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504py · 6 months

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In Ink, Unsaid - Knight!Leon Kennedy/Reader

Your knight is appointed to tutor you, and he falls asleep during your lesson. It leads to a cute interaction involving his hair.

hell yeah finally got this out!! this one's a lot longer than the first part, i pray it ain't too wordy LOL. once again art by me and hope y'all enjoy!!

Historical inaccuracies, I suck at old-timey speak, reader referred to as "my lady" but no other gendered terms or descriptors besides that, no use of Y/N, mutual pining, almost a Leon character study. It's a little more romantic this time.

1, 2, 3

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don't think you've ever seen Leon make a mistake. It unsettles you a little, how much composure and perfection he seems to uphold. You tend to watch him a lot because of it, growing a strange compulsion to always have your eyes on him.

Whenever you see him through a window while passing by, the sight of him slows you down a bit before you continue on your way. Whenever he walks past the room you're in, your eyes dart to his figure on impulse, trying to take in as much information as you can before he's out of your sight. Leon walks too fast, you find yourself thinking a lot.

Paradoxically, when you're close enough to actually see his face, you find yourself unable to look at him. You try to, but he's already staring at you, and he never looks away first, so you do. Whenever you look at him, his eyebrows raise slightly, like he thinks you want something from him when you do. The pressure from it is surprisingly crushing, so you simply cannot imagine holding eye contact with Leon for more than two seconds.

This strange fascination of yours with your new knight has materialized itself in the form of behaviors that might align themselves with a stalker's. You've drunken in all the little details about him. You recognize the sound of his footsteps, the dent in his left vambrace, since he tends to guard his body with that arm, and the moles on his knuckles. Since you can't look at his face when he's actually near you, you've taken to staring at his hands or his feet. He rarely ever shifts his weight between each leg, even if he's been standing for a long time. It makes you more conscious of how you carry yourself... Speaking of posture, he tends to tilt his head to the right slightly when he rests.

Rest and any of its synonyms are words you'd rarely use to describe anything related to Leon. The most you'd seen him do something as relaxed as resting, was that night he sat by your bed till the thunderstorm passed.

So how do you know his habits when he rests? Shockingly, he's doing it right now, in front of you, during your first tutoring session together.

His eyes were rather bloodshot and dull when he entered the library, a feigned intensity in them like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't tired. He knows you notice, but you don't ask about it, and he seems to be glad you did.

"...This arrangement is rather unorthodox, is it not?" You ask as he sits down across from you.

Leon puffs out a little breath, not enough to be a sigh, but noticeable enough. You are unsure if it is out of annoyance.

"I suppose so, my lady, but your mother was the one who appointed me to tutor you today."

You frown a little. It's not like you disliked Leon at all, but you tend to find him a little too... tense to be around. He seems so structured and confident and it makes you afraid to make mistakes around him... Besides that, he's got a really intense stare that doesn't fare well with your nervous composition.

"...Do you dislike having me as your tutor, my lady?" He queries, the faintest hint of doubt and dejection in his voice.

"I–" You try to start, but he cuts you off, "It's not meant to be taken in any personal manner, my lady, but..." He takes in a sharp inhale, realizing he interrupted you and maybe stepped over a line. Leon pauses and watches you carefully, waiting to see if your expression will contort or if you'll start to reprimand him.

...You just avert your eyes, so he continues.

"Perhaps you'd fare better with someone you were more comfortable with... my lady."

You bite the inside of your cheek. "I'm rather alright, Sir Leon. I apologize for complaining."

"Forgive me for pushing, my lady, but you always feel rather tense around me. Is that for any particular reason? Perhaps I could help."

"I, uh..." Your gaze falls to your lap, "I'm just not sure why mother chose you. Your schedule is rather full as it is, is it not, Sir Leon?"

"Well, I can promise you I'm very well-educated, my lady." He says, but as he observes, it doesn't do much to soothe your nerves.

"...Spending more time with you is always a pleasure to me, my lady. I promise that to you too."

That wrinkle between your eyebrows soften, and your shoulders drop.

Leon does surprisingly well as a tutor. You suppose it's because of his rugged impression that you thought the opposite, but even the way he speaks is well-constructed and seems to have been planned in advance.

If your mother had never appointed Leon as your tutor today, you'd never have really noticed how calming his voice can be. Whenever he's spoken, it always sounded like a command, even if he's trying his best to be respectful. His voice usually comes off too strong, too deep in his chest, too loud sometimes, too much authority. Usually you tend to shrink in your skin a little whenever he speaks, but now, he sounds so relaxed that you feel like he could lull you to sleep at any moment.

Ah– it seems he's beat you to the chase, though.

It took you a little too long to notice, but Leon has fallen asleep in front of you, cheek resting against his right fist and his left hand still resting on the book's page.

You freeze up, not wanting to do anything that'd wake him up. You understand that a tutor falling asleep in front of a student would be highly inappropriate, but you still felt that it would be rude to wake him. Is he a light sleeper? You wonder how exhausted he must be to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable situation, and it makes your heart ache.

He's breathing lightly, you wait a bit, see if he'll wake up on his own. Maybe it's just your own excuse to watch him while you can.

His eyelashes are a lot longer than you thought, and you don't think you've ever seen him without that crease between his brows, and an almost-scowl on his lips. Leon's hair was of a color and style that confused you. Some days it felt brown, sometimes it was blond, or something in between. You've convinced yourself it depended on his mood or the weather. As for the length... the fringe always seemed to obscure his eyes slightly, so you've always wondered why he didn't just cut it. Especially when he wears his helmet, and he makes a bit of a fuss when his bangs get pinned underneath his visor.

Unconsciously, you've been reaching forward to brush away the strand of hair hanging in front of his nose, hoping to get a better look of his face.

Leon's eyes flutter open, his pupils adjusting to the light before they dilate as they settle on you. Your arm flinches back to your side.

He mumbles your name, intimately, no honorifics or titles, and your face warms.

"I– Leon– Sir Leon, hello," You breathe out shakily, "You fell asleep."

The message takes a few seconds to reach his just-woken-up brain, before his eyes widen and he immediately sits up properly.

Words come spilling out of his mouth, this is the first time you've seen him stutter. "I'm so sorry– I'm incredibly sorry, my lady, I apologize for my inappropriate behavior, I don't know why I dared to do such a thing, and why I keep making mistakes today–"

"Leon."

He bites on his tongue and his eyes are slightly wide as he stares at you.

"...It's alright, I promise."

The tips of his ears are a bright red, and that same flush seems to be creeping up from under his shirt collar to his neck. He takes in a few deep breaths, and he looks unsure. This is the second time you've seen him wear this look now. He takes in a deep breath.

"I... I apologize, my lady." He bows his head towards you. The roots of his hair were a deeper brown compared to the rest of his locks. You wonder if he's not even a real blond. Perhaps hours of staying under the sun lightened his hair.

You space out staring at him, and Leon straightens his neck. He can't recall maintaining eye contact with you for this long, and it makes his abdomen feel warm, even if he knows you're not really all there.

"My lady?"

You finally blink, and at the realization your blank-eyed gaze settled on him, your eyes widen and you immediately look elsewhere. You decide to rest your sight on his hands.

"Is there something wrong with my hair?" His fingers twitch, slightly restless.

"I... What makes you say that, Sir Leon?"

"You've been eyeing the top of my head for a while. I felt your hand near my face while I was waking up, as well, my lady."

Your heart skips a beat, and the way your blink catches for a second and the way you seem to choke on your spit isn't missed by the knight-now-tutor across from you.

"I-It's quite alright, my lady." He rushes out, his heart dropping at that look on your face. He's not even sure what's "alright", but he just wanted to offer you any bit of comfort so things don't escalate, in the fear he was too forward with confronting you.

He remembers the musings of his fellow knights about his hair, about how could he see with all that bother, how it could get in the way during combat, or how it just looked a little funny. Truth be told, his hair was the result of continuously forgetting to go get a haircut because he fixated so much on work, but now he keeps it out of spite. Leon insists he can do perfectly fine to anyone who says otherwise, but if it's you...

Leon breathes in slightly, and his hands move away from your line of vision. You follow them, and he's pushing his fringe back as much as he can. He's trying to tuck it behind his ears, and it almost makes you laugh, how gentle the gesture is, then you realize how beautiful he actually looks. Your cheeks warm, and you cannot look away.

