough and just let all your emotions loose, it’s the only good thing about it,” he said, “But we’ll be more careful next time. And you’ll stop taking angry notes from Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng because you sounded like them for a moment there.”

Lan Sizhui relaxed more and smiled a little which made him feel immensely better. If he was smiling and yelling, those were good things. He really was going to be okay.

“I apologize for yelling at you, Senior Wei,” Sizhui said after a moment, his sweet little voice back to his normal Lan tone. Wei Wuxian laughed again.

“No apologies between us after this.”

Lan Zhan walked back into the room a few moments later with a tray of food and completely unaware of their talk. Which was good. He didn’t need to know. 

He knelt down on the table and doled out the soup he’d been given into three bowls and Wei Wuxian watched him fondly. It would be impossible not to. He sat all three on the table and then stared at them for a moment as if trying to calculate how Sizhui would eat his at the table when he needed to stay in bed. He was adorable in all his rule-abiding nature.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian called, “Just bring all three here and we’ll eat in bed.”

When Lan Zhan looked up at him, he seemed very scandalized by that suggestion. Wei Wuxian just smiled wide and nodded for him to come closer. It took a small staring contest before he eventually listened.

Lan Sizhui sat up again, this time with the help of Wei Wuxian stuffing pillows around him so it didn’t strain him as much. Lan Zhan gave him his bowl very carefully and Lan Sizhui bowed his head in thanks. Wei Wuxian accepted his bowl and immediately leaned against Lan Zhan.

“We should do this more often,” Wei Wuxian suggested, “Without the near-death experience, preferably.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian smiled as he took a bite. Tomorrow, he would be headed to the Burial Mounds with A-Mei. Tomorrow, he would have to give another temporary goodbye to Lan Zhan and Sizhui. Tomorrow, he would have to put back on his clothes stained with blood. But tonight, he could have dinner with his family and that was something he hadn’t had the luxury to do in far too long.

He planned to enjoy it.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Also saw you're doing requests so yay!!. Any chance of jercy bakery au? Love your work sm hope you have a great day ☺☺

My Darling Anon how dare you make me fall more in love with Jercy???????? I squealed when i saw this and then promptly started writing even though i should be studying for my (ironically) Greek Mythology test.

i hope you love it because if i fail at least i know it’ll be worth it :) Also this was honestly supposed to be a quick drabble and it somehow ended up as 1,5K+ words so??? #isanyonesurprisedthough

Masterlist

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

Jason Grace smiled as the birds beside his head chirped and then swiped his phone to cut off the amusing sound. His fiery friend, and co-worker thought it was hilarious to steal his phone and change his alarm tone every few weeks. Usually it was something inane and silly like a cartoon laugh track or just a repeating “It’s time to get up BakerBoi” that gets increasingly louder. He had arrived to work with a scowl on his face only to see the shit-eating grin of Leo Valdez waiting at the door.

Now Jason stumbles out of bed, letting his limbs loosen as he pads softly to the bathroom, feeling cool tile and a winter breeze on his exposed skin. He loves mornings like this, when the world isn’t quite awake, and the sky hasn’t decided what colour it wants to be for the day. He knows in is baker’s bones that it’ll be cold and rainy, but he has time for a morning jog before the world starts crying.

“Good morning boss,” A bright eyed, fidgeting Leo greets as he steps into the bakery.

Jason had been there at seven thirty, pulling down the café chairs and cleaning the counters. He already had a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies and about three different types of muffins in the oven. The bread was waiting for the busy hands of Leo and Hazel who somehow always seemed to make heavenly fluffed, soft rolls and the deliciously crusty baguettes. Hazel jokes that it’s the New Orleans blood that flows through her veins. They’re all half inclined to agree.

“Morning Valdez, I like the alarm this week.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder before going back to his icing ritual. Mix, taste, mix, ice.

“I figured you would old man. Even though i much prefer my ASMR food audio from last week. What’s the specialty today?”

“We need to get beignets out and the pain au chocolats before the breakfast crowd. Also the fruit stuffed pastry twists and the honey bread have to be prepped before we open so we can bring them out hot in time for the brunch crowd. Specialty today is a new thing I’ve been working on. Blue blondie doughnuts with Oreo cream filling and sugar glaze.”

“Gods boss, you tryna give people heart failure?”

“Just trying to insert some sweetness into the world,” He winked.

Before Leo could give an undoubted snarky reply a bubbly head of dark brown curls and glittering eyes popped around the door.

“Goooood morning everyone,”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that graced his face at her cheeriness, “Hello Miss Levesque, glad to see a prettier face around here,”

Leo made a strangled noise of indignation from the other side of the kitchen but didn’t get the chance to voice his offense before the last member of their little group walked in.

“Ah there you are Miss McLean, I do wonder how you arrive with Hazel and still manage to get in after her.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I have to say goodbye to my girlfriend before I come in Boss. You’re the one who banned couple calls in the bakery.”

“Well maybe if we didn’t have to hear you and Annabeth explicitly planning your night’s activities I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

Piper just rolled her eyes and went to grab her apron and a cloth to wipe down the tables.

"Everyone ready?" He asked, from the door of the kitchen an hour later.

"Ready for the storm boss," They all yelled back, as they did each morning.

"Then let's roll like thunder," He grinned, flinging the doors to Ambrosia Bakery open.

"Oh thank the heavens, I could smell the goodness from here and it was a struggle to keep the drool in," One Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano breathed in deep.

"Good morning my favourite customer," Leo smirked from behind the counter.

"Jason tell your bread boy to stand down before I make him,"

"Is that an invitation?" Dark eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

"That is a threat," She growled.

"Well mark me down as scared and h—"

"Valdez I swear if you finish that sentence I'm putting you on wash-up duty for the next week."

A faint "you got it boss" followed Jason into the kitchen, where he allowed himself to smile. It was an ongoing amusement that Leo flirted with Reyna and in return she came up with increasingly terrifying threats.

"Jason, your sister is here to see you" Hazel said, gently shoving him out the way so she could take over rolling the pastry.

"Get the doughnuts ready for the fryer I'll be back soon, thank you!"

He maneuvered around a blushing Leo who had icing on his nose and a suspicious lipstick stain on his cheek, finally making his way to the confectioners stand.

"What's up loser?" He said by way of greeting.

"Hey you're only allowed to call me that if you come baring nice things." Thalia Grace frowned.

"I am nice things," He pouted.

"Not even on your best day." She snorted, "I want to know if you're coming to the gala this weekend. I need a date to steal extra bread-sticks for me."

"Why can't I just make you bread-sticks and we can sit in your lounge and watch bad reality TV?" He groaned

"Because I have to show face or the sponsors aren't going to sponsor. Besides you need a night out. You're gonna start smelling like bread if you don't take a break."

"It's insulting that you think I wouldn't want to smell like breadsticks."

She laughed at, that ruffling his hair, "Just be ready by seven. You better be wearing a suit."

And with that his sister had grabbed her daily croissant and cappuccino and vanished into the drizzling day.

Before he could make it back to his safe haven beside the ovens and marbled counter-tops a flash of black hair caught his eye.

Turning around he couldn't contain the grin that tugged at his lips; standing by the counter already staring intently at the newest creation was Jason's favourite customer.

"Hello Percy Jackson,"

"Jason," A dazzling smile revealed pearl white teeth and the tiniest dimple on a cheek the color of rich toffee.

"I see you've already found Neptune's Tridoughnut,"

A bright laugh escaped a wickedly beautiful mouth, "Oh I love that. How'd you come up with that one?"

Jason smiled softly, debating whether to tell the owner of the 5-Oceans Conservation Company that he was the muse behind all of his latest creations, hence the variations of green and blue.

Instead, as he did every time Percy asked, he lied, "My sister went to an opening ceremony for a new exhibit at the Education center all about Mythology so I thought I’d offer my services and well, they were a hit."

Piper who was walking past at that exact moment coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Liar" but with a pointed glare she disappeared behind the counter.

"That sounds great. Guess I'll have to recruit you for all my functions," He winked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Jason cursed his pale cheeks and hoped the blush he now sported wasn't too noticeable, "What can I get you besides a specialty doughnut?"

"Can I get one banana and walnut muffin, a dozen chic chips, and I'm gonna go see mom this afternoon so maybe a couple of caramel pastry twists and some blueberry muffins?"

"Sure. I guess Estelle is off her carrot cake faze?" He laughed, remembering how Percy had to stop at the bakery twice a week to grab carrot and pecan mini cakes just for his little sister.

"Ugh she's onto wanting fruit in absolutely everything now so my mom has been frantically buying boxes of peaches, strawberries and apples to cut up and send with her for lunch at school." Green eyes rolled in fake annoyance.

"Well if she likes fruit things maybe she should try the raspberry and orange pastry twists?" He pointed to a display stand piled with various pastries coloured by blackberry jam, apricot pieces, kiwi slices and mango syrup.

"I could kiss you right now!" Percy exclaimed rushing towards the display, unaware that the baker was frozen to the spot.

I could kiss you, could kiss you, kiss you, kiss...

Jason's brain had short-circuited, his neurons too busy having a dance party with his hormones to process the world.

I could kiss you.

A lazy, unconscious smile took over his face as he stood there in the middle of his bakery, arms slack, head lolled, and eyes crinkled.

"Jason?" A faraway voice called.

"Jason? Hello?"

