#i feel like it somehow manages to miss the mark though maybe its the colour scheme or something

[hexados-on-a-string]

*wakes up in a cold sweat* WAS MIRA'S AESTHETIC SUPPOSED TO BE INSPIRED BY CYBERPUNK THIS WHOLE TIME

[raziroo]

Cotton Candy

Pairing: Lotor x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Saying "Shit" twice

Word count: 2,076 (yay) (also, I edited this, I still need to update the word count)

Author’s Note: I'm crap at writing dialogues, and this is my first time writing for a gay couple. I'm so sorry if it seems forced or unnatural or shitty. Don't be afraid to call me out.

Story Moodboard!

It’s with a grunt of effort that I manage to lift the carton containing the cotton-candy-maker.

‘Here, dad,’ I say as my dad takes the box from my hands. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yep, that’s all of it. We’ll conquer this carnival with our delicious cotton candy,’ I nod, doing jazz hands while saying the last part. Dad chuckles. I grin.

‘Hey, Honey!’ I turn back, squinting to spot where my other dad is in the crowd of bustling people. Where, where…? Yep, there he is – in his embarrassingly brilliant sunshine yellow and bottle green striped shirt and hot pink trousers, a sharp contrast to his natural bright red hair. Don’t say that it can’t look that bright; you’ll never know just how blindingly bright bottle green can really be until you see the shirt my dad’s wearing. And trust me, he usually dresses in simpler tones; such bland tones that you’d be surprised to know he was capable of wearing colourful hues as well. It’s only that he’s very passionate about his job, and so whenever we set up a booth in fetes such as the current one, he never misses to match the shop logo.

‘Hul-lo, father dearest, how seems to go your day?’

‘Oh, quite lovely, if I do say so.’

‘Well, that’s simply charming –’

‘Alright, enough,’ my other, not redhead dad snaps with an exasperated sort of smile on his visage. You see, my not redhead, a.k.a. brown-haired dad happens to be British. And that means that me and dad would rather paint our teeth blue than to not tease him. ‘You both need to shut it and start helping me with the decorations, now. You know I’m trash at all that.’

‘Aw, now don’t get discouraged,’ I say, patting dad on the back. ‘After all, not everyone can be as blessed as me, can they?’

‘Hey, why don’t you go look around for a bit? You’ve been helping out since before I have.’

‘Yeah, he’s right, pet. You should.’

I huff, rubbing my palms on the fabric of my jeans. ‘You guys sure? I’m not tired, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘We’re not worried, we’re just saying you should also get a look, you know? There’s a lot of surprising booths this time around. I mean, there are aliens participating too, so…’

‘Hmm,’ I play with my bottom lip a little, then, ‘yeah, okay. I’ll be back in like, an hour? Forty five minutes? Sound okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Bye, then.’ And with that, I turn on the heels of my Converse, wandering about the pretty stalls and eager children and kissy couples and aliens with curious features.

It really feels bizarre, just how astonishingly fast mankind has accepted the existence of aliens. It seems simultaneously ages and just a day before when conspiracy theorists raged all around the world, presenting baseless theories and concepts as to why and how the three-man squad on the Kerberos mission disappeared. Then came the Galra, bringing along with them global terror – because alien life, intelligent alien life existed and humanity remained oblivious all these millennia, and now they were actually attacking us. It could’ve been, perhaps even was, in some other dimension, the end of Earth. But then a defender appeared; Voltron appeared in all its glory, bringing along with it proof that however much these purple aliens claim that humans are scum of the universe, humans were, in the grand scheme of things, the ones that saved the universe too.

It feels even more puzzling to actually be on a first-name basis with the leader of Voltron; that’s right, I’m personally acquainted with Keith Kogane. It was around six months after him leaving the Garrison did I come across him. He’d been loitering around the neighbourhood, had ended up in a fistfight with some other kids, and along with that a split lip and bruised cheek. I’d been watching. When the fight ended, I (somehow) persuaded him to come along so that I could at the very least provide him with a band-aid.

Long story short, we’d bonded over how our moms were no-shows and how dads were the best and we became surprisingly close friends; the only difference was that after the death of his old man, he lived alone. I’d been adopted by my two current fathers. I told him about how when they’d initially adopted me, I was excruciatingly shy. I wouldn’t even come out of my room except meals. It was only when I came to know that they knew how to make candy floss had I timidly approached them if I could have some, because previously I’d always been grossed out at the thought of having to eat that. I’d overheard this group of kids saying that cotton candy was actually just dyed granny hair, so that’s where that came from.

I love cotton candy now. So much so, that even at the age of twenty-six, I will pout if someone takes some of mine without my permission. As if I’d ever allow them to.

Speaking of Keith, I haven’t seen him in years. We lost all contact when he turned eighteen, and then he went off into space, and even when he came back, I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I bear no ill will, though. He must have formed some close relationships. Our past friendship is comparatively much more trivial.

I spot a booth selling grilled corn. I instantly head there.

As I’m about join the crowd of humans and aliens who also want corn, a familiar call of my name leads me to pull a three sixty.

Lo and behold. Keith Kogane.

Despite him having obviously grown a lot, the face was still the same. I’m sure that, if he gets a split lip and bruise on his cheek right now, he won’t look all that different.

There’s a questioning hesitance on his features; he’s probably wondering if he’s got the right person. My pleasantly surprised smile and raised eyebrows assure him. As I step away from the grilled corn stall, I notice a motley crowd behind him; some are purple, some are holding Voltron plushies, and some look way too curious to be in a carnival. The introduction is going to be fun.

‘Keith! You're gonna live a hundred years - I was just thinking about you. But anyways, it’s – it’s great to see you,’ I say with a little giggle. ‘Though I am kind of surprised you actually approached me. The sixteen-year-old you would never.’

He smiles awkwardly in return. ‘Y – yeah… I, just… oh God, this is – I’m sorry,’ he says, his inner turmoil evident.

‘It’s all good. I know you’re shit at small talk, so… like, introduce me? Maybe?’

He nods rapidly, brows furrowed. ‘Yeah, um,’ he turns to the people behind him, telling them my name, how we met, the whole affair. I give them a wave. Most of them greet me back.

‘And, this is Shiro and Curtis,’ he points to the tall, white-haired yet young man, holding hands with a tanner guy, ‘Lance, Pidge and Hunk,’ he points to a lanky, bright-smiled guy, a buffer, kind-seeming person, and a short chestnut-haired woman who, despite wearing baggy jeans and a baggier tee, looks somehow better dressed than me. ‘Then that’s Allura, Coran, and Romelle, they’re Alteans,’ a woman with enchanting beauty and a regal aura surrounding her, a redhead who’s significantly older than the rest with an impressive moustache, and a youthful appearing girl with a big grin, ‘and Lotor, he’s Galran. The Galran Emperor, in fact.’ Lotor is a tall, lilac-skinned man with aristocratic features who shares the same cheek markings as the Alteans. Oh, and he’s unfairly gorgeous, his hair a luscious mane of white which I just know will be soft. It’s hard not to stare. You remember how I said Allura looked like royalty? Yeah, the way this man carries himself, he has the aura and visage of a God. Even in a white tee-shirt and jeans he looks way better than should be legal.

I rip my eyes away.

‘So…are Noah and Oliver here too? I’d love to see them. I mean, I never did get to thank them to permit a possible criminal to sleep in their house.’

I laugh. ‘Never mind that, but we actually sit up a stall here. I could, you know, maybe even get you guys something to eat.’

‘Free? Please don’t.’

‘It’s nothing, really, just… I don’t know, accept it as a small thank you present for not letting the planet go to shit.’

A bit of thinking. Even after a nod from Shiro, it was Lance who said yes. Good ol’ Keith.

When we reach the stall, my British dad is the only one we find there. He looks up, about to say something to me, when he notices Keith.

‘Dad. You remember Keith?’

‘Your possible criminal friend who turned out to be the saviour of the universe Keith?’

‘That Keith. He wanted to see you.’

‘Oh? Well then,’ he dusts his hands, stands up, and greets Keith. Both of them engage in a conversation.

‘You guys wanna try something?’

‘What do you got?’ asks Pidge.

‘What do we got? Um, we got chocolates, candy, marshmallows, jellybeans, tortilla chips, ice cream, popcorn – butter, cheese, caramel, peri peri – Lays, like, a lot of Lays, and the good old cotton candy. What d’you want?’

So, after providing the humans with two Cream n’ Onion Lays, a pack of tortilla chips, a double scoop of butterscotch and chocolate, a small tub of popcorn, and three cotton candy sticks, I turned to the aliens.

‘I’m assuming you guys aren’t familiar with a lot of this stuff, so you could either pick whatever looks to be good, ask your friends, or I could recommend something. What’ll it be?’

Romelle was the one who asked, ‘What’s ice cream like?’

‘It’s sweet. It’s cold. And it’s like… heaven in mouth.’

‘Ooh. I want an ice cream. The… pink one?’

‘That’s strawberry. You can eat it in a cone, or in a cup.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well, the cup you can’t eat. The cone is like a crispy biscuit,’ judging by her face, she didn’t know what biscuit was. ‘I’ll just give you a cone. It’s all on the house, so no worries if you don’t like it.’

I watched eagerly as she licked the ice cream. An unreadable look crossed her face. Then – ‘This is almost as good as Hunk’s cookies!’

‘Really?’ Coran asked, twirling his moustache. ‘Well, then…’ he squinted to read the names of the various flavours. ‘I would like “cookies and cream”. Yes.’ A cone of cookies n’ cream was served.

‘Allura?’

‘Do you have something that isn’t sweet?’ That was a plot twist. I’d have taken her as someone who appreciated sweeter foods.

‘We do. You want spicy?’

‘…Sure.’ Peri Peri popcorn was given and enjoyed.

And last… ‘Lotor. What would you like to have?’

It takes me a lot of will to not laugh at Lotor’s way too analytical expression. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Out of all this stuff, candy floss is my favourite.’

‘Candy floss… the item that looks simultaneously like a cloud and an old woman’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I would like a helping of candy floss, then.’

As I hand Lotor a stick of cotton candy, I wait with anticipation for his reaction.

‘How am I supposed to eat this?’

It takes me a moment to process that. ‘Uh, you just… pinch a little of the stuff in between your fingers, then eat it. Or you could just, um, go in directly, which I’m thinking isn’t really your style.’

He narrows his eyes, but follows my instructions nonetheless. Only a second after putting the stuff in his mouth, Lotor purrs.

Everyone around him, being me, Coran and Romelle (Allura’s off telling Lance how great Earth food is), looks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Lotor appears as if he’s just died inside. The berry-shaded blush on his face is adorable, though.

'I didn't, like, poison you or something, right?'

'No. It's that... I would never in my lifetimes have expected something so tooth-rottingly sweet to be this delicious.'

'So you're okay?'

‘Yes. In fact, I quite like… this cotton candy.’

I grin.

[justasillybear]

Thirteen Cokes

There’s a Soda machine in Percy's dorm. Right next to the vending machine. That’s it. There’s nothing special about it. Just a standard soda machine, that normally Percy would only take notice of if he were feeling thirsty.

What makes this particular soda machine stand out isn’t the machine itself, so much as the guy sitting next to it. He’s just sat there, surrounded by a circle of Diet Coke bottles and looking pretty dejected about that fact. Percy is almost afraid to approach, just in case he’s some kind of Diet Coke demon one of the freshmen summoned.

The guy is staring at the ground, and all Percy can really see of him is the way his hands are buried in his sandy blond hair. His muscular frame was nearly folded over between his knees. He doesn’t seem aware of Percy’s staring, so he feels safe to continue watching.

There are thirteen bottles of Diet Coke.

Percy mentally added another tally in the ‘Diet Coke Demon’ Column.

Were Diet Coke demons a thing? It didn’t seem likely, but Percy wasn’t completely sure why anyone else would be sat in a circle of disappointing soda on a Tuesday night at … 11pm.

Maybe the guy was having a party? It would probably have been smarter to just buy a big bottle. And actually take the drinks back to his room. Oh well, it wasn’t Percy’s problem. Whatever IT was…

He expects the noise of the vending machine to alert the guy to his presence, and it does – he startles out of his circle of shame with a jerk, knocking over a few of the bottles. Not trapped then.

The guy glances over to where Percy is standing, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, face flushing like Percy had caught him doing something wrong.

Percy stares back, though his stare definitely has more to do with how fucking blue this guy’s eyes are. Also maybe a little to do with how attractive he was in general, looking a couple of years older than Percy and all golden and tanned. Of all the things he’d expected he hadn’t planned for the Diet Coke Demon to look like he’d walked straight out of a photoshoot. Plus, he even had a scar. Percy was always weak to those.

It’s the guy that breaks eye contact first. Visibly uncomfortable he starts collecting his bottles and Percy wonders if he should say something. Percy would later claim that it was the guy's discomfort that had made him speak up, but in truth, his decision was made for him by flushed cheeks and the guy’s blond hair sitting in disarray in the best possible way from where he’d been gripping it.

“Diet coke fan?” Percy asks with an easy grin, a packet of blue laces held in one hand, and the guy freezes, looking down at the bottles around him as if he’s just now realising how many bottles there were.

“Oh. Yeah… Kind of.” The guy mutters, and Percy finds he has to hold onto the vending machine to keep himself from swooning.

Percy tries to figure out a way to make the conversation last longer, but his brain refuses to provide any useful conversational prompts around Diet Coke – seriously, of all things? He doesn’t really think about soda that much, apparent from when he was little and decided to make everything he drank blue.

“I don’t really drink a lot of it myself. But you’re making me think I’m missing out on something.” Percy says, hoping his grin comes across as just the right level of flirty. Either the flirting hits its mark, or his timing is spot on, but the guy nearly fumbles a few of the bottles in his hands.

Percy is honestly impressed that he’s somehow managing to hold all thirteen bottles.

“It's the best.” The guy defends, and Percy realises with some disappointment that unless he can do something, the conversation is going to end there. It’s not like he can offer to help the guy carry them back to his room with them all being held snuggly in his unfairly toned arms.

“I guess I should give it a shot then?” Percy fumbles in his pocket, grateful that he hadn’t used up all his change. That would have been embarrassing.

The guy stills in surprise again, and Percy finds he likes how easily he can affect him – it’s not often that people who look like the guy does pay attention to him.

He stands there as Percy feeds his change into the machine, and Percy fights the urge to do it as slowly as possible. It’s only when the bottle tumbles down and Percy pulls it out, that he notices that the wrapper doesn’t just say ‘Coke’ on it.

“Share a Diet Coke with Luke”.

“What?” the guy exclaims, incredulously as Percy twists the bottle to show him. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Uh no… Why? Percy says. “Hey which ones did you get?” he wonders if there’d be one with his name on it in the machine. Probably not – Perseus wasn’t exactly a common name.

“Every stupid name but that one.” The guy laments, and Percy tries not to enjoy how his frustration makes his voice sound deeper.

“Wait there are only 13 other names in the world? I think someone forgot to tell my mum that” Percy muses, to which the guy sends him a completely unamused glare. Coupled with the scar it’s an impressively intimidating sight.

Huh, was he attracted to this? That’s new.

Shaking his head Percy tried to figure out how their conversation had taken its sudden sour turn. Was the guy trying to collect all of the names or something? Could he only steal the souls of people’s whose names were on his Diet Coke bottles? Or-

“Wait, is your name Luke?” Percy asks, confusion melting away into amusement at the realisation. The guy doesn't answer but his cheeks colour again and he looks away, which is enough of a yes for Percy.

“Well, why don’t… It does say to share, so…” Percy holds the bottle out, and the guy looks back thrown. He was cute when he wasn’t mad… Hot when he was though.

“I’m Percy. Don’t suppose you’ve got one of those in your stash?”

“No. And I can’t take this – it’s yours.” The guy insists.

“Really? Cos I’m pretty sure it has your name on it…” Percy shoots him a teasing wink, causing the guy to sigh. Percy can see a small smile tugging at his lips, however, so he’s going to count it as a win.

“Yeah..” he admits.

“Then you should have it”. Percy holds out the bottle, shaking it back and forth. The guy, no wait – Luke- stares down at it.

“My arms are a little full”. Luke reminds him, and Percy finds himself laughing.

“Right. Guess I’ll have to help you out then. Percy tilts his head up flirtatiously, and Luke glances away.

“Lead the way, Luke”. He says, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Do you need any help with the rest of those” Percy asks, feeling a little rude for not offering earlier.

“Nah. I think if even one of these moves, the whole pile will go.” Luke answers, and … Fair point. Percy can’t argue with his logic.

“You sure you don’t have a Percy in there?”

Luke’s lips quirk up again into a small smile, and Percy has to fight the urge to lean over and coax it into something bigger. He can’t help but wonder how Luke would look smiling.

“Nope,” Luke answers “I do have a Poppy, though.”

“Well, guess I’ll be Poppy tonight then."

If nothing else, Percy gets to learn how Luke looks when he laughs.

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 8

Somehow, this went over the 2k words mark. No wonder I'm running late on @marichatmay now. Oops? (I guess I just really like writing cooking scenes)

Hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 8: In which the kids think about kissing each other a lot, but it's still too early

Chat Noir’s heart was heavy as he made his way towards Marinette’s place.

He knew that his decision to break up with her was the right one; he’d kept up the charade long enough, and he wasn’t comfortable with the fact that she was reaching out for him through Ladybug. They’d undeniably spent some nice moments together, the memory of which he cherished dearly, but he was afraid that Marinette was getting too confident about the strength of their relationship (and the fact that he found himself thinking about her a lot hadn’t been an argument in favour of not playing along a little longer).

His already cloudy mood had further been dampened by the really sucky day he’d had. His father had come up with yet another fashion shoot, which had prevented him from attending the Kitty Section rehearsal he’d been looking forward to all week. Then, Lila had managed to get them paired up for a History project, which he wouldn’t have minded too much had it not been for the fact that she’d bragged all morning about a trip to New York she’d be making the week they were supposed to work on the task, meaning that he’d have to do all the work himself. Finally, to top everything off, an Akuma had interrupted the only free period he had for the rest of the week; it had been nice to see Ladybug, but he wished he’d used the time to collect his thoughts and rehearse what he’d say to Marinette.

He landed on her balcony with a loud thump, and knocked on her skylight.

“Just a minute!” she called out, and he heard her rifle around her room before running up her ladder and opening her skylight.

“Hi,” she beamed, slightly flushed and breathless, as she ushered him in.

He felt his heart clench in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was better that she seemed in a great mood, but he didn’t have time to ponder on the topic too much; she tugged him down the stairs, and all but pushed him on her chaise, before reverently presenting him with a wrapped package.

“Happy birthday, kitty.” She bit her lip, anxiously waiting for him to open it.

Chat Noir toyed with it. He’d been so busy in the past week that his lie about his birthday had completely slipped his mind. He found himself in a difficult situation. Either he could come clean to her about his intentions, and apologise about everything he’d put her through, or… He could open Marinette’s present. Which, knowing her, would be very thoughtful and amazing. She looked very excited about it.

The temptation was too great.

“You remembered!” He gave her a small smile as his claws gently tore through the tape, and found himself with a neatly folded knitted, black product on his knees. He got up and held it out before him; he had to lift it for it not to drag on the floor, it was so long. She hadn’t just seen something that made her think about him. She must have spent ages working on it. For him .

The bright green paw in the middle, associated with the matching cotton sheet that lined the blanket left little doubt as to that fact.

Marinette’s smile falling and her rambling snapped him out from his silent admiration of the gift. He engulfed her in a hug, holding her close to compensate for his speechlessness.

“It’s purr-fect, Princess,” he croaked, letting go of her and clutching the blanket again. “I mean, look at this stitching; how did you manage to get it so regular? And this yarn…” He purred as he rubbed it against his cheek. “It’s so soft.”

“Well, you deserve something that isn’t scratchy,” Marinette giggled.