"Is this better, my lady?" He asks, strangely demure in his demeanor.

You chuckle, and his heart soars at the noise, "You missed a spot." you comment, before your hand raises for a second, nearing his face.

"Ah– May I?"

"Of course, my lady." The devotion leaking from his voice is punctuated by the mole on his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

Your fingers are slightly shaky as they clear the few strands of hair he couldn't pin back. The pads of your fingers graze his forehead, and he takes in a sharp breath. Physical contact between you two was relegated to holding onto his hand when he assisted you, and nothing more, so he wasn't a stranger to it. So he can't really understand why such a tiny act has such an effect on him.

You sit back, properly look at him, and smile. He feels slightly shy under your scrutiny, but he hopes you find him good-looking at the very least. He does have the face to pull off shorter hair, but something about it felt like you were seeing him naked. He felt under-decorated without his fussy hair.

"Mm... I think you look best just as you are."

Leon breathes out a little laugh accompanied by the toothiest smile you've seen on him thus far, which really isn't much, but it comes off just as endearing. The bags under his eyes seem to disappear as his eyes turn into happy crescents. Adoration is dancing around in his pale blue irises, and in the reflection of his dilated pupils, it's only you.

"Thank you, my lady... It makes me happy to hear that."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

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ficsilike-reblogged · 1 year

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Invisible Smoke - Three

Summary: There is something going on with Jake’s favorite mechanic. And he finally gets some answers.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/F!Reader Word Count: 9k ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED

A/N: I apologize for the delay and thank you all so much for the love on the last chapter. Life has been a little overwhelming lately. Work has been hectic and I had a close family member pass away. I am hoping to come up for air soon. Thank you for your patience. And I do feel the need to reiterate that I DO NOT keep a tag list. Sorry!

Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, themes of stalking, cursing, mentions of bodily harm/injury, domestic abuse, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

What could you possibly say? The truth was out of the question, at least the entirety of it was. You couldn't and wouldn’t drag him into this more than he already was. Jake deserved better than being wrapped up in your mess. “I got caught up in something above my paygrade a few years ago. Thought I had left it in the past. I’ll take care of it.” You took the Polaroid from his hand and threw it into the footwell in front of you before making sure to press your shoe over it.

Jake was quiet as he started your car and pulled out of the lot, turning toward the direction of your little bungalow. Maybe you should have been surprised he knew the way—he’d only come over with the rest of the Daggers twice and Bradley had been driving—but for some reason it just made sense. Of course Jake would know. His jaw was shut tight, you could see the tendons working as his teeth ground together. But just as quickly as you noticed it, he relaxed. But he didn’t move to turn the radio to a different station or raise the volume. He just kept driving.

The rollercoaster of emotions you’d just endured had you sagging in your seat. While your tears had slowed to a leaky trickle, they didn’t stop. And you wanted to scream, to rage at the cruelty of it all, but mostly what you wanted to do was crawl into bed after making sure your door and windows were locked.

He’d ruined your night. He had somehow found out you were going to the Hard Deck and had purposefully planted that picture. You were almost surprised that he hadn’t slashed your tires when he had the chance, too.

But it mattered little when Jake pulled into your driveway and handed you your keys after shutting off your car. He followed you up to the small, stone stoop and waited until you waved him in to step inside. You felt his eyes on you as you turned the locks on your door and then double-checked the one on the handle before you wiped at your face. Mascara and foundation smeared against your hand and you grimaced as you noticed it. Fantastic.

“Do you want a drink or something? I’m going to call you an Uber but before then? I have tea, water, and soda I know you won’t drink. I don’t keep alcohol in the house, sorry.” You were rambling, you knew that. But did you stop? No. “I can also order something for delivery, if you want.” You sniffled and tried to resist the urge to wipe at your face again.

Jake’s shoulders rolled as if he were trying to shake off a bug before he shook his head. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed, Punch? I’ll wait out here.”

That sounded like he was staying. And, really, you knew you should be shoving him out the door and into an Uber you knew would take him back to his car and far away from you and the disaster that was your life. But you still nodded, trying to ignore how you liked knowing he’d just be in the living room, waiting. “Feel free to snoop,” you said, retreating down the hall.

“I’m not going to snoop!”

“Yes, you are.”

And then, as soon as Jake heard your bedroom door close, he started to snoop. He did have your permission anyway and that half-assed answer you gave him wasn’t sitting right in his gut. Your little house was neat, if not in need of a bit of dusting. Art prints in soft greens and light yellows were hung in straight lines with personal photographs, in smaller silver frames, dotted between. A bookshelf took up an entire wall and was organized by last name…except for the bottom shelf that was mostly empty with just a small stack of lilac spines and silver lettering. Jake bent to get a better look but paused, spotting two large but thin frames tucked behind the bookcase. He tugged one out and saw that it was your undergraduate degree from some university up the coast. The next frame held your Masters Degree. Both were covered in dust and forgotten about. Almost like you had purposefully shoved them away. Carefully, Jake put them back and tried not to think about why you wouldn’t want them displayed, and instead grabbed one of the lilac books. It didn’t have a traditional cover, just the title: Sunlight Filtered Through Champagne. Below it was a small sticker with “ARC” typed out in bold white letters. Turning the book to look at its spine, the author’s name now accompanied the title: Georgia Torrance. There was a small note sticking out of the top and Jake slowly pulled it out to look at. Thought you may want it in your hands! Can’t wait to see what you come up with next! What did that mean?

When he heard your door open again, he was quick to put the note and book back and stand straight, trying to make it look like he was just looking at the thriller paperbacks on the shelf at his eyeline. It looked like you had a grading system on the shelf, too, scribbled on a small post-it note, denoting happy endings and not-so-happy endings. There was also a note to donate all of the not-so-happy ending books.

It was like you needed hope that a bad situation could end on a good note. And then there were all the locks on your door. The handle of a baseball bat was sticking out from under your little couch. Your curtains were not open when you arrived. You couldn’t read thrillers that ended badly because you were living in a fucked up one yourself, weren’t you?

“I got caught up in something above my paygrade.”

The words didn’t sit right with him. This wasn’t some sort of government cover up. This wasn’t a case of you seeing something you shouldn’t have. The note had been too familiar and the photo had been too intimate.

“You look like you’re trying to think,” you said.

Jake turned and almost swallowed his tongue as he looked at you. You’d switched out your sundress for tiny shorts and socks that went up to your thighs. A baggy Navy t-shirt nearly covered your shorts. You looked so soft, so comfortable even with your eyes still a little swollen from your earlier tears. And it twisted at something warm behind his ribs.

“Careful, you might pull something if you try too hard.” The insult was lacking its usual heat but Jake hardly noticed. Something else had gained his attention. A large gnarled scar was peeking out from under your shorts on your left leg. It reached halfway down your thigh and Jake couldn’t see how high up it went. Whatever had happened, it looked like it had hurt immensely. Then he remembered how the slits in your dresses were always on your right side. Your shorts, while tight, always reached your knees. You had been hiding it.

Who had hurt you?

He must have been staring too long because you angled your body away from him and cleared your throat. “I’m gonna call you an Uber. Sorry for my freak out earlier. You coulda been home and asleep by now. Or picking up someone at the Hard Deck. God, I really fucked up your night.”

You were rambling again. And maybe Jake would have found it endearing in any other circumstance but not when you were twisting your hands into the excess fabric of your shirt and shuffling away from him to grab your phone.

Slowly, as to not startle you, Jake reached out and gently took the phone from your hands and set it on the couch cushion. Your face scrunched with your confusion and the divot between your eyebrows only deepened when Jake set his hands on your shoulders. “You gonna tell me what actually happened?”

Your features shifted and shuttered, falling into the casual annoyance you usually wore around him. “I told you-”

“Yeah, you told me something. Now tell me the truth. I was in that car with you tonight, Punch. I saw how scared you were. A picture had you just as scared as nearly getting run off the highway. Tell me what is going on, please.”

Your jaw clenched and you wiggled out from under Jake’s grip. “So you’re calling me a liar now?”

“No! I just-”

“I’m sorry you got pulled into this, okay? I am. I never should have brought you to the party. You never should’ve been in the car.”

You weren’t getting it. He needed you to understand. “I’m glad I was with you! I’m glad you had me with you—but you can’t just tell me that you have it handled or brush it off because-”

“I’m not brushing anything off!” You snarled. “Stop trying to play hero!”