And suddenly a hand was waving in front of his vision trying to get his attention.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, blinking back into existence, "Right yes the pastries"

"Didn’t get enough sleep last night?" Percy teased, slugging him softly in the shoulder.

He snorted at the implication, "Unfortunately I'm a bit of a grandfather. Sleep early, rise early."

"Oh guess you like morning activities then,"

He sputtered, head snapping up to stare into twinkling eyes, "N-no, I just meant—"

"I'm kidding Mr BakerMan," That brilliant, bright laugh again, "I know you're a homebody. Your sister likes to tell me how boring you are."

He huffed at that, "We'll see if she gets her pear tarts this weekend."

"Speaking of this weekend," A sly grin played at Percy's mouth, "Are you coming to the gala?"

"Yea," He sighed, "Thalia says she needs me to steal bread-sticks ."

Sea green eyes widened before Percy burst out laughing. In a matter of moments tears were streaming down his face.

If Jason wasn't so smitten with that gorgeous smile and those mischievous eyes he may have been inclined to laugh too. But Percy Jackson was a vision he half believed only his dreams could conjure.

When the laughter had mostly seized Percy wiped his eyes and managed to gasp, "That sounds exactly like something Thalia would ask. When we worked on the marine life project together she always stole the mints from every CEO’s office because she said they had enough money to buy a mint factory, they could afford to replace a single bowl."

"Yep, her life goal is to end capitalism. I swear if it wasn't for Annabeth, Thalia would be walking into office buildings with a sack like some reverse Santa Claus where she steals the office supplies and fruit bowls."

"Well I can't wait to see you stuffing your pockets with bread-sticks on Saturday so I guess I'll see you then," He gave another dazzling smile.

"Yea, and say hello to little Estelle for me. Tell me how she likes the pastries."

"Don't worry I'm sure I'll be back soon with a long list of request."

"Can't wait." He grinned.

Percy chuckled, "Me neither, see you Friday." And then he was gone.

Oh gods, Jason thought, how am I ever gonna survive Percy in a suit?

***

Spoiler alert past-Jason: you didn't.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

O’ Captain, My Captain

Thanks to the Old Me music video, I unearthed this old fic. Here is Football!Calum. With a hint of Artist!Calum. 

Calum took his chance. To be selfish. To have both things. Football and Art. 

if you like what I write and post, consider supporting me on ko-fi. It helps me save up for graduate fees! 

_________________________________________

The grass feels different beneath his sneakers. He’s already walked with the team to put the equipment up. The coaches have already clapped him on the back, smiled at him, told him that he made his team proud. Though most importantly, they had hoped he had done himself proud. His mom and dad have already wrapped him in hugs, grins plastered to their faces. They’ve already taken him out to dinner, stuffed him with the fanciest thing on the menu. He’s already cheered in the locker room. His voice is still a little hoarse.  Three championship games in a row under his belt. This game, that took place less than three hours ago, was his last hurrah. His freshman and sophomore year weren’t total defeats. They made it to the finals, but didn’t quite make it all the way. And now with junior, senior, and this first year as a postdoc have felt like fever dreams. 

 It’s amazing to go out on such a high note. He can’t help but smile at the thought, the adrenaline that fueled him as he drove the ball downfield with just seconds left. They were up by one goal. It’s not like they needed another one. Calum was greedy for it. No, he was starving for it. It was the fire in his bones that kept him running down that field. The goalie, normally pretty good at reading fakes, took the bait as Calum juked left a little. He dove a second too early, clearing the right side of the goal and Calum watched the ball sail before hitting the back of the net. Time did not exist. He wasn’t breathing. Just watching the ball, praying it didn’t hit the beam. 

Folding his arms behind his head, he stretches out onto the grass. It’s cool even beneath the hoodie. He’s had some good memories on this field. The summer before he started his undergraduate career, he conditioned with them. He was picked up by his team at his secondary school. He could’ve gone pro. School was never supposed to be his thing. It never was his thing if he was honest. He was bored one day in school and decided to crash one of the art classes, skipping the ever so important free block built into his schedule so he could study and work on homework that was coming up or forgotten until the last minute. The teacher knew him fairly well and he wouldn’t rat him out. They broke out another sketchbook and some pencils. “If you’re going to avoid the other schoolwork, just doodle. I’ll give ya extra credit.”

So Calum figured what the harm, besides a potentially insurmountable stack of after school detentions. He could skip class, fuck about in a sketchbook and get some extra credit. He was all for it. But he found himself skipping his other classes more often. He wasn’t terrible at drawing. He definitely wasn’t great. It was just something he wanted to get better at. He came by the art hall after class and sat, sketching the lockers lining the walls. He sketched classrooms. He was getting good and he was enjoying it. The next year he made sure he was taking art classes. Calum never thought he’d give a shit about school, but he gave a shit about art. While he cared for art, he never saw it as viable. Football was his only option. 

“You thought about uni?” His teacher asked right at the end of Year 11. 

“Not much. School’s not my thing.”

“But art is.”

“So is football,” Calum countered. 

“Aren’t some schools looking to give you a scholarship?”

Calum looked up from the sketchbook, back out the window to the benches for lunch when the weather permitted. “Yeah, some in the States. A couple in the UK, a few local schools. But I can’t. You know, football’s my thing.”

His teacher sat down next to him, gently sliding the book out from Calum’s hand. He already knows what’s on the inside but flips through the pages gingerly. The football field, his friends, his parents and sister, scenes of everyday life. The way Calum captured light was amazing, and normally took years to get just right. It was so easy to see the sort of knack Calum had for it. “What if both could be your thing?”

It wasn’t as easy as just having both things. He needed to keep his grades up in order to play at a university. He had to give a shit and it was quickly showing in his first years that he wasn’t. He was nearly dropped from the team for his grades. The general education requirements were ridiculous and all he wanted to do was run on the field and draw not the other bullshit between. But a chat with his mother changed all that. She was never unfair but always firm. He went to the tutoring center. He got off academic probation. He kept his head above water and pushed through the general education stuff. 

Now here he is, going into his second year of graduate studies for studio art. Here he is, at the end of his football eligibility. Here he is laying in the middle of the field. 

He can still hear the roar of the crowd. The sidelines are still packed with people. His body is sore no doubt. Even the cool down stretch can’t take all the pain away. When he goes to sit up, he’s definitely going to feel it in his quads. Right now in his memory, he is still dribbling downfield. He is still sweating, panting, praying he can get that final goal. Right now he is the little boy in his parent’s backyard, grinning ear to ear as his mother takes a picture before his first game. He is twelve again, running drills after practice until his legs felt like they would collapse beneath him. The only thing that matters right now is the echo of his heart thundering in his chest. He will always miss this feeling, everything on the line. Blood, sweat, and pain all pushing him to keep his eyes open, pushing him to be two steps ahead. 

“Hey!” Calum hears the shouting but thinks nothing of it. “Hey!” the voice calls again. It’s closer to him now. The sounds of running over grass hitting his ears. He’s all too familiar with the sound. “You’re Calum, right? Calum Hood?”

He opens his eyes, squinting up to the voice. He sits up with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” The girl’s dressed in a leotard and leggings, duffle bag hiked up onto her shoulder. 

“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say congrats on the win. My brother’s on the team.” Now as the sun clears and he can see her face a bit more properly, she does resemble Hawkins. Sophomore. Good guy, pretty kick-ass center fullback. 

“He never mentioned having a sister.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly cool to go to the same uni as your sibling. But I got picked for academics and he got in on football.”

“Looks like you play something? Maybe the dance team?” he questions, gesturing to the bag. 

She nods. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of? Either you dance or you don’t,” he laughs. 

“I do, dance I mean. I also do baton twirling. But didn’t mean to interrupt your moment too much. Just wanted to say congrats. I’ll miss you on the field.”

Calum nods, hugging his knees to his chest. He glances over the opened field. “I’m going to miss it too.”

“It’ll always be here though. In a way, you know?” He hums in agreement with her statement. It will be. Just won’t be quite the same. “We’ll be practicing at the other end of the field. But if it’s too loud or anything, don’t be afraid to shout at us or anything.”

He smiles. “We are outdoors. Only so much I can really complain about it.”

She grins, a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “Touche.” She takes another step. “Well, congrats again, if I don’t see you at the party later.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

Calum watches her cross the field for a few seconds longer and continues to sit, knees to his chest. His legs are still sore. They will be for a couple more days. He’s alright with that. Calum reaches into his bag, pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. He tries to capture the scene from memory, the packed crowd, the anticipation, the desire. His chest squeezes and his grip on his pencil slacks. 

The sting behind his eyes confirms the tightness of his chest. He brings his gaze back up to the slightly clouded sky, blurry due to the tears. He’s won. He actually won and he’s leaving. The end is sweeter than he imagined. It’s bitter too, to know that he won’t ever step back into his jersey. But it’s somehow sweeter. To know that his legacy will leave on, for at least one more year as he finishes out his degree in studio art. It’s sweeter to end like this. To end on top, to end knowing that he followed a path that allowed him to chase both loves. 

_________________________________

The house is loud, even from the end of the block. It’s a good thing that the football house is situated pretty close to the rest of the frat houses, or else issues would ensue. Calum’s sure something is up as he closes in on the house.  The ruckus isn’t from the football house, it’s from the house next to it. He’s unsure if he should try the door. The lights are on, maybe he’s early. The text he got told him nine. He’s only a few minutes late. Public transit was a little late getting him from the stop near his apartment, which isn’t terrible. 