“But you didn’t have to go so hard on this! This could almost be… A cape!” He wrapped it around his shoulders, holding its two top corners with one hand, and bowed before her. ��Your knight at your service, Princess.” He took her hand and kissed it with a wink, before immediately standing up and wrapping it around him differently, therefore missing Marinette’s tension and flush. “It works as a toga, too!”

“A very historically accurate one at that,” Marinette snorted.

“Hey, you don’t know what my predecessors wore.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The top of his makeshift toga fell over them. Marinette grabbed a couple of safety pins and moved closer to him to secure it back.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m utterly ignorant when it comes to past Miraculous wielders,” she said as she did so. “Mind teaching me about them?” She looked up at him. She was very close, for the second time in the evening, her eyes glinting mischievously in the almost half-light.

His breath hitched as the thought that he’d only have to lean in a tiny bit to kiss her curious smile off her lips crossed his mind.

His stomach rumbled, then, and he jumped back, feeling his cheeks redden. He was about to use it as an excuse to leave when he noticed the colours had drained from Marinette’s face.

“I’m so sorry Chat! I forgot to make you some macarons!” She gasped.

He almost laughed at how cute she was, but smiled tenderly instead, and held her shoulders. “Marinette, you made me a full blanket yourself in one week. I’m good without the macarons.”

“But you don’t have a birthday cake, and you’re hungry, and ugh, how could I forget...” She rubbed her eyes frustratedly.

His stomach manifested itself again, proving her point. With all his interruptions, he wasn’t sure he’d eaten more than an apple since breakfast. He really should be going to right that wrong.

“Okay, that settles it.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her trap door. He quickly stepped out of the blanket and tossed it back on her chaise; it wasn't very practical to walk in. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she started to open it. “My parents are sleeping, I think, so we’ll go down to the bakery kitchen. We’ll need to be quiet, though.”

“Okay,” he whispered back.

They cautiously sneaked down the stairs, stopping at any floorboard creak, hearts racing as they listened for any movement. They remained silent even after Marinette had carefully closed the front door of the apartment behind them, holding each other’s hand tightly, as if the stakes were much higher than Chat being sent home and Marinette to bed if they were discovered.

“It’s a bit late to make macarons, but how do you feel about chouquettes?” Marinette hid a sly grin as she turned the light on in the kitchen. She knew exactly what he thought about them.

“That seems like an excellent option.” Chat’s eyes lit up hungrily.

“Good. Could you turn on the oven? 250°C.” She indicated, while she took out the ingredients.

“Oui, Chef.” He executed. “What next?”

“If you could measure out 250mL of milk, then pour it in this saucepan,” she handed him a carton of milk and a measuring jug, before putting the saucepan on a hob and adding other ingredients to it. He followed her instructions, then, seeing as there was barely any left in the container, chugged the remainder, before sighing contently and throwing the carton over his shoulder, without looking. It landed straight in the dustbin.

Marinette paused in the middle of cutting the butter, baffled.

“What?” Chat asked when she’d stood there, blinking, for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry, what was that ?” She shook her head and waved her knife between him and the dustbin.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t ask if it was alright for me to finish it,” he said sheepishly. “I can buy you another-”

“I’m not talking about that, although maybe I should, because how stereotypical that you, a cat superhero, should drink milk,” she waved his apology away, raking the butter into the pan. “I’m talking about your aim. Do you play basketball?”

“Sometimes.” Chat scratched the back of his head. It wasn’t exactly true. He’d just perfected the art of landing baskets from any angle of his room out of boredom; it’d been his biggest challenge for a while.

“Maybe you should try out for a team or something.” She handed him four eggs, a bowl and a whisk. He started breaking them.

“If my schedule clears up, maybe.” He doubted his father would encourage the idea. He’d repeated that Agreste men were soloists enough times that Adrien sometimes heard it in his dreams; and unlike fencing, basketball was a team sport.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Marinette nodded. She hesitated to probe further; on the one hand, she was curious about what her partner was up to outside of their duties; it was difficult to probe how he was holding up, sometimes. On the other hand, she was afraid of learning too much about him. She decided to change the subject. “Could you gradually add the eggs to this while I mix?”

“Of course!” He cleared his throat. “These really aren’t hard to make, could you write the recipe down for me so I can make them again at home?” This was going to make great patrol snacks. He was sure Ladybug would appreciate them.

“Yep, no problem!” She finished stirring the ingredients together and pulled out a baking tray and two piping bags. She poked around for greaseproof paper while Chat filled the latter with the batter, before remembering that her parents had mentioned that they’d ran out over dinner.

“Hmm, this isn’t the most traditional way, but we’ll put some flour on the tray and then pipe the chouquettes directly on it. Would you mind taking care of that while I get the sugar?”

Chat nodded, grabbing the bag. He started sprinkling the surface, reaching in the packet every so often. It made the flour fly out a little, tickling his nose. He scrunched it, trying to get rid of the sensation, but it was no use.

He turned away from the tray and prepared to sneeze, instinctively putting the hand that still contained flour in front of his nose… Just as Marinette came back next to him.

“Achoo!” White powder flew everywhere, and Marinette jumped back.

“Ew, Chat!” She exclaimed, quickly dusting it off of her.

“I’m so sorry!” His eyes widened and he bit his lower lip, trying to contain his smile at her bewildered face. He had to admit, white hair looked nice on Marinette.

How cute , Marinette thought, before mentally slapping herself. No matter how true the statement was, it wasn’t helping at all. She reached for the packet and threw a fistful of flour at him to distract herself.

“Hey!”

“An eye for an eye!” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Is it really, though? I didn’t do it on purr-pose,” he said as his eyes landed on the flour packet.

Marinette started backing away, seeing exactly where he was going. “Now, now, no need to be rash about this, remember, we still have to cook the chou- eek!” She started running around the kitchen island as Chat sprung into a chase.

“Come back here, you little scoundrel!”

“Chat please! Think about your poor stomach!” She switched direction as Chat did the same.

“It can wait.” He grinned, gracefully leaping over the island.

Marinette squeaked again as she jumped out of his way, but found herself stuck between two shelving units. Chat approached her slowly, his devilish smile getting wider as the distance between them vanished. He pulled a fistful of flour out of the bag, and she felt her heart beat faster in her chest. Not just because of the imminent threat.

“I’m sorry Chat, I shouldn’t have done that…” She trailed off, backing herself further against the wall. “But this is going to make a mess, think about the clean up…” She pleaded.

Chat paused, his fist above her head losing a bit of its contents. She blinked slowly. Cat kisses, he thought. His eyes flickered to her lips. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss her, for real. He dared not go down that route.

“You’re right.” He shook his head, and brought his arm down, releasing the flour he’d been holding in the packet. “If I’m going to make a mess…” He paused, taking a small step back, and Marinette sighed in relief. “Better do it right.” He lifted the packet and emptied it all on her head.

“What the-” Marinette spluttered out, starting to get rid of it. She heard Chat laugh as he watched her, without so much as offering his help.

“Say cheese!” She was suddenly blinded by a flashing light, and her head shot up.

“Sorry, had to immortalise the moment.” Chat grinned, showing her the picture on his baton.

She glowered at him, and he moved out of her reach, just in case she decided to retaliate.

“You can’t be mad at me, I’m the birthday boy!”

She rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile forming on her lips as she finished dusting off most of the flour from her clothes and went to fetch the broom. Little did he know, she couldn’t be mad at him at all, since, A, she supposed that she’d been in the wrong in the first place, and B, it was him . Not that she’d admit it out loud, though. “I guess you’re right. You’d better hurry up making the chouquettes, then, else I’m putting you on broom duty.”

Chat happily complied.

---

As he left Marinette’s house, a full packet of warm Chouquettes in hand (he’d made his choice between it and the blanket), he had to admit to himself that even though he hadn’t accomplished his goal, it didn’t really matter.

There’d be plenty of other opportunities to talk to her, and he couldn’t say no to the opportunity of having fun; they were too rare an occurrence to pass up on.

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 1 Stop and Breathe

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

4k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The long desert roads seemed to stretch light-years ahead, no scenery, no landmarks, just flat, arid land in all directions. The baked earth was cool in the grey hue of the early morning. Far out, somewhere along the horizon, the sun started to reach up its first fingers to claw at the dawn sky. Chasing those pale blues and purples, the day would soon bleed bright oranges and yellows and colour the earth below. Daybreak felt like an answer to a prayer; the dawn light lifted the oppressive, starless night sky and had cloaked them. Daybreak filled Mulder with a sense of liberty and overwhelming hope for a second chance as invigorating as the breeze outside. It was a miracle that they had made it this far. Mulder was beginning to think he had been executed after all and was caught in limbo, forever driving towards the end of the cold, dark sky. A lost soul wandering aimlessly as punishment for his crimes.

In his mind, he kept hearing the explosions ring through his hears and the flashes of flame in the rear-view mirror. Always in his peripheral, snapshots of the ruins hurtling his way took him by surprise. He glanced at them but as soon as he chased their sight, the apparitions disappeared.

His father was dead. The smoking son-of-a-bitch should have died a long time ago. Mulder tightened his grip on the staring wheel. Now He haunted his peripheral vision as well, the ghost of his smoke sickly uncurling in the back seats of the stolen car. His fathers, his sister, his mother, Emily, the Gunmen: all dead. How many did he have left to lose?

He swallowed thickly and looked over at Scully in the passenger seat, her head lolled to one side and her lips parted to utter the tiniest of snores. A tiny damp patch on her shoulder marked where she had drooled throughout the night– something she most adamantly didn't do. Caught in the first glowing rays of the sun, Mulder had never seen her so beautiful, frizzy hair and all. He placed a hand upon her knee, a poor substitute for all the embraces he wished to share with her.

Scully stirred from her light sleep, groaning and stretching like old wood as she straightened herself. Her blinks were laboriously heavy, weighed down by the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Mulder hadn't meant to wake her but didn't miss the opportunity to share the day with her. "Hey, Scully, look at the sunrise," he whispered.

She groggily hummed, appreciating the myriad of colours. Voice still thick with sleep, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Not sure," he answered, tapping the dial for the gas to see if the needle was lying.

Scully curled up as much as she could in the seat and turned to gaze out of the window, watching the little rocks and pebbles flew past in a blur along the roadside. "Where are we going?"

He glanced at her, then back towards the horizon racing as quickly away from them as they chased after it. "Don't know. But if we don't know, at least nobody else knows either." It was meant to make her smile, but all she did was frown. With no one and nothing around them, the faux safety of the nowhere between lands scared Scully. As if somehow it was a trap they were being lulled into; a false sense of security. She knew they needed to be wary at all hours, every ticking second of the day and every tock of the clock at night. She reminded herself there was no safe place to hide and no time to catch their breath. But it was all so exhausting.

"How long have you been driving?" She craned her neck to see the bags under his eyes. Mulder had pulled all-nighters before, and it wasn't like he was never subject to bouts of insomnia, but the restless worry was the worst thing. She could see it was eating him up from the inside, not fear for himself but for her, that she had chosen this life with him again. And now he could barely offer her an existence. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter– she'd make the same decision twice, a thousand times, but that wouldn't allay the worry. Reality had punched him in the face and marked him with two shiners.

"Ten hours or so," he said as if it was still the first half an hour.

Scully sat up in her seat. "You should take a rest. Let me drive."

"No." Mulder shook his head with pursed lips and then chuckled. "You should sleep while you can. We both know me resting is pointless."

She smiled sorrowfully, looking at her hands rested in her lap. She sighed. "None of this feels real does it?"

Squeezing her knee, Mulder spoke honestly, as soft and as mellow as the sunlight on the horizon. "You are real to me right here and now. That's all I need to get through this."

But Scully didn't ask what this was and when it would be over. She only knew she was already counting down the days. But the end was intangible and far out of sight, and counting was hopeless when it felt like starting at infinity. The one thing Scully knew for certain was that an irrevocable change had already occurred and she blinked and she missed it. She had been fighting for them, pleading for them. Just her and Mulder: that was all she wanted. And then this shift they had taken on in the last couple of days– such a short time– and she was not sure she wanted it anymore. She was beginning to get that tangy taste in her mouth like she was mourning the past and who they used to be.

Scully took a deep breath. Willing the sting away from her eyes, she expelled the air caught in her lungs, imagining the ache in her body fused to the carbon dioxide molecules and expelled also. Focusing on the sunrise, she found beauty in its nature, reminding herself of the beauty of them; all the times he had made her giggle, made her cry, made her roll her eyes.

Mulder could see Scully thinking, the lost look in her eye more familiar to him than the back of his own hand. Her silence spoke louder than any response; it whispered to him exactly what was on her mind. He knew it because he felt it too. He gently took one of the hands from her lap and held it.

The touch made Scully gasp softly, breaking her from the melody of her thoughts. It was as if he had somehow heard them. Of course, he had; they might have changed but somethings always stayed the same. Scully realised she needed him close now more than ever if she was to stand a chance of surviving. Squeezing his hand, she let him in. She missed this telepathy of theirs; messages like electricity passed through their neurons and chemically encoded between the synapse of their touch. They operated on the same electromagnetic wavelength. She smiled and squeezed his hand again.

Mulder glanced back to the gas needle, edging steadily lower. "How much money did Walter manage to get for us?"

"I haven't counted, but it won't last long anyway."

Fortunately, Scully had had the sensibility to keep the cash on her person. It was all they had left aside the clothes on their backs. Their coats and the change of clothes that were hastily packed were still in the car that Monica and Doggett had driven away and they all knew it was too dangerous now to risk meeting up.

"The next motel we come across, we'll book in–"

She looked at him cautiously.

"– Just for the night. We won't stay long, just so we can sleep on a proper bed."

"So we can stop and catch our breath," she concluded, though doubtful, running her thumb over every hill and valley of his knuckles.

"So we can catch our breath," he agreed.

The hum of the tires picking up dust and the voice of the engine marked their silence. Their long, drawn-out breaths were comforting, yet the quiet was ominous, allowing thoughts to grow like tumours, hanging uneasily between them. They had each other but what if they weren't strong enough? Mulder would have said something– anything to break the tension, but all his thoughts were made of what-ifs, and voicing them, he feared, would make them real.

Scully curled up again, protecting herself against the miasma of the silence. Concentrating on the tide of Mulder's breathing, she found a calming rhythm, watching his chest rise and fall. Knowing he was there, she managed to find peace enough to steal an hour or so more sleep.

Over the horizon came a small, dark dot, growing in size and detail. Mulder leaned forward, squinting through the dust on the windscreen. As it came approached, he thanked Scully's God for gifting an oasis. The gas station looked beaten and worn down but promised life and provisions. He made the quick decision to stop and top up on gas, water, and something for breakfast. Looking at Scully one last time, he saw her sleeping; the quiver of her eyelashes somehow anxious even during sleep. He killed the engine and got out to check the store.

It was still: quieter than Scully remembered it being. Blinking tiredly, she picked the sleepy dust from her eyes and groaned. She gasped sharply, the sight of the empty seat next to her sending her heart aflutter. She grappled at her belt for the gun she no longer had. Cursing, she ran out of the car. The beat of her feet on the ground rivaled the pound of the war drum on her chest. "Mulder?" she called but was met with no reply. "Mulder!"

Mulder came quickly through the door, a finger pressed to his lips and a brown bag in his hand. "Shh, Scully," he whispered. "It's alright. I was just getting some gas."

It was then that Scully noticed the row of pumps they were parked next to. She looked away and licked the corner of her mouth, embarrassed that she had failed to correctly assess the situation before leaping to conclusions. It was so unlike her. She was frustrated she had let fatigue and worry manipulate her so easily. It had been less than two days.

"I could have got us caught," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hey, none of that now." Mulder rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. He guided her back towards the car, his palm at the small of her back like a steady rudder. "We're in the middle of nowhere, nobody is going to find us out here," he calmed her, even though his heart was still racing; the fright in her shouts had shot ice through his spine.

Scully slumped into her seat, the faux safety of no-man's-land nagging at her still. "Mulder, you know better than anybody they have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Let me do the worrying for once, Scully. This one's on me."

She shook her head– she wouldn't let him bare this on his own; they were in this together. It made a small smile creep across Mulder's lips and in return Scully's brow furrowed in confusion.

"How can either of us win when we are both so stubborn?" he laughed, and Scully chuckled too. "I spoke to the owner and he said that if we head southwest, sorta back along the trail, we will end up in Rosswell by nightfall. They'll have a motel–"

"And we can breathe," she nodded, then smirked. "You just wanted to see the UFO sight, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he sheepishly replied. "I got you some of that fat-free yogurt you like for breakfast. And some bagels. You should eat something; we didn't eat all day yesterday."

Scully hadn't noticed. The gnawing of worry in her stomach had sated any appetite she might have had. She still wasn't hungry now, but the doctor in her knew she had to eat something, however hard it was going to be.

Much of the day was spent watching the sun rise overhead and munching on bagels. Scully scolded Mulder when he dipped one of his into the yogurt she had barely touched and Mulder lectured Scully about eating enough. By the time the sun began to set, they had arrived in Roswell and found a motel to stay the night. Clouds were rolling in, covering the skies from the farthest corners, and the threat of rain could be smelt on the air.

Unlocking the door, they both stepped inside a minimal, but pleasant room. Scully clenched her hands around phantom luggage itching her palms. She had the urge to unpack everything into the dresser like she always did, like on their very first case together. She peered around the door to the ensuite, seeing rows of tiny bottles and an inviting robe hung elegantly, yet groaned.

"Mulder, we are going to have to go back out for toothbrushes."

"Oh, hang on..." He rummaged through the paper bag, producing two brushes and a tube of paste. "I picked some up earlier. Sorry, they might have some bagel crumbs on."

She took them with a grin, standing on her tiptoes to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. "You're a lifesaver."

Mulder watched her disappear into the bathroom, giving her some privacy and himself some time to think. He sat on the floor, watching the rain begin to fall and the wind pick up, whipping the trees outside. Gazing out of the window, he imagined the brewing storm an omen, but one of hope. All the good things that had happened to him had been christened by torrents of rain and swirls of wind and wisps of Scully stealing small pieces of his heart: their first assignment together; their first night spent together. The weather brought the ships to port and Scully to him. Beyond the clouds he pictured his sister in the starlight twinkling brightly. He hoped his mother was up there too, keeping a watch over them both.

Suddenly, he smelt the smoke, saw it plume from the chair in the corner. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people that could appear to him...

 She's been up there for a long time, you know. I thought you would have figured it out sooner.

Mulder dug his fingernails into his palms, sure the pain would snap him awake.

 She saw the world for what it truly was: there's no justice... there's no cruelty either. There's simply survival. In the end, she chose not to survive. She had a choice, Mulder, what do you get?

Maybe it was all in his head. If he tried hard enough, he could make the nightmare disappear.

What did your crusade reap you? The Truth? he chuckled. Was it the truth you wanted; expected? He leaned forward out of the shadow, his dead eyes gleaming in the light. Truth is not power, in fact, it's quite the opposite: truth makes you powerless. It's been quite the burden on me; perhaps that's why I smoke so many. He slyly smiled around a wreath of white cloud. You should try it.

In the end, we all lose. That's the beauty of survival: it's only ever a temporary thing. The date is set, son. Nothing, not even you, can change that.

Fury burning through him, Mulder lept up like a lit match to a gas lamp. "And what would you know?! What did you ever try to do about it?!"

He lunged for the man, desperate to squeeze the last, dying breaths from his corpse once and for all. But as he was about to lay his hands on his sickly throat, the son-of-a-bitch dissipated as thin as the smoke he breathed, elusive in death as he had been in life. It seemed fitting. Curling his fingers through nothing but cool air, Mulder slumped back in defeat. Biting his fingernail, he thought about the truth about who he was. It occurred to him that he was lost without purpose. Although he didn't feel it yet, he recognised the impending dawn of realisation and feared it. He threw his hand out in frustration.

