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lostmyshadesanon · 3 years ago

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Happy Birthday Felix 🎂🎁 🎉🎊

@teyvat-writer

🦊 - Anon here!!! It's finally the day. I hope.

I have no idea what time zone you live in so I'm posting this a bit early just in case!

If it's still the 28th when you see this. Don't open it!

Let the anticipation build!

This should be the last part for our poor hydro archon, but I'm sure the most anticipated. Let's hope we can do it justice.

Mindbroken?Hydro!Archon!Male!Reader x FoulLegacy!Childe

Wouldn't it be funny if I put a rickroll here?

Or just an error message, lol.

But anyway moving on.

You feebly twitched as you felt Childe fuck you with his entire fist in your gaping hole. Leisurely opening and closing his hand as he ground his knuckles into your swollen prostate, and commented idly on your puffy rim.

By this point you could barely even feel when another orgasm was ripped from your soiled body, and your cock jerked underneath you.

Childe had been at this for hours. He hadn't been inside you or orgasmed since the first round, but he seemed determined to be able to shove both of his fists in your aching hole regardless of how long it took.

When you had the capacity to think between orgasms you wondered why your guards had not coming looking for you after all this time, and hoped that if the Fatui had restrained them that they hadn't died, but just been incapacitated.

Though you were never able to think long before another orgasm was dragged out of you. Combined with the saccharine sweet voice mockingly praising you. Your head was almost completely empty and body numb to the pleasure you were being put through.

You could only gurgle faintly when Childe finally got his way and stretched you enough that both his balled up fists could fit into your gaping hole. He didn't remain there for long quickly pulling both his hands free, as be grinned in glee at your ruined hole.

"I think you're finally ready, my darling patron!" He crowed, lightly petting your back as if you were a prized pet who had completed a new trick.

Staring at him through dazed and bleary eyes you wondered. "Ready for what? What more could you do to ruin me?"

He must have the ability to read your mind, or long ago you had lost the stoic control you had over your facial expression. Childe bared his fangs in a mean smile. "Though I made sure the preparation was pleasurable you've barely reacted! That's quite unfair considering how many orgasms you've had compared to me.", The demon masquerading as a man pouted. "So to make sure you're still paying attention I've brought this!"

Childe brought out a potion bottle with some unknown blue liquid inside. With a loud pop he uncorked it, tilted your hips high enough up to send sparks of pain through your spine, and promptly shoved it inside you so it could empty unhindered into your defenseless body.

There was only a moment where you felt the strange liquid mix with the remnants of your favored's cum were you debated on the odd sensation reminded you of, before it felt like it ignited inside you, and you screamed.

It was like liquid fire had been poured into you. The disassociation you had been able to reach banished like morning fog, as your nerves lit up like a livewire. You start to moan like a bitch in heat drool leaking from your mouth as the fire spread across your body. Making you feel every pulse of your insides and cock, your hole desperately grasping at the bottle inside it, but it was too small!

What had Childe done to you?! That something the size of a wine bottle would feel too small??? As your body desperately begged for something bigger, something warmer, and the aching need to cum.

That shouldn't be possible. You shouldn't even be able to come at this point considering how many orgasms had been forced upon you?!?! You could only cry out in delight eyes rolling when Childe's hands skimmed over your cock, and tugged teasingly at the bottle in your ass.

"Ah, already begging for more, my dear patron?" Childe stated teasingly. "Dottore did say this was strong but I didn't think it'd be this strong."

Barely leaving you room to breath. Childe ripped the bottle from your grasping insides sending you screaming into orgasm. You were barely aware of your begging as you sobbed at the empty feeling inside you.

"Oh, darling don't worry you'll be full very soon. I have to make sure to claim you in a way that NO ONE will ever be able to satisfy you again. That way both you and the world know you're MINE." Childe whispered the words confidently into the small of your back before dragging sharp canines growing steadily into fangs down to the swell of your ass.

"Prepare yourself!" He cautioned before sneering over your begging form and rolling eyes, "If you still have the capacity too." Before he slid his fangs deep into the small of your back a glowing riptide mark spreading out like ink over your skin as electricity started to coat his own.

Spine arched from the conflicting flashes of pain and pleasure you felt more than saw the transformation happening behind you.

Cool hands grew massive claws as they clutched at your hips drawing hints of blood from where they pressed. The cracking of electricity and bone as you were hoisted off the ground jerkily from your current partner's growth in height and size. The fangs in your back sliding smoothly out and a smooth texture replaced it almost like being pressed up against marble. You could feel fur tickling your back as you twisted to see what kind of horrors awaited you.

He was massive, he was intimidating, he was gorgeous. The feral boy who had struggled to survive in the abyss had not only tamed it but made it part of his strength in this new form. Massive blood red horns sprouted from his mask, and a cape seemingly made of stars and space.

Dragging your eyes down you froze. Childe's cock had already been awe inspiring as a human, but in this form...

It was terrifying. It seemed to emerge from some kind of protective slit. The shape was as inhuman as his current form, and a size to match. He was easily double if not closer to triple your height and his cock fit his current form. Easily the size of one of your thighs if not bigger. You now understood the need for hours of stretching. It was ribbed increasing it's girth though it did not have a bulbous head which made you weary. That implied that whatever Childe had turned into was a creature built for egg laying. You couldn't see any kind of testes but knew he was fertile considering the steady drip of pre cum from the swollen tip. You could also see a slight pouch towards the base of his member which you knew meant he probably had a knot too.

You were horrified when your body shivered in pleasure at the sight and smell of the crime against nature before you. You desperately were trying to convince yourself that the utter wanton lust inside you was based on whatever mysterious liquid Childe had forced you to consume.

A rolling purr vibrated through you from the creature before you as you chocked on your own drool unable to take your eyes off the cock before you, but Childe didn't allow you to stare for much longer.

Raising your body up as if it weighed no more than a toy, and similarly treating you no better than a ragdoll, Childe positioned you over his monstrosity of a cock.

Desperately you were muttering no over and over again as you pawed uselessly at his shoulders trying to climb away as you were lowered closer and closer to the leaking member. You knew you'd never recover from this once you got a taste of what was about to penetrate you you'd never be the same, and only be able to thirst and be filled by this monstrous thing.

A deep chuckle pressed near your ear as Childe bent so that his face was near yours still lowering and positioning you for his cock. "You did say on your honor as an Archon you'd take me. So take me!"

Before sheathing himself inside you in one smooth motion. Your nerves screamed with you. You could feel ever rib as they caressed your swollen insides and invaded your body. You could do nothing but cry and take it, as he used your body like nothing more then a sex toy to masturbate himself with.

Grunts and growls joined your screams and begging as he furiously bounced you on his dick. Whispering praises and croons near your head while your eyes crossed and tongue hung uselessly from your mouth. Though his tip wasn't shaped like a human man's it did its job of digging into your prostate so that pleasure was dragged from your willing body, and your unwilling submission from your mind.

You're going to break! 💙

You're going to brEAK! 💙💙

You'RE GoING To BrEAK! 💙💙💙

You screamed until your voice broke, eyes becoming fully unfocused, as your body spasmed uselessly through orgasm grasping desperately at the welcome intruder making itself home inside you.

Gleeful claws dug deeper into your hips drawing blood when Childe felt you completely relax no longer even a token struggle being put up by his patron. No his love. Now he could just TAKE.

Claws delicately crawled up your torso to carefully grasp and pull at your swollen teats intent on tugging and bruising them until they were swollen enough to be mistaken for small tits and the idea of covering up would be laughable due to sensitivity.

He watches in delight as you could only moan, and get out enough syllables to beg while he drove you far past overstimulation. Your pupils not even attempting to track anything occuring around you.

Though all good things must come to an end and Childe could feel the tightening in his gut and stir in his knot that this round was drawing to a close.

You could only sob and thrash in utter pleasure as Childe continued to stimulate your chest. Nipples bruised and swollen a cherry red easily the size of the tip of a person's thumb, before feeling the man, monster, behind you still with a deep groan.

Your animal hind brain could only gasp in relief thinking this trial of endurance was finally over. But you should stop under estimating your favored he loves to exceed expectations.

You could only twitch weakly, pinned to his crotch, as you were suspended in the air, when you felt his knot start to inflate. Your cock dripped a steady flow of pre cum from Childe's tip being ground against your probably bruised and weeping prostate, as you both waited for his knot to fully inflate.

But the worst had still yet to come. Finally after what felt like minutes and a few micro orgasms you felt Childe move. A twitch in his stomach before a lurch in his cock. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before taking a ragged gasp.

Something solid was moving through the member nestled deep inside you. Stretching you out further to accommodate it. You could only sob as it worked further into you.

Childe dragged a clawed hand up to your cheek lightly caressing you. "You're doing so well pet. You'll make such a good incubator and brood mother. All for my lovely eggs." Childe sneered delighted at your faint moaned denials and twitches. He loved that even now you were attempting to fight him. Pleasure broken as you were.

Childe ground into you lightly tugging at your rim with his knot to hear you gasp and cry before leaning forward as if to hear you better. "What was that my love? I couldn't have heard you denying to be my broodmare after all you promised to take all of me. I'm only making sure you follow through. After all you'll look so pretty full of my eggs."

Childe's hand on your face dragged your chin down to look at your ever filling stomach. During your conversation he had been quick to fill you. You were so bloated at this point you could easily see the faint shape of the eggs inside you.

A ragged gasp left your lips as the next egg pressed sharply against your prostate finally sending you over the edge and into orgasm. You wailed as your eyes rolled grasping desperately at your ever increasing stomach. Unable to come down from orgasm as each egg made a pass over your prostate.

This seemed to delight your captor. Childe's voice deepened in mockery, "You try to keep your pride and make denials that you're not a whore who loves the idea of being fucked and filled constantly and yet you can't stop continuously orgasming on my cock like some desperate slit." Childe wickedly continued micro thrusting to fuck you with his knot as his eggs kept your orgasm from truly ending.

Over time Childe felt his eggs slow to a stop and his knot start to deflate. Carefully he lowered himself and you to the floor as he let his transformation peel away to show his human form keeping his still sizeable cock plugging you full.

Placing you delicately in his lap so you could continue to cockwarm him Childe hummed a jaunty tune. Waving a hand in front of your face his tune picked up in beat at the lack of reaction or recognition in his darlings eyes. He had finally broken you for now. He expected you'd pull yourself together eventually, but it should be long enough he can bundle you away, and sedate your now human form, for the long trip to Sneznaya.

After all his family had been inquiring when he would take a partner, but knew he'd had his eyes only on one. After all one day he'd been King of everything and he needed a capable partner at his side. Placing a kiss on your temple Childe continued humming as he watched his agents enter the room and prepare for their swift getaway.

He grinned your first mistake was truly saving his life and putting him in debt to you. After all he always keeps his promises and pays his debts.

I think that's it. That was hard to figure out how to end. 🤔

Hopefully you liked it Felix! After I did all that hype for this chapter.

Happy birthday again. 🎉🎉😆😆

From 🦊 Anon!

#finally done #minimal editing #i apologize for spelling mistakes or things like that #i was on a roll #hopefully i hit all your kinks felix #i tried to include most of what i saw from your thirsts on your blog

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ultimatetornshipper · 4 years ago

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Daminette December Day 3

@daminette-december2019-2020

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 3 – Legend

Marinette closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The breeze softly danced through her hair as she sat in the windowsill of her room. She opened her eyes and stared at the parchment resting on a book on her lap, her little bottle of ink sat next to her on the ledge. She fidgeted with the quill in her hand, frustrated.

She was trying to write a letter to Luka to let him know that they'd arrived safely. He was her right hand man and their friends were most likely bugging him on whether he'd heard from her or not. She needed to give them an estimate on how well the whole thing was going but she barely had a feel for these people. She was pretty certain they wanted this alliance just as much as the Order did, but she didn’t yet have any idea what exactly they’d ask for.

She sighed and dipped her quill in her ink, maybe if she started the words would come.

Dear Luka

I hope you are well. How is everyone doing? How’s Alya and the baby? How’s Nino dealing with her pregnancy hormones? How’s she dealing with his overprotectiveness? Has Chloe returned from her mission? How did it go?

I miss you all, I hope everything is alright back home.

We arrived safely at the Gotham Royal family's Summer home. They have treated me with kindness and respect.

She took a breath. Should she tell him about Prince Damian? He would in all likelihood be the next Black Cat. He was her match. She didn’t know him, but the Destruction radiating off of him was on par with the Creation that followed her. As much as she didn’t want to replace- She shook her head, moving on was inevitable, she needed someone to rule by her side. She needed to tell her court the truth.

I met him. It all feels too soon after everything that happened last year. The Destruction coming from him was incredible. Plagg would kill me if I didn’t introduce them. Please have Pegasus deliver the ring when you receive my letter. He can deliver it to my exact location, I’ll explain things to any witnesses. I’ll disclose more information on who he is if he accepts my offer of the ring.

Yours sincerely,

Marinette

She tapped her chin with the end of her quill as she reread her letter.

A soft mew made her look up, sitting next to her little ink bottle was a beautiful calico, staring at her curiously.

“Hey girl,” she replied softly, holding out her hand, the cat sniffed it then pressed her cheek against Marinette’s hand. She scratched the cat's head softly, smiling.

“Her name is Legend,” a voice said from her doorway. She looked up and recognized Lady Stephanie standing in her doorway. She was about to greet her when the girl kept talking.

“Oh sorry, your door was open, I didn’t think it'd be a problem, we’re just pretty casual around here and it slipped my mind, Your Majesty,” she said, quickly, her hands gesturing as she spoke.

Marinette smiled at her, standing and placing her letter, book and quill on a nearby table, “It’s quite alright, Lady Stephanie. My court and I are quite similar to you that way, and please do call me Marinette,”

“Only if you’ll call me Steph,” she replied, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway.

Marinette saw the movement and invited her in. They sat at the table she’d put her letter on and she folded it as they made small talk.

She melted some wax onto her envelope and pressed it with the Miraculous Court's seal as she listened to Steph detail a story about the time she and Jason had snuck into the kitchen to steal some of the pastries before a big event when she’d first arrived at the castle back in Gotham.

“It seems you are all quite close,” Marinette commented after Stephanie wrapped up her tale.

“Yeah, we’re family, you know?” she replied. Stephanie wrung her hands together before meeting her gaze, “Can I ask you something?”

Marinette could feel the girl’s unease, so she tried to appear reassuring, “Yes,”

“Yesterday,” she started hesitantly, “In the throne room, the older man who came with you did most of the talking. I don’t know much about the Order of the Miraculous, but I was pretty certain you’re their leader but you didn’t really talk so...” she left the rest of the question unsaid, clearly hoping Marinette would understand hat she was trying to say.

She could tell the girl didn’t mean any disrespect, she was simply curious and she couldn’t blame her. So she gave her a smile, “Master Fu is my teacher, I’m still learning to lead and he’s helping me through everything, until my training is complete he makes the important introductions and still does a lot of the talking. I will be voicing my thoughts a lot more during negotiations though,”

Stephanie nodded slowly, “That makes a lot of sense actually,”

They spent the afternoon together and had tea in the garden.

Marinette was listening to Stephanie ‘s retelling of how she and Tim first met when she recognized Prince Jason heading towards them.

Stephanie spotted him too so she paused when he got close. Marinette nodded her head at him, “Your Highness,”

He nodded back, “Your Majesty,”

He sat down on the open chair at their table and Stephanie quickly continued her story.

She listened politely, but she was aware of the Prince who had joined them studying her discreetly, if she hadn’t been trained to notice, she would’ve missed it.

He noticed her noticing him and she was impressed by his ability to read body language. He, if her training was correct, was growing more and more curious about her by the second.

Somehow managing to miss the tension Stephanie kept telling her story.

“We were both so incredibly oblivious to the other’s feelings and denying our own. Months of pinning and so many misunderstandings. Apparently it was an incredibly frustrating debacle to watch,” she said laughingly, giving Prince Jason a pointed look.

He groaned, playing along and ignoring their silent sort-of conversation that had transpired earlier, “Don’t remind me, it was torture,”

They all laughed, and a comfortable silence followed.

Well that was until Tikki appeared and the other two almost fell of their chairs. She turned to her kwami and decided to explain later.

“Guardian, Queen Bee is attempting to contact you,” she quickly supplied, ignoring the two royal siblings who were staring in shock.

“Put her on, these two can be trusted,” she replied, sipping her tea.

Tikki put down a device on the table and the familiar image of Queen Bee appeared shining in the air in front of her, it was nothing new to Marinette but the other two stared in shock at the moving image of a blonde girl in armor unlike any they’ve ever seen.

“Bee, this better be important, you know how much it takes out of the kwami to do calls (a/n I’m not gonna figure out a new name for it, calls make sense sorry not sorry °3°),” Marinette said sternly.

Chloe looked grim but stood up straight, confident in her choice, “I’m afraid it’s rather urgent Guardian,”

Marinette felt chills, Chloe rarely looked that grim, it was even rarer for her to address her by her title, “Queen Bee, what is it?”

Chloe grimaced. She gave her a meaningful look softly replied, “It may bring back a few unpleasant memories, Mari,”

It felt as though the wind had momentarily been knocked out of her.

The familiar green eyes that haunted her at night flashed through her mind. Immediately followed by a darker, newer pair. She pushed both images away, she’d deal with that later, now Chloe needed her to be the Guardian.

Marinette took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her cup, “I can take it,”

“It’s Gabriel, he has the butterfly, he wants -,” Chloe swallowed, looking at Mari with pity, she lowered her voice, “He wants to bring him back, Mari,”

Her grip around her teacup was deadly, it was a shock it hadn’t broken yet. She was certain her knuckles and face were both as white as a cloud.

“I -,” her voice cracked and she took a deep breath, she was in the presence of strangers, she couldn’t break down, she pushed her emotions back and went into her Guardian mode, “Tikki add Carapace, Viperion, Tigress, Rena Rouge and Paon to the call. Now. I want it taken care of quickly,”

Chloe’s eyes widened, “Those are all our top warriors,”

“Like I said, I want this taken care of quickly,” Marinette replied briskly.

The others were quickly added and they all switched to the language of the Guardians. If the two royal siblings could speak French, her and Chloe’s previous conversation had already given enough away. Chloe explained the situation while Marinette quickly pulled herself together, she could fall apart later. Right now her Court needed her.

Carapace looked on edge and she knew why. Rena was on the call and she was pregnant, he was scared that she’d have to fight.

“Rena,” she said after Chloe finished explaining, all eyes turned to look at her, “You’re not fighting, but your strategizing capabilities are too valuable to have you sit out completely. You’re on the side-lines for this one,”

Carapace looked relieved and Rena nodded, understanding.

She looked at Viperion, while half her letter turned out to be written in vain, at least she could get this done quicker, “I need you to send Plagg and his ring with Pegasus as soon as you guys finish discussing details,"

She took a deep breath, "I found my match,”

(a/n did I totally just only put the prompt as part of a single paragraph? yeah i did. Do I have any idea where this is going? No i don't. Is the fact that I don’t listen to my outline and do whatever the hell I want gonna stop me? Nope, not at all)

(fr tho I’m just as surprised at this plot as yall are ngl, also, look at me doing a cliffhanger hehehe)

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb

#daminette #daminette december #i know it's taking long just gimme a chance fluff to come I promise there'll be some next chapter #damian x marinette #maribat #damian wayne #batfam #batman #jason todd #stephanie brown #I'm sorry i promise interaction I just need to set up some plot man #medieval au #a whelming chapter if I do say so myself #lol jk #hope everyone enjoyed and thanks for reading!!#utp writes

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gawaincomic · 3 years ago

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Planning issues: I have them. I actually started a Bullet Journal (a basic one! It's not for artistic expression, it's Pure Need) in order to try and plan better. It has helped me realise that I am incredibly bad at estimating how much time a task is going to take, and just how much I can cram into one day. This is true of simple household tasks, but also of creative stuff like drawing and painting. It's very rare that I actually manage to get through the entire list of tasks I've made for a day.