The door’s locked. So he knocks, stuffing his hands back into the pocket of his jacket. When it opens, he’s greeted with cheers, slaps to the shoulder. “The man of the hour!” 

“Nah, nah,” Calum smiles, slipping out of his coat. He drapes it over the pile forming in the corner, over the back of one of the chairs. He turns to the kitchen. There’s a fixing for just a beer hitting him. He freezes though, staring at his coaches. “Coach Ball, Coach Hobbs, what’re--what’s happening here?”

They grin at him. Coach Hobbs steps forward. “We know. It’s not cool of us to crash a party like this. But, we figured you might want to know this before ya get sloshed.”

Coach Ball steps in. “We can’t extend your contract. Shite we know. But what we can do, is make sure you always keep a part of us with ya.” He extends a white box with a red bow wrapped around it. 

The air’s not even pressing itself into his lungs it feels. Calum’s hands shake a little as he takes the box, pulling on the mesh bow. Pulling the top off, there sits a white jersey, decorated in his number, 11, staring back at him in green. The school’s name and logo also printed onto it. He pulls it out of the box, tears still slightly blurring his vision.  As he turns it over, he notices his name also written across the back. He’s normally got a crier. Not that he’s crying right now, it’s just a few tears. It’s not like they can retire his number. But the ability to still hold onto it, the memories make him happy. The fact that he can still hold onto this. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, putting the jersey back. He pulls both of them into hugs. His lungs can now fully expand as his coaches pat him on the shoulder, whispered praises falling gently between the three of them. Both coaches leave after that, but not before taking a beer each with them. The room chants for Calum to don the new jersey. He sheds the black tee, draping the white material over his body. A can is passed to each of them. 

“This round’s for Captain Hood,” Trundle shouts. He’s taking over as captain now. “He always sailed this ship to success.”

The words catch in his throat. “It-it wasn’t me. It was the team. You guys sailed yourselves.” There are another round of cheers, cans clinking together and the first seem is bitter as always but Calum gets choked as his throat seizes attempting to not let any more tears fall down his cheeks. 

The party continues, the music thumping throughout the house. Less dancing but more mingling is the call for socialization. The same girl from early comes up to him, leggings traded in for distressed jeans and a lacey cropped top. “Drink looks a little low,” she grins at him, before holding out another can. 

He has no clue if she’s younger than Hawkins or not, so he politely declines the drink. “Thanks though. Gonna drink up on some water right now.” She nods and then shimmies through the crowd. 

When the party dies down, around one in the morning, Calum lingers around to help clean up some before his ride pulls up. The driver is nice, keeps conversation pretty short during the five-minute drive.  As he walks back into his apartment, the first of his roommates to arrive from their nights of mischief, he settles onto the couch. He unzips himself out of his boots, pulling the jacket off his shoulders. He inspects the jersey, thankfully no spills, no stains. He pulls it off, walks to his room and drapes it over the back of his chair at his desk. He’s unsure of whether or not to frame it. Though, his brain is completely sober right now to even consider that. He shimmies out of the jeans and lies across his bed, sleep finding him fast.

 His alarm blares, the next morning. He groans, partially cursing himself for leaving it set. But he knows he needs it. Even though his shift is later in the evening, he’s still got a paper to finish up and his portfolio to clean up. It sucks to have to worry now about tuition, his scholarship covered him for all his years as a player, but now, with one last year and no more sports eligibility, him and his parents are figuring out the best way to cover the costs. 

Calum sits up, the jersey staring back at him. It’s real. He didn’t really dream up the coaches handing him that jersey. He didn’t conjure it up in his subconscious as his own selfish desire to never part from it. That jersey is real and his, his number with him forever. It continues to hit him that his time is up during the week. More and more people stop him in the hallways, on the paths that lead to buildings, in the library, in the cafeteria to congratulate him. The older ladies serving him, heap his plates with extras, smile at him in the way that only older ladies can that make you feel fuzzy on the inside. 

He settles down at the benches in front of the library and works on sketching the fountain. He’s been working on it for his final portfolio for a long time. He watches some kids, kicking a football around. His chest warms as they laugh amongst themselves. He decides to put them into the drawing too. He wishes he could capture their laughter, the way they grin at each other and shout at what should be a foul. He wishes he could capture the smiles on their parents' faces as they watch their children. Glancing down to his watch, he notes that his whole break is just about up, so he packs up his things and starts towards the art building. 

In his brief walk, he realizes he could’ve chosen pro. That would’ve worked out for him. But he wouldn’t have these opportunities to still feel human, to chase for that rush of getting the lighting just right in a drawing, in the huge release when his brush hits that canvas. Art is the same need to emote like on the field. It’s just on canvas this time. He could have both things and he’s glad he got them. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Angel, Angel, Burning Bright (Rated M)

Summary: In a dystopian society where free thought and speech are both outlawed, and firemen set fires instead of putting them out, Aziraphale is a rebel, trying to rescue books from incineration, with the help of his friend, Crowley, who happens to be a fireman. (4422 words)

Notes:  Human AU. Inspired by Fahrenheit 451. Warning for angst, hurt/comfort, mention of oral sex, injuries involved with a blow to the head and burning, description of which get moderate towards the end, but not too tremendously graphic. You wanna hate Gabriel more? This is the story for you XD

Read on AO3.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Aziraphale says, gathering the books that are the least damaged out of the ruins of the destroyed Bodleian Library. He picks through what remains of the tattered volumes, frowning at the ones that simply fall apart, turn to ash at his touch. 

“Look who’s talking, angel.” Crowley tosses aside a few charred tomes and rescues a mostly intact manuscript. “I’m a fireman. At least I have an excuse for being out here. You … you’re likely to be killed on sight!”

Aziraphale scoffs but goes about his business.

Crowley hands over the manuscript to Aziraphale, whose arms are just about full. “What?”

“Fireman.” Aziraphale exhales sharply. “I remember when we were little - you wanted to be a fireman. A real fireman. Back when firemen put out fires. Now you’re the ones who set them. Demons … the lot of you …”

Crowley feels splinters of old arguments prickle beneath his skin like angry sea urchins anxious to break free. He appreciates what Aziraphale is going through, everything he’s lost.

His mother’s bookshop was one of the first places to go.

Then the firemen descended on Oxford.

The two places Aziraphale has ever called home up in smoke, and Crowley was there on the front lines pulling the trigger. But regardless of his actions, Crowley isn’t the enemy. Unlike Aziraphale who chose the life of a rebel, Crowley didn’t get a choice.

Crowley’s caretakers aren’t quite as forgiving as Aziraphale’s.

And Crowley understands all of this, understands how his involvement hurts Aziraphale, cuts him to the bone. He’d change it if he could, and every day he searches for a way.

Till then, he refuses to be Aziraphale’s punching bag.

He grabs Aziraphale’s shoulders, nearly knocking the books loose from his grip.

“Do you think I like this?” he snarls in a low voice. “Do you think I want to be one of them?”

“No,” Aziraphale says, accepting Crowley’s anger coolly. “I don’t. But you don’t seem to have balls big enough to walk away from them either.”

“Bastard!” Crowley holds onto Aziraphale a little longer, squeezes his arm a little harder before pushing him away. “Easy for you to say. You have no obligations. No one’s putting your feet to the fire.”

“I have friends,” Aziraphale says, ignoring Crowley’s vitriol. “I have them to look after.”

“Right. That computer major drop-out and his weird-ass witchy girlfriend?”

“You, too, you idiot. Or have you forgotten?”

“I can look after myself.” Crowley goes back to picking through the ashes to keep Aziraphale from seeing the smile on his face because thank Go---someone (not God because where they Hell are they? Not here at the moment, that’s for damned sure!) Aziraphale hasn’t given up on him. Not after this fight.

Not after all the fights.

He can’t lose Aziraphale. If he does, he might as well turn his flamethrower on himself and pull the trigger. He’d have nothing left to make this apocalyptic bullshit life worth living.

Sifting through the splintered, blackened wood of the library shelves masks the sounds of footsteps coming their way.

Crowley and Aziraphale don’t hear them until it’s too late.

“Did you see the way it collapsed?” a voice echoes through the deserted halls.

“Yeah!” a second voice cackles. “Once the flames hit the support structure, the whole thing crumbled like a house of cards!”

Crowley’s head snaps up from the wreckage beneath his feet to look at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looks back, frozen with the books cradled against his chest.

“Go!” Crowley hisses, pointing to the caved-in doorway they had come in through. “Go home! Quickly!”

“What about you?” Aziraphale calls back in a hoarse whisper.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Go!” he repeats, motioning with his hands. “Now!”

Aziraphale bounds forward a few steps, but his foot hits a loose patch of ash and he slides forward. His feet fly out from under him and he falls into the pile, landing on his tailbone, sending dust and debris spilling like an avalanche toward the exit, blocking his escape.

“Shit, Aziraphale!” Crowley races toward him, the heavy fuel tank of his regulation issue M2 flamethrower bouncing against his back. “Can’t you do anything right!?”

“Well, you’re my best friend,” Aziraphale grumbles, scrambling to get to his feet, “so apparently not!”

“Hey! Crowley!” the first voice calls, footsteps becoming louder as the young men head for the gutted library. “What the Hell are you still doing here?”

