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obae-me · 4 years ago

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The Demons Inside- Part 2

Part 1 (Lucifer) Part 3 (Levi)

Description: Mammon’s Part of the request “The brothers reacting to an MC crying suddenly in front of them and then trying to act as if nothing happened”

Words: 2201

Mammon groaned, sinking down deep into the chair. He slumped down so far, his face was nearly eye level with the low table. How long had it been now? Two hours? Four? An entire night? The lecture his older brother was torturing him with was worse than being strung up on the ceiling. All of this over some dumb assignments.

“Mammon, are you listening to me?” The deep grumble of Lucifer’s voice snapped him back up in place. The demon of pride continued briskly pacing back and forth, gesturing towards the strewn papers on his desk. Even just a flickering glance over the parchment would reveal how poorly they were done. Red marks, endless corrections, poor letter grades. Oh how he hated the study. Lucifer only ever brought him here of his own volition when he wanted to chew Mammon out in private. When his brother was angry with him, he wasn’t afraid to let the entire household and Devildom know it, but when he was disappointed? He was forced to have one on one time, listening to Lucifer scold him with something darker than anger in his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve been listening to you prattle on for the past few hours now!” Mammon exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Lucifer’s eyelids lowered as he stopped pacing to look Mammon straight in the face. “Mammon, it’s only been twenty minutes.” With a wave of his hand, he brushed that irk aside, slightly impressed he used the word ‘prattle’. “Diavolo addressed me directly to confront you about this, Mammon. Do you understand the position you’re putting me in, the situation you’re putting yourself in?” The words were coming out of Lucifer’s mouth through gritted teeth. With one of his gloved hands, he plucked up a single assignment out of the many, showing it to his brother as if he didn’t already know what a failure it was. “Why can’t you just be like your brothers and get things done?”

How many times had they been through this now? How many times would they go through this same song and dance as if Lucifer didn’t already know the answer. Why him? Of all his siblings, why him? He severely doubted his older brother dragged his brothers down to have an in depth talk about their sins. He knew none of them were as severely punished as he ever was.

“Because I don’t want to! Why always me, eh? When was the last time you had Beel in here to talk about his eating habits?” He had almost had enough, he was out of his seat, hand on one hip, his teeth almost grinding together out of anger. Another push and he wouldn’t be able to control his form. The aura around him was already starting to thicken, the air getting hotter.

“Diavolo doesn’t approach me directly about Beel’s habits, but he ordered me to talk to you!” Lucifer closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, his voice calmer. “Sometimes we do things we don’t want to do.” Lucifer normally wouldn’t have hesitated to always be towering above his brother. Typically, at this point, his wings would’ve been unfurled, his eyes glowing, his form large and intimidating. But for right now, he stayed in his normal image, the bags of exhaustion and worry unable to hide themselves under Lucifer’s eyes. The firstborn pressed both of his palms on the surface of his desk as he leaned forward. “I know it’s harder on you than the others. I know how hard you fight against your sin, but I know you have the strength to-”

“Ah, don’t bring up that sorry line again, I’ve heard it enough.” Mammon looked his brother in the eyes before turning his back on him. “What’s the point? I’m outta here.” Mammon ran a hand through his hair to clear his vision. He had half a mind to keep his vision blurred with them, it was preferable to seeing his brother like this. It was better when he was angry. He hated it when it was...too real, too personal.

Mammon turned to leave, and instead of Lucifer dragging him back to save his own pride, he only called out to him one more time, haughty plopping down in his chair. “I know you’re capable of it, Mammon. Get it done. You’re...dismissed.”

“Tch.”

* * *

His skin still prickled with irritation, but he thought he had a plan that would best suit everyone. He knocked on the door, adjusting the many books and papers under his arm to prevent him from losing his grip. He had that typical golden Grimm-making smile on his face when the entrance swung open. The rush of air from within the bedroom flooded out the door, and he felt his body calm down with the scent and sight of MC.

“Mammon?” MC rubbed their eyes, they hadn’t quite been to sleep yet, but it was very late in the night, and anytime now Lucifer would be doing his Light’s Out rounds. They were already in their pajamas, a pencil still lingering in their dominant hand.

“I have a favor to ask of you, MC,” Mammon started, assuring himself that this would bring about the best outcome. Lucifer would get what he wanted, he would get what he wanted, and MC would get whatever they wanted for their efforts. He pulled out the large stack of books and papers from the crook of his arm, presenting them to MC. Their eyes went wide in a bit of shock, and MC braced themselves for the question they already knew. “Can you do my homework for me? It’s not too much, just a few essays, reports, multi-question assignments. You do this for me, and I’ll--get this--pay you for the work, eh?”

“I-uh…” MC stuttered as Mammon practically shoved the books into their hands. He beamed at them, looking at them with hopeful pleading eyes. MC was always so nice, they never hesitated to extend a helping hand, and it was just what he needed. MC struggled to carry the books in their arms, maybe it had been more than he expected. “I…”

“I’ll help carry these to your desk, what do you say?” He didn’t give them much of a chance to say anything regardless. He plucked the books back up, heading into their room while MC still struggled with words. The desk MC was using was already a mess, covered in stacks of tomes, multiple notebooks, and a plenty of assignments, more than should be assigned to one person. He raised an eyebrow as he placed his own books alongside the rest. He went to question them. “Oi, MC, what’re-” He swiveled his head to glance back at the human.

They had their head down, hands covering their face as their shoulders shuddered. The hair on the back of Mammon’s neck immediately stood up on end, the heart in his chest felt like it sunk down to the floor. Without another word, he was at MC’s side. The room, for him, was almost moving around him in circles as he watched MC cry. He bent his knees and squatted down slightly so he could try to look at MC’s bowed face. He grabbed them by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing their skin in small circles.

“Hey, hey, MC...listen you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It was a joke! Yeah, a joke!” He forced out a laugh. MC didn’t laugh with him. Emotional walls he kept surrounding were cracking. Tonight had not been his night. He quickly left MC, taking heavy but quick steps back to their desk. Stupid, he was stupid. He grabbed his books back, talking to MC while he gathered his work. “So, I’ll-uh-just take these back, and-”

“No, wait.” He felt a hand touch his arm. MC tugged at the fabric of his sleeve. They were no longer crying, and for just a moment, Mammon wondered if he imagined the whole thing. Their eyes were a bit puffy, but already they had their usual smiles plastered over their lips. They were acting like nothing had happened. “I’ll do it. I’ll do your work.” They touched his hand and guided the stack back to the hard and cluttered surface. The gentle gesture caused his cheeks to go a bit red. Their actions were leaving him winded. Were they upset or not?

“I mean, if you want to.” With those words, Mammon saw MC’s lip twitch. As an avid and talented gambler, there was one form of body language that he was well acquainted with. Tells. Little physical involuntary forms of a lie. His eyes narrowed, and he took the time to actually get a closer look at all the work MC had. Assignments with MC’s handwriting but labeled with different names, multiple copies of the same book, even tasks from classes MC wasn’t even enrolled in. Nerves in his body jolted. His legs almost felt like shaking, what was he doing? Was he just another scummy demon dumping their work on a human? His human. What had he done?

“I don’t mind, Mammon.” MC placed his stuff to the side, alongside all the other works MC had taken upon them. They adjusted a pile of parchment, the tip of their finger fiddling with one of the corners. Their somber look of recognition that someone else would be taking credit for their work. “If it makes you happy, I’ll do it.” He watched the muscles in their throat strain to say the words. They didn’t want to. They didn’t want to do this any more than he did, and they were doing three times the work.

“And that’s what you want, huh? To do other people’s duties?” He found himself growling. MC looked up at him with mild shock. “So what happened, eh? Did they threaten you? Trick you?” He wanted to tear up everything on that desk, but he clenched his jaw and waited.

MC shook their head slowly, their hair falling in front of tired eyes. “Nothing like that, they just asked. Just like you did.”

Those words stabbed through him like a dull knife. He wanted to scream but the air in his lungs quickly went absent. He was finding it hard to breathe. “And you said yes? Why?” He took a few steps closer to them. He could feel their body heat, hear their ragged breaths.

MC squirmed in place, their lip betraying them. They were going to cry again. “Well...just because.” For some reason the lecture he had been privy to earlier reverberated around in his brain. MC’s gaze flickered around the room, avoiding him. He envisioned Lucifer and himself, the tough love his brother had shown him. He scoffed and shut his eyes as he silently thanked his brother for all that he taught him.

He gently took MC’s face in both of his hands and forced them to look at him. “Do you want to do it?” He knew the answer already, he just had to keep working on chipping away their stubborn wall. They continued to stammer, giving vague answers that avoided being a direct yes or no. “Do. You. Want. It?” He enunciated every word, wiping away a single tear that strolled down MC’s face. He was almost there. They grabbed his wrists, trying to break free, but Mammon wouldn’t let them go. He could hear their chest puff out suffocated sobs.

He watched their shields crumble down in front of him. MC leaned into his touch, tears unable to be held back any longer. “No...I don’t. I don’t want to do it anymore.” They allowed him to pull them close, and he let out a brisk sigh.

“You’re too selfless for your own good. It’s running ya ragged.” He fiddled with a strand of hair on the nape of their neck. “Can’t you be a little greedy?” They didn’t respond, they just kept on crying. He held onto them tighter. He tisked. “Listen, I’ve got a special one-of-a-kind deal for you.” He felt them start to calm down, slowly but surely. “Take some of my greed for yourself, eh? Greed isn’t always about money or power. Sometimes it’s about doing what you want, solely for the fact that you want it.” Their head swiveled up just enough so he could see their eyes. He almost choked up just looking at them. He cleared his throat. “You clearly don’t have a selfish bone in your body, so I’ll just have to do it for you. We’re tearing up those assignments. And…” He took a deep breath in. “Because I’m so great, this once-in-a-lifetime offer comes with me, Mammon, doing your work for you. IF-” He dried their eyes, thankful their fit had come to a close. His hand lingered on their skin. “You promise to do something for yourself in exchange.”

MC weakly agreed, and Mammon piled up MC’s work on top of his own to take to his room. He was unaware of the dark shadow lingering in the doorway that stepped away like a whisper. Striding away with a proud smile on their face.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc #obey me mammon x reader

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years ago

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richboy!yeosang (part 4)

word count: 7k

fluff

(part 3) (series masterlist)

when you look back on your pregnancy, you’re not gonna remember the rocky start you and yeosang both had.

your immense fear and yeosang’s anger and just an overall feeling of dread and hysteria that comes with an accidental pregnancy.

it’ll be all the little moments in between that stick with you, the cute stuff and the hard stuff and the wide range of emotions that didn’t even fully prepare you and yeosang for what was to come in parenthood.

three months:

“this is cute.”

you look over at yeosang holding a tiny pink onesie with the brightest smile on his face, strawberries and cherries scattered around the soft fabric.

you mirror his smile as you walk closer to him, cocking your head to the side as you narrow your eyes at him.

“just say you want it be a girl already. i know you do.”

it’d been the debate going on between you two for the past few weeks, you not admitting you want a boy and him not admitting he wants a girl; but you can just tell he does, little comments he makes and the things he picks out when you pop in stores during sunday errands.

“because it’s pink? it could be for a boy, too,” yeosang says, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

you bite back the smirk threatening to take over your face, not letting it slip that, sometimes, you’ll hear him talking quietly at night. speaking into the darkness about how much he’s wanted to have a little girl to spoil.

“but you can’t tell your mommy,” he teased, his voice in a hushed whisper.

he now also has a habit of slipping his hands under your shirt (or more often, his that you stole) and splaying his fingers across your warm skin.

your stomach is just starting to show, the slightest indication of a bump forming that made his heart warm way more than he ever expected to feel; he knew he’d love to see you pregnant but he had no idea how much it was really gonna effect him.

watching as your body transformed seamlessly in order to carry his child.

“not that we should keep secrets from mommy, she just already knows everything,” he corrects, grateful to have your face hidden in his chest so he doesn’t see you smile.

“i can’t wait for you to meet her. she’s gonna be a lot better at this than me but hopefully you like me, too, baby girl.”

and you don’t have the heart to tell him you hear him at night, nor do you have the heart to tell him the person growing inside of you won’t be able to hear him for a few more weeks.

but you love how quickly he’s grown comfortable with this idea of becoming a father, finding solace in speaking hushly and sweetly when no one but them are around to hear.

“it has nothing to do with that,” you squeak, poking at his chest and giggling when he grabs your hand. “i just know. i know everything, right?”

his eyes narrow suspiciously and you have to control the laugh threatening to bubble up from your chest, instead giggling more when he tosses the onesie in the cart and guides you in front of the cart.

your back is against his chest as you two push the cart together, lingering in the newborn section for far too long as you excitedly look through clothes, books, and toys you already know are gonna clutter the apartment before the baby’s arrival.

four months:

your eating habits before pregnancy were, admittedly, rather picky.

everyone in your life had always made fun of you for having the palate of a toddler, straying from anything that didn’t look appetizing or produced a mildly unpleasant smell.

that’s why, after tons of research and reading up on the journey of pregnancy, yeosang was humored to hear about ‘unusual cravings’ that come about in the first and second trimester.

“i don’t know, baby, i can’t see you eating anything too disgusting. you’re kind of picky.”

“you’re kind of picky,” you immaturely mock because if pregnancy brain is giving you anything, it’s a lack of witty comebacks and remarks to your smart ass boyfriend.

a snort leaves yeosang’s mouth as he piles fruit into the blender, being sure to add a few extra blueberries after the doctor told you guys it was a good power food to implement into your diet.

it was something that, no matter how hormonal and scatter-brained, you were noticing. how sweet and attentive and just... into the pregnancy he was.

it was almost shocking you, to be honest.

because you knew yeosang was sweet, that the tough guy persona he attempts to put up around others is just a macho act, but this whole journey is really making you see just how caring your boyfriend is.

how he’s so accommodating to you and will drop everything the moment you open your mouth to ask him for something.

how when your parents were, while in the end thrilled to be grandparents, hesitant and nervous and asked if you wanted to move back in for help, insisted he would take care of you and the baby and they’d have nothing to worry about.

how everything that should be difficult during this is just so easy because of him, your level of comfort and happiness exponentially high.

he places your smoothie on the table before leaving a parting kiss on your head, telling you that he’ll be home early and will see you later. you smile and wave happily before resting back on the couch, sipping at your drink as you catch up on school work.

and it’s that same sight that greets yeosang when he comes home a few hours later, emptied cup on the table and your closed laptop resting on your stomach as you nap soundly.

a smile lights up his face and a warmth spreads over his entire body upon seeing you, any stress or irritation from his work day quickly fading away as he makes his way over to you.

he bends down and brushes hair from your face, his eyes roaming every feature; he’s excited to see what your child is gonna look like.

if she’ll (because something is just telling him it’s a girl, or maybe it’s just his wishful thinking and hopes), have your eyes or his nose. if she’s gonna have your personality, sweet and gentle with just enough spunk, or be more like him.

his eyes travel down to your shirt-covered stomach, a small smile on his face as he recalls the first time you noticed the change.

it was after you took a bath, body aching and sore as your body adjusted to morning sickness.

it was something so small and subtle but you had noticed just before wrapping the towel around yourself, your eyes narrowing as you turned to the side.

“yeosang?” he heard from the bedroom, pushing his laptop and books away as he makes his way to the en suite.

there was no sense of urgency in your voice but he still felt the overwhelmingly need to get to you, some innate protectiveness in him spiking anytime you call his name these days.

“yeah, my love?” he hums, his eyes widening and a smirk crossing his face when he’s greeted by your naked body.

“oh?” he hums, making his way over and gripping your bare hips. “i would’ve joined you in here earlier if i knew you wanted to-”

“not that, you perv,” you whine, pushing him away lightly before placing your hand on your lower stomach.

he notices your placement and immediately snaps out of his lustful daze, his eyes watching you carefully for any hint of pain or discomfort; but instead, he’s greeted with the sight of excitement shining in your eyes.

“does my stomach look different to you?” you ask, the small smile on your face making his heat pang in his chest. “there’s a little bump.”

“well no shit, baby,” he teases lightly, his hands going back on your stomach as he looks at you through the mirror. “gotta fit her in there somehow.”

you bite back the smirk on your lips as you meet his gaze, your eyebrow raising before he throws his hands up innocently.

“or him. gotta find them in there somehow.”

you let out a huff before rolling your eyes, turning back to look at yourself in the mirror.

you knew you were gonna see some sort of change soon but it’s like finally seeing it begin is making it all sink in. that you’re gonna get bigger and rounder and really start to look and feel more pregnant.

and while you obviously know that’s a part of this, that makes you a little nervous, too. watching as your body changes and you become more-

“you look beautiful.”

you heart jumps at the compliment still, a small smile on your face as you meet his gaze. it’s soft and warm and sweet and only makes your smile grow bigger, your head cocked to the side as you stare back at him.

he didn’t know if you needed to hear that right now, if the way you were looking at yourself was just curious and accepting or if you’re brain was gonna start becoming insecure, but he just felt like he needed to say it.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, pressing up on your toes to peck his lips sweetly.

you giggle into this kiss when, after you try to pull away, he drags you back to him and deepens it. a squeal leaves your mouth when his hands grip your thighs and pull you up, your legs wrapping immediately around his waist.

your towel falls to the ground with a plop as he makes his way to your bed, throwing you down and smiling wider as your giggle rings through the air.

the gentle lull of fingers running against your skin stirs you awake, a quiet groan escaping you before your eyes flutter open. an uncontrollable smile crosses your lips when you’re able to make out yeosang, his warm hands on your stomach and his soft eyes staring at you.

“hey baby.”

“hi,” you mumble tiredly, your arms outstretched before he chuckles and collapses on top of you. he makes sure to hold himself above you to not crush yo entirely, burying his face in your neck to press short, ticklish kisses.

“you smell good.”

“i haven’t left this couch, i can’t imagine how.”

he pulls back to look down at you, his hand combing though your messy hair and a laugh threatening to leave his mouth.

“have you had anything to eat yet?”

and he has to hold back a gag when you tell him you’ve only had your peanut butter and cheese, the bizarre craving that left you both shocked and surprised.

five months:

“alright, everyone who thinks it’s a girl, say i.”

you roll your eyes when you hear yeosang’s voice boom the loudest “i,” quickly followed by mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa and san.

“alright, so now everyone’s who correct in thinking it’s a boy, say i.”

“i.”

“i-”

“i! will bet my entire bank account that it’s a girl,” san interrupts, nearly throwing his fork across the table as he points it threateningly toward the ‘boy side.’

it was the day before your 18-week check up and nothing could’ve prepared you for the chaos that was to come.

the boys had made it a point to come over once a week ever since you told them the news, swapping between ordering food and bringing home cooked meals to fully prepare for their new lives as uncles.

it was a healthy mix of of fun banter and arguing before an aggressive explosion of debates like these: guessing the sex of the baby, fighting for spots as godparents and seeing who’s meal is gonna satisfy your pregnant self the most.

“anyone need $40?” jongho asks, him and wooyoung the most confident you’ve ever seen that you’re gonna have a baby boy - you wish you were as confident as all of them, because you really don’t know what’s gonna come tomorrow.

“fuck you!” san whines, a giggle leaving you as your hand rests on your stomach and you watch the boys argue back and forth.

yeosang kisses the side of your head as he gathers the plates and cups, seonghwa and yunho quietly talking to you and asking how you’ve been doing.

they knew it was hard for you to make the decision to not enroll in classes for the spring semester, knowing that the later months of pregnancy and baby’s arrival were far too close to finals time.

but you seem to be happy about that decision it seems, basking in the easy going pregnancy you’ve had thus far.

“i’ll probably go back when she’s one or something,” you say absentmindedly, the plan you started concocting in your head when you and yeosang talked about what you were gonna do.

“my parents said they’d be more than happy to watch her on the days i have class so i think it’ll be okay. i’m definitely going back, though.”

seonghwa and mingi shared a look with matching smiles on their faces, something that went unnoticed to you before the other boys quickly came over and stole your attention away.

“looks like you got her thinking it’s a girl, too,” seonghwa mumbles to yeosang, the boy biting back a smile.

he overheard you and couldn’t control the happiness blooming in his chest, watching with a smile as he watches you giggle and hit san and wooyoung’s arms playfully.

by the time the boys left, absolutely overstaying their welcome as they do every time, you were exhausted. laid out on the couch with your head on the arm, eyes threatening to close before yeosang came over and leant down next to you.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you yawn, running your fingers through his hair lazily. “they’re just a little exhausting.”

“a little?” he hums skeptically, a smirk crossing your face as you hold your arms out to him.

“what?” he smiles, eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

“help me up.”

he pulls you up before scooping you into his arms, a content hum leaving your mouth as he walks toward the bedroom. he places you gently on the bed before pecking your head with a kiss, mumbling for you to change while he gets you a glass of water.

this was the new night time routine like clockwork, yeosang more often that not carrying your exhausted body in before setting you up with water and waiting until you fell asleep soundly on his chest.

he comes in a few moments later to see you already in bed, a smile lighting up your face that has him speeding up to get to you.

your eyes are drooping with your hold on him tight, soft mumbles of “i love you,” in your ear, about to succumb to sleep before you hear his deep voice begin to speak.

“baby, you still up?”

“hm?” you hum sleepily, your chin resting on his chest as you stare up at him with tired eyes.

he smiles softly upon seeing your face, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek gently.

there’s been something about seeing you like this that makes it feels like he’s falling for you again, unable to fully grasp just how much he loves you sometimes. it’s a feeling he once thought was scary, one that he thought he wasn’t even capable of.

but he sees now that’s not the case at all; that, if anything, the feeling only gets stronger and more prevalent the more you two go through.

“you know i really don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, right?” he asks, the softness and sweetness of his tone making your tired state lessen. “i’m gonna be happy no matter what tomorrow.”

you can’t even control the giggle that leaves your mouth, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips.

“i love you,” you tell him, humor and amusement heavy in your tone not taking away from how true it is.

and from the slight pinkness on his cheeks and the scoff that leaves his mouth, you think he knows you’re only making fun of him a little.

“of course i know that, silly,” you tell him, his eyes narrowing before you snake your hand down and play with his fingers.

“but i do think you’ve convinced me it’s a girl, too,” you sigh out, your head resting back on his chest and your eyes closing. “i’ll also be happy either way, though. i think...we’re gonna be good at this.”

the words are quiet and sweet and making his heart jump. but when he looks down to meet your gaze again, he sees your fast asleep against his chest.

“so....” san drags out at next week’s dinner, the seven boys around the table looking at you and yeosang expectantly. “did you guys find out?”

you and yeosang share a smile and nod at them, the table erupting into a burst of chatter and demands to be told who was right.

“you’re not gonna tell us, are you?” seonghwa asks, the twinge in both your eyes making him far too skeptical.

a smirk crosses your face as you shake your head no, groans of protest and silent curses filling the apartment. they harass you and yeosang for the rest of the night, going as far as to put up money and chore work to know the answer.

but you insist that you’re keeping it a surprise, not even letting mingi or yunho know even though you and yeosang decided that, if they want t, they’re gonna have to be the godparents.

six months:

"this is pretty," you say quietly, tapping your finger on a light yellow that has yeosang’s face falling into a grimace.