The truth was he had failed.

He hadn't exposed the conspiracy or brought down its organisations. He hadn't found Samantha. He hadn't been a father to William. And he hadn't been there for Scully.

The trees shook their disapproval, condemning the guilty man.

Mulder rested his head back on the mattress like he was treading dangerous waters, but his arms were limp over his knees, merely reticent about his fate. Looking back across the room, he saw Scully walk in smelling sweetly of lavender soap and looking angelic in the pale, dilapidated light. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently running her fingers through his hair and watching the storm in unison. He moved into her touch, shifting to rest his cheek against her thigh. They sat like for a while in companionable silence, reassuring one another through their touches.

When Scully crawled up the bed to lie down, she expected him to follow. When he didn't she asked, "what are you thinking? Mulder?"

"I'm thinking... I'm a guilty man. I've failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes."

Hearing the echo, Scully was thrown back to the concrete cell when he first said those words. She could tell, then, there had been a hollow complacency to his tone. Now, she only heard a conviction in his voice. It terrified her. Scully had only just broken him free of where he was being tortured, she couldn't let it live on inside of him. So, she did what she always did: countered Mulder with any sane argument she could think of.

"You don't believe that."

He was sure that he had failed as he was sure of anything. If he told Scully that it was her he had failed, she would refuse to believe him and refuse to let him believe it too. But it was true. And he dared not mention all the ways he had failed their child. Mulder sighed. "I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you when we first met, and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but... in every other way..." He thought of William swaddled in his arms when he held him for the first time– only time. He swallowed the burgeoning lump in his throat. "I've failed."

"You don't believe that either."

"Mm," he disagreed. His jaw was set. Thoughts pounded in his chest but every time he chose something to say it died a whisper caught in his throat. He finally settled for something unimportant, yet still a truth neither of them could refute. "I've been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net." He took a breath and tried again "You heard the man– the date's set. I can't change that." I can't save us. I can't make the world a better place for our son, he didn't say.

Scully wanted to shout at him that this wasn't who he was, he didn't quit so easily, he always found something worth fighting for, but she knew if she did that she would lose him forever. Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. Keeping her voice measured, she told him what she wanted to be true. "You wouldn't tell me. Not because you were afraid or broken... but because you didn't want to accept defeat."

"Well... I was afraid of what knowing would do to you. I was afraid that it would crush your spirit." He looked into her eyes and saw a pained, mirrored reflection. In some ways, he was glad Cancer-man had told her because he could never bring himself to trample her hope, not when things were already so dire. It would break his heart.

Mulder's gaze held her fast and was as deep and cutting as the love she felt. He looked young and small and innocent like he was clutching those cloth hearts. Even then he was undeterred, never willing to give up hope.

"Why would I accept defeat? Why would I accept it if you won't?" Scully needed him to keep fighting. If he didn't, she would surely give in. "Mulder, you say that you've failed, but you only fail if you give up. And I know you-- you can't give up... It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's why I followed you. Why I'd do it all over again."

"And look what it's gotten you," he murmured.

"And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you've set out for. But you won't give up, even now." She took his hand, gently squeezing, hoping their neurons would connect and renew their telepathy. "You've always said that you want to believe. But believe in what, Mulder? If this is the truth you've been looking for, then what is there left to believe in?"

He glanced at the chair still coiled in that foul aroma, thought of his sister living on as bright starlight, or else he had become the thing he feared: delusional, proving all the whispered rumours true. He suspected it was the trauma or remnants from his brain disease that caused the visions, but that's not what he wanted to believe.

"I believe that... the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us– greater than any alien force." He thought of Byers, Langley, Frohike, even Krycek. "And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves."

"Then we believe the same thing."

Taking her cross between his finger and thumb, Mulder examined it twinkling in the streetlight made shadowy by rain. He never considered himself a religious man, could never find any divine meaning to all the heartache he had suffered. Then life had brought him Scully with her science and her faith and her love. Maybe he could believe. His thumb traveled to her lips, marveling in the warmth of her; how alive they were. When she pressed the smallest of kisses to his digit, his world shattered with clarity. He joined her like a moth to a flame, helplessly wrapping himself around her like a life ring. She lay under the crook of his nose and he anchored them together with his knee over her hip.

"Maybe there's hope," he breathed.

Scully brushed her nose along his, nuzzling like she was nodding in agreement. The hand that Mulder had nestled in the hollow of her waist repeated the motion, climbing up the side of her ribs and abseiling down, friction warming the embers of their affection. Trailing his fingers higher, he followed the swoop of her hair behind her ear, tucking the locks into place. The edge of her jaw now held delicately beneath his fingertips, he looked to her eyes, the clear crystal blue pulling that familiar tug on his heartstrings. If it was possible, Scully shifted closer. She tilted her head, lips locking onto his once, chastely making herself known to him again. And then again, he searched her out to reply with his own tender kiss. Settling into one another's arms, their gazes fell upon the smile in each's eyes, finding an easy lull.

Scully witnessed the universe turn around in his beautiful mind. The flick of his eyes now quieter, softening from tiredness and tranquility, belayed newfound contentment. Staving off her own sleep, she saw his heavy eyelids droop and close, his breathing even out, and his form relax. She pulled him closer, buried herself in his comforting smell, watched over him– his protector.

The relentless pellets of rain struck percussion against the thin roof above them. Outside, the wind picked up in moaning gale. Inside, Scully breathed, sinking further into the hold of her partner and into the grips of sleep.

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary:  Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you?  Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever.  “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation 

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

[mimicteruyo]

Threshold

[Touhou Ship Week Day 5: Overwhelmed. ReiSana, 1.7k, angst]

---

"Here." Unsure of what else to say, Sanae held out the plastic bag. "I wasn't sure about your size, but..."

Reimu's reaction was more animated than any Sanae had seen from her since the disaster. This time, she actually raised her head for a moment before letting her chin sink back down. She still looked like she wished to curl up into a ball on the porch but couldn't quite muster the energy to move.

Sanae chewed her lip, wondering if she should just leave the bag next to Reimu, only to be freed from the decision when Reimu's hand shot forward and snatched it. One of the thin handles tore with an audible rip, but Reimu seemed deaf to it: the next moment, she was already rummaging through its contents.

"I hope you like them. Later we can—" Sanae's eyes shot wide open as Reimu put the bag aside and began taking her top off. "You're going to change here?!"

"Why not?" Reimu's voice was so flat the question barely counted as one. "There's no-one around to see."

"I guess, but..." Sanae averted her eyes. Reimu was right, of course, and it shouldn't have mattered in the first place, but this really wasn't the time for blushing.

To distract herself, she walked to one of the torches lining the courtyard and looked into the distance. Most of the trees nestling the shrine had survived the transition, had in fact grown more numerous, shielding the buildings on the hill from view. They also prevented Sanae from seeing all that lay around it, but then, she had already stood with Reimu by the torii watching the distinctly modern town and its rhizome of roads sprawling through the land beneath the steps.

"The handle broke."

Reimu had stood up and was frowning at the bag on the porch, now bulging with her old garb. The fit of the new clothes was adequate, although the sleeves were obviously too long. Sanae had chosen red and white — red skirt, white shirt, red and white varsity jacket — in hopes the familiar colours would be a comfort. She now realised they might have been a stab, too.

"It's fine. We can recycle it." Sanae picked up the bag and took the opportunity to survey Reimu from a modern day human's perspective. The hair decorations still marked her for an outsider, but she looked more outwordly than Sanae had ever seen her before. She would likely pass for a former Lolita fashion enthusiast clinging to her old ribbons, and as long as Sanae coupled her new hoodie and pleated skirt with her own hair charms, they would at least share the stares. They would be fine.

Things didn't seem fine as Reimu simply stood there, arms slack, staring at the trees past the courtyard but clearly seeing nothing but fog.

Sanae settled the bag in the crook of her arm and choked on half-formed condolences. She wasn't any more prepared to utter words acknowledging the destruction of the Great Hakurei Barrier than Reimu was to hear them. Instead, to hide her rising panic, she focused on the practical side of things. "The train goes twice an hour until eleven o'clock, so we don't have to worry about running late for it. How about we eat something first? I saw a nice little restaurant on the way— or maybe you'd just like something sweet? We still have some—"

She stilled. Reimu had turned to gaze at her, her eyes as vacant and hollow as they had been  while staring at the foliage.

"Um. Or if you'd like to rest here a bit longer, we can do that too."

Reimu continued on with her impression of a member of the walking dead.

"I could bring you something to eat here, too. Is there anything you'd like?" Sanae's legs already ached from walking — how quickly she had begun to long to be able to fly again — but honest physical pain might have been better than watching this slow winding down that felt like death. "Reimu?"

When this elicited no reaction, Sanae hazarded an approach, then placed her hand on Reimu's arm. This gesture was accepted with the same stoicism as a statue accepts falling rain.

Sanae thought she understood. The evaporation of Gensokyo had been a blow, a physical sensation like someone had punched out her internal organs and replaced them with water. But she could cope. She knew the Outside World, had grown up in it, and she still felt Lady Kanako and Lady Suwako lending her their strength. Reimu had only ever known Gensokyo. Even now, she was probably...

Reimu's head jerked. The movement heralded a sudden release of tension, so complete she began at once to collapse. Sanae caught her just in time and hauled her back upright.

She didn't expect Reimu to clutch onto her and practically drape herself over Sanae until they were hugging each other. Sanae held on, stunned, but not so stunned she didn't catch Reimu mumbling against her shoulder.

"I failed."

"No." Sanae pulled Reimu closer, once again scrambling for words. Reimu felt too small and too brittle, as though her loss had transformed her into a bird. "It wasn't a fair fight to begin with, and you came so much closer than the rest of us."

"And I failed."

The words were uttered with leaden certainty. Sanae saw now that attempting to counter them would only bolster them. She let silence shroud them instead and focused on trying to transmit her body's warmth to Reimu, trying not to think of the fatal wound she was certain she had seen Reimu receive while she herself had lain on the Hakurei Shrine courtyard, too exhausted and stunned to even think of getting up, and which appeared to have simply vanished alongside the barrier.

For a brief blessed moment, things seemed fine. It lasted only until Sanae tilted her head and saw that Reimu's eyes were filled with tears.

And just like that, for the second time that day, something in the universe tilted quietly off-centre.

While Sanae had spent years viewing Reimu as a friend and rival alike, she could now admit to herself that there had always been a dash of hero worship blended into her sentiments. For all of  her foibles, the other shrine maiden had been so attuned to her craft, so determined when the situation called for it, and sometimes almost as supernatural as the youkai roaming the land. She had been someone who obviously never really needed help from Sanae, and so Sanae, living goddess or not, had been just overawed enough to keep the exact nature of the blossom in her heart to herself.

Holding Reimu in that moment, watching her weep, hearing her stubbornly steady heartbeat so close to her chest, Sanae finally truly felt like she was human.

"It's going to be okay." It wasn't a mere platitude; one way or another, Sanae would make it happen. "They won't take this lying down. Yukari and the others, I mean. They're going to fix it somehow. And even if they don't, we'll figure something out. They need shrine maidens in this world, too. And you don't have worry about getting identification papers or anything. Lady Kanako and Lady Suwako will be waiting at the shrine, and I'll just miracle you into a family register if you want, and we can go stay at my old home and—"

She was interrupted by a snippet of strangled laughter. It was mirthless and half choked, but there was no mistaking it even before Reimu straightened up and proved that her tears were now accompanied by a thin smile.

"You never give up, do you?"

"You don't, either." Sanae didn't quite feel like smiling, but she did so anyway and felt it become genuine as Reimu tried to match its wideness. "I can't lose to my rival."

Reimu absorbed this with due consideration. Finally, she extracted herself from the embrace, leaving behind a lingering chill and a faint floral scent from the detergent on her new clothes. "Maybe I should eat."

Energised by this twinge of hope, Sanae clapped her hands together. "Great! Wait here and I'll get you something good!"

She hadn't made it even a single step before Reimu grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie. As she halted, Reimu took the opportunity to wipe her eyes before nodding. "I'll come as well."

"Are you sure?"

"I can't lose to my rival."

Was it normal to feel a rush of warmth at mirrored words? "In that case, we'll go together."

Hand on arm turned into hand in hand as they marched across the courtyard.

Once they reached the torii, Reimu faltered. Sanae turned, prepared to say that it was fine, that their departure could still wait, that even if they missed the final train they'd still manage, when Reimu raised her chin and stepped underneath it.

They halted there on the top step, just past the torii. Reimu stared blankly at the vista ahead, showing neither pleasure nor disappointment at the wealth of buildings and cultivated land. She took a deep breath. "There."

Sanae squeezed her hand. "I knew you could do it."

"Of course I could." How Sanae had missed hearing that particular note of smugness. However, the thought was quickly forgotten as Reimu faced Sanae, no longer despondent but instead intense. "The real challenge comes now."

That was the only warning Sanae received before Reimu leaned forward and kissed her. It was as imprecise as it was abrupt, only brushing the corner of Sanae's mouth. All the same, it lit her blood on fire.

Just as quickly as she had leaned in, Reimu pulled back and began walking down the steps. She would've dragged Sanae along with her if Sanae hadn't shaken off her daze and followed at her own volition, just barely holding onto the bag of Gensokyoan clothes.

The back of Reimu's head yielded no answers. Later, there might be time to ask if the kiss had been a whim, a momentary madness brought on by overwhelming loss. Or perhaps, if it had meant what Sanae hoped it meant.

Until then, Sanae would follow and try not to be too awed by the full bloom of her heart.

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Arthur’s Story

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Full fic can be found here.

---

Arthur is eight. He sits on the side of the playground, watching the children run about and play games together that he was never invited to play and which he doesn’t really want to, anyway. This is what he tells himself, at least, because really, he does want to play but whenever he’s asked to join in before, they’ve said no, so he’s stopped asking now. They’re fun to watch though, both the game itself and the people playing it. He can watch who cheats, who misses the kick, who pushes too hard on purpose and who kindly let’s things go.

He learns a lot, from watching.

Arthur has always watched. He watches his parents fight when they think he can’t hear or see them, he watches his mum graze her hand over Mr Benson’s arm as she passes him in the corridor of their building, watches his dad see and press his lips into a firm line but say nothing.

Arthur stands apart from other people, cut adrift on his own, and takes in what he sees, carries the information he finds in his mind like pebbles in a pocket and tucks them away for later. He feels that this keeps him safer, somehow, because he knows about things. Not that he knows what he will use any of what he’s learned for, or why he feels as though he needs to carry secrets that aren’t his in his heart, but he does, anyway.

Granddad tells him it’s ‘endearing’, that he watches, when he catches him doing so. Calls him patient, and a wise old soul with an island heart. Arthur doesn’t know what an island is, and Granddad tells him that it’s something Earth used to have, swathes of land rising out of the sea.

‘Is all land not an island, then?’ He asks, ‘Because the earth was mostly all sea, wasn’t it?’ At least, this is what he’s heard in school in lessons about the Fall; stale secrets as old and thin as air, a dying whisper across the ages from humanity long ago.

Granddad shakes his head and combs a calloused hand through Arthur’s hair. ‘No’, he says, ‘islands are smaller bits of land apart from the rest. They’re surrounded by the ocean, all on their own.’

He means it kindly but Arthur feels hurt anyway, because he doesn’t want to be on his own. He tries to make friends, tries to play with the other children and talk with them and share his collection of secrets but they never want to, telling him that he’s strange or haughty or boring.

Granddad notices his disappointment and crouches down to pull him in for a hug, pressing him into his chest. ‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ he says, holding him tight. ‘Islands are strong, they stand up all on their own. The sea keeps on pushing and pushing, but an island pushes right back, no matter how hard it is.’

He pulls back, looks Arthur in the eye. ‘Don’t change for the sea of people, Arthur; you don’t need to be anyone but yourself. Sometimes it’s better to be an island, than to lose sense of who you are.’

Arthur nods, feeling better. Half of him hates that even Granddad sees him as that, alone and different, recognising his failure to fit in, but the other half of him takes pride in it, that he is who he is and if that’s different from everyone else, then maybe that’s okay. So, he carries on watching the children play games without him, carries on looking for secrets and listening for change, hoping all the while that, maybe, they’ll reach out and invite him in.

Arthur is eleven when his granddad dies. It wasn’t a surprise and he knew it was coming, but the blow hits him hard anyway and sweeps him off his feet. He feels hollow, like his insides have been carved out and not replaced with anything; a ringing deadened nothing that weighs him down and leaves him numb. It doesn’t seem real, because Granddad was here and now he’s not and Arthur is exactly the same but his world has collapsed. And that, that doesn’t seem possible because how can so much be the same when such a huge part is missing?

After the funeral, a sad sorry affair where adults drift aimlessly like ships unmoored, he hides himself away in his room where his heart hurts and he can hardly stop crying long enough to think. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, now, because Granddad was the only person who really knows- knew- him. He curls in on himself, tight fists and thick throat, and reaches for an e-tab, loaded with stories Granddad thinks -thought- he’d like and even some straight from Granddad himself. They’re all old, old old old things about heroes and monsters, courage and loss, long journeys across wide wide seas, and from the tales of others Arthur forgets himself, briefly, and escapes for just a moment.

Using them to start, he begins to try his hand at his own.

Each night when he is supposed to be sleeping, Arthur huddles under his blankets and spins his own stories, weaving together all of the secrets he’s ever found to make somewhere real and alive; a large family with scores of people to talk to he sails ancient seas and explores the unknown, making friends wherever he goes. They speak to him as he sleeps in unknown familiar voices and it’s a place warm and happy where he can’t hear his parents scream at each other and someone will remember to wish him goodnight.

More and more Arthur hides himself away, feeding off tales of a different place entirely and a yearning in him grows so strong that he’s surprised no one can see it, read it like his soul is mapped on his skin.

Arthur is fifteen and his school have decided that it’s time for a school trip. It’s to the botanical gardens, this time, set up in the middle of the main city dome. It’s only recently been built because, as with all human colonies, the focus is on survival first, the basic needs for life: oxygen, water, heat, food. His colony isn’t new, but it also isn’t that old and things are just advancing enough that money can be spent on more frivolous things. The gardens are just plants: grasses and flowers and trees that aren’t good for anything other than looking pretty, he guesses, but it’s new and educational so his school bundles them all up into year groups and ferries them across town to study what’s there and write a journalistic report to justify the excursion.

Arthur has made a few friends now, people he can talk to about homework, sit on shuttles next to, and hang out with after school. The air between them is stale and flat but safe and predictable, and Arthur is thankful he has this, these people at least, who like him enough to tolerate his presence, a small fragile bridge connecting them together. They’re all corralled into dreary lines as they approach the gardens, Arthur’s group slinking at the rear, so it takes a while for Arthur to notice that they’ve properly arrived.

He hands over his ticket, watches it marked with a stamp, and turns his gaze to go through the doors and stops, dead. There, right at the start to welcome them in, is an assault of colour; flowers bursting from the ground in a cacophony of hues that capture the eye and dazzle him. It’s a vivacity that he’s never before dreamt was possible and he can’t look away, even as people jostle him to get past and he feels himself moving powerless along with the tide.

It’s odd, it’s strange because he’s seen flowers and things in e-books but he’s never seen any before in real life and he can’t seem to match them together in his head, the pictures in his mind and what is in front of him now. He’s overwhelmed with the experience, the sights, the smells- a heady thing that turns his mind to cotton, and he stumbles forward to touch them, fingers stroking velvety petals before his teacher pulls him sharply away.

‘Can you not see the signs?’ she hisses at him, ‘we need to stay off the grass; I told you all this in the shuttle. Don’t touch.’