It strikes me just now that there are plenty of things that I don't list but that also take time, such as 'actually sitting down and eating my dinner' or 'cuddling with Sam the Cuddly Cat' - and both these things are really necessary, too! (Sam actually comes to fetch me. She meows plaintively - usually while I'm drawing - to let me know that she needs me to sit down on the ground so that she can climb onto my lap despite her achy old joints, and then she stays on my legs for ... well, generally between 15 and 30 minutes. Like I said: necessary.)

The crux of the matter is: I would really like to get back to drawing a page a week of my Gawain comic, but so far I'm not managing it. I've inked two new pages in October, but I'd like to have a few more before I start posting again, to avoid breaks in the posting schedule.

So... I'm trying. I have 4 more non-comic drawings lined up and they have definite deadlines, so I'll be getting those out of the way first, and after that I'll get cracking again and try not to get distracted from the comic. And I hope I won't feel any need for rewrites, lol - though, what are the chances of that, when the script is about 10 years old, right? 😅

Anyway: now you know where I'm at with the Gawain comic. The next page I will be working on is the one you see in the picture, with little Morgana. It needs to be redrawn and fixed, and after that I need to think how I'm going to show a small jump in time.

We'll be spending more time with Morgause and Morgana, and King Lot will be making his appearance soonish, too. Wheee! (I love Lot, and Morgause, and Morgana...)

#gawain comic #webcomic #gawain #arthurian legend #arthuriana

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a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 years ago

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The Coming War for the North, Part 3: The Battle of the Bastards

To see the previous installments of this series, part 1 and part 2 are available to read here and here, respectively.

The idea that Jon and Ramsay would fight has been around for a while, even before the TV show. There are a lot of signs pointing to a similar confrontation in the books, but how it unfolds might be a little different from the show. In this final section, I'll get right down to business on this final battle for Winterfell, and the purpose and themes this plot line.

Two Snows & Winterfell

Jon and Ramsay are two very different, and somewhat very similar characters. Throughout ADWD Jon has letters sent by Ramsay detailing events transpiring in the North, including the retaking of Moat Cailin, and the marriage of Arya Stark (really Jeyne Poole) to the newly legitimized Ramsay Bolton. Stannis also begins his campaign to take the North, and sends letters to Jon detailing his movements and what he is doing. When confronted by Melisandre, Jon learns that Mance Rayder was actually Rattleshirt in magic disguise, and Rattleshirt is actually Mance in magic disguise, and with Melisandre's nudging, agrees to send Mance and six spearwives to rescue Arya from Winterfell.

Then Ramsay sends the pink letter and tells Jon that he defeated Stannis, has captured Mance, and demands Stannis's family and allies or he will attack the Night's Watch. Don't forget that Jon is the one who started this, not Ramsay. He was the instigator, helping Stannis and taking Arya away from Ramsay. Not to say Ramsay is in the right here morally (quite the opposite), but Jon did break his vows for this to happen, and he wasn't really on Ramsay's radar until this happened. Thus, ADWD has set up a rivalry between the two. However, the two characters have a lot in common to be set up as foils to each other.

Both are bastards of a very prominent noble lord of the North. Both resent their bastard status and yearn for approval to be a trueborn member of their House. And both want Winterfell. Ramsay already has Winterfell and is declared the Lord of Winterfell, while Jon nearly took Stannis's offer to be Lord of Winterfell, before rejecting it to keep his vows to the Night's Watch, while still yearning to have Winterfell. However, from there, they are complete opposites.

Ramsay is a demon in human skin, a sadistic serial killer and rapist who enjoys torture and murder, and has no regard for the laws of men. Meanwhile, Jon, as raised by Ned, is a noble and honourable person who tries his best to keep his oath and honour intact (although he does forsake it at the end of ADWD). In the season 4 DVD extras for Game of Thrones, GRRM himself even talks about this.

The relationship between Roose and Ramsay is, in some ways, a dark counterpoint to the relation between Ned Stark and Jon Snow. In both cases, a noble father with a bastard son. Jon and Ramsay are literally the opposite to each other. Jon is very noble and honorable. And Ramsay is none of those things. Roose himself is a cold and calculating man. A dispassionate man. "I placed far too much trust in you." But their treatment of the bastard son is very different. Ned keeps Jon Snow at Winterfell and he's raised with Robb and Bran. For all practical purposes, he is one of Ned's sons. Ramsay gets nothing from Roose.

Given the fact we have good build up between a rivalry between them, and that they are foils of each other, a confrontation between the two seems very likely. And even more so when you look both at the past history and at ADWD. The Stark-Bolton rivalry is the longest and most prominent feud in the North, supposedly dating back to the Long Night. Numerous wars were fought between the Red Kings from the Dreadfort and the Kings of Winter from Winterfell, some of them ending in Bolton victory. At least twice, two Bolton kings (both named Royce) took and burnt Winterfell (and it happened a third time in ACOK when Ramsay did it). The Boltons also were alleged to have flayed and worn the skins of Stark princes as cloaks.

In a way, this rivalry is a very dark, yet still grounded fantasy version of werwolves and vampires. There are quite a lot of stories including werewolves and vampires that have the two be natural enemies, with feuds that go back centuries sometimes. Of course, both the Starks and Boltons take on very clear roles as werewolves and vampires. Starks have warg blood in them (even if not all of them were wargs), and many of them have dreams at night of being a wolf and rampaging around, which sounds very much like old werewolf legends. The Boltons being vampires, on the other hand, is less magical and more implied.

The Boltons have this unearthly, sinister feel and look to them that makes them appear somewhat inhuman, with pale eyes variously described as dirty chips of ice or pale moons, and a look about themselves that is similar to some descriptions of vampires. Then of course there is the Dreadfort, a spooky old castle ruled by a very spooky and yet somewhat cultured man (Dracula anyone)? Then of course we have all the very creepy images of Boltons flaying people, and Ramsay sometimes writing using human blood as ink.

Basically, what I'm saying is that ASOIAF has done what Twilight did but better.

To go back to the future, it makes thematic and narrative sense for the Starks to retake Winterfell from their ancient nemesis. The rivalry began between a Stark and a Bolton, and will end with a Stark bastard and a Bolton bastard, fighting over dominance of the North and of Winterfell.

The Battle of the Bastards

At first glance, it seems like it's a no brainer for how this battle will unfold. Ramsay is gonna lose a lot of support, and Jon will have all the support and completely demolish Ramsay. However, while I do think it will end in victory for Jon (and not without outside help), I think that both are going to be in rather desperate positions, Jon maybe more so.

After Jon's resurrection, there is no question in my mind that he is going to head south. Those were his last thoughts and actions as he died, similar to how Catelyn killing a Frey and her grief of losing her family was the last action and thought before she died, and Beric protecting the smallfolk from the Mountain was his last act before dying. Given the strong implication he is inside Ghost, coming back, we should expect a darker, different Jon, one who doesn't give a shit, is more violent, and more determined. Of course, if he is to retake Winterfell, he should need support.

Fortunately, right before he died, he got all the free folk to cheer for him and agree to join him. Mix those free folk with the giants and mammoths that were recently let past Eastwatch, and he might have a formidable force. However, of the 4,119 or so free folk that are currently south of the Wall, not all of them are fighters. If we take the estimate for 20,000 warriors and 100,000 free folk in total, then we should expect around 820+ free folk capable of fighting. Not a lot. He will need some outside help. Of course, there is already set up for that in ADWD, when he marries Alys Karstark to Magnar Sigorn of Thenn.

He tells a captive Cregan Karstark to send word to his relatives at Karhold and yield to prevent their deaths, but Cregan stubbornly refuses. Alys believes Karhold will open their gates to her, and Alys is thankful for Jon Snow providing her refuge at the Wall and a marriage to get out of an even worse one she did not want. The strength of Karhold may not be the best, but it seems very likely for Karhold to join Jon and his cause, under the banners of Alys.

As for the other houses of the North, I don't expect much more support. Think about how Jon will look to the Northmen. He is a bastard, and those are already quite condemned throughout the North (and Westeros in general). He broke his vows by leaving the Night's Watch, and since the North takes vows and oaths and honour much more seriously than the rest of Westeros, being an oathbreaker who abandoned the Wall is not going to make him popular. And finally, he is leading a band of wildlings south. The North despises the free folk, thinking of them as savages, thanks to centuries of conflict with them. So the picture of Jon painted as an oathbreaking wildling bastard is going to be a major problem for him. At worst, he would be viewed just as evil and treacherous as Ramsay, the other prominent bastard in the North.

In fact, even if Ramsay loses a lot of support from his own actions (more later), he could use this to his advantage. At best, the northerns who hate Jon will remain neutral in the conflict, but at worst, they might even ally with the Boltons. The clansmen have a deep hatred of House Bolton, but they also have a very deep hatred of the free folk, so they may actually remain neutral. The Umbers are another House that deals frequently with wildlings, and many years prior, Crowfood lost his daughter to wildlings raiding south of the Wall. So instead of Jon's presence invigorating the Umbers to fight against Ramsay, their own vehement hatred of the wildlings might lead them to simply stick with Ramsay.

However, that isn't to say everything will go swimmingly for Ramsay. Their hold on the North is tentative, and if Ramsay kills Roose and Walda and their child, it could become even more unstable. For one, Lady Barbrey Dustin isn't loyal to the Boltons, but instead loyal to Roose. Her sister was the former wife of Roose, and Domeric was her nephew, so Lady Dustin has reason to be on friendly terms with Roose. On the other hand, she despises Ramsay, blaming him for Domeric's death, and not even allowing him to step foot in Barrow Hall because of it. In turn, Ramsay also holds her in contempt.

"It should have been you who threw the feast, to welcome me back," Ramsay complained, "and it should have been in Barrow Hall, not this pisspot of a castle." "Barrow Hall and its kitchens are not mine to dispose of," his father said mildly. "I am only a guest there. The castle and the town belong to Lady Dustin, and she cannot abide you." Ramsay's face darkened. "If I cut off her teats and feed them to my girls, will she abide me then? Will she abide me if I strip off her skin to make myself a pair of boots?" "Unlikely. And those boots would come dear. They would cost us Barrowton, House Dustin, and the Ryswells."

If Roose dies, not only would Lady Dustin probably suspect Ramsay, but she would simply not follow Ramsay. So already, just by becoming Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort, Ramsay would lose the Dustins and the Ryswells. Of course, since Lady Dustin does have a grievance with the Starks because Ned never brought her husband home from Dorne, I think she would probably remain neutral in the conflict.

Other houses might leave Ramsay too. Some might stay simply out of fear of retaliation for betrayal. It will depend on the House, their head, their own needs and goals, etc. As for the actual battle itself, who knows what will happen. However, I do think that Ramsay will likely try to lure Jon into some sort of trap rather than give him a direct face to face confrontation. There is also very interesting foreshadowing and even direct confirmation that the battle is going to be possibly more magical than we might believe it to be. Not only are there giants and mammoths... in the final script GRRM wrote for the show, he put in this note:

[N.B. A note for future reference. A season or two down the line Ramsay’s pack of wolfhounds are going to be sent against the Stark direwolves, so we should build up the dogs as much as possible in this and subsequent episodes.]

So the hounds are going to fight the Stark direwolves... wait, direwoves? Not direwolf? Curious...

The Pack Survives

I purposefully avoided the other factions of the North there, because the heart of the conflict will be Ramsay vs. Jon. But Jon won't be alone, at least not entirely. There is Rickon, who is to be touted as the Lord of Winterfell by the Manderlys so they can support Stannis. He isn't even the only Stark who could join in. Sansa is in the Vale under the guise of Alayne Stone. Arya keeps warging into Nymeria, who leads a massive pack of hundreds of wolves throughout the Riverlands. Bran is training his demigod greenseeing powers beyond the Wall with Bloodraven and is definitely manipulating events far south of the Wall.

So, the plural of direwolves makes me think Ghost won't be the only Stark direwolf fighting against Ramsay. We could get Nymeria's wolf pack joining as well, and Shaggydog, or even Summer (if Bran is in the North at this time that is). In fact, the idea that Ramsay will fight against Rickon is something that is heavily hinted at in ADWD.

The next litter to come out of the Dreadfort's kennels would include a Kyra, Reek did not doubt. "He's trained 'em to kill wolves as well," Ben Bones had confided. Reek said nothing. He knew which wolves the girls were meant to kill, but he had no wish to watch the girls fighting over his severed toe.

And then, more directly...

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again."

Ramsay may be impulsive and unaware of intricate politics, but he seems prepared for what to do should Bran or Rickon show themselves again. This makes me worried for Rickon, honestly. Will Ramsay capture Rickon and keep him prisoner as hold over Jon Snow? Will he kill Rickon like he did in the show? I really, really hope not, but I'm afraid that's exactly what will happen.

There is a line that Ned spoke in AGOT that George says will eventually be very important, that I think perfectly applies to this situation.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Ned speaks to Arya about this in King's Landing, to get her to understand that the Starks should not fight one another in times of danger, or be isolated from each other, but look after one another, protect each other. Winter has now come, the snows are falling and the white winds are blowing. Who is the lone wolf in this scenario? While Jon certainly fits the bill (he literally is a lone wolf, it's very clear at the end of ADWD he was prepared to ride to Winterfell all by himself until he got the wildlings to his side), I think Rickon could too.

Rickon is very isolated from everyone else, even when he was at Winterfell. He was only 4 years old, and didn't understand why everyone was leaving him. Given the plan to use Rickon as a pawn to reinstall Stark rule of the North being something we can cheer for and expect to happen, I don't think it will happen. Rickon, the lone wolf, will be used to try to depose Ramsay, but it won't go well, and he will die because of it.

Jon will probably find himself in a bad position in battle too, and very nearly die as the lone wolf... but now that winter is here, and everyone is starting to converge on Winterfell at some point, I think that it won't be Jon who ultimately retakes Winterfell: it will be all the Starks. Sansa may be in the Vale, but Littlefinger plans to use her to take Winterfell back at some point (even if it won't go exactly to plan).

"When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright."

Arya is having a lot of wolf dreams as Nymeria, and GRRM has said that her wolf pack will one day be used as a Chekov's gun. Bran may be far away, but he is getting more powerful and beginning to influence events as far south as Winterfell. The pack comes together to survive in winter, to help Jon and the North by defeating their enemies.

So as Jon fights against the bastard he so deeply despises, it won't just be him. It'll be the Knights of the Vale, led by Sansa. It'll be Nymeria and her wolf pack, piloted by Arya. It'll be Bran, skinchanging into whatever is around. TWOW may end up being the darkest book in the series, and the retaking of Winterfell won't be as glorious as we imagine or even as I spelt it out (Rickon's death and the perception the North has of Jon should play very big roles in making it not entirely happy), but this will be maybe one of our only moment of deserved catharsis we might get from it.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #jon snow #ramsay bolton #bran stark #arya stark #sansa stark #rickon stark #winterfell #the winds of winter #the winds of winter predictions

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quarantineddreamer · 4 years ago

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@zutaraweek 2020 Day 1: Reunion

This is my first Zutara week since I am new to the ATLA fandom. For some reason I am very nervous to post this (I think because I spent my morning scrolling through the tag and OMG THE TALENT!!) but anyways, here it is!

Also posted on my AO3

Rating: G

Summary: “I’ll save you from the pirates” -Zuko Katara

Katara picked nervously at the corner of the scroll she bent over, eyes passing over the familiar handwriting for the hundredth time in the past hour alone. We’re boarding the ship shortly… meeting went really well, I think that any additional negotiations will… I’ve been counting down the days till I get to hold you in my arms again... by the time this messenger hawk reaches you it should only be two more nights spent apart... Love always, Zuko. The letter, detailing the success of the Fire Lord’s diplomatic visit to the city of Omashu where a few restless rebellions had arisen had reached Katara over a week ago.

The waterbender frowned as she reached for her tea -a soothing blend that Iroh had promised would help her sleep despite her worry. Still squinting at Zuko’s hurried penmanship, Katara’s fingertips found the steaming liquid instead of the sides of the porcelain teacup, and she cursed as she flinched, knocking the beverage all over her reading material.

“No, no, no!” she cried, waving her hands, pulling the water from the page rapidly so as to keep the ink from running. When at last she was certain she had managed to save the precious material, she collapsed into her chair with a heavy sigh. As she watched the shadows from the candle on her desk play across the walls of her office, she tried desperately to calm herself.

He’s probably just hit bad weather. An image of Zuko thrashing about in the merciless waves of a storm flashed in her mind. Nope! Nope! He’s, uh, just not caught the right wind. But of course, the Fire Nation vessel Zuko had boarded did not rely on a breeze and they couldn’t have run out of power, not with firebenders like Zuko to provide fuel. Not for the first time, she wished that her friends were not scattered across the globe -wished that, at minimum, Aang had been traveling with Zuko, both of them flying safely on Appa’s soft back. But Aang was with Sokka and Suki in the South Pole at the moment helping with restoration work, and Toph was in Ba Sing Se training a special force of Earth Benders to help take down the remnants of the Dai Li.

The last time Katara had felt anything close to this level of worry for Zuko, he had been lying on the ground motionless, remnants of his sister’s lightning dancing across his body. At least she had been with him then, to look after him. Now, she didn’t know where he was or what condition he was in, but she knew him, and she knew it was not nothing that would keep him from her -not with all they had fought through before...

Katara had never felt so alone, but it was Zuko who had asked that she remain behind. “It’ll only be a month!” She remembered his hand on her shoulder as he gave her a pleading look. “Please... While I am gone Uncle will need help keeping everything in check here. You’re the only person in the world I would trust.” When she had finally reluctantly agreed, the kiss he had given her had banished all sadness at the thought of his absence. What was a month apart when they had a lifetime to look forward to now that the war was over? But he was not here now to erase her fear and dispel the hard knot lodged in her stomach.

The month had gone by fast with plenty of ‘Fire Lady’ duties to take care of, but the days that had passed since his estimated date of arrival had dragged with agonizing slowness as though time itself were taunting her… Her fingers itched to drag the scroll towards her again, to scour its surface for clues. He wouldn’t just disappear, he would tell them if he was going to be late.

A soft knock on the door broke the typhoon of anxiousness tearing through her mind. “Yes?” she called.

Iroh’s face, normally so jovial, was grave as it peered into the room. “A soldier from Zuko’s guard just arrived at the palace.”

“Where is he?” She nearly choked on the question, sensing her worst fears were about to be confirmed.

“Their ship was ambushed by a group of pirates. Zuko has been taken hostage and is being held unless the Fire Nation delivers a significant sum to his captors.”

She barely heard the rest, the where, when, and how. All she knew was she was done waiting, fussing over words on paper as though that could bring him back. She should have trusted her instinct, the tightness in her chest, that had told her something was wrong. Should’ve gone with him to Omashu to begin with... She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going after him.”

“Katara, please, we have identified the particular ship that has him, we can send a fleet after him.” Iroh fiddled with the teacup and papers on her desk nervously.

“I can handle some lousy pirates. He’s been gone too long, Iroh! And we can’t have the Fire Nation knowing their ruler has been taken...” Already her heart was racing. She’d never admit it, but a dangerous, secretive, part of her missed this. The raw rush of adrenaline from imminent conflict was intoxicating, addictive. Diplomatic meetings had taken her all over the world, but paperwork and debate had nothing on this.