Crowley turns quickly, shielding Aziraphale’s prone form with his bulky gear-covered body.

“I could ask you the same thing, Gabriel.”

Gabriel used to be an Oxford student like Crowley. His pudgy little minion Sandalphon, however, hails from another university Crowley has never heard of before.

Nor does he care.

“I’m just showing Sandalphon here around the old alma mater,” Gabriel preens, clapping him on the shoulder. “This was his first major burn. I wanted him to take a moment to appreciate it.”

“Good for you,” Crowley sneers. “We’ll be sure to get you a medal.”

“You’ll have to forgive Crowley,” Gabriel says, his words infused with the assumption of superiority. “He’s still a little attached to this place.”

Crowley stares Gabriel down. “Forgive me for valuing education.”

Gabriel chuckles, utterly unaffected. “That’s rich coming from the man who claims to not read.”

“Like you need an education,” Sandalphon adds, words punctuated with jealousy. “Word has it you have enough money to buy yourself a small country.”

“Right …” Crowley nods in sarcastic agreement, “aren’t I lucky? Well, if you don’t mind, I’m having a moment here …”

The sound of muffled scuffling can be heard clearly when the conversation drops off. Gabriel grins, the curl of his lips becoming more suggestive the wider it grows.

“Ahhh.” He takes slow steps forward. “Did you bring someone here to gloat over your big masterpiece?”

Crowley holds his breath. From behind him, the scuffling stops, and Crowley knows Aziraphale is waiting to hear this new information …

… the details of how his oldest friend in the world demolished Aziraphale’s beloved Bodleian Library.

“His masterpiece, huh?” Sandalphon asks.

“Yeah! You should have seen him!” Gabriel takes a step closer to Crowley as he speaks. “He totally took the charge! Came storming in here first thing!” Gabriel shoots Sandalphon a heated look. “I think he wanted all the glory for himself. But his technique sure leaves something to be desired.” He bends over and picks up a thin publication, entirely unscathed except for some charring around the edges. “Take a look at this one! It’s still readable!” Gabriel turns to Sandalphon and gives him a nod. Sandalphon’s wolfish grin takes up his entire face as he reaches for the flamethrower slung over his shoulder. Gabriel tosses the book like a Frisbee, and Sandalphon pulls out his weapon, firing on the paperback as it spins in the air, setting it ablaze. The book drops amid another pile of partially burned books, setting them on fire. Gabriel watches a small bonfire start, then turns venomous violet eyes back to Crowley. “You see? Even newbie here knows how to get the job done. How come you have so much trouble?”

Crowley isn’t about to admit with these two asshats present that he had done it on purpose - led the charge into the library to make sure the books didn’t get burned too badly. That way he could bring Aziraphale back here to collect them afterwards. He had it planned out from the day the firemen were told that the library at Oxford – Aziraphale’s library – would be the next place on the government’s hit list. Crowley would put forth the appearance of doing his job, even being zealous about it, so the group of men who had already begun to side-eye him with suspicion would be none the wiser.

Then Aziraphale might think he was a hero.

But that plan is falling apart at the seams as these two try to pick him apart in front of the only person in his life that truly matters to him – the one shivering at Crowley’s feet with an armful of books, most likely thinking that Crowley is the worst kind of liar and traitor.

None of that matters when out of nowhere, after his attempts to hold it back for this long, Aziraphale sneezes, and the two goons with their flamethrowers cocked seem to suddenly remember that someone else is in the room.

“So,” Gabriel says, fondling the weapon in his hands, “aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Crowley holds his ground, mentally screaming at Aziraphale to keep still.

“I’d rather not,” he says, pulling his own flamethrower off his shoulder and holding it defensively in front of him.

“And why is that?” Sandalphon asks, tilting his head and taking a step to circle around Crowley while Gabriel does the same on the opposite side. “Any friend of one fireman is a friend to us all.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel agrees, taking another step. “Maybe your little friend would like to join us. You know, fight the good fight.”

“I don’t think my friend’s interested.” Crowley watches the two circle around him like jackals vying for whatever Crowley is protecting.

Aziraphale can’t stand it anymore.

He can’t stand waiting to be sniffed out by these two heathens. He can’t stand hiding behind the man he thought he knew so well. Why? Why would Crowley do such a thing, especially when he knows how much those books mean to people? To him? Part of Aziraphale’s brain – the part not currently trying to plan his escape - tells him that he should have more faith. Crowley had to have a reason for torching the library - Aziraphale’s favorite place in the whole world.

Aziraphale knows why Crowley became a fireman. He did it because he was forced into it – asked too many questions, hung out with the wrong people, people he thought he could trust. They have something over him – something he won’t admit to Aziraphale. They threatened to turn Crowley over if he didn’t join up.

Whatever it is he’s protecting is worth his freedom, his principles … and his life.

Crowley is right - he didn’t have a choice.

Crowley does have a choice putting his life on the line to help Aziraphale, and Aziraphale recognizes that huge sacrifice, but sacrifices are being made all over. He can’t discredit the sacrifices of those rebels hiding underground, sticking to their beliefs, not giving in, relying on him.

Ugh! Aziraphale can’t afford to be this confused! Not right now!

“You know, we’re a brotherhood,” Gabriel says. “Brothers have each other’s backs.”

“And brothers don’t keep secrets,” Sandalphon points out.

“You’re no brothers of mine,” Crowley growls, releasing the safety on his flamethrower.

“Is that a threat?” Gabriel asks, a predator’s grin on his face – spread lips and white teeth.

“It sounded like a threat to me,” Sandalphon says, affecting the same hungry grin.

“We don’t like being threatened.” Gabriel stops and aims his flamethrower at Crowley. To his left, Sandalphon does the same. The air becomes strained with the threats being tossed about as the stand-off begins. On the floor, hidden from view, Aziraphale carefully puts his coveted pile of books down. He unbuttons his shirt and unzips his slacks.

“I think we should just torch them both.” Sandalphon releases the safety on his flamethrower, a small lick of blue flame dancing from the barrel of his weapon. “Let the authorities sort it out later.”

“Might be difficult though,” Gabriel says. “They’ll need to sift through their cremated remains to separate them first.”

“No!” Aziraphale screams, jumping to his feet, holding his arms up in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t! It’s not his fault! I---I wanted to come here.”

Crowley doesn’t see Aziraphale step out behind him. He can only see the expressions of the two men staring at them, eyes blank and brows furrowed in confusion. Aziraphale comes around Crowley, and Crowley lowers his weapon in surprise.

He’s never seen Aziraphale without a shirt on before.

Aziraphale isn’t exactly what one would call an athlete. He only runs when chased. So Crowley has never seen him undress - in the locker room or anywhere else. Crowley has spent many an evening lying awake wondering what Aziraphale’s body looks like beneath his clothes, imagining undressing Aziraphale slowly in the quiet of his bedroom.

Reality, Crowley decides, is remarkably better than anything he came up with.

But with Aziraphale’s trousers falling down around his hips, Crowley forgets how to breathe.

“What … what the fuck is this!?” Sandalphon asks, livid.

“That’s the big secret?” Gabriel asks with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Crowley is gay?”

“Ye-yeah,” Crowley stammers, struggling to pull his eyes away from half-naked Aziraphale. “That’s … that’s it. That’s the secret.”

“Well, fuck!” Sandalphon sputters. “That’s barely worth wasting any juice over. Half of the students on campus are some kinda queer, aren’t they?” He powers down his weapon and slings it back over his shoulder.

“Now, hold up, Sandalphon. What were you guys doing in here?”

Crowley wraps an arm protectively around Aziraphale, his hand splaying out over Aziraphale’s bare stomach, feeling his skin jump beneath his touch. “I would think that would be obvious,” he says, pulling Aziraphale as close against him as he can.

Gabriel’s eyes rove once over Aziraphale’s body in a shameless, filthy way before returning to his face.

“What is the reward for burning down library though?” Gabriel asks, his stare driving deep into Aziraphale’s blue eyes. “A blowjob?”

Aziraphale stares back, unwilling to be intimidated by this mindless ox who ransacks houses, bullies people, and burns the only things left in the world that have any meaning.

“Yes.” He relaxes against Crowley’s body, his hands tracing his friend’s hips and down his legs as far as he can reach. “Definitely.”

Crowley, caught in the middle of this ruse, swallows lightly, trying not to focus his attention on the hands exploring his body.

Gabriel leans in closely. Aziraphale can smell the stench of alcohol on his breath and gasoline on his clothes. It’s the smell of ignorance and reckless destruction.

“I think that’s something I’d like to watch,” he whispers, the tang of him growing stronger beneath Aziraphale’s nose. Aziraphale’s stomach turns to jelly but he doesn’t let it show. He’s not going to let Gabriel have the satisfaction of knowing that anything he says affects him.

“Well, I don’t,” Sandalphon balks. “I mean, come on, Gabe. Gross-ville. Let’s get out of here.”

Gabriel doesn’t move. He tries to see through Aziraphale, but Aziraphale doesn’t let him. His hands roam absently over Crowley’s body as he waits, as if he has all day to stand here and nothing better to do.

“Right.” Gabriel backs away, not appearing too fooled by Aziraphale’s ploy. “Come on, Sandalphon. Let’s leave them to it.”

Gabriel grabs the arm of Sandalphon’s thick, fireproof overcoat and tugs him along, throwing a look over his shoulder every five steps to see that Aziraphale and Crowley stay as they leave them, with the plump, partially dressed man still groping at his fireman.