It may have been easier if you had just slapped him. Was that how you saw him? “I’m not playing at anything. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me try.”

The glint in your eyes was near murderous. Jake had only ever seen you look like this once before and it had been when some asshole had yanked on Penny’s arm at the Hard Deck. “Just stop! I-”

“I know something is going on. You can’t convince me otherwise, all right? My mama always said that if you smell smoke, it’s ‘cause there’s a fire.”

You wiped a hand over your eyes and Jake hated how he noticed your chin wobbling. “Your stupid southern colloquialisms do not apply to this situation. There is no smoke!”

Jake stepped forward again and peeled your hand away from your face, sighing as he saw fresh tears lining your lashes. He never wanted to make you cry. Not ever. “There is smoke. And I want to help you. Let me help you.”

You sniffled and looked away from him again but didn’t pull your hands out of his grip. “I don’t fucking understand this metaphor. A-and I don’t want to tell you.”

The words cracked in your throat and Jake only squeezed at your hands. He was here for you. Couldn’t you see that?

“Invisible smoke or not, I’m not going to tell you. I’m not.” You shook your head and finally pulled your hands from his and Jake was prepared for you to step back and tell him to leave, to tell him, again, that you had this handled. Instead, your warm palms pressed against his chest and your tear filled gaze locked on his face. His next breath stalled. God, you were beautiful. “I don’t want to be the one to make you look at me differently. Just…just let me have the rest of this night, okay? I’ll text Bradley and tell him that he can tell you. But just let me have this last night where I’m not some stupid, broken girl in your eyes.”

Jake reached up and settled his hands over yours, noticing how goosebumps raced up your arms when his thumbs brushed against your knuckles. “You could never be. You’ll always be Punch.”

You sighed and almost smiled at him before shaking your head, pulling your hands out from under his. “No, I won’t.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you managed to convince Jake to watch a movie with you instead of talking or prying more, but you had a bowl of half eaten microwave popcorn between you on the cushions and The Mummy playing on your television.

This wasn’t how you saw this night playing out. Of course, a person could never really fit a car chase and a quick emotional breakdown into their schedule so, perhaps this was the best possible outcome. As Brendan Fraser’s Rick O’Connell gave Evy a pilfered toolkit in the most adorably awkward manner, your gaze drifted over to Jake.

And he was looking right at you.

Shit. Embarrassed heat washed over you and you quickly looked back at the television.

“C’mere.”

“What?” It was barely more than a squeak and you stubbornly refused to move your gaze away from the television again.

“I know you heard me,” Jake repeated, a bit of a laugh cracking his words. “Come here.”

“I’m not a dog, you know,” you bit back before you could think of being polite. Old habits do die hard.

But it seemed like Jake didn’t particularly care, because he moved the popcorn bowl onto your coffee table and then grabbed at your legs, dragging you over to him with a simple tug. The noise that escaped you was a mortifying mix of a squeak and a yelp and you fell forward with the force of it, hands falling against his arm and shoulder awkwardly. His warm, work-rough hands slid up your thighs, skirting over the scar that still left you grimacing even if the pain had faded years ago, and settled on the curve of your waist. Then, with another simple movement, your thighs were bracketing his and he was looking up at you with the stupid, beautiful sea glass eyes. There was something in his gaze you didn’t recognize.

Or maybe you did and you couldn’t voice it.

“What’re you-”

“You look like you needed a hug.”

You arched a brow and ignored the thundering of your heart. How many times had you thought about something like this only to curse your wandering thoughts? “Oh?”

“Yeah. And I’ve been told I give the best hugs.”

Your mouth twisted to the side—you weren’t sure if you were fighting a smile or a snarl. “Who told you that? Which one of your bed warmers-”

The words stalled behind your teeth when Jake leaned up just enough to wrap his arms around you, warm and solid. And you hated that it immediately brought tears to your eyes. God, how long had it been since someone had hugged you like this? Held you like this? You melted into his grasp like butter on hot toast, going slack against him until your forehead rested on the broad expanse of his shoulder. Jake’s movements halted for a moment. And, if you had been anyone else, you might have said you felt his breath catch. But you knew better.

“This means nothing, you know,” you said, one last ditch effort to not let him know how pathetically easy you were enraptured with his easy touch. “I’m withholding my judgment on if you give good hugs or not.”

You heard him smile before his hands continued their smoothing motions up and down your spine. “Okay, Punch.”

You could have argued a little more. Maybe mentioned how he probably needed a hug more than you or how you wouldn’t feel bad when his legs fell asleep under your weight. But you didn’t. You didn’t because you were so comfortable and your favorite movie was playing in the background and Jake’s cologne smelt so good…who could blame you for falling asleep?

You snored. Just a little. It honestly reminded him of like…a baby bear for some reason. But maybe you were just extra tired. Jake wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t been sleeping well. Either way, Jake slowly slid one arm beneath your butt and kept the other a little higher on your back and gently lifted you up from the couch; your head lolled to the side and fell against his chest as you let out a heavy breath. Jake pretended not to feel how you rubbed your cheek against him and let out a soft hum. Or maybe he filed that little sound away to think about later. Either way, Jake made his way down the short hallway and pushed open your door with his foot, wincing as its hinges whined.

Your eyes opened the slightest bit as soon as your head hit the pillow and Jake was sure he would never forget the smile you shot at him.

Then he was thinking about waking up every morning to your sleepy, happy smile. He was thinking about carrying you to bed after a long night at the Hard Deck. He was thinking of you. He had always tried to shove those thoughts down. He had tried to ignore them because he knew—he knew—that nothing could come of it. But now he couldn’t. He knew what it was like to hold you in his arms. He could deal with the paperwork, admirals, and ribbing from the Daggers…if it meant he could…well, he’d finish that thought when he knew you were thinking the same thing.

After shutting your door, and making a mental note to pick up some WD-40 for those squeaky hinges, he made his way back to your living room. He picked up the popcorn bowl and washed it out and then straightened the cushions, just like his mama taught him to do. The movie finished as Jake sat on your couch and dug his phone out of his pocket. It was well past one in the morning but he still pulled up Bradshaw’s contact and typed out a message. We need to talk.

He’d probably hear from him in the mor-

His phone beeped with a new message and he was quick to click on the thread. I’m on my way.

Wasn’t he supposed to be out in the desert with Maverick? What did he mean he was on his way?

Apparently Rooster was also psychic because another message came through. Cut trip short. Will be at her house in an hour.

So, Jake waited. He played a stupid game on his phone to pass the time and made sure it was muted so it wouldn’t wake you up. Every time he heard a car pass by, he checked the window. He needed to make sure it wasn’t the charger again and he wanted to meet Bradley at the door so you wouldn’t wake up when he knocked. Five more rounds of the mindless game on his phone and then he was standing up again, and watching a familiar Bronco pull onto your driveway behind your car. He was surprised to see Maverick exit the passenger side but waved them both in when they approached the door.

“Where is she?” Bradshaw asked instead of a greeting.

“She’s asleep,” Jake hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

“Have you checked all the windows?” Maverick asked, voice thankfully at the correct decibel.

“A couple times,” Jake said. Maverick knew too? Was he the only one that didn’t know what you were hiding? “Are either of you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Maverick looked at Rooster but Rooster was looking right at Jake, mouth set in a firm line beneath his ridiculous mustache. “I gotta see her first. All right? We’ll stay with her for the rest of the night.”

That just about crawled all over Jake. He was just going to shove him out? After everything that’s happened tonight? “No. No, this is fucking ridiculous. Tell me-”

“Seresin,” Maverick cut in. “You’ve had a long night. Why don’t you head back to base and get some sleep?”

“I-”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant Commander.”

That simple phrase repeated in his head as he sat in the back of the Uber headed toward the Hard Deck, and when he drove himself home, and as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. That’s an order, Lieutenant Commander. What it actually was, was insulting. But he did as he was ordered, knowing that Mav and Rooster were trying to take care of you (and Maverick did have the authority to have him brought up in front of the brass)…but why didn’t they see that Jake was trying to help, too? As he stewed, his phone chirped with a notification from his sister, Mia. It was a picture of her sitting out on a familiar porch swing, the Texas night sky on display over her head as she smiled at the camera. She was holding up a cup—Jake knew it was probably filled with her favorite chamomile blend from a shop a few towns over from the family ranch. Hope you’re getting more sleep than me!