Iroh hung his head. “Peace is fragile. I am aware…” He hesitated, observing her expression intently before saying, “I suppose no one is better suited to chase down pirates, than the greatest Master Water Bender…”

“Hardly,” she quipped humbly, but he always knew how to make her smile. “I appreciate the compliment.” Already at the door she turned to ask, “May I borrow a small ship from the Fire Nation Fleet?”

“The girlfriend of the Fire Lord can have whatever she wishes.” His tone managed to be light, joking, but his eyes still held great sadness and concern.

Katara stepped towards the older man to give him a brief, strong hug, leaning back afterwards to fix him with an earnest gaze. “I promise I’ll bring him home.”

“Stay safe, brave, Katara. I will handle things here.”

“I know you will.”

Moments later she raced through the palace out into the humid night. She did not stop to catch her breath even as she stole past the guards onto the docks and untied the first boat she saw with sails -one she knew she could manage alone.

Yue watched over her and gave her strength as she furiously bent the ocean around her. Spirits help those damn pirates if they’ve so much as given him a papercut...

-----

Zuko groaned as he came to, vaguely aware of a swaying sensation as though he were about to fall, which he figured had something to do with the massive lump at the back of his head. Or maybe it was the movement of the ship he was on. He blinked, his mind slowly focusing and gaining awareness -and along with it an awful dose of pain. How long had he been out? A fog was beginning to lift inside him, but the lingering grogginess suggested he had potentially been drugged for quite some time.

His most recent memories were of chaos, arrows whistling through the air, latching onto the deck of their ship. He had tried to incinerate most of them, and had been successful, until something had struck him hard across the back and sent him instantly into the void.

Rope rubbed at his wrists and clutched at his chest as he struggled. He tried to bend, but found his movement to be too restricted and clumsy -disoriented as he was. A string of curses tumbled from his lips.

“Tsk, tsk. Not language very fitting of His Highness is it?” a voice called from the shadows of the ship’s hold.

Zuko recognized the voice… One of the advisors that had been traveling with him, Jian… Despite the remnants of drugs in his system it was beginning to become clear how their ship had just happened to fall victim to pirates and who had managed to catch Zuko from behind unexpectedly. “What do you want, Jian?” he asked sharply, glaring as the advisor drew closer.

“You are the last person our great nation should be led by,” he hissed.

Zuko’s lips curled in disgust at the man’s hot breath on his face, his nostrils flared as he exhaled smoke and frustration, pleased when Jian backed away, clearly fighting an undignified cough. “I trusted you. I thought you were helping us work to rebuild… The past year… and last week in Omashu. What changed?”

Jian laughed coldly. “This was always the plan. Your naivety will be the end of you young Fire Lord.”

“To hope for something better is not naive,” Zuko replied fiercely.

The former advisor scanned him for a moment then smirked, eyes shining with mania. “Look at where you are.” He lifted arms clad in elegant red silk to gesture at their dingy surroundings. “You will either die here, or in a cell in a Fire Nation prison unless a ransom is paid.”

Zuko snorted, a small flame escaping his nose. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he had managed to master more fire breathing than that -something that would be useful in his current predicament- but that had always been more Azula’s specialty despite all of Uncle’s efforts. “Money? That’s what this is about?”

“That is only the beginning,” he whispered conspiratorially. Beady black eyes danced in lantern light as he regarded Zuko with intense hatred. “One day soon, the rightful Fire Lord will return to the Fire Nation throne and he will make you pay for your treasonous actions.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Great, another Ozai loyalist. Just his luck that one had been insidious enough to work his way to this point. Maybe he was naive, though if Katara and the rest of his friends had taught him anything, it was that trying to find the good in others would never be a bad thing. He had everything to thank for their belief in that. Katara… He shut his eyes for a moment as a wave of longing washed over him. Arguably he had been in worse situations than this, but it had been years since he had faced them without her by his side. If only he had let her come along…but he had been so afraid to leave the Fire Nation unattended with all its troubles placed solely on his uncle’s shoulders.

A knock at the door interrupted Zuko’s thoughts of the Water Bender and the ache that he felt burying itself in his chest knowing she would be worried at his delay. He regretted the stress he would put her through. While Jian went to open the door Zuko tried to subtly tug at his bindings again. If he could just get enough motion in his fingers to firebend and weaken the rope… With Jian distracted he frantically tried to summon enough of the element, fighting the last of the drug’s haze...

“Yes?” Jian asked impatiently of the visitor to the hold, a short, skinny pirate with a large, floppy hat that Zuko could see extended beyond even the width of Jian’s frame that blocked the doorway.

Almost there… Zuko wiggled his wrists in small circles, wincing when a small jet of fire nearly set his pants aflame, missing the ropes entirely. Fortunately the hold’s wood was damp enough that the floor remained unlit. The firebender took a deep breath and tried again, thankful that Jian was still busy discussing something with the pirate at the door.

An image of Katara practicing her bending came to mind. He recalled the graceful, delicate, intention with which she waved every muscle in her hands. On his second attempt to burn the ropes he was careful to control his digits more precisely, and his efforts were rewarded when he felt a small heat pass along his palms and hit the rope.

The sounds of Jian bidding the pirate farewell and closing the door encouraged Zuko to rush his final pass at burning the ropes off. He fought back a hiss of pain as he felt flame pass over the delicate flesh on the inside of his lower arms. Seconds later when he gave the bonds one last tug and felt them fall away his injury was forgotten. He remained carefully still as Jian turned back to him, waiting for the perfect moment.

When the advisor strayed within arm’s reach Zuko suddenly lunged, seizing him by the shoulders and spinning the man, head-first, into the nearest wall. Jian collapsed with a soft, surprised exclamation and a solid thunk of skull colliding with wood, and Zuko, breathed a sigh of relief.

Wasting no time he rushed for the door, throwing himself through the opening and shooting glances down the short hallway. Luckily, it was clear. Quietly, he sealed Jian in the cell and padded softly towards a set of stairs illuminated with pale moonlight. He had no idea what awaited him on the deck. Whatever it was he would handle it then, though he had to shake Iroh’s admonishing tone from his head, ‘You never think these things through!’

When he emerged from the belly of the ship he was prepared for an immediate onslaught of pirate swords and other weaponry, but despite what he was sure were Jian’s desires, these were not Fire Nation soldiers. The crew was gathered around a makeshift table and their drunken cackles and bickering carried loudly above even the sea breeze and persistent slapping of water against the hull.

Zuko crouched behind a wooden crate and scanned the deck. There were more than a dozen pirates playing cards in the moonlight and who knew how many more aboard the ship. With the moon shining brightly in the sky Zuko knew Katara would have been a force to be reckoned with, but he could not say the same for his firebending, and he was disappointed in how weak he felt -from hunger, thirst, likely concussion, and not to mention residual effects of whatever Jian had been using to keep him unconscious.

He was contemplating the slim likelihood of stealing away unnoticed with one of the small boats tied to the side of the ship when the gull-rat squawked at him. At first, he ignored it -at any given moment any seaside town or boat was always under the assault of the persistent creature and its horrible fecal habits- but when it continued to tilt its head at him in curiosity he recalled the companions the pirates he had met several years ago kept…The gull-rat’s call was louder the second time and Zuko swore as its owner, walking away from the card table with a fistful of coins and a drunken grin, blinked at the sight of the prisoner wandering freely.

It was really not his day. Zuko sprinted for the boat he had been eyeing early, bending a blast of flame at the ropes that held it to the main ship and hoping he would not be far behind the vessel as it crashed loudly into the ocean below. The gambling crew were all armed now, and though a few teetered from the effects of what was decidedly not the calming tea Iroh was always drinking, many looked formidable opponents. A circle was already closing around Zuko who searched desperately for an opening.

The Fire Lord managed to dodge two pirates who swung rusty blades at him and pushed back three more with a ball of flame. Seeing an opening in the ranks, he dashed wildly for the side of the ship, glancing back only once when an arrow whizzed past his shoulder.

Once was one time too many. He crashed right into the short, skinny pirate that had stopped by his cell to speak with Jian and they collapsed to the deck in a painful twist of limbs. Before Zuko could roll away the short pirate had pinned him and grabbed both his wrists.

-----

“I’ll save you from the pirates,” she whispered, grinning as the confusion on his handsome face turned to joy when she removed the ridiculous hat she wore so he could see her. His smile was everything, she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed it -instantly warming her from the inside out.

“Katara!” He sat up and pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the smell of her hair.

She was disappointed when he broke away to stand. It was understandable though. The pirates were racing towards them -even the gull-rat was giving chase.

“I knocked a boat into the water, if we can just swim to it…” Zuko eyed the railings of the ship unhappily, no doubt imagining the long drop.

“And then what?” Katara asked, drawing water from the ocean and forming two whips over both her arms.

“We, uh, we go?” Zuko offered.

She fought back a bubble of laughter. “You really don’t think things through. Zuko, they can just chase us! They’d catch us in no time in this larger ship. Was that really your plan?”

He fumbled for words, cheeks flushing furiously with embarrassment.

Katara lashed out at the first wave of pirates, tripping them with one long tendril of water. “Zuko, you’re a firebender, set the ship on fire!” She looked away as a stray pirate broke rank to try and shoot them with his bow. A jet of water aimed sharply by Katara eliminated that immediate problem. “You are the Fire Lord, how did you not think of this?” This time the laughter escaped her, his befuddled expression too cute to take.

“I, uh.. Okay, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion... and potentially still some drugs in my system?” he admitted, punching the air with his fists, sending fire at the pirates and the sails of the ship. Soon the entire deck was dancing with the dangerous orange glow.

“That’s our cue!” Katara declared, and grabbed his hand. “Ready?” She stepped up onto the railing of the ship and he followed.

They balanced precariously for a moment, her hair spinning wildly in the wind, before jumping into the air, stomachs dropping for a brief exhilarating second before Katara froze a wave to slide them towards the empty boat bobbing in the waves. A miscalculation on her part landed them in frigid ocean water that stole both their breaths away.

Katara was first to pull herself into the boat, flopping wetly into the wooden hull. She giggled at the sight of Zuko, hair spiked every which way by the ocean, arms flung desperately over the side of the boat kicking furiously to pull himself into the raft. Taking mercy on a Fire Bender out of his element, she helped him aboard. Together they looked back at the burning pirate ship, observing the frantic shadows of the crew moving about with buckets of water. Still, Katara did not wait long to begin moving their vessel to the small cove nearby where she had anchored her Fire Nation ship.

Only when they were confident that no one had pursued them to the sandy shores and were safely sailing towards home aboard her borrowed ship did they rest, allowing the wind to do the work for them. They collapsed, laying on the deck, staring skyward at a ceiling of stars, and Zuko gently pulled Katara against him. She reveled in the familiar beat of his heart beneath her as she settled her head on his chest.

She felt him shake as he laughed quietly. “I still can’t believe I didn’t think, to... Burn the ship?”

Katara reached for a small bit of water and it glowed as she reached a hand back to touch the side of his head. “Better?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, much. Thank you…” he sighed and leaned his scarred face into her healing palm. “I can’t say this was the reunion I was imagining.”

“I don’t know…” She looked up at him, the beginnings of a soft smile tugging at her lips. “We’re even now,” she teased, bumping him playfully. “And it was kind of fun... Reminds me of how far we’ve come.” How different things were since the last time they had encountered pirates -and not just his hair, though thank the spirits for that.

“Just another day in the life of the Fire Lord I guess,” Zuko replied wistfully, a hand playing with the end of one of her curls.

“I mean, I’m not saying you should do it again… ”

“Not without you... “Never without you,” he promised -and to Katara’s delight, sealed the oath by placing his lips against hers.

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #zuko #katara #reunion #zuko x katara #zutara fanfic #zutara week #zutara fanfiction #ao3 fic #b writes #zukos-calming-tea

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frogsandfries · 3 years ago

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Hmmmm

So I guess I've been thinking about fertility a lot lately. I've been thinking about my health a lot--of course, even before I spent two weeks laid out on the couch, exhausted and coughing up colors I've never coughed up before.

While I've just been laying here thinking about how my apartment is going to hell, I've also been thinking about how critical it's going to be to get even more serious about trying to eat better and exercise even more.

I was actually just watching a video about a young woman living with her husband--so young!--in Hong Kong, going through IVF. Seriously, at an estimate, if I'd been that serious at her age........... well..........I still wouldn't have had insurance of any sort. But it would've given me more time to think about how to address my diet and lifestyle.

For me, I guess I don't get too upset about my health, let alone my fertility. There only seems to be one thing seriously preventing me from starting my family, and losing weight can't be that hard--more exercise, better food. It's my problem if getting my blood pressure under control takes two years............ most likely? But for me, my doctor's see nothing wrong with my reproductive system--I don't have cysts, I have a very average uterus, very average ovaries. I'm just not producing regular, normal hormones. I'm just a pill away from artificially switching all that back on and most likely, getting where I want to be reproductively. It would be so easy. It would fuck up my blood pressure. So. Bad.

But what about these last two weeks?

I don't fucking know what I was sick with--I went down the stairs today to help my partner with garbage and that was it from me today. I was still having trouble just functioning around the apartment, with dishes and such. I'm utterly trashed. I've never gotten sick casually. It somehow always becomes a respiratory thing. Cold? Respiratory. Flu? Respiratory. Strep? Respiratory.

I meant to do some more ink today. I feel like I'm running up short on lineworks...... But I never seem to have much to work with. I always have to plan for really hot weather or I have to plan for a migraine--I've been fending one off since Friday, since I just didn't have the energy. It resulted in two evenings of this new disturbance that I get, zigzags around my pupil.

I was thinking about that all these last two weeks. I never seem to have much energy, everything comes back to a respiratory infection. As a person without much energy, I feel like I'm always storing energy for when I'll really, urgently need it--how long am I going to need to recover from this?

I ate basically nothing for two weeks; I still can't eat a whole lot and I'll probably be on that for a while. My weight is still going to skyrocket.............🙄

What is it really actually going to take to lose weight and get my blood pressure down? I'd almost rather have a "real" fertility concern.........

I don't feel discouraged right now, about my fertility. I have bigger issues to work on if I want to have a reasonably healthy pregnancy. I'm terrified of having to pull the plug because pregnancy is going to kill me. I'd rather have one healthy, successful pregnancy when I'm 35+ than two hard, scary pregnancies by the time I'm 35. In that regard, it is kind of hard because it feels like my heart health is all on me..........I don't know how much better I can reasonably eat. So we throw out the crackers and I eat even more vegetables. I don't realistically know how many salads I can imagine up. If we eliminate any more fast food...... well, 🤷‍♀️ we had a short burst there where we were eating so much, it felt like a chore, and I've honestly been asking to eat even more meals from home so.

We just...........I mean, I would say soda is really the devil in our kitchen. Yes, I eat proportionally lot of crackers--they're quick, easy, they don't upset my stomach. We don't eat a ton of frozen pizza, fish sticks--we love fish, or I do. I bake up fish all the time. For me, manufactured cookies just sit around, they're gross. We eat a lot of chicken. We could always use more veggies........ But yeah, without question, our soda is out of control. Although, I've swapped my sugary soda for water (except recently?? I let my partner do the grocery shopping and he left out my water???? 😭).

My own thing used to be candy, but I have a brand new bag of jelly beans from last year because I'm still struggling to get through this bag of chocolate. I really (usually) enjoy the fruit bowls from the grocery store.

I think my diet is....... reasonable. It's modern as in "I grew up eating out of food pantries and neither of my parents knew how to cook and I'm used to eating out of Aldi with five to twenty dollars for a week". A lot of chicken, there used to be more rice. We don't eat much burgers....... if the doctor is saying cut down on potatoes........... that can be done........... I think.......

Pfffft it's not like I fucking know how to eat anyway......... i GuEsS I'Ll fUcKiNG STarVe lol

It's really fine. I need to figure this the fuck out. I will fucking figure this out. I want to be a parent because I believe I can be a good role model. I want to be a better person and a better parent. I really ought to start with what goes in my own body.

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undeadsnorlax · 4 years ago

Text

Can Anybody Tell Me Why I’m Lonely Like a Satellite?

heyyy my first fic for @badthingshappenbingo. starting things off with my favourite space boy

Ao3 link

Prompt: Loneliness

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, angsty as hell

Wordcount: 2603

A day in the life of Luther on the moon.

***

Wakey-wakey.

“Urgh…” Five more minutes…

Come on. You need to get up.

Luther groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the blank metal ceiling. It took him a few more minutes to open his eyes properly, and a couple more to roll over and check the clock with another groan. 22:47.

“It’s early,” he mumbled, swinging his legs around and rubbing his face down. Well, early in his sense, at least.

Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Means you could go to bed earlier later tonight, technically.

Luther considered this and nodded, slowly getting to his feet and walking toward the door-

Thunk!

“Every time!” he cried, rubbing his forehead. He’d learn to duck eventually.

He stretched his arms until his fingers brushed the ceiling, then placed a hand at the bottom of his back and arched it, grunting at the dull crunch his spine made.

With a few more stretches, he dragged his feet over to the counter, smiling at the small potted umbrella plant there.

“Evenin’ Ben,” he said softly, large fingers stroking the leaves before picking up the tiny watering can.

Hey Luther.

Luther let out a sigh, tapping one of the radars beeping away on the workstation below the plant.

Something wrong?

“Nah, nothing.”

He shrugged and went about doing his other ‘morning’ chores. Checking the base’s oxygen levels, collecting any trash, seeing if there was any response from home.

Nothing. Of course.

Luther dressed in his space suit, taking the bag of trash out and dumping it with the rest.

He allowed himself a moment of freedom, pure gleeful joy as he bounced light as air across the moon’s surface. He’d been up here two and a half years and this part still never got old. He was in space!

He pushed off from the ground hard, floating a foot higher before landing with a weightless thud. Grinning behind his helmet, he tilted his head to look up at the Earth in front of him.

It was awesome, thinking about how one planet could contain so many billions of people going about, living their lives.

Including four of the ones he’d grown up with. What would they be doing right now? Vanya would definitely be going to bed, and maybe Allison was doing a late night movie shoot. Klaus would probably be partying and Diego doing...whatever he did.

Luther let out a heavy sigh, his grin fading. No use in wondering like that. Just reminded him of how everything fell apart.

He was brought back into focus by his stomach rumbling. He clasped at it for a moment, staring blankly at the stars, before trudging back to base to eat.

Running low on those.

Luther narrowed his eyes as he opened a packet of soy paste, slumping down heavily on the nearest chair.

“I know,” he said quietly, squeezing every last drop into his mouth ravenously.

He also knew this would do nothing but numb his hunger for only a few hours, knew this wouldn’t have been enough food for him even before his accident. For as little as he did physically up here, his body still craved energy, and this shit just didn’t cut it.

You asked Dad for more, right?

“Every time.” Luther glared at the plant. “I’m due more soon, okay? Today or tomorrow…”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring at the empty packet. Reluctantly, he went to the box and got another, pretending it was something more elaborate instead. One of Grace’s amazing dinners, a rich beef casserole in a thick red wine sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, maybe some kind of pie for dessert, with ice cream-

He groaned, swallowing the mouthful of saliva he’d formed at the mere thought.

Not helping?

“I miss real food.” He rubbed his middle, feeling at least a little more full, enough to concentrate on work.

Have you checked your bandages?

Luther licked his lips, before shaking his head, looking away like a naughty schoolboy getting a scolding.

Do that. Please? It’s been a few days.