When they retreat through the double doors and disappear from sight, Aziraphale collapses to the floor.

“Fuck!” he sighs, raising a hand to his face and unwittingly wiping ash onto his skin. “That was close.” He crawls back to his abandoned shirt, leaving Crowley stunned where he stands, all thought of his near death experience dissolving with the memory of Aziraphale’s hands running over his body.

Crowley turns, catching Aziraphale right as he pulls his shirt over his arms and starts to zip up his fly.

“Aziraphale,” he says, watching Aziraphale collect the books off the floor, “I … what Gabriel said … a-about the library … I didn’t …”

“No,” Aziraphale cuts him off, “you don’t have to explain. I think I understand.”

Crowley sighs, relieved that his friend saw through them and their Evil. Aziraphale knows that Crowley is different, always has been.

“You do?” he asks, helping Aziraphale fit the last few books into his arms.

“Yeah. I mean, you need to save face. You have to make them think you believe in all this book burning shit, right?”

Crowley deflates at Aziraphale’s words.

No. He doesn’t understand after all.

Crowley opens his mouth to explain, but a sharp pain to the back of the skull sends him straight to the floor.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screams, but a pair of thick boots steps over Crowley’s body, pushing Aziraphale backward.

“I knew there was something fishy about you,” Gabriel spits into the fallen man’s face. “I knew! I just didn’t have any proof. Now I’m going to turn you in …” Gabriel looks at Aziraphale, grinning to end all grins. “And I’m going to finish the job you didn’t.”

“No!” Aziraphale holds the books to his chest and backs away. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Yes.” Sandalphon comes up behind his friend. “We do.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley groans, trying to rise from the floor, his head spinning, lights colliding behind his eyelids. “Put the books down and run!”

“No.” Aziraphale trembles, nearly out of his skin, but he keeps his eyes on the men with the flamethrowers pointed at him.

“They’re going to burn the books, Aziraphale, whether you’re holding them or not!” Crowley implores. He looks into Aziraphale’s soot stained face, pleading with bleary eyes, saying all of the things with one look that he doesn’t dare say out loud. Whether Aziraphale understands his message or not, he’s made his decision. He holds the books tighter to his chest.

Gabriel continues forward with his flamethrower at the ready. “He warned you.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley manages to kneel, attempts to crawl forward over the uneven mass of decimated books and scorched wood. “Don’t be stupid! They’re not worth your life!”

“You’re right! They’re worth more! There aren’t that many left, Crowley! I can’t let them go!”

“Let it alone, Crowley.” Gabriel shoves Crowley to the ground with a kick of his boot. “He’s made his choice.”

“Yeah,” Sandalphon says. “It’s not like we weren’t going to punish him anyway.”

“No!” Crowley screams. “You can’t …!”

“Yeah.” Sandalphon looks from Crowley to Aziraphale with a grotesque smile on his face. “We can.”

“I don’t understand you rebels and your love of books,” Gabriel says as he closes in on Aziraphale, herding him out of Crowley’s reach. “Stupid material possessions with nothing but other people’s thoughts scrawled in them. So I say burn the books and think for yourself! Or better yet … let us think for you.”

“I’d rather burn!” Aziraphale replies.

Gabriel shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“No!” Crowley lurches forward, but the men with their weapons – and his beloved, stubborn Aziraphale - are too far out of his reach.

Aziraphale turns to run, but he’s not quick enough.

Little in the world can outrun the fire of an M2 flamethrower.

The wave of orange flame that engulfs Aziraphale is hotter than anything he’s ever felt in his life. More than a thousand sunburns, more than the scalding hot water that spits out of his shower unexpectedly in the rat infested basement he’s been hiding in for months ever since they took over – the regime that doesn’t believe in independent thought or free speech, the new government that turned its people into refugees. The fire consumes Aziraphale’s body and his entire world becomes pain.

Against his wishes and all his impulses, the books fall from his arms. Their pages loosen from their bindings and fly free - the blackened feathers of scorched wings deteriorating in God rays of the late afternoon.

The last sound Aziraphale hears above the crackling of the fire is Crowley wailing his name before his mind shuts off to avoid the agony of his body burning.

Then everything goes black.

***

“Aziraphale …”

One word.

That’s the next sound Aziraphale hears.

He doesn’t know if he hears it days later, weeks later, or months later, but it’s a welcome sound.

One of the most welcome in the world to him.

“Newt,” he tries to say. He thinks his mouth moves, thinks he makes the sound, but it turns out none of it is true. He can’t say a word. 

His lips are fused together.

And whatever other damage has been done to his body hides beneath a powerful concoction of morphine and valium, both fighting to drag him back to sleep.

He wants to move his eyes but he can’t open his eyelids. He doesn’t try, afraid that maybe they’re fused shut as well.

If they are, he doesn’t want to know.

How Newt even knows he’s awake is a mystery if he can’t talk and he can’t see.

Maybe it’s his fiancée, Anathema, who knows. She has a sixth sense about things.

“Can he hear us?” Newt whispers.

“I believe he can,” a woman’s voice responds. Aziraphale knows that voice, too. It’s Madame Tracy – a lady that some of the grad students rent rooms from. She used to be a nurse … he thinks. He doesn’t know too much about her, but she sure seems to know the ins and outs of the human body. She escaped down to the sewer with her husband - a grisly old man who most of the guys call Sergeant but whose real name is Shadwell. A few young kids from a nearby secondary school - Adam, Warlock, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale - found their way down to the hideout, too. They’d been playing hooky on the day the firemen set their school on fire.

As far as they know, no one else made it out alive.

“Look at how he’s trying to move his mouth, the way his eyelids flutter. That’s not just a nerve response. He’s waking up.” Tracy tuts sympathetically. “It’s a miracle he’s not dead right now. Someone upstairs definitely wants him alive, I’ll tell you that.”

Aziraphale’s body shudders as her words ignite his memory, and a sudden burst of pain along with them.

“Look at him!” Brian cries. “He’s convulsing!”

“Calm down, love,” Tracy whispers. “You’re gonna be all right. I promise. Just calm down now.”

Aziraphale hears whimpering. It takes him a moment to realize it’s his own voice. His throat burns, the sting of gasoline rising up in his sinuses where it had settled but he can’t swallow. But he needs to speak. He needs to know what happened.

Where is Crowley? Is he alive? Is he safe? Did Gabriel and Sandalphon set him on fire, too?

Aziraphale feels a wash of calm flow through his veins, cooling down his body from the inside, settling his nerves, keeping him calm. He slips back to sleep without a single question answered, unable to stay awake in his weakened state, not that he wants to try.

“Yes,” Tracy coos, “that’s better, isn’t it, sweetie?”

Aziraphale’s whimpers stop in his throat without him doing anything. He relaxes, melting into the bed beneath him, and sleep wins its battle.

“We’re going to need to find him more morphine,” Tracy says with a troubled sigh. “We’re starting to run out.”

“We’ve never had anyone burned as badly as him in the infirmary before,” Anathema points out, sniffling back tears.

“We’ll get him some,” Adam offers.

“Yeah,” Warlock concurs. “No problem.”

“Thank you, boys,” Newt says with a sad smile. “Thank you very much.” The time when Newt would turn down their offers for help as too dangerous have long gone. Even if he strictly forbids them to do anything as dangerous as stealing from the hospital, they’ll wait till nightfall and do it anyway. So far, they have yet to be discovered. He prays they never are.

The penalty for stealing from the government (and everything belongs to the government) is immediate incineration.

Newt can’t imagine what it must be like for them. Everyone they know and love is gone. This ragtag group is all the family they’ve got now. Keeping them from helping? That would be a crime.

But Newt’s heart hangs heavy knowing that the majority of the food and supplies they have have been provided due to the bravery of eleven-year-olds.

“There,” Tracy says as the twitching in Aziraphale’s muscles stop. “I think he’s back asleep. That’s best for him for now.”

Everyone nods, grateful that he’s still alive.

Aziraphale has sort of become the unelected leader of their group simply for the fact that he gives them hope. He reads to them, plays them music, performs magic for them, gathers them together and has them put on plays for one another.

Shakespeare is his favorite. He knows all his works by heart.

Recently, he had them perform Hamlet.

He threatened them with Romeo and Juliet if they didn’t.

He feeds them plain toast with scrapes of butter but promises them that they’ll eat crepes with him someday, and cheesecake and puddings and pies, talking them up so vividly they can almost taste them in their mouths while they chew stale bread.

Every day, he reminds them what in this world is worth living for.

He inspires them to go on when they would rather give up.

But barely a one of them can look him in the face. 

It’s gone, every distinguishing feature morphed into a single blackened lump of flesh. He’ll never talk again, probably never see. He’ll be locked in his body for the rest of his life … if his injuries don’t kill him first.

“What do we do with the fireman?” Pepper asks. “I mean, he saved Aziraphale’s life.”

“If you can believe him,” Anathema snaps.

“Why would he lie?” Adam asks. “Why would he risk his life bringing Aziraphale here, knowing what we might do to him?”

“He brought him here because we’re the merciful ones,” Wensleydale deduces. “The government says that makes us weak and stupid.”

“But it doesn’t,” Pepper counters. “It makes us strong.”

“I believe him,” Warlock says.