Her voice comes at him through a fog and it is an effort to turn his head to look at her, nodding dumbly. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, fingers tacky with pollen and time, ‘I just-‘

He just, what? He doesn’t have the words to describe this, what he’s feeling, even to himself; his emotions a curious storm of sensations: he feels home, he feels homesick, he feels calm and sad and happy and angry, for some reason because it’s so familiar and beautiful and achingly new that what he really wants to do, embarrassingly, is sit down on the grass and cry into the dirt.

Luckily, he has enough presence of mind and teenage pride to shake himself free of whatever is happening to him and manages to locate his friends, watching him awkwardly from the path. They greet him, unsure, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care, can’t bring himself to be ashamed for not hiding his strangeness, for letting his normalcy slip. He feels the bridges between them shake and weaken but his eyes dart about the trees, drinking in the depths of green and he struggles to stay afloat in today.

That night he dreams of the sea, the sea and the sky and an endless horizon that broadens outwards, endlessly, just for him and he feels the tug of the unknown call to him across a vast and forgotten ocean. Then, as the sea rocks him in his dreams it turns dark; pulling him down into its vast weight he drowns on sea foam and regret. Unfulfilled dreams and broken promises fill his boots and drag him down and it's all his fault, all of it, everything he ever did could have been so very different, all those people he hurt when he didn't mean to, all those terrible things he's said, all those-

 He gasps awake.

 His room is dark, starlight blocked by curtains, and unmoving, but still he feels rocked by non-existent currents and the room dips and sways when he moves his head to clutch at his knees.

 The visit to the gardens, plainly, changes him; something morphs or grows within and he knows, deeply, that he doesn’t want to do anything else. He begins to select classes and at nineteen he specialises his studies in agriculture, in plants and trees and earth and grasses. He wants to grow them; learn how they work and how to use them for things. They have so many uses, in so many sectors, and Arthur can’t understand how other people don’t find them as fascinating as he does.

 There’s a breakthrough, that year. Earth, the original home of humankind, becomes viable and opens its arms wide. They’re looking for people, for farmers and fishers and growers and makers to stabilise the colony and Arthur knows that that’s where he needs to be, that’s where he needs to go and he can’t wait, won’t wait, not for one moment longer. He applies, pouring hours over his application the days before he submits it because there is a wild hunger in him, a need that he knows deep in his bones won’t be extinguished any other way and he makes sure to press what he knows about plants into what he writes.

 It’s a wait, a tense hard thing than wears at him, eroding him away but then, at last, confirmation; he’s in.

 A two-year journey is all that’s between him and the sea of his dreams and the greenery of fields and trees. He tells his parents, separately. They divorced, last year, and Arthur is glad, so glad that they never had any children other than him, glad that there was no one else caught in that maelstrom of words and bitterness. It poisoned the house, poisoned the space between them all and filtered down to Arthur, trapped in the middle with nowhere to go.

 But not anymore. He packs very little, stands to reminisce not for very long, before heading out of the door. He’s early, about five or so hours left before he can board, but once he’s said his goodbyes and gathered his things it’s as though he can’t stand to be there in that house, in that place, for one more second. The opaque material of his colony’s domes press down on him as he walks, murky and grey; he all at once feels as though he is sinking underwater and he stops on the way to the launch site, arms swinging and a pounding in his head. A deep breath, a catch in the throat, and he instead turns to veer back towards town, to the botanical gardens.

They’re familiar to him now, as known to him as his own hands, and he settles himself underneath a wide thick tree next to a bush of roses spilt red like blood and gets out an e-tab. His granddad’s voice emerges, soft and old like paper telling tales of the sea, and his words curl around Arthur’s chest to rock him back to himself and wish him good luck.

[planetjisungie]

pain but make it beautiful- p.js

characters: quidditch player! jisung, hufflepuff! jisung, ravenclaw! reader ft. hufflepuff! jeno, hufflepuff! mark

an; uh this is the first of the nct dream hogwarts au series and mark doesnt have a hogwarts au so i gotta get him into all of them somehow

"come on y/n you have to talk to him at some point, im sick and tired of you staring at him like a lost puppy" jeno drawled, commenting on the way you were currently staring at park jisung, the star player for hufflepuff. he was currently sat on the hufflepuff table- where jeno should be- talking to his own friends. "i am not staring at him i am merely observing him" you replied back with a slight scowl on your face. the tall boy had caught your attention since the time he messed up in Slughorns potions class 3 years ago. the slight infatuation then developed into feelings after you started watching him during matches and practice from the window of the medical room where you were madam Pomfreys assistant, mainly for extra credit. "yeah sure you were. you know if youd just talk to him then maybe youd find out he is always staring at you in potions when you arent looking. youre both so oblivious it pains me" jeno let out an exasperated sigh, slouching in his seat and laying his cheek on the arm resting against the ravenclaw table. "excuse you, hes probably staring at sienna. theres no way he would even notice me" you muttered, discarding your half eaten toast slathered in nutella back onto your plate before standing up. "now, i have to get to the medical room to wait for the quidditch match to begin"

jisung watched as you left the hall, hair slightly blowing behind you along with your robe as you took quick steps. his eyes followed your figure, tuning out the conversation of the rest of his fellow hufflepuff players until you disappeared from his sight. "hey, park, are you listening or just staring at your girlfriend?" his captain elbowed him making him jolt before whipping his head to face him. "huh?" but before the captain could tease him any further, a disheartened and slightly irritated lee jeno flopped down on his seat at the hufflepuff table. "if one of you doesnt fucking confess in a week im grabbing your necks and forcing you to kiss" he seethed, glaring at jisung whos eyes had widened. "no way! shes y/n l/n, princess of the ravenclaws and practically untouchable, im just park jisung who likes to play quidditch" he quickly turned down even the thought of confessing. at his total obliviousness, the whole table groaned, slamming their heads onto the table.

later that week, you were sat in the medical room, jotting down extra notes for your potions and herbology classes. hearing the door to the room creak open, you turn your attention from the words neatly written in your notebook to the entrance. masking your shock and worry with a smile, you stood up and walked towards the captain of the hufflepuff quidditch team who was supporting an ill looking jisung. "you two okay?" you asked, your stare on jisung lingering a little longer before looking towards the captain who had a frown on his face. "jisungs got the flu, conveniently before our match against slytherin next week" he explained, watching as you cleared up a bed for jisung. "oh, im so sorry you must be feeling awful" you said softly to jisung who wanted to say something in return, but his throat was too sore to even swallow. wincing at the painful sounding cough he let out, you nodded towards the captain. "i’ll take care of him mark, dont worry" you sent him a smile to try and ease any nerves he had about this. after all, a match against slytherin with their star player either benched or feeling sick and unfocused throughout the game would not end well. "thank you so much y/n, youre really a god send" mark sent you a final smile before jogging away, leaving you to tend to the poorly boy. you got jisung to lay down, specifically in the bed that was next to the window so he wouldn’t get too bored. not that he could get bored with your pretty face to stare at, that is. "jisung just get some rest, when you wake up i’ll still be here so if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask" you said gently, already filling up a cup of water and placing it on the table next to him. "t-thank you" jisungs deep raspy voice attempted to show how grateful he was, but he was utterly horrified at how weak and feeble he sounded. you couldnt help but feel sorry for the boy as it definitely sounded hoarse and painful. sending him a nod, you went back to your work, where you spent a lot of the time glancing back at the asleep boy across from you.

when jisung had woken up, you were in fact still there. it was apparently the morning, so he had slept all night. seeing the boy sit up in your peripheral, you got up from your work and headed to him. you had actually gotten sleep last night, hoping he didnt wake up before you got back and apparently the gods were on your side that day. "how do you feel?" you asked him, already grabbing the Pepper-Up potion from the cabinet. "a little better. my throat doesnt hurt as bad" his voice wasn’t exactly ill-sounding anymore, but he did sound kind of croaky which was mosh likely from not talking for so long. nodding in response, you handed him the Pepper-Up with a small smile on your face. "well then, if you take this you should be good to go by tomorrow," then you pouted, "but it was nice having some company here rather than just me" you sighed. jisung chuckled, and you seriously felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. it wouldn’t surprise you if he could hear it to be honest. "i’ll miss being here too. the view is nice and its relaxing to not be surrounded by loud boys" he said, trying to avoid your eyes as eye contact was something he wasnt ready for yet. thinking he meant the view from the window, you turned to look out it with a smile. "it is rather beautiful" you uttered breathily. jisung stared at the side profile of your face, softened and smiling as you looked out onto the forest and mountains. "gorgeous" he quietly agreed.

the rest of the day you had spent just talking with jisung as you wrote even more notes. you and him were both glad that you could finally talk to eachother, first without any of your friends teasing you, and second because the situation kind of forced you together so it would be awkward if you didnt talk. he had found out little things about you that made his heart melt, such as your cat that was called mr snuggles, your pet sugar glider that you kept at home which was called mr cuddles and how you had a love for all animals, leading to your dream of becoming a veterinarian. he had also found out your undying love for small things and how you always looked so cute talking about them, your eyes sparkling. similarly, you had found out about his little sister that he would do anything for, his owl that was just called hoot which you found both adorable and hilarious, and how it was his sister that basically made him start playing quidditch, just wanting to make her proud. you had also found out about how clumsy he was, after immediately tripping on air after getting out of bed to sit closer to your desk, sending you both into a fit of giggles as he had pink dusted on his cheeks. it was safe to say the two of you had become closer during his stay in the infirmary, and when he had to leave, you had immediately missed his presence.

during the days before the slytherin match, you and jisung would greet eachother in the halls, and you switched deskmates so he sat besides you in potions now. his team and jeno couldnt believe their eyes when they saw you two walking to the hall together for dinner after you had had potions last period. so naturally, when you waved and smiled at jisung from the ravenclaw table, and he winked in response, jenos jaw dropped. "since fucking when did you two get close?! my prayers have finally been answered, about bloody time!"he very animatedly said, waving his arms around for exaggeration. "he was like the only person in the infirmary, so he became my friend i guess" you had shrugged to jeno, but you couldnt stop the wide smile pulling at your lips.

when the match had finally arrived, you firmly put away your books and sat in the stands, as madam Pomfrey had told you to watch from outside incase any players would fall. bounding towards the hufflepuff stands, you slid in next to jeno, ignoring the looks you were getting from the other hufflepuffs considering you were literally on the wrong stand. "you come to watch your boyfriend?" jeno smirked, nudging you with his elbow. cupping your hands to your cheeks to hide the bright red glow from the comment, you stamped on his toes harshly, smiling at his screech of pain. "shut up and lets watch" you glared at him before cooling down and removing your palms, turning to face the field as the players all filed onto it. jisung searched the audience for you, finally finding you waving at him like crazy making him grin happily. mark patted the boys shoulder. "lets have a good match so you can show off to your fiancée but make it girlfriend" he joked, jisungs cheeks turning a similar colour to yours previously as he shoved marks back.

the game started, and you grew increasingly worried at the violent plays of the slytherins, though it was to be expected. the hufflepuff team however, had managed to easily come back into play after every brutal shove, or chase, giving them both an equal shot at winning. "well this is an interesting match" jeno lifted a brow, leaning forwards slightly so he could get a better view. "on god if they hurt jisung im putting them all in the infirmary myself" you said, leaning back and looking at the slytherin team, very unimpressed by their dirty plays.

"you won!" you giggled, jisungs own laugh reverberating around you, his chest pressed against yours sending vibrations into your own. grabbing his cheeks, you stared him in the eyes before smashing your lips onto his. the crowd only seemed to cheer louder, jisungs frozen arms slowly wrapping around your waist, tilting his face and kissing back. jeno and the quidditch team let out whistles, reminding you that you were in public. a wave of embarrassment hit you, and you buried your face into jisungs chest, the sound of his rapid heartbeat matching your own.

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love (Pt.2/6)

Previous

Geralt had had the most peculiar evening.

The moment the ginger cat had wrapped around his legs he’d known that something was different. His suspicions had been confirmed when the cat had jumped up against his legs, and his medallion had practically leapt off his chest in reaction to the magic. What’s more was that the cat understood him and they’d been able to communicate, just about.

So far Geralt knew the cat was able to shift between his feline form and a human form, which did explain the cat’s fondness for beer, but Geralt didn’t know why he’d chosen to stay as a cat. Surely it would be easier for him to eat and drink as a human, but the cat seemed quite content to lap at the small mug of ale and chew on the left over bones from Geralt’s dinner.

The barkeep was not as impressed with the cat’s behaviour and Geralt had to keep pulling him off the top of the table and back onto his lap.

Once Geralt had finished with his food and drink he stood up with a heavy sigh and the cat leapt from his lap with a discombobulated yowl.

He stared up at Geralt with bright cornflower blue eyes and flicked his tail angrily.

“Time to go, Mister Fuzzball.” Geralt smirked and then remembered the cat actually had a room to stay in. “For me anyway.”

The cat yowled and pawed at Geralt’s leg.

He tilted his head as he looked down at the ginger cat. His fur was all tousled from where Geralt had been petting him. Geralt had never managed to stroke a cat before and he’d been surprised when he’d started purring in his lap. The sound had rumbled under Geralt’s fingers and Geralt felt more relaxed than he had in years. He had never envied humans so much before but he knew it was unlikely that he’d ever find a cat that liked him enough to repeat the experience.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Geralt grumbled. “You heard the man, no rooms.”

If cats could roll their eyes Geralt was certain that this one would be, and he yowled insistently looking pointedly at the stairs.

“You want me to go upstairs?” Geralt asked incredulously.

The cat spun around slowly and meowed again.

“Are you always this bossy?”

The cat trilled, looking somewhat smug.

“Hmm.” Geralt opened his arms and the cat pounced at him. His claws dug into Geralt’s arms as he settled but Geralt’s armour meant that he barely felt it. “I’m not carrying you everywhere.” He grumbled but it was a weak protest as the cat head-butted his chest and purred.

Geralt sighed and carried his feline friend up the stairs. He looked down the short corridor that led into the rooms. One of the doors was ajar. He decided that was probably his best bet and he was sure the cat in his arms would have no problem in biting him again if he got it wrong.

He gently pushed open the door. There was a single bed pushed up against one wall. Brightly coloured clothes were folded neatly on the dresser and the window was cracked open. The room hummed with magic, although the cat sniffing his medallion probably was throwing his senses off. There was a calming mixture of lavender and chamomile wafting through the air. He hummed and tried to scent the cat subtly. There was a faint trace of lavender on his fur so the aroma of the room was probably one the shifter preferred in his human form.

The ginger cat gently pawed at Geralt’s face then squirmed in his arms and leapt onto the bed. He clawed at the sheets and spun round before plopping down happily on the pillow with a contented yawn.

Geralt tilted his head at the cat. “Don’t you want to change back?”

The cat opened one eye and then pointed its nose towards the pile of clothes on the dresser.

Geralt looked between the cat and the clothes. “Right. I can look away?” He suggested.

The cat’s ears twitched but he made no attempt to move.

“Hmm.” Geralt decided it would be best to make himself at home. “You can’t sleep on the pillow.” He grumbled as he unbuckled his armour.

The cat hissed lightly.

“I guess you could always sleep on me but I won’t fit with you like that.” Geralt insisted, pulling his shirt off over his head.

The cat’s ears perked up and he watch Geralt with an intense stare.

Geralt hummed in exasperation, remembering that underneath the feline form was a human. A human who seemed to have no shame about watching him get undressed. Luckily growing up in Kaer Morhen Geralt was used to a lack of privacy and the cat’s unwavering gaze didn’t bother him particularly. He’d seen many strange things in his long life, this wasn’t even in the top ten.

Once he was ready for bed he grabbed the ginger cat by the scruff of its neck and pulled him, yowling, off the pillow.

“I warned you, you bastard.” Geralt grumbled.

The cat sulked and got his revenge, once Geralt had laid back on the bed, by clawing at Geralt’s chest leaving pink scratch marks before he too finally settled down to sleep, purring softly in the darkness of the room.

Geralt fell asleep faster than he had in years.

The next morning Geralt woke up sweating and hot, which was a rare occurrence for a witcher. He’d completely forgotten about his feline friend from the night before until he realised that he couldn’t breathe through the face full of fur. He pushed the heavy lump of fur away from him with a start and jumped at the loud thump as something hit the floor.

There was a yelp followed by a low growl. Geralt sat up and lunged for his sword when he noticed a large russet wolf snarling up at him from next to the bed.

“Fuck!” He pulled his steel sword from its sheath and pointed it at the wolf.

But he didn’t strike.

Those eyes.

Cornflower blue.

“Mister Fuzzball?” He asked in disbelief.

The wolf barked and its tongue flopped from one side of its mouth.

“Huh.” Geralt mused. “Not just a cat then?”

The wolf wagged his tail and barked again.

“Can you change into something less conspicuous? I need to get my money for the cockatrice.” Geralt reached out and scratched the wolf behind his ears.

The fur shifted under his fingers, it became coarser and shorter. The thick pelt underneath the surface thinned out and the wolf shrunk into a mutt with floppy ears and freckles on his snout.

“Still not feeling human?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

The dog shook his head and wagged his tail.

“Can you at least try and tell me your name?” Geralt asked. “I could say the alphabet until we get to the right letter?”

The dog barked and so Geralt began to recite the alphabet slowly.

“Jaskier?” He asked once the dog pounced up and licked at his face.

Jaskier yapped and spun round in a circle.

“Your name is buttercup?” Geralt smirked. “How is that better than Mister Fuzzball?”

Jaskier growled and pulled at Geralt’s underwear. Geralt cursed as he suddenly found himself stark naked in the middle of the room. Jaskier barked and rolled onto his back, wagging his tail, yapping what was probably a laugh. “Little shit.” Geralt grumbled. “Get out whilst I get dressed if you’re gonna be like that.”

Jaskier whined but shifted once more into kestrel and pecked at the window. Geralt rolled his eyes and let him out. “I’ll meet you in the stables, in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

Jaskier nudged him with his beak and then took flight. Geralt almost envied the shifter. The freedom to fly like that, must be incredible. The humans probably wouldn’t take too kindly if they knew the truth about him though. They had an innate hatred of anything that was different, and yet somehow witchers were the monsters in their eyes.

He sighed and finished getting dressed. The barkeep was already cleaning glasses behind the bar when Geralt finally made his way downstairs. The man looked surprised to see him.

“Where’d you come from?” He asked suspiciously.

Geralt moved his fingers to form Axii. “I had a room.” He murmured.

“You had a room.” The man repeated. “Of course. Hey, you didn’t happen to see a bard on your travels? He was supposed to play for his room last night but disappeared without a trace.”

Geralt smiled faintly.

A missing bard.

Jaskier, it had to be.

Geralt nodded. “He lost his voice, came down with something. I’ll cover the cost of his room, but I need to see the alderman first. He owes me for the contract.”

The barkeep furrowed his brow. “That’s awful kind of you, witcher. Does he need any food taken up to his room?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’ll take something up when I get back. He’s still sleeping.” He lied.

Jaskier would probably still be sleeping if Geralt hadn’t dumped the wolf onto the floor this morning. So he didn’t feel too bad about the lie.

By the time he reached the stable, Jaskier was waiting for him. A red squirrel sitting on top of Roach’s head, between her ears, chattering away happily.

Geralt found the cockatrice head amongst her tack and picked it up. Jaskier jumped onto his shoulder and scurried up his arm. The squirrel sniffed at the bloody head and squeaked before running back up Geralt’s arm and onto his head.

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

Another squeak.

“Hmm. At least sit on my shoulder.” Geralt sighed and plucked the squirrel into his hands.

He held Jaskier up and peered at him. Jaskier flailed his tiny arms in the air.

“Why are you following me anyway?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier squeaked and squirmed in his fingers.

“Maybe I should find you a tiny lute to play.” Geralt smirked, remembering what the man had said about a missing bard.

The squirrel froze and stared back at him with soft blue eyes.

“Missing bard at the tavern and a shifter with a room. Not hard to put two and two together.” Geralt shrugged and turned his hand over to allow Jaskier to crawl back up his arm.