“Okay, okay.”

He went to the cramped bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror first. He looked rough.

Dismissing that observation, he slowly zipped down his top, careful to not get it stuck on his body hair.

How’s it look?

“Better. Honest.”

The bandage itself, on his right side just above the ribs, looked a little grubby, dried dark brown stains having seeped through. Carefully, he picked at the medical tape keeping it in place, wincing every time it caught a stray hair, but managed to rip it off and inspect the wound underneath.

A laceration done in such a way there was a small chunk of flesh missing, but it was healing nicely.

Luther reached for his first aid kit, pouring out some antiseptic onto a cloth and pressing it down. He winced again, gritting his teeth, but knew it was all worth it to help it get better.

As he prepared clean bandages to patch it up again, Ben chimed in.

It was scary when you did that. You were so scared.

Luther’s gut churned with unease, remembering the frantic, near manic state he went into a few days prior. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. A sudden burst of wild emotion overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees as he tried to let it pass, but the feeling inside him just got worse and worse.

Are you okay now?

“I don’t know.”

He bandaged himself up again, before he traced along a similar mark on his stomach, healed now into a bright pink scar.

His fingers curled into a fist, zipping up his top again before he could do more damage to himself. Ignoring the urge hadn’t done much good the last few times, but maybe this time he’d figure out a way to not hurt himself again.

Doubt it…

He went back to sit at a console, rummaging through the mess of paper cluttering the table.

What’re you doing today?

“Going through these.” Luther scratched his chin as he thought, eyes skipping down the page. “Need to arrange them in order, rewrite them neater...pretty boring, right?”

What work isn’t?

Luther chuckled, splitting the paper into small piles. “Got that right.”

And then silence. Luther became engrossed in his work, only moving to either stretch his back or use the bathroom, and even that wasn’t often.

Sure, it was boring but...it was his kind of boring. One of his earliest memories was pouring over a book on the solar system, using it to try and figure out the constellations he could see from his bedroom window. Him and Five raced to have their hand up first during their physics classes.

It became a one man race after he vanished.

Luther tapped his pen against his temple, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind was drifting, thinking of his siblings again.

He tried not to think of Five too often, but he still wondered what the hell could have happened to him. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had just settled somewhere. Gotten taken in by a nice family who looked after him.

He didn’t like the alternative. The portrait that hung in the living room reminded him every day for over a decade of the alternative.

That’s how he tried to feel about Ben. He was in a better place. He was at peace. Happier, maybe.

Again. Better than any alternative.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife.

With a heavy sigh, Luther pressed his head down against the desk, closing his eyes for a second...

Luther…?

He jolted to sit up again, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxed, picking the piece of paper that had stuck to his forehead. “Wha’?”

Drifted off bud. Not long.

“Ah. Right.”

You have been working hard for a while.

“It’s not that long-“

Luther cut off upon seeing the time. Eight hours had passed since he started. “Oh. Dang.”

You deserve a break.

“No, I’m...I’m nearly done, it’s fine.”

Luther…

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t mean to snap. He flinched the moment he did, putting his head in his hands.

Look, I get it.

“No you don’t. You’re a plant.”

Luther turned on his seat to face said plant, scowling at the thing. “You’re a voice in my head.”

Helps though, doesn’t it?

Luther wrinkled his nose a little, turning away and tapping a finger against the desk.

Helps to have someone to talk to.

“Crazy Luther Hargreeves, all alone on the moon with a plant that sounds like the brother he let die,” he muttered.

You know that’s not true.

“It’s true enough.”

He suddenly became aware of another console that had been letting out several beeps. Luther gritted his teeth and made his way over, reading the screen.

DELIVERY INCOMING

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 0823

“Told you more food was coming,” he said, going to suit up once more. He’d missed it landing with his quick nap by about ten minutes.

Out on the moon’s surface, Luther tilted his head back, taking a slow deep breath. He could see the pod the package came in at the usual spot, but he desperately needed some quiet.

Inside his base, there was always some kind of noise. Little things, the consoles and monitors gently humming away in the background, the soft drip of a tap he might have left on. Constant.

Even back home in the mansion after everyone left, he grew used to the creak of floorboards, the structure settling around him. Every opening door making him perk up and hope someone was walking through, coming back.

Outside, on the surface, it was silent. It was like he could hear his body working, every thump of his heart that sent blood coursing through his veins.

In space no one can hear you scream…

So he did. He bent his knees, and took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs. Everything contained within his helmet.

Straightening up, he screamed again, a rush of catharsis overwhelming his brain. It felt good to scream. He should do this more often. Better than hurting himself.

His chest ached a little as he caught his breath once more, staring dazed at the ink black sky above him.

So much...nothing. The night skies were never this clear back on Earth and maybe now he was glad because being confronted with such a sheer vast nothingness every day was sure getting to him. Would explain why his plant was talking.

Luther scrunched his eyes tight, and went to get the delivery. He dragged it inside, changing from his suit once more and tearing the box open.

Anything good?

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes, before getting out smaller boxes of soy paste. He sighed, inspecting the writing. They always said they were different flavours, but he mostly got the same soggy muesli or stale bread taste with every packet he consumed.

That…doesn’t look like a lot.

“Shut up, I know…”

Luther set one aside and put the rest in his food cupboard. He didn’t take a chair this time, just slumped down on the floor and gently squeezed the contents through the packet, huffing heavily.

Luther, that’s not going to last.

“I’ll make it last,” he mumbled, unscrewing the top and sucking gently, trying to savour it, “I have to…”

He tried to focus on the gentle hum of the base instead, closing his eyes to help. He wasn’t sure what had happened in recent months that his food packages were becoming less frequent, and less in amount, but it didn’t help anyone to dwell on that. Dad was busy, he had stuff to do…

C’mon big guy. You know that’s bullshit.

Luther glared up at the ceiling. That was new. Hearing Ben’s voice had happened surprisingly quickly, the moment he decided to name his plant after him. He never heard anyone else’s voice, but having Diego’s growling in his brain was almost a welcome change.

Almost.

You really think he’s that concerned for you up here?

“Shut up…”

Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance.

“Shut up!”

Luther slammed his head back against the console, grunting from the quick hit of pain. When Diego’s voice didn’t go away, kept taunting the same message of should have gotten out when you had the chance, he did it again...and again.

Until there was silence.

Too much silence.

Using the counter for support, he got to his feet and went back to his desk, staring at the piles of paper in front of him.

“This mission is of the utmost importance, Number One.”

That’s what his father had told him after explaining he was going to the moon. He’d blankly affirmed, not pointed out how pointless it was to refer to him by his number when it was just him left (because look what happened last time he said that), and gone along with it.

His whole life, Luther had been raised to lead a team and save the world. His team had left one way or another, and the ‘world saving’ work he did was mostly thankless.

But here he was. On the moon. Part of the mission. Everything was part of this lifelong mission. All the data he was collecting, the experiments he ran, they were important for...something.

Luther stared at his hand, the greyed skin and dark fur that kept making him forget it was his hand. This was all part of it too, somehow. It had to be.

Otherwise…

He finished his work. Filed away the pages neatly and made plans to send them out tomorrow.

For a moment, he hesitated by the umbrella plant, reaching to touch it’s delicate leaves.

“...Ben?” he said softly.

Nothing. Of course not.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself back to his bedroom, grabbing his personal notebook from the side table. He flicked through the pages until he landed on the poem he’d been struggling with for the last week, tapping his pen against the words.

Constellations are families, each star has their purpose, their name and position.

They work together as something bigger, part of the galaxy’s nightly exhibition.

There must be times where they can do nothing but fight,

When it grows so tiring to always be shining so bright.

Luther clicked his tongue, frowning at the words. Of all the hobbies he could have taken to pass time up here, he never anticipated poetry, but he was really getting into it, having filled pages already, some of which he’d sent back...just in case Dad was curious.

He could just see his plant on the counter through the door. He went to call Ben’s name again, but he cut himself off and shut his eyes, focusing on the hum of the base once more instead.

The voice in his head was never Ben. Ben was dead. Five had gone long ago. Allison, Diego, Klaus and Vanya were back on Earth living their lives. Had been living their lives quite easily without him.

He’d managed by himself. He was exactly where he wanted.

In space. On the moon. Just him.

Number One.

By himself.

Like it had been for years now.

Tomorrow he’d wake up and go through this again. The self-doubt and the spiralling and the focusing on work so hard to forget what was really happening. Maybe his plant would start talking to him again.

But really they know that no matter how much they argue and moan,

Being a family at odds is far better than being one star all alone.

#the umbrella academy #trope: loneliness #tua fic #luther hargreeves #undeadbthb #badthingshappenbingo

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mother-snake · 4 years ago

Note

More letters? More letters.

I'm going to break a few hearts....

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

The pain of losing your child was an agonizing one. You could never stop thinking that you should have been in their stead, that you should have protected them, that you failed as a parent because..... Because your baby is dead and you couldn't stop it.

Virgil didn't know someone could get that pale. Or that they could have black vains. Or that they could cry black inky tears until their face was sticky and it was impossible to wash off.

It was a very sad day.

They just came home from a very sad event, that no one wanted to name because they couldn't accept that he was gone.

Virgil went to his room almost immediately after they got home.

Tears still streaming, he hadn't stopped crying since they found his baby

He walked over to his desk, where four letters sat. Each envelope was a different colour with a different wax seal to match it. He picked up the white envelope with a deep wine red seal, the only thing that was marking it as his was the dark purple ink used to mark his name and the #1

He tore it open carefully.

Hey Vee Anxiety

I guess if you have these letters I'm gone now. I also suppose that you know what happened to the dark side. If you don't, well its gone now. I'm sorry it had to be this way. But I had too.

You and Remus are the only sides with black hair now. How does that feel? I know your hair is dead straight, does it fall into your eyes? Do the others treat you differently because of your hair colour? Speaking of that.

I know I was a horrible child Anxiety, you loved me from the very moment you met me and all I did in favour was tell you I hate you. I don't hate you. I could never hate you.

I hope you gave me a nice send off. Was there daffodils? You know, daffodils were originally called Narcissus. They symbolize self love. I'm sure you know the myth, but it also ended rather tragically. I'm no expert but I think my life also counts as a tragedy. At least it feels like it.

It feels like no matter what I do, I get punished. Society says that you get punished for your wrong doings but what have I done wrong? I wish I had black hair like you. Things might have ended better.

I'm going to be writing a series of letters. Simply because I can't bear to say goodbye to all five of you at the same time. I'll write to you tomorrow Vee.

~Janus Sanders

The sobs only got deeper as Virgil read on. Memories rapidly repeating in his mind. Over and over. The sight of his child dead on the ground. Crumpled suit and knocked over goblet, his eyes were like glass and any pigment in his skin rotted away.

"DAD! Dad!!" the 17 year old looked down at the much younger side. Just passed 7. "Yes my little baby snake?" the child bounced up and down "I'm hungry!!" Virgil's smile creeped onto his face "Hi Hungry! I'm Dad!" the look on the seven year olds face was something he could never forget. Virgil let out a loud laugh, "Fine! Fine! Come on little snake, lets go get you some food" the child's face lit up. "STRAWBERRIES?!?" Virgil grabbed the childs hand. "We can have strawberries, little snake."

Virgil went downstairs and dug out the box of strawberries form the fridge. He ate the entire box.

The next day was just as horrible.

No one wanted to leave their rooms and deep sobs were coming from many doors.

Everywhere Virgil looked, he was reminded of his baby snake.

When he ran out of oxygen for the louder sobs, Virgil grabbed the second letter. A lilac purple envelope with a yellow seal.

Hey Vee,

The others are getting particularly violent recently. Often getting aggressive for no reason. Well unless you call me standing in my bedroom a reason. Well, reason or not. I have a new bruse or five.

How are the others holding up? I'm guessing not well. But maybe I'm just over estimating how much all of you care. After all. Why would anyone care for a side that has only made their lives harder? I personally don't see the logic in that.

But I don't know that much.

I'm going to be completely honest with you Vee. You are absolute shit at taking care of yourself when you are upset. Did you even eat dinner the night before? Wow. Look at me. I'm lecturing my father to take better care of himself while I'm dead.

I should get an award for biggest hypocrite. I haven't properly taken care of myself in years.

I'm serious about this though, don't isolate your self and spend time with the others. They'll be your biggest help in accepting..... In accepting that I'm not there anymore.

~Janus

Sucking in a shaky breath, Virgil stood and went to ask the others for their company. Because Janus was right, its easy to spiral by yourself. Then there was a knock on the door.

Logan wanted to watch some of Janus' favourite movies.