“Yeah,” Shadwell says, “but you know the rules. They’re in place to keep us safe. And the rules apply to us all.”

“You’re right,” Newt says. “I do know the rules. And they do apply to us all. But if he’s telling the truth then that fireman killed two other firemen to save one of us. He’s a hero with nowhere to go. So now he’s a fugitive like us.” He puts an arm around Anathema’s shaking shoulders and hugs her tight. “He stays here. It’s the least we can do.”

[certain-as-the-sun]

Hey Jealousy

A High School-is AU. Inspired by the Gin Blossoms’ song of the same name. Contains: Alcohol Abuse, miscarriage, unwanted sexual touching. 

Hey Jealousy 

Tell me do you think it'd be all right If I could just crash here tonight You can see I'm in no shape for driving And anyway I've got no place to go And you know it might not be that bad You were the best I'd ever had If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might not be alone

It was a rainy night. Belle sat in her father’s house on the edge of town, far enough away that she got the peace and quiet she craved, but still close enough that running errands into town wouldn’t take all day. She sat in her favorite chair, a hot mug of tea steaming beside her. Her bookcase gleamed in the firelight, beckoning her to choose from her vast collection. Tonight was a night she didn’t want to dwell on. Five years ago her whole world changed. Her first love had been lost to her. Her true love if she still believed in fairy tales. They had been so good together. They had their lives figured out. She would finish school, open her bookshop and live happily ever after. Fate it seemed, was not as kind. The accident wasn’t Adam’s fault. He knew that, but it didn’t stop people from talking. Small town like theirs, it didn’t take long for word to spread about the group of teenage boys who took a joy ride that left one dead. 

Adam never could hold his alcohol. He tried so many times to quit. Rehab, counseling. Through it all, there had been Belle. She was the one constant in his ever changing life. He was trying. He was trying to be who he needed to be, who Belle needed him to be. But there are some demons that are just too hard to get rid of. Orphaned at ten, bounced around from home to home. He was an angry young man, a temper that could explode at the smallest of things. He starting drinking at a young age, stealing what he could from his less than desirable foster parents. He fell in with the wild crowd. The kind of boys who stole cars, drank, partied hard. It landed him in a group home for at-risk boys. 

He was adopted at sixteen by an older gay couple. Cogsworth and Lumiere could not have been more opposite in their manners and appearance. Cogsworth was portly and fussy. Lumiere was flamboyant and loud. Between them, they showered Adam with the love and acceptance he had so desperately needed. They got him into AA, helped him find a good sponsor, someone Adam could always call when and if he needed to talk to someone other than his dads. Hatter whose real name Adam never knew, had been a foster kid too, adopted as an older teen. Hatter understood the pressure Adam felt, the loneliness that came from a life spent apart. Between the three men loving Adam he was able to stay clean for over a year. 

Belle was an only child to a widowed clockmaker. She was an honor student, on the fast track to the Ivy League. They met when Cogsworth signed Adam up for an English tutor. Cogsworth valued education and wanted Adam to improve so he could attend college and make something of himself. At first Adam and Belle wanted nothing to do with each other. He didn’t think he needed a tutor and not one as attractive as Belle was. His teenage brain envisioned her as the naughty librarian he had seen in dirty magazines. Acting on horrid advice from his friends, he was rude and demeaning. His efforts were rewarded with a slap and disgust. At home that evening, he sought out better advice. Cogsworth told the boy to write her an apology. Lumiere told him to bring her a rose. Hatter, the straight man in his life agreed that Adam had treated Belle poorly, asked him what he was going to do about it. Adam had to do better. 

And better he did. He apologized, profusely. Belle wasn’t sure she could trust him. She knew who he hung around with. But they started spending time together. Little by little the real Adam shone through. Behind the tough as nails exterior he showed the world, he allowed Belle to see him. He could very kind to those in need. He organized toy drives for foster kids. Once at the store when the cloud let loose a deluge of water, he offered to pull her car up for an elderly woman so she wouldn’t get drenched to the bone. 

He still had his temper. If his temper got the better of him, Belle wouldn’t stand for it. More times she left him where he was standing when he was losing it. He’d never hurt her but she wouldn’t take that chance. He scared her badly one night. They had been in his room and she had accidentally knocked over a framed photograph. The glass broke and damaged the photo. He roared with anger and before he realized what was happening he had tossed everything from his desk and slammed his fist into the wall. She ran from the room. In his angered haze, he heard her cries from the living room. He stopped thrashing and stepped into the hall. She was still there. Seated on the couch, his dads on either side of her. Cogsworth shook his head at his son. 

Anger management with Hatter came next. He never wanted to see anyone he cared about be subject to his temper. He wrote Belle a letter, even mailed it. He never knew if she read it but she did forgive him. 

The day of the accident started bad. His anniversary of sobriety was coming up. He would be two years clean. A milestone for any addict. It was little things piling up to big things. A memory of his parents, long gone from his life. A bad grade on a test he and Belle had studied so hard for. An argument between Adam and Cogsworth about grades and school. A misunderstanding between Lumiere. The anger simmered to a full boil. A temper flare from Adam had him storming out of the house. Deep in the back of his mind he knew what he had to do. He needed to call Hatter. Get his head on straight. 

He could call Belle. But she was busy. She had an interview in the morning. An interview that could make or break her college plans. She didn’t need him distracting her. Maybe she would let him just sleep in her bed while she prepared. If he was with her, he could calm down and be able to go home and apologize. If he was with her he wouldn’t be able to do something stupid. Pausing over her contact, a text popped up. 

Pre-game with boys. Don’t be a wuss. 

He had been ducking texts like these for weeks. Gaston was from his old life. A life he didn’t want anymore. Gaston had been his best friend once upon a time. Before his dads. Before Hatter. Before Belle. Adam dropped Gaston soon after he began seeing Belle near constantly. Belle hated Gaston. She found his crass and chauvinistic behavior revolting. Rumor has it he had three kids with three different girls. 

When he and Belle first started dating, he took her to a party that Gaston was throwing. He had taken over his parents cabin in the woods. Everyone from school was there, even people from other schools that had heard about the bash in the woods. Cars lined the dirt road leading up to the cabin. You could hear the party before you saw it. Belle, to put it plainly was not a party girl. Her idea of a Friday night was spent at the small bookstore on Main Street, browsing and putting books on layaway. Mrs. Potts, the owner kept a log of Belle’s books and would sometimes write off a few when she needed to. Belle was happiest when she and Adam had dinner together at the cafe next door to the bookstore and just took a walk in the park. But she agreed. Adam had been doing so well and she thought it was only fair that she share in his world when he spent so much time in hers. 

Gaston saw them first. The feeling between Gaston and Belle was mutual. He blamed her for changing Adam from the guy he was to the guy he is. Behind her back he called her a bitch, a nag, killjoy. The tall, broad teenager with coal black hair strode up to them as they entered the house, a bottle of beer in his hand. He snapped his fingers at Kevin to get Adam a drink. He saw red when Belle took Adam’s hand and shook her head when the small portly boy offered them both bottles. He was going to take her down a peg or two.

It took some time but he finally got Adam and Belle separated. She had gotten tree sap on her hand when they had gone outside. She was expecting Adam to be waiting for her outside the bathroom when she came back out from washing her hands. But he wasn’t. He had gotten pulled into a conversation with Gaston’s latest blonde. She started towards him when Gaston got in her path. 

“Never thought little miss perfect would grace us with her presence,” Gaston taunted. “Thought you were too good to hang out with the likes of us.” He leaned closer to her, pushing her back against the wall. “Not sure what my boy Adam sees in a frigid bitch like you.” 

His breath reeked of stale beer, corn ships and tobacco. He ran his hand over her bare shoulder, she had lost her sweater somewhere. She tried to move out Gaston’s way but he caged her. “Gaston, please. Just leave us alone.” 

“I want to know what kind of spell you got my boy under,” he said, his hand moving its way down her body, over her. Tears stung her eyes. Where was Adam? “Maybe if I get a taste, I might understand.”

“Stop it, please.” 

Across the room Adam caught sight of his girlfriend. He pushed through the crowd of drinking people. Gaston had Belle pressed against the wall, his hands on her. Without thinking he charged at Gaston shoving him away from Belle. 

“Get away from her!” Adam all but growled. He kept himself between Belle and Gaston, his fists balled. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“She came on to me man!” Gaston argued. “I told you. I warned you about her. She’s a bitch. You’re better off without her.” 

“Adam let’s just go,” Belle said, putting her hand on his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” 

“Shut up, you stupid —“ Gaston didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Adam swung his fist forward and knocked his former best friend square in his jaw. 

“You will not speak to my girlfriend like that ever again,” Adam said. He took Belle’s hand and they left. Alone in her car he held her close as she cried. No one had ever touched her like that before. Not even Adam. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’d never come if I thought that’s what he’d do. Please, I’m so sorry.”  

Staring at the text, it was a siren’s call. If he was honest with himself, he did miss his friend. Hanging with he boys would be the easy choice. It would be so easy to just fall into a stupor with the boys. He wouldn’t have to think about anything else. Not school, not his dads, not even Hatter. He knew what he needed to do. The siren call was stronger. He wanted to go. He wanted to fall into oblivion. He could fall for one night and when the dust settled he would start over. That was the life an addict. He knew what he needed to do and did what he wanted. He made the easy choice.  

Where you at? Three words. That’s all it took to ruin his life. Three words. 