Instead he hopped back to the ground and landed as the floppy-eared dog from before.

Geralt rolled his eyes and headed from the stables towards the alderman’s house. The man was a weaselly sickly pale man with mousy brown hair and glassy blue eyes. He stank like booze, even this early in the morning. Geralt dumped the cockatrice head in front of the man. He wasn’t surprised when the bag of coins was half full and not nearly as much as he’d been promised. He challenged the alderman who just fobbed him off with excuses about Geralt taking longer than expected.

Jaskier snarled next to him and snapped his teeth at the man.

“Master witcher! Control your beast!” The alderman’s scent soured with fear.

Geralt shrugged. “He’d be nicer if you paid me what I’m owed.”

“Poppycock!” The man cried. “How the fuck would a dog know the difference?”

“Witcher’s dogs. Specially mutated to sniff out human’s bullshit.” Geralt lied easily.

Jaskier growled and bared his teeth at the man.

Geralt leaned in closer. “When they get really angry, they turn into a wolf. They don’t call us the school of wolf for nothing.”

Jaskier’s ear twitched and Geralt could have sworn he was almost smiling.

“You’re lying!” The alderman cried.

Geralt smirked and glanced down at Jaskier.

Jaskier barked and his fur rippled. His ears stood up straighter and his bones crunched as he grew. He shook and then wagged his tail, never taking his blue eyes off the alderman.

“Am I?” Geralt asked with a tilted of his head.

“Fuck!” He swore and ran to the safe to collect the rest of Geralt’s coin.

Geralt threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s fur. He was wearing gloves now so the effect wasn’t quite as calming but Jaskier nudged his snout into Geralt’s leg and wagged his tail.

“Take it, witcher. Just get the fuck out of my town.” He yelled. “Mutant freak!”

Jaskier growled low in his chest.

“It’s alright.” Geralt murmured to the wolf. “I was going anyway.”

Jaskier whined and looked up at Geralt.

“Stand down.” Geralt insisted.

The wolf huffed but shifted back into a dog, he turned and sulked out of the house.

“Don’t expect a job here any time soon, mutant.” The alderman spat.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Let’s just hope that’s the last of your monster problem. Thanks for the coin.”

Geralt followed Jaskier into the streets. “Come on, Jask. I need to get Roach and get out of here. You coming?”

The dog tilted his head and barked with a wag of his tail.

Geralt allowed himself a smile. He’d never wanted a companion for the road, but then he’d never met anyone quite like Jaskier before.

________

Next

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 4: a tight-knit family

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans), Remus being Remus, (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please dm me!! This chapter we see a LOT of Patton, a little of Virgil, and some Roman being an ass behaviour. I apologize if this chapter is lackluster, it’s important I promise!! Also I just finished chapter 5...its 3295 of intrulogical fluff 

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2269

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer

After a few weeks, not disappointing Remus was a weak reason to be here. 

Though he never considered himself a quitter, god he would love to just quit one thing in his life. The thing being theatre. 

When Thomas arrived Roman bombarded him with questions. Turns out, Logan was cast as Hamilton due to his exceptional rapping. Roman, weaker at rapping but a very confident and strong singer, could provide the extremely skilled vocal performance required by Washington. If Logan were to get sick, Roman would play Hamilton and Remus would hand over Maria’s part to his understudy. Which made sense, of course. The beginnings of rehearsals were, by all means, not entirely awful. They were going to learn the music to the show, song by song. The first problem arises with Logan’s absolutely awful stage fright. After the first run-through of the title number, Alexander Hamilton, Logan almost threw up again. People looked directly at him whenever he sang or rapped. The musical director, Jamahl, assured him it was fine. Jamahl, as nice as he was, would be receiving a solid two on Logan’s chart. It’s okay, Logan, Everyone gets stage fright, Logan. That, quite frankly, sounded like a bunch of bullshit. Especially since every time Logan got too nervous and messed up, Roman laughed from off to his side. 

Which shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t. Except...Well, it was infuriating to be laughed at. For something he can’t control no less. He was ready to ball up his script and pelt him with paper until he stopped being a colossally egotistical idiot. Along with Roman’s frankly abhorrent behaviour, Logan also had to deal with feigning...romantic intimacy. Don’t get him wrong, Patton was a very nice guy. But...how would you feel knowing your first kiss would have to be fake for a theatre production? Bad. You would feel bad. So does Logan. Logan is sick of all of this, and by the end of the second week he finally snaps. 

When he hears that during Helpless he needs to kiss Patton, he doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. Of course, after he does, Roman decides to open his big dumb mouth. 

“What’s wrong, Microsoft nerd? Upset that your first kiss will be on the stage?” 

Patton reels back and glares at Roman almost instantly, opening his mouth to defend Logan, when Logan turns on Roman himself. 

“I am beginning to wonder if you ever just shut up,” Logan snaps, fists balled in anger.

“Because honestly, for the two weeks I have been in this theatre program, you have done nothing but spout off like a tea kettle about to boil over all because I happened to be better than you at one thing. So I am sincerely asking, do you ever shut up?”

Somehow, he has done the impossible. Roman is stunned into silence, his face goes red with anger. 

“How dare-” Is all he manages to get out before Thomas calls for a five-minute break. 

Thomas motions for Logan to come over to him, and he’s still fuming. If he were as dramatic as a certain hoity-toity theatre brat, he would be practically foaming at the mouth. Thomas is an adult, so he tries to pull himself together. 

“I apologize-” 

“Don’t. Roman kinda deserved that,” Thomas says with a smirk, “He’s a great kid, but he has a lot to learn.”

It’s his turn to be shocked into silence, because never in a million years would he expect an adult to enable such an outburst. 

“Really though, Logan, Just try not to let it happen again. I’ll let it slide this time, okay?”

With a nudge to the side and a kind smile, Logan is sent to have his break. 

Roman is quiet for the rest of the day. Logan could not be more pleased. Roman’s anger at him was unjustified and awful, he was overall awful. After today, he would need to add a negative rating to his charts. He doesn’t think he could ever get along with someone like Roman without eventually succumbing to his anger and strangling him. Logan knows his extreme anger is wrong, but Roman was just...just...absolutely, unbelievably, infuriating. Sitting in the lobby waiting for his father like usual, he is approached by Patton. Alone this time, without Virgil. Which is strange. 

“You look like you’re about to rip someone's head off,” Patton giggles out with a sympathetic smile. 

Logan sighs and gives him a little smirk, “My apologies, are you going to be getting a ride with Virgil tonight?”

“No, his dad is picking him up! I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out!”

“I-” Logan thinks on this for a while, then shrugs. It may be for the best. Patton has been very kind, and he has defended him when Roman was being a jerk.

“Sure, let me message my father.”

Patton’s car is a beat-up looking second-hand thing that looks like it rolled out of a dump. Inside, it’s actually very well taken care of. Patton calls the car “Christine” and pats her lovingly. Hanging from the rear-view mirror is a small frog-shaped air freshener that makes the car smell of strawberries. The seats are comfortable, and Patton’s music is sweet. Eventually they pull into a parking lot in a townhouse area, and as they walk down the street Patton waves and says hello to all his neighbours that are outside. 

“You know them all?” 

“Oh, yeah! Lots of them have babysat me, or my sisters! And I’ve babysat for them too!”

Huh. He didn’t know Patton had sisters. Though, the second they enter his house, it’s entirely obvious. 

In the living room, there are three young girls. Patton’s shoes are barely off when the two youngest ones rush him and engulf him in hugs. The older one walks over and smiles at Logan first.

“Hi, which one are you?” She asks, and Patton laughs.

“Delilah Ann! That’s not nice!”

“I’m Logan, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lilah, I’ve heard a lot about you. Mostly ‘cause Pat doesn’t shut up.”

Patton looks a little pouty, but Logan thinks he likes Lilah. She doesn’t look much like Patton at all. Her hair is more wavy than curly, and a very nice strawberry blonde colour. She doesn’t have glasses, and dresses very tomboyish, the only thing that ties them together are their freckled cheeks. She’s only thirteen, but Logan finds her interesting to talk to. While Patton is dealing with the younger ones, she tells him about how she wants to be a mortician and is the smartest in her family. Logan smiles a little while they have a mostly one-sided conversation. 

One thing the siblings have in common is certainly their talkative likability. 

The younger two are put to work on their homework at the dining table, and Patton begins to set up dinner. Logan sits next to the girls at the table, Delilah retreating to her room, chatting with Patton as he cooks. He offered to help but was denied at every turn. Something about him being a guest, and how he shouldn’t have to. They’re discussing their roles in the play when the youngest slams her head against the table dramatically.

“Patton! I don’t wanna do this anymore!” She whines, Patton puts some potatoes in a pot then brushes off his hands on his apron. 

“Do you need help, or do you need a break?” 

“Help!”

Logan peers over her paper and sees a bunch of simple multiplication questions, she must only be in second or third grade. 

He clears his throat, “If you’d like, I could help you.”

“Oh! Oh! Yes! Patton can Logan help me please!” 

Patton agrees, despite obviously looking at Logan and saying ‘You really don’t have to’ with his eyes. Logan likes to teach, he’s more than happy to help out. Especially since Elaine is extremely charming. You can definitely see how much she looks like Patton. Big square glasses, blonde hair in pigtails, tons of freckles dotting chubby cheeks. She acts like him too, spouting out awful dad jokes that make Patton lose it laughing in the kitchen. She tries her best to listen, and manages to actually complete her math homework with a pretty good mark. Her teacher will hopefully be impressed. Logan’s dad texts and asks if he needs to be picked up, but Elaine begs him to stay for dinner and...well he can’t say no, can he? Patton says he doesn’t have to stay, but he wants to. 

He’d never had siblings, it had always just been him and his parents. Though he loved them, and they loved him, it was so...lonely sometimes. He had always wanted a little brother or sister, maybe even a pet, but it never really happened. The energy in Patton’s house was somehow a perfect mix of lively and calm, they felt like they were really a family. Logan relished in it. The feeling of community, full of love so openly given and received. The most he had were very quiet holiday dinners with the few Larks who were left. He remembers being Elaine’s age, he felt so lonely. She wasn’t lonely though, she was full of love. So was Patton. It was very nice. He watches Patton cook and he chats with him while realizing he’s been much too harsh on him. His kindness wasn’t fake, there was no way. He was a real person who was actually that nice. He defended him out of the kindness of his heart. 

Ding.

hey logan wyd rn

Ah, Virgil. That was a pleasant surprise. 

I’m actually at Patton’s house. Elaine has roped me into staying for dinner.

He can almost hear Virgil’s little chuckle. 

yeah she does that hows sophie

Sophie? Oh, that must be the third sister. She’s very quiet, her eyes haven’t once looked upwards the whole time they’ve been sat together. 

“Ahem-Uhm-Sophie,” Logan starts, and Sophie looks up from her homework, “Virgil was wondering how you are?”

Her eyes light up, “I’m good. Is he going to come over?”

She’s good. She wants to know if you will be coming over.

hah, sure tell her to give me 20 

“Yes, give him twenty minutes.”

Sophie smiles, and Logan is reminded of Virgil almost immediately. She has dark brown hair that covers her face and a bit of a natural glare. Her smile is shy, and he wonders if Patton secretly stole Virgil’s little sister. 

It seems like it, even more, when Virgil actually gets there. Sophie’s entire demeanor changes. She becomes extremely talkative and tells Virgil all about how she’s got a new villager in her animal crossing town. Virgil entertains her with talking, going and helping Patton to cook. Logan gets up to help as well, but Virgil waves him away. Virgil looks like he belongs here, in this little dining room-kitchen. He’s laughing beside Patton, talking to both girls and Logan, helping cook and set the table. Logan can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. While Patton is putting the food on the table, the door opens and a tired-looking woman enters. Virgil goes to greet her, and she smiles. Her hair is curly and blonde, her eyes are a cloudy green, she is covered in a smattering of freckles, and she looks...just like Patton. 

Logan gets up to go greet her as well. When she sees him she beams and it’s like he’s been confronted by the sun herself. 

“You must be Logan! Virgil and Patton talk my ears off about you!” She pats his head, and continues, “The boys just adore you! It’s about time you came for dinner!”

He almost can’t speak, and both Virgil and Patton whine about her embarrassing them, but he nods, “Thank you for having me, but I’ve only known them for two weeks, Ma’am.”

The woman looks a little confused, then laughs joyously, “No need for that, kiddo! Just call me Lisa, okay?” 

After patting him on the shoulder, she slinks by and greets all her children. Lilah has come back down, and the whole table is now filled to the brim. Dinner is filling and delicious, Patton really has a talent for the culinary arts. Which is strange considering Logan took him as someone who, like him, couldn’t cook to save his life.

After dinner, Patton brings Logan and Virgil to his room to hang out. They play video games, talk about anything they can manage, and by the time it’s late Logan is smiling. At nine, Elaine and Sophie are whining about Patton putting them to bed. Virgil and Logan wish them good night and Virgil drives Logan home. 

“Logan, I’ve gotta ask...why did you agree to hang out with Patton?”

“Well...I’m not actually sure. I think that I needed it.”

“How do you mean?”

Logan looks out the window and thinks to himself. Why? He’s never had friends, or much of a close family. He figured he agreed because well…

“Patton has something I don’t. It helped me understand him better to see what he has.”

Virgil accepted that, but Logan wasn’t sure he understood it fully. He’s not even sure he does. 

That night, Roman gets a negative two. Patton gets a ten, and written on his pages are the names and personalities of his family members. Along with that, is a very simple phrase. 

I have concluded that Patton is, indeed, a very good person.

Why it took him this long to come to terms with, he will never understand. 

[elowenp]

Miles can’t stop looking at the sword.

Gavin, the guy who owns the antiques store where Miles works, said that he got it at some car boot sale. When Miles had asked if Gavin got any contact information for the previous owner he had just shrugged and said no because it was ‘probably a fake’.

The sword is not a fake.

Miles isn’t quite sure how he knows that, nothing about the sword or Miles’s slightly vague knowledge of antiquities should inform him of the fact, but he’s certain it’s true. The sword is real and powerful and important. He just can’t figure out why yet.

It’s in a glass case in the centre of the shop although you can barely tell that the glass is there from the number of times Miles has polished it. All in an attempt to see the sword a little more clearly. The metal is shining silver steel, while the handle is well worn and a brassy colour. Twisting patterns cover the cross guard and worm their way up the base of the blade, eventually narrowing into a single line that reaches all the way to the tip of the blade. Whenever Miles focuses too hard on those patterns they seem to move and shift and it makes him dizzy enough that he has to look away.

A part of him worries that if he didn’t look away the patterns really would begin to move.

He’s sat at the till and the shop is empty so he turns his gaze towards the books he keeps behind the counter. He shouldn’t really keep them there, they belong to the shop and should be kept visible where someone might buy them. The problem with that is the fact that Miles knows no one would buy them. He knows it the same way he knows the sword is important and the patterns on it would start to shift if he dared look to long and his older sister is the most important person in the entire world. Miles knows that no one would buy the books if he left them out in the shop because they’re meant for him.

He picks up one of the books. It’s a deceptively thin volume with writing so dense he sometimes has to use a magnifying glass to read it. The pages are wafer thin but surprisingly strong, enough so that when Miles tried to tear one once, just to see if he could, he hadn’t even managed to leave a mark. The content of the book is an eclectic mix of folklore, the occult and religion. The different areas should clash horribly but somehow this book, just like all the others Miles has stashed away, presents it all in such a cohesive manner that it’s hard to remember why the different subjects shouldn’t fit together right.

Just as he’s getting into it the loud rumble of a motorbike engine pulls up outside the shop and he’s broken from his stupor. He looks out the window to see Ariana, his sister, get off her bike and take off her helmet to release a swishing curtain of golden hair.

She walks with an aura of complete confidence that Miles has always admired. The bell over the door dings as she comes in and she grins as she pushes her hair out of her eyes. The movement reveals a multitude of glinting, silver piercings in her ear that for some reason shimmer with the same aura as the sword.

Ariana approaches his desk and Miles shakes himself from his thoughts.

“Your engine’s way too loud.”

Ariana shrugs. “It’s exactly as loud as it should be, you’re just jealous.”

“It makes you sound like you have a small dick.” Miles replies, going back to his book as Ariana lovingly flips him off.

She leans back from his desk and scans across the shop like she does with every room she enters. Miles has never quite figured out why she does that but he supposes it’s just a tic of hers. As soon as Ariana’s eyes alight on the sword she begins to walk towards it, her movements somewhat trance like.

“What’s up with this?” she asks.

Miles looks up at her, not quite sure how to answer. “What do you mean?”

Ariana turns to look at him, squinting. “Don’t you get a weird vibe off it?”

“Huh.” Miles puts his book down and sits up a little straighter. “Yeah, I do. Thought it was just me.”

Ariana just nods. “Can I hold it?”

Miles is meant to say no. The shop is still open. Gavin is just in the back room and could come through to see him fucking about at any moment.

“Sure.” he shrugs.

Ariana grins the way she usually does when Miles does something she approves of. She tends to think he lives his life a little too safe so these moments are few and far between but Miles appreciates them whenever they arrive. Miles gets up from behind the counter, grabbing the key to the cabinet from the hook it’s kept on. As he unlocks the door he realises that he’s leaving smudge marks on the glass and feels a moment of annoyance that they’re going to make it a little harder to keep his eyes fixed on the patterns of the sword later. He takes the sword and hands it very carefully to Ariana. The edges are wicked sharp, a fact he knows from experience.

She grasps the handle and for a moment Miles thinks that the patterns are about to shift. That they’re about to twist and shift and creep up Ariana’s hand the same way they appear to creep up the flat of the blade. There’s a second where Miles thinks his sister’s body is about to become shot through with the silver glint of metal and instead of feeling worried he’s entirely ready to watch the process in fascination.

That’s not what happens. Nothinghappens.

Ariana lets the tip of the sword droop, a mirror of her disappointment. “I thought that something-” She waves her hands in the air, lacking the words to explain what unnatural event she was actually hoping for.

Miles nods. He gets what she means. “Not this time I guess.” Then, despite not having thought of the words before they’re out of his mouth. “It will though, when it has to.”

Ariana looks at him in confusion and Miles imagines that the expression must match his own fairly well. Instead of questioning him though she just looks back to the sword, eyes tracing the patterns that flow over it. “Okay,” she says, and puts the antique gently back in its case.

She sticks around to chat a little after that but heads off when it becomes apparent that the both of them are too distracted to make good conversationalists. Miles notices that as Ariana’s motorbike peels off she keeps the sound of the engine a little quieter than when she came in and he feels a moment of pride over her heading his advice.

~

Weeks pass.

Ariana keeps visiting Miles at work. Keeps staring at the sword, staying still for longer than he thought she had the patience for, while Miles keeps reading his books full of strangeness and tradition and magic.

On one visit she brings her girlfriend, Grace with her. Miles likes Grace. She’s been around since before Ariana even thought of forming her definitely-not-a-biker-gang. When Ariana introduced the two of them Miles may have gained a small crush on Grace but that quickly faded in the face of how an alliance between the two of them could be used to torment his sister.

“Have you come to see the sword?” Miles asks once the two motorbikes are parked outside and Ariana and Grace are coming through the door. He has an open history textbook in front of him instead of one of his more arcane times this time. It feels like a waste of time to be studying something for his a-levels instead of something he enjoys but needs must and all that.

Grace grins at him, brown skin crinkling mischievously as she raises her hands to do finger quotes. “You have to see the weird sword Grace, it’s weird and I want to have it and I would look so badass killing a dragon with it.”

Miles snickers while Ariana pulls a face of mock betrayal. “Killing dragons? Bit ambitious. Maybe you could kill a lizard or something. A small one.”

Ariana sticks her tongue out like the mature twenty year old she is and walks towards the sword. Miles throws her the keys since she’s come over for this enough times that he’s stopped being nervous about being spotted by Gavin who’s never around anyway.