Jake sighed for the umpteenth time. Mia’s ex-husband, a man named Ryan who Jake had never liked, had up and left her for a coworker. She was understandably heartbroken and then when she discovered that Ryan had a child on the way with his mistress while Mia had been struggling to have a baby, she had been near inconsolable. It had taken her nearly a week for Jake and his sisters and mom to get Mia out of bed. It had been slow going to help her get back on her feet, even after the lawyer his mom hired managed to get Mia all of the marital assets and half of Ryan’s monetary savings alongside a hefty alimony. Mia had always been the strongest of his sisters, an older sister to the core, who had truly stepped up when their father had stepped out on their mother. It had been a cruel twist of fate that Mia’s marriage had turned out to mirror their mother’s so closely. Jake spoke with each of his sisters at least once a week, mostly just making sure they were doing okay and to lessen the bit of guilt he had for leaving Texas and them in the rear view when he joined the Navy. After tonight, he could use a little talk with his sister.

Jake hit the small phone icon beneath her name and it rang twice before she picked up. “Please tell me I didn’t wake you up with my text.”

“I was awake.”

“What’re you doing up right now?” She grumbled.

“Had a long night.” That was putting it lightly.

“I thought you were going out with that girl, Punch? Not the girl of your dreams anymore?”

Jake bit back the groan he felt rising in his throat. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to. You’re my baby brother and I know you. She a bad kisser or something?”

“We are not in high school and I’m not having this conversation with you,” he grumbled, feeling heat start to flood his face.

Thankfully or not, there was a strange fluttering sound on the other end of the line, followed by a muttered, “shit!”

“Everything okay?” Ryan had shown up at the ranch Mia and their mother now shared more than once, raging about the divorce decree and/or asking for a second chance in the next breath.

“Yeah, just dropped my book.” There was a long sigh and Jake imagined her settling back down onto the well worn cushion in the swing.

“What’re you reading?”

“A book.”

He rolled his eyes but felt a smile pushing at his mouth. She could always make him laugh. “Mia.”

“Jacob.” She snickered before continuing. “The author’s name is Georgia Torrance. She writes romances and if you judge me I’ll figure out a way to get your superiors to ground you from flying for, like, three days at least.”

Jake’s smile widened the slightest bit before something clicked. Georgia Torrance. That was the name on the strange books in your home. Can’t wait to see what you come up with next! You had written them, hadn’t you? Under a fake name, sure, but that was you.

If this were any other situation, Jake would drive back to you and simply ask if had a second job as a writer but he’d been banished from your house by his superior officer. So, he’d just bide his time with that, too, he guessed.

“I think I’ve heard of her. She has a few books, right?”

His sister giggled down the line. “Oh, they’re some of my favorites. Me and a few of the other girls have been getting together, like a book club, to read them. It’s fun.”

Jake smiled. She was doing okay, leaning on her friends. “You like those scandalous books, Mia? Gram would be mortified.”

Mia hushed him, but another giggle softened the blow. “They’re a great escape from the shitstorm of my life right now. Don’t judge me. They really are well written! And they’re so soft, Jake! Like, you can tell the characters actually care about each other.” There was a wistful sigh on the other end. “And she does this thing in all of her books.”

“Thing?”

“Yeah, the hero in some fashion or way, always ends up carrying the heroine to bed. Just to sleep. It is in all of her books. It’s her thing. Her trope, or whatever. It is so romantic.”

The sleepy, happy smile you’d given him flashed in his mind and the smallest bit of tension released in his chest. He had made you smile while doing something you, apparently, thought was romantic.

“Are you okay?” Mia asked, pulling Jake from his reverie.

His answering sigh crackled over the phone and he thought of your smile again. “Don’t worry about me.”

Someone was sitting on your bed. You had the vague realization of the weight as you teetered between sleep and wakefulness. “Jake?”

“‘s me, Punch.”

You smacked yourself in the face while attempting to wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Bradley? Aren’t you still supposed to be out in the desert with Captain Mitchell?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “But my favorite mechanic was apparently auditioning for the Fast and the Furious and we cut the trip short.”

Even in the dark of your room, you could see Bradley smile. “You hate those movies,” you said, hating how your voice started to quake. Hadn’t you cried enough?

“I do. Now, are you gonna tell me what happened? And why fucking Hangman was acting like your guard dog?”

Heat dragged up your neck and you were thankful for the dark of your room so Bradley wouldn’t see you almost smile into your pillow. “Is he still out in the living room?” He’d stayed for you.

“Mav sent him home. Wanted me to tell him everything the second we got in.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Bradley sighed again and his warm hand landed softly on your arm. He squeezed it gently. “Had to make sure you were okay first. You will always be the priority.”

“I shouldn’t be,” you muttered. “God, I’m not worth any of this. You should have seen him tonight, Bradley. He just wouldn’t stop. It was a goddamn miracle I was able to get us out of that without totaling my car. And Jake was just…” Traitorous tears stung at your eyes but you let them fall because Bradley had seen you battered and bloody; he could withstand your tears. “Jake was so nice to me. Patient. He doesn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this. None of you do.”

“Hey,” Bradley started, whispered tone bordering on disappointed. “Stop saying shit like that. I’ve told you this a thousand times: you are worth everything. You deserve better than the shitty hand you were dealt. And remember whose dumbass started all this? Me. It was me.”

“It wasn’t you though,” you said, trying to breathe through the tears still trying to choke you.

But Bradley said nothing else but moved a little closer to you on the bed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You weren’t entirely sure when you fell back asleep but you woke a few hours later with the first rays of daylight peeking through your curtains. It felt like you’d inhaled brick dust after being battered with said brick. Embarrassment was gnawing on your ribs as you rolled out from under your tangled blankets and set your feet on the floor. Everything had gone off the metaphorical rails last night. And a part of you ached at the thought of not having Jake around, even on the periphery, because you knew he would want nothing to do with you after he knew.

You stretched, hearing your back crack, and padded out toward the kitchen where you’d bet Bradley was waiting. And, yep, he was leaning against your counter, sipping on coffee you only kept in the house for him. His hazel eyes looked you over before he set down the mug, porcelain clacking against the linoleum. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit. Where’s Captain Mitchell?” You asked as you stepped into the kitchen, too, intent on getting to the lemon poppy seed muffins you saw sitting on the counter. Bradley’s hand slowly raising to block your path had you whining. “Why are you being me to me? I am in need of food.”

“You’re a brat,” he said with absolutely no heat. “And how many times has Mav said you could call him Pete when we aren’t on base?” He grabbed one of the muffins and shoved it at you. A few crumbs fell to your kitchen floor and you knew you’d have to sweep later. But not now. You took a large bite and almost moaned at the taste of it and continued to ignore Bradley’s question. Maverick was your superior. That was it. Keeping people at arm’s length kept them safe—well, you knew that he knew about your predicament but that didn’t mean he needed to be tangled up in it, too. “He picked those up for you this morning before he went to Penny’s for breakfast. Said Ice mentioned they were your favorite?”

You nodded and felt your lips curling up in a smile between bites. “He and Sarah took me to the bakery about a week after I got stationed here.” Tom had insisted that the poppy seed muffins were the best he’d ever tasted and after one bite, you agreed.

Bradley reached for one and hummed after he took a bite, nodding before taking another.

You two ate in silence for a little longer before Bradley, with his stupid baby cow hazel eyes, looked at you again. “What?”

“I checked the house over. It looks like nothing’s been messed with. But why don’t you come stay with me-”

“No.”

Bradley looked like he was trying not to sigh. “Punch, c’mon. It’ll just be until-”

“Until what, Bradley? I can handle this. He…he’ll probably disappear again and we can just forget this ever happened.”

“He tried to run you and Seresin off the road, Punch. Let me help.”

“You already did! You brought me muffins and checked out my house after staying the night when you should’ve been out in the desert and working on Mav’s plane. And that’s just today. You have done enough.”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed as he shoved the rest of the muffin into his mouth—which was ridiculous! He wasn’t even savoring it!—before sighing. “Fine. But you call me if you need anything, okay? Or Bob.” He then paused and you hated how his brow arched. That always meant he was going to say something he thought was clever but was actually stupid. “Or you could call Hangman.”