The ravine. And don’t bring that bitch. 

Don’t call her that. 

Three hours later Adam had fallen off the wagon hard. He had drunk two bottles of Stoli, his hard liquor of choice and finished off a six pack of a cheap beer Stanley brought. Once he started Adam couldn’t stop. He couldn't have just one drink. He would keep going until he couldn’t see straight. When Adam polished off what they others had brought they went to get more. Driving a town over and with Stanley’s fake ID and Cogsworth’s credit card, the boys loaded up with more. Two more bottles of Stoli down and Adam was drunker than he had been in his life.

Neither Adam or Gaston had any business driving. The only sober one among the boys that night was Kevin also known as LeFou. Kevin was Gaston’s lackey. The small, overweight, nerdy boy just wanted to be popular. He did Gaston’s homework, really anything Gaston wanted. He was in the backseat with Adam that night. Gaston sped down the road, the radio screaming profanity laced rock. Reckless and stupid. Empty bottles rolled around the back of the car. They were invincible. On top of the world. Until they weren’t. 

No one was sure as to the exact nature of the accident that left one dead, two severely injured and one with minor cuts and scrapes. Kevin, the sweet boy who just wanted to belong was dead. Stanley walked away. Gaston had severe brain damage and would likely require twenty-four/seven care for the rest of his life. Adam broke his right collarbone, the three bones in his right arm, the femur of his right leg and had broken glass embedded in his face. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life. 

Belle, Hatter and his dads sat constant vigil by his side while he recovered from surgery. His handsome face distorted and scarred from the accident. Mixed emotions filled Belle. Anger, betrayal, hurt, sadness. How could he do this? Interview or not, he could have called her. Should have called her. In fact, he had called her. Several times. The first time she answered. She heard the shouts and loud music in the background. In his slurred speech he told her how much he loved her and how he was sorry. She begged him to tell her where he was. She would come get him and take him home. Get him to Hatter and his dads. Get him sober again. He wouldn’t listen. After the calls ended, texts came through. At first they were from Adam. Drunken decelerations of love. Disjointed thoughts of an unclear mind. Then they changed. They called her names, demeaned her. She turned her phone off. Adam had to be beyond reason if he let Gaston talk to her in such a way. 

Adam and Stanley had to be the ones to face the music when it came down to blame for the accident. They each took a lesser sentence, community service, mandatory rehab, counseling and they were expelled. Adam became the worst version of himself. Guilt over took him. He withdrew into himself, became bitter, letting his anger consume him. If he did speak to anyone, there was no kindness in his words. Belle stood by him, did her best to help him through the darkness. Her breaking point came during her second year of college. He had done well over the holidays. He was getting better. So when the stick said Pregnant she was able to think to the future again. They had taken their lives day by day for the last two years. She could see a glimmer of hope in their darkness. 

Fate, cruel as always, laughed. He had been working at the grocery store when she came in. Gaston’s mother. Seeing Adam whole set her grief anew. He stood there unmoving as she berated him, blamed him for everything that happened that night. Her son wouldn’t do the things they had said about him. Adam was a dirty orphan who drug her son down with him. Management lead her away from him but the damage had been done. In a stupor he walked out of the store grabbing a bottle of his poison on the way out. He missed her calls. Ignored them. Ignored everyone as he drank himself stupid again. 

Belle was done. She could only watch him destroy himself for so long. And losing her child was the final straw. 

“I won’t sit by and watch you drink yourself to death,” she said. “I can’t do it anymore.” 

The last time she saw Adam, he had passed out on her dorm room floor. The last she heard he’d voluntarily checked himself into an in patient clinic. Belle kept in contact with Lumiere and Cogsworth. They came to her graduation when her own father was too ill to make the drive. They stood by her when she lost her father. The two men rarely mentioned Adam except in passing. He was out of rehab. Seemed to be doing well. He was working. Stocking shelves at a big box store. Somewhere he didn’t have to see customers. 

Belle sighed away the memories and stood up from her chair and took out her favorite book. A leather bound copy of Sense and Sensibility. Opening it at random, dried flowers fell from the pages. Tucked between another page was a yellowing piece of notebook paper. A letter. A letter from Adam in the Before. 

 My Belle, 

It feels so great to be able to call you mine. I know I’m not the easiest guy you could be with. I’m so grateful that you are. As promised, I’m doing better. Learning to take a breath to settle my anger before speaking. I need to explain what happened. The photo in my room, was my mother. The only thing I managed to keep throughout my childhood and moves. I am so sorry that I lost my temper. It wasn't acceptable behavior and I know that. I am going to forever be working on myself, to be who you need me to be. 

I love you, Belle. Don’t give up on me. 

Yours always, 

Adam

She slid the letter back into the book. That Adam was long gone. He had a way with words. One minute he was a master poet, extolling words of love and devotion. But there was the other side of the coin. His words, when used in anger could tear a person down and leave them shattered. But that was then. She was a different person now.  

You can trust me not to think And not to sleep around If you don't expect too much from me You might not be let down Cause all I really want is to be with you Feeling like I matter too If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might be here with you

His shift was ending. He didn’t have anywhere to be. His dads had taken a cruise, trusting they could leave Adam home alone for the first time in years. He didn’t have many friends that he could call to see if they wanted to grab a bite. In fact not counting Hatter, he didn’t have anyone he could call anymore. He took out his phone to check the time. It was just after eight. Jack in the Box would still be open. He could go there, eat a cheap burger and fries and go home. He smiled sadly looking at the picture that was a perfect moment in time. Belle. Lumiere had taken the photo. Together on the tire swing in the backyard. They had been so happy. Back when she was still his. Back before everything went to hell. 

He still had her number in his phone. He never called it. He was sure she’d hang up on him before he ever got a word spoken. That was if she hadn’t blocked his number altogether. There was so much he wanted to tell her. To apologize for. He loved her. Loved her enough that he would be okay if she never came back to him. Not that the sting of jealousy didn’t bite him in the ass when he saw her with someone else. 

He had seen her from afar so many times over the years. She still called his dads when something good happened to her. They would always tell him if she was coming over or if they had talked to her. Adam never asked Cogsworth or Lumiere to say he was thinking of her. That he still loved her with all the passion he still had. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not again. 

He found himself walking in the rain. After the accident, he never drove again. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself outside her house. She was sitting in front of the fire reading, like she always did. Taking a breath, he walked away from the window and to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited. 

Belle never imagined who would be on the other side of her door. 

“Adam?” 

“Belle.” No matter how many years passed by, Adam saying her name was enough to send shockwaves through her whole body. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I know if I hadn’t messed up that night, I wouldn’t be standing out here in the rain,” he said, his blue eyes staring at her. “There are so many things that I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Hurting you, driving you away will always be on the top of my list.” 

“You really hurt me, Adam. How can I ever trust you again?”

He fished something out of his pocket. A bronze colored coin. Belle had seen the collection of sobriety coins Hatter had. Hatter was eighteen years sober. So often they just wanted to get Adam to thirty days. Thirty days. Then to ninety days. To a hundred and eighty. To one year. The bronze coin in his hand had a 2 stamped in the center of it. 

“Two years, yesterday Belle,” he said. “730 days. Dad and Pop came to the meeting. Hatter actually cried.”

Two years. Belle tried to imagine Hatter crying. The thought made her giggle. She caught his eye and in an instant it was like they were seventeen again. He pulled her to him, expression nervous but hopeful as he waited for her to make the next move. Maybe it was too much to hope he would take her back so soon. But she had to know. Had to know there would never be another for him. She was it. He would spend the rest of his life making up for the last five years of hell he put them through. He needed and wanted her with every fiber of being. She must have seen it, weighed the consequences in her own mind. Seconds passed and her lips crashed into his, igniting a passion she had long buried. He walked her backwards into the house, kicking the door closed behind them. Between their increasingly fervent kisses, he was apologizing. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Maurice died,” he said as she pulled his wet coat from him. “I’m sorry for passing out in your yard.”

“Adam, if you list everything you’re sorry for, you’ll be here until Christmas.”

Christmas sounded good to Adam. He could spend a Christmas with Belle. A birthday with Belle. God, was this really happening? Was she really there? He had to be sure. 

“Am I really here?” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to him. 

“Yes, you’re really here. I’m here.” Belle traced the marks on his face.

“You can count on me now, Belle. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Prove it.” 

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he kissed her again. He drank her in, every sight, every scent mixing with memories. Lifting her into his arms holding her close. He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding all the places that brought her pleasure. The places only he knew. Her legs wrapped around him, as if they had never been apart.  

Her senses came back to her first. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t let him back into her life. She knew the risks and her heart could only break so many times. 

“Wait, Adam. Stop. Put me down,” she said. With her feet on the ground, her head was coming out of the clouds. 

“Belle? Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

“Oh, Adam,” she sighed. “I have wanted nothing but for you to be sober and happy. But I can’t be the root of your happiness. I won’t survive it again.”

He nodded. He’d heard this before, from his fathers, from Hatter. He expected it from Belle. She had been hurt the most by his actions. Because she could walk away. 

“I understand Belle. I do. It will take more than just words and promises. Because I’ve said and done things that I am not proud of. I’ve hurt you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I love you.”

He took out his phone, opening the notes app. Scrolling down he found a letter he had written to her during his final rehab stay. He began to read. 