"it's not for a nursery, y/n," he mumbles from behind you, the close proximity of his voice causing you to jump.

you hadn't realized he had moved closer to you as you browsed, his chest now pressed up right against your back. you feel the breath of his words grazing your skin as he looks over your shoulder.

"how 'bout that?" he asks, his arm brushing yours as he points to the most hideous shade of brown you'd ever seen.

"that is so ugly," you bluntly state, his deep chuckle rumbling in your ear as he pulls his arm back to rest on your shoulder. you try not to jump at the open affection and touch he's giving you, his hand ever so often squeezing gently.

"oooh, what about this?" you ask, craning your neck up to show him the color sample.

your cheeks nearly touch from how close your faces are now, holding your breath as you watch him look at it before meeting your gaze. you resist the urge to swallow nervously, his teasing eyes now looking right into yours.

"pretty," he mumbles, "it'll do."

“pretty,” you say, laid out on the floor as your eyes roam the freshly painted wall yeosang just finished. “it’ll do.”

“oh will it? i’m glad,” yeosang quips sarcastically, paint on his face and his hair a mess of waves as you giggle into your hand.

keeping the sex of the baby a secret, unfortunately, meant that you and yeosang had no help in painting the nursery.

it was the second guest room that you two never even touched, the white and beige walls in desperate need of some color for your baby’s arrival.

today reminded you heavily of your and yeosang’s first official date, when you shopped around the store with him to pick out the paint for his pool house.

you remember feeling so nervous and out of your element during that time, his chest against your back as you pushed the cart making your heart pound in your chest.

your cheeks warm when your hear his chuckle, his footsteps moving toward you until his arms reach around you to grasp the bar of the cart.

"you know, you talk a lot of shit one minute and then get unbelievably nervous the next," he lowly mumbles in your ear. "quite easily, might i add."

"i'm not nervous," you snap, placing your hands in the middle of the bar as you to start to push it down the aisle. "what gave you that impression?"

“baby, can you hand me that brush please?” he hums softly, your eyes moving to him atop the ladder.

you nod your head with a small smile, doing your best to get up despite the size of your growing stomach; you had thought at this point you’d actually be a little tired of being pregnant but, much to your surprise, it wasn’t annoying you too much.

yet.

“here you go,” you squeak, throwing it up to him just for it to fly past him and clatter back onto the floor by your feet.

he presses his lips together so he doesn’t burst out laughing, his brow raised before you narrow your eyes. it’s a challenge but you eventually bend down and get it, yeosang’s deep chuckles in the background only making you pout.

“i was gonna start helping you again but i don’t think i should,” you say, defiance and a bratty edge in your tone that he’s secretly missed. “how can you laugh at me?”

“you’re just cute, love, i’m sorry,” he smiles, walking a few steps down and pecking a kiss on your head before continuing with the third wall.

you decided on three pastel blue walls with one accent wall of wallpaper, a mural of animals and pretty landscape where you’ll eventually put the baby’s name.

“we still have to decide on a name, you know,” you hum softly, looking around the room.

it stills fills you with a little disbelief that this is what you guys are preparing for, talking about a name for your child and preparing a room for the baby that’s quickly gonna make their appearance into the world.

“i know,” he smiles softly, eyes roaming your face to see it’s calm and tranquil. his number one goal during these past months was to keep you as calm and content as possible, the shaky start to the pregnancy still making him feel guilty.

he turns back to continue the last bit of paint, eyes tired and body aching from hours of painting up and down the walls. you insisted that they hire someone, knowing you wouldn’t be that much help, but he thought this was better.

because similar to you, he couldn’t help but think back to when you painted his pool house together.

when you two were just starting out and he was every bit as nervous and unfamiliar as you. he didn’t think he was deserving of you but he took you anyway, unable to control the feeling in his chest or overwhelmingly desire to see you.

watch your reactions and how you talk to him, even if most of the time you were yelling or rolling your eyes.

“this looks like the same blue we painted the pool house, no?” he asks suddenly, your head snapping up before a smile lights up your face.

you knew he probably remembered the date but you weren’t sure if he’d been thinking the same thing today too.

“it does,” you smile, walking over and picking up your paintbrush. you dip it in the tray and watch the bristles absorb the pretty blue, peeking up at him to see his eyebrows pinched in concentration.

“i think i like this one a little bit better though.”

“me too,” he hums back, a smile on his face that makes your heart jump.

he finishes the wall a few moments later, you still brushing the paint through the tray absentmindedly. his presence in front of you halts your movements, his hand reaching down to help you up gently.

you giggle and immediately accept his hand, pecking his lips as you apologize for not doing more.

“stop,” he chastises, voice soft and sweet as he places a gentle peck on your nose. “you didn’t have to do anything, i just wanted you with me.”

“yeah?” you quip softly, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you stare up at him. his eyes darken ever so slightly and you have to resist the urge to laugh, tightening your hold on the paintbrush hidden behind your back.

“mhm,” he hums lowly, his paint-covered hand reaching out to hold your cheek. “are you hungry? i can make you something or we can-”

and even despite his sweet words and even sweeter intentions, it doesn’t stop you from reaching out and smearing the paintbrush across his cheek.

and that's how the first tragedy started, you so boldly dipping your finger in the tray and poking two blue dots on his face.

he stared at you in shock for a second, like he was trying to decipher if you really just did that, while you held back the laugh desperate to bubble out of your chest.

"you didn't."

"i did," you say playfully, "and it shut you up for a few seconds so i just might do it-"

roller in hand, he's quick to smear it over your entire cheek, wet paint grazing your skin and the stray hairs that have fallen out of your bun. your gasp and open-mouthed stare causes his deep chuckle to echo through the pool-house, a sound so foreign to those walls.

"you got my whole face!" you yelp, holding your own roller out like it's a weapon. "i did two little specks on your cheek."

"two specks too many and now you look ridiculous. so i hope you're hap-"

you quickly roll the paint over both his cheeks now, first the right then the left, before dropping it in the pan and running over to the safe zone in the kitchen.

a smile crosses your face as you look at him with a giggle, the boy just standing there in disbelief before his neck snaps up to look at you.

"you're done," is all you hear his deep voice say, the dark teasing causing excitement to run through you until you see him going over to pick up the roller you dropped.

he only stares at you in shock for a few seconds, eyes flashing and face twisting before he shakes his head and grabs onto your waist tightly.

“you’re done.”

you shake your head as a teasing smile makes it way across your face, attempting to run out of the nursery to prevent another paint tragedy from occurring.

but he catches you gently around the waist before you can get further, his arms quickly scooping you up. he plops you down on the couch despite your protests, watching with soft amusement as you giggle and shake your head rapidly.

the rest of the night goes by in a flurry of teasing from him and giggles from you, sharing pizza and soda before it feels as if you hadn’t slept in hours; but this was one of the first days you’ve gone without a nap, your body on top of yeosang despite the ever-present fear you’re gonna crush him.

“if- if i get too heavy, just tell me to get off,” you mumble tiredly, your legs between his as your head rests on his chest.

he chuckles lightly against your head, wrapping his arms around your back and tightening his hold on you immediately.

“that’ll never happen,” he mumbles against your head, feeling your smile against his chest before your breaths even out and you’re fast asleep.

seven months:

it was at this point in the pregnancy you felt as if the happy glow was wearing off.

your stomach was huge, your back was aching, and any time you looked in the mirror, it’s like you didn’t recognize yourself.

your body wasn’t your body anymore and even your face looked different, cheeks fatter and nose wider in a way that, tonight in particular, was getting to you.

“he hates me. i know he does,” you cry out, mingi and yunho looking at you like you’ve grown five heads.

because after you slightly burnt the cookies in the oven you’d been craving, yeosang out with wooyoung and san helping them set up apartment furniture, you’d been on a hormonal, downward spiral since.

you felt big and ugly and undesirable.

you felt as if you looked miserable and depressed and like you didn’t wanna be a mother at all.

you felt like yeosang didn’t love you anymore, sick of doting on you and putting up with your naps and every thing else you’ve annoyed him with for the past seven months.

“i hate the guy most days, y/n, but i can tell you right now he loves you more than anyone else in the world. it’s the only reason i haven’t actually beat his ass.”

yunho lets out a snort, less at mingi’s words and more so at picturing his sweet fiancé beating someone up. but when the boy shoots his head toward him, he sends a smile and nod his way.

“mingi’s right, babe. he could absolutely beat him up and he hasn’t. because we know how much he loves you.”

“he might love me but he doesn’t like me,” you whine, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to overflow.

usually, the second these two boys see you on the verge of tears, they hate it. will do everything in their power to stop it because they hate seeing you so sad and upset.

but this is making them almost wanna laugh, knowing the hormones that come with the later part of the pregnancy can be very daunting.

“he likes you and he loves you, y/n, i can promise you that,” yunho says, the smile on his face making you pull your eyebrows together and let out more cries.

it’s upon yeosang opening the door a few moments later that yunho and mingi shoot up, rushing toward the boy who looks at them in surprise.

“what the-”

“she’s been crying all day and thinks you hate her.”

“actually, she thinks you love her but don’t like her,” mingi whispers, yeosang’s face twisting into one of confusion.

but before he can ask them to explain, or ask what the hell you even meant by that, he hears cries coming from the couch that have him rushing over before the two boys can say anything else.

“hey, my love. what’s wrong?” he asks, plopping down next to you and pulling you into him.

you slump against him immediately, missing him and his warmth despite the fact he was only gone for a few hours; you were usually clingy and needy at night but it appeared to get worse these days.

you only slump against him and shake your head, suddenly embarrassed and upset and just wanting everything to be over. you just want this baby out of you already, you want your body back to normal and you want to stop feeling like this some days.

the faint sound of the front door closing goes unheard by both of you, yeosang’s arm around you and your head on his chest before he pulls back and looks down at you.

“why’d they tell me you were crying all day?” yeosang questions softly, a frown on his face because the thought physically pains him. “and why do you think i don’t like you? i love you, baby.”

“i know.... i know you love me but i don’t think you like me anymore,” you whine, a smirk threatening to take over his face.

but he knows the last thing to do in front of a pregnant, hormonal woman is to laugh in the face of her emotional breakdown. so instead, he remains soft and gentle, pulling you on top of him and brushing his fingers through your hair as you whimper into him.

“i’m so sick of being pregnant, yeosang. i just feel like i’ve been annoying and tired and sleeping all day. i’m so big and ugly and my face has changed and i-”

“stop.”

his voice is deep and harsh and immediate, the command in his voice that you know means there will be no exceptions.

he sees your eyebrows pulled together in protest, his face softening before he cups yours and gently caresses your skin; he knows he can’t imagine how tiresome it is to go through this process but he also knows by no means are you ugly or incapable of doing this.

“i know you’re tired of this, baby, and i’m sorry. but you’re not ugly. you couldn’t be ugly if you tired, pretty girl,” he says, the pout on your lips making him smile and press a kiss on your mouth.

“and you gotta eat to keep my child healthy and strong, no?” he asks, his eyebrow raised as his hands lower to your round stomach.

he thought the transformation was amazing actually, what the human body could do and watching you become like this just to fit something he put inside you.

“so if you weren’t getting bigger, we’d be having problems. you’re doing so good, baby, you really are. and you’re gonna be such a good mom, too. you only have a little bit more to get through, okay?”

his words calm you as much as they make your heart flutter, the tears now swarming in your eyes one from happiness.

“so you do like me?”

and he didn’t expect that to be the next thing you say after that, a deep chuckle bubbling from his mouth that makes a wet giggle leave your own.

“yes, baby. i like you.”

eight months:

you thought nothing was gonna beat the panic you felt when you first found out you were pregnant.

your shaking hands and pounding heart and the overwhelming fear that you and yeosang weren’t gonna be able to get through this.

now, though, the fears feel much more real and much more terrifying.

knowing that, in just a month, a third person is gonna be a part of your little family. someone you’re gonna be completely and solely responsible for, making sure their needs are met and you raise them to be a good human being.

and it’s really hitting you tonight, after some mild cramping landed you in the doctor’s office where you were assured it was just your body’s response in preparing for labor.

but that was enough to completely scare you. leave you silent on the car ride home with your sweaty palm in yeosang’s and your mind racing a mile a minute.

“you’re quiet,” yeosang hums softly, the air between you thick as his thumb caresses your hand.

he felt a similar surge of panic rush through him when you told him about the mild discomfort in your stomach, all but jumping up and out the door to get you to the doctor immediately.

you make a noise of approval in the back of your throat, the only response other than the way you tighten in his hand in yours.

because right now, with all of these racing thoughts, you just wanna stop.

stop thinking about everything that could go wrong in the next month, the pain of labor and dealing with a newborn.

you wanna stop thinking about you and yeosang not handling the transition well, lashing out at each other after sleepless nights full of the baby’s crying as you try trying to adjust to this new life.

your walk up to the apartment is silent as well, going right into your room and plopping face down on the cold sheets.

the bed dips a few moments later and you make a tired groan when yeosang drags you up toward the pillows, placing you in front of him before leaning you back.

your back rests on his front for a few calming moments, his hands rubbing slowly over your stomach in a way he’s gotten used to over these past few days.

the moment you told him you had cramps, you weren’t surprised when he started doing that.

there hasn’t been a moment throughout this pregnancy when he wasn’t comforting you or assuring you in some way. holding your hand or stroking your hair and just making sure at all times, you were feeling happy and healthy.

but now it’s like you’re so beyond that point, tired and frustrated and just feeling so anxious about what’s to come.

“are you scared for her to come?”

yeosang’s hands stop on your stomach when he hears you utter those words, shifting your body until you’re sitting in front of him.

your eyes are wide and glossy and he can’t help but smile at how pretty you look, taking your face in his hands gently.

“of course i am,” he says honestly, not wanting to sugar coat anything or lie to you. “but i’m also excited to meet her. we’re as prepared as we can be, right? so we’ll just have to figure it out one day at a time.”

“i know,” you sigh out, that piece of advice everyone in your life is telling you. to take the early challenges of motherhood one day at a time; but you think it’s easier said than done, especially with a month left to just sit here and dwell on things.

“but i don’t know.... are we really ready? we’re not even married, yeosang. what if everyone at the hospital is like.... yikes.”

a snort leaves his mouth that he couldn’t hold back, not liking to laugh at the comments and exaggerations you make these days but sometimes not being able to help it.

“again, baby, if you wanna get married right now, i’ll go out and get a ring. but otherwise, no one is gonna say shit.”

“that’s not why i said it,” you whine, pushing him playfully and cracking a smile at his deep chuckle. “i’m just... scared about a lot of things again, yeosang. it was nice in, like, the middle of this. and it didn’t seem too bad. but now it’s all feeling very real again and i....i don’t know if i’ll be able to do it.”

“of course you’ll be able to do it,” yeosang mumbles softly, his fingers tracing shapes on your shoulder. “you made it this far, baby, and you’ve been doing so good. i already told mi that you’re gonna be better at this than me.”

a smile lights up your face as you hear him say your daughter’s name aloud, the long winded decision in picking your child’s name finally coming to an end last week.

you both had gone back and forth about what kind of names you wanted, discussing meanings and how it sounded and voting out what you absolutely didn’t want.

jang-mi was the name yeosang suggested that you immediately loved, could see it fitting right next to yours on a christmas card or shouting it through the apartment when she’s a crazy toddler.

“that’s funny because i told her the same thing,” you chuckle out quietly, letting out a sigh as you roll over and curl into him.

you were soaking in the bath one morning, all but demanding yeosang to sleep in one weekend when you felt her kicking inside you.

the first time you felt it all a few months ago, you remember nearly yelping. alarming yeosang to the severest degree and watching him rush into the living room to see you staring at him shock.

but he was just as fascinated and happy as you, feeling kicks from inside your stomach as prove that there really was a baby growing in there.

you’d gotten used to it though, every time you felt it talking to her quietly or giggling at the sensation.

telling her how excited you are to meet her despite your nerves, sharing stories or readings books and just informing her of the true chaos she’s gonna encounter with her father and uncles.

“i already know mingi’s gonna try to be strict with you but i think you’ll have him wrapped around your finger the tightest,” you predicted, above all else excited to see him interact with a baby.

“and your daddy’s gonna act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing or is bad at it. but i think he’ll be a lot better at this than me, jang-mi. he acts tough and strong and mean but he’s... the best man ever. and i’m happy he’s your dad.”

yeosang doesn’t have the heart to tell you he heard you in the bath that day, remembering how quickly tears were in his eyes and he was, for a brief moment, the happiest he’d ever felt in his life.

“then maybe we’ll both do a good job,” he hums quietly, already knowing full well that, whatever happens, she’s gonna have you both wrapped around her finger.

nine months:

your water broke two weeks early and nothing could have prepared you for the terror of that moment.

how one second, you were walking in the coffee shop with mingi and yunho and the next, wetness poured down your legs and onto the floor below you. the inside of your pink maternity dress was sticking uncomfortably, a confused expression overtaking your face.

“uhhh, guys...”

“i think i’m gonna get a scone,” yunho says, looking up at the menu despite going here for years.

“no, get the cookies again.”

“you never eat them, babe, why would we-”

“guys...”

“doesn’t he never eat the cookies, y/n?” yunho asks, his head turning to side-eye you before he notices your look of discomfort. “what’s wrong?”

and it’s at that that mingi turns his head, looking over your face before catching the wetness on your dress and at your feet. he looks from the floor to you several times, like he’s trying to put two and two together before his mouth hangs open almost comically.

but because he’s mingi, you should’ve known the words leaving his mouth were gonna be even more funny, even if you didn’t think it at the time.

“did you just piss?”

it’s yunho’s delayed realization that kicks everything into gear, his hand bouncing off mingi’s head before he exclaims that your water just broke.

excitement and shock and even a little bit of chaos erupts throughout the coffee shop in the minutes after, strangers asking if they could help and the barista’s you’ve come to know clapping their hands and looking on excitedly.

“call yeosang,” yunho says, flagging down a taxi just as the fear and anticipation start to build in you.

he answers on the 2nd ring when he sees mingi’s name pop up, knowing full well that the boy was spending the day with you; because he was actually guilty in demanding, with the due date just around the corner, that someone was with you at all times.

“hello?”

“yeosang...”

he doesn’t know how but the second he hears your voice, he can just tell something’s not right.

“what happened? is everything okay?”

you lick over your lips anxiously, knowing for the past nine months you guys have been both terrified and waiting for this day. just a few (or many) hours away from meeting your daughter.

“she’s coming.”

the line goes silent for a few moments, just the sound of his breathing before he starts to shuffle and rush toward his boss’s office.

you’re so lost in his words, assuring you that everything will be fine and that he’ll see you soon, you miss yunho and mingi share big smiles with one another, the former excitedly mouthing “it’s a girl,” just as the taxi pulls up to bring you to the hospital.

part 5

tag list: @mirror-juliet @toffee-hwa @valhoez @miatsubaki23 @mydaintydaisy @treasurehwa @markleeyeosang

#my laptop broke so i unfourt cant edit this #dont come 4 me #yeosang #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #yeosang smut #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #yeosang scenarios #yeosang imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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screamting · 4 years ago

Text

Winter in Kansas [80s AU] 2/2

previously: Bruce managed to sit on the bed for a full five minutes, hands held carefully in each other and breathing slowly, heart steadying, before he locked it in place.

And he left the room, footsteps quiet as he could make them on the carpet, and went back downstairs.

Clark wasn't there, but his parents were. Jon was in front of the TV drinking a cup of coffee while Martha hovered behind him, both talking about expected snow before they saw Bruce

“Hey honey, can I getcha something?” She asked.

Bruce’s mother had been dark-haired, like him, not blond and graying like Martha. It helped. Even if he'd been hoping to catch Jon.

“...I was wondering if I could ask some stuff outside?” he said softly.

Snitches get stitches. But these two knew. He was just entering the circle. Just confirming.

The two of them shared a look. Like they knew exactly what this was about.

Jon sighed and set his coffee down before getting it of his chair. “Sure, Bruce. Lemme just get my shoes on.”

Bruce nodded, waiting patiently and not making more sound than he absolutely had to for the few moments it took.

He saw the look. He knew what it meant, too.

At the very least, he wouldn't have to ease into this.

Once Jon had his dirty, mud-caked boots on and a thick jacket, he stepped outside and held the door open for Bruce to follow.

“So whaddya wanna ask about, son?”

Bruce followed, and stepped out into the field behind Jon.

He waited until they'd walked a little before speaking, hoping the crunch of his boots and the Kansas wind might hide his words from someone else.

“...how much can he hear?”

Jon turned to face Bruce and hesitated, his face hard to read.

“Pretty far last he told me. I don’t know the specifics.”

His voice was low too.

He gestured for Bruce to follow him. Lead him to one of the tractors, climbed on, and started it up, but then climbed right back down. He talked only loud enough for Bruce to hear over the constant rumble and shake of the machinery.

“More noise makes it harder for him as far as I know.”

The tractor was loud, but it didn't have the same bite as cars flying past on the freeway when trying to walk down the street. He could bear it.

“...so that's the only way to get privacy? Clutter the sound?”

“I wouldn’t think of it like ‘getting privacy’, Bruce. Clark isn’t trying to hear everything for the next mile. It’s just background noise for him. He tries not to pay attention to it. It’s only when he hears things that worry him that he pays attention, or his name.”

“... Think of it like… standin’ in the middle of a freeway. Your friend is right next to you talkin’, but not raising their voice. You can’t really make anything out unless you hear something like your name, or maybe ‘help’. Words you pay more attention to without even thinkin’ about it.”

...he listened, and nodded, but all the same--

All the same.

“...you called me a big name out east,” Bruce said. “When we met.”

“Yeah,” he shifted a little on the tractor to get more comfortable. “I know about Wayne Industries. Know what happened to your folks. Was all over the news.”

...he nodded, then. Okay. Jon had some context, then--

“I asked a girl out last month and three gossip rags picked it up,” he said. “...my friends tell me private stuff.”

And Clark could hear through walls.

Jon sighed, “Are you worried he’s gonna go around telling everyone everything?” He asked, sounding like he had this conversation before. “Before you knew about it, did he go around doing that?”

“He keeps everything he hears to himself.”

“That doesn't mean they trusted him with it,” he said. Looking down.

He wasn't… angry. And it didn't come out angry.

But he couldn't stop sounding tired.

Everyone, always listening in. Always hearing about him without him being the one to say it.

Even in Kansas. Jon knew. No chance to say things for himself.

Jon sighed, “No. You’re right.”

“... But it ain’t fair to blame Clark. He never asked for any of this. When it first started he used to lock himself in closets or hold his head underwater for… way longer than anyone was comfortable with. Don’t think he slept for at least a week.”

“I'm not trying to blame him,” Bruce said, and… he wasn't lying.

It almost surprised him. He wasn't trying to spare this man’s feelings.

“...I'm trying to find a work-around.”

“You know what the best work-around I’ve come up with?” Jon said, looking down at Bruce.

“Askin’ him when not to listen.”

Bruce looked up at him, expression confused.

Did Jon announce when he had private conversations?

Jon just shrugged down at him.

“Sometimes you just gotta take someone’s word.”

Okay. He would.