Ariana unlocks the door and holds the sword carefully in her hands for a moment before passing it to Grace who takes it gamely.

“Huh,” Grace says once it’s in her hands, eyes fixed on the ever shifting patterns of the blade. “Y’know, it kind of is weird.”

“I told you,” Ariana crows triumphantly as Miles rolls his eyes and turns back towards his textbook. Ariana and Grace pass the sword between them for a little longer, commenting on the patterns and feeling the warmth of the metal in their hands. They get bored of this fairly quickly and begin to mime out some sword fights which Miles has to put a stop to as apparently his great seventeen years of life experience make him the most mature person in the room.

At least Grace looks slightly sheepish as she hands the sword back.

“You’re coming over for dinner on Sunday, right?” Miles asks as some sort of peace offering.

Grace grins. “’Course I am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The three of them smile the kinds of smiles at each other that require a near lifetime of knowing and loving to summon up.

It’s a shame that everything goes to shit before they can make it to Sunday dinner.

~

Ariana does not panic. Ariana is a born leader full of charisma and certainty and a sly cunning that no one ever seems to expect from her. She does not panic.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Gabe yells from the bike next to her, just loud enough to be heard over the wind, and Ariana wonders if a bit of panicking might be in order.

The monster behind them, made of shadows and starlight and darkness, is gaining. Their bikes can only go so fast and apparently eldritch abominations go faster. Ariana thinks faster though.

She sticks an arm out to signal where they should turn, not confident that everyone will be able to hear her voice over the rushing wind and thunder of engines. She’s been utterly certain of the path she’s been leading the others on but it’s only now that she realises that she’s taking them to the antique store. She’s taking them to the sword.

She’s also leading the monster in the direction of her little brother. But she’ll deal with the moral implications of that at a later date.

They twist and turn though narrow streets, taking every shortcut they can. Even despite how hidden their route is, Ariana is struck by the thought that they should have seen someone by now. The sun only went down, what, half an hour ago? The streetlights have barely turned on but she hasn’t spotted a single person since the abomination started chasing them.

For a moment she wonders if Miles will even be there when they get to the antiques store.

No, she thinks, No he’ll be there.

And since when has Ariana’s little brother let her down?

They screech up to the curb and Ariana is reminded slightly hysterically of all the times when Miles told her that making her engine sound so loud was annoying. None of them bother with kickstands, letting motorbikes that all of them have put a lot of work into crash to the pavement. The sound is barely audible over the crushing, crunching, roaring the creature behind them makes as it moves but Ariana still sees some of her friends wince at the noise.

Miles must have heard the commotion coming towards him because he’s stood there holding the door open as the group of them run from their fallen steeds to the shop. Ariana breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her brother even as fear rises in her gut over what might be about to happen to him.

Gabe gets in there first, he’s always been the fastest. Then Lance, then Grace. The rest of them follow quickly with Ariana taking up the rear so no one gets left behind.

The moment she’s in the door slams behind her. Penny and Lance, the strongest of the group, are the ones who hold it closed. Ariana turns to see the rest of the group staring slack-jawed either at each other or at the monster which has backed up in order to take a run up towards the door.

The rest of the group, with the exception of Miles.

“Miles, give me the key.” Ariana instructs.

He should know that that’s what he’s meant to do. Miles always seem to know what he’s meant to do a little better than anyone else and Ariana needs the sword. But instead of giving her the key to the glass case Miles is flicking through the strange books he keeps behind the counter faster than Ariana’s eyes can follow.

“Miles, the key,” she insists. Then when no response is imminent, “Fuck this.” She walks over to the sword’s case and shatters the glass with her elbow. When she grabs the sword it feels warm and right in her hands. The patterns appear to shift and swirl and morph more desperately than ever before and Ariana thinks that they must be mere moments from attaining the right shape.

Before she can turn to face the monster, Miles has vaulted over the desk and is right in front of the door with an open book in his hand. “It’s not ready yet.” he calls back to Ariana. “We need a few more minutes.”

“We don’t have a few more minutes.” Ariana grits out, tightening her grip on the sword.

“We will.” Miles says and cuts himself on a knife Ariana’s pretty sure he pick-pocketed from Lance.

Ariana’s pretty sure that Lance is about to make a move to stop her insane little brother but remembers just in time that it’s his job to keep the door closed. The monster is going to be crashing into it in the next three seconds so it’s probably a good thing that he does. Beside him and Penny, Miles is using the blood of his cut to scrawl weird symbols into the door frame, muttering words that Ariana doesn’t recognise under his breath.

He takes a step back the moment before the monster hits the door and for one shining instant Ariana hears the sigils sing.

The creature hits the door and glass that should have shattered holds firm, the magic Ariana now realises is reinforcing it gleaming in the hazy brightness the streetlights offer. It’s impossible. It’s wonderful.

“Nice one.” she chokes out towards Miles, a relieved grin on his face.

“Everyone get some of their blood on the sword.” Miles instructs as he stands, back straight and a level of confidence to him that Ariana isn’t sure she’s seen before. “It’s the only way this works.”

Ariana was expecting Grace to step forward first but Gabe manages to beat her to it, lowering himself to one knee with a grin on his face and exposing some of the skin of his shoulder once he’s in front of Ariana.

“Knight me!” he cries, loud and brazen and not entirely joking.

Ariana smiles in return and touches the sword to his shoulder. The blade sinks into his skin with barely any effort on her part at all. Once Gabe’s blood has touched the sword Ariana moves on to the next person. She wishes that she could linger on every one of her friends but Ariana is far to pragmatic for such things.

Everyone kneels in front of her. Grace and Lance and Kay and Ben and Penny. She touches her sword to the shoulders of every one of her closest friends and watches their blood sink into the metal. After a couple of people she realises that the blood is rising again along the patterns nearer the hilt, highlighting them in red. Eventually she gets to Miles.

“I’m not kneeling to my sister.”

“Smart,” Ariana replies with a smile. “I might kick you.”

“Go for my hand. Just above the first cut.”

Miles holds his hand out and Ariana rests the sword where he directed her. It sinks into Miles’s flesh just like it did everyone else’s. The patterns on the sword take on a sheen similar to whatever had lit up the door when magic had been all that was holding it closed.

“You have to do it as well.” Miles says once the sword has taken his blood. “We’re all equals here.”

He says it like it’s a joke but Ariana can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be entirely serious about such a thing.

“Grace?” she asks, because she wants everything to put her on the same level as her friends, “Would you do the honours?”

Grace smiles and takes the sword, grip on it firm and gentle and strong. Ariana kneels to her, thinking hard about how much she loves the woman in front of her, how much she loves everyone in the room. Grace touches the sword to Ariana’s shoulder and it burns.

Ariana pushes the pain to the furthest reaches of her mind and stands to take the sword back. All the blood that’s been offered to it now flows in rivulets through the patterns, bright and shining. As Ariana looks at the sword she realises that the patterns have finished shifting but there isn’t enough time for her to inspect their shape properly.

“What next?” she asks Miles, since although she doesn’t like to cede authority to someone else, particularly her little brother, for some reason they will definitely be discussing later he seems to have a better idea of what’s going on than anyone else in the room.

Miles shrugs rather unhelpfully. “I don’t know. Where we go from here is up to you.”

Distantly Ariana thinks that the words are meant to fill her with some sort of foreboding. That the pressure of seven lives that aren’t hers on her shoulders should be too great a burden for most twenty-year-olds to bear. Instead it just feels right. Like the weight is resting exactly where it should be.

“Okay.” she says, allowing the authority she normally tries to tone down take full control of her voice, “Here’s the plan.”

~

The plan is to hit it. Really hard.

“Is anyone else not loving this?” Miles asks uncertainly as everyone gets ready to rush the creature with whatever weapons they’ve managed to scrounge up. “I am very much not loving this.”

“You’ve already agreed to bow to my far superior judgement, so quit complaining and figure out whatever magic you can use to hit it.” Ariana calls back to him

Lance claps Miles on the shoulder. “There, there.” he grins, “Ariana hasn’t got any of us killed yet.”

Miles groans louder and Ariana gets ready to tear the door down.

“On three I’m charging.” she calls loudly. “Everyone ready?”

A shout of “Yes,” echoes through the room. Even Miles partakes in it.

Ariana takes a breath.

“One.” she shouts. Lance readies his stance a little, the wooden pole he’d found steady in his grip.

“Two.” Grace shifts slightly. The switchblade in her hands glinting in the dim light of the shop.

“Three.”

Miles makes a gesture as if cutting through the air and the glimmer that had covered the door disappears. Along with the door. The creature is so surprised at the sudden lack of resistance that it stumbles. Stutters.

They charge and edge of Lance’s pole reaches it first, pinning the creature to one of the shop’s walls. Grace gets there next, or at least her blade does. She throws her knife towards the mass of creature that had been reaching towards the pole to tear it out. The glinting silver of the knife disappears into the monster’s blinding darkness and the rumbling, crowing, crying noise the creature makes rises to deafening volumes as it flinches.

With all that distracting the thing, it isn’t so difficult for Ariana to drive her sword deep, deep into the centre of the mass of shadow and light and wrongness.

Red light arcs through the monster like lightning. It flashes from its insides in a fireworks display of destruction until the creature crashes. Shatters.

Ariana is splattered with the remains of the first thing she’s ever killed.

“Holy shit.” Kay whispers, the old metal bedpan she’d been holding like a baseball bat drooping slightly.

“Yeah.” Penny agrees. She isn’t holding anything and Ariana wonders if she’d just been planning to punch the monster into submission. “Holy shit.”

Everyone stands in stunned silence at their victory for a moment. Then Miles walks slowly forwards and pulls the bloodied sword from the remains of the creature where Ariana had dropped it. He bows down, the movement only seeming to be half-joking, and holds the sword out in his hands for Ariana to take.

“My liege,” he says, and something in his tone isn’t quite right. It’s sarcastic, sure, but it isn’t quite as sarcastic is it’s meant to be.

It’s then, looking down at the sword in her brother’s hands, that Ariana realises that now the swirling patterns are still you can just about make out that they spell the word ‘Excalibur’.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

[insanity6666]

Red By Danger. Risk In Safety.

It had been accidental, mostly. More so, it was convenient. Everything had lined up, and they all figured the more the merrier. None of them expected an egg to come of it!

“Do we know who…?” SkekNa asked, staring down at the small egg. Grey-blue and mottled in colour, making the small sprinkles of yellow all the more striking. 

“Er… no. I’m afraid ascertaining the parentage is impossible at this juncture.” SkekTek said, nervous as always, and fretted over the egg that’s small enough to fit easily in his palm. The Scientist turned the egg again, checked the heat lamp, adjusted the blankets that made the hastily constructed nest.

“Who-who cares?” SkekShod spoke up, leaning so close to the nest his beak was practically touching the egg. “It’s ou- it’s ours. W-w-w-e can all tak-take care-care of it-t-t,” He tilted his head, as though to get a better look, admiring the way it nearly glowed in the lighting. Such a pretty treasure, he wondered what the little one will look like once they’ve hatched.

Na sighed, rubbing at his one good eye. He could already feel a headache coming. It would certainly be easier to leave the pair to it, they clearly seemed eager to be parents, he wouldn’t be needed except for maybe the odd child-watch duty. And yet…

“Is it healthy?” He found himself asking, and Tek perked up as though he had been waiting for him to ask.

“Yes! Every distinguishable indicator points to a consummately healthy embrio!” He went on, but Na already stopped listening after ‘yes’. Instead leaning down to better observe the egg. It was a pretty little thing, and he wondered what kind of skekling they would raise. If it would be strong and vicious, if it would be small- he eyed the two other Skeksis, and quietly admitted to himself that it probably would be a small thing. Would it have his love of music? Tek’s intelligence? Shod’s quiet observance? What would it learn from them? 

Well, they would find out.

***

News quickly spread of their soon-to-be new addition, as the egg developed many came by to take a look and inquire about it’s health and make some small talk. When SkekSa visited SkekTek was relieved, and did not hesitate to ask for advice about newly hatched Skeklings and anything she might know to ensure the little one hatched well. What she told him were things he suspected or deduced himself, but having a second opinion and a confirmation of his own theories was welcomed. 

Once they left, he moved back to the nest (now properly set up, but he had to keep removing the gems and coins Shod kept sneaking in, worried it might compromise the integrity of the egg somehow) to rearrange the blankets again. It was nearly time, in another week or so the little one would be ready to hatch, and he didn’t want to risk anything that may cause a complication. He had taken to having the nest nearby Sidetic, who watched over the egg fiercely… or, as fiercely as the small creature could. If there was a slightest change or danger, his friend would squawk until he had the Scientists attention. He would also scream whenever the Chamberlain entered the lab, which was a hilarious development. 

If the little one hatched, they would have to present the skekling to the Emperor. While he was sure that their child would be welcomed, it was still a nerve wracking prospect, and he feared what would happen if the childing was deemed unfit or a disappointment somehow. 

He turned from the nest when he heard his lab door open, shifting in front to defend his little one, but it was only Na. Visiting again, as he often does when not conducting his duties. Tek relaxed, and nodded to the fellow parent before moving away to continue with his own work. He did keep an on him, though all he did was sit near the egg and begin to sing a low, quiet tune. Tek had been afraid, in the beginning, of how the other two would react to having a childling, but the other two had shown a keen interest in raising the little one once they hatched. They had agreed to keep the egg here, as it was the safest place- warm, away from the other Skeksis, away from everyone really, and close to all the medical equipment they might need for their little one.

The other two visited often, and one or both would stay whenever Tek needed to leave the lab for any amount of time. Luckily their collective schedules were chaotic enough that any of them would be up at any hour, so there was always one of them available to watch their precious little egg. He doubted it would grow big, if they were lucky they would grow as big as The Slave Master, but odds were they would be more The Treasurers or his own height. That too, worried him. Being small and weak was a dangerous thing for a Skeksis, and for one so young…

He shook his head, and focused on his work, letting the backdrop of his lab noises and Na’s singing soothe him, only reacting to Shod’s eventual arrival with a glance and nod. It seemed Shod had brought some kind of fabric, no doubt expensive and luxurious, to add to the nest. Tek didn’t mind, welcomed it, and refocused on his work. While the future was uncertain, there was comfort in knowing that the childling, when it hatched, would not be unloved.

***

When Shod saw the egg move, just the smallest of twitches, he thought he was seeing things. Just his mind playing tricks as he was eager to see the little one break through the shell and join them properly. When it moved again, this time managing to rock back and forth a little, he quickly sent a podling to go get the other two. It was late -early- in the night, SkekTek had finally collapsed and SkekNa was sleeping after an outing of some kind. Probably something to do with his duties, but that wasn’t important right now.

The two burst into the lab like they were on fire, still wearing their sleeping clothes. Na hadn’t even put on his eyepatch and his claw was missing, though he didn’t seem to notice or care. Shod shifted over enough so all three had room to watch as the egg jumped and rolled, scratching, chirps, meeps and other adorable noises emanating from the little egg. 

“Spirited little thing.” Na said quietly, hand half-stretched out to catch the egg should the little one roll right out of the nest. A not impossible risk, giving how volatile the little one was struggling to break free.

They all collectively gasped when the first crack appeared, small at first, but with a few quick knocks it grew. Shod held his breath as he watched the first piece of the shell fall, then more pieces, and then the egg rolled over. There was a squeak of outrage, and Shod huffed a laugh. The others chuckled, and Na gently rolled the egg back. Tek had, at some point, acquired a pen and journal and was writing feverishly, even as his eyes barely left the cracking egg.

When the first dark blue limb burst out, it was almost like the air itself stilled, all of Thra holding its breath as this new being came into the world. Using the new angle, the little one pressed on the edges of the break and widened the gap. When it was big enough, a tiny little head poked through, it’s noises of struggle all the louder. The egg was half destroyed before the little one managed to fall and crawl out, calling out in triumph and dismay in turn.

Shod was the first to move, lightly placing his hand over the little one, it immediately turned and began grabbing at his fingers and making more noises. The little one hadn’t even opened it’s eyes yet, and probably wouldn’t for a few days. Na placed a finger under the chin and it grabbed at that too. Tek turned away and returned a moment later with a set of scales and some other equipment. He picked the noisy ball of fluff up and checked it over, weighing it and inspecting it as gently and quickly as Shod had ever seen the Scientist look over anything.

“My lords, I am pleased to announce we have produced a remarkably healthy daughter!” He announced with such pride and joy as he held up their hatchling to them, presenting her almost, and Shod felt a strange pride and delight burst through his chest as he watched her squirm and squeak. He glanced at the other two, and saw the pride and adoration in equal measure. Their little treasure would want for nothing, as long as they were able to give it.

He expected her dark blue to lighten once she had been dried and cleaned, but no, she was still a darker blue than he had seen any of the other Skeksis when they were young. The yellow markings under her eyes were obviously from Tek, and there were even matching markings on the tip of her tail! What really stood out, though, were the red markings. Like someone had dipped the tips of her feathers in red, mottled mostly on the top of her head and trailing down down to the back of her neck, there it thinned slightly before continuing down along her spine and top of her tail, near the end it covered most of her tail. Only the yellow at the tip. He had never seen a Skeksis so naturally colourful, and he wondered how the colours and shapes would change as she got older.

Once their daughter (Daughter! A daughter of his very own!) was settled back in the nest, Tek brought a tray full of different kinds of foods and liquids. The pair moved a little as Tek set the tray down and picked up a small bowl full of cut-up raw meat.

“Is that wise? To just try random foods?” Na asked for them both, and Tek looked between the two of them for a moment before speaking.

“I have theorised that any Skeksis offspring would have a penchant for meat, as we are naturally predisposed for carnivorous dietary habits. I will be focusing mostly on a variety of meats and some liquids, along with some supplementary nourishment. Observations and adjustments will be made as required.” He assured, taking a small piece of meat and holding it to the little one's mouth.

The blue ball immediately devoured the morsel, and tried to follow Teks hand as he moved to grab another piece, only to fall. An unhappy noise rising through the fabric from where her face was planted.

“Aaaaa lit-lit-little clumssssy.” Shod observed, not bothering to hide his smile as he righted their little treasure. This time holding the squirming thing steady as Tek fed her another piece.

“To be expected, though she is energetic for one newly hatched.” Na said, watching the little one as she ate piece after piece.

“Likely once she has eaten its fill, she will go to sleep.” Tek spoke up absently, seemingly enthralled with the simple act of feeding the Skekling. The group fell silent after that, minus some encouraging words as their daughter ate and wiggled about, and some other banal comments. Shod glanced at the other two, saw them smiling widely as they watched their little treasure, and couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for them now. When it was just an egg, it almost didn’t seem real, and Shod had honestly expected the egg to fail and the little one to die before it even hatched. Having the little one here, warm and alive, made reality crash through his mind like a violent storm. Things in the castle would change, again, politics may be in an upheaval soon, and the life and well-being of this new life hangs in the balance.

They couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. One way or another, this one would be safe- as safe as a Skeksis could be in the castle, but he wouldn’t let her fall to the same fate he had. Shod would teach all he could to his little treasure, and whether or not she became a political powerhouse (he truly hoped they didn’t), he would ensure she could navigate the court and remain unscathed.

Once the feeding was done, their little treasure fell right asleep, like SkekTek predicted. The Scientist took the time to look her over one more time, before tucking her in and turning off the light that hung over the nest. The lab was warm enough, and with the blankets and fabrics, there was no worry of the hatchling getting cold.

“We should move her to her new room as soon as possible. We’ll all sleep there as often as we can, of course, but she needs to become acclimated as soon as possible.” Na stated, his tone brooking no argument.

“Iiisssss it-it ready?” Shod asked, petting his sleeping treasure as she cooed in her sleep.