Embarrassed heat started to claw at your neck and you tried to ignore it and the knowing look in Bradley’s eyes. “You’re being mean.”

“You are asking me to tell him what the hell you have lurking in the shadows-”

“Don’t say lurking in the shadows. We aren’t in a horror movie.”

“-and you still refuse to see how much that guy is in love with you?”

The heat was now scalding and you were sure that your internal temperature had risen a few degrees, too. “Ken isn’t in love with me.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

Were you in love with Jake? No. That couldn’t be possible because, after everything, you knew that being in love and being loved just wasn’t in the cards for you. And the Navy would never allow it. And Jake was…Jake was your friend. And so far out of your league it was ridiculous. You weren’t his type anyway. And you didn’t have a type but if you did it would probably be…Jake. But you didn’t have time to think about that now because there was a tight feeling in your chest and your eyes were watering again and you knew that you were actually…probably…definitely…pathetically in love with Jake Seresin. Shit.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter if I am or not. None of that matters,” you bit out as you blinked back the tears. “Also, when are you going to tell Natasha how you feel?”

Just as you anticipated, Bradley’s cheeks filled with pink and it was his turn to look away. “I’ve got a plan,” he muttered.

The smallest bit of tension slipped from your spine as you realized your diversion had worked, at least marginally. Bradley did have a bad habit of jumping back to conversations you had thought you had moved on from. Oh well. “So you’re not denying it anymore? No more ‘we’re just friends’ or ‘you’re reading into it,’ now?”

The pink in his cheeks grew darker as he reached out to lightly flick at your arm. “I guess.”

Well, at least you had this small victory. And god knows he had been ignoring his feelings for Natasha for years. You surely hadn’t been the only one to notice; Natasha was just as far gone for Bradley but she at least hid it better. You were sure only you and Bob knew about her feelings. “If I were mean, I’d make you tell me your plan. But I am feeling charitable today and will just wish you the best.”

“You’re such a brat.” He pulled you into a hug and sponged a loud kiss onto your forehead before stepping back. After you told him to go home and actually rest, that you’d be fine for the rest of the weekend, and Bradley once again telling you to call him if you needed anything, he left with a final, “lock your door!” thrown over his shoulder.

And then you were alone again. Your heart gave a startled leap when you heard a car door slam a few moments later but you heard your neighbor’s squeaky front door open and close and pushed out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Great. You eventually swept the kitchen floors and double checked the windows before making the short trek out to your mailbox to check the mail. You stepped back inside and engaged all the locks before sorting through the small stack of envelopes and advertisements. Most were junk and quickly shredded and then put in the recycling bin. You smiled as you recognized your sister’s handwriting across one of the envelopes. Georgie still maintained that you should FaceTime every other week but her letters were a more frequent occurrence. This one was filled with details about her pregnancy and how her husband is being adorable about setting up everything in the nursery. She asked about your job and if you had any suggestions about what to get for your brother, Danny, for his upcoming birthday. You set the letter aside to flip through the rest of the stack but your heart fell to your feet when you saw the last thing in your hand.

It was another goddamn Polaroid. And part of you wished that it had just been you. Just you trapped in that white box. But no. It was Jake. Just Jake. It was him walking out to your car while you’d still been parked at the Hard Deck last night. Poorly drawn blood was bisecting his neck—it was supposed to look like his throat had been slashed, you assumed. It was a shitty drawing but it got the point across.

He could hurt Jake. He could hurt Jake simply because he was near you.

And you wouldn’t ever let that happen. There’d never been a threat like this before—Bradley and Bob never received one and you had been given no threats for them, either. So, it was just Jake. Just your Ken. You needed to keep him safe. Even if it cracked at something behind your ribs.

With all the subtlety of a freight train, you started avoiding him at work. If he walked in a room, you’d walk out. You bribed other ADs to be the ones to handle Jake’s jet. You didn’t go to the Hard Deck if you knew he was going to be there—which was more often than not. You ignored him whenever he called your name. It created a strange waiting game—you wouldn’t have been surprised if you had been called into Admiral Simpson’s office and reprimanded for disrespecting a superior officer. But weeks trickled by and nothing happened except Captain Mitchell giving you a disappointed look and Natasha asking if you and Jake hooked up and if it was bad enough for you to avoid him. After explaining that there was definitely not a hookup (true) and you definitely weren’t avoiding him (lie), you let yourself believe that you had managed to ghost him enough to keep him safe. When you received another Polaroid of you and Jake from the night of Junior’s party with Jake’s face scratched out and the words “I knew he couldn’t handle you” scrawled across the bottom, you knew you’d made the right choice. Then the next note, a singular scrap of paper tucked into the crease between your front door and its frame, read “all alone again? you never know how to treat them!,” your resolve only strengthened.

He could think you hated him forever as long as he was safe.

You could watch him flirt with every beautiful woman who looked in his direction and ignore how your entire body flinched at the sight as long as he was safe.

He just needed to be safe.

It had been three weeks since you had fallen asleep in Jake’s arms. And three weeks since you’d spared him more than a side-eyed glance. Rooster had been acting strange, too. While the other pilot hadn’t been avoiding him exactly, Rooster had volunteered to help Mav with the current Top Gun class and had been squirreled away in his office or in the classroom when not in the air. And while Jake could have metaphorically cornered Rooster by asking him over the comms, he wouldn’t ever bring up your name like that when other people were listening. So, when Maverick decided that the newest class needed to be introduced to Dog Fight Football after three pilots got into a screaming match and nearly collided with Phoenix and Bob during a dogfight simulation, he knew this was an opening he needed to take.

In passing, Jake also took the opportunity to ask if the support crew would be invited and earned an unimpressed look coupled with a, “they have been told that they are encouraged and welcome to come, Seresin.” Jake didn’t even care that Mav probably (definitely) knew what he was really asking because he overheard you telling Fanboy that you’d be there because Penny wanted someone to sit with. Perfect.

And you looked perfect when he saw you the next morning. Sitting on a low rise sun chair with Penny at your side and your toes buried in the sand, you had on that pair of shorts Jake dreamed about and a loose fitting shirt with the Dagger Squadron emblem over your heart. You were beautiful. He wasn’t going to shy away from it any more. No more using ‘special’ to hide everything else he wanted to feel. You were beautiful.

Now, Jake knew he was good looking. There was no arguing that. So, why not use it to his advantage? He strode up to you and watched as you looked at him over the edge of your sunglasses. And your face revealed nothing. You were a stone wall when you craned your neck to look up at him but he was undeterred.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Punch.” He then grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off, dropping it onto your lap as he subtly flexed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you hold that for me?”

You seemed to freeze for a moment before grabbing the shirt and neatly folding it. “Sure.” Then you leaned to the side, completely ignoring him, and shouted, “Bradley! Give me your shirt before it gets wet!” Rooster’s shirt eventually turned into Javy’s shirt, Phoenix’s shirt, and Payback’s shirt, and then you made sure that Bob had enough sunscreen on. And Jake watched all of it happen, little more than another bit of sand on your periphery. Just as he was about to call it quits on this attempt, you called out to him. He turned to you to see you looking at him over the edge of your sunglasses again. “Pull up your shorts. You’re about to give everyone a show.”

Penny let out a choked laugh that she tried to hide behind her hand before Jake tugged at the waistband of his shorts, moving them up marginally.

“There you go, Ken. Now you’re almost suitable for public consumption.”

“I prefer private consumption, Punch.” Jake winked at Penny when she laughed again before turning his attention back to you. “I could give you a free preview after we show these kids how to play nicely with each other.”

Jake watched you roll your lips into your mouth before you turned your head away as you pretended (he was sure!) to straighten the small stack of shirts you had collected. “That’s inappropriate. And you of all people don’t know how to play nicely.”

“Oh, Punch,” Jake said, letting as much of his Texan twang seep into his tone as possible when he leaned down to make sure you could look him in the eye (or ogle him correctly). “I play very nicely.”

You licked your lips and looked away but Jake saw your throat bob. “Make sure to tackle Royal into the sand,” you said, mentioning one of the Top Gun pilots who had been involved in the screaming match. “He’s been acting up with the other ADs.”

Well, that was a start. Maybe. “You got it, Punch.”

Then, forty-two seconds into the game, Jake did just that. He looked back at you to see you hiding a laugh behind your hands while Penny roared beside you as Royal yelled about getting sand in his mouth.