“That include taking his word he can't control it?”

Jon nodded, “I know you weren’t around to see it, but my boy went through hell just trying to deal with it. He’s a lot better, and I imagine he’ll keep getting better, but right now… that’s all you can really do. Take his word.”

The sharp parts of Bruce’s reply seemed to sail right over Jon’s head. Maybe the tractor’s noise hid the edges in his words. He didn't know.

If there wasn't any way to do it, though, then Bruce had… no other questions to be answered like this.

Or maybe Jon just didn’t have the energy in him to respond to it. He looked tired, like this song and dance had happened one too many times.

“That all?”

...he nodded. But still, he asked, “could I make a phone call?”

“Sure,” Jon said, and reached to turn off the tractor. But first--

“Bruce?”

Bruce looked up at him.

“... You could do my boy a whole lotta harm with the power you have. And while I can’t force you to do anything, I will ask that you keep this to yourself.”

And then he turned off the tractor.

“Mr. Kent,” he said, eyes and voice too steady for a sixteen year old. “I knew he was weird two months ago. I take care of my friends.”

He climbed off the tractor with him.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Jon said, and climbed off after him.

He lead him back inside and to the phone that hung on the kitchen wall.

Bruce thanked him quietly, and took the phone off the rack to dial.

He didn't have a tractor or anything else but the TV to hide his conversation, but still, he spoke softly into the receiver, enough that the Kents on the other side of the room wouldn't get more than a few snatches of conversation.

“...have the address already? ...okay. Thanks. Bye, Alfred.”

Hung up again.

Shuffled towards the couch.

“...I realized I forgot something, so Alfred’s going to send it in a few days,” he said, assuming that was fine but informing them out of politeness all the same.

“Okay.” Martha said, and did pass a look to Jon, who just gave her a nod.

They had a talk.

It was fine.

… There was still no sign of Clark.

Clark, he figured, was probably still in his room. He hadn't heard or seen anything to suggest otherwise.

So there was only one thing to do, in the handful of hours left before dinner.

He went to the guest room and dug through his bag, pulling out a clasped wooden box, folded with hinges, and headed to Clark’s bedroom door. And knocked.

It took a moment, but Clark did open his bedroom door.

The light was off and his eyes were a little puffy, like he’d been crying but stopped a short while ago.

He hesitated, but did step aside a little to let Bruce in.

“Hey.”

Bruce stepped in.

“So,” he said, skipping through pleasantries. “You are: stronger, faster, and have better hearing than me. And you can fly and reportedly burn people with your eyes.”

He sat on the floor without ceremony, and unhooked the box to let the game pieces all fall out, and reveal the pattern underneath.

“So, the next question is: do you know how to play chess?”

Clark flicked on the light out of habit whenever someone came inside.

“... Kinda?” He said, watching Bruce plop down on the rug. Like the question confused him.

Bruce nodded, starting to set up the chess board. “Kinda? You know how each piece moves?”

“Yeah.” He said, and sat down across from him.

“Cool. You fine if I take black?”

“Go ahead.” Clark shook his head.

Bruce took black and made the first move.

And they played chess.

Clark knew enough about chess to play, but he was by no means any sort of champion.

Eventually though, he did ask; “Are you mad at me?”

“Did you do anything I should be mad about?” Bruce asked, mostly focused on going easy on Clark and playing at his level.

He wondered if he could get this game to a draw.

“Be a freak.” He said bluntly.

“...” Bruce moved one of his pawns.

He has secrets bubbled up inside of him that he doesn't need to pour out. They aren't his to give. If he can find distaste in Clark overhearing secrets accidentally, he can't console himself in spilling them full-knowing.

So instead, he says, “I've met worse people.”

Clark just sighed, like what Bruce said didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t say anything and continued to half-heartedly play chess. After each move he would pull his arms into himself, hugging them, like out of the two he was the most vulnerable even if it was anything but.

...Bruce watched. Saw Clark tugging his arms in on himself. Saw him curled between moves.

“...what are you so scared of?” he asked. Finally. When it was clear things weren't getting better.

“Everyone,” he said.

“... After the- the shooting, and whenever I’d do something that no real person should be able to do, Ma and Pa would sit me down and remind me that I needed to keep it to myself. That I had to be a ‘normal human teenager’, even if it was just an act, because what if someone told the wrong person. What if they came swooping down in helicopters to drag me out of the house and go seal me in some secret underground bunker somewhere to stab me with needles.”

“And I try. I try but it’s hard. I run too fast and hear too much. It’s like I’m constantly holding my breath and I can never breathe because if I did someone will hear and drag me away.”

….

Bruce nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “...that's…”

God.

He hadn't expected to hear that.

Hear that fear out of Clark’s mouth. The same raw level of fried nerves that knotted in his shoulders and let him wanting to scream, but unable to.

“...I…” God. Fuck. He's spent one day in Smallville, away from Tommy and the pap, and he's falling apart like Gotham was a mould desperately trying to help him hold his shape. “I'm scared of everyone, too.”

Clark was trying not to cry again. His eyes were glazed over. He wiped at them before anything could come out and looked over at Bruce.

“Why?” He asked, confused.

He didn’t know of all the things his friend was scared of.

To be fair to Clark, it was a very long list.

“Everyone in Gotham knows me,” he said, face the same carefully controlled expression he usually had when he was trying to explain something on their homework, or when speaking to the teachers and adults. “...and they know what I'm worth. I wasn't kidding about kidnappings. They've happened before.”

“...I bribed someone when I was ten. To stay with Alfred,” he continued. “...they wanted to take me away. There's a lot of people who are counting down until I'm eighteen and have access to the money. A lot of people want it.”

“...I just want my family back. And to not feel like every street I walk down’s going to have a mugger with a gun on it.”

...he looked up, and met Clark’s wet eyes with his own, darker, exhausted ones.

“...it sounds nice. To have a friend I don't have to worry about being shot.”

Clark finally managed a little bit of a smile.

Friend.

“... Sorry. I didn’t realize having so much money would be such a problem. But it makes a lot of sense. To me that whole… life… just, they show it on TV like it’s anything but a problem. Don’t have to worry about the crop doing well or the cows dyin’ to depend on whether you’re gonna have to cut corners and stuff.”

“I try ‘n do what I can with what I have to help out. Heavy lifting. Lookin’ for engine problems where Pa can’t see. That kinda stuff. I tried to convince them to just let me fly to Gotham too, to cut on bus faire, but they said no.”

He made his move and swallowed.

“I wanna help people, Bruce. That’s why I went to that house and ended up…”

Clark didn’t finish his sentence.

“But whenever I do I just get scolded. And I’m scared that someone will find out it’s me, and then that’d be the end of it.”

Bruce listens.

He's still watching Clark’s eyes, and his mouth, and he can't imagine this boy doing what they say he's done.

“Kent,” he says, with steel in his tone. “I would've given anything for someone to get in the way and burn the man who killed my family’s arms off.”

Clark smiled a little.

Validation.

…

“I don't regret it. At all. If it happened again I'd do the same thing. Even though I'm scared of being taken away. It'd be worth it, I think.”

Bruce picked up one of the chess pieces he'd captured and threw it at Clark’s head.

“Don't be stupid.”

It connected but Clark just let it.

“Huh?”

Bruce gave him a glare, though it wasn't a particularly intense one.

“You can't do it one time and get taken away so the next guy has a clear shot,” he said. “So next time, don't get caught.”

Geez.

He blinked, “So like… do it and run? They'll still see me though and tell the cops.”

“No, like don't do it so they know you're an alien,” Bruce said, like it was obvious. “As much as they deserve their arms burned off, it might get suspicious.”

Clark gave him a look. “As soon as they shoot me and I don't die they'll know something is messed up.”

“Then wear a mask,” he said, leaning forwards, an odd light in his eyes. “Be so alien they can't imagine you're who you really are.

Clark looked a mix of shocked and excited. “Like… a comic book hero?”

Bruce wasn't sure what the expression on his own face was. “Sure?”

… He made his move and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“I used to pretend I was one when I was little. I think that’s why I learned to fly before, y’know, all the other stuff.”

What kid didn’t want to fly?

...Bruce looked down at the board and quietly moved his piece, too.

“...I lied to you before. About where I'm going when I'm eighteen.”

Clark looked up at him but definitely wasn’t mad.

“... You know where you wanna go?”

“...I wanna learn how to hunt people down,” he admitted, head low.

“... Like… a detective?”

That didn't seem bad or even a little out of character for Bruce.

…

“Maybe,” he said. He didn't really have a word for what he wanted.

But Clark used to pretend he was a comic book hero…?

Bruce dropped his gaze again.

“...I found a cave, when I was a kid,” he said. “I fell inside while walking. I used to pretend I lived inside it. A monster. Who would come out and hurt the people who deserved it.”

…

“It's stupid, now.”

He was stupid.

But he was still going to go.

Going to find someone dangerous and powerful, and say teach me how.

“That's not stupid.” Clark said, taking his turn.

“... Well, maybe the eating part. But wanting to track people down and make them pay isn't stupid. It's what we're doing now kinda. Looking into the Court of Owls.”

“...yeah,” Bruce said. Nodding. “...do you think we’ll find them?”

“... I’m not sure, honestly.” Clark admitted. “I feel like we’re finding something deeper but I dunno if it’s the Court of Owls.”

“Just gotta keep diggin’ to find out.”

...Bruce nodded.

He took a breath.

“....you're in check, by the way.”

“Oh.”

He made his move.

…

“You’re going easy on me.” He smirked.

“Yep,” Bruce said, moving a piece on the opposite side of the bored and giving Clark time to escape. “Don't feel bad. I've been playing Tommy for years. Only recently started to give him a run for his money.”

Clark huffed, “I don’t feel bad. I know you’re way out of my league.”

It took him a few seconds, but he made his move.

...he moved another piece.

“...does that bother you?”

‘Maybe a little,’ Clark thought.

But Bruce didn’t even like guys. He knew that after seeing what happened with Tommy.

“Nah,” he said instead with a smile. “I’m just glad you put up with the redneck from Kansas.”

Bruce huffed.

“What's that got to do with chess? You guys not play board games out here?”

Clark gave him a look.

“Do Kenny ‘n Pete look like they’d play chess?”

“Kenny ‘n Pete look like they play tic tac toe,” he said.

Clark let out a laugh that could have melted a room.

“Yeah, basically.”

…

“God. I’m sorry about them.”

Bruce gave him a confused look.

“...that they have big mouths?” He said. Because, yeah. He was sorry for that, too.

Or was it a flawed intimidation tactic? Hazing?

Not speaking to him for half the day?

“Yeah. Big mouths and I think they were just trying to throw you off. Maybe they were kinda mad I made friends back in Gotham and then brought them with me? They’ve been my friends for a long time. Probably know more about me than my parents in some cases.”

“They shouldn't have thrown you under the bus like that,” Bruce said, and that was all he could say about them without saying anything cruel.

He moved the chess piece.

“Yeah I’m-- I’m pretty pissed at them right now.” He sighed, watching the board.

“Really thought you’d hate me.”

“...” yet again, he found himself asking, “why?”

...Clark kept saying that. ‘I thought you'd hate me.’ Why was he so certain? Why…

… Clark shrugged.

“I dunno. I’m not a super interesting person or anything and then you throw the whole ‘alien’ thing into the mix. It’s just-- it seems easier to just… hate? I dunno.”

He made his move.

“I’m dumb.”

….yeah. Bruce nodded. “Yeah. You are, huh.”

He moved in kind.

“...I take care of my friends.”

Clark smiled.

“Me too.”

Made his move.

“So just let me know if you need to move something really heavy.” He joked.

Kinda.

Bruce nodded.

“I'll get you renovating the manor grounds in no time.”

“Check, by the way.”

He scoffed and watched it happen.

“That a job offer, Mr. Wayne?”

“...I can pay ya under the table, but it might damage my reputation,” he said.

He looked confused, “Why would that damage your reputation?”

Bruce looked up. “...it's black market activity,” he said. “Which is fine on a small scale, but if I was paying someone I’d have to report it.”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” He snorted.

…he managed a smile about it. “Yeah. I don't exist on a small scale.”

Clark didn’t say much to that, and made his move.

… Eventually their game would end and it would be time for dinner.

Bruce would go downstairs, and eat with the Kent family for dinner. And--

...and try to not feel strange. Or an outsider. But… it wasn't impossible, in a strange way.

...he knew Clark’s secret, too, now. And it made it easier to slide into a place like this.

Insular.

Maybe things were easier for now. They did certainly seem easier for Clark’s parents, and as they started to sit down around the dinner table Jon would ask; “Everythin’ good now, gentlemen?”

And Clark would look over at Bruce and then smile a little and nod.

Bruce nodded, “yessir,” and…

It was nice. Even with knowing Clark might hear anything.

Somehow, he still felt a little more free.

They had a nice dinner. Jon asked Bruce things occasionally, mostly about how Gotham was, how he liked it. He didn’t ask about parents or business. Just typical kid stuff like school and how it was going. They avoided talk of Clark’s incident completely.

Things around the Kent house were extremely ‘normal’ considering. It was like… bizarre interlaced with normal, and now that Bruce was in on it they didn’t need to worry.

After dinner Jon asked Clark to come help him get one of the tractors out from a mud hole it was stuck in, and if Bruce watched he would see Clark lift the front up and simply back the whole thing up.

...and Bruce would watch. From the porch, regular, hot tea in a mug. And he would watch Clark lift the tractor and say nothing.

His friend was an alien. And he wasn't sure, exactly, why he was taking it so well.

...when they came back in, they watched TV and got ready for the night. And… Bruce wondered, faintly, if Clark would hear if he had a nightmare tonight.

But he didn't.

Not tonight.

Clark could, but… Bruce had nightmares semi-frequently. It wasn’t polite to encroach on that or bring it up, so he didn’t.

Trust that he’ll give you privacy.

That morning the sun would rise and the day on the farm started even earlier. Jon was up and out of the house before the sun was up and when it did finally rise breakfast would start to be made.

Bacon and eggs with toast.

…

When Bruce came down Clark wouldn’t be there.

Bruce found he hadn't been given a time to wake up, and so he woke on his own--fatigued still, but only in the way of waking up in new places--with the clock saying an hour earlier than when he usually woke at school. It was still a dark, and he lay in bed, enjoying the ability to not have to get up immediately. He started his way downstairs when he began to smell food and an unusual amount of sun (in other words: any amount of sun) hit his windows.

“Good morning, Ms. Kent,” he began with, obviously. “...Clark sleep in?”

“No I think he’s up already.” Martha said. “He likes to sit on the roof when the sun comes up. He’ll come down soon now that you’re up.”

“How d’you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled dry,” he said, and… didn't have to question how Clark would know he was up.

“Okay.”

Martha nodded and cracked open the eggs for his breakfast. “You sleep okay?”

There was a small thud on the front steps before the door opened and Clark came inside wearing little more than pajama pants. It would be the first time Bruce had seen him in less than two layers.

It became obvious why.

He was… kind of jacked.

He didn’t look cold either despite the temperatures outside.

...what the fuck.

But Bruce kept his mouth shut. His heart sped a little, but slowed again a moment or two later.

“...morning.”

“Mornin’.” Clark mumbled, scratching his stomach and instantly rooting in the fridge.

Two cups.

“Y’want OJ or milk?”

For eggs?

“Orange juice,” Bruce says, watching him.

Clark shook up the OJ and poured Bruce a glass before handing it over to him, but he went for milk.

“Mind puttin’ some bread in for toast? ‘N get the butter out, please.” Martha said, and Clark did as he was asked without complaint.

Martha plated Bruce’s eggs and handed them over, then pulled the towel off the plate in the middle piled with bacon. “Help yerself.”

“Thanks,” he said, startled out of his observations for a moment, and--

He was watching two things, a little lost in them both, but at least they were all in this one place. Just--on one hand, caught in the mundanity, in a mother asking her son to pull out the toast and bread, and on the other hand, a small thing in the back of his mind which informed him that Clark’s stomach muscles twisted every time he moved his arm.

He waited until he was joined at the table to even think about eating.

Clark made some toast and put it on a plate for them to grab from and by the time he sat down too his eggs were finished.

Sunny side up.

He thanked his mom as he sat down and started to dig in.

“Just cover the bacon back up when you’re done, I’m gonna run out and help your daddy.” Martha said, taking a sip from her coffee before leaving the two eating on their own.

Bruce started to eat as Clark joined him, thanking Ms. Kent again, and…

…

“You always sleep without a top here?” he asked, losing his shit completely with a straight face.

Clark was busy shoving a strip of bacon in his mouth. “Uh-” He chewed and swallowed.

“Yeah. I like the sun on my skin when I get up.”

Oh. Okay. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, so he just--nodded and got his own piece or two of bacon.

And kept eating.

“...plans for today?”

Clark shrugged a little and put some ketchup on his eggs before breaking them up. “Dunno. Usually I hang out with Kenny ‘n Pete on my days off, but…” he glanced up at Bruce.

“Not feelin’ that anytime soon.”

…

“Thought about just… flyin’ around for awhile. Haven’t been able to do that in Gotham. But that’d leave you here unless you’re fine with coming.”

Bruce was ready to tell him he was fine with just reading a book for a while, but--

“...with coming along for flying?”

“Yeah. I’d carry you. Like, it’s fine if you’re scared though. It’s pretty weird. But figured it was impolite not to offer.” Clark said, pushing runny egg mess on his bread and eating it.

Bruce stared at him like he was crazy.

“Take me flying,” he said.

… Clark grinned with a mouthful of toast and a bit of ketchup on his lips. “O-kay.”

He was stupid and (buff, and Bruce wanted to lean over with a napkin and shove it on Clark’s lips to get rid of that dumb ketchup) absolutely intentionally being dense, because who didn’t want to fly, even if you had to be carried?

But instead, he said, “Shut up and eat faster,” and started shoveling his breakfast down in kind.

Clark grinned and did just that, shoveling his food down and eating toast and bacon before standing up and chugging his milk.

Shirtless.

He put the plate in the sink and wiped his mouth with his hand.

“Dress warm, it gets cold.”

Bruce felt something in his stomach flip, and he nodded, running back upstairs to tug on his winter boots and add on another layer and his heavy coat. Clark’s borrowed winter hat. His good gloves.

And he was ready.

Clark got dressed too and then met Bruce back downstairs a moment later. He opened the door out to the porch, stepped off the front step and… float there, spinning around as if in water to face Bruce with his hands in his pockets.

“Piggyback or in my arms?”

“Arms,” Bruce said, not wanting a piggyback--he was sixteen, not a kid, after all. It didn’t matter if Clark could carry him fine.

“Okay.”

Clark hovered close again and reached out, hand going around Bruce’s waist and pulling him close. He pressed himself against Bruce and locked his hands around the small of his back. Waited for Bruce to position his hands how he wanted.

… He might have been enjoying this a little too much.

“Ready?”

...somehow, Bruce didn’t realize he was going to be held like this in Clark’s arms. He knew they’d go around him, but--face to face, he guessed he hadn’t expected, and found his face close enough to smell Clark’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders securely.

Even through his heavy layers, he could feel Clark’s body, unusually warm against him.

Despite having just drunk orange juice, his mouth was dry. He told himself it was nerves.

“Ready.”

Clark smiled at him and then looked up.

And they started to rise, slow at first. Clark kept his grip firm and make sure Bruce didn’t slip, and soon they were over the roof of the the farmhouse. He started to fly away from it, legs angling as if to ‘push’ away from the farm.

Over the empty fields.

Once they were up in the air, Bruce… forgot.

He forgot about a lot of things. About how he was sort of uncomfortable being this close to anyone, or how he was fully clothed and Clark was half undressed in his PJs, or what was going on back home.

There was nothing under his feet. It was just-- a moment. A moment of disorientation, and realizing the air was cold and sharp with wind, and how empty the air was around him. That flying was just falling interrupted.

And Clark’s firm chest against his own was the only thing the world that felt stable at that moment.

He wanted to see the fields. The farmhouse. The long shadows, stretching over the yellow, frost-bitten fields.

But before that, before getting lost in wonder, staring-- he tightened his grip on Clark, and held himself close against him.

It was nice to be held so tightly by someone who wasn’t his mom or dad. He couldn’t even recall a time that had ever happened before. He kept people at an arm’s length for his own safety, and even when he did let them in there was still that fear of rejection. But last night Bruce had insisted and insisted that he wasn’t mad, that they were still friends, that it didn’t change anything.

When he got to the point he wanted and started to fly backwards gently, to really get in the whole view of the farm, he looked back down at Bruce with that award-winning smile.

“Whaddya think?”

“It’s big,” Bruce called back over the wind.

But he couldn’t… think of anything else to say about it. And maybe the new-day sun in his eyes said enough. The way it hit his ghost-pale face in the way it never could reach in Gotham.

There weren’t skyscrapers here. The long shadows ran only along the ground, far, far below them, cast by regular-sized objects, not buildings made by giants.

And the sky was in every direction he looked.

Big.

Blue.

Beauti--

Maybe looking back on this day when he was older would be when he said he started to love Bruce Wayne, but right now he still didn't quite realize it. Even as he looked down at the other boy rather than the scenery, watching how the light illuminated his pale skin and tired, sharp eyes. There was a fierceness to Bruce he had never seen from anyone else. Fierce and ironclad in everything he wanted to be.

“Yeah, it is.” Is all he said though, and would slowly continue to hover backwards, getting further away, then go a little left towards the trees that marked their property.

You could see the roads. The buildings in the distance. Cars driving along. Birds flew beside them a safe distance away.

And somehow Clark shined just like the sun, curls blowing in the wind and arms secure around Bruce's waist.

Bruce didn’t say much while they were up there, focusing on breathing in the cold wind and staring down at all the world below in a way he’d never really been able to before.

Not like this. Alone and secure, without airplane walls around him.

(Even if he wasn’t alone at all.)

...but Clark would still be able to hear his heart beat, strong and excited with the world below, pressed against his bare chest with just the coat between them.

...but Gothamite he might’ve been, Bruce still could only stand the cold against his face for so long before his cheeks started turning pink and windburnt.

Clark might not have been able to feel the cold like Bruce, but he could see it.

“Gonna start going down.” He warned, and did just that. A slow descent left and down…

… and they were back on the porch, feet touching down.

A little wobbly, Bruce pulled away once his feet touched the floor-- not because of anything bad, but because as soon as the wind wasn’t rushing him anymore, he realized he desperately had to wipe his nose, or it would drip out everywhere.

“Tissue,” he mumbled.

Clark was… a little hesitant to let go, but as soon as Bruce pulled away he let him go.

“... Oh! Yeah, c'mon.” Clark said, arm leading Bruce back inside.

There was a tissue box right by the door.

Bruce hid his nose in his face until he was able to get to the tissue box and snatch one out, blowing his nose.

“Danks,” he said.

“No problem. I forget that's a thing that happens.”

Clark's skin hadn't changed even a little.

Chalk that up to another power; resistance to cold.

Bruce noticed Clark’s immunity, but didn’t say anything about it really. He just focused on blowing his nose, and once he was done, rubbing his cheeks to warm them up again.

“...you never get sick or stuff, either?”

“Uh,” Clark began as he walked to the kitchen to make something warm for Bruce.