Virgil couldn't say no. Even if he wanted too.

~~~time skip~~~

Everyone was passed out except for him and Logan.

Logan had been very quiet lately, then again. He did barely leave his room for days

The end of Over the Garden Wall was playing. The characters were talking about something when Virgil spiralled back into the memories.

"DAD!" Virgil burst into the room, running to cradle his child in his arms, "Baby, what happend? Are you hurt?" small sniffles left the eight year olds lips "I dr- dreamt th-that you left m-me!" Virgil felt his heart clench. "I will never ever leave you, my little one" Crystal coated over the childs eyes, "Promise?" "I promise with all my heart"-

Virgil fell asleep with a heavy heart, knowing that he broke his promise to his baby.

The next morning was slightly better, not by much though. They ate breakfast together. Then, they returned to their rooms.

Virgil grabbed the third letter as soon as he walked into the room. The pale yellow cover wrinkling in his tight hold. He carefully broke the purple wax.

Hey Vee,

I'm scared. Wrath keeps banging on doors and I think I heard a window break. Apathy keeps trying to calm him down but it isn't working. Depression just left. I honestly don't know where he went.

This is why I need to get rid of the darks. I heard them talking about taking over the mind and I just can't let that happen Vee. What kind of self preservation would I be if I just let them destroy Thomas? A shitty one.

Thats why I made a poison. Its made from my own venom and it is lethal with less then a drop. I'm going to put the whole vial inside of the wine at the party in a few days. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't really plan what I write here. I kinda just write.

I really want a hug right now. I think I'll vist today or tomorrow. If I can get passed the others that is. If they find out where I'm going I might not get the chance to poison the wine.

~Jan

Virgil could tell that the writing was frantic. Some words slurrrd and squished together. Janus did come over to the mind that day.

A small hesitant knock hit Virgil's door. When he opened it, there standing was Janus, he looked up at him, "Can... can I have a hug Vee?" Virgil felt a small blossom of hope in his chest, "Of course, my little baby snake."

That blossom of hope died when he found his child's body. Cold and pale. He cried over the memory and over the letter.

The soft sound of jazz coming from Logan's room.

The next day, he grabbed the last letter. Hands shaking heavily, he broke the white seal holding the black envelope closed. When opened, a picture fell out.

Hi Dad,

I'm almost out of purple ink. Most of it got dried out after I forgot to out the cap back on. I'm sorry dad.

I'm sorry that I took your love for granted. I never accepted it as enough. Even when you did your damnedest to protect me and anyway you could. I used to be mad and upset and wanting to cry at every memory but now I wish I enjoyed those moments longer.

Thank you for indulging my strawberry habit. Thank you for holding me late at night. Thank you for introducing me to reading. Thank you for all the memories and hugs. Thank you for everything Dad.

None of this is your fault. You were the best father I could've asked for.

I love you

~Your Baby Snake

The picture was of him and Janus when the yellow side was nothing but a toddler. Bright golden ringlets sticking out in every direction. On the back was written

"To the best Father, Thank you"

Virgil's tears were interrupted by loud screams from Logans room.

They all bolted to comfort the blue side. Virgil's eyes drifted down to the his letter.

I love you

Virgil couldn't help the thought of his baby in a suit. Attempting to tame his blond curls while walking down the isle. His baby fell in love.

And he'll never get to experience the rest of it.

His tears only fell faster.

-------

Hahahaha

i almost cried tears, i held them in barely. fam were in the room. how dare you stab my heart like this?? i am wounded. (tho seriously, this is absoulutely amazing and i friggin love it to bits!)

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charlottemadison42 · 4 years ago

Text

Timepiece

A new short story on AO3, 2.3k words, rated G, dedicated to the very dear @musegnome!

----

Crowley got a new watch at least once a year.

He liked them sharp and cutting-edge, bespoke and exclusive and expensive. By the time anyone else heard of the craftsman or the brand, he was ready to cast it off and find something better. From the first decorative clunkers of the early 1500's to the quartz revolution, he was always up to speed on the best of the best. Connoisseurs in Geneva and Tokyo and Dubai kept a lookout on his behalf these days. When they called, doubtless raving about a new mechanism or a new maker, he always picked up.

He didn't think about why he liked watches. If anyone had ever asked Crowley (nobody did) he'd have shrugged. His corvid instinct to collect shiny status markers was reason enough.

(And if every skip of the second hand offered proof of his progress away from the fourteenth century -- one step farther from Golgotha, farther from the flood, farther from the Fall -- that thought was seldom admitted entry to the fortress of his mind. Crowley looked forward, not back.)

Aziraphale had owned a total of four watches in his life thus far.

He liked the kind of timepiece that required winding by hand, with a little key, although he often forgot to. Luckily when he needed to know the exact time, his watch obliged him anyway.

It was conceivable that Aziraphale enjoyed the sensation of suddenly remembering, "Oh! I forgot to wind my pocketwatch!" because he delighted in having some small duty to do, a simple task at which he could not fail, a way he could help the world tick along.

For -- what was a mechanical pocketwatch, if not an elegant dynamic sculpture of the universe as humans experienced it? Aziraphale waxed philosophical about such things in the comfort of his favorite reading chair, while he smoothed the shiny etched surface with his thumb til he knew every groove. He meditated often and fondly about his watch as a Metaphor for Things.

(But the angel never asked where it might be leading him. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at history with a loving melancholy sigh, watchfully guarding over the sum of human experience. But he did not look ahead. He hated endings.)

+++

Warlock Dowling went through an especially rambunctious phase at age six. He was old enough that his parents' neglect was starting to emerge from the background of his young reality into a Phenomenon that he Noticed. And the more Warlock Noticed it, the more he Did Not Like it, and he took it out on everyone within reach.

Nanny Ashtoreth's attempts to dress him resulted in arching and kicking and flailing fists. Brother Francis's nature walks ended with tantrums in the dirt. Warlock began to enjoy ruining things when he learned that he could: tearing up his own drawings, ripping leaves off the tulips and ferns, pouring grape juice on white linens, breaking toys. It made him feel powerful.

"Hell could learn a thing or two from this one," Crowley muttered.

"I expect they're going to, since he'll be running the show if we fail to do something about this," Aziraphale snapped in reply.

Neither angel nor demon had been prepared for the inexhaustible physical frenzy of an outraged six-year-old Antichrist.

But when Warlock finally smashed Aziraphale's pocketwatch on a paving stone in a fit of rage, the poor child broke through something else, too.

Warlock stared at the pieces of glass and the crushed face on the ground, at the minute hand all bent out of shape. He looked up at Brother Francis. He looked at Nanny, running across the lawn toward them.

And he started bawling. ...

[Click through to read more or finish on AO3]

Warlock knew that watch was special. He knew it was very old and delicate. In fact, the watch was the reason he'd learned the definitions of "fragile" and "breakable" and "irreplaceable." Once he had command of those words, he'd been allowed to hold it while seated on Brother Francis's lap. He'd even learned how to wind it, awestruck by the action and the shine. He always included the watch when he drew pictures of Brother Francis, attached by a chain of lumpy circles to the pocket of his baggy trousers.

Now the fragile breakable irreplaceable thing lay in pieces on the garden path.

Aziraphale was terrible at hiding his feelings. He was shocked and saddened, and it showed all over his face, though he did his best to suppress it. Every time Warlock looked up at him, the child cried harder.

Aziraphale was rapidly realizing that if he miracled his watch back together, even discreetly, Warlock was old enough that he would notice its reappearance. Warlock noticed everything. So the watch would have to stay at home, unworn, for several years at least -- perhaps until the end of the world. It had survived the Blitz, the trenches, the Seven Years' War, the Crimean War, and a number of unfortunate dining mishaps (though it was perhaps helped along by a few frivolous miracles). Aziraphale had not gone without it since he purchased it from the watchmaker himself back in 1689, in a dim workshop on the outskirts of Zürich. The angel felt some epoch ending. Endings made him sad. Especially these days, when they reminded him of The End.

But Crowley was there; of course Crowley was there. She scooped Warlock up in her arms even though he was getting big for that. She held him tight as he sobbed.

"Here's a how-de-do," she groaned, assessing the situation.

Aziraphale had been crouched over the ruined watch for so long now that his knees were stiff. He stood up and sighed heavily. "I suppose it's...it's only a watch," he said, dispirited. "I shouldn't grow so attached to worldly goods. ...And it's an opportunity to teach compassion, model forgiveness, and discuss respect for others' things, as well." He was letting the accent slip in his sadness, but Warlock was as far from paying attention as he could be.

"He's six! He can't track all that!" huffed Crowley.

"Well he's certainly tracking the bit about crushing the world under his heel!"

"Nnnnnrrrrrrgh," Crowley snarled in frustration. She was caught between her mandate to teach Warlock to be fantastically evil and her fear that succeeding would bring about the end of the world.

In the end, though, Warlock surprised them both by doing something entirely human, entirely his own. He cried himself out for several minutes on the lawn, and once he could speak again, he asked Aziraphale:

"Brother Francis, why did I do that?"

Then he looked to his Nanny, silently repeating the question to her with his bleary eyes.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at one another, blinking.

"Um," said Crowley.

"...Why d'you think ye did, me lad?" asked Aziraphale, retreating from his hurt feelings into his ridiculous bucktoothed persona.

Warlock sniffed. "I don't know. I din't think it would feel like that." He squatted and poked the exposed paper of the clock face.

Crowley knelt down next to him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked.

"No."

"So what do you think you should do now?"

"Nnnno!"

"That's not even...nngh." Crowley looked helplessly to the angel. But they were both at a loss.

"Can we go inside?" Warlock finally pleaded.

And so they did. As Nanny and Warlock walked away, Crowley restored the pocketwatch with a snap of her fingers without even looking back. It was good as new once again.

But Aziraphale knew that its time had come. He picked it up, enjoying the way it fit just so in his palm -- the comfort of a handful of crystallized time -- and then he clicked it shut and sent it back home to the bookshop, where it would have to stay for now.

That evening, just before supper, Warlock showed up on the porch of the greenhouse with Nanny in tow. His little face was wrinkled up in concern and contrition and other Very Grown-Up Feelings as he presented Brother Francis with a card. It featured a colored pencil drawing of all three of them holding hands, and yellow triangles on the ground to represent the afternoon's event. The unsteady lettering inside read "soRRY for yuor wAtch From wARLock."

"I made you this," said Warlock, and he handed over the most awkward little handcrafted project. It was roughly disc-shaped, and it featured play-doh, pipe cleaners, and glitter glue. The face was sharpied directly onto the half-dried crumbling clay, and the chain was made of taped rings of construction paper.

It plucked every heartstring the angel had. He melted on the spot.

Crowley rolled her eyes as Aziraphale poured out fond words of thanks for his new watch and forgiveness for the old one, embracing Warlock between tearful phrases. But Crowley also had her least cruel smirk on, the one that was very nearly affectionate.

Before they left, Crowley also noted in a low voice that there had been no more trouble with kicking and screaming and tearing up houseplants today. Warlock had been upset twice, but had managed to calm himself down without help both times.

After she took Warlock away, Aziraphale tried to miracle protection over his new handmade treasure so that the play-doh wouldn't crumble and the paper wouldn't crush -- only to find that Crowley had already done so.

+++

Two nights later, on a crosstown bus bound for Soho, Aziraphale noticed that the lanky redheaded passenger in front of him happened to leave behind a small shopping bag when he disembarked. Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and slipped into the empty seat to take a closer look. Inside was a wooden box wrapped in plain black paper. It was marked "AZ" in black ink that was only detectable by its slightly more reflective shine.

Aziraphale opened it right there, and of course, of course it was a new pocketwatch. From Crowley. Crowley knew watches. And Crowley knew Aziraphale.

It was hard to date this one exactly, but he estimated the 1820's, and English-made; it was thin and modern and elegant, much lighter than the other. It was in excellent condition, although pleasantly worn with time. He spent the rest of the bus ride home admiring it, listening to it, growing familiar with the new face, wondering who it might have belonged to before. When he reached his stop, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket meant for the purpose, and he felt like a new angel.

Gifts. How strange. A gift from Warlock, and a gift from Crowley. Gifts of time, restored.

Perhaps there was still time enough before the end of the world. Perhaps there might be time, after.

Aziraphale set the new pocketwatch down on his desk back at the bookshop, right next to his old favorite of several hundred years and his handcrafted masterpiece from Warlock. He had never thought to own more than one pocketwatch at a time. Now he had three.

He picked up the telephone to call the responsible party and offer sincerest thanks, but after some dithering, he decided not to. Crowley hated thanks. Crowley could even be endangered by thanks, if the two of them weren't careful.

Perhaps, instead, Brother Francis could show the new timepiece to Warlock and Nanny in the morning. He could explain how precious this watch was, since it was a gift from a friend. He could say that breaking something irreplaceable was sad, but it was not the end, not as long as the world spun on. He could talk about the way new things follow old ones -- and though the new things might be different, they could be lovely too. New things were worth holding out hope for, and worth learning to treasure, given time.

And after explaining all of that to Warlock, he could give Crowley a wink.

Which would communicate his thanks for the gift far better than any phone call.

+++

Over the next few years, Crowley found himself browsing for new wristwatches more and more often in his spare time. He bought them at a faster clip, too -- three in the year Warlock turned seven, six the year after that. Each was sturdier than the last, made to withstand impacts and temperatures and pressure that no watch was likely to encounter in the wild. But Crowley could feel the world running down, he could see the future he looked forward to contracting into nothing, and he burned with protective instincts as everything in him rebelled.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale spent more and more time with his books, especially history and memoirs. As he looked back over the story of humanity that he loved, the story he'd spent so much time recording and remembering, he felt it all spinning up to something awful indeed: The End. When Warlock turned nine, Aziraphale turned to his books of prophecy, feeling no small amount of distress. Looking ahead was painful for him, especially now. The future was unsafe, it was wild, it was ineffable, and unfortunately it looked to be very very short. Aziraphale did not forget to wind his pocketwatch anymore. It was a tool now more than a treasure, as The End drew near. It seemed important to remember what time it was, these days.

+++

As it happened, Aziraphale almost didn't notice when his fourth watch joined the collection.

In his defense, it was rather a busy day.

And since the new pocketwatch was identical to the one that Crowley had given him, down to the last molecule, it was unsurprising that making the connection took the angel a little time.

But some weeks after the End of All Things didn’t quite, Aziraphale realized that the watch in his waistcoat pocket was a gift as well. And this time it wasn't from Crowley.

When the thought occurred to him, sitting in his favorite chair in his restored bookshop, Aziraphale gasped faintly and set aside his well-worn copy of Now We Are Six. He had been revisiting children's literature lately for some reason. The Just William books had set him on a roll.

"Crowley, dear," he said.

"Nnnnghm?" Crowley hummed from the couch, where he sprawled limbless and relaxed as a squashed spider might if it were sort of into being squashed.

"We really ought to go and visit Tadfield sometime soon, don't you think?"

"Ngk."

"I have a great deal to thank Adam for, after all. And we should check in on everyone."

"Mmf."

Aziraphale palmed the fourth watch he had ever owned and ran his thumb over the back. "Do you think a wristwatch would be an appropriate belated birthday gift for someone Adam's age?" he asked absently.

Crowley windmilled himself up off the couch and sauntered over to give Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. "Hell if I know. Prob'ly. Maybe. More tea?"

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Thank you, darling. Ever so."

#good omens #promptposal #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #ao3 #crowley's ridiculous deep sea diving watch was one of many #warlock #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #good omens anniversary

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

Study Sessions

Calum’s always wanted to go back to school and it’s the first midterm that makes him realize just how long it’s been since he’s been in a class. Thankfully, Noa’s nice, albeit a little too organized, and more than happy to help.

Who asked for a 21 page long fic about Calum, Valentine’s Day, smut, and poetry? Bc I got one hot off the presses.

There is 18+ content in this fic. Please, no one under the age of 18 interacting or reading. Thank you!

You can support me on ko-fi. I’m saving up for graduate school.

____________________________________

Noa really wants to kick herself. She always left her pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack. Everything had a system; everything had a place with Noa. The placement of the full-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room, the cleaning supplies, the rotation of who cleaned what, making sure her books were always in the same spot, and always, always putting the pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack was important to Noa. She was sure it drove her roommate up the wall in their dorm room. But Brooklyn, Noa’s roommate, could be just as anal retentive about the trash and boxes from their addictive online shopping, and keeping the room free other people past 11 pm. Their crazies matched. So things worked out well.

Maybe Noa was panicking a little too much about a pencil pouch. That didn’t really matter though. Her system was out of whack and she would have to backtrack to the science building on the other side of campus before making a loop and going to the library after class. Her printer refused to print properly and while it was annoying having to go to the library at the end of the day to type up and print out her notes to study later, it made catching group dinner with her friends easier on Thursday’s because she didn’t leave the west side of campus to go to her dorm. This did, however, mean that when Noa was going to get a lot more steps in today. Not bad, but not ideal.

This also means that she’s going to have to use a laptop. She hated using her laptop because it meant she’d have to rewrite her notes so there were no gaps in her notebook. Noa could see that it was a very contrived system--at the end of the day, all she needed were the notes. That’s it. But it mattered to the deep recesses of her mind. It had to flow from handwritten notes to her laptop, no matter how she had to backtrack

“Here, I have an extra.”

Noa blinks at the hushed voice. A black pen slides in next to her open notebook. The hand is tan and tattooed. She knows those initials anywhere. Calum. She smiles and looks up to him, even if the shadows cover his face thanks to the bucket hat. It’s a staple she’s noticed over the course of the semester. “Thanks. Promise I won’t steal it,” Noa grins.

Calum exhales his laughter. “I’d be a little upset but they are really good pens to write with. So I’d understand.”

“I’m a woman of my word, though. So you won’t have to chase me down.” Noa dates the top right corner of her blank page and then pulls out her book. She hates the book. She wasn’t able to get a copy to rent and had to kick out 50 bucks for the anthology for class, one she never really use again either.

Calum gives a hum in response, his own pen twirling around his fingers. The professor, a man in his late sixties at the youngest, with thinning white hair and thick circular glasses walks in through the doors. There’s still five minutes before class starts and the chatter amongst students quiets just a little but doesn’t stop. Calum looks to her notebook, the way she’s written the poet’s name at the top of the page, her handwriting is tight together with a lot of width for each letter. It’s pretty with a little mess to it.

He’s noticed that she normally uses purple ink for her notes and part of him feels bad for not having a purple pen for her. “Sorry it’s not a purple pen,” Calum states turning to face her.

How the hell did Calum notice that? Sure she had a color for every class she took each semester. But surely no one else would’ve noticed that. It had only been three weeks of the semester. No one could’ve known that besides her group of friends and her roommate. “No, no, it’s okay. I forgot my pencil pouch in my last class so you really saved me from having to use my laptop.”

“Don’t like it?”

Noa shakes her head, feeling some of her Senegalese twists falling from the bun she put it up into on her walk across campus. Though this part of campus was walkable the heat of summer was dry and it took no prisoners some days. “I remember everything better if I write it down in my own words instead of just typing everything down the professor says. It’s like I’m not learning anything.”

He gives another nod. Though Calum studied for his high school diploma on some late nights, on tour buses, hell even in the studio, he liked sitting in class. He liked processing things and attempting to get the right words together to understand the core of things. He liked the sense of normalcy. It was nice to be learning not just from a textbook but from everyone else in the room. Sure this is just a poetry class, and sure he hadn’t really known what to expect with a title like “Modern Poetry from 1920” but he was straddled in and was surely going to see until the very end.

Before Calum can respond, the professor clears their throat. He fishes his book out of his bag too and flips to the poems that he read the night before. “Hope everyone’s having a great day,” the professor starts. Even from the fifth row of the tiny room, Calum notices the shakes in the older man’s hands. The room is full of three to four gray rectangular tables pushed together to create rows. They sit two at each table comfortably. Each row sits about forty students comfortably.

“A quick reminder, your first midterm is next week. All the poets we’ve discussed including today’s poet is going to be material that I will pull questions from. I’ll be providing the excerpts if a question calls for it. I’m saving about ten minutes at the end of class for us to discuss it more in-depth.”

With a quick dab to the corners of his mouth, he finds a volunteer to read the first poem up for discussion. Once the first reading is concluded, the professor looks around for another person to read. Noa lifts her gaze and she locks eyes with the professor. A fucking rookie mistake. Something she knew better of in her eighteen years of being in school. But here she is making it. They smile at her and point at her. “Miss Noa, right? Why don’t you read for us?”

With a nervous habit of biting her pens, Noa puts Calum’s pen down and picks at her nails underneath the table. She nods and lets her eyes drift down to the page. “When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s/ edge, unseen, the salt ocean/lifts its form.” Her voice is a little shaky and though William Carlos Williams's poem is short, she becomes more confident by the end.

Calum watches her reading more than he listens. In the three weeks classes have started, she’s never read. Neither has he. But it’s already a little awkward to walk around campus, being in a classroom isn’t too bad but it’s a confined space. He knows people are looking. He knows that they know who he is. He does what he can do just blend in and even hide. He likes listening to her reading. Her insights in class have always kind of blown Calum away too, now that he thinks about it.