“My dearest Belle, there is nothing that I can say that will ever make up for my behavior. There is nothing I regret more. I lie here in my bed thinking about what — no not what — who we lost. Who they could have been if they’d had a better father. I will never forgive myself for walking away. Walking away from you, from what you meant — mean to me. I am so sorry that you were alone. I am sorry that my selfish wants overtook me when you needed me most. Nothing I can ever do will make up for that. In the worst moment of your — our lives, you were alone. And that is not right. It will never be right. And if you can ever forgive me, I will work forever to earn back your love and your trust. And even if you never can, knowing that I tried will be enough for me. I love you Belle. I love you enough to walk away if that’s what you want from me.”

 He stopped reading and looked up at her. “What do you want Belle?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You. Demons and all.” 

[ghosthunthq]

The Bones in the Acid 1

By: @sprghosthunter​

Prompt:  crime investigation AU

“Oh God…” Mai muttered as she snapped her head back. She waved for her field assistant to approach. “Hey Yasu, we need baking soda, stat!” Setting her gaze on the decomposing body, Mai clenched her teeth and held her breath.

“Huh?!” Yasu peered over the young agent’s shoulder. As he eyed the wisps of smoke rising over Mai’s crouched form, he began to smell it. “Oh God!” He smashed his hand over his nose, the pungent scent was nearly enough to knock him over. Turning away, Yasu rushed to the van. He gasped for fresh air the moment the human stick bomb was out of range.

After throwing open the back door of the black vehicle, Yasu plunged himself inside. He reached for the clear bin Naru had packed for Mai. The scientist always insisted Mai keep a few basic things, baking soda included, when investigating crime scenes.

“Hurry! We’re losing evidence!”

Fumbling, Yasu grabbed onto a large orange box. He then sprinted from the van at full speed. Mai was waiting for him with an outstretched hand. The moment it was within reach, Mai yanked the box of baking soda from Yasu and proceeded to dump it onto the rapidly disintegrating remains. Yasu stepped back as the starch white powder mixed with the acid coated bones. The solution bubbled over top loose dirt and dead leaves, further obscuring his view of their latest crime scene.

“We should get Naru’s team out here…” Yasu suggested while pinching his nose. “I don’t think our coroner is going to want to come and fetch this one…”

Mai grumbled, “As much as I can’t stand working with that ass, I think you’re right… After all…if it weren’t for his…previous insistence….we wouldn’t have anything left.”

“Well…he’s also one of the best anthropologists out there. Bones are like…his specialty,” Yasu added. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “I’ll call him now. Ah, why don’t you go take a seat in the van? I’ll keep an eye on everything out here.”

Arms crossed, Mai sighed, “No. I think I’m going to have a look around. That body hasn’t been here long. Surely whoever tried getting rid of it is still around.” Her hand hovered over the holster on her hip. As Yasu nodded, Mai stepped over the neutralized remains. She headed into the thickening treeline in search of more clues.

…line break…

The famed anthropologist, Oliver Davis, gazed at the pile of damaged bones. Upon first glance, he assumed at least half of the skeleton was missing. Perhaps more. The skull itself wasn’t even fully intact. Then again, he had no reason to be surprised. The body had been doused in acid…

“How strange…” Oliver knelt down, pointing a gloved finger at the remainder of the mandible. “There are no teeth, and judging that the majority of the damage was done by hydrofluoric acid, it’s likely they were removed prior to disposal.” 

“Great, seems like we’ve got ourselves a cautious killer.” Mai rolled her eyes.  “We can’t get an i.d. without dentals.”

Oliver raised a brow, “Don’t worry. It may take me a day or two, but I’m certain I have enough to work with to provide useful information pertaining to identify the victim. For instance, based on the size and shape of the mastoid process,” he reached out to touch the side of the skull, “this is a male.”

Mai blinked. She then crouched beside Oliver.

“Okay. That’s…helpful…” Her shoulder brushed against his as she steadied herself.

Oliver huffed, “It’s more information than your forensics team could have provided.” Before Mai could retort, he continued. “This man is also of Asian descent, most likely, given the shape of the occipitals. He was likely between 173 and 178 centimeters tall.” Directing Mai’s attention to the partial femur, Oliver smirked. 

“What?! But more than half of it is missing! There is no way you can tell!” Mai huffed.

“Look,” he pointed to the bottom portion of the remaining bone, “we have the bottom, and here,” he moved his hand, “we have a section of the pelvis. We can make an educated guess as to the length of the femur, and therefore, we can estimate his height.”

Scoffing, Mai jotted down the details in her notepad, “Anything else, Dr. Narcissist?”

Shrugging, Oliver took a look at the skull again. He tilted his head as he brushed away debris.

“I would estimate the age of this man to be between nineteen and twenty-five.”

Mai frowned, “Huh? Wait a minute, didn’t you just describe yourself?” She nearly threw her hands up, “Naru! This is serious! I’m not one of your interns you play head games with!”

Oliver shook his head, “I have given you accurate information pertaining to this set of remains. It is purely a coincidence I am a match to the description I have offered.”

“Naru…”

He sighed, “What reason would I have to lie?”

Rising to full height, Mai turned away. She clenched her pen, until her knuckles were turning white.

She uttered to herself, “You’re the one that likes screwing around with my emotions…why not screw with my work while you’re at it…?”

Deaf to Mai’s comment, Oliver craned his neck back and spoke, “I’m going to have these transported back to the lab. I’ll have someone try and run a DNA sample. It’s also possible that this man’s DNA is on your database.”

Mai curtly replied, “Fine.”

“In the meantime,” Oliver stood, removing his gloves, “I suggest you begin searching through missing persons, and see if you can find any matches with the description you have.”

Eye twitching, Mai snarked, “When did you become my boss?

Frowning, Oliver gestured for his team to come forward. He then returned his attention to Mai. As she moved away from him, he caught a glimpse of her face. It was red, and he was able to spot a wet, shiny streak. 

…line break…

“So, I need to clean the bones for Dr. Davis. Since you’re new, I’ll give you the task. Just be careful not to destroy any evidence,” said one of Oliver’s interns, Takigawa. He offered a box to the latest recruit, John. The younger man accepted the box and glanced inside. He furrowed his brows while observing the goop covered bones.

“I’ve already got the bath you need to soak them in ready,” Takigawa smiled, gesturing towards the room furthest down the hall. “Just keep an eye on them, and let us know if anything unusual happens.”

“Alright…” John cleared his throat, but Takigawa was already halfway across the lab. “Lord have mercy on this poor soul…”

Shifting his gaze up, John peered at the room Takigawa had prepared. Exhaling loudly, John took his first steps down the hallway. As he passed open doors, he caught sight of other interns working on artifacts that looked to be prehistoric. Someone with black, shoulder length hair was taking samples from one of the artifacts, muttering about isotopes. 

Looking to his right, John peered into another room. It was dimly lit. The only distinguishable light came from a single monitor, and all John could hear was some man’s relentless typing. Perhaps he cataloged everything? John had not received an official tour, so he wasn’t too sure.

Another door down was open. He could hear a one-sided conversation. As John glanced inside he saw Dr. Oliver Davis with his back turned. His phone was pressed against his cheek, and the projection on the wall before him rotated between images of a crime scene.

Swiftly glancing into the box again, John confirmed the remains in his arms matched those depicted in the images holding Oliver’s attention. 

John shook his head and continued on towards the last room on the left of the corridor. As he stood in the doorway he studied the room’s orientation. It very much reminded John of his university chemistry lab, but rather than twelve stations, there were only four. At the back of the room, sitting on a table, as Takigawa had said, was a bath ready for the bones.

Carefully, John set the box beside the tank. He reached for the tongs laying nearby and inspected them. Certain they were sterile, he began to transfer the remains from the box to the tank. Each bone fizzed as they were submerged in the clear solution. The residue once clinging to them washed away, leaving them multiple shades whiter than John’s own teeth. Once all bones were in the tank, John stepped to the shelves on the other side of the table in search of a tray. 

Below his field of vision sat a stool. As John moved his legs tangled with it, and he yelped. Crashing to the floor, John reached for the shelf to stable himself. The shelf did nothing to halt his momentum. Instead, it tipped, toppling over top of him, and the glass tank.

Chemicals and other liquid solutions splashed on the floor as glass vials shattered. John shouted out as he covered his eyes, expecting to be crushed by the metal frame. The table on which the tank sat prevented the shelf from reaching the floor, as well as John’s body, however, a few open containers splashed into the bone cleansing bath. The new compound sloshed from the tank and coated John’s wrist and sleeve. 

Shortly after John yelled for help, Oliver was standing in the room, lost for words. Never had he seen such a disaster in his own lab. 

“What happened here?” He observed a distressed John on the floor before sighting the tank. Oliver inhaled and stepped further into the room. Once close enough to see each item in the tank Oliver brought a hand to his head and cursed.

Bleach….among other things.

“Mr. Brown… Go and get yourself cleaned up…” Oliver kept his tone level. He wanted to be upset and tear into his new intern for ruining his chances of DNA analysis, but Oliver remained calm. He gazed over the table, noticing that a patch of skin on John’s hand was discolored. The stains on his coat were quickly changing in color as well. Oliver hesitated to reach for the young man, but when he saw that the stains were beginning to dissolve the fabric of John’s coat he gasped. 

With no time to explain, Oliver yanked the new intern to his feet by the collar of his coat and rushed him off the emergency shower.