“Not since I was little. Mom says when I was a baby I struggled a lot. Like I couldn't breathe. But I don't really get cold anymore. I can't get burnt. Can stick my hand right in a fire and nothing. Can grab hot pans.”

“It's like--” he shrugged. “Invulnerability?”

...Bruce had honestly just been wondering if Clark was affected by bacteria at all, but… that was a lot more than he’d asked for.

“...not anything?”

It was nice to just… talk about it with someone. Sure his friends knew, but… they always asked him weird questions about it. Like if he looked at people naked.

“Well getting shot hurt, but other than something like that? Nope.” Clark put on some water for tea.

...Bruce didn’t question it, even if he did watch Clark a little longer, lingering.

...he realized now that he looked at Clark, that… he didn’t have any marks on his skin.

Not a mole. Not a freckle. Not a paper-thin scar.

And he’d been shot.

“...I can’t tell at all,” he said, maybe a little breathless, watching Clark’s back as he filled the water.

“Revolver hit me here--” he said, turning and pointing at his face. “Shotgun hit me here--” he pointed at his arm and chest.

“Gave me a black eye and broken nose and a lot of cuts. But they healed pretty fast. No scars or anything.” Clark shrugged. “Worst anyone's been able to do too me. I've fallen out of trees and moving cars and jumped out of two story windows and mostly been fine.”

He gave a sheepish smile.

Bruce found his arm going up to his neck, fist tight, and tried not to think about the hole that he’d seen punch through his mother.

He had scars on his arms right now. He had cuts healing right now. And Clark had jumped out of buildings and been shot and leapt out of moving cars--

“Why did you jump out of a moving car and a two story window??”

Clark laughed, “Well the car thing was I saw a dog and I was like… five. Really gave my folks gray hair for that one. And I jumped out of my bedroom window when they grounded me once and didn't quite have flying down yet. But I landed okay!” He gave Bruce a dumb grin and thumbs up.

Bruce buried his face in his hands.

Clark just laughed again and pulled the kettle off the stove to pour them both some tea.

“Genius alien from beyond the stars.” He joked.

“Really though I’m just…” he shrugged. “Just a kid on a farm who can’t get a date or pass his driving test, or… y’know.”

He didn’t know. But he nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. And he wanted to say he was just normal, too.

But he could get a date, and wasn’t a farm kid, and could drive, just not legally.

…

“...wanna be lazy normal and just watch some TV?”

“Hell yeah.” Clark grinned and handed him his tea.

...the first day or two had been rough, but it grew easier with each passing day.

The Kents didn’t ask him about his family. They just… brought him to the table. Clark did alien things, and human things, and mostly reading-and-TV things.

They had a Christmas tree, and bit by bit presents appeared under it as the Christian Holiday grew closer. And, to Bruce’s relief, one such present arrived in the mail with a little bit of time to spare.

He’d been invited to Christmas parties before, but he’d never really celebrated with his family that he could remember--what he did remember was mixed up with Chanukah somewhat, with how young he’d been at the time. And though he was fairly sure the Kanes celebrated both, they only really invited him for things like Pesach and Sukkot.

So it was… the first time he’d really seen a family Christmas in person, rather than through every movie and pop culture magazine in the world.

...it was much quieter than he’d been led to believe, when the day finally did come, and he wondered, briefly, how the Kents had managed to tell Clark about a magical flying man in the sky when he was a child, or if they’d let him know Santa Claus was a fictional character to avoid accidental alien imprinting.

The day Christmas arrived there was a bit more of a set time to get up, but things still moved the same as they had been.

The sun rose and Jon tended to the cows, but then would be inside for the remainder of the day unlike his usual sparse appearances throughout. They made pancakes for breakfast and waited until everyone was sat around the table together to eat.

After breakfast was time for presents, a few under the tree for Clark, some for his parents, and…

Martha handed a little box to Bruce too.

...it was nice. It was still approximately like a regular day, which was a little strange, but it was nice. He ate the breakfast with his usual appreciation and followed to the livingroom around the tree once it was done, watching.

Bruce took the little box with a quiet ‘thank you,’ and smiled. Most of the gifts around the tree were for Clark, but that was fine.

...After a bit of confusion, Bruce had brought his presents down a day or two before. One for Jon. One for Martha.

Two for Clark--one of them being the little package that had arrived in the mail a few days earlier.

The first three presents Bruce had picked out while in Gotham, asked Alfred to purchase and wrap, and had brought them on the train himself on the way to Smallville.

He hoped they were fine.

...for Ms Kent, before knowing her name, he’d gotten a blue sapphire necklace with matching earrings. Not especially expensive, so it wouldn’t feel condescending or she couldn’t find things to wear them with. Not so cheap it looked bad coming from him.

For Jon, it’d been a little easier.

High quality black leather gloves with a matching sidebag.

… and for Clark, he’d… for the first present, he’d simply gotten him an autobiography of one of the muckrakers who’d lived through the mob wars of the 20s and 30s.

...it was the second present, in a much smaller box, that had Bruce anxious.

Jon and Martha kept insisting that he didn’t have to get them anything of course. They were very impressed by the gifts though, Jon giving a rather genuine smile and Martha leaning over to give him a hug in thanks.

Clark really liked the book too, and it actually took him a moment to put it down and pick up the second present that Bruce had given him.

“Another one?” He asked, a little surprised while pulling off the wrapping.

Bruce nodded and… looked down a little.

...inside the box, there were what looked to be hearing aids. Pale, thin, and mechanical.

“...they’re sound blockers,” he said softly. “...you said Gotham was too loud for you. And what you said about three miles, I figured…”

…

“You don’t have to use them.”

Clark clearly didn’t know what they were before Bruce said anything, but then the realization hit him.

“... Oh. Wow, Bruce.” He said, pulling them out. “That’s… really cool.”

“How do you put them on?” He asked, already trying.

Oh.

Bruce brightened a little, and shuffled closer, sliding until their knees knocked together.

“Here,” he said, taking the first one from Clark’s hand and brushing away his hair to get a good view of his ear.

He slid it in carefully, looping the hook that made it appear so much like a hearing aid over Clark’s ear.

“No one should question it, since it looks like a regular thing.”

Clark leaned in closer to help him and… maybe kinda stayed there a little longer just so he could be closer to Bruce while he helped put them in.

“This is really cool.” He said again, voice quiet.

“Finally gonna be able to sleep.” He laughed, a little joking and a little not.

Bruce smiled a little, glad Clark liked them so much. “They working?”

He went quiet and focused, a smile spreading over his face. “I can’t hear the cows.”

Martha looked like she might start crying.

Bruce grinned wide, something warm spreading through his chest.

“You like them?”

“Yeah. I really do.” Clark grinned.

…

He leaned over and pulled Bruce into a hug.

For a moment, Bruce was startled, freezing up in the sudden hold.

...then, he leaned into it, closing his eyes, and finding himself melting into the hold.

… Clark found he really didn’t want it to end, but… his parents were right there. So it had to. But while it lasted he held Bruce tight and whispered out another ‘thank you’ before pulling away.

“Wish you woulda had those when you were younger.” Martha smiled and Clark laughed.

“Yeah, really.”

Bruce smiled and edged away from Clark again, opening his own present quietly while the others talked.

...he felt a little better, now, knowing the gift was well received. That it wasn’t a bad idea.

...soon enough, though, January would come, and the hearing aids would be really put to the test as their return to Gotham grew closer.

Bruce’s gift was… less impressive, but…

“I know it ain’t your style, but…” Clark grinned.

It was a baseball cap.

A baseball cap with ‘SMALLVILLE’ embroidered across it.

“Least it’s somethin’ to remember us by.” Jon chuckled.

Bruce sighed deeply, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and flipped the hat up to destroy his hair style by putting it on.

“You know what, Kent,” he said. “At least it’s not John Deere.”

Clark grinned and roped his arm around Bruce to give him a side-hug.

…

January would come eventually though, that was for sure. Clark would hug and kiss his parents goodbye and they would tell Bruce they loved having him, to come back any time. He was always welcome in their house.

Then it was a bus ride back to Gotham and Clark definitely packed his new hearing aids.

...he wasn’t sure why he was the one struggling to not get emotional once the Kents drove away, and he found himself in the bus seat, staring at the seat in front of him.

...but he was. For the first few minutes as the bus pulled out of the station, Bruce just… curled up in his seat and worked to keep his breathing steady.

And they headed back to Gotham.

…

He wouldn’t wear his ‘Smallville’ cap with him as they reached their destination late the next day, though. He’d return to the borrowed snow cap, and hide the ‘smallville’ one deep in his bag so that it couldn’t be seen.

...and as they returned to the dorms, he had a weight of dread in his chest that he wasn’t unused to, but…

It hadn’t been there the last two weeks.

And knowing Clark could hear his heartbeat just made him more anxious, now, about keeping secrets.

#aka the gay awakening #superbat #80s gay superbat #clark kent #bruce wayne

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s-creations · 3 years ago

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In Sickness, In Health Chapter 5 - Broken Arm

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Author’s Note: This chapter is self titled with what's about to happen. But please keep in mind this contains talk of broken bones. If I need to put further tags/warnings on this story, please let me know!

“Dewey, I’m serious, get down!” Huey frantically called.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too high up and doing amazing!” Dewey called back as he reached for the next level of branches.

“Dewey!”

“Let it go dude,” Louie commented as he scrolled through his phone. Leaning up against the same tree that Dewey was currently climbing. “You’re not getting him down from there. Just let nature take its course.”

While Huey glared at Louie, Dewey was continuing his trek up the tall tree. Humming his theme song (version 236) while he reached for another branch. His plan for the day was to reach the top of the tallest tree in the backyard so he could see across the bay. To hopefully see across it, maybe even see the entire world and what it had to offer. Maybe he could even find some place interesting enough to visit! Some place close!

Ah, he was so eager! He couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the world looked like. Entire body shaking with eagerness, Dewey moved a bit too quickly...

He lost his footing first. Webbed foot slipped and Dewey quickly reached out to try and grab something for support. Only for his hand to grab at air. The branch just a bit too far out of reach.

It was as if time stood still for a moment. Dewey got a brief thought of ‘Huh...maybe this wasn’t the best idea.’ before he began to properly fall. It was strangely exhilarating to hear the wind rushing around him. Sort of like flying. Except the opposite. Because he was, in fact, falling. So this was worse.

Dewey hit the ground hard, Huey shrieking while Louie let out a cry of ‘Holy Cow!’ as they rushed over. The triplet dressed in blue sat up slowly. Looking around, dazed, but otherwise felt fine.

“What were you thinking! You could have been killed!” Huey huffed. Fear being replaced by anger as he glared down at his brother.

“I was thinking how cool it would be to see the view from the top of that tree. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be for the moment. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow-”

Dewey let out a yelp of pain when he tried to put weight on his arm. Pain shooting through it, the duckling swearing he was about to pass out from it. Taking a deep breath to keep himself awake, Dewey looked down at said arm. Which was clearly broken. Sticking out at a weird angle, but nothing else seemed ‘wrong’.

“I broke my arm.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Check it.” Dewey casually commented holding up the mentioned limb. Louie looked close to vomiting while Huey turned very pale.

“Oh… Okay. Um, Louie, can you get Uncle Donald?” The youngest triplet nodded and dashed back towards the house, happy to not see the arm. Huey, on his part, bent down to examine the damage as best he could. “Ah...so… I don’t think I’m supposed to touch it. But it looks so bad!”

“Dude, it doesn’t hurt. Just breathe and leave it alone.” Truth be told, Dewey wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t panicking. Maybe it was because everyone else was already freaking out. But, it was probably the fact that, since it didn’t hurt, Dewey wasn’t too worried.

“Dewey!”

Ah, someone else to worry about him.

“Hi Uncle Donald!” Dewey beamed while being faced with a panicked duck.

Donald looked prepared to start pulling out his feathers in panic. “Okay, okay, Dewey, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, all things considered.”

“Okay, can you walk? We need to get you to the car.”

“Sure...I’ll just need help getting up.”

Dewey was more than patient as the rest of the family rushed around him. Helping him into the car, getting the seatbelt on, making sure he was okay before they set off. A quick trip to the emergency room later and Dewey now had a sweet cast and a story to share with his other two uncles.

“This is so cool! Benny had one of his arms in a cast too and he got people to sign it. Do you think I could do that too?” Dewey looked up at Donald, freehand knocking on the hardened plaster.

“Of course. You can start carrying some sharpies when you’re at school. Just as long as you don't make everything messy and you don’t distract the class.” Donald commented, finally relaxed now that everything was taken care of.

At first, Dewey was honestly thrilled to have his cast. It was like getting a fancy new piece of armor in a video game. Wanting to constantly show it off. Happily retelling his adventure with so much gusto to whomever would hear him. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

The first issue was how uncomfortable the cast was becoming. It was heavy and clunky. He couldn’t sleep because the cast was just dead weight. His arm started becoming both itchy and sweaty. Hot and bothersome with no solution as to how it was supposed to be fixed.

The second issue was that there was no one else to tell the story to. All his classmates knew. All his neighbors knew. And, even if his uncles would listen to him, Dewey knew they were becoming bored by the story. The once great armor was now dragging him down.

The last issue was that he couldn’t do anything. Uncle Donald made it clear that Dewey wasn’t going to do anything with the cast on. Not that the duckling paid that warning too much attention. Until he realized that the cast was preventing Dewey from, quite literally, doing anything. He couldn’t grab anything. Couldn’t put pressure on it in any way. Hold anything. It was basically a useless arm.

“At least you have some time to work on your homework.” Huey offered weakly. Which was only met with an unamused glare.

Dewey was becoming so bored.

He was currently situated on the sofa during one afternoon. Eyes barely open, barely focused, as he ‘watched’ the television. Dewey wasn’t fully taken in what he was looking at. He was also pretty sure there was a string of drool sliding out from the side of his mouth.

“Well, don’t you look charming.”

Dewey merely rolled his head to the side to look over towards Donald. “Hello…”

“Hello to you too.” The older duck walked over, claiming an empty seat next to the blue dressed triplet. “I see you’ve moved your pity party from the bedroom to the living room.”

“Not pity.” Dewey weakly argued back.

“No? Then what are you doing?”

“Bored?”

“Ah, I see. Nothing like being sad for yourself.”

“There’s nothing I can to with my stupid arm is it’s stupid cast.” Dewey huffed weakly.

“You’ve done nothing but watch t.v. since you’ve gotten that cast. Why don’t you try doing something new?”

“Broken arm, can’t do anything.”

Donald rolled his eyes. “You’re not in a full body cast, you can still move. And your dominant hand is still ‘free’. I don’t mean trying to climb something new. Why not find a new hobby? Read a book, go take a walk, something.”

“All sounds boring.”

Letting out a slow breath, Donald took a new approach. “Well, I have something you might be interested in.”

“Doubt it.” Even with a heavy sigh of boredom, Dewey still followed his uncle.

They entered a small side room at the back of the house. One filled with mainly boxes and other unneeded odds and ends. They passed the stacked boxes, going towards the sole window. Where an artist easel had been set up. Paints and other tools cluttering a small rolling cart that had been pushed against the wall.

“What is this?” Dewey asked as he looked over the pile of paint tubes.

“My get away, if you will. When I want a break from everything, I come here and just paint. Just...put on some music and paint.”

“I’ve never seen you paint before…”

“Well, I did just start,” Donald commented, taking a seat in front of the easel. “I was told it would help me relax.”

“So, are you telling me to start painting?” Dewey asked.

“Sort of.” Reaching into a large bag that was propped up against the wall as well, Donald pulled out two items. A small sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. “You have an active imagination. Why don’t you try giving your words some pictures?”

Dewey was skeptical at first. When starting, it was frustrating. Nothing was looking right and it was maddening to try and figure out what something was supposed to look like. Seeing it in his head to transfer it onto paper was difficult.

Tio José swooped in to save the day. When Dewey crumpled up another failure. The parrot was more than happy to give his expertise on how to start off a drawing. Getting the basic shapes, proportions, how to look at the whole and the parts of an object, how drawing from real life can help draw from the imagination. After that, there was no stopping him.

Even with the cast on, it didn’t stop him. If anything Dewey started using it as a weight to keep the loose paper still. The rest of the recovery melted away. The blue cladded duckling happily returned to school with a fully healed arm and a number of handcrafted books to share.

#donald duck #josé carioca #panchito pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchito pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations #fanfiction

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jawritter · 5 years ago

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Your Dean...

Request: Heyy! I'm sorry to be a bother. I was wondering if you can do a one-shot where the reader is prone to severe panic attacks and her husband Dean is the only one who knows how to calm her down? She gets a really bad attack but Dean for some reason ain't there, and no one is able to help her but eventually, he comes back and takes care of her. Sorry if this is a lot haha.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Trigger Warning... Anxiety, Panic Attack, Angst, Some fluff. That’s about it I think.

Word Count: 1447

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback his golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST******

It doesn’t start out hard and in your face, not always…

Usually, it’s a slow build over a course of days, sometimes hours, depending on what brought it on.

Not this time…

This time it felt like it hit you out of nowhere, and you didn’t even see it coming, not until it had already started to take hold of you.

The feeling like you’re being watched, paranoid over every little thing. That spine-tingling feeling that someone is following you, or watching you, judging you, and you know for a fact that no one is there.

The way your mind overplays things, making them out to be worse than what they are. Constantly playing over and over again like a broken record things that normal people wouldn’t even pay attention to, but you, it drives you crazy.

Every little mistake on a constant repeat in front of your mind’s eye, not letting you let it go…

Like this morning when you were in the gas station for a supply run. Dean would be home today, and he needed beer when he got home from a hunt because he liked to have it, and you knew it.

So as a good girlfriend you always try to be, your OCD says you must have beer at the bunker by the time Dean got home.

They had the counters cluttered, you set your purse down on the counter, in a hurry to get home before the storm hit and the rain started, and in your hurry, you knocked over a small display of candy bars onto the floor.

There was a line of people behind you…

They saw your clumsy moment…

That was all it took…

Your mind hyper-focused on that one moment, playing it over and over again. It wasn’t your fault really. They shouldn’t have had all that shit stacked up on the counter, but your mind wouldn’t let it go.

It just kept playing the way people stared at you as you fumbled and tried to pick up the candy that had fallen over.

Even though they weren’t really staring at you, your mind made you think that they were, because that’s how anxiety works. It takes a situation that’s small and just makes it seem like this unforgivable, insurmountable thing.

Everyone that was in there had probably forgotten all about you and the candy display by the time they got to their cars.

You though, you could feel judgment that wasn’t there.

You know the signs, you dealt with anxiety all your life.

You know what’s coming….

You need to get home to Dean… He’s your distraction… Your grounding… Your safe space… He knows how to pull you out of your head before it goes too far…

Your Dean…

When you finally made it home and walk through the doors of the bunker Dean still wasn't home…

You slip a level deeper into your spiral, this time you don’t even notice it, your mind still hyper-focused on what happened in the gas station. Your subconscious now mixing with the gut-wrenching questions on top of your own humiliations…

Where’s Dean?

He and Sam should have been home an hour ago?

Has something happened?

Are they hurt?

Did they get in a wreck?

Should you go look for them?

Taking a deep breath you shove it down and try to rationalize it…

They just ran into traffic or stopped for lunch. They’ll be home soon…

So you put away the supplies and go take a shower, trying to relax yourself and stave off what you know is coming.

Your heart rate feels higher than normal. Your hyper-focused state doesn’t allow you to see that it’s just stress and you’re doing it to yourself.

“Oh God, something is wrong with me. I’m going to die. I won’t ever see Dean again…”

Your Dean…

Just that simple thought causes your hands to shake and your chest to tighten around your lungs.

“There was so much I wanted to do, and now I won’t get to because I’m dying..”

“I wanted to see Dean one more time. Let him hold me one more time. See his smile. Feel his warmth… But my heart rate is up, and I’m going to die before he gets here… Now I won’t get to see him again…"

Your Dean…

You just wanted to see your Dean…

Your heart is now pounding in your ears as you try to dry yourself off and make your way to the bedroom you shared with Dean…

You feel a little dizzy.

“Oh, God… Is this it…”

“How will Dean find me?”

“On the floor in the hallway. On the floor of our bedroom… In our bed? Would he think you were just sleeping… Leaving your dead body there for hours?”

“Will he burn your body? Give you a hunter’s funeral?”.

“Will he do something stupid to try and get you back?”

Your chest grew tighter and tighter as your mind continued to reel. Your breaths felt like they were becoming harder and harder to take as you slid down the wall not three feet away from the door of your shared room.

Everything started to sound like it was underwater. Your world started swimming around you. Your vision is blurring as you start to lose consciousness.

You could hear a roaring sound like someone was yelling, but you couldn’t be sure everything sounded so far away…

Out of nowhere thick, strong arms wrapped around your shaking form and Dean’s cologne invaded your scenes…

Were you hallucinating?

Did you die?

Is this your Heaven… Dean shouldn’t be here… He should be alive…

"Y/N, sweetheart, breathe, you got to breathe for me okay? Breathe with me baby.”

You heard Dean take a deep breath, and you desperately wanted to do what he was telling you to do, but you couldn’t make your body do what your brain said you need to do.

Dean’s large hand came to the side of your face, making you look at him. His piercing green eyes invaded your vision, making you focus on him.

“Y/N/N, come on sweetheart, focus on me. It’s not real, whatever happened to you is not real. I’m real. I’m right here with you. You need to concentrate. I need you to breathe, baby girl.”

Dean was real. He was there… You weren’t imagining it… Your Dean was there… He was home…

You take a deep breath with him this time, your lungs burned in protest, but you did it; counting to five in your head before letting it go. Then again… Every breath becomes easier…

“That’s it, baby…That’s my girl… I gotcha just breathe," Dean’s deep voice vibrated through your body as he held it to his thick chest, his hands making a trail up and down your spine, calming you, grounding you like only your Dean could.

Slowly your world came back into focus after a long time of just sitting the hallway in Dean’s lap as he brought you back down from your panic attack. Probably the worst one you’ve had in a while.

Dean whispered comforting words to you until he was sure you were completely out of it before standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, bringing you into your shared bedroom, and laying you down on his bed. Sliding in behind you, and wrapping his arms you, pulling you back to his chest, your head laying right over his heart. The sound of its steady rhythm helps to calm your own racing heart.

"That was the worst one I’ve seen you have since the night we got married, baby girl. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asks as he plays with your hair, placing little butterfly kisses on your face, letting you know he was there, and that he loved you.

You thought back to that moment in the store when it all started to happen. When you knocked the candy display off the counter, but that really wasn’t what triggered it. You could see that now.

You’d been in your head for days, and you knew it. This hunt was a long one, and time away from Dean always was stressful, making your anxiety levels higher than normal.

“I really don’t know Dean… Guess I was just missing you… Got all in my own head… Blew little things out of proportion. You know me,” you tell him, and you nuzzle yourself into his neck, breathing him in and letting him feel all of you and wash it all away like only he could.

Your Dean…

Dean placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head and tucked the covers around the two of you tighter. Exhaustion was pulling at you, and he knew how much a panic attack on that level took it out of you.

“I’m right here sweet girl. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe, you’re safe, I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll always be here."