The game continued and the grumpy group of pilots eventually started to get along–not as well as the Dagger Squad, but they were something special. Maverick seemed to agree with the exasperated look he shared with Jake and Rooster when they finally called it a day. Penny invited them all up to the Hard Deck for a drink and that seemed to smooth the rest of the rough edges this group came in with, or at least most of them. Maverick bought the first round but Jake was quick to buy another for the Dagger Squadron when that was quickly drained. And, because he was definitely trying to track you through the steadily growing crowd (covertly), Jake spotted you at one of the hightops outside on the deck. Bob and Phoenix were with you, laughing at something you said.

That was the happiest he’d seen you in weeks. Your smile was actually reaching your eyes—your eyes that finally had that light in them that had been missing.

A hand fell onto his shoulder and Jake swung around to see Bradshaw handing him another beer. Even though Jake was less than halfway into the one he already had. “Thanks, man.”

Rooster nodded and took a long pull from his beer before glancing at you, too. He rolled his shoulders before waving his bottle toward the door that led out to the beach. “Let’s talk.” He led Jake onto the sand with quick steps and then stopped just short of the water’s edge.

The other man was quiet for a stretched moment, quiet long enough for Jake to think he wasn’t actually going to say anything but-

“She saved my life.”

Jake tried to process the words before a scratchy “what?” was pulled out of his throat.

Bradshaw took another pull from his beer and then set the empty bottle into the sand by his feet. “The mechanic assigned to me when we were overseas talked a big game—his dad was some big shot who was buddies with the brass at the Pentagon. Name was Luke. He was a shit mechanic, to tell you the truth. Punch would sometimes come in behind him, usually after hours, and double check everything he did. I would talk to her whenever I caught her doing it. She was embarrassed and asked me not to tell anyone and for a few weeks I just didn’t see her, didn’t think anything of it, really. Maybe because I thought she was finally doing something about all the bruising I kept seeing crop on her face. She changed the subject when I asked her once if she was okay.” Jake knew what self-loathing sounded like and right now it was bleeding out of Bradshaw’s every word.

“Then, one day, we get sent out. I run in and half-ass my preflight checks because I was a stupid kid who wanted to make a name for himself. I wasn’t always so careful.” He bared his teeth for a moment. “Stupid. I was so stupid. I’m about to get into the slingshot and she just darts out in front of me, waving her arms and screaming something I can’t hear. She nearly gets taken down by MPs and other officers and I’m fuming, I’m so mad that the rest of my squadron get to go out and I’m grounded by some crazy mechanic.” He shook his head before his hands curled to fists at his sides. “But I’ll never forget how desperate she sounded, screaming that the routine maintenance I would have been needing for the past three weeks hadn’t been done properly. He had been drunk in the hangar. For weeks. When my commander looked my plane over, he said I was lucky I wasn’t sitting in a goddamn body bag. It was a ticking time bomb.”

Jake’s heartbeat was echoing in his ears as he looked at Bradshaw. But more was yet to come.

“I found her trying to hold her leg together just outside the hangar. That asshole took a pair of pliers and…” Rooster’s hand twisted and jerked and Jake could imagine the sharp tool moving like that, moving against you. “He did it just to…just to make her bleed and try to make her apologize for saving my life. One of her eyes was swollen shut and she…” His mouth twisted to the side as if he needed to compose himself before continuing. “She could barely tell me who did it to her before she passed out. Punch was in medical for a week. They wouldn’t let me see her; the only visit I got was from two star who asked what I knew. The next thing I know, she’s been sent back to her shore station and Luke’s disappeared, too. It took me months to learn that all that guy got was a damn Letter of Admonishment and a commercial flight back home.”

“That’s it? That’s all he got?” Rage punctuated each syllable, an unmistakable and inescapable heat starting to burn in his chest.

Rooster scrubbed a hand down his face before continuing. “And what makes it fucking worse is that she was dating him. Dating himand coming to the hangar looking like she’d just gone three rounds with a heavyweight and I didn’t connect the dots until that two star let it slip.”

The rageful heat in Jake’s chest splintered as he thought of you being hurt like that by someone you trusted. How could someone do that to you while claiming to love you? How could anyone do that?

“This was my fault. Mine. She may think it is all hers but if I had asked her just one more time if she needed help, I could have had Luke dishonorably discharged and Punch would be…”

Safe.

Healthy.

Unafraid.

“She was so in love with him and he made her believe he would be the only one who could ever love her. Got it in her mind that no one else would ever lower themselves to love her.”

There was a pointed look shot in his direction that Jake tried to not read too much into (right now).

But Rooster pressed on. “I took a gamble and called Tom…Admiral Kazansky,” he quickly reiterated. “He’d been just about as constant in my life as he could be, you know. Always said I could call if I needed anything. And I just needed her safe.”

The strange look in Rooster’s gaze kept Jake quiet despite the dozens of questions running through his mind.

“He learned what happened and what she did and the next day she gets orders to Hawaii. Then to Kitsap in Washington. The furthest east she got was Fallon in Nevada. She was firmly planted under Kazansky’s oversight. I thought it would keep her safe.”

“But she kept volunteering for deployments,” Jake said after Bradshaw fell into an agitated quiet, like he was searching for words. He didn’t think that your throwaway anecdote from the engagement party would mean this.

“That piece of shit somehow found out where she was going to be at a port call and arrived the day before she was supposed to get back on the carrier. He nearly strangled her to death.”

The murmured stories you had half heartedly given were starting to create a through line. “That was when Bob stepped in. He said they met on deployment.”

Rooster nodded. “Apparently that LoA was to blame for Luke not getting promoted. He blamed her. It didn’t matter that she could have gone in front of the brass and had him court martialed. It didn’t matter that she took money from his just-as-shitty father to keep her quiet. He still saw her as the reason he was given a goddamn slap on the wrist for nearly killing us both. She was still the one that managed to get away. He should be in prison and he was mad about not making rank. Bob was the one who dragged him in front of the brass but that basically amounted to nothing. Again. She refuses to go to the cops because she thinks they’ll just brush it off or cover it up like everyone else does.” He knocked his foot against the empty bottle for a moment before turning to look at you back on the deck. Jake looked, too, seeing you let Phoenix drag you around in a dance. You threw your head back with a laugh as you nearly fell. Bob was cheering you both on. “Kazansky then had her stationed here,” Bradshaw said as they both turned back to look at the ocean. “It was a smart move. Kept her safe. The pilots never stayed but the ADs rarely rotated out. She saw it as a glass half full type of situation—she was trusted with the planes of the best pilots in the Navy but she wouldn’t have the opportunity to deploy as often, if at all. I’m pretty sure Kazansky had Luke shadowbanned from any of the stations he oversaw.”

But now Admiral Kazansky was dead, that was unspoken.

“And now Luke’s back.” The words sounded muffled to Jake’s ears as he said them. His heart thudded against his ribs as his stomach twisted. Luke was back. You were in danger. There was no denying it now.

“He is. And she seems to think that you’ve gained that douchebag’s attention and she just wants to keep you safe,” Bradshaw continued, an edge of exasperation starting to soak each syllable. “You are both so fucking stupid-”

“Hey.”

“-but I need you to help keep her safe, yeah? She’s going to fight you on it. Even more than she has already. But-”

“I’ll do it.” The words punched out of Jake with his next breath. And he meant it. “Whatever you think I need to do, I’ll do it.”

His wingman almost smiled at that. Almost. But he shook his head instead. “Seresin-”

“Punch?”

Both Jake and Bradshaw whipped their heads around back to look at the deck.

“Punch?!” Phoenix was leaning over the railing to crane her neck to the side in search of you, presumably. Bob was doing the same in the opposite direction but his face was scrunched in something almost like fear. “Punch?”

You appeared around the corner, balancing a tray of new drinks for your little group. Both Phoenix and Bob’s faces relaxed as they took the offered drinks, each kissing your cheek in thanks. As you set the tray down and said something to them Jake couldn’t hear before you turned just enough to see Jake looking at you. The carefree smile on your face faded as you glanced at Rooster at his side. You knew he had been told. Your chin tucked to your chest before you abruptly turned back to your other friends.

You truly thought he wouldn’t still want you?

That rage returned, burning behind Jake’s ribs. Not at you. Never at you. At Luke who had beaten you down physically and emotionally hard enough for you to believe that no one would love you.