As discussion opens up, Calum finds himself taking fewer notes than usual and waiting for Noa to speak again. She doesn’t say much about the first poem but the second about the death of a cat she cuts in to make reference to Robert Frost’s poem. “I know there’s a literal connection of fire and ice in each poem but there’s death in both pieces too. Frost and Williams’ are on opposite ends of the same spectrum in a way. Williams is talking about fleas that couldn’t escape death and Frost mentions that nature is powerful that if it doesn’t take you with the sweeping fire then it will swallow you up with water. Williams's titled his piece, ‘Complete Destruction,’ and he details the destruction of a pet, of maybe even memories. While Frost is more metaphorical with some religious undertones too about the destruction of society and earth.”

Calum grins a little, watching the way she shrugs at the end of her thought. As much as if she weren’t so sure of herself. When she glances over to him, he nods at her, writing down a condensed version of her thought. The class goes on and the professor ends early like they stated. There are a few questions about the style of the midterm but not too many about the content. So the professor pulls up a small canvas bag. “Before you leave, feel free to grab a piece of candy. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you guys may or may not still have classes after this. So I hope it helps your day just a little. I have chocolate and non-chocolate options.”

He upturns the bag gently, shaking the wrapped candies onto the table next to the podium. Laptops are shut, people get up to venture to the candy. Noa slides the black pen across the gray table to Calum. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Without much thinking, in the shuffle of packing up belongings, Noa lets what she intends to be just a thought fall over her lips. “I haven’t had a Valentine’s in so long, candy from a professor feels special,” she jokes.

Calum laughs a little, pocketing the pens and stands. “What’s your poison?”

Noa looks up at him, the cut of his jaw and the soft smile on his lips, puffing out his cheeks. “I’m a dark chocolate fan. But anything chocolate is fine.”

He nods and shuffles, backpack thrown up over one shoulder. Calum gets to the table and picks up what he estimates to be the two biggest Hershey's kisses on the table. He picks up one for himself too. Noa finally gets her backpack zipped and she slides out from between the tables. Calum drops the kisses into her hands when she pauses at the door to the classroom. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart shouldn’t flutter like it does when Calum smiles at her. She pulls the twists down and slips the silk tie around her wrist. “I’m sure you’ve got someone to get too. But thanks, though.”

Calum pushes open the door to the English building and holds it open for her. “See that’s where you might be a little wrong on your analysis.”

Noa scuffs, attempting to bite back the smile. The kiss doesn’t last long before she’s biting into the candy. She shakes her head. The joke is cheesy but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t like it. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

They pause at the end of the pathway that leads up to the building. Students are carrying on around them, to and fro they scuttle across the asphalt and brick. “Do you have another class after this?” Calum asks.

“No, it’s my last one of the day.”

“Since we’re both lonely on Valentine’s Day, do you mind if we study together? For the midterm? It would really seal our fates.”

Noa nods. Who is she to say no to Calum Hood? She could say no of course and it’s as the breeze kicks up another heavy and slightly stale pocket of hot air that she’s reminded of her misplaced pencil pouch. “Shit, I have to go to the science building. I left my pencil pouch there. I have no clue if there’s another class in there and like I need that.”

“I-I can walk with you. If you’d like. I don’t get to see much of the campus.” Calum keeps his schedule to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He’s here from about eleven to four most days and then he heads back home. Hanging around campus would only serve to get Calum caught but he knows it might be awkward to offer his place to study.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of far and I’m not a slow walker.”

Readjusting his hold on his strap, Calum nods. “Lead the way.”

Noa ties her hair back. “Less scenic route to get there. More scenic route on the way back.” When she steps, it’s more like a run. Noa cuts straight across, over the grass and dodging the bushes. Calum wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her power walking like his mother when they go to the grocery store wasn’t it. He keeps up though, regrettably passing by the dogs playing fetch without cooing at them.

They cut behind buildings. A less-traveled path Calum can tell but it’s well known amongst though that have to use it to get to and from classes. He watches the others power walking past him and he’s glad he was able to keep most of his classes in buildings close together. Though parking was terrible and required him parking sometimes a block away, it was better than this walk, especially on the short time they had between classes.

His thighs start to burn just a little when they reach the towering brick building. It looks almost like every other building on campus, minus the sign hammered into the ground--it’s the only thing that denotes its uniqueness. Noa takes the front stairs two at a time. “Holy shit, how do you do this every other day and still live?” he huffs once they enter. The lights are bright against the sterile white tiles and marble. Another marker, he notes, the older buildings on campus have dimmer light, less white. This has a more modern feel to it.

“I don’t. I die about three minutes into the walk.”

He’s laughter leaves him in bursts, as he attempts to get his breathing back. Thankfully she stays on the first floor. Any more stairs and Calum’s sure he would’ve just opted to wait at the doors for her. The room she stops at does have some students piling in but she doesn’t stop for too long. When Noa ducks her head inside, she notices her pencil pouch sitting on a folding chair at the back of the lecture hall. Not where she left it. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to go sifting through some three hundred seats in the classroom.

She’s quick to grab it. She can feel the eyes of the other students looking at her. Because she doesn’t raise a ruckus, the stares don’t last long and she closes the door quietly behind her. “You all good?” Calum asks.

She holds the black pouch with roses up and grins. “All good. I just hope I didn’t kill you with that trek.”

He watches her slip into the front pocket. “I mean, I died about two minutes into it. But I’m okay now.”

Noa sucks on her teeth, a tsk falling over her lips. “Gotta keep at it. You’ll be a pro at it in no time. Is the library cool? Doubling seal our fates?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The walk back is less intense. They take the asphalt paths and go the long way around in front of buildings. They stop for a moment to just watch the dogs running on the green. They loop back around to the English building and continue on down past it. “So are you getting a degree or auditing classes?” Noa asks.

“Auditing. I thought about going back full time but it works better for me to just audit them. The whole getting grading thing still kind of gets to me.” Calum likes to fulfill his curiosity. He just didn’t want the fear of failing to hinder him. And while he had loaded his schedule at nine credits, which was only three classes, it was more than enough. He was tempted to drop one of his classes and though Calum wasn’t super fond of the intro to psychology class, he wanted to tough it out. Prove to himself that he didn’t have to avoid the obstacle but could instead tackle it head-on.

Noa gives a hum. “Gives you time to still work on music?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t shocked that she knows. He is glad though that she doesn’t treat him differently. That she hasn’t made a huge deal of his fame. He wishes he could cloak that, at least here at school. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I was Community Health Sciences. I switched to Public Affairs last year. So I have another semester tacked.”

The trek to the library feels somehow too short and too long at the same time. Calum’s sure it’s his thighs still angry at the stairs to get inside the science building. He learns she has an older brother and that’s she the first one in her family to go to college. She worries about the extra semester and the finances but her parents have encouraged her to keep going. Noa finds out that Calum has a dog and if he had to pick something to study it would probably be in English. He could see himself in Religious Studies. Calum’s not sure though and he’s glad he doesn’t have to be sure. He can just take whatever for the moment.

Inside the library, Noa goes to make a beeline for the open computers and then stops. “We can book a study room? I’m not sure if you just want to be, like out in the open?”

Calum looks around. It’s nearing about 5 in the evening. No one is really in the library. Most people have plans. There’s no reason to sit inside the library on Valentine’s Day when one can drink in sorrows or be out celebrating. “Whichever you prefer.”

“Let’s just get a room. I doubt anyone’s going to be hanging out here on a day like this. But I doubt you’ll be back here at all. So why not go for the full experience? The only thing you're missing is final’s week and hunkering down in a study room where you pull an all-nighter and show up to your class in your pj’s and with your pillow in your backpack.”

He doesn’t want to believe that actually happens. But she says it so matter of factly. “You’re kidding right?”

“I am speaking from experience.” She walks one of the open computers and pulls out her laptop. She logs into both of them and then pulls up the scheduling system for the various study rooms located throughout the library. “We can only technically schedule in thirty-minute blocks for up to two hours. But there’s a trick around that.”

Calum logs in as he’s instructed to do on her laptop and they agree on a room. She books it, for every hour and when the blocks show up gray for Calum on his refresh, he goes in and books it for every half hour so that they have the room from 5 to 8. “So the library has pretty strict rules about noise. Generally, the higher the level you are the quieter you have to be. The second floor is as far as I go. You can talk inside the study rooms but nothing super chatty unlike the ground floor,” Noa explains on their ascent. “I have my notes from the other classes printed out. And I was going to type up the notes from today before working on a study guide. How does that sound?”

“Anything sounds good right about now because I literally have no clue how I’m supposed to study for this at all.”

Noa grins, cracking open the door to their room. It’s tucked towards the back of the floor, in a corner. It’s behind the bathrooms and not too far from the stairs so it’s not hard to navigate to and from for bathroom or snacks located in the vending machines on the first floor. “Trust me that’s my entire college experience. You kind of figure out what works best for you as you go along.”

The room isn’t big by any means. The white table sits in the middle of it with two trash cans near the door and a whiteboard that holds the left behind lettering of study sessions past is the complete setup, not including the four chairs pushed into the conference length table. Noa drops her bag into a chair and finds her pencil pouch, she pulls out a couple dry erase markers and an eraser in a plastic bag.

“Do you want to write down the different poets we’ve studied on the board? Start there at the very least.”

Calum, putting his bag down in the free chair, nods. It’s when he glances down at his phone just to check the time that he worries for a moment that he should get home to Duke but after shooting a quick text to his roommate he confirms that someone is there to take him out and feed him. Noa opens up her laptop, notebook and pulls the textbook out too from the depths of her backpack.

Calum’s handwriting is mostly uppercase and narrow. But it’s mostly neat. The markers thankfully don’t squeak on the board. He draws columns for each poet, thinking that will at least help contain the guaranteed mess of ideas during this window. He even goes a step further and creates squares for each poem, scribbling down the titles into corners

The room’s not even that hot, while Calum browsing through his notes. Noa’s been typing for a while since he finished setting up the drawing board. But suddenly from the walk around his jacket is too warm. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it but out of some sort of habit, out of routine, Calum snagged the extra layer and now he was regretting it. It’s like his body finally caught up and he slips out of it.

“I thought we were studying, not getting a show,” Noa teases. The thought slips through her lips with a grin. She’ll admit that she does find Calum attractive. Most times he didn’t really flaunt his body or even his status in class and that made him even more attractive. But she didn’t think she’d ever have a shot. She didn’t really think she had one now all things considered but he was the one that asked her for help. But he had started it and she was just going to see if it would continue.

Calum feels the heat immediately flooding his cheeks. “It’s just warm, is all.”

“Kidding, sorry.” Her gaze flicks up from her screen. Her fingers are still going, the taps echoing amongst the silence of their room.

Calum recognizes that gaze, the smirk that tells him she is joking, but she is also not joking if he’s willing to take that step. Calum goes back to his laptop, he’s on nothing right now just staring at a blank google doc. But he makes the initiative to break the tension and ask her what her school email was. “We can just use a Google doc to make things easier.”

As she rattles it off, Calum adds her. Maybe Noa completely misread this. Maybe he really only wanted to help to study. It definitely was a hit to her pride. She almost felt like a deflated balloon as she typed down the last bullet point in her notes. “I’m going to print these out. I’ll be right back.”

Calum nods, watching her leave with her laptop in hand. His brows knit together. She sounded hurt and Calum feels like he could absolutely kick himself. Of course, he found Noa attractive. He would’ve made a move and even though he wasn’t technically getting a grade for this midterm he wanted to at least feel confident going into. God, he was an idiot. Even after all the partying, and all the girls before, Calum still finds a way to fuck something up--even innocent flirty.

Standing at the printer, Noa exhales. Just a hit to her pride, a hard hit too. But she wouldn’t chicken out. That’s for sure. She’d march back up there and she’d see this study session through. She could do that much. Maybe she could convince the girl to her left to switch seats come Monday. That way at the very least she wouldn’t feel awful going to class. She couldn’t drop the class now--not without a Withdraw showing up on her record. Professors weren’t too keen on adding students this late into the semester. Withdrawing, would thankfully, not hurt her graduation credit hours.

She almost wants to laugh. Just because some guy rejected her does not mean she had to drop a class. All she had to do was keep a level head about all of this. Even though asking to switch seats would be blasphemous, she still enjoyed the class. It was one of the few classes she could take each semester that were just for fun. She would not give that up just because Calum turned her down. As the last of the pages spits out from the printer, she grabs her stack. All she has to do is go over the notes. They don’t even have to stay in the room until 8.

The stairwell is stuffy as she ascends back to the second floor. She’s always hated them in the summer, the way the air clung to the sweat and humidity of the temperatures outside. Noa wasn’t sure who designed it but it was only ever the library stairs that felt so awful in the summer and even the early fall. She can see Calum with his head in his hands from the glass walls that separate open library from the study room. For half a second, she wonders if something is wrong--like with his dog. If that were the case, he could’ve just left.

“You alright?” she asks opening the door.

Calum, not even hearing the door, pops his head up. His heart thunders in his chest. He was wallowing in his own misery a little too deeply. “Yeah-yeah, I’m good.”

With a nod, Noa pulls at the silk tie around her twist and stares up at the quadrants on the whiteboard. “So the best place to start studying is just as the beginning of the coursework. Lame I know. But professors usually start there for a reason.”

There goes his window. Gone all within two minutes to print notes. He nods and flips to the starting poet. “So we have Frost,” Calum starts, the blue dry erase marker semi firmly gripped between his fingers.

“Start with basics. The year he was born, maybe what his life was like, his most famous works.”

Calum spins his chair to face the whiteboard, attempting to recall some of the biography from memory. It’s when the lulls hit that Noa steps in. He hears the table creak but he doesn’t turn. He can almost feel her leaning into it. He can see just how the tops of her exposed thighs, not dared to be hidden by her denim shorts, would squeeze and smush against the end of the table. The weather is still warm. It’s still perfect weather for shorts and skirts.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand though, listening to Noa speak behind him. “I’ve had this professor before. He’s a kind of lenient grader. But he wants to make sure you can back your shit up with context from the poem. You can’t say someone’s trying to talk about rainbows in their poem when they’re clearly allusions to chickens.”

Calum snorts at her point but nods. “Understood. Now this is going to sound dumb--”

Noa’s quick to cut him off. “No such thing as dumb questions.”

Calum turns, seeing her leaning on her hands on the table. One knee is resting on the chair she once sat. Her gaze is stuck on the whiteboard. For a brief second, Calum lets his gaze fall. The jade green of her top nestled against her dark skin and the way her breasts are almost threatening to spill over the flimsy material almost makes Calum forget his question. She was not wearing that before. She wore a white shirt, tied in the front. There was something green underneath it--he knows that. He clears his throat. “I assume you don’t mean illusions like magic tricks and I’m a little confused.”

Noa finally brings her gaze back down, pushing back upright realizing the position she’s in. “Allusions, they’re like indirect references. So you’re talking about a thing without actually stating what it is.” She picks up a different colored marker and writes the word down in the corner of the whiteboard not holding any information.

Calum watches the way her undershirt rises a little as she stretches up to write but flicks his gaze to the floor. “Think he’ll ask about those on the midterm?”

“He could,” she says and then leans against the table again. Calum stands. She’s too close and he’s at a bad angle to keep his focus on the material at hand.

Facing the spread of her notes, their laptops, and textbooks, Calum looks out over the sea without really seeing any of the details. He wants to make a move that shows he’s interested without it being too subtle or too brazen. Resting his weight onto his palms, he shakes the thought from his head. It’s probably too late now. “So, like, for example, a question could be what are allusions in whatever poem of his choice?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably ask something more like compare and contrast.” Calum nods. He definitely feels a bit better about going into this exam than he did before. But he still feels like an idiot with Noa.

Noa turns her head just a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see the bucket hat still on his head and the way his face is almost entirely hidden. She knows though. She knows the cut of his jaw and the way his lips are a little chapped but mostly plump. As she stares at him, she does feel the urge to apologize. At least just to let him know that she didn’t mean to cross any lines and that she hopes there are no hard feelings. She can feel her heart thumping in her throat as she gently rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about earlier,” she whispers. His head never raises and she drops her touch before going back to the whiteboard. “That was a poor taste joke.”

Calum’s breath hitches. It catches right on his inhale and he nearly chokes on it. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice is soft, so much so that she barely catches it before turning to grab her phone to take a picture of their notes on the board.

“What?” She’s not believing her own ears. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought--I was sure I had crossed a line.”

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable.” His gaze is soft when it lands on her. Her brows are pulled together and he has to stop his hand from raising to smooth them over with his thumb. He feels the twitch, the pull to take her hand and he lets himself to that. Just gently brushing his fingers over her hand pressed into the table next to his.

“But-what?” She could’ve sworn the way he diverted the topic was a sign that she was pressing her luck.

“Really, I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.”

Noa shakes her head, the twist slipping over her shoulder a little. “I know I’m not a math major but this isn’t adding up.”

Calum really can’t tear his gaze away from her lips. They glisten a little, dark brown and a hint of pink from the saliva on her tongue as she licks them. It’s really lame, he thinks, that he’s this hesitant to make a move on her. But she hasn’t pulled away from him just yet so that must mean something. Maybe he could show her what he meant. “Is-Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Fuck. Oh fuck. Noa nods, she’s sure her eyes are blown wide. She’s not sure however that she’s breathing properly until the whisper of “Yes” falls from her lips. They inch closer together. Like stuttering traffic that stops and starts and soon there’s no more space to be hesitant. Their lips brush, slightly parted too. He can smell the chocolate she had earlier and it’s so sweet in his nose. Before the first kiss truly ends Calum reaches for her waist, turning her into him. He leans into the table, his back facing the door, and she leans into him.

Her arms loop around his neck, nails trailing at the edge of his t-shirt and his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine when her nails scratch at his skin. Calum encases her waist with his arms, pulling her into him. Her kiss tastes like the Hershey kiss and her skin is so soft beneath his fingers. When he breathes in, his nostrils are lined with the smell of coconut. An intoxicating scent if he’s going to associate it with her at all.

The sounds of their kisses, lips meeting and pulling apart before meeting again echo slightly around the room. She reaches up, pulling away from his lips just a little. Calum stretches out for her though, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She laughs, mostly from her chest before she gives in and recaptures his lips.

His cologne isn’t too strong. It’s got a hint of musky to it with some more floral overtones and Noa thinks she has to figure out the exact scent because she would love to just bathe in it. She doesn’t stop her previous movements though and pulls the hat up. Calum ducks his face into her shoulder and chest.

She didn’t expect a buzz cut but it looks good and she runs her hands over the back of his head. “Can’t kiss you if your face is buried in my shoulder.”

“But I can kiss you,” he counters, gently capturing the juncture of her neck and shoulder between his lips. The touch is so feather-light, almost as if her skin were made of glass. But it makes her hot and her heart strums steadily in her chest. It’s almost sad how the softest touch is turning her own. She’s glad for the moment Calum can’t see what effect this is having on her. It’s shameful how wet her underwear is.

Noa lets her head go as Calum kisses across her throat too, his tongue trails after the places his lips have touched first. Her hair brushes over Calum’s fingers, as they start to travel down to her ass, cupping her over the denim shorts. They hardly do much to stop the imagination from running wild. His fingertips run across her skin, digging into the crevice between the line of her ass and the tops of her thighs.

A moan escapes her. Noa doesn’t even feel the shame anymore. Not as her hand reaches between their bodies and trails up his chest. She cups his throat and pushes him up. His grin is lazy on his face, eyes heavy with lust. “So I see you really didn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The vibrations of his voice tickle her palm but she doesn’t drop the hold and Calum doesn’t duck away from it. Would Noa let herself go? She could attempt to bring Calum back to her dorm though she’s not sure if Brooklyn is in the room. If so, that’s definitely an awkward shuffle to text Brooklyn and then walk all the way back to her room.

She drops her hand from his throat, before running it up under his shirt. He tenses for a moment at her touch but grins. Noa decides not to think too much about where things go and where they wind up at the moment. Instead, she kisses at his neck, running her tongue over his adam’s apple. Calum has to bite his lip just a little to keep the groan from escaping him so loudly. He knows she knows just what she’s doing as her nail scratch at his lower abdomen right along the band of his boxer briefs.

“I have another question,” Calum asks, a soft sigh escaping his lips when she kisses up to his ear.

“Which is?”

“I can only assume we’re not studying poetry anymore. But I just want to make sure it’s okay if I study your anatomy?”

Noa snorts, her laughter shaking her shoulders as she presses her face into Calum’s chest. “I told you I wouldn’t be won over by academic pick up lines but I’ll be damned if you don’t keep trying.”