Dean started humming slightly, and everything faded to black as consciousness gave way to a peaceful sleep.

The first one in days.

Your Dean… Your world. He was home. You were safe. He was safe. Everything was right again…

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Tag List:

@deanwanddamons @imabitch4jensen @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @alanegaming @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #always keep fighting #panic attack #fanficiton #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #jawritter #jensen ackles

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mcheang · 5 years ago

Note

Lila Salt Lila tries to lie to Luka to impress him he just shrugs not really interested and rejects her she snaps and tries to get him kicked out of Kitty Section when ask why she would do this he didn't do anything Lila snaps at him for rejecting her and now he'll pay Alya records updates it on her blog and let's say Karma's gonna come collect Lila's debt

Sore reject

Post-Miracle Queen

It pained Lila to have to obey Gabriel on his new edict to leave Kagami be, but to be honest, Adrien hated her. She got what she wanted from Gabriel: stardom. Best not to rock the boat.

Speaking of boats, Lila was currently on Juleka’s family boat. The band was going to start shooting their first music video. Alya was doing the camera work. Lila was just there for support with Mylene.

Marinette sadly couldn’t make it because she was currently shopping at some Chinese herbal store for her Mother (potion ingredients)

While the band set up, Lila skipped the grunt work in favour of a self-guided tour.

Ugh. Everything here is so cluttered, it’s practically a pigsty. On the upside, Lila can easily trip and sprain her ankle.

As Lila headed downstairs, she heard the fine tuning of a guitar. Entering a double bedroom, she saw the guitarist.

Woah. If Adrien was droolworthy, this boy was the manifestation of cool.

Blue hair graced the handsome cheekbones of the stranger. He was tall and slender, dressed in laidback style.

Lila just found her new Adrien. Imagine if she dated a guitarist? How awesome would that be? She knew girls who would be envious that she had a musical Boyfriend. And he’s older too, bonus! To get the interest of a senior boosts Lila’s own attractive level by curiosity.

Time to turn on the charm. Lila plasters on a friendly smile and leans in.

Lila: Hey. You must be Luka right? I’m Lila.

Luka looks up briefly before flicking his eyes back down. “Hello, Lila.”

Lila beamed and took that as an invitation to continue. “You’re a serious Musician, aren’t you. Juleka told me all about you.”

Luka didn’t look interested in her conversation. Time to reel him in with some fabricated connections. “I actually know this music producer from Hollywood, and I gave him a copy of your band’s music. With any luck, we’ll hear from him soon. Fingers crossed!”

Lila expected Luka to at least show some gratitude, but he just kept strumming his guitar like he was trying to tune her out. Rude!

(Beneath Luka’s serene nonchalance, he refrained from wrinkling his nose and gagging. Lila’s inner melody sounded oily and off-tune. It made him long for Marinette’s vibrant and beautiful song.)

Lila gave one more try. “I can’t wait to hear you perform. Hey, do you think you could give me guitar lessons? I’ve never been taught anything beyond the triangle.” Lila gives a laugh, hoping for something.

Luka has by now completely zoned out. He had been tired of listening to Lila jabber jabber jabber. And the mention of producers reminded of his experience with Bob Roth...bad memories.

Lila stared at this stupid boy before turning around with a huff and stomping off. Before she left the room, she noticed that near Luka’s bed were a few photographs. One of his family. One of Kitty Section. And one with Marinette.

Lila gritted her teeth. First, Adrien, now Luka. What do these boys see in her? Here was a perfectly gorgeous Italian flirting with them, and they go after Asian girls with no social charisma.

As Lila stewed on her thoughts, it suddenly struck her. If Luka was on team Marinette, he’ll believe Marinette over Lila. Luka holds sway with Kitty Section, and having no real reason to dislike Lila since he is very reasonable and not to be swayed just by Marinette’s opinion, he might actually sow a seed of doubt in them.

Like hell Lila would let that happen.

Putting on some sniffles, Lila walked back to the band.

Rose: What’s wrong, Lila? Did you hurt yourself?

Lila shook her head. “I just saw this boy downstairs. I tried to be friendly, but for some reason, he just brushed me off.”

Juleka frowned. “That’s my Brother Luka. He gets absorbed in his music sometimes, to the point where everything else is white noise. Don’t take it personally Lila. My Brother is a really nice guy.”

Lila nodded sadly, inwardly frustrated. White noise? Time to change tactics. “Why is he in the band again?”

At everyone’s surprised looks, Lila quickly explained. “I’m just surprised. Luka’s in a different grade, don’t your schedules clash?”

Ivan: Yeah, but we make it work.

Lila: Is he in charge?

Rose: Actually Marinette organizes our schedules, she’s really good at that. She knows everyone’s schedules ahead of time anyway.

Lila saved that bit of alarming information for later. “But don’t you think it’s weird that he’s the only one from a different grade?”

The band are getting tired of her criticism on Luka. “It’s not weird. Luka’s the soul of our band. He understands music the best.”

A bass voice interjects, “I am more curious about why you’re singling me out the way you are, Lie-la.”

Lila turns around, wide eyed. She hadn’t even hear him arrive.

“What? I’m not!”

Everyone’s eyebrows are raised skeptically.

Lila flushed. “Ok, so maybe I am. But you were really rude ignoring me the way you just did. I did something nice for you and you didn’t even say thank you. You barely even said a word.”

The others were wide eyed, this was the first time they were hearing Lila sound angry.

Luka just strummed his guitar, looking more interested in the notes coming off it than the upset girl in front of him.

It made Lila see red. As the music continued to pour forth, everything else faded away and Lila just focused on Luka. It was like he was a snake flute player, only Lila was the snake.

Luka: And that gives you the right to criticise me?

Lila: Of course, it does! It’s called payback.

Luka: that’s a pretty harsh payback for not talking to you. The way you were talking about me, it was like you were trying to convince the band that they would be better off without me.

Lila: It’s what you deserve.

Juleka: Lila!

Shocked, Lila snaps out of her confrontation with Luka. Crap, the music got into her head and she forgot she had an audience, one of whom held a camera with a blinking red light.

Needless to say, Lila was asked to leave, despite her begging and dry tears.

As the band rehearsed, Alya finally did her research.

Jagged Stone’s pet kitten- false.

Prince Ali’s Friend- false as proven by Rose with a single text

Lila’s disabilities- false due to the fake kitten

That night, Alya posted an apology to her viewers for not checking her sources beforehand. In this apology video, she posts Lila’s true colours as the cause for her suspicions, followed by screenshots of proofs disproving Lila’s claims.

Alya’s viewers forgive the novice reporter and instead criticise Lila.

Notably, one of the subscribers to the Ladyblog is Owlman (the man loves anything hero-related), and he decides to check on Lila’s health records and gives a call to Mrs Rossi.

A lot more truths come out (including Marinette’s expulsion) and Lila is expelled.

Lila tries to get Adrien or Gabriel to back her up but why would they? Lila has been nothing but horrible to Adrien’s friends and she is no longer useful to Gabriel.

Good news for Luka: Marinette is impressed by the way he handled Lila.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fic #adrienette #lila gets exposed #lila karma #lila is exposed #lila salt #post miracle queen

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hyperions-strap · 4 years ago

Note

for the abo prompts?: rhys and jack have been trying for a baby for a while. nothing seems to be working until one morning jack wakes up with his scent different and sweeter, and as it turns out, rhys is prolly a little too into the pregnant jack smell.

✨💞 Done and posted over on AO3 💞✨

Feel free to send any more prompt ideas 💘

Jack lets his head hang like dead weight, trying to enjoy the feeling of Rhys' knot swollen inside him. His body is aching, only the sweet bliss of endorphins from his alpha knot relieves the pain. They've been having sex every available moment, it's only just starting to become tiresome and more of a chore than a pleasure. Jack always feels content afterwards, when Rhys is practically ready to pass out, and they just stay together, quiet, enjoying the release of their bonded pheromones wrapping around them both like a blanket.

It's more enjoyable for Jack when he's laying on his back, of course, but they've tried that dozens of times, they wanted to test other positions. Admittedly, appreciating how thick Rhys' knot is works best when he's sat up straight, riding him.

He rests his hands on Rhys shoulders, watching the younger man's chest slowly rise and fall with each steady breath. He doesn't even notice the touch of Rhys' flesh hand against his hip - not until there's an accompanied voice to match.

"Jack," his voice is barely even a whisper. It's wrecked from exhaustion, cracking under the weight of itself, but still manages to be quintessentially Rhys' at its core. Jack lifts his eyes to look at the younger man. His heart flutters when he sees him smiling. "How you feeling?"

There's a sorrowful silence for a mere second, before Jack exhales the heaviness cluttering his chest. "I'm fine, kiddo. How's your dick feeling?" He does his best to act normal, but the withering corners of his smile are more of a give away than he realises. Rhys extends a hand to stroke his cheek - the cold metal is surprisingly soothing against Jack's bare cheek, nice against the rough edges of his scar.

"It'll happen, Jack. These things just take time for some people."

Rhys' optimism is warming. It does surprisingly help Jack feel less broken, but it can't work miracles. They've been trying for months to get pregnant, but to no luck. They've seen doctors, fertility specialists, voodoo witches, and hippie love gurus claiming to know the secrets to a bountiful fertile bond, but nothing. There's nothing wrong with either of them, they're both perfectly fertile, everything is in working order, it's just a lack of lady luck, so to speak. Jack doesn't want to admit it, but having no success is beginning to weigh in his self worth more than he appreciates. He's never been a lovey dovey, family oriented, domestic omega, but something about starting a family with Rhys feels unexplainably right. He'd say it's destiny, but that's too cheesy for his liking.

Why couldn't they make a baby then? It seemed like child's play, any moron with a knot and an above average IQ could make it happen, but inexplicably Rhys and Jack couldn't. They'd synced their ruts and heats, they'd used fertility enhancements, they tried every old wives tale as far back as they went, but it seemed like fate had other plans. After a while, the frustration began to infuriate Jack. He wanted this so bad - to give Rhys the family he deserves. It's the one thing he can't threaten or bargain his way into getting! His status as an omega hasn't bothered him since he was a teenager, but now he can't help but resent himself.

He's lucky to be bonded with the most level-headed, docile alpha known to man. Jack could easily put down any knucklehead that pushed him too much, it didn't matter if they were an alpha or not, but having someone with patience and understanding certainly helped Jack's blood pressure. Sure, stereotypes about alphas and omegas weren't inherently true - Jack and Rhys were proof of that - but Jack couldn't deny when his hormones and pheromones for their heaviest and clouded his judgement, he certainly appreciated the loving embrace of an alpha that adored him no matter what.

After a while, Rhys' knot begins to go down, and Jack, with about as much grace as an oversized gorilla, pops off his lap and flops down beside him on the bed. His eyes shut the second his back meets the mattress. A hand rests against his flat stomach, playing with the coarse hairs covering his skin. Jack peers down to see Rhys watching him, content to do so forever.

"I should probably elevate my hips or some shit, right?" Jack teases, lifting said area and holding himself in position with his hands propped against the small of his back. "Keeps the baby goo inside or whatever."

Rhys grimaces, shaking his head. "Don't call it 'baby goo', that's disgusting."

"True though."

"It's cum - just call it cum!"

Jack laughs. He lets the lower half of his body fall back down, bouncing slightly against the springs. Rhys goes back to mindlessly playing with his belly hair, twirling it, sweeping it one way, enjoying how it feels. Jack tries to ignore the pestering voices crawling out of their hiding holes, telling him he's worthless, that all his accomplishments have been for nothing if he can't have a baby with Rhys. They tell him he deserves this, for all the bad he's done, for being a dictator, for being so selfish most of his adult life.

Rhys can see the wheels turning in Jack's head. The older man thinks he's subtle, but he's as easy to read as a kid's book. He rolls on to his front and crawls up to rest on Jack's chest, pouting playfully, walking his fingers up his biceps. Jack smiles softly.

"It'll happen." He says quietly, but it does little to reassure Jack. Rather, it makes him frown.

"What if it doesn't, huh? Will you be okay without a brat to take care off?"

"You're really convincing me you want this to begin with when you call it a brat." He laughs, but Jack rolls his eyes and turns away. It's harder on him, Rhys knows - it's always the way with omegas, but when your partner is hell-bent on denying old fashioned stereotypes associated with his status, it likely will result in deep seated repression, only to finally show itself in abrupt murderous rampages. Getting Jack to admit he even wanted kids to begin with had been a tedious trial, and it hurts him to know he opened a wound he can't heal.

Rhys takes Jack's face in both his hands and kisses him tenderly, drawing out the passion so it sinks in deep with Jack. He loves him more than words could ever begin to convey, even on his worst days, and he hates to know he can't immediately make things better with the flip of a switch.

"It," he kisses him again, "will," and again, "happen. I know it will." Rhys says on the end of a heavy breath, kissing him one more time for longer. Jack moans softly, his hand looping round to hold Rhys' waist.

"Will you be okay if it doesn't?" Jack sounds so fragile, maybe even a little scared. Rhys looks at him shocked before kissing his forehead.

"If we've still got each other, that's all that matters, okay?"

Jack accepts it for now, just so he can settle in for the night and get some sleep. It won't keep him happy forever. The inevitable self loathing will come back, stronger, but all he can do is keep going. He doesn't think Rhys is lying either - he probably will be okay with just Jack if they never have kids, but it's still scary to imagine a world where Jack's better half leaves him because he was some kind of detective omega. He puts his arms around Rhys and does his best to think of good things. Against all his instincts, he even says a soft prayer to himself, hoping for good news.

A few weeks go by with no change. They still fuck like rabbits and research any new fertility treatments available, but it's boring routine at that point. Eventually Jack suggests they think realistically about giving up, which Rhys fights him on and insists they just need to stay positive, but the older man gets serious fast. It's easy to assume Jack's just being his usual aggressive self, dominating the conversation, belittling Rhys to feel like a tough guy, but the truth is he can't handle feeling like a failure much longer. Waking up, taking tests, seeing no change, it's starting to seriously break his heart.

One morning however, when Rhys had to spend an all nighter at the office, Jack wakes up with what feels like a groggy hangover. Everything is just slightly discombobulated, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, and his eyes take a lot longer to adjust before he can confidently sit up without getting dizzy. He's not sure why he feels so peculiar - he hasn't been drunk in God knows how many months - but he's too tired to really ponder it. He rubs his eyes tirelessly with the balls of his palm, followed by stretching his arms out wide above his head until he hears a distinct crack from his back.

He thinks about getting himself breakfast, but the comforting heat of his bed is too intoxicating. He wants to snuggle down again, bury himself under his duvet and sleep away his day without a care in the world. Thankfully, just as his stomach begins to rumble, he hears the front door echo, and Rhys' tired voice call up to him.

"Before you collapse in bed, do me a favour and make some French toast, will ya, pumpkin?" Jack yells out. He grins victoriously when he hears Rhys groan in response. The sound of cutlery clinking together is like music to Jack's ears.

When Rhys looks shattered when he walks into the bedroom with Jack's food. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, along with his shirt untucked and left scruffy after popping a few buttons, and his eyes struggle to keep themselves open. When the plate is in Jack's hands, he haphazardly clambers out of his suit pants and collapses with a thud into the bed beside Jack, face first in the pillows.

Jack eats his toast, staring at Rhys, amused by the sight of his wonderful alpha disheveled. It takes a few minutes before Rhys moves again, lazily sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The only sound between them is Jack's crunching.

Then Rhys frowns. He turns sharply to face the older man, staring at him quizzically. When Jack catches him he pauses mid bite.

"Wha-?" He mumbles past the toast in his mouth before taking a bite and swallowing. Rhys flares his nostrils and sniffs the air loudly, to Jack's dismay. "What's the deal, cupcake? You're being a freakin' weirdo!"

"Something smells good…" Is all Rhys can say before he's feverishly sniffing the air again. Jack rolls his eyes.

"I'm eating French toast, it's probably that."

Rhys shakes his head. "No, this is different...it's kind of sweet."

"French toast can be sweet--"

"It's not French toast, Jack!" Rhys snatches the plate from his hands to put in the bedside table. Without warning he grabs Jack possessively and sticks his nose flat against the crook of Jack's neck, scenting along their bonding point. It causes the older man to shudder, a sudden spike of heat rushing through his veins and lighting every muscle he has aflame. Rhys inhales deeply up and down his neck repeatedly. It's really sweet - almost sickenly so, but not so much Rhys would want to pull away. It's like a familiar smell, homely, that makes him want more and more so he can unlock a treasured secret. He inhales more, as if even possible.

Jack starts to feel wavy. Rhys' own alpha pheromones begin to fill the air, possessing Jack, gently rocking him into a tranquil trance. He's fully aware of what's happening, but his body is lighter than he remembers it being. It's a safe feeling, an uncontrollable peace that happens when Rhys is blissfully possessive. He moves his arm to touch Rhys' face, wanting to stroke his cheek and maybe try persuade him into a kiss if he's coherent enough to do so. He gets as far as Rhys shoulder before the younger man takes his hand in his own.

Then Rhys licks Jack's sensitive skin, and moans like he's experienced food for the first time after being starved. He licks again, then nips him softly, stopping when Jack starts purring a little too sensually. It takes a lot to pull himself away, but when he does he immediately knows the answers to all his questions. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him excitedly, knocking Jack out of his state.

"You're pregnant!" Rhys cheerfully yells, bombarding Jack with congratulatory kisses. The older man mumbles in confusion, eventually able to detain Rhys from his wild excitement to actually understand what's happening. He stares at Rhys, his eyes wide like dinner bowls.

"Run that by me again, kitten?" He asks urgently, and Rhys obliges, taking his hands in his own.

"Your smell, Jack, it's different! It's us, it's a mix, and it's the most amazing smell I've ever smelled in my entire life!"

Jack is still visibly confused though, baffled by the frantic happiness his partner displays. He lets the words sink in for a moment, then moves to get out of bed, pacing the spot. He thinks about the impossibility, how it's a cruel prank, or a trick, or maybe even a dream. Is there a smell? The French toast still smells pretty good, he doesn't want to say it's him in case it's just his own gluttony tricking him.

Then Rhys pounces out of bed and nuzzles into his neck again, sniffing in short bursts before inhaling deeply again. Jack's legs go tingly, and he has to catch himself against the wall before he falls in a slump. He can feel Rhys' cock tenting his boxers, pushing up against him eagerly.

"Kid, slow your roll," Jack manages to get out, pushing Rhys off him so he can see his face, still lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm still catching up. What's that nose of yours trying to tell me?"

Rhys composes himself best he can. He takes Jack's hands in his own and pulls them to his chest. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, fearing it might burst any second. Jack can't fault him, his is about the same if Rhys is really about to confirm what he thinks he is.

"It worked, Jack. You're pregnant."

The words carry such weight to them, Jack's embarrassed to say he actually tears up. It's a surprise to Rhys, he hadn't expected the older man to shed a tear for just about anything, but there he is, waterfalls falling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop. Jack frowns despite them, says it's Rhys' fault for inducing some omega hormone in him, but it doesn't ruin the moment. Rhys pulls him in for a long, loving hug and squeezes tight. He takes joy in nuzzling his nose into his neck again, scenting what he's now sure is their offspring, snug and protected inside Jack. It's the sweetest smell he'll ever know, he's sure.

They book a doctor's appointment to make sure it's all true, and sure enough it's confirmed. Jack gets a scan and they see their pea sized baby on a blurry black and white monitor. It's almost surreal, Jack's convinced he's still dreaming hours after the appointment. It doesn't fully register until he's back home standing in the kitchen, and Rhys has his arms wrapped around his middle. His hands are placed gently over where their child will grow. It makes both their hearts flutter to think about.

When Jack feels an airy fuzziness coming over himself again, he groans, trying to knock Rhys off. "Stop scenting me, for God's sake, or I won't be able to stand the next 9 freakin' months!"

Rhys chuckles. He kisses their bonding spot softly and leans over his shoulder slightly. "It's a really good smell though, Jack."

"Well what do you expect, it's me you're talking about. I produce only the best."

"Yeah," Rhys spins Jack around so they're facing one another and holds him in his arms. He can't help the huge, dopey grin lifting the entirety of his face. "You really do."

#rhack #rhack abo #rhack mpreg #rhack fic #handsome Jack #rhys strongfork #alpha rhys #borderlands #omega jack #tales from the borderlands #mpreg

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 4 years ago

Text

Always Led Back to You Chapter 4, a John Doe/Seraphina fanfiction from UnOrdinary.

Sooooooo guess who accidentally gave her boyfriend access to her AO3 account including all her smut fics? This girl. And by accidentally I mean I sent him this very fic I was proud of without realizing he now has all my AO3 fics at his disposal.

RIP

Here’s chapter 4! Now we can get started!

Disclaimer: I don’t own UnOrdinary

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

Seraphina felt like her head was pounding. She groaned, attempting to sit up.

“Easy there, Seraphina. You collapsed.” A familiar voice spoke out.

“Leilah?” Seraphina voiced out, feeling dizzy, having trouble focusing. What did that drug do to her? Did Leilah know that the drug would do that?

Suddenly, Seraphina felt sick and before she could stop it, she vomited bile all over the blankets.

“Ugh…” Seraphina wiped her mouth, her vision slowly beginning to focus. “Leilah, where’s John?”

“John?” Leilah blinked. “Who’s John?”

“The boy who saved us! The one with the dark hair!” Seraphina was losing her patience with her sister. Leilah went quiet. “Leilah?”

“Seraphina… what do you mean someone saved us? You mean from Mother and Father?” Leilah spoke cautiously.

“Leilah! Enough games! I’m talking about Spectre! Your organization!” Seraphina snarled viciously, the pounding of her head increasing with the returning of her vision. Finally, she could focus…

She was in her room. Her room from home. She hasn’t been here since she left home to return to Wellston to be with John…

And Leilah was there. She was there, and much younger than when Seraphina recently saw her.

“Lei… Leilah?” Seraphina questioned, confused. Leilah looked as if she’s seen a ghost.

“Seraphina… it sounds like you’ve had a bad dream…” Leilah smiled uneasily, quickly reversing the vomit off of Seraphina’s blankets so they were as good as new. She felt her younger sister’s forehead, trying to locate a temperature. “You suddenly fainted, and Mother and Father cancelled all extracurricular activities for the afternoon so you could rest.”

Seraphina didn’t respond, registering what Leilah told her. She climbed out of bed, despite Leilah’s protests and went towards her full body mirror.

It was her. She was in her twelve-year-old body.

“Seraphina, I’m going to bring you more food, okay? Mother putting you on a hunger strike must’ve messed with your body.” Leilah placed her hands on Seraphina’s shoulders. Seraphina paid her no heed, touching the mirror, tracing her image.

‘I’m twelve years old again!’ Seraphina thought. She was numb, and Leilah took this chance to lead her sister back to bed.

“Stay in bed and rest. I’m going to get you some food, okay?” Leilah told her. Leilah departs from her bedside and walks towards the bedroom door. However, she paused, keeping her green eyes ahead. “Also… I think you should forget your dream. I’ve never heard of Spectre.” With that, she exited the room, leaving Seraphina alone.