“Yes, everything she could possibly need, close to all our chambers, and only we will have a copy of the key. Guards will be posted at all hours, and I have already talked with some of the more trustworthy Skeksis- they would gladly watch over her should we ever be… collectively indisposed.” They all knew they would do all they could to ensure that didn’t happen, but better to be prepared for any eventuality than to be blindsided.

“Then let us proceed. The longer we wait the greater the risk.” None of them spoke about said risks, but they all knew them. 

They made quick work of transferring the nest into a basket, the little one made an unhappy noise and shifted about, but settled back down after a moment. Together they all left the lab, Tek carrying their little treasure, with Shod in the front and Na bringing up the rear. All of them careful and quiet and keeping their eyes and ears open for any dangers that might present themselves.

Thankfully, they made it to their little treasure’s room with no incidents. Resettling her was far quicker and easier, as they had a large bed with a premade nest in the middle, and rearranging the extra fabric was easy enough. Once settled, they all climbed into bed and laid down around their little treasure. Safe and secure.

“Nnnname?” He asked before a yawn took him by surprise.

“Tomorrow. I have an idea that might garner the Emperor's favour, at least for a time.” While Shod didn’t like the sound of that, he could see the merit in doing so. If the Emperor approved of this little one, and favoured her (and them by lesser extension) then she would be all the safer. Only time would tell.

He could only hope it would tell a kinder story.

***

SkekShod wanted to kill SkekNa, and judging by the looks the Scientist was sending his way, the Teasurer wasn’t the only one. But it was necessary. A risk, certainly, if the Emperor wasn’t in a good mood or found some fault in the request, it was likely the hatchling in his hand that would be the most at risk. Even swaddled in rich dark fabric as she was, his little song didn’t look much of a threat. He doubted anything could make her look intimidating, certainly not at this age, but it did make the yellow and red markings all the more prominent. And it didn’t matter what you were, Skeksis, Gelfling, or even Podling, reds and yellows were natural markers of danger. She would grow into a fierce Skeksis.

He just needed to make sure she lived that long.

Entering the throne room, where everyone was gathered, SkekNa didn’t pause or look at any of the others- his focus solely on both the greatest threat and his only hope at ensuring their daughters' safety. He bowed low, careful not to disturb the little one as she shifted about at all the movement, making curious little meeps and chirps. He bit back a smile at the sounds. 

“My Emperor.” He intoned with all the respect and reverence he dare imbue. He heard the movement of fabric and knew the other two were bowing as well, opting to remain silent. Wise, as they were two of the lowest ranked members of their race, their sway in the court was severely limited at the best of times. In such a volatile situation, it was best they remain quiet unless necessary.

“Slave Master,” The Emperor returned courteously, “I hear that last night was when the latest addition to the family decided to make their entrance. All is well, I hope?” A question, concern veiled the truth of its intent. Is it weak? Is it worthy?

“All is well. She was hatched, healthy and spirited, by destroying half the shell. Probably would have torn it all to pieces if she hadn’t been so hungry.” He held up the bundle, carefully using his clawed prosthetic to remove the layers of fabric she had somehow managed to bury herself in. 

When she was revealed, he held her up to SkekSo, “May I present, our daughter, a strong addition to our great race.” He announced, not bothering to hide his pride. Better to show it than have the others think he was somehow displeased with his little song.

SkekSo stared down at the little one, a mix of wonder and contemplation on his face. He hummed as he lifted a hand to the hatchling, and SkekNa held his breath as he waited.

The blue bundle, upon realising that there was a new scent nearby, turned and latched on with fierce squeaking that quickly became curious when the unfamiliar thing didn’t do anything. When the Emperor smiled, and gave a huff of laughter, it was as though someone cut an artery- all the tension bleeding out. The mood of the room shifted, becoming excited and cheerful, even.

“The red markings are unusual,” SkekSo said idly, and SkekNa silently thanked Tek for the theories and information he had ranted about earlier in the morning.

“An evolutionary marker, most likely. The Scientist says that, in the wild, most dangerous creatures are coloured brightly. Thra has left her mark on her,” He said, a dark sort of pride filling his being. Even Thra itself knows his little song will be something to fear, and has marked her accordingly.

“Marked with a warning, at that! Very fitting.” The Scroll Keeper said, probably one of the few who could appreciate the meaning and importance of such an occurrence.

“Mmmmm, yes, fitting indeed! What name has been chosen for little Skekling? Has name been chosen? Name was not announced during great reveal.” Chamberlain made himself known, coming to stand at the Emperor's side. SkekNa avoided sparing more than a glance, for even a simple glare could ruin this.

“We have not chosen one for her.” His words caused a stir, but he ignored them and focused his attention on the Emperor once more. “We would be honoured if the Emperor himself would grace her with a name.” A silence filled in the space where the Skeksis chattering had once been, and SkekNa had to call on considerable willpower not to glance at any of them. Instead watching the surprise on the Emperors face shift into contemplation, his eyes turning to the little one, who had not let go of the Emperors clawed finger the entire time. She seemed quite content to try and tangle the claw with the fabric.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure to give this one her name.” He said, finally, after what felt like an age. “From henceforth, you shall be known as SkekAl. I look forward to seeing what you will accomplish, and what title you will earn.” He removed his claw, and lightly scratched at the hatchlings head before withdrawing his hand altogether. Around them, the court cheered and congratulations were abound. SkekNa held his little song (SkekAl, SkekAl, her new name. A good name) closer to his chest as he turned to the others to show them their newest addition. Whether instinct or common sense, they didn’t crowd too close or try to take the little one. Conversation exploded, compliments flowed and questions were asked. Together, the three of them were able to field most questions and altogether shared in the excitement.

SkekNa felt almost high, like he was on urdrupe berries, because his plan had worked. He could see it already, the change, how the others moved and talked and looked between them, the hatchling, and the Emperor. For the next many trine, no one would dare harm or meddle with their little song. And by the time they did… well, he looked forward to what she would do to them in turn.

[kellyashcroft]

It’s You C.7 - Why Does It Hurt?

Summary:  I’m Embry and I don’t think much of this whole soulmate business. What are the chances that in a sea of 7 billion people you’ll just find your soulmate? What’s the point in wasting your time with relationships with people that aren’t your soulmate? On the off chance that one or both of you do meet the one you’re destined for, it’s just gonna cause unnecessary pain but what’s the alternative? Stay alone forever waiting for someone that might never show up? I’m 26 and I still don’t have my mark and I’m tired of waiting.

Word Count: 3900

Warnings: Angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of physical pain, mentions of torture, fluff

A/N: Sorry it’s late, it’s been a busy week! This is the longest chapter yet, I’ve combined two chapters because the next one was really short but the next update will still be on Monday. Please let me know what you think and I will list the masterlink below for you! Thank you fpr reading, I hope you enjoy it! 

Series Masterlink

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Will wakes up not much longer after me and as I keep my eyes on the television, I feel his head shift down to look at me.

"Sorry, I fell asleep" he mumbles and I move my head to meet his eyes, still being held in his arms. 

"It's okay, so did I, I've only been awake maybe, ten minutes, I didn't want to wake you"

"I should go" he says as he moves to get up off the couch. He plants his feet on the ground as he stands up and brushes his hand through his hair as I turn my body to sit upright on the couch, wishing it was still two minutes ago rather than this awkward, weirdness.  “I don’t mean, I don’t want to- - I mean” he stutters as he scratches the back of his neck and I squint my eyes at him, “it’s late and I can’t stay the night, I’ve got no clean clothes here or anything”

"No, I get it" I answer quickly, realising that I did actually want him to stay and a silence falls over the two of us again as we both look anywhere but at each other.

"I'll just, get" he points behind his head, "get my coat then" he says quietly as I look back at him as his voice grabs my attention. 

"Okay, I'll walk you out" I say back as I get up and walk him towards the front door.

He hesitates just outside the door frame as he turns back to me and I lean slightly on the door.

"Embry" he starts, "do you? I mean, um, I" his nervous energy makes me stand up straighter, my heart racing in my chest. He lets out a breathy chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck with his hand again; I guess he does that a lot when he's nervous. "I had a really nice time tonight, thank you" he smiles up at me once he's decided on his words.

"I had a really nice time too, we should do it again sometime" his smile only grows wider at my words and a second later he leans in and places a quick, unsure kiss on my cheek and I feel my face blush.

"See you tomorrow" he says quickly as he turns to go to his car, looking back towards me as he gets into the driver’s seat and I offer a small wave and then he's gone.

I go back into my house, making sure to lock the door and find my phone, already having received a text from Will.

   ⁃    I really had an amazing time with you. Sorry I fell asleep. I really hope we can do it again, maybe next time I can cook for you? Good night, Em. 

I can't help but smile and notice the nickname he's given me and I realise no one else has ever shortened my name. It seems weird to think about because it seems so obvious, but no one ever has and I like the thought that maybe he will be the only one to ever call me it. I quickly text back.

   ⁃    I had a great time too. It's okay, you look cute when you sleep. I'd love that. Goodnight.

I walk up the stairs into my bedroom, put on my favourite pyjamas again, now that they're washed, and slip into bed, hoping for a peaceful night’s sleep, but that's not what I get. 

-

"You really just can't stay out of the way can you?" I hear a woman's voice say in an angry tone as I feel something being dragged from my face and I take a deep breath. "Always in the way!" 

The woman grabs my left arm and picks up a metal device as she places it over the mark on my wrist and I let out a scream in pain. 

"It'll stop hurting soon, we've done this before, stop fidgeting" she scolds and my blood turns cold at the pain and fear I'm feeling.

"What did you do with him?" I whisper through the pain. "Where is he?"

"Oh he's fine, don't worry, you won't remember him soon enough anyway" she says. What does she mean, I won't remember him? 

The woman keeps the device pressed against my skin for what feels like forever and the pain increases and decreases in intensity over time. I hear my own screams and whimpers and I try to fight her off as she has more straps added to restrain me. 

Eventually she stops and the pain subsides a little as she removes the device. I manage a glance down at my mark through my hooded and watery eyes, exhausted from the torture I've just endured and notice that the mark on my wrist is lighter, less prominent.

-

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I jolt awake, yet again, to the sound of my alarm blaring and slowly I reach over to hit the snooze button, hoping for just five more minutes; enough time to collect my thoughts, before I get up out of bed, and start my usual routine of brushing my teeth, washing my body, putting on make up and getting dressed. 

I decide again to drive to work today, feeling too tired to walk, as much as I miss my near the beach walks home and as I stop at some traffic lights I remember being here and my wrist hurting. I realise it was him I saw, Will. He was the guy walking across the street. I remember the same dark brown hair, the same smile, the dimple. He was the guy who's hand I shook and felt the same pain again. But the mark isn't supposed to hurt. I've never heard anyone ever say it hurt them to get their mark, so why did mine hurt?

I'm pulled from my thoughts yet again as the lights change and I continue my drive to work but I can't seem to shake the feeling that something's wrong. Surely there must be a reason that ours was so different? I make a mental note to go to Clive's after work and ask him if he knows anything about it. He knows an awful lot more about them than me, he practically wrote a thesis on them at one point, maybe he can help. 

As I pull into the car park at the school, I see Will walking across a few metres from me and he raises his hand in a wave as he catches my eye and I think about how used I'm getting to seeing my mark on his wrist, and his on mine. 

"Hey" he says as our paths cross near the doors of the school and we smile at each other. 

"Hey, you okay?" I start as he shakes a plastic cup at me containing my favourite mocha, passing one to me and keeping one for himself. “Thank you”

"No problem.” He pauses as he smiles at me. After a few seconds he shakes his head as he looks down to the floor and continues, “Yeah, didn't sleep the best though, you?"

"Me either actually, I had the weirdest dream" as I'm about to start to tell him about it, the bell rings for the first class of the day and I feel like I've lost time, not a lot, only about ten minutes or so, but like as if somehow, the day is passing by earlier than it should. I was sure we had longer to talk.  

"So today, class, we're gonna have a study session, so if everyone could take their notepads and textbooks out, I want you to all read through your evolutionary perspectives of eating behaviour essays and write notes on your essay. Try and shorten it into key points and then that into bullet points until you'll be able to know your paragraph from a few key words. If you need any help, just ask, otherwise, you can work in small groups" I finish as a few tables scrape across the floor, kids moving closer to their friends as a quiet muttering overtakes the room and I sit in my chair behind the desk. 

My mind falls back to the dream I had last night and I can't help but feel like there's more to it, like it's not just a dream and like I'm missing some of the information. I start to look at my mark and notice that it's full in colour, unlike my dream, but as I stare at it, it starts to itch again and I get a sharp pain in my head as a flood of words enter my brain. They're all fumbling over each other too fast for me to hear most of them, the only ones I make out don't make any sense to me and I hold the side of my head as I scrunch my eyes, opening my mouth in a silent scream and hope the pain will subside quickly.

"Embry?" I hear and just as quickly the pain started, it goes and I look up to find Will, his hands on my forearms, his body twisted as he tells the class to pack up their stuff and that they're dismissed for the day. As the class empties he turns back to me with concern in his eyes, "are you okay? I walked past and you looked like you were in agony. What happened?"

"I, I don't know, my head just started hurting. I couldn't make much of it out"

"Make what out?"

"The words" I answer, "my head was flooded with words, I could only make a little bit out through the jumble: lost, taken, soulmate and you, but it doesn't make any sense, I don't know what happened". He sighed in response as he moved one of his hands behind my head and pulled me into his chest and held me.

We stay like that for what feels like forever, one hand never moving from the back of my head while the other dances up and down my back, trailing small shapes over my green dress. 

After a couple of minutes he pulls back from me and wipes the remaining tears that have fell from my eyes off my face. “I’m gonna go and get you some water okay? Don’t go anywhere”

I nod as he hesitantly stands up and leaves the room, coming back only a minute later with a bottle of water. “I haven’t drank any of it, you need to have a drink okay? It’ll make you feel a bit better”. He says as he crouches down in front of me again, one hand finding its way back to resting on my forearm.

“Thank you” I whisper as I take a big gulp of water and he continues to look at me with worry in his eyes. “I’ll be okay, I just haven’t been sleeping very well” I say through a still croaky voice and he gives me a small smile in response.

“Just, relax for a little bit” he advises as he moves in slightly closer to me, “you’ve got like twenty minutes until the next class, will you be okay?”

“I’m good, honestly” I answer too fast, “you can go, but thank you”.

We share a tentative smile as he stands up and leaves the room, and again, I’m not unaware of his eyes lingering on me as he does so. 

I spend the next twenty minutes trying to breathe through the almost crippling anxiety I keep feeling, devising it’s probably better to just leave the remnants of my coffee rather than adding more caffeine to this situation. I find a small post it note and write down the words I felt drum around in my brain and stare at them, holding for an explanation to drop from the sky when the bell rings again. Too quickly my students pile into the classroom and still not feeling great, I inform them they will be doing the same study exercise as my previous class as I sit back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk trying to figure out what this could mean. 

Not much longer passes before lunch has come around and before I can even move from behind my desk, Will is at the door waiting for me. 

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to sit with me at lunch today?” I hear him say.

“We sit together every day?” I question with a squint of my eyes. 

“I guess that’s true” he laughs, “I mean, just me” he says as he slowly moves into the room as I walk around my desk. 

“Are you asking me on a date to the cafeteria William?” I smile as he blushes slightly. 

“No, not a date, I promise” he laughs as he looks back up to me and wipes his hand over his chin. “Just, I’d really like to have a meal with just you again.” 

“I’d love to”. 

Walking down the corridor to the cafeteria, I feel his eyes on me every few seconds and the questions he wants to ask are almost hanging in the air in front of us like a fog. 

“I’m okay” I say as I turn to face him, nodding my head, trying to convince us both. 

“I know” he says too quickly, “I just want you to know that if you’re not, if you need help, me to cover your class, if you need anything, I can feel the anxiety coming off you” his words make me turn my head to look at the floor as I feel him stop next to me and take hold of my wrist, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the mark that lives there, “that’s okay too. I’m here”. His final words have me lifting my head to look at him again, a small smile finding its way into my face as he slips his hand down to hold mine and intertwines  our fingers. As I nod my head, he gives my hand a small squeeze before releasing it as we start up our walk to the cafeteria again. 

Sitting down at a table on the far side of the room, we both dig into our meals, mine being chicken pasta and Will’s being bolognese, as we discuss his classes that day. Nothing major happened, like for example, he didn’t freak out all of his students by having an agonising pain in his head and had to have them excused by another staff member, but he did teach one of his classes about an obscure battle that I had never heard of. As the conversation about our classes dwindles down, we both turn to continue our lunches, comfortable in each other’s presence and my anxiety is easing from just being around him. 

“I know you might not want to talk about it but, I meant it, anything you need, ever” he says with a level of sincerity I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before and I know he’s not just talking about today, he really does mean anything and with what time is coming up, I can’t even begin to express how much that means to me. “Chloe mentioned something this morning about this being a tough time of year for you?” He asks innocently and I can’t work out if I’m mad or grateful that my friend started this conversation for me. 

“I don’t really talk about it at work but yeah, um, it’s coming up to the anniversary, of um, my parents death” I almost whisper, being brave enough to continue looking at Will. 

“I’m so sorry” he says quickly, “she didn’t say that- -, you don’t have to-“

“It’s okay, I don’t mind, but like I said I just don’t talk about it at work, sometimes I’m okay but sometimes I cry and I don’t want to cry at work”

“I get it, so do you like baseball?” He changes the subject quickly and I can’t help but laugh. 

The rest of the day goes by without a problem, each class going over the same study exercise based on what topic they’re focusing on currently and I spend my time catching up on grading essays. 

As soon as the final bell rings, I practically run from the school needing to see Clive as soon as possible. As much as sitting with Will at lunch may have eased my anxiety for that time, it came back in floods throughout the second half of the day. 

I walk into Clive's book store, hearing the bell above the door as I open and shut it. I nod in greeting at Clive, still by the counter, where he always seems to be and he nods back.

Knowing that the conversation I want to have with him is probably going to stir up some memories he'd rather forget, I take in a sharp breath as I start to walk over to him and he gives me a quizzical look. He must be wondering why I'm not just walking around the store like I usually do. 

"I need to ask you something, and you might not like it, but it's important, I'll explain as best I can but I wouldn't bring it up if it wasn't really important. Not to you" he gives me a knowing look after taking my words in and gives me a small nod, assuring me that I can ask, but not confirming that he will answer, or even have one in the first place. "Okay, have you ever heard of anyone's mark hurting? Like when they get it? Or even after they've got it? Because the first time I saw Will, it was when he was walking across the road and I was driving and I felt this sharp pain in my wrist; I didn't have my mark then of course and I ignored it, but then later it got itchy and I thought I could see something but I was wrong, although now, I'm not so sure. And then, the first time we touched, after we met, we both got a sharp pain, so bad we had to pull our hands away from each other and then mine was itchy later in the day again, I never asked about his" I'm not sure at what point we moved, but as I continue I realise I'm sitting in my usual spot on the couch at the back of the store, Clive opposite me.

"So then, today all of a sudden, it starts to get really itchy again, but like, painful itchy, like I want to scratch through my skin itchy and then I get this splitting pain in my head and I can't see or hear anything apart from these words going round and round in my head, too many to make out except four. Only four make their way through to me" I tell him the four words I'd told Will about earlier in the day as he leans further towards me, intently listening to everything I'm saying, a look of confusion on his face. "So I think they're connected, I mean, the pain, the itch, and the word soulmate came up, that can't be a coincidence right? So, I mean you know more about it than anyone else I know so have you ever heard of this happening? I mean, is it wrong? Is it trying to fight its way off my body because it's a mistake?" I ask, scared of what the answer could be as he stops me.

"I don't think it's that. The marks are never wrong, ever. He's your soulmate, there's no doubt about that but it hurting?" He turns away from me slightly, looking nowhere in particular as he thinks. "The only times I've ever heard of someone's mark hurting is when someone tried to take it off, they physically tried to tear it from their skin, it didn't work of course, the marks are protected, something in them. And when you spend too long away from your soul mate, mine hurts occasionally when I miss Mary, a few other people who've lost their soul mates or have had to be away from them have said the same thing but it's an ache, not a sharp pain".