“They seemed to work,” Calum takes the sides of her face into his hands. There’s still a grin on her face when she lets him pull her upwards a little. “Is that a yes though in all seriousness?”

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, enjoying the slight roughness at the tips of his fingers as he brushes them over her cheeks.

“How likely are we to get caught in here?”

“If we don’t make too much noise, pretty low. I mean, who else is coming to the library on Valentine’s Day?”

Calum presses her in close before pushing up with his hips and spinning them around. He clears away a spot before hoisting her to the table. “I must admit, I like the sounds of those odds.”

Calum stands between her legs. She spies a set of chains around his neck and pulls them out, gently holding the gold and silver chains in her palms. She’s not sure what they mean, the symbols on the black enamel or the gold plate but they look good hanging around his chest. “Sentimental?”

Calum runs his fingers over the strip of skin just under the edge of her green tank top and the top of her shorts. “Yeah.”

The subject is dropped rather quickly and she kisses the underside of his jaw. Her fingers find the hem of Calum’s t-shirt. He pulls the black tee up without much thought and she lets her hands wander of the expanse of his chest. She lingers at his tattoos. She doesn’t question those either. Just admires them and the way the black ink stands out on his golden skin. There’s a moment, in the back of her mind, that she’s acutely aware of how much darker she is compared to him. It's a thing she’s always been aware of for sure, it’s a general fact about herself that is generally inescapable. But she’s not sure why it matters now.

Calum can see her mind wandering and he tips her chin. “You can always say no. It’s okay.” He doesn’t want her to feel pressured. It won’t hurt him at all if she backs out of this. He’d rather her protect herself than worry about him.

“It’s just--a thing, a small thing. Nothing to do about this.”

“You sure?”

Noa nods, flicking her twists over her shoulder. Calum raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question. “I’m very sure,” she says, tugging at the band of his pants.

There’s a soft chuckle he gives and nods, satisfied with her answer. “I was going to break out another taboo pickup line.”

Noa gets a grip around his neck and brings him down. Her kiss is soft and slow before she pulls back just a little. Their lips brush as she speaks. “As much as I hate those, they are effective. So I hate that fact a little more.”

Calum dares to bring his hands down, under the shorts and underwear. What he finds makes him groan into her lips. She’s dripping onto his fingers. “Very effective,” he whispers, teasing her heat with his fingers as he collects just a little taste of her onto his fingers. She watches through slightly hooded eyes as Calum licks his fingers. “God,” he huffs.

He goes back to get yank the shorts and panties. She pushes herself up to assist and Calum wastes no time slipping down to his knees. Noa reclines back, hands pressing down into the table and the edge of a notebook. Calum takes a generous lick from her. She’s sweet on his tongue and all he wants is to drown in the arousal she drips.

Noa shudders at the first touch and she’s glad she’s facing the whiteboard and not the window because the look on her face, of pleasure and also desperation is a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone. Her breakup sophomore year kind of scorned her. She’s had the offers at parties or even out at bars, but never took them. Right now, the way she’s responding to Calum should be embarrassing but it’s the last thought on her mind.

All Noa wants and can think about is how Calum’s tongue flicks against her clit, the way his lips wrap around it to give it a gentle suck before planting a kiss. “Shit,” she heaves, trying to keep from being too loud. It’s not lost on her that too much noise will get them caught. But god is her rock shaking at the feeling of Calum’s tongue working at her. It’s going to be the end of her, she thinks, staring up at the ceiling attempting to keep her breathing under control.

Calum feels her thighs starting to shake and he throws them over his shoulder. She falls deeper into her recline. Every lewd slurp echoes. The first finger into her is all too easy to get inside and he works the second one in while teasing her clit with his tongue. It’s a moment, with a breathy instruction of “Back and up,” before he’s brushing over her g-spot. Her vision spots for a moment and she presses her lips together to swallow down her own moan.

“Fuck,” she whines when Calum sucks at her clit. The knot in her stomach grows, she can feel the heat radiating from the top of her head to her toes. She’s going to make a mess. She can feel it bubbling in her lower stomach but she can’t find the words to warn him as she works to keep her cries in her chest.

It’s evident though when she finds the edge and falls over it. Her legs close in around Calum’s head. He works her through the orgasm, gentle licks. Calum kisses over her inner thighs before pulling his fingers from her. She’s spent above him, panting. But she stops him-- a hand tight around his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth.

“You wouldn’t?”

Noa says nothing before licking her own arousal from his fingers. Calum shouldn’t be so turned on by her tasting herself but he swears he could nearly come from just the way she hums around his digits. It makes him wonder for a moment what else she can do with that tongue. She grins when she releases his fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop. “I would.”

Calum stays on his knees, watching carefully as she slips off the table and back into her underwear and shorts. She taps at the chair. “Take a seat.”

He pushes up and into the chair. “You really could’ve just left those off.”

Noa bites her lip at the thought. “Even though I’m young, I’m not dumb. I never re-upped on condoms in my backpack and unless you have some. I think you’ll be pleased with my compromise.”

Calum mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing away the key. He nearly forgot about that and that’s not a risk he wants to take either. No matter much the idea seems tempting he knows that the potential consequences are not worth it. Noa doesn’t waste any time, to tie her hair back or get Calum’s pants and underwear down either. She’s not really sure what she expected but he’s more than he lets on and her mouth drools at the thought.

She kisses his tip, the tip leaking just a little. Calum sighs, dropping his head back on his neck. He doesn’t really want her to tease him like this. But it does feel good. How gentle she’s being. The way she’s slow to coat him with her saliva. He exhales harshly when he slips into her mouth and when she doesn’t stop but continues on Calum groans. “Fucking hell.” It’s as if she could just swallow him whole and her mouth is so warm too.

Noa hums a little at the taste and weight of him. She looks at through her lashes and keeps her eyes nice and big, playing innocent at the way Calum huffs above her. He blinks his eyes just enough to see her batting her lashes and he’s so tempted again to pull out of her mouth and just fuck her right here. He’s sure her pussy is just as good as her mouth, if not better. Another moan is crawling up his chest and Calum inhales to keep it from falling over his lips. She pulls back from him, swirling her tongue just around the top. Her fist pumps at him. Calum knows he won’t last. His head is starting to float and he’s reaching out for anything and everything to keep ground.

He finds Noa instead, the very thing lifting his consciousness from his body. But it’s all he has to attempt to ground him. Calum lets one choked moan fall over his lips. “God,” he heaves like he’s been underwater for too long and is getting the first gulps of air again. His eyes screw up as she takes him back down and bobs her head along his length. The sounds of her slurping up her excess saliva are a little loud but he prays that they don’t echo too much before he cums.

That’s all he wants. Just release. That bliss of orgasm. His toes are curling and he’s holding a little tighter to Noa he knows. But he can’t help it. His hips raise up from the seat, bucking into her and she has to readjust her angle to keep him down. But Calum’s so fucking close. He can feel it. His thighs are tensing and he’s nearly in tears with how badly he desires to cum. She’s toying with him, speeding up to build up that pressure--that need, but slowing down just enough to keep it far enough away.

“Oh, please, please,” he begs. There is definitely a prickle of tears. Noa knows she’s playing with fire but she pulls back one last time, watching the way his jaw tense and he hisses, the air sucked in between his teeth. “I wasn’t-I wasn't this mean to you.”

Noa winks at him. Calum knows he’s going to have to do something to wipe that smirk off her face somehow. “Wanted to see how much you could take.” She says nothing else and finally takes him back into her mouth, hand and mouth pumping at him. He goes barreling towards his orgasm. He halfway expects her to pull away again when he finds his hips bucking again but she doesn’t. Calum holds her head tight and pours down the back of her throat.

Noa brings him over the edge and she’s gentle, slightly suckling to get down every drop. When she finally brings her head away, she does leave a small kiss. The air is thick and Calum exhales, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. He nearly has to make sure that it’s actually his soul that comes back to him. Noa hands him a tissue and then excuses herself for just a moment to the restroom.

When she returns, the table is clearned for the most part. Her books are neatly stacked and her laptop is sitting on top of the sleeve. The dry erase markers and erasers sit at the top of her pile too. Calum is dressed again, leaning against the table with the bucket hat back on his head. He watches her open the door with a tiny smile. The whiteboard’s been erased too. “Did you get a picture of the--” Calum nods before she finishes the full question.

She’s not sure if she should move from the spot at the door but Calum’s gaze is intense so she waits. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it,” he grins. “How far away do you stay from here?”

“I live on campus actually. It’s like a fifteen minute walk to the other side.”

“I’m parked not too far from the English building. How about a ride and a round two?”

“For studying poetry or anatomy?” There’s no hiding her grin as she asks the question.

Calum’s impressed at the wit. “I would say, after what I’ve seen and tasted today, I would call it poetry.”

She has to cast her gaze down. Because if not, she’s going to explode at delivery of the compliment. “Just don’t make any joke about tasting desire twice or I might nickname you Frost and I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Calum laughs and reaches out a hand. She takes it, stepping into him. She gazes up, the shadow of the bucket hat making the moment seem more private. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course you are.”

The ride over is nerve wrecking. But the gentle pressure of Calum’s hand on her thigh keeps her just enough on the string that it doesn’t matter. Brooklyn agrees to give her the room until 10. It’s a little after six currently. Plenty of time but still. It’s not fun being sexiled. Noa makes a mental note to grab a few snacks on her next grocery run as a thank you to Brooklyn. The AC blasting in Calum’s car is Noa’s saving grace. The slight chill is welcomed to the warmth still radiating from her body.

She directs him to turn right at the next intersection. “It’s pretty out here,” Calum notes. The buildings follow the same brick patterns as most other buildings on the campus. But there are some trees that stand tall and it feels a little cozy. Noa hums and she directs him down to a parking lot. It’s not that far down from her actual dorm. The walk feels longer though for Noa, feeling Calum right behind her. Calum follows with quick glances the way her ass shakes a little with her gait. The shorts are definitely higher than they were before and he’s sure that was done purposefully.

Noa fishes out her keys and swipes into the building before directing Calum up the flight of stairs on the side. Their shoes echo as they ascend. Her room is the first one once they step outside from the stairwell. “I apologize now if it’s a mess,” Noa says with her key in the door. She’s praying that Brooklyn’s side isn’t a disaster.

Thankfully at the first crack, the room is cool and clean. She carries past one bed to the second pushed against the wall near the window. Calum notes the white and black comforter and the posters decorating her wall. There are string lights and after a moment they twinkle off the white plaster of the walls.

“Putting on the full works, huh?” Calum drops his hat and bag next to her desk. They shed shoes. Her bed is raised so she pulls out a step stool.

“Something like that.”

Calum cups her jaw. “I’m flattered.” Their kisses are still heated but less desperate. Both of them are aware of what’s happening and what’s going to happen. Calum pulls at the knot of her white shirt and pushes it off her shoulders. Maybe it was a little insane. Maybe it was the fact that Calum was a little tired of being lonely on Valentine’s Day even though he hated the whole institution of the holiday.

Whatever it was that brought him here to peeling Noa out of her shirt and revealing her breasts to him didn’t really matter. Because he was okay with it. He cups one of her breasts, teasing the bud with his fingers and he kisses along her neck. He feels her heart races with his tongue. “Love it don’t you?”

Noa hums, pulling around his shoulders. “Maybe.”

He laughs into her skin. She climbs up onto the bed first and Calum sheds his shirt before climbing up behind her. On the corner of her desk near the bed, he spies the box of condoms. Multiple boxes actually. He reaches over her to one of them. He’s going to drag this out just to have her begging like she did with him. “This is quite the collection.”

Noa knows part of this is payback but she reaches up running her hands over his sides to get him to come back to her. Calum resists the temptation to look down and kiss her again. If she does all his resolve will break. He studies another box and she lifts her head from her pillow finding one of his nipples and sucking it into her mouth. Two can play this game. And Noa knows that while she’s aching for me, she might have a better chance of riding this game out than Calum.

Calum drops his head for a moment, letting the electricity of her touch travel up his body. One hand creeps up to his crotch, putting just enough pressure onto his growing erection. He’s so fucking screwed. Noa kisses across his chest, soft ones that barely make contact with his skin. “I’m going to be giving a pop quiz about the varieties I have. So study up,” she jokes before pulling her hand away.

His laughter is soft above her. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

“You were being stubborn and I had to try something.”

“You teased me. Don’t dish out what you can’t handle.”

“I can handle plenty,” she retorts pushing at his shoulder.

Calum straddles her lower legs, popping the button on her shorts yet again. “Is that so?” The question is punctuated by him pulling her shorts and panties off. His fingers waste no time to part her and circle her entrance. Her back sinks into the mattress and her hips rise. Calum catches the small hard exhale of all her air leaving her lungs.

Calum hovers over her, one arm keeping his weight steady while he teases her. His lips brush over her jaw. “What was that?” His question is answered by a moan that falls over Noa’s throat. He kisses down her throat, sucking just a hair too hard at the thin skin. It doesn’t leave a bruise but when Calum pulls way, there’s a red spot for sure on her skin.

Noa lets herself be consumed by the way his stubble scratches over her skin. Calum kisses down the valley of her breasts. His teeth graze over her nipples. Maybe he’s better at the game than she thought he was. She liked to think she was tough, but Noa knows deep down the softest touch can turn her into putty. She doesn’t find it within herself to care when he flicks her nipple with the tip of her tongue.

Calum drinks in every sound. She sounds so good beneath him at the mercy of his whims. Though he knows he’s going to give in soon. Soon his own tough act will dissolve and all he’s want is her to be thoroughly fucked. Calum carries down her body, kissing over her stomach before finding her heat again. All it takes is one lick, bottom to the top and Noa shakes, her thighs quiver and Calum knows he has her.

Her hands find his neck though. She pulls him up before pushing up and Calum falls into the mattress. She works his pants down and kisses over his thighs as she goes. Her teeth are sharp when she takes a bite, nothing too hard, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Calum to know she’s serious. He’s serious too. His arm hooks around her neck once the pants are fully disrobed. “Come here,” he murmurs and she settles on his lower torso.

Noa could lose herself in Calum’s kisses and never want to find a map out. Calum traces at her skin with the tips of his fingers as if trying to etch the roadmap of her into his memory. Noa reaches behind and strokes Calum’s length, almost too leisurely, like she knows she can just take her time with him. He lets her too. What else does he have to lose? What else does Calum have to do on such a bullshit holiday than just having some fun?

He does enjoy that this isn’t rushed. He’s also glad he’s not tipsy and neither is she. There’s something about alcohol and sex that never quite worked for Calum, though he’ll admit to some days waking with hickeys and blaming the vodka almost immediately. He likes the intimacy that they share, as crazy as it sounds. Like the way Noa looks at him after they break away from a kiss. She doesn’t look crazed or greedy, her eyes cradle him almost. She traces over his tattoos.

The questions linger on her lips. Like what does ‘Choose Life’ really mean to Calum? Who was Mali? To whom did those initials belong too? But Noa knew those were questions she couldn’t ask. And she kind of liked the mystery of it. She liked knowing Calum but not getting the full picture. She had the frame. She has the beautiful man in front of her but she didn’t have his mind. She saw bits of it in class for sure. When he finally decided to speak. But that was a piece that would always linger behind the curtain.

It was still a game for sure. Calum giving away what he wanted to give of himself but keeping everything else. Noa knew better than to think she could win that game. She knew better than to assume she could even be a player. It seemed cliche to think that maybe just maybe she could be the one to change that. That had to be loneliness talking though. It always crept in on days like this. At least for the moment, she was having her own fun.

Her own fun--that’s all she needs to focus on right now. Noa reaches across Calum’s body to her desk and he uses the moment to bring the nipple and even part of her tit into his mouth, to tease her for just a moment longer. She barely keeps her grip on the box of condoms at the shiver running through her body. “Fuck,” she breathes.

Calum hums at the praise and pinches her right nipple between his fingers. “You know,” he starts, tracing the swell of her breast with his fingers. “You do this thing when you’re thinking, where you bit the inside of your lip and you kind of zone out.”

Why is Calum so fucking observant? Why did he have to go and say that? He was really digging her grave. He might as well go and build the casket for her too. “I’m not backing out of this.”

“I was just saying,” he hums.

“When you’re thinking you tend to play with whatever is in your hands,” Noa returns and then glances down her nipple, the way his fingers roll it and pinch. A moan builds in her chest--she can feel it. Calum immediately pulls his hand away. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

The grin that takes over his face is shy. Noa kisses his nose before tearing a condom from it’s foiled package. “How about a ride?” she grins.

Calum has to laugh at the smirk and corny joke. But he agrees. “I hope I’m tall enough for it.”

“More than tall enough,” she laughs, rolling the condom done him. It’s the first sink, the stretch that makes Noa’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Calum finds her hips, exhaling hard too at the squeeze and warmth of her.

“Fuck,” they both exhale. Her pace is slow to start but Calum brushes everything inside of her, even parts that she didn’t even know could be brushed. It’s a little painful but the adjustment happens and all Noa’s concerned with is watching Calum fall apart beneath her. His fingers curl into the fat and muscle of her hips and thighs.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo about the room and Noa releases the hiss, the only thing she can do at the feeling of Calum buried so deep inside of her. It’s true bliss when her pace picks up and Calum watches her tits bounce in time. “Fuck, just like that,” he encourages.

It’s not easy work Noa will admit but it’s rewarding to hear how strained Calum’s voice is. How much he’s tittering closer and closer to the edge. Calum brings his fingers to her clit and her yelp, part surprise, part an exhalation of arousal, he hums. “That what you needed? Just a little attention for a greedy clit?”

Noa sighs, holding herself upon his chest. “But you like it, don’t you? You’re coming to cum for me and my greedy clit, aren’t you?”

He is. Not right now, but soon. It’s creeping up on him and god, will it be sweet. He brings her head down to kiss her, to swallow down every filthy sound she makes and save it for later in his chest. Calum plants his feet into the mattress and meets her bounces with his own thrust. “Oh, shit,” she whines, her voice straining at the added sensation. Time starts to lose its grip. They are just feeling bodies.

It’s soon her face down into the mattress though, curling the sheets into her fist as Calum drives into her. “God, please,” she groans, feeling the twinge of her orgasm knotting at her lower stomach.

Calum brings her up, her back into his chest with a hand tucked around her throat. It’s not tight and soon it drops to her nipples again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” she exhales. “Just you, Calum.”

His fingers dance over her sex. She clenches once, a sign of the impending orgasm that will be crashing over it. Calum kisses along her shoulders and across her back, the twists in the way don’t even matter. Not when he can feel her occasional spasms. He’s not going to last much longer. But he wants to get her there first. With a little more pressure at her clit, Noa grabs Calum's thigh. Another whine falls over her throat and she again lacks the warning.

She cums with a heavy grunt scratching over her throat. Calum bites down onto her shoulder. His orgasm follows soon after thanks to her spasms. After they clean up, she falls into her sheets and Calum lays for just a minute. Just to catch his breath and he traces over the still red marks of his teeth. “Is it too much if I offer to buy pizza?” Noa asks, curled up into his chest. “Does seal the fate on Valentine’s Day as well when you’re single?”

Calum laughs. “It’s definitely sealed the fate on many of them for me in the past. But I should probably get home. Be an adult, even if I don’t want to be.”

Noa nods. It’s a little awkward when Calum has to crawl over her to climb down off the bed but all she does is giggle before kissing his cheek. Calum finds his shirt and she tosses him his underwear from the sheets. “I should write a personal note to Calvin Klein for that underwear. Your ass is ten out ten in those.

Calum shakes his head, his laughter loud. “And out of them?”

“Seven out of ten.”

“I should be offended.”

Noa shrugs, holding the sheets to her chest. “Alas, you don’t seem to be though.”

With the bucket hat situated back over his head, Calum shrugs. “Guess I’m not if it’s coming from you. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

She nods. “Sure.” Calum’s hand doesn’t quite reach the door before she calls out her next question. “You remember how to get out of here right?”

“Something tells me it’s like the same way I came in? But I’m not too sure.”

“Smartass,” she grumbles.

Calum chews on his lip for a moment to hide the smile. He was worried him leaving would be awkward. But he finds himself not wanting to go really. He thinks he could split a pizza with her. What would be the worst that would happen? But he doesn’t want to push any more boundaries or piss off her roommate.“Bye, Noa.”

“Bye, Calum.”

***********

Now Noa is definitely worried after not seeing Calum on Monday that he freaked out about their hookup. She didn’t have his number and emailing him was out of the question. Emailing wasn’t the format to have the ‘what-happened-and-why-are-you-avoiding-me’ conversation. Everything seemed fine when Calum left. He even sent a thank you email when she sent him the notes she typed up from their study session. He had included the blowing a kiss emoji. That had to mean something. It had to. Even Brooklyn said it meant something. Sure Brooklyn was no expert. But who sends that kind of emoji unless they mean something behind it?

Though when Monday rolled around, Calum wasn’t to be seen. Today was Wednesday, the day of their midterm. Noa books it from her class in the science building but because of some rain, there is a mud spot and she slips. She doesn’t fall, thankfully catching herself on the edge of the brick wall but she knows the feeling of her pants splitting literally anywhere.

Her shirt is most definitely not long enough to cover it and she can’t be late for the exam. So she carries on, wishing she had grabbed an extra layer to help save her from the embarrassment. First Calum ghosts her and now her pants rip. Today’s really not her day. Not that she needed it to be her day, but she would’ve liked it.

Taking a quick moment to assess the damage, Noa feels behind. The hole is mostly towards her inner thighs but it does gape a little to the back and she’s mortified that half her ass is hanging out. She hopes this is the icing on her cake. She’d really rather not have too much else to her shit cake. This was more than enough shit for any one particular day.