‘What’s going on?’ Seraphina’s heart began pounding in panic. ‘I’m twelve years old again! Is this some kind of illusion? How can this be possible?’ Despite her head pounding, she rose from her bed again, journeying back to the mirror to make sure she wasn’t imagining it.

Sure enough, her twelve-year-old self was still there staring back at her.

“I remember being in Arlo’s barrier against Spectre. Then Leilah… The drug!” Seraphina quickly brought her hand to her neck where she remembered the syringe being stabbed into her. She tried to feel for some evidence of a prick but could find none. She then brought her hands in front of her face, examining them. “Leilah said the drug was a prototype. Could it have interfered with my ability in some way?”

She reached inside her for the familiar echo she once knew. Anything to know she did indeed have her ability again…

Nothing.

“No…” Seraphina’s hands began shaking. “I’m still am a cripple? Then what happened?!” She ran her hands through her long magenta hair, attempting to gain some kind of semblance of reality in this new world. “So instead of gaining my ability back in the present, it caused my ability to send me back in time and have it no more?! What kind of sick antidote is this?!”

Seraphina tried to keep her voice leveled, but her entire being wanted to scream. Not only was she somehow in the past, but now she didn’t have her ability. What would happen if her parents found out? Would she be trapped here forever, with no escape? Seraphina wasted no time in grabbing her calendar, trying to in vain to gain some sort of control in this situation.

“I just started my final year in elementary school…” Seraphina whispered. “If this is correct, that means that Leilah will be running away from home before the year ends to join Spectre. I’ll be left alone with Mother and Father…”

With no ability, she didn’t dare finish out loud.

“I remember everything going black… and then…. John!” Seraphina’s eyes widened. “I remember John. I kept hearing him call my name. I remember thinking about him before everything went black…” Seraphina began to pace shakily, her pounding headache not helping her revert to a calm state at all. “Did thinking about John somehow effect how far I was sent back? But why this year…”

Suddenly, she stopped pacing, realizing exactly when she was.

“John started middle school this year…” Seraphina whispered. “John meets Claire this year… and then—” she turns to look at the calendar again, studying it. “John…”

“John’s priority was and has always been you”

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

“Seraphina! I’ve brought you your soup!” Leilah cheerfully announces as she entered Seraphina’s room with a tray. “Seraphina?” Leilah called, finding her sister nowhere to be seen in her room. She walked farther into the room, placing the tray on Seraphina’s desk.

The room was tidy and perfect as usual. There was no sign of disturbance. However, something caught Leilah’s eye and she walked closer to Seraphina’s desk, finding her secret drawer has been opened.

“Her secret money stash…” Leilah whispered. Realization hit her then and she ran towards Seraphina’s closet, past all the clutter towards where Seraphina was hiding her backpack. “Her travel pack is gone...”

A breeze then caught Leilah’s hair, and she journeyed towards the window that was ajar, blowing the curtains gently in the room. It was dark outside, and nothing could be seen for miles.

‘Seraphina!’ Leilah screamed in her mind, heart stopping.

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

‘I’m insane! I’m most definitely insane!’ Seraphina thought, head still pounding and body shaking, but she kept running at break neck speed. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this!’

If she hurried, she could catch a train ride set for New Bostin. She knew she had enough saved up from her stash to afford a ticket. She was leaving everything she knew, but Seraphina couldn’t find herself to regret her decision.

‘I can save him! There’s still a chance! This time John—you won’t be alone!’

She managed to make it away from her family’s estate into the city, traveling under darkness. Her clothes were covered in dirt from tripping so many times in the dark in her haste, but Seraphina couldn’t bring herself to care about her multiple cuts and scrapes nor the state of her clothes. Passersby ignored her, only crinkling their nose at her state of mess, before assuming she was a low-tier who was beat up and going back to their business.

Arriving at the station, Seraphina was elated to find it was still open, even at this late hour. She didn’t bother taking a break, despite her body’s protests, and made her way to the ticket counter. The attendant raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’d like a ticket to New Bostin.” Seraphina spoke.

“This ain’t no joy ride, kid. No money, no ride.” The attendant prepared to brush her off, knowing a ticket to New Bostin was out of her price range. However, the attendant was shocked when she slammed down enough money on the counter.

“Is this enough?” Seraphina asked. The attendant blinked, counting the bills, before nodding, dazed. Once she received her ticket, Seraphina wasted no time going towards her designated platform. She felt like she was on never ending adrenaline.

‘If I can somehow prevent John meeting Claire, then perhaps that would fix everything! I can work on a healthier way for him to cope! I can be there for him or take him to Wellston and we could meet Rei—’ so many possibilities swarmed her mind, and Seraphina boarded the train, unable to sleep. All she could think about was helping John—saving him from himself before he endured so much hurt from Claire’s betrayal and horror from being forced to relive his memories from Keon.

‘I will do for him what he did for me, but this time, I won’t wear a mask. It will be me at his side.’ Seraphina vowed.

She didn’t sleep a wink, too haunted by memories of John.

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

John glared up at assailants. It was like this every day of his life and starting at New Bostin Middle School was no different it seemed.

What he wouldn’t give for an ability! He’d show these scumbags what it means to be afraid…

“What’s with the face, Cripple John?” his main assailant smirked maliciously.

“I think he’s bitter he’s a cripple.” Another bully voiced out. The three of them smirked mockingly at John, who stayed in his place against the wall, on the ground.

“Awww, is that it, Cripple John? You want an ability?” the leader cooed sickeningly sweet. His hand glowed, his grin manic. “I’ll show you a real ability.”

John readied himself, but the blow never came, for the next second, a magenta haired girl appeared out of nowhere and high kicked the leader straight in the head. He fell to the ground unconscious.

“What the hell—” his two lackeys shouted before the girl swiftly punched them both in the face, knocking them out cold.

John blinked.

‘What?’

He stared at the girl who had magenta hair in a high ponytail and bright cerulean eyes. She was breathing hard, appearing as if she was in pain.

They locked eyes. Cerulean met gold.

“Hi.” She said coolly. Then promptly passed out.

John stared.

“What… what just happened?”

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

Seraphina arrived in New Bostin by morning, and set her sights on New Bostin Middle School. Hopefully she wasn’t too late, and Claire and John didn’t meet already. Otherwise, it would make her job at a lot harder.

‘I’ll handle it if it comes to that. First, I have to find him.’ Seraphina concluded, entering New Bostin Middle School grounds. She made sure to remain hidden to prevent a high-tier getting the surprise on her. ‘This doesn’t look as big as Wellston—come on! He should be around here!’

Finally, the sound of cruel laughter and punching reached her ears. Dread welled up in her stomach, and she immediately followed the sound. Peeking through the bushes, her heart froze at the sight.

It was John. He was younger, but she knew it was him. She’d know that mop of dark hair anywhere.

‘John… it’s really him…’ Her heart jump started, beating a mile a minute. There was her best friend. He existed in this strange world with her.

However, Seraphina took in the scene before her, frowning, realizing John was being bullied.

‘He really did have to deal with his all his life. He couldn’t escape from it. It was either be spat on or being corrupted. John can’t win no matter what role he’s in…’ Seraphina mourned, clenching her fists as the main leader readied a blast towards John.

Something clicked inside her, and without realizing it, her eyes began to glow.

‘I won’t let you be alone anymore!’ she shouted in her mind.

Suddenly, she was there in front of John’s assailants, and she let loose on John’s main attacker before focusing on the other bullies. Before she registered what happened it was all over, and now it was just her and John.

They locked eyes, and it took everything Seraphina had not to cry.

‘It’s really you.’

What does she do now? John was right in front of her! This would be their first meeting to him. She needed something to catch his attention!

“Hi.” She said nonchalantly before all her adrenaline disappeared and her pounding headache took over.

Seraphina didn’t know what happened next because she swiftly blacked out.

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

Hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know what you think if you can! Thank you to everyone who commented, liked, and favored this story!

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asterekmess · 4 years ago

Note

Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES? Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings #rant #thank you for the ask!#Anonymous

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years ago

Text

A Patti Smith Envelope

PART THIRTY-FOUR OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Ella and Jess move into their new apartment.

A newspaper ad circled in red ink had led them to the cozy one-bedroom four blocks over from Truncheon and six blocks from campus. It was only late April, earlier than Ella was expecting for them to find something. But she had finished finals, had booked gigs working at the art camps at the college over the summer. She had a few weeks off to make art, and hopefully help out in Truncheon. After touring the place, it felt right. An excited tightness in her stomach. Jess, too, had squeezed her hand in elation as soon as they walked through the door. The place had built-in bookshelves on the far wall, the bedroom on the other side. Ella didn’t believe in signs, but even she could agree it was as close to perfect as they were going to get.

Luke had offered to help without even being asked. Chris, Matthew, Leo, and Mabel were all participants to different degrees of willingness, and they hardly needed any more bodies. But Luke insisted the minute Jess had told him the moving date over the phone. It was likely he needed some sort of distraction since April had moved to New Mexico anyway. She wasn’t going to be back until the summer. And it seemed neither Luke nor Lorelai had come to their senses about each other yet.

He rolled up to Philadelphia in his truck two hours before they expected him. He claimed moving wasn’t moving if there wasn’t a truck to help out. Packing up all the stuff in the apartment was easier than Ella expected, just as it had been when she moved out of her childhood home. Jess could be cluttered sometimes, but nowhere near the level of Chris, and most of Jess’s belongings consisted of old band t-shirts and marked up books anyway. Ella, likewise, had most of her records stuffed in the back of her car. The dresser fit in Chris’s SUV after a fair amount of squeezing stuff in. The bed was the real challenge. It turned out Luke’s truck wasn’t such a frivolous vehicle, after all.

A drizzle was just beginning to fall from the gray, cloudy sky as they finished moving all the boxes inside. The apartment, on the second floor of some ancient building, was not exactly up to twenty-first century standards. The pipes were old and cobwebs gathered in the corners. A splinter or two jutted out from the worn down wood floors, golden brown under the dim lights. But the bohemian rug and many lamps they’d scouted out from the thrift shop a week earlier were already proving helpful. Boxes, labeled with mostly Jess’s scrawled, cramped handwriting, were stacked high in the corner of the living room, others gathered on the cracked tile of the kitchen counter.

Ella blew the stray hairs away from her eyes, otherwise pulled back in her black bandana. Her bangs were growing longer, and she was just becoming able to fully tuck them behind her ears. Roses of flushed color bloomed on her cheeks, her skin hot and sticky. Chris had already sprawled out on the dark gray couch, Leo on the arm. The couch, too, was secondhand, bought for ten bucks at the ReStore off the interstate.

“You really should be paying us,” Chris huffed, throwing his arm across his eyes.

Ella scoffed from where she was helping Matthew and Mabel unpack the kitchen. There was actually not much to be done, as Jess and Ella were planning on getting most of their supplies in the following days. There were a few mugs, bowls, spoons. “Consider it payback for the amount of times I’ve made you pie.”

“I was under the impression those were ‘no strings attached’ pies,” Matthew chimed in.

“Or, at most, ‘friends with benefits’ pies,” Mabel added.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m taking advantage of all of you. I’m eternally in your debt. But I think we got everything, if you guys wanna get outta here.”

The four of them exchanged glances, eventually coming to a consensus they were exhausted enough to leave and retire to the cold pizza in the fridge at Truncheon. Ella suspected they were excited to have their own rooms for the first night in forever, as Chris had already made work of moving his stuff into Jess and Ella’s old room, before they had even finished moving out. She gave them sweaty hugs and salutes goodbye, finishing with unloading the meager contents of the new fridge.

“Hey, Jess, we’re outta here!” Leo called.

Jess’s head appeared from the doorway to the bedroom. “Good. Better to save yourselves now before World War III breaks out in here.”

From beyond the bedroom door, Luke could be heard grumbling obscenities and fighting with the new bed frame he was struggling to put together.

“See you on the other side, then,” Matthew said, smiling. “Also known as Monday.”

“We’ll see if I make it until then,” Jess shrugged, offering them a small wave. “Thanks, guys.”

“You are not welcome,” Chris grunted, trudging out the door.

Mabel gave Ella one last hug before exiting the apartment, shutting the door softly behind her. A grin broke out on Ella’s face. She and Mabel had gone on more than one lunch together, had even gone shopping once. It was new and Ella was still a bit worried the timid woman would be scared away from a friendship with her, but they were slowly getting to know each other.

As Jess continued grappling with Luke, who went on grappling with the bed frame, Ella finished with their groceries. The kitchenware was more or less unpacked to a decent level. The books were next on her list, followed by the records. Rounding the corner of the counter into the living room, she stopped short of the book boxes.

She put her hands to the hips of her jeans. There were a few water spots on the popcorn ceiling, reminding her of Truncheon. The air smelled cozy, but more of lemon Pledge than anything else. Someone had dusted the built-in bookshelves in the initial flurry of unpacking. During the walk-through of the place, Jess had pointed out the corner next to the couch as the perfect spot for an easel. Looking over it, with familiar furniture moved in, the place seemed more real. Less like a dream for the two of them. The terrace past the small sliding glass door was empty, but she thought maybe they could fit a few chairs. It wasn’t as though the view was spectacular, just a vision of the city street below and the other apartment building opposite. But it was more than enough for two people who had both lived out of their cars for extended periods of time.

An odd sense came over her, one of total novelty. Never before had she had a real say in her home. Her parents lived in the blue house in Stars Hollow before she was born, Lane had moved into her house with Zach and Bryan long before Ella started sleeping on the couch, the apartment above Truncheon had been a simple convenience to everyone involved. But she and Jess had chosen the apartment together. They had admired the cheap price, the proximity to work, the odd seashell tiles in the bathroom. The place seemed to have been built before the contemporary requirements of architectural uniformity. It had a mind of its own inside: a leaky sink and a brick exterior and shag carpet in the bedroom. Not altogether a surprise, considering it was in the artsy housing district near the campus.

“Dammit!” she heard once more from the bedroom.

Heaving a tired but cheerful sigh, she crossed her arms over her Clash t-shirt (borrowed from Jess) and entered the bedroom, to the left of the living room and kitchen, opposite from the tiny bathroom. Luke and Jess were both hunched over the metal frame, trying to hold both the headboard and the footboard up and attach the middle section. Their faces were angry and red, frustration radiating off of them.

“Hey, so, it’s past seven,” she announced, eyebrows raised at their trouble.

Jess jumped slightly, his back to her, at the sound of his voice. The footboard slipped out of his grip.

“Oh, for the love of-” Luke began.

“It’s fine,” Ella interjected calmly, going over and placing a hand on Jess’s upper back. He panted but said nothing as his uncle continued fussing.

“Where did you even get this? There’s no damn instructions!” Luke said, readjusting the hat on his head.

“The discount store,” Jess answered, glaring down at the frame and over at the mattress, which stood leaning against the wall near the dresser. “Not all of us have diner money to fall back on.”

“Anyway,” Ella continued, “I bet we could all use some food. Jess, maybe you could drive Luke down to that place on Birch and get some sandwiches? I can finish with the bed.”

Luke shook his head. “Ella, I don’t think-”

“She probably can,” Jess interrupted dejectedly. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s those sculpture classes. But she can fix anything. Not just showerheads and cash registers.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Luke said, raising his hands in surrender and leaving the room. He went to grab his coat from the messy pile by the front door.

Ella stifled a laugh. “My god, he’ll never change.”

“Why is he coming with me to get the food?” Jess asked under his breath.

“Because I think he’ll have a stroke if he doesn’t stop with this bed. And he doesn’t know where the place on Birch is. You do,” she explained, giving him a peck on the cheek before going to try her hand at the bed.

Shoulders sagging with fatigue, Jess gave a begrudging nod, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Fine. Hopefully he’ll be less Vesuvius and more Mauna Loa by the time we get back.”

“Not everyday you hear a good volcano metaphor,” she quipped, assessing the middle section of the bedframe and deciding to take it apart altogether.

“I know. Imagine how dull your life would be without me,” Jess shot back, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite his frazzled state. “Turkey?”

She nodded. “You know me too well, James Dean.”

“Agreed,” he said with a teasing laugh.

“Fuck off,” she replied through a chuckle.

Jess’s smirk grew as he turned on his heel to leave. “Love you back, Stevens.”

. . .

The windshield wipers of Jess’s rust bucket screeched against the glass as he rolled down Birch Street, away from the sandwich shop. A white paper bag full of subs sat in the passenger seat atop Luke’s lap. In one hand, Luke held a bouquet of deep red tulips. Jess hadn’t remembered the florist shop where Ella had worked the previous summer was right down the road from the sandwich place. He’d stopped in for the bunch of blooms as they waited for their order to be filled. The plastic wrapper around the bouquet crinkled in Luke’s fist as he braced himself, Jess rounding a damp corner.

“I told you we should’ve taken my truck,” Luke grumbled.

Sighing, Jess fought to keep his jaw untensed. “My car’s fine. It’s driven us across the country more than once.”

“Before or after it broke down on the highway and Coop had to have it towed back to Stars Hollow?” Luke asked, his voice tired and strained.

“Not sure. I know for a fact it was after you stole my car, though,” Jess retorted, eyes on the slick roads. He wished the radio was on, but the memories of Luke whining about his album choices were still too recent in his mind.

Heaving a large sigh, Luke gave a shake of his head. “Fine. I give up.”

“Thank you,” Jess muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Luke shot back irritably.

But then he looked over at Jess. His hair was no longer greased, his clothes fit better, his eyes were clearer. Most of the time, his brow was no longer drawn in anger or his face a scowl. Even his posture was different; straighter, brighter, more self-assured. And then he thought of Ella. She looked much the same as she had during her last few weeks at work, with her wide smile and loud laugh. The smiles were more frequent, though, and she seemed so relaxed around her friends. Even around Rory she had sometimes seemed a bit nervous to Luke, as though she were worried over a misstep.

Luke couldn’t contain the small grin on his grizzled face. “I’m really proud of you, Jess.”

Snorting a laugh, Jess spared Luke a quick glance before turning back to the road. They were only a few minutes away from the new home, but Philly traffic was never reliable, even on a Saturday. “Let’s put away the pom-poms for now.”

“I’m just sayin,’” Luke began with a shrug, “got your own company, your own apartment with Ella. You really seem to be doin’ great.”

Jess gave a short, humble nod, but took a long pause before he spoke another word. “Lorelai proposed to you, right?”

Luke’s brow crinkled. “Yeah?”

“But you proposed to Nicole?”

“Yeah.”

Humming under his breath, Jess gave another nod. Red brake lights glowed in the rainy evening darkness. “When did you know...how you wanted to propose?”

“Jess, are you gonna propose to Ella?” Luke asked, eyes going wide and smile growing.

“Never said that,” Jess answered nonchalantly, shaking his head. “Just never really delved into that part of your personal history. Figured I’d ask. Maybe I wanna get to know you better, uncle dearest.”

Rolling his eyes at Jess’s old patterns of behavior, Luke didn’t let his smile waver. He looked down at the bouquet in his hand. “Well, considering it was an impulse cruise ship marriage, not a lot of thought went into it. It just sort of happened. If you’re asking me how to propose to Ella-”

“Which I’m not.”

“-then I’d say she loves you and she’ll say ‘yes’ no matter what. And I’d say that you know her better than anyone in the world, and you shouldn’t...second-guess yourself. Do what feels right.”

“And did an Elvis impersonator marry you two on that cruise?” Jess continued.

Luke bit back another sigh. “No, wiseass. It was a regular minister.”

“Huh,” Jess chirped wryly. “You learn something new everyday.”

. . .

Patti Smith spun on the record player as the rain grew stronger outside. Though it was a pain in the ass to unpack the record player, Ella decided it just wouldn’t truly be home without the grace of music on the first night. Luke had left about an hour earlier, though they insisted he could stay over. He said he was nervous enough leaving Lane and Caesar in charge of the diner for one day, and he didn’t want to be late for the morning shift the next day. It made Ella roll her eyes, but eventually she gave up trying to convince him. It wasn’t as though she expected Luke to change his ways. The tulips sat in a mug of water on the kitchen counter, to be placed in something fancier and on something fancier once they actually had a makeshift dining area. For the moment, only the big pieces from the old place and the bed were filling up the small apartment. Ella had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Luke’s face when he saw she had put the bed together all by herself, finished before they got back with the sandwiches. An expression of extreme frustration had slowly melted into pride. Both were memorable.

Between Jess and Ella, who sat cross-legged on the floor on either side of the coffee table in the living room, was a half-eaten pie. One of the few leftovers from Truncheon they had lugged over to put in the fridge before an actual grocery run. The apple crust was a bit soggy, but the filling was surprisingly good cold. She found herself so wholly content as they sat together: eating pie, listening to records, in the dim lamplight of the first place which was solely theirs. It all struck her with a force she wasn’t expecting. She chuckled to herself as she grabbed another forkful, eating away at the half they had not even bothered to cut but just dug into instead.

“What?” Jess asked through a sweet mouthful, furrowing his brows at her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t this all seem a little...surreal to you?”

“Does what seem surreal?”

“Just...we have an apartment together. And you own a business. And I only have a year left of grad school. I just...sometimes I can’t believe it’s happening. I can’t believe it turned out the way it did. You don’t feel that?” she asked, lowering her eyes sheepishly.

He cracked a small, crooked smirk. “I don’t know. I always just sort of thought I’d end up where I’d end up. And here I am. With you. Not a bad place to be.”

She rolled her eyes, a blush coloring her cheeks. “I know about your Kerouac philosophy. But just...when you first met me, did you ever think in a million years this is where we’d be now?”

“I didn’t know exactly where we’d be. But, I knew I’d land somewhere. I didn’t know if I’d land with you, but I wanted to. Maybe it’s a little surreal, but it doesn’t surprise me,” he explained, leaning his elbows onto the scratched wooden surface of the table with arms crossed.

Snorting a laugh at his insouciance, Ella finally locked eyes with him again. “It just feels a little too good to be true, I guess. I mean, you go to school your whole life, you work towards something your whole life. Once it happens, once you’re near the end...I just never thought it would actually happen. I don’t know what’s next.”

She tugged at her earring with her right hand. Jess noticed the chipped blue polish on her nails, though they weren’t bitten down. He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. Not that she seemed sad or distant, but he could tell she was having a hard time articulating herself. And he could tell she was letting an old worry creep up on her; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He allowed his smirk to grow into a full smile and dropped his fork into the pie tin. “C’mon, you’re gonna figure it out. You know you are. I’m the directionless one. You’ve always been able to do anything. You’re plan girl.”

Ella gave a mirthful scoff. “You’re not directionless, Jess. And I’m not plan girl. Rory was always plan girl. I was try-to-make-it-to-the-finish-line-without-tripping girl.”

Jess hummed thoughtfully, about to reply. But she spoke again before he had a chance to.

“I thought you had a thing for her, y’know,” she said, taking another bite of pie.

“Who?”

“Rory.”

“Really?” Jess asked, and he couldn’t hide the bewildered amusement in his tone. “When was this?”

She shrugged and narrowed her eyes for a moment in memory. “Just when you first got to Stars Hollow. I mean, you hated Dean, and you like a lot of the same things, and you seemed to get along with her.”

“No. It was pretty much always just you,” Jess said, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe we liked a lot of the same stuff, but...I didn’t ever feel like she...got me like you do.”