But Jake was here. He would always be here. Waiting for you.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#Jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #tgm #top gun maverick #female reader

520 notes · View notes

mustainegf · 15 days

Note

Can you do Dave teaching you some of his karate skills before he gives up on you and folds your body in half like a brezel, fucking you senseless? 🤤

IN GONNA ASSUME YOU MEANT PRETZEL LOL

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ¹⁹⁹³

It was late, too late for martial arts. Dave thought otherwise. He insisted for me to help him with some of his training, basically being a dummy the whole time. We were downstairs in the little gym he had

"Dave, how much longer? Have you shown off enough?" I groan as he helps position me on the mat to take me down again.

The evening is just about over and I'm tired from a long day of work. "Show off?" He laughs and brushes my hair away from my face. "No need to be so dramatic. I've had a good workout."

"Alright. Have at it," I shrug, rolling my eyes and waiting for him fold me onto the mat again.

Dave shoots a grin before he stills, knees bent, eyes locked, arms raised. Until he finally pounces at me.

My heart skips a beat, waiting, then it picks up as he moves. His body feels like electricity against mine. I'm struck by the lightning that rips through me. We roll across the mat.

The wind is knocked from my lungs, he was a bit rough this time, but he wasn't done either.

I had hardly any idea what he was doing, but he did, locking my limbs so I was folded and helpless.

Dave loomed over me, leaving me in his shadow with a smirk.

The intensity behind his gaze made my skin crawl.

As if he wanted to eat me alive. This man's desire almost made me squirm. But instead, I caught my breath and pushed back against him.

He snickered, his hands clutching mine, holding them tightly to the mat on either side of my head.

"Hey beautiful..."

he whispers before leaning in to kiss me. Dave brushed his lips softly over mine, slowly opening his mouth and tongue over me. He trailed his fingers along my jaw line to pull my head into the kiss.

Our mouths parted as he tasted me. Slowly, we moaned and gasped into each other's mouths. My nipples tightened with pleasure. Then my panties started to dampen and my breathing became uneven.

Dave's one hand held mine while his other crept up between us to cup my breast through my shirt. It felt heavy and hot in his palm as he massaged me through the cotton material.

I closed my eyes as I pulled him closer. He broke our kiss and pressed his forehead to mine, whispering. "I want you. Now." My heart beats hard in my chest. I swallow deeply as Dave smiles.

He releases his hold on me and stands. Helping me out of the fold to relax underneath me, he kisses me again, but this time without restraint. We don't move from the center of the mat until we're both out of breath.

"Tell me you want it..." he panted.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and looked up into his eyes. My bottom lip trembled, but I found the strength to say, "Yes, please. I want it."

That was all it took for him to snake those pale fingers of his to the waistband of my shorts, hastily tugging on it along with my panties.

I lifted my hips to allow them to slide over my ass and to the floor. He kissed me again and started running his hands up my thighs toward my pussy.

Dave pushed my legs apart and dropped to his knees to suck on my clit. At first, I was stunned, trying to figure out what was going on. And yet somehow, he was pleasuring me right there on the mats.

And all I could do was take it. His tongue moved quickly against my wetness. Each flick sent bolts of fire straight through me. Dave pulled my hip with him to find the angle he needed to taste me properly.

My cunt oozed juices freely for him. I arched my back and dug my fingers into his shoulder blades as he licked and sucked on me.

Not even five minutes ago, I couldn't wait to get home. And now, here I am, wanting more than anything to cum.

His thumb rubs my clit. "Oh fuck..." I cried, squirming under him, reaching for something to grab ahold of. I clutched a handful of his long ginger hair as his teeth grazed over my sensitive flesh.

He shoved two fingers inside me as his thumb continued rubbing my button. One digit curled upward as he slid them in and out of me. My pussy clenches around him, greedy, wanting more as he licked.

I mewl and pant, making small noises that tell him exactly what I want. When I came, it was fast, and so intense, I forgot where I was and who I was with.

"Ahhhhh!" I wailed loudly as I squirted on his fingers. My release went everywhere, coating his face and my thighs. All I knew was that I didn't care anymore.

No matter how hard my muscles contracted around him, he kept eating me, not stopping until I fell limp on the mat. "Holy shit..." I breathed heavily, shaking from my orgasm.

It was too much. Too intense. After a minute or so, he wiped his face, licking the juice off his fingers before kissing me deeply.

"Thanks, babe. I was thirsty after all the taekwondo,” he smirked.

#mustainegf #fanfic #fanfiction #reqs open #request #megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth #dave mustaine fluff #dave mustaine x you #dave mustaine x oc #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine fic #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine

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lesbianslvt666 · 1 year

Text

Road Trip?

College au!

Mean! athlete!Ellie x trying to stand up for herself! Kind of an art major?(f)reader lmao

Ofc not proof read

pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt5

Synopsis: Ellie and you are roommates in your shared dorm, both in different majors, you ever see each other when it comes to be at the dorm, on parties or with Dina, your shared best friend. At first Ellie was nice, always kept to herself but never mean, until she got her first college girlfriend, everyone keep telling you how much she looked like you, including Dina. So when Ellie "cheated" on her ex, her reputation went from friendly reserved football player, to fuck girl, "I got all the girls" asshole, or so it seemed to you…

My eyelids dropped without my permission and sometimes closed. My neck sank in. My hand coincided with the brush, creating a large stripe on the canvas that hid the hours of work I had put into the face.

that was the part of the self-portrait I had the most trouble with.

When I saw my disaster, I groaned and stepped back as not to lash out and destroy the painting.

I looked at it from that distance. I realised that the proportions were off, that I lost the intensity of the pose. that the colours weren't strong enough in important areas, but too bright in others.

"Forty-five minutes," I jumped up from the floor and looked back at the familiar voice.

She chuckled and pointed to the picture, "The proportions are off," and I rolled my eyes at her remark.

"no shit sherlock" I slumped my shoulders and moved my head back and forth as the pain in my back got worse.

From behind me, I felt her arms sneak up to my shoulders and rub them with her calloused hands. "You know, I feel like you're thinking about this too much." I felt her hot breath tickle my ear, so close to my neck, so close to my face.

There wasn't much I could do. I let myself fall into her embrace, both of her arms now towering over me, holding me close, intertwining at my waist.

My body relaxed, but my heart beat so fast that I could feel it in my mouth

"Why don't you want me to make you feel good?

"I don't trust you, Williams." I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel to look at her.

The hairs on my arms bristled, don't let her win, my mind screamed as I tried to keep my gaze on hers.

She closed the space between our bodies, and I realized I wasn't moving.

thereupon she tilted her head a little to the side without taking her eyes off me, her grin widened, oh she knows, she knows she can't win, not his time...

I felt her towering over me, her body was so close to me I could smell her shampoo. I felt the warmth her body radiated, I could hear her breathing. My shoulders slumped forward and I shifted my line of sight.

She was laughing so hard at my pathetic attempt, I am tired, her presence irritated me. "What do you want anyway, Williams?" "I just want to help my lovely roommate," the playful grin on her handsome face grew even wider, "I don't need your help..." Ellie moved closer to me and put a hand behind her ear in a cartoonish way, "Speak up babe, you know I hate it when you whisper."

"I am too busy for your shit, plus, don't you have your exam tomorrow? You should study." my voice sounded a bit rougher than I expected, the hand that was behind her ear, was now in her heart. she opened her mouth, opened her plump lips, and closed her eyes while faking a gasp. "don't know, if you care about me or if you hate me" she turned around after seeing my uninterested reaction "Okay, well. fine... I have something to ask you, or rather propose to you." she picked up her backpack and opened it, holding out a scribbled note to me, her handwriting read.

"Van rent= on Joel

Feeding and extras= on us

Gas= on Joel"

"Okay, do not look at me like that, Y/N!". I handed her back the note, the simplicity of which, actually gave me more questions than answers.

"What's this?"

"t's a road trip, a van trip, an almost-everything-paid-for plan!" her face was beaming, her hands moving from side to side as if it was not obvious enough

"I mean yeah, but why are you showing me this?" didn't she wanted to get as far away from me as possible? As far as I knew, she did not like me.