He looks back at my disheartened face, disappointed at feeling like I still don't really have any sort of answer. "I see him every day, we talk after work until we go to sleep, he's text me goodnight, every night and neither one of us has tried to get rid of the mark" I trail off, defeated.

"Leave it with me, okay? I'll have a look through my stuff, see if there's anything I can find that might explain it and I'll let you know if I find something but just, try not to worry about it too much, okay kid?" He offers me a small smile as he pats my shoulder and I realise that's the first time since Mary died that I've seen any type of real smile on his face.

"Yeah" I surrender, "thanks Clive, it means a lot, thank you" I add sincerely as I get up to leave the store before quickly turning and adding, "oh I almost forgot, Will asked me to ask you if you could order 1984 for him? You know by George Orwell?" 

"Sure, I'll get on it straight away, I'll make up an invoice when it comes and keep it back for him or if you pick it up, okay?"

"Thanks Clive, for everything" I say as I leave the store and make it to my car.

On the drive home I decide it's been too long since I've walked near the beach and if there was ever a time I needed to be calmed by the ocean, it's probably now when my mind can't seem to stop spinning. I pull up on my driveway, get out of my car, and walk back towards the beach, deciding I'll spend a couple of hours there and maybe watch the sunset before I walk back home. 

Sitting on the beach, this is the calmest I’ve felt since I was laying in Will’s arms. Making that realisation only panics me more, I mean, I’ve only known him a few weeks. How is it that someone I’m still aware I barely know has had such a profound effect on me? I feel like there’s an internal battle inside of me of running away from this and what it means because I can’t help but feel like I’ll be hurt, and another side of me that wants nothing more than to jump in, head first because I know he will never hurt me and I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused in my life. 

Trying to shake all thoughts of Will and the dreams and the mark and my feelings about any of it out of my head, I focus on the sounds of the waves crashing in front of me and the feel of the sand against my bare feet, my shoes being placed carefully in front of me. As I dig my feet further into the sand, I wrap my arms around my knees, bending them up to sit in front of my face and I enjoy the beauty the beach offers. 

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

Taglist: @yourideasarepointless​ @stiles-o-dylan24​ @moongoddesskiana​ @wydobrien​ @ashleyjeanthomas​ 

Date posted: 04.08.2020

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 6

Episode 17.

A military tribunal grills Misato and gives her shit for not presenting Shinji for grilling and/or grilling him herself. There are a lot of shots of silhouettes in isolation and heavily shadowed faces obscuring expression in this episode. Lots of NERV talk about branches and the Dead Sea scrolls and attempting to intuit the intentions of Angels.

The rest of Episode 17 and Episode 18 behind the cut.

There are apparently two more EVAs out there in the US and Germany but actually only one more because one of the other two just fucking disappeared with like everything including the people all around it?

There's also ... another teen with the power to pilot the giant upsetting robots and it is both a shock and concern when various people find out who it is although we the audience do not find out who it is (it is probably Shinji's classmate with the little sister who got hurt).

There's just a lot of stuff that seems to be setting up things for the next episode with no resolution so there's not much to report on. Kaji isn't dead. Rei misses some school. That one girl in class who isn't an EVA pilot is trying badly to express interest in dude with sister.

Shinji cleans Rei's shitty garbage apartment, Rei blushes and has some kind of quiet Rei crisis about thanking him after he's gone and also about Shinji's awful father because she still has his broken glasses and they're like the only non-utilitarian thing she owns.

There's no angel attack or anything particularly weird or cool or gross. Just a big sense of building to something. Ritsuko has a coffee mug with cats on it that says CAT CAT CAT CAT and that's pretty great. This concludes my report on Episode 17 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Episode 18.

It culminates in maybe 10 solid minutes of me with my hands over my mouth in absolute horror, so. Let's go.

After all the setup of last week's episode with the mysteriously disappeared EVA and the EVA coming from America for a new pilot who is clearly Tohji whose sister got hospitalized because of EVA fight fallout, things open with Americans talking American! They're transporting the American EVA by air on I don't know bungee cords or something and this thing is such obviously colour-coded bad news. It's like, dark grey and black. Then they fly into huge ominous clouds with lightning flashes. This is fine and will be fine.

Misato's off to be involved in all the stuff that NERV needs to do for having a new EVA and even though she has a perfectly good roommate to look after Shinji and Asuka, she tells Shinji that Kaji will be babysitting them instead of Penpen. Fuckin' Kaji. Before she goes she tries to work up to telling Shinji the identity of the new EVA pilot while Shinji works up to asking her about the disappeared EVA rumour. Good job Shinji! Asking questions, even though it's scary! Misato reassures him about THEIR EVAs and safety to avoid bringing up Tohji because ... Misato's a disaster who is trying to be a responsible grown-up and sometimes knowing the right thing to do and wanting to do it isn't enough. Ritsuko gives her a hard time about this later because everyone agrees that Shinji should know Tohji is going to pilot an EVA and since Misato is the only person who said 'someone needs to look after this literal child when he isn't in the robot' she has to be the one to tell him. Because EVERY ADULT IN THIS SHOW SUCKS AND IS FAILING THE NEXT GENERATION except for Misato and she's an overworked alcoholic who gets a pity pass.

All the kids are tense and weird because they know Tohji is going to be piloting an EVA or want to pilot an Eva themselves or are trying to confess to Tohji or they're Shinji. (Asuka almost manages to relate to someone like a normal teen so good job, Asuka.) Rei has a feeling. Lots of opportunity for /literally anyone else/ to tell Shinji that Tohji's the new pilot at multiple opportunities but no one does.

Instead, Shinji tries to have a nighttime man-to-man conversation with Kaji. Fuckin' Kaji. Shinji wants to know what Kaji thinks of his father. Kaji mocks him for this being the only way Shinji can think of to get to know his horrible father, then is flippant about how actually you can never really know another person. But you know who you can really never know?

WOMEN.

Fuckin' Kaji.

So the next day Tohji isn't in class because he's getting EVA orientation which at NERV means he gets in the EVA and they turn it on and see what happens and hey, guess what, the ominous dark EVA almost immediately becomes a BAD TIME. It opens the mouth it has to scream and also it has jagged red teeth in its horrible unnecessary mouth and then a part cracks or something and it's like a huge gooey organic pulsing thing on the EVA and when they try to eject the pilot plug it becomes blocked with goo tendrils.

It's been whole episodes since I last commented on how upsetting I found the design of these giant robots but hey, the giant robot is upsetting and I hate how it has teeth and screaming and all the goo even if the goo is possibly not part of the design since it's also an Angel?

THEN THE GIANT ROBOT GOES MORE BERSERK AND FUCKING BLOWS UP THE ORIENTATION TEST SITE OR SOMETHING AND IS ON THE RUN and there's a weird, creepy quality to how the EVAs are animated when they move, a hugeness of arm movement that is very unrobotic, but moreso with this EVA. It's good and cool but also I hate it.

The kids get called in and this is around when I covered my mouth and just kept getting increasingly upset because Shinji's dad is in charge due to Misato maybe being blown up and Shinji's dad wants the kids to eliminate the rogue EVA with Tohji inside. Rei knows, Asuka knows. Shinji still doesn't know but he knows /a/ kid is in there and that is enough to make him unhappy and reluctant with his father's 'destroy the rampaging robot' orders. But Asuka gets taken out fast. Then it basically teleports onto Rei and starts dripping more awful goop. There's lots of gross veiny pulsing in this episode, very Akira, I hate it, and the goop from Tohji's evil EVA melts and infects the hand of Rei's Eva and I guess it's Angel goop that lets the Angel control the EVA? So the infection can't get further than the EVA hand. And under the brave leadership of Commander Ikari the obvious solution is just /fuck that whole limb/ without desynching Rei from her EVA so hey why not just a teenage girl screaming as she feels like her entire arm is ripped off, cool cool cool.

So now it's down to Shinji who still doesn't want to destroy this giant robot with a child in it and even if his heart was in it, this thing is fucking intense. ALSO IT'S STRETCH ARMSTRONG? Like, it goes from shambling to shooting its arms out insanely long to choke Shinji's EVA. It's choking Shinji's EVA so hard that bruise marks are showing up on Shinji's throat. Meanwhile, his father is telling him to stop being a useless child who is being choked to death by a giant robot and do the child murder like I'm ordering you to, child I hate. Shinji won't and also Shinji can't because he is being choked to death.

At NERV it is suggested to Commander Ikari maybe they should lower the synch on Shinji's robot so he can't be choked to death /through a robot/ and for reasons known only to shitty dads, that's not an option. But what is an option is just shifting control from Shinji to the AI control and if AI control is an option maybe just work on doing that instead of this whole child soldier thing but no one at NERV can hear me over the sound of parental neglect.

Everything goes red when the dummy AI is implemented and fuck the colour work in this series is /so good/ and Shinji just has to sit and feel everything as his robot proceeds to destroy Tohji's robot. Ripping limbs, punching until everything is cracking and blood is everywhere. Don't worry, America made sure their giant robot was also full of red, red, red blood. Vast quantities of blood. In the setting sun a river looks like blood. There is blood weighing down a traffic light in an amazing shot. It's awful. Shinji doesn't know it's Tohji, but we do. The robot that is so clearly an extension of Shinji's body even if he can't control it removes the pilot plug from the grisly wreckage of Tohji's robot and it crushes the plug, the orange liquid spurting out and he /still doesn't know/.

Commander Ikari smiles.

Shinji's father has been a bad father throughout, sometimes in ways that really, distressingly resonate, in really lowkey, banal 'bad dad' ways, but here he's just a monster. He can see his son, hear him, but he doesn't care. It doesn't penetrate.

After everything, Shinji is just numb in the robot, still and shocked, unable to grapple with this overwhelming sense of having just killed someone, horribly and violently and brutally. It's bad and you feel bad and I started crying and still Shinji /doesn't know/.

Then cleanup and ambulances arrive and out of the giant robot wreckage they pull the somehow still alive Tohji and then Shinji /does/ know, he sees Tohji's battered and beaten body, and Shinji starts screaming because somehow it's worse. This concludes my report on Episode 18 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

[artificialqueens]

That's so Sharon Needles (Shalaska) - Needles4prez

Summary: Sharon had convinced herself for a while now that Alaska had probably entirely moved on from their past years spent together.

AN: This is a short messy fic I quickly wrote after a pretty rough week. It’s cheesy and fluffy and extremely dumb. My apologies if the writing quality is poor, plenty of wine will do that to ya! I’m working on some more serious multi chapter fics for later, but figured this’ll do for now. <3

Simple 1.8k words

Sharon had convinced herself for a while now that Alaska had probably entirely moved on from their past years spent together. It’d been two months since they’d broken up and stopped talking and Sharon couldn’t prevent the thoughts of Alaska hooking up with other people. It was wrong to be fazed by the idea of someone you love bettering themselves by moving on, Sharon knew that much. And, yet she still dreaded the return to her apartment in Pittsburgh, every single night. Sharon hadn’t moved on. She was however, a good liar. Sharon Needles had the ability to plaster on a confident smile that told the world with ease, that she, simply needed no one to rely on for anything. Maybe it’d be an inspiring message to project to everyone, if it hadn’t been so damn untrue. Parts of Sharon’s life were blessed, she ensured that she never found herself becoming ungrateful for all that her friends and chosen family have done for her. She had secured a strong career for herself, built her life from the ground up, and succeeded in receiving a rewarding paycheck at the end of each month. All was well, to the eye of an outsider. But, no one saw the Sharon who would have outbursts, cursing Alaska’s name as any minor thing goes wrong.

Their apartment was much messier now that Alaska was gone, beer cans were scattered all over the floor’s surface, no longer a pretty blonde there to gladly pick them up after her self-proclaimed PBR Princess. Cooking rarely took place anymore, Sharon stumbling into the poxy home space in the late hours, occasionally able to catch a takeaway place in time. Sure, neither her or Alaska had been fantastic cooks to begin with, but they made it work. It was an enjoyable experience, laughter erupting from the two of them as they regularly managed to burn the bottom of their pan with something as simple as pasta bake. Sharon at most times can feel her mind slipping away, and next thing she knows, she’ll be stood in the centre of her kitchen envisioning Alaska wrapping her arms around her waist, slender arms squeezing with nothing but love. The worst times were always at night, and they only worsened when Sharon had to lay alone in bed, alienated and desperate for her previous lifestyle to somehow snap back into existence. Usually clinging to her cat Cerrone, or sometimes a pillow, in dire need for any form of touch; it constantly felt impossible to adapt to whatever this pitiful routine had become. Though it wasn’t easy, Sharon had for the past two months, avoided her most nearby gay bar like the plague. It would’ve been naive to think that she would manage to not come into contact with Alaska, and Sharon knew it’d hurt with more than she could handle if she did see her. Alaska would blatantly be doing just fine, upbeat and left scarless from the painful break up, while Sharon is cut and resentful. At least, that’s how things had been going before that night. That night at 11 PM where Sharon discarded the half-empty Chinese noodle box on her kitchen counter, assured herself she was better than this - she was Sharon Needles after all, and took out her favourite silk black dress from her closet, changing and throwing on a pair of heeled knee-high boots that flattered her shapely legs. A few years after being with Alaska, Sharon had admittedly started to eat much better and regularly than before, the tiniest sight of podge seeping above the tight fit of her undergarments. She was tired of weeping each night with no one by her side, tired of being terrified of the mere thought of bumping into Alaska at the bar they both loved so dearly, tired of pretending that she’s okay without the tall girl who had been her companion for almost 3 years now. It was ridiculous, maybe even pathetic. Sharon Needles had been fooling herself for two whole months now, and for what? If any time was her time, it was now. It was likely the alcohol that’d built up this steep hill of courage, and it worked for her. So, proudly, she slipped essentials into her purse, and exited her apartment complex, headed for the Blue Moon. The cold weather lingering on the streets brought a small chill to Sharon’s exposed skin, goosebumps rising and tickling the back of her neck, trailing its way down past her shoulders, and to the very bottom of her arms. She should’ve worn her leather jacket, but she knew if she spent any more time in her apartment, that this sudden rush of pride and bravery, would soon slowly fade. She brushed off the sensation, caressing her arms softly and swinging her long black hair over her shoulders and quickening her pace with determination. “Ouch, watch where you’re going for fucks sake!” A voice hisses, the sounds of whines and whimpers following behind. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Sharon quickly recovers from her collision with the other lady, holding out a hand apologetically for the girl who’s ass is currently on the sidewalk. The stranger reaches for the hand, and only as her head tilts up to connect her eyes with the clumsy person in front her, does it become clear to Sharon that it’s Alaska who’d toppled over. They stay silent for a moment as Alaska’s petite self gets heaved up, and Sharon can’t help but flush crimson at the awkward encounter. Prior to this, Sharon had rehearsed manys ways that the two would reunite, but this - was certainly not one of those ways. The blonde was repping a hot pink lipstick topped with a gloss, smokey eyeshadow, an obnoxious red bow the colour of Sharon’s cheeks tied into her tall ponytail, a tight red cocktail dress that fit her slender body perfectly; fabric clinging to her slim figure, hugging her long thin legs which made their existence known with thanks to the absence in length of the dress. Sharon tried not to stare too hard, but the way she had wiggled her body to get back on her feet caused the skirt of her dress to hitch up even higher. “I miss you, Alaska.” Sharon had never been one to beat around the bush, the intensity of her bluntness normally too much for people to know how to work with. It wasn’t always quite this bad, however. “How many beers?” It wasn’t an angry response, infact, the words were hushed like a whisper. Alaska was the only person who truly knew Sharon beneath the surface, the only person who had seen her vulnerable side, the self-doubt, the lack of confidence. She wasn’t stupid, this boldness stemmed from someplace else than just her natural mindset. “Two,” Sharon wanted to deny having had any, but knew better. She shoved her hand into her purse and rumadged it around blindly in search for a cigarette, or maybe a vape, or maybe a beer - any vice that would help in coping with whatever the fuck this was. A pack of cigarettes were closest to her grasp, so she settled for one and slipped it between her lips, bringing her lighter up and letting out a curse of aggravation under her breath as it stubbornly fails on her a couple times. Alaska snatched the lighter out from her hand, lazily pushing it back into Sharon’s purse with one hand, and stealing the cigarette with the other. This time, she places it between her own lips, holding in a cackle at the sight of Sharon who’s smiling smugly at her as she lights the cigarette with her much more trustworthy lighter, exhaling the smoke and blowing it over to Sharon’s face. “Why wait so long if you missed me that much?” Alaska huffs childishy, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and also, a little teasingly. Alaska had been impatiently waiting like a Princess in a tower for Sharon to cave into the pain of the quiet two months, admittedly experiencing aches in the pit of her belly as time continued to pass and concern began threatening her. “Oh, wait, did I say, I missed you? I was talking about Cerrone, he missed you.” She received an audible groan and a pair of rolling eyes for that one. Alaska purposely breathed out more smoke in Sharon’s direction and her lips suddenly curled up into a knowing smirk, one that Sharon had been all-too familiar with. “I have a boyfriend, anyways…” She trailed off, head tilted in favour to her left with two fingers now pressing on Sharon’s bottom lip. Sharon instinctively parted her lips and adjusted her head to take both the fingers in her mouth, sucking long and frustratingly slow; provoking a small gasp from the content blonde. Alaska snappily dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it with her pink heel, quickly returning back to Sharon who’s in a state of complete awe, dragging her fingers out of her mouth and down to Sharon’s chin, ensuring a stripe of dark lipstick marks the journey. “Even if that were true, you know you’ll always be mine.” Alaska shrugged but never denied it. Sharon, getting impatient, grabbed Alaska’s head and pulled her in for a passionate and heated kiss. Alaska’s arms snaked around Sharon’s neck and forcefully brought them closer till their chests slammed together in a motion on the verge of hurting. Sharon’s hands crept down to Alaska’s ass and she groped it, squeezing tightly at the sensation of Alaska’s tongue slipping into her mouth. Sharon could taste the smoke on Alaska’s tongue as it sloppily grazed along Sharon’s teeth and licked a stripe along the roof of her mouth before diving down to tangle their tongues together in an intertwining mess. The actions continued and repeated themselves for a while, until the two collectively pulled back panting and both in search for air. “I love you Alaska,” Sharon’s breathing was still a little unsteady, and her usually haunting tone was trembling as though she were a teenager all over again.  

“I love you too, Noodles.” Sharon bent herself down to be around level with Alaska's stomach, her arms holding securely around the tiny waist of the the tall girl, lifting her up and swinging her body over her shoulder. Alaska is pulled into a fit of girlish giggles as her head dangles about only able to see Sharon’s back, excitedly kicking her legs about while Sharon begins to retrace her steps from earlier and return back to their apartment. “Cerrone’s gonna be ecstatic to have his other mom back.” They both chuckle like little kids and Sharon feels at home again. Truthfully, she couldn’t recall the exact reason for their breakup in the first place, it was likely a petty drunken fight that only resulted in a breakup because neither wanted to apologise first. Within the time frame of almost three years, it hadn’t been the first time a messy breakup had occurred.

“Hey, you know, this kinda felt like the other night when I was carrying that corpse back to my place.”

“That’s so you, Sharon Needles.”

*

Sharon awoke to the blaring sound of her phone’s alarm. She reached her arm over to her bedside table to shut it off, and when she settled back into bed she sprawled her legs out, expectant to feel the warmth of her lover. Instead, her comfort dissolved at the sensation of; nothing. She was still alone, the exact same as every other night before. It had been pure fantasy. She clutched onto her sheets and shoved her face into the stack of pillows all piled on her side of the bed, crying angrily at herself. Moments had been bad, but this was evil.