“Oh, she didn’t, Kurt Cobain?” she teased, raising her eyebrows. She put her fork down in the tin next to his, her stomach full. Her eyes were beginning to get tired, her body starting to ache from the day of moving. She was glad the bed was put together.

He raised his hands in joking defense. “Hey, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Remember that night she was tutoring me?”

“The night you crashed her car? Yeah, it rings a bell,” she replied.

“Yes, that one,” Jess continued, smiling sardonically at her. “We were talking about the future. And she kept getting on me about how I had to do better and I had to go to college, just like she did, or else I would have no life.”

The smile which tugged at Ella’s lips was slightly bitter but mostly fond. “Sounds like Rory.”

“Everyone in Stars Hollow thought I was the antichrist. Maybe Rory didn’t, and maybe we were friends, but she definitely wasn’t okay with who I was then. Maybe she thought, with enough Schoolhouse Rock videos, she could get me to shape up,” Jess continued, taking small glances out the sliding glass door as he spoke. He could see a sliver of the city lights past another building on the right side. It was better than the bland brick wall and the dumpster which served as his view from the room in Truncheon.

“Hey, she is an amazing tutor. If there was anyone who could’ve converted you to the Ivy League conveyor belt, it was her,” Ella said.

“Yeah, but you and I both know school was never the way I was supposed to go. It was the way you were supposed to go, but you didn’t try to get me to be anything other than what I was,” he told her, voice light but eyes sincere.

Ella felt her heart skip a beat, but shrugged again. “I don’t know. I definitely tried to get you to ditch those CDs.”

“The exception that proves the rule,” he replied.

“Speaking of, I figured out how I’m gonna organize the books,” she said, tossing a look past his shoulder at the empty shelves.

“How is that a ‘speaking of’?” he asked, a confused smirk coming over his face.

“I’m doing genre, then alphabetical order by author. The way you used to do your CDs when we were in high school,” she explained.

“Oh.” Jess had his eyes trained on her, watching as she undid her bandana and ran her fingers through her mess of blonde hair. He chewed on his bottom lip. Then, after a pause filled only with Patti Smith’s poetry, he blurted out: “Y’know, you were the first person I ever said ‘I love you’ to. The only person.”

Her gaze softened and she nodded. “Me too.”

“No, Stevens, I mean anyone. Not just Nora Ephron kind of love. Not family either,” he said, most insistent, though he did his best to keep his tone nonchalant. As though it were just a run-of-the-mill fact about his past.

She stopped for a moment, brow crinkling. “Your mom never said it to you? Not even hippie dippie Liz?”

“No. We weren’t that kind of family. She wasn’t that kind of mom.”

A crease of concern deepened between her brows. Every time it had come up before, she assumed both of them meant romantic love. Familial was a different beast. But she had to remind herself never to assume with Liz, no matter how she seemed. Jess had arrived when Liz was a binge-drinking nineteen-year-old.

Before her brief interlude in the ‘love doesn’t exist’ frame of mind, before her mother’s death, Ella’s world had been filled with ‘I love you’s. Mostly from her mother, in her soft voice, with her delicate perfume. Some from her grandmother, and even from her father. And after, Lorelai had sometimes said them in passing. Rory, too. The three words, no matter how commonplace they could sound, were important, she knew. Especially when they weren’t uttered, or stopped being uttered.

She opened her mouth to say something, then bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Rising from her place, she rounded the corner of the coffee table and went over to him. Jess tilted his head at her in askance, but she only answered him by sitting down in his lap, straddling him as their noses drew only inches apart. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and simply hugged him. For a moment, he sat motionless, his muscles tense. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, if he’d been expecting one at all. But then, he circled his own arms around her waist. They sat there, breathing slow and clinging to each other, for a long time. Patti Smith droned on around them, enveloping them.

Eventually, she pulled away and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. He looked up at her, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, she took the lead, gaze unwavering as she spoke in her quiet, husky voice.

“Jess, you’re the fucking best. You’re my favorite person. And you’re gonna be hearing ‘I love you’ every day for the rest of our life,” she assured him, matter-of-fact. “So, I suggest you get used to it.”

“Right back at ya,” he replied after an awestruck pause, just before their lips met.

In spite of the fuss over the bed frame, Jess and Ella ended up spending the night on the worn rug in the living room, nearly naked underneath the first throw blanket they could find in the boxes around them.

#jess mariano #jess #mariano #jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano x oc fanfiction #jess mariano x original character fanfiction #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls oc fanfiction #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #luke danes

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mintdrop · 5 years ago

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Home Sweet Home // 2073 words

"Are you sure this is the right place?" If you looked up disgruntled in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of Estinien at this very moment, very aggressively wrestling with a tree branch that managed to hit him square in the nose. One arm kept itself hooked around the strap that held the bags with their belongings, while the other shielded his eyes; he wasn't losing a pupil today. Leading him, in absolutely no fear of angry greenery, was his Lalafellin companion.

"I'm pretty sure it's around here... Unless he moved out of the Shroud after..?" A twinge of guilt strummed at Mint's heartstrings like a harp at the thought, and she picked up her pace as they made their way further into the Central Shroud. It took only a few moments more before the roof of a small house peeked between the curling branches, and her face lit up near instantly. "Estinien! It's over there!" She pointed as she beamed at her partner, who sighed and removed his makeshift goggles to pick her up and seat her on his right shoulder.

"I'm not going get down on the ground to see where you're pointing. Where?" Estinien's eyes followed the arm that was now at his eye level, eyebrows raising as he now saw the thatched roof. Keeping one hand firm across Mint's lap to keep her steady, he readjusted the back on his back before beginning the short hike towards the house, dead leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. He stopped just short of the house when he noticed something -- a person? -- rummaging around on what could only be the front porch; Estinien couldn't really tell from all the foliage covering it. He opened his mouth to call out, but was shocked silent when the Lalafell on his arm leapt from his shoulder towards the thing. Was she crazy?! "Totomi--!"

"Daaaaaaaad!" Propelling herself through the air by sheer force, Mint landed right between the shoulder blades of the unsuspecting person; a Miqo'te, judging from the ears that sat atop a head of red hair. The man stumbled as the bombshell of a Lalafell hit him, his arms scrambling -- and failing -- to grab whatever had assaulted his spine while he regained his balance. Mint dangled from his neck, her smile as bright as the sun as her face just barely peeked over her father's shoulder. Bewildered eyes from the man quickly turned into a gaze of joy as everything finally registered, and he swooped up the Lalafell into a big hug.

"Issat my lil' vanilla bean? I was startin' t' think I'd have t' leave before y' got here!" His accent heavily Lominsan as he spoke, he gave Mint a big squeeze before finally noticing the Elezen rummaging through the brush towards them. "And y' brought a long vanilla bean too! Are y' just collecting white-haired friends at this point?" The Miqo'te looked Estinien over as he spoke, who appeared only slightly bewildered that he was being compared to a bean again. At least now he understood where Mint picked the term up from.

"Estinien Wyrmblood. I'm your daughter's... I'm one of her companions." He glanced down at Mint, unsure that he should admit they were lovers. He didn't want to let something out of the bag if she hadn't already. His caution was met with a stifled laugh, however, and she waved her hand at him.

"This is the man I told you about in my letters." Mint spoke matter-of-factly as she let herself down from her father's embrace, realizing it was probably a mistake as she now had to crane her neck to look at either of them. "Estinien, this is my father, A'rhen." The two men shook hands, the Elezen becoming alarmed at the strength of the Miqo'te's grip. His face was smiling, but he was clearly trying to send a message, wasn't he?

"Pleased t' meet ya, Estinien. We'll have t' save the embarrassin' stories of Tomi for after I get back." A'rhen broke the handshake first, turning back to the porch of his small home to pick up what seemed to be an expensive-looking fishing rod and a large tackle box. When he turned to face the two again, his eyes were practically sparkling. "Th' next ship for ocean fishin' leaves at th' crack of dawn, and I'll be a wrinkle on a mole rat if I miss it!" He knelt down to give Mint one last hug, and nodded to Estinien as he rose before grinning and taking off down the path the two had come from.

"Your father is quite an... interesting character." Estinien watched him for a few moments before turning back to the Lalafell, bending over to pick up the bags he'd relinquished to the forest floor earlier.

"He sure is. I can't imagine what my childhood would've been like if he wasn't like that, though." Mint grinned as she spoke before turning to the house, hiding her face from view as she climbed the stairs. "I'm just glad he's okay."

Though she spoke at a lower volume this time around, and more or less trailed off at the end, Estinien tilted his head. He swore he heard something, but he couldn't place the words at all. "Totomi? Did you say something?" Mint shook her head, looking over her shoulder with her trademark smile.

"Nope! We should get inside, we probably have a lot to do in there if this porch is any indicator." Her head drooped, already knowing what awaited the two of them from the dead leaves and branches that crunched under her feet with every step. Inside the small cottage was no better; dust littered most surfaces and random clothes lay scattered about the floor and the couches of the main room. Dirty bowls and cutlery filled the sink of the small kitchen area to their left, and curtains on every window seemed to be sinking in on each other. "Oh, dad..."

The door clicked behind her as Estinien entered the house, unloading the bags near the small table in the center of the kitchen. He wanted to make a comment, but judging from Mint's tone of voice, he concluded that it probably wasn't the best idea. "You weren't lying about a lot to do. I'm sure the size of the cottage is contributing to how much clutter there seems to be." Of all the that he saw, the only things that seemed to be kept in order were the small family portraits that hung along the walls; in fact, they looked as though they were dusted and polished each day. He snapped out of his daze when he noticed Mint lifting the heavier of the two bags they'd brought. "I'll get it. Where do y--"

Mint cut him off with a waggle of her hand, grinning. "It's fine, I can do it. I was the one who packed this bag, y'know?" Lifting with both arms, she hefted the bag onto one of the chairs around the table, attempting to push its contents onto the table itself. When Estinien noticed that she could barely push it past the edge, he made his way over and began taking the things she pulled out. Several types of cleaners, multiple handrags... a mop? How did she even manage to fit it in the bag? Believing it to be a portal to some astral pocket as she continued to hand him things, the table was soon filled with enough cleaning supplies to put a mansion's entire maid staff to shame. "Do you mind starting the dishes while I gather up all the loose... everything that's lying around?" She pointed to the bottle of heavy duty soap and the rags that seemed to have a rough side for tough stains, and he nodded.

Morning soon turned to evening as the two tackled every corner of the house at Mint's direction, breaking only for lunch. Every room had been dusted and mopped, clothes and linens gathered up for tomorrow's laundry excursion. Fresh curtains lined the windows, dug out from a small closet that Estinien couldn't even see until Mint had opened it; it was perfectly sized for a Lalafell. With her hair tied up into a pony tail to reduce the amount of heat against her neck, Mint wiped at her forehead. "Alright, there's only one more thing. Follow me."

Digging back into the magical bag of never ending space, Estinien expected an entire vacuum to emerge. Instead, she pulled out a small bouquet of white lilies. Gently cradling them, she made her way towards the thin hallway that separated the two bedrooms of the house, which looked like it ended in a dead end to Estinien - perhaps due to the lack of lighting. In reality, the "wall" was a door, it's windows covered by a dark curtain. Mint pulled it open, Estinien following to see a small grave nestled directly in front of them, the name "Liliana" engraved on it. It was covered with all types of flowers, some seemingly left there for months on end with how dark their petals were. He stood motionless at the top of the stairs that led down to the grave, watching only in silence as the Lalafell moved the wilted and dead flowers off to one side, eventually to be discarded later.

She knelt in front of the small tombstone, placing her flowers in the center of it. "When I was in Doma, I got a message from Krile that my father was frantically looking for me. He gave no reason, instead begging her to tell me to come home." She paused for a moment, letting down her hair so that it once again shielded her face. "I couldn't find a way back until it was too late. Garlean soldiers and Ala Mhigan resistance were consistently battling in the Shroud. A few times, they were only yalms from their windows."

Estinien stepped over to her as she spoke, kneeling down beside her. "Conjurers in Gridania said it was stress. Her heart had always been frail since I was a child, and it became too much for her. I think dad thought I would be able to fix it if I had been able to make it home." Though she was smiling, large tears began to well up. "I wish I had.. but I think it's better I didn't. My magicks aren't miracles, y'know? He was so distraught when I made it back, and vented his anger at me. But if I had been here, and couldn't save her.. it would have been worse."

Mint paused, wiping at her eyes. "He apologized after the funeral. I knew he hadn't meant it, so I never held it against him. I wish I could have stayed with him longer. But the scions kept calling for me, so I left. I loved my mother dearly... but not nearly as much as he did. The way he left the house was no surprise to me." She took in a deep breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh; the tears she had hoped to keep confined to herself ended up spilling over. "I think he took this trip to fix his broken heart. He loved taking her fishing; he brought her along a trip as their first date."

The setting sun began to shine its final orange lights through the trees before the moon took over for the night; Mint sniffed before standing up, turning to Estinien with a sad smile on her face. "I guess I should do the same, right? I think she'd be upset if she knew I was still grieving like I did the day I found out." She turned back to the stone, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "It's alright, mom. I'll take care of dad for you. We both know he can't figure out his arm from his tail."

Estinien stood up beside her, lifting Mint into his arms. "And I'll take care of Totomi. She may not need it, with how well you raised her, but I vow to be there if she needs me." The words he spoke caused Mint to choke on her own, and she simply let herself cry as Estinien carried her inside.

As the door closed behind them, the sun's final rays framed the tombstone, and had anyone been there to see, they could swear they saw the visage of a smiling Lalafell, with white hair blowing in a non-existent breeze.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #;; spearmint #;; peppermint #breaks my own heart while writing the end of this ficlet #i think the image i was using was causing the post to break so i'm using an old one and formatting it different #if it doesn't break i'll put back the image i was using originally #;; seii's scribblings

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jadekitty777 · 5 years ago

Text

Who Needs Genetics When We Have Family?

We’re now at the final stretch for this Golden Hummingbird adventure. I thank the few people who have stuck around for this ride, as it was a great joy to write. There’s one more chapter that will be up in a few days, and it’s absolutely my favorite of them all!

Word Count: 7,200

Pairing: Summer/Tai/Qrow

Ao3 Link: Who Needs Genetics When We Have Family?

Summary: While going through her mom's old clothes, Ruby discovers an old scrap book that reveals she may have one additional parent she never knew about. Now questioning everything from how the trio ended up together down to her very identity, Tai and Qrow find themselves with a lot to answer for.[Takes place Post-Canon]

Dust shook from the rafters as Ruby stomped about the attic, ducking under spider webs and zigzagging around the clutter of old things her packrat of a father just couldn’t bear to get rid of. Her only source of light filtered in from the small circular window, mites dancing in the beam. Though it was still early spring, the air in the highest level of the house was stifling, and she had to keep wiping sweat from her brow.

“Anything?” Yang called from where she was perched on the attic steps, only her head and top half of her torso visible.

“I don’t see it!” She replied. She pat the railing of her old baby crib as she passed it. “We really need to tell dad to get rid of some of this old junk.”

“Ruby, of all the battles I will happily jump into, telling dad to do spring cleaning is not one of them.” Her sister said in a tone more suited for a mortician.

“You’re so dramatic.” She replied. She mostly ignored the indignant response that earned her, busying herself with shining her scroll’s flashlight at the tower of boxes in one corner of the room. “Oh, I see it!”

“Yeah?” Yang climbed the rest of the way up.

While she made her way over, Ruby balanced her scroll on the armrest of an old rocking chair, making sure the flashlight was pointed towards the black luggage trunk that made up the base of the box pyramid. “Figures it’d be at the bottom.”

“Yeah but I’ll have it out in no time.” Her sister boasted, already reaching up to bring down the first box.

Ruby winced when she almost conked herself on the head with it. “Please don’t give yourself a concussion.”

“I got it!” Yang carefully brought it down to grip it more securely before setting it to the side. It would be one of many as she brought one after another down from the tower, creating smaller piles on either side of herself until it looked like a collection of cardboard skyscrapers. It wasn’t long before she was placing the last one, running a hand over her face. “Alright, that’s it. Stand back a bit, I got to drag this out.”

Ruby quickly backed up a few steps, rocking on her heels while her sister pulled out the trunk between the miniature city by the handle. With more room to move, she was able to sidle around to the opposite side and grab the other handle. Together, they carried it back to the hatch, Yang going down first while Ruby angled it down towards her, not letting go until she had a secure grip on it and could put it on the floor.

Ruby started to climb down, saying, “You know, it just occurred to me we probably should have checked to make sure we got the right one.”

“Well, then let’s check now.” There was a series of snaps as Yang undid the latches and opened the top. “Yep, that’s a lot of frills alright.”

“It’s tactical camouflage!” She argued even as she nearly tripped over herself to get a look, unable to help the squeal as she saw the many folded up skirts, dresses and blouses packed into the trunk. One that particularly caught her eye was a red and black corset top with bows tied into the sides. She snatched it up, speeding down the hall in a flurry of petals. “I’m gonna try on this one first!”

“Wait! What about the rest!?” Yang yelled after her.

“Can’t talk, gotta dress!” Ruby shouted back, already standing in the middle of their bedroom. She unraveled the fabric of her cape from around her collar, tossing it onto the bed. She was shimmying into the new corset by the time her sister was coming in, trunk in tow.

“You’re the worst.” Yang told her, dropping the load in the middle of their room.

“And you’re the best!” She chirped right back, whirling to face her. “So, what do you think?”

Her sister gave her a once over, humming. “Well it’s cute but I don’t think it’s first date material.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause it’s basically the same thing you always wear. You should go for something with more color.”

Ruby crossed her arms, grumbling, “Red’s a color.”

Yang was already back in the trunk, pulling out more clothes. “You know what I mean. Something different, flashier. Really dazzle him.”

She pulled at the little bows mournfully, but she knew her sister was right – probably. She’d certainly gone on more dates than her at least. Not that it was hard to compete with a number of zero. Still, she didn’t want to mess this up and if that meant being a little more girly for a night, she could handle that. She’d even wear heels!

…Maybe.

“So what are you thinking?” She asked, resigned to her fate of being Yang’s dress up doll. This was starting to feel like their pre-teen years all over again.

“Well, first we need to organize all this. Then we can see what looks good on you. You should put the skirts and dresses on your bed.” Yang suggested while dropping an armful into her hands.

Ruby huffed but did so, straightening them out side by side so they could see them all while Yang did the same on her own bed with the blouses. Most everything was just blacks upon blacks with splashes of color to them - unassuming and quiet. It made her think of her mother’s picture in the photo with her team and how she was off to the side, as if she were trying to hide.

“You think it’s weird that me and mom have the same style?” Ruby asked as she pulled out another one of her mom’s skirts, instantly falling in love with the lace roses sewn into the petticoat. She was keeping this one.

“Not really.” Yang shrugged, glancing back at her. “You never got to know her. It’s probably normal that you’d want to try and emulate her somehow.”

“Dunno if I’d call that normal.” Ruby reached into the trunk again, using her arm as a clothesline to layer the outfits. As she drew closer to the bottom though, something pure white peeking between the folds of fabric caught her eye. Her heart jumped. But as she dropped the pile onto the floor so she could unearth it, she found it wasn’t the cloak she knew her mother always wore, but another dress. She instantly knew it was special, because it was unlike anything else in the trunk and more on par with something she could imagine Weiss owning.

The material was soft but shimmery and definitely expensive. Satin, she was pretty sure. The bodice was simple but elegant with its off-shoulder straps and delicate lacework overlaid on top in branching, flowery designs. The entire dress was so long she imagined it must have trailed the floor when her mother walked in it, yet also had a lot body around the flounce like a traditional ball gown. Like many of the other clothes, there was only a small bit of color combating its primary shade – but on all the white, the yellow and black flowers that circled the waistline like a belt were instantly eye-catching; loud and wanting to be seen.

She knew the yellow was for dad – it was tradition to wear the husband’s colors on the wedding dress. They were even shaped like sunflowers. But she wasn’t sure why her mom had chosen black dahlias instead of roses. The blotches of dark in-between all the sunny brightness felt out of place, like a bad omen.

“Whoa.” Yang breathed as she came over to get a better look. “It’s gorgeous.”

Ruby couldn’t help but agree. It didn’t seem right to just toss it aside while they kept looking. “Maybe we could hang this one up for now?”

Her sister nodded, heading to their closet to fetch a spare hanger. It wasn’t long before they had the dress hanging over the edge of their closet door. In the light coming from the window, it really seemed to make the fabric shine. It felt a shame that its only future was to wrinkle away in the corner of their attic.

But Ruby also knew it was no mistake that it had been at the bottom of the trunk to begin with.

Maybe that was why she found something else hiding away in there just a few minutes after.

The burgundy red, leather-bound book was tucked away at the bottom, face down. Ruby reached for it, finding it surprisingly heavy as she plopped down onto the ground and flipped it over.

Yang joined her moments later. “What’d you find now?”

“I think it’s a photo album.” Ruby said, looking down at the picture in the window embedded into front cover of her mom, her dad and Uncle Qrow. Mom stood between them, an arm around either of them and waving peace signs over their shoulders. Dad stood to the left, laughing while his own arm reached around behind them to muss up Qrow’s hair, who was on the right. It was her uncle’s grinning expression that gave Ruby pause.

She wouldn’t say her uncle was never happy but, she was more accustomed to seeing the gentle, reserved smiles he’d give when he was proud of something she’d done or was just in a comfortable atmosphere. Only when he was drunk did he ever seem that enthused – but something told her he was anything but during the time this picture was taken. She wondered how young he was.

“Hey, it’s dad’s lullaby.”

“Huh?” Completely derailed from her thoughts, she glanced at Yang in confusion only to look at where her metallic finger was pointing. So distracted by the photo, she hadn’t noticed the words scripted around it. ‘I know that when I’m with you’ it said above the picture, and underneath it finished the lyric with ‘I’m at home’. She could practically hear her dad’s soft cadence echoing in her ear, just as it had when she was small.

It was a song about family and love – and the reminder made her realize that someone else was suspiciously missing from the cover. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still hidden within its pages.

“Come on, open it!” Yang urged.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be looking at this.” She deflected.

She was unfortunately not as sly as she hoped she was as her sister quickly waved her off. “If she’s in there, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Ruby eyed her, those words not exactly instilling her with confidence when the years’ worth of arguments between her and dad still seemed to echo down their halls. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Yang met her gaze. “Don’t worry so much, okay? The way I see it, she’s the one who missed out. She never got to see all the things I accomplished or be a part of our awesome family. That’s her loss, not mine.”

Ruby felt the oddest sense of sadness overcome her. Not because her sister had seemed to of made peace with Raven’s abandonment, but that she hadn’t seen it happen. “When did you start thinking like that?”

“Around the time we, uh, ‘met’ Weiss’ family.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought. They had been a bundle of fun alright. While Winter was bearable, if a little cold, Whitley was a lot like Weiss had been, a spoiled brat with a ‘better than thou’ attitude, except dialed to eleven. Her mother, Willow, was a worse drunk than Qrow, to the point the woman almost seemed in a permanent state of catatonic inebriation. And Jacques was…

Well, Ruby didn’t really have any non-swear related words to attach to a man who really should never have been allowed to procreate, let alone raise three kids.