Just a few minutes before class starts, she opens the door to the classroom. The professor stands at the podium, exam in hand. Her eyes scan the room briefly and there’s Calum. His head down and she’s sure that he had to have heard the door opening but he doesn’t look up. There’s nowhere else to sit either, except for her spot right next to him. And she’s not going to cause a scene on midterm day either.

She’s careful as she sits, to avoid further splitting, and slips off her backpack. She keeps her back turned and fishes out a pen, black ink this time. Just as she faces forward, a Hershey’s kiss and peppermint are placed in front of her. Calum grins, pulling the wireless headphones from his ears. “My mum used to give me peppermints before a test. She said it was supposed to help. I don’t know the exact science.”

Maybe Calum didn’t hate her? It definitely is a shock for him to be talking so casually. She’s happy though. She’d rather not have to shun Calum. She liked his stupid ass jokes and maybe, just maybe, she was letting herself get a little too close. That was a disaster she’d deal with later though. “Were you sick on Monday or something?” Something was going around and if Calum had caught it, she did worry that she would too,

He shakes his head. “A gig ran late Sunday. I just emailed my professors that I wouldn’t be able to come in on Monday. I realized I needed the notes from Monday but I didn’t want it to seem like I was just using you. So I’m sorry about you not hearing from me after I said I would.”

Noa reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small bag of peppermints. There was just a misunderstanding. She can handle that. “My mom used to say the same thing.” She situates the bag between them. “In case you need another one during the exam. Also, I can give you my number.” She finds a scrap piece of paper and writes it down. Calum saves it fast and sends her a text too so she has his number.

As the professor starts to hand out the exam, only a list of four questions of which they’ll pick two to respond too, Calum feels the slight jitters coming back. Noa notices and slides her piece of chocolate over to him. They lock gazes for a brief moment and smile, both reminded of the last time chocolate was involved.

The questions aren’t too hard. The practice ones Noa came up with fall right in line with what she said the professor would ask. She finishes first between the two of them and leaves the bag of peppermints. Calum notices her awkward shuffle and the hole in her jeans. He can’t use his phone to tell her to wait up but he’s almost done himself. So he scribbles down the last few sentences for his question and quickly gathers his things.

From the pocket of his backpack, he feels his phone vibrate. He hands over his exam and slips out of the front door. Noa’s not in sight so he digs out his phone, stepping out into the bright sunlight. She’s not even halfway down the path, stopped by someone else as they chat for a moment. He thinks it’s her roommate, she looks familiar and the two laugh before going their separate ways.

“Noa,” Calum calls out to her and she turns. These stairs aren’t as steep and he’s quick to get down them. Calum reaches into his backpack, revealing a sweatshirt and hands over her bag peppermints. “You can use this until you get back to get new pants.”

“I have a meeting with my advisor and then a club meeting. I was just going to tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to our meeting.”

“No, no, keep it. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be late.”

“I won’t be able to get it back to you until Friday.”

“I could come to pick it up too before then?”

Noa knows that look, the glint in his eyes as she ties the sweatshirt around her waist. “My last class tomorrow ends at 2.”

“I’ll pick you up from class. Just text me the building. We can study. I heard it’s Valentine’s Day.

“That’s about a week late.”

“I was always bad at math,” Calum jokes. “You think I should sign up for one next semester?” Noa laughs as she steps backward from Calum. Of course, he would make another joke. They get her every time too. “Is that a yes though?”

“That is a yes. To Thursday and to you needing a math class.”

“Ouch.” He holds a hand to his chest, faking pain.

She twirls before throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Noa.” He wipes out his phone, watching her walk down the bricked over paths. Next time you don’t have to split your pants to get my attention.

She stops and spins around, fingers flying over the keys. I can and will take this hoodie hostage.

“That’s my favorite hoodie,” he shouts at her.

“Not my problem, sweetheart.”

“It absolutely is your problem.”

“My problem is that I’m going to be late.”

___________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @glitterlukey

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chestnut-b · 5 years ago

Text

Himawari - Chapter 3

“You’ve never thought of killing Naruto? Of having your revenge?”

“What makes you think I haven't?”

Chapter 3 of a Kimetsu no Yaiba-verse AU

Kakashi sat in his room and looked gravely at the mess of scrolls and papers before him. It was just past midnight on a cloudy evening, and the only light available was from a paper lamp that was just a bit weaker than he would have liked. Beside him, Uhei snored softly with only an occasional twitch of the nose, clearly exhausted from sprinting through the countryside.

He looked over the latest report.

“I brought Dango-chan along with me up North this time. The trace we found was pretty fresh. She estimates it couldn’t be older than a few months. Unfortunately, there aren’t any locals left for us to question, so we don’t have any clues about his latest form. We may have bought ourselves a bit more time, but judging from his trajectory, I can’t say it looks promising. Don’t slack off too much. I’ll be sending Dango-chan back, rendezvous with her when you can.”

This was bad news as much as it was not-so-terrible news, Kakashi mused.

He dipped a brush into some fresh ink, and marked a cross onto the map before him. With one efficient stroke, a line soon connected this latest cross to an older marking in the South-west direction. Kakashi surveyed the work before him; a serpentine constellation of lines, crosses and notations collected on Orochimaru’s whereabouts over the generations across the country.

Jiraiya was right. Having just taken over a new host, Orochimaru would be unable to switch bodies for a while. Past records told them he needed time to recover his strength after each possession, but the overall trend was undeniably disturbing. The periods between were getting shorter and shorter; the collateral damage growing in devastation with each iteration. Did he require less recovery time now, or was he just getting desperate?

Kakashi grimaced. Too little information. There had only been a handful of sightings of the great demon himself over the generations, and even then only a few reports existed from people who had lived to tell of their encounters, one of whom was Jiraiya. His own Father, as great of a warrior he was, had not survived his.

He looked over the map once more, taking in Orochimaru’s journey and his inevitable destination.

Really, they had a few years at best.

The Pillar let out a small sigh, allowing his thoughts to drift to the pair he knew were sleeping just across the courtyard from him.

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

“You’ve never thought of killing Naruto? Of having your revenge?”

It was a question born out of curiosity. He really just wanted to get to know Iruka a little better.

Then came his answer.

“What makes you think I haven't?”

If there was any brevity in the air before this, it was nowhere to be found now.

An amber-brown gaze was fixed on him, and for the first time he found himself unable to read Iruka. Between them now was only the crackle of a flame, and they waited to see who would break their silence first.

Well, he’d started this inquiry, Kakashi thought. Time to see where it would take them.

“Seeing how well you get along, it’s a bit surprising…that’s all.”

It was sincere, without a hint of sarcasm.

Sensing this, Iruka broke eye contact and dipped his head, staring at his own reflection in the cup of tea still in his hands, his expression somber. Kakashi refused to press choosing instead to observe silently; the subtle signs of exhaustion, usually camouflaged by a smile and good humor. Iruka never let it show in front of Naruto or his students, but if the other evening was anything to go by, he mustn't have had a decent night's sleep in a while now.

“Sarutobi-sama can be unexpectedly cruel sometimes, you know.” Iruka whispered. His lips turned in a wry smile.

If Minato-sensei and Jiraiya had been any indication, Kakashi thought he might have had some kind of clue, but he held his tongue. Hopefully, they’d be able to joke about it later.

“Kakashi-san, how do you think we came to find out about Naruto’s immunity to sunlight?”

Ah. This was something that had bothered him for a while, and certainly not something he’d expected to find out so soon, not from Iruka, anyway.

When Kakashi had delivered his sensei’s newborn child to Jiraiya, it had been a few hours before dawn. It was the last time he ever saw Naruto before coming here. Meeting him out in the open with Iruka that first day was something completely unexpected.

“Am I even allowed to hear this?”

“It was left to my discretion. I think...it will be good for you to know.”

To Iruka’s discretion?

Add another entry onto the pile of mysteries that was Umino Iruka.

“You’ll have my silence, I swear it.”

Iruka put down his cup before finally lifting his head to meet his gaze again. There was a kind of condemned relief in his expression, Kakashi found. Almost like he’d been waiting for the day he could speak of whatever it was that haunted him.

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

Iruka found some comfort in the thought that Kakashi would be the one to hear his confession.

He had come to like the man. Behind the cool, bored exterior was not just a genuine ability to care, but a sense of humor and a smile (though he couldn’t see most of it, but he could definitely feel it) that Iruka found strangely refreshing.

Would he be able to see Iruka in the same way once this was said and done?

As unlikely as it was, it would be nice if he could.

Iruka took in another breath to steady himself.

Slowly, the memories he had tried to lock away came bubbling to the surface.

“It was just over a year after I lost my parents to the Kyuubi.” He started. “Sarutobi offered to take me in, and I only agreed on the condition he’d teach me the skills I needed to defeat the fox. Stupid, I know.” He sighed. Iruka remembered the days of endless reading, pouring over texts and scrolls till his head spinned. The physical training was just as punishing. Sarutobi was a harsh taskmaster, but Iruka had gotten what he’d asked for.

“I’d just started living in his estate when he introduced us.” He paused, and his smile turned just a bit sadder.

He also lost his parents, the same night you did, Iruka.

“Naruto was so small. I’d babysit him after training in the evenings. It was the only time I ever saw him.” Only Iruka would have been able to tell of a time when Naruto’s inability to be understood came from not having even learned words yet.

“But the wounds, they never healed. I was still so angry.” The fists in his lap clenched involuntarily. “When I came of age, I demanded to know how I could kill the fox once and for all, and I needed to know where I could find it. It was what we’d agreed on.”

He’d been standing in the rock garden that afternoon, and Iruka recalled the look on Sarutobi’s face as he sat in the shadow of the study.

Even through the veil of pipe smoke; it was a picture of concern and unmistakable disappointment.

All that training, even the time with a child like Naruto hadn’t been enough to quell the hurt that had been building inside.

“Sarutobi’s a man of his word though. He fully intended to give me the answers I wanted. So he called the attendants to bring Naruto, it was the first time I ever saw him in the day.”

Naruto was still asleep, and was placed before Sarutobi. But soon there was a yawn, and he started shifting and eventually awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. Iruka remembered staring at the scene in growing horror, the realisation slowly dawning upon him.

“If you would take what it is you seek, Iruka, you know what you must do. This was all he said.” Iruka repeated, feeling his throat tighten.

Kakashi hadn’t said a word since he started, and Iruka wished in the back of his mind that he had. Anything to take him out of the flow of this painful recollection, he would have welcomed. But there were no words, just a softened gaze without judgement, and somehow that made it hurt all the more.

“This was all I’d lived for after my parents died. Although thinking back, it was so pathetic. Sarutobi had never lied to me, he had no reason to then either. So I waited.”

If he’s a demon. All I would have to do is wait right here.

There wasn’t a single rational thought going through his head at the time. In his mind he saw his parent’s broken bodies, smelled the blood in the air that night. Even the groggy smile on Naruto’s face when he saw Iruka wasn’t enough to snap him out of his delirium.

Then he got on his feet, slow and unsteady as newly awoken toddlers did.

“Ruukaa!”

Those had been one of his first words too.

“He started walking towards me...and I just stood there.” He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, spreading across his face. Shame. Shame.

Every step Naruto took closer to the boundary of shade and light pounded like thunder in his ears. Between them both, a sinister parody of Yin and Yang.

“Then he fell. I wasn’t in time to stop him completely.”

Naruto reached out his small arms towards him, and tripped on his next step. If time was crawling before then, it stopped for him now. The last thing Iruka remembered seeing was the light hitting tiny hands, and a surprised yelp. Iruka’s body had moved on its own then. But he was too late. He knew it. He felt Naruto’s body against his as he crashed back into the study.

What would he see when he finally opened his eyes? He remembered once, a demon tied to a tree, slowly disintegrating into blackened, glowing ash as the first rays of dawn hit him.

But the body against him was still solid, and that gave him the courage to pry his eyes open.

“But Naruto was still there. He was whole. His arms were completely untouched.” Iruka felt the tears of shame and relief flow freely, and rubbed them away with the back of his hand. Crying in front of a Hashira, as if the shame he felt wasn’t enough.

Naruto was smiling at him, his eyes so wide Iruka saw his own reflection in them. Something in him shattered then, and he embraced Naruto, crying. The toddler merely patted his head with his tiny hands.

Behind them, Sarutobi looked on, dumbfounded. His pipe dropped and forgotten on the floor.

“That was how we realised Naruto could live under the sun.”

Yes, even if it was only because, for a moment, Iruka had been willing to let Naruto get hurt, for a sin that wasn’t even his.

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

Kakashi could have been mad, perhaps he should have been.

His sensei’s child, the baby he had to fight so hard to save on that massacre of a night, could have died for a boy’s revenge if it weren’t for a strange twist of fate.

He’d been granted the chance to live normally in the light of day, something his clan never had the ability to do, and Iruka was the reason for that, even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

Could he bring himself to be angry at Iruka?

The youth was a wreck before him, even if he was doing his best to hide it.

Kakashi certainly didn’t expect this, going into the afternoon. But he’d gotten what he’d asked for, and then some.

He didn’t get a chance to ponder for long before Iruka spoke again.

“You have a visitor, Kakashi-san. By the sounds of it, it’s an important message. I’ll get out of your way.” He bowed, before taking his sword and rising. As he broke the seal on the door and parted the shoji, a familiar bark reached his ears. It was Uhei, Kakashi realised.

“Thank you for the tea.”

He didn’t even give Kakashi the chance to respond before he disappeared into the hallway.

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

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. At the school they ate communally, the offerings of the day depending on what the older students could scavenge from the surrounding forests. Survival training was a daily affair here, after all. Staples like rice and salt they received from headquarters, anything else was up to them to procure.

It was a simple meal of rice, bamboo shoots, pickled plum and mackerel, fished from the river a distance away.

Kakashi had rejected any attempts to seat him as an ‘honored guest’ the day he arrived, and because he’d been placed under Iruka’s care, they normally sat together with the other Instructors. Tonight, Iruka was nowhere to be found.

“Oi Naruto, what’s up with your brother?” Across Kakashi sat Izumo today, one of the guards and assistant Instructors. He’d turned around to nudge Naruto in the back. The boy, who’d just snuck Lee his bamboo shoots, merely turned to Kakashi and sent a nasty glare his way.

Oh dear.

“He said he wasn’t feeling well. I’m bringing him dinner later.”

“Again? You sure you aren’t giving Iruka a hard time? It’s been happening more often lately.” This time it was the other guard, Kotetsu who interjected. Naruto looked utterly indignant, his glare towards Kakashi only intensifying.

“Ask baka-Kakashi over there! He was just fine during class today!”

“Naruto you idiot! Show the Hashira some respect.” Mizuki hissed from his seat. Naruto stuck out his tongue at him before turning around to continue his dinner. Watching the exchange, Lee looked a little greener than usual.

“My apologies, Hatake-dono. The kids here forget their manners sometimes. Naruto in particular overreacts when Iruka’s involved” Izumo sighed. Kakashi shook his head and waved it off. He had to admit ticking Naruto off was just a bit enjoyable, but really, he couldn’t blame the kid.

Naruto had good reason to be upset at him.

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

Kakashi’s terrible habit of letting his curiosity get the better of him seemed to have gotten worse since he arrived here.

That was probably why he found himself crouched upon one of the wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling, his presence carefully masked, above a sleeping Naruto and his guardian. Iruka looked exhausted, but slept without the tremors that disturbed him the previous evening. Naruto was curled up close, facing him, almost as if he was the one on guard that night.

In hindsight, the conversation in the afternoon was undeniably revealing, but also produced more unanswered questions than Kakashi was comfortable with.

He also wasn’t usually this impulsive, but this was home ground. There would be little risk in getting at least one of those questions answered here tonight.

With blade in hand, he descended.

No, he wasn’t expecting his blade to sink into flesh, but he didn’t quite expect what happened in the next instant either.

As soon as he’d leapt from the beam, Naruto was snatched from his futon by an obviously very awake Iruka, who rolled them both right past a curtained partition, before being seemingly swallowed by a wall just behind it.

A misdirection seal, here?

Kakashi felt a presence materialise above him.

He only had time to free his blade from the stabbed futon under him before turning his body to block the weapon and the subsequent mass that descended upon him. The ring of metal meeting metal pierced the air. Having found focus, Kakashi’s eye was met with a gaze that was only unfamiliar in its intensity and the sheer annoyance it radiated. Though, if he looked carefully, he could find some barely hidden amusement mixed in there too.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Hatake-dono?”

He couldn’t quite see the smirk that was definitely on his lips, but his eyes had a tendency to reveal too much.

“Oh, just thought I’d drop in and see how you were doing, Iruka-sensei. You didn’t show up at dinner.”

Kakashi smiled, how thoughtful he was.

A small shift reminded Kakashi of his current position. His back was pressed against Iruka’s futon, with its owner currently straddling his waist as he put more of his body weight onto the blade threatening to bite into Kakashi’s throat. It was not the slayer katana he would have expected, no, Iruka’s still lay in its sheath by his hip. Instead, gripped in his hands was a kunai, longer and deadlier looking than the ones usually kept hidden in clothing. A fascinating choice of weapon for someone who was supposed to be a swordsman.

Kakashi would have commented on it sooner, but instead he took a moment to take in the view. Feathers from the ripped futon had been released into the air from their commotion, and some were still continuing their sleepy descent. Combined with the pale light and his intense glare, it gave Iruka an otherworldly look.

Kakashi found himself thinking that with the addition of some wings, he’d make for a fine tengu. Although, his face was much too dignified to play the part. He chuckled at the thought.

“Something amusing, Kakashi-san?”

“I was just thinking you looked a little annoyed, Iruka-sensei.”

“What would I have to be annoyed about? “

Interrupted sleep, spent seals that needed resetting, a ripped bed and blanket, having to fetch Naruto back from wherever he was hidden.

He could think of a few more things.

But for now, he found that he didn’t mind at all being the main object of Iruka’s irritation.

“Nice kunai you have there.” The force against his blade increased by just a nudge, an offer for a closer look.

“Our blades weren’t created to be used against humans.”

A teacher even outside the classroom.

“A gift from Sarutobi?”

“The best blade-,”

“-is the one you have on you” Kakashi finished. How many times had he heard Minato recite that line, but there was no denying the truth in it. After all, who knows how many slayers had died for want of a blade, even one as small as a kunai.

Iruka looked satisfied enough with his answer though. A small smile had slipped through the cracks.

The killing intent in the air had died down, and Kakashi thought it a good time to get some answers. He looked Iruka straight in the eyes, intending to start with the most important one:

“Have I incurred your anger, sensei?”

It came out softer and more apologetic than he’d intended.

That was enough for Iruka to falter, his eyes widening in surprise. The kunai was swiftly withdrawn, and in that moment he seemed to gain an acute awareness of his current position. It took mere seconds before his face was ablaze, right to the tips of his ears, making the scar across his face stand out more than usual. The warmth against Kakashi’s body soon disappeared, and before he could stop him, Iruka had his forehead and palms pressed against the wooden floor beside him.

“Forgive me, Kakashi-san. I forgot my station.”

“Iruka.”

Silence.

“Iruka-sensei, I won’t repeat myself. Raise your head.”

He did as he was instructed, but refused to meet his eye. Kakashi sat up on the futon across him, reached out, and placed a hand on the teacher’s shoulder.

“Our conversation this afternoon has obviously caused you a lot of grief, sensei. It wasn’t my intention. I apologise.”

Iruka merely shook his head in response.

“Please. Don’t.” He pleaded under his breath. “If anyone has cause for anger, it’s you.”

“Sarutobi-sama told me you were the one who saved Naruto that night. If it wasn’t for my stupidity, Naruto-,”

“Naruto wouldn’t be living the life he does now. Like a normal child, with friends, family - you. He’d be kept in the dark, alone and not even knowing why, when he could actually live under the sun with everyone else.”

Iruka was finally looking at him now, albeit dumbstruck. Like he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Iruka, we’ve all made mistakes, but Naruto’s alive, and it will be our job to make sure he stays that way.” Yes, Iruka’s and his, most likely. He wasn’t sure if the other Hashira would be so keen on the idea.

This time, Iruka didn’t argue with him, which he was grateful for. It had been a long, exhausting day. Instead, he favoured Kakashi with a look of considerable relief, and just a glint of hope to have found a comrade who considered Naruto worth protecting, despite the truth of his existence.

“By the way, Iruka-sensei, where’s Naruto?”

“Ah.” He froze. It took a whole three seconds before he took to his feet and started for the door leading to the back yard.

“Kakashi-san, it would probably be best if you weren’t here when we return. Naruto was spewing some awful things about you when he delivered dinner. I’d hate to get him riled up this late.” It was quiet, teasing, but noticeably lighter than it had been all day. He was about to set off when Kakashi interrupted.

“See you later?”

“For tea? Only if you’re making it. It was good.”

“All right. I’ll help you with your beddings too.”

“I’d expect no less. Have a good night, Kakashi-san.”

With that he disappeared beyond the wall and into the night.

Kakashi stood to leave, but not before looking up at the spot where Iruka had descended from. He’d had to squint; engraved into the wood was the faintest misdirection seal he’d ever seen.

If Iruka doesn’t stop with the surprises, I’m going to have to keep bothering him.

He sighed. But somewhere at the back of his mind, a voice was telling him it might not be so bad.

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

End of Chapter 3

Author’s Notes:

Wow, a long one after a long break! Hope you guys enjoyed it! It took a while to figure out what direction I wanted this to go in, but it was a very fun chapter to write. It’s going to be a surprisingly slow burn, this one.

The art is of an awkward Iruka babysitting young Naruto.

This chapter is also on AO3 if you’d prefer to read it there sometime. Any comments at all will be most appreciated and devoured with thanks. : )

#kakairu #iruka #iruka umino #umino iruka #naruto #kakashi

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