What she did have was a desire to turn back time and drag Weiss back to her own home for a do-over on her childhood. To let her experience what it was like to have a dad who would pin her grades to the fridge and bandage her scraps when they hurt. To have an uncle that was comfortable to act like a kid right along with her and who never got impatient even if she asked him to tell the same story for the fifth time. To have siblings to build pillows forts together with and sneak downstairs late at night so they could share one more cookie from the jar. To have a family that had rowdy dinners full of laughter, vacations focused on nothing but fun, and holidays that made everyone feel just a little more together then before.

Yang continued on, “Seeing how Weiss handled things back then, I couldn’t help but admire her strength. It felt like she spent her entire life surrounded by people who didn’t want her. And yet, instead of letting that get to her, she acted like it was their fault. And it is. Because, Weiss is great. She’s practically another sister to me, and I can’t imagine her not being part of my life. Anyone who can reject her so easily isn’t worth her time.” She placed a hand on her chest, “And the whole thing just kind of gave me a reality check, you know? It made me think: if Weiss can do it, then I can too.” Her fingers curled into a fist over her heart. “So, I decided from that day on, I would. Raven may not have wanted me, but that’s fine, because I have plenty of people who do, and those are the people who matter.”

Ruby couldn’t help it – she hugged her.

Though confused, Yang responded in kind. “What’s this all about?”

“I’m just happy for you.” She told her.

For as poor an explanation as it was, her sister smiled like she’d never heard a better reason. “Thanks sis.” When they pulled apart, she tapped the album again. “So, we gonna look at it or what?”

“Oh, right!” She settled back, adjusted the book so that it was laid more properly in her lap, and opened it.

As it turned out, her worries were completely invalid. For the book – which turned out not to be a photo album but a scrap book – was almost definitely not going to showcase Raven.

It was impossible to imagine it would, what with the hand-written script ‘To my boys whom I love with all my heart’ written around the picture of Uncle Qrow kissing their dad on the cheek.

“Well.” Yang said, tone as shell-shocked as Ruby felt. “That’s new.”

Tai hummed a bouncy tune as he poured the cups of tea, body bopping gently to the rhythm.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” Qrow observed from where he sat at the dining table.

He unscrewed the jar of honey, spooning some out. “Suppose I am. It’s just been so calm lately.”

“DAD!”

The shout startled him, the spoon falling from his hand and clattering to the floor, splattering honey everywhere. He gave it a mournful look as Zwei eagerly padded over to lap it up.

“You were saying?” Qrow said, a teasing lilt in his tone.

Tai huffed his way, before turning his head towards the doorway where a flutter of petals was just fading around his youngest daughter. “Hey now, what did I say about semblances in the house?”

Ruby didn’t bother to answer and the sound of Yang’s thunderous steps coming down the stairs only seemed to enunciate her dark expression.

“Uh, honey? What’s wrong?” He asked, going from mildly perturbed to intensely worried as he started to cross the room.

Her hand jerked upwards, showing him what she was holding. “Care to explain this?”

He froze mid-step, his throat closing up at the sight of the old scrapbook Summer had gifted him and Qrow on their first anniversary.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Qrow’s own eyes doubled in size as he jumped up from his seat. “Where did you find that?”

“It was in mom’s trunk.” Yang answered as she finally made it to the room.

It was hard to pin down whether Qrow was being accusatory or not in the too-casual way he turned to him and said, “Figured you’d thrown it out.”

“I don’t throw out anything.” Tai replied numbly, finding it slightly easier to focus on him then Ruby’s unnerving glare. “Especially not anything of Sums.”

“But it was mine too, you could have given it to me.”

“I- Look!” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “People do weird stuff when they’re depressed, okay?!”

“Guys!” Ruby cried shrilly. “Missing. The. Point!” She started waving the book at them, making him concerned for its life expectancy. “What does this mean? That you two were dating? With mom?!”

“Er.” Qrow hesitated, then revealed, “We were quite a bit more than that, kiddo.”

“WHAT?”

Tai withheld a sigh.

And it had started out as such a nice day too.

Ruby stared down at the dining room table, certain her thought process had shut down from the nuclear explosion that had gone off inside her brain cells because she just didn’t know how to comprehend what she was just told. Maybe it had a limit on how much unbelievable stuff it could take. Magic glowy eyes that disintegrated Grimm? Weird, but not too out of the bounds of reality. Magical maidens that controlled the weather? Pretty crazy, but alright. Relics created by the Gods and a magical witch that couldn’t die? Now things are getting a little out of hand but she could deal.

Her dad and Uncle Qrow being married to her mom at the same time? Okay now she had to be in an alternate reality.

Maybe she had just switched places with Yang for the day, because her normally hot-tempered sister sounded rather calm as she spoke up, “I don’t get it. Why don’t I remember any of this?”

“You were really young, Yang. And losing Summer had been traumatic for all of us.” Her dad replied. “It’s probably normal to block some stuff out.”

Qrow snorted, amusement coloring his tone. “You used to be a little bragger though.”

“I was?”

“Yeah, you kept going to all the other kids on the playground and telling them how you had two daddies to read you bedtime stories and a mom who made the world’s best cookies every night. And then you pushed them down when they called you a liar.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Their dad rubbed his temple as if recalling the old headaches, but his smile was fond. “We got so many angry phone calls from the other parents.”

“I really did that?” Yang asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“’Course you don’t. You hadn’t even started school yet, Firecracker. And boy were we not looking forward to it when you did. We were sure you were gonna end up in the principal’s office the first day.” Qrow laughed.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” Yang said, huffing a bit.

Ruby listened and seethed. Why were they laughing? And making jokes? None of this was funny!

Dad must have noticed, because he asked softly, “Sweetheart, you doing okay?”

“No!” She exploded, slamming her hands on the table. “Of course I’m not okay! Why didn’t you guys say anything? Why is everything some big secret in this damn house?!”

Her outburst soured the mood instantly, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad.

Her dad shifted in his seat, crossing his arms along the table. “Believe me, this wasn’t a secret we intended to keep.”

“So then why did you?” She muttered, slumping down in her own chair and glaring at the table corner.

There was a soft sigh and an even softer admittance, “Because we were scared.”

The words caught her by surprise because she’d never seen her dad as anything but brave – yet here he was, telling her she was wrong. She glanced through her bangs at him, “’Bout what?”

“Everything, really.” He said. “Before we lost your mom, it really wasn’t a problem. We just figured you’d grow up knowing you had three parents and it would just be normal. But after she passed and things just fell apart between Qrow and I, everything got swept under the rug.”

“We talked about it.” Her uncle tacked on. “How and when and all that. We figured we’d tell you both at the same time. About Raven. About us. But…” His gaze shifted to Yang. “When you found out about Rae and didn’t handle it so well, we thought: ‘Well shit, we can’t do that to Ruby too!’ And so, we just kept pushing it off.” He gestured as he spoke, his tone having the inflection of a narrator from an animated movie, “At first we said ‘we’ll tell her when she’s ten!’ And then she was and we were all ‘No it’s too soon, maybe when she’s thirteen!’ And then year after year passed and…” He deflated, hand falling to the table. “We just, never knew when the right time was.”

“So, it’s my fault.” Yang spoke up.

“No, of course not!” Her dad quickly assured. “It was an accident you found out that early, nothing more. But Qrow and I could see how badly it affected you and because we had the power to choose to spare Ruby from the same thing… we took it.”

“We didn’t know what we’d do if we had two kids going through an identity crisis.” Her uncle lamented.

That’s when it hit her harder than Nora’s hammer to the gut.

“Wait.” Ruby sat up straight, looking between them. “Then, which one of you is my dad?”

They froze, sharing a look.

“Well…” Qrow spoke first, waving towards Tai. “Legally, he is.”

That didn’t sound like an answer. “What does that mean?”

Tai explained, “He means as far as your birth certificate is concerned, you’re mine. But as for who, uh-”

“Knocked up your mom.” Qrow intoned helpfully.

“Qrow!” Tai smacked his arm.

“What?! They’re adults. They can handle it!”

She really couldn’t.

Tai pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “As for who impregnated your mother… we don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!” Ruby echoed, unable to believe this. “How can you not know? Don’t they have tests for these things?”

“Well, yes, but, uh,” Tai floundered a bit.

Qrow spoke up instead (She never really noticed how often they did that), “Vale has a lot of legality restrictions when it comes to kids. Oz pushed a lot of those regimens with the council, because he wanted to make sure kids who lost their families were still taken care of, so we got a lot of advice from him. And the smartest thing to do was make Tai your dad, since he was the one staying at home. That way if anything happened to Summer and I at the same time, he wouldn’t have to fight the protection services to keep the family together.”

“But the kingdoms don’t share medical records.” Tai continued, “So, we figured when you kids were older and we could afford it, we could take a trip to Mistral or Atlas. Have the test done then, if that’s what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” She frowned. “You guys didn’t want to know? It doesn’t bother you?”

“I did, at one point.” Qrow admitted. “But, then I held you for the first time, and I realized it didn’t matter. I loved you more than anything; learning which of us actually donated his DNA wasn’t going to change that.”

“It was the same feeling for me. I grew up in Vacuo. A lot of communities there live on the philosophy that family has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with heart.” Tai said, his smile kind and warm. The familiarity was odd when she felt like her whole world had flipped upside down. Wasn’t everything different now? Or was she just the one acting weird?

“Well then,” She scrambled, pointing towards Qrow. “Then why do I call you uncle? Shouldn’t I call you dad too or something?” The sudden burst of laughter from everyone made her rethink what she just said. “Oh my gods, be serious! Dad also.”

Qrow was the first to get ahold of himself. “We tried, at first. But no matter what we did, you just kept imitating your sister. We kind of realized by accident it probably made things easier on you kids, and on us too. If you called both of us dad, we’d never know who you were asking for. We figured eventually you’d come to understand it like Yang did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the somberness veiling back over his expression. “But then things changed and here we are.”

“Why did it change?” Yang asked cautiously, as if she didn’t really want to hear the answer. “Did you two fall out of love?”

“No. It was the opposite really.” Tai said, sharing a look with him. The gaze they shared was a silent conversation all their own, and the slightest nod from Qrow spurred him onwards and he turned back to them. “Losing Summer was immeasurably hard. We were both grieving in our own ways, and we loved each other enough to know neither of us were doing anything but hurting each other. Qrow’s drinking was out of hand and I - back then I,” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Let’s just say depression is a very scary disease that can twist your thoughts in ways you never thought you could think of yourself. Until I got help, I wasn’t good for anyone.”

Ruby heard her sister shift uncomfortably beside her. She didn’t really have many memories of back then; mostly she remembered her dad being absent a lot of the time, but she’d reasoned it was because he was at work. It was only after Blake had questioned her shortly before the Vytal Dance about her family life and revealed to her the story Yang had shared with her, that she began to question if the happy home life she always perceived she’d had, had more cracks in it then she was aware of.

Uncle Qrow reached out, curling his hand over one of dad’s. As if that was normal. As if they’d done it a million times before. It was weirding her out.

“Point is,” He said, completely unaware of her internal screaming, “We were wrecks. Tai was sick and I spent more time blacking out in alleyways than at home. Neither of us could support each other the way we needed too, so we called an end to it. We decided we wouldn’t try again until things were okay.”

“But you never did try again.” Yang was frowning. Ruby guessed she was probably worrying about herself and Blake.

“Uh. Well. That’s not entirely true.” Their dad said.

Qrow suddenly grinned. “Actually, had you two been a bit older, you probably would have figured it out. Remember that time you girls were bowling down the hallway and the ball went into Tai’s room? And when you went to get it, you found me in his bed and I told you girls I was getting over a hangover? I wasn’t.”

“Wait, what? Why were you still in my room?”

“Because I couldn’t walk!”

“Oh, gross.” Ruby groaned. Her sister made some equally distressed noises while her dad turned a ripe shade of tomato red. Qrow just laughed uproariously at them all.

Yang shuddered. “I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“And I could have gone my whole life without you girls hearing that.” Dad agreed, shoving Qrow’s shoulder. “Stop laughing already. You sound like a donkey.”

“Tai, they’re over eighteen. You can call me a jackass now.”

“I just happen to have some class, unlike you.” Ignoring the childish faces their uncle started making his way, he continued on, “As I was saying, we did try – more than a few times, really. But we kept it hidden from you girls, until we knew things between us would work out. It was important to us that we show you two what a healthy and positive relationship was like so that when you got older, you’d hopefully take our example and find the right person for yourselves. We just, never got that far. It was… complicated.”

“Pff. It was not.” Qrow rolled his eyes. “You got better, I didn’t. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“It was so much more than your drinking and you know it. And anyways, you’re way better on that than you were.” Dad refuted.

“Ha! Then don’t let me tell you about Argus.”

His eyes narrowed. “What about Argus?”

“Uh-” He looked towards the clock on the wall. “Whoa, look at the time! Ruby don’t you have a date tonight or something?”

Her sister looked too, then jumped to her feet. “It’s almost 6? Come on Ruby, we haven’t even chosen an outfit!”

“What?” She jerked around. “Are you crazy? How am I supposed to go on a date after all this?”

“Well you can’t cancel the first date!”

“That’s not a rule!” When her sister only rose an eyebrow, she backpedaled, “I-Is it?”

“Ruby.” Her dad’s voice had her turning back to him. “If you really don’t think you’re up to going anymore, you don’t have to. If this guy’s a good one, he’ll understand. Then, we can talk all night if you want. But, those answers aren’t on a time limit either.”

Her uncle nodded. “Yeah. It ain’t like we’re gonna clam up come tomorrow. And we kind of hit you with a lot just now; letting some of that sink in for a few hours isn’t the worst thing you can do.”

Ruby chewed her lip, not wanting to admit how undeniably tempting the offer was. “I just don’t get why all this had to be kept a secret. Didn’t I have the right to know?”

“Of course you did.” Her dad answered. “And I’m sorry we kept it from you as long as we did. We were just so focused on trying to make things feel stable and safe for you girls, that the idea of deliberately throwing another wrench in the mix never seemed like a good idea.”

“Yeah okay,” She said in a tone that implied it was definitely not okay.

The two men shared a worried glance, before Qrow sighed, placing his elbows on the table as he lent forward, “Look kiddo, this was never easy on us either. Kids aren’t born with manuals. And yeah, we definitely screwed up at times. Just ‘cause we’re trying to raise you doesn’t mean we’re suddenly perfect adults. Least of all me.” He rolled his eyes as he said this, as if even he was exasperated with himself. “But you got to trust me when I say any decision we made for you,” He glanced at Yang, “Or you, was always done with the reason that we love you both.”

“I know that! I just-!” She couldn’t stay still anymore. She jumped to her feet, pacing around the length of the kitchen. “I don’t know, I feel like I’m the crazy one here! Why is everyone so calm about this?”

“Ruby-”

Ignoring her dad’s attempt to placate her, she whirled on her sister. “I figured at the very least, you’d be with me on this! Why aren’t you upset?”

“I mean, I guess I am a little?”

“A little?! Don’t you get it? We might not even be sisters!”

Yang stared, her eyebrows rising with understanding. She crossed over to her, saying, “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Well, yeah!” Ruby said, feeling absolutely silly that she wanted to cry.

She stopped in front of her, placing her hands on her shoulders. “Ruby, say you do go and do this test. And say Uncle Qrow is your dad… why does that have to change anything?”

“I-I don’t,” She sniffled, rubbing away at some tears. “Shouldn’t it?”

“Why? I don’t care what that test says, you’re my little sister. Always. So why do you need to think differently?” Yang urged. “Things only have to change if you want them too. Do you want them to?”

“No!”

“So then what’s the problem?”

She blinked rapidly, giving a watery laugh. “Well when you say it like that, it makes me feel kind of stupid.”

“I prefer slow on the uptake.” Yang joked, tugging her into a too tight hug.

Around her bending ribs, she squawked, “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re the best!” Was the proud chirp before she pulled back, heading for the living room. “Come on, you got a big night ahead of you.”

She nodded, wiping away the rest of her tears. She glanced over at her dad and uncle, who had stood from their own chairs at some point during her mini breakdown, but hadn’t gotten further then around the table. They looked about as uncertain as she felt; but they were still her uncle and dad – even if biologically that may be the other way around. Things hadn’t really changed for them either, had they?

Her dad was still the man who sat with her after school and helped her with her homework or taught her how to focus her aura so she could unlock it for the first time. Someone who had been in the crowd of all her school events, taking pictures as she won awards or got her diploma, and had seen her off at the airstrip the day she left for Beacon. The one she depended on to take care of her when she was ill or walk with her to the cliff on those sad, sad days she missed mom the most. Was still and always her guide, the person who taught her right from wrong and who always encouraged her to be the greatest she that she could be.

Her uncle was still the guy who spent hours with her showing her how to shoot at targets 500 meters away and snuck into her welding class to help her forge Crescent Rose. The one she could count on to take her out for ice cream if she had a bad day or play video games with her all night if she was bored. Knew that even if he had to be away a long time, that he’d write or call when he could, and come back with a gift or two for her and Yang from some cool town or big city he’d gotten to visit. Was still and always her hero, the person she’d tell everyone she wanted to be just like when she grew up.

Neither of them were perfect; that was something she was seeing more and more of as she grew older. But they were here, raising her, watching over her, loving her. That was never going to change. That’s what mattered most.

She hurried over to them, throwing her arms around them both. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

Her dad’s arm was strong and steady as it encircled her. “Of course. Anytime you want.”

“Go have fun.” Qrow told her, ruffling her hair. “Knock ‘em dead. And if he gets too handsy, take that advice literally.”

“Qrow!”

She giggled stepping back so she could prepare for a quick escape. “Thank you. I love you.”

“We love you too sweetie.” Tai told her fondly – only to immediately shout after her retreating petals, “And no semblances in the house!”

With the sun’s descent, quiet also seemed to descend their home. Ruby was out of the house for the evening and with it being morning in Menagerie, Yang was holed up in her room on Skyria, video-chatting with Blake. It left the first floor to themselves; but the calmness and normalcy was not something Qrow found to be undesirable these days.

The spoon clanked against the tea cup as the last teaspoon of honey was added, before he dropped the utensil in the sink. He grabbed the two cups, heading over to the couch in the living room, handing one to its only occupant.

“Thanks.” Tai gladly took a sip. As Qrow sat beside him, he said, “Ruby handled that way better than I thought she would. Maybe you were right and we should have told her sooner.”

He lent back into the cushions, propping his feet onto the coffee table. “Or fighting magical maidens and immortal witches builds up an intolerance to these kinds of things, and waiting was the right call. We’ll never get the ‘what if’ answer.”

“Guess not.” Tai set his cup aside, before going back to flipping through the scrap book propped in his lap.

Truthfully, after traveling with her from one end of Remnant to the other, Qrow hadn’t expected anything less from Ruby. He wasn’t sure where she got her fortitude from, but her ability to push through even the most adverse of conditions was her most admirable quality. Perhaps it was just that, or maybe the other shoe was just waiting to drop, but he had a feeling things would be back to the status quo before they knew it.

No, it was Yang he was more impressed by. He was certain it would be her yelling at the top of her lungs – especially when it was just another secret being kept from her – but instead, she’d handled it with a rationality he’d never really seen before. He knew, in part, it was because she was striving hard to reign in her quick temper. Not for herself, but for her girlfriend, whose sketchy past romantic relationships made it hard for her to deal with the shouting matches Yang was prone too. All on her own, Yang decided she didn’t want to be a reminder of that past. That’s how he caught her, in a library of one of the towns they had stayed in during their travels, reading up on anger management. When he confronted her, she told him that it was only fair that if Blake was working on her tendency to back down, then she would work on improving herself for her too.

Firecracker was turning into more of a Fire Dud these days, but it was a welcome improvement and today just proved how far she’d come. He was insanely proud of her.

He was also immensely jealous.

Because if she could fix something about herself with only one reason, why did he keep giving up when he had three?

Tai’s sudden laughter shook away his thoughts. “Oh, you remember this day?”

Qrow’s eyes darted towards the entry he was indicating, an amused chuckle bubbling almost instantly. “Yeah.”

The page was decorated with various stickers of smiling fruits and flowers set in patterns that matched well with the photos glued to the pages of them on a picnic. It had been Tai’s birthday and as he tended to want simple things and with it being right at the tail-end of summertime, he had requested a day out with the family. So, they made up a little basket of food, got Yang in her little flower dress, and headed out. Despite being plumper than the watermelon they’d brought along, Summer probably took about three dozen pictures that day – but the four she’d chosen seemed to perfectly highlight the timeline of disaster they were in for.

The first was a posed picture with them all standing together, the backdrop a field of wildflowers they’d chosen to have their picnic in.

The one underneath was a more candid shot of Tai and him stretched out on the blanket, empty plates strewn around them. Qrow had Yang in his hands and was lifting her upwards, making the infant feel like she was an airplane.

The third was one he took. Summer, Tai and Yang were in the flowers, the little girl trying to toddle her way after some butterflies. It would have been nothing more than another charming family photo, if not for the hint of grey clouds inching their way over the tree line behind them.

The last was of him and Tai standing at the top steps of the porch, looking like a pair of wet sheepdogs with the way their hair hung over their eyes. Sheets of rain was coming down behind them, and just to the left was a blur of yellow bounding forward – Yang, seconds away from ruining her dress and splattering mud all across their backs.

Taiyang must have been looking at that one too because he said, “Gods, Yang was such a mess. Summer had to wash her in the sink! I don’t think we ever managed to save her dress, did we?”

“No. I don’t think we did.” Qrow replied distractedly, his mind lost in the past.

It should have been an awful day; but instead, there was nothing but laughter over how ridiculous they all looked or the rush to clean themselves up and put Yang down for her nap. There were kisses shared under a warm shower. The coziness of the three of them wrapped up together in an afghan, sipping hot tea and watching the storm from the bench on the patio.

He could almost smell the rain again. Or feel the weight of Summer leaning against his side as she dozed, tired from the day. Or how his breath caught a little bit when he looked over at Tai, and found himself so caught by how gorgeous he looked at that moment, that all he could do was stare.

Just as he was now.

He traced his eyes over Tai’s gentle visage, from the faint freckles that valiantly held onto some of his youth to the slope of his blue eyes that made him appear so kind and the brightness of his smile as he turned to another page. There were signs of his age of course, in the wrinkles around his eyes, the dimming color of his hair, but his beauty had aged with him. Or maybe Qrow was still just that captivated by him that he’d find him so no matter what he looked like.

Warmth bloomed in his chest, burning like an overheated flame, the love that had once been so prominent in his life warring with the sorrow of everything he’d lost since then. It was hard to bear, and he found that he was tired of feeling it. And perhaps it was that that finally led him to ask, “Do you ever miss us?”

Tai paused, gazing at him searchingly for a few long moments. It felt an eternity before he finally murmured back, “All the time.”

“Me too.” Hope tentatively pulled the next question from him, “Could we try again?”

A hand reached out, larger fingers slipping between his own, brushing against the three wedding rings he wore. Tai lent in close, until their foreheads brushed together and all they could see was each other. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #ruby rose #yang xiao long #Summer Rose #golden hummingbird #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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