"Doll, you fried all your little brain cells, trying so to figure out how to get your picture?" she rolled her eyes "look, the plan was Dina" I looked at Ellie with raised eyebrows "our Dina?" "Our Dina" she confirmed, calming down a bit as she was still having a hard time sharing our friend with me. "Her boyfriend Jesse and I." she paused, her features tightening. "but Dina did not want to let you down for spring break, so you are invited." she sat down on the mattress, opened her legs to be more comfortable, propped her forearms on the bed and looked at me.

"So, all I have to pay for is ..."

"Food and extras," she interrupted me, running a hand over her face, "I read it, but what are extras?"

"I do not know, Y/N, souvenirs maybe? Whatever else you want to buy?"

"Where do you wanna go?" "I do not know, Y/N. We are going to the beach, LA maybe, and then to Chicago, Broadway, all that good shit"

"Who's driving?"

"Jesse and me."

"Does your dad know I am going too? Did he agree?" Ellie rolled her eyes.

"He's not my dad. but yeah, he knows. Dina asked him if you could come. he still thinks you are the "cute girl who helped me bring my stuff to the dorm." he likes you more than I do."

"Well, I like him more than you."

"Shut up." she tensed and looked down, shying on me. I considered teasing her a little for that, however I choose to ask a different question.

"For how long? "

"The whole spring break. We'll be back a few days before school start." she said now, bored of looking at me, looking at her hands up close.

"look, sleep on it okay? You look like a living corpse" her remark came after I didn’t answer the last part. "you wake up tomorrow morning, ditch the first few lectures, finish the painting and you tell me what I wanna hear" she was now standing, rocking side to side.

"and what do you want to hear?" I stepped closer, squinting my eyes, my head moved to the side in anticipation.

"I wanna hear you say yes Doll."

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #mean!ellie #artist oc #your name au #i dont wanna use the yourname card but i imagined the convo and she name dropped so i coukdnt just not use it fuk #probably eventual smut #athlete!ellie #roadtrip

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berrieluv · 2 years

Text

What If I'm Someone You Don't Want Around?

Steve Harrington x fem! Reader. Hurt no comfort because I'm tired and done with life.

Steve fought against the weight of his own eyes and tried to listen to Robin and Eddie in front of him.

He's never been like this. He usually doesn't drink this much. He doesn't do drugs. And he definitely doesn't mix drugs and alcohol.

He has the vague memory of Eddie trying to stop him. Steve shouldn't be doing drugs and alcohol at the same time. Not when he doesn't even know how to control alcohol. But Robin was doing the same too, and he wanted to have fun with both of his best friends.

He doesn't remember why you're not there. He does notices Nancy worried and over the fun, circling the own space she was standing. Jonathan, well, he was amused. Not because he wasn't worried about Steve, but because he was almost as high as him.

Robin pleads for him to not close his eyes and he shooks his head, promising he won't. Robin smiles at him, asking if it's alright if she takes him home now. But he can't. He can't come home to Joyce and Hopper. Not when they were the first loving family he ever had. Not when just yesterday Joyce told him how proud of him she was.

"S' alright, Steve" Jonathan started "Mom won't say anything. She says it's fine as long as you know your limits"

But Steve clearly disrupted his own limits that same night. He shook his head again. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be there, not without you at least.

"My girl" He pleaded, looking at Robin with a worried face and at the edge of tears "Please call my girl"

It was a matter of minutes the time it took you to arrive there. Worried, because Robin sounded concern over the phone but she won't give any further explanation.

"Baby..." You called as soon as you saw Steve. He looked sad, defenseless. He was sitting on the floor in a corner of the big club. "Hey? Steve?"

He looked at you and flashed a smile, which disappeared as soon as he showed it. He was ashamed of himself. He was in the worst he has ever been and you were there. Watching him, you wouldn't want him anymore.

You would notice the mess he was and you'll leave him. He doesn't want you to leave.

"Please don't go..." He pleaded, crying, a broken tone in his voice and it drowned you in sadness. Because you didn't want Steve feeling like that "I'm sorry... I'm not this. I'm not just this. I'm more. I'm much more..." A pause, almost as if he was trying to make himself believe what he was saying "... I can be much more than this"

You knew it. Everyone did. You didn't think of Steve like this, no one around here in fact did. Steve Harrington, once king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington who found redemption. Steve Harrington who took care of six children even if he didn't have to. Steve Harrington who befriended the town freak and convinced Eddie Munson that Art School would be his better fit. Steve Harrington who made amends with Jonathan and accepted what happened with Nancy had a reason to be. Steve Harrington who was so painfully, utterly, deeply, madly in love with you.

Steve harrington was all that, and not you or anyone would think of him as a drug addict or an alcoholic.

"Once in a while won't hurt" You say. "You wanna go home"

He panics: "I can't. No, no, please, not home"

"Alright... what about a hotel?" He nods "Sounds better right? Let's go, baby"

You smile as you watch Steve stand up and you laugh when he falls down back to the floor again, he can't help but chuckle with you.

"Sorry I disturbed your night" He starts "You're my girl. I should take care of you"

And that line was the exact reason you couldn't believe what was happening.

It was around 4:00 a.m. and Steve wasn't around. The room door was closed but the lock was put back. It was dark and cold, the streets weren't a safe place for Steve, not this late at night, not in his state.

You asked the receptionist about him, and she told you he even took the car. He seemed to be in a hurry, so you give her the card key back and walk to the exit door. Believing he couldn't be that far like that.

At some point you didn't even know where you were. The stores looked like nothing you've seen before and most of the street lights were off, the pavement was a bit humid and the only source of light you saw was from a 24 hours store.

You were tired, cold and scare. You had to give your cash and phone to someone, avoiding any kind of conflict they wanted to create.

"Hi" You called the tall boy behind the counter "I– I'm lost... Can I use your cellphone to call my... my boyfriend?"

He must have sense your desperation and the cold traveling through your bones because he accepted with no hesitation and handed you his coat.

You thanked him and dialed Steve's phone number. It ringed. One, two, three times. He hung up the call. So you tried again, and again.

"M' sorry... he usually, he always picks up"

"Maybe because it'a an unknown number"

You nod, and asked him to call someone else. He allowed you to, and Nancy picked up at the first ring.

...STUPID! ...RECKLESS... HOW COULD YOU BE SO, SO, SO IRRESPONSABLE.

The screams died as soon as Nancy said your name, you could bet whoever was there was surrounding her, trying to hear you at the other side of the phone. And you tried to smile, happy that your friends were always there.

"Nancy?" You asked again, even thought you knew it was her "I'm... I actually don't know... where I am. It's cold. And I'm scare" You cried.

... where she is.

You heard Eddie's voice at the other side of the line, Nancy told him you don't know and he demanded her to talk to you. She wouldn't allow it, she's the one keeping it together there. You don't need Eddie and Hopper's desperation, or Robin, Jonathan and Joyce worries. And the last thing you needed was Steve cries.

"Hey, pretty" Nancy started "Is there anyone you could ask where you are?"

"There's this guy who handed me his phone"

"Cool. Put him on the speaker, please"

By 8:00 a.m. you were having breakfast at Joyce Byer's table. A delicious plate of fluffy pancakes standing in front of you, the only thing getting your attention right now. You were starving, and you were just recovering from the cold morning air.

You completely missed Steve cries and pleas. You were incapable of hearing a single word he was saying. And it wasn't like you were intentionally ignoring him. He just wasn't one of your worries right now.

If he could leave you just like that, at a hotel you didn't know. In a part of town unknown to you, then he was the least of your concerns right now.

"Leave her alone, Steve" You heard Robin slapping his hand off of your thighs.

You frowned and looked at him, realizing just now he was touching you. Just realizing he was trying to talk to you, but he seemed like a blur, so you looked at Robin instead, who smiled at you and kissed your forehead.

You didn't want to see Steve, so it was a big relief you couldn't.

"This breakfast is delicious, Joyce"

Steve took your shoulders and made you look at him. And you had no option but look at the dark circles down his eyes and the puffiness of his skin.

"Please, don't act like I don't exist"

"Maybe we should have breakfast outside" Nancy said, looking at the table to see Jonathan taking his and her plate and heading outside, the others following leaving you and steve. Alone.

"Please, talk to me"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say, Stevie" You chuckle "Was funny though. You left me there, by myself, in a place I didn't know. You took the car and my credit car. And you just, pranked me, I guess"

"Baby..."

"Were you mad because I couldn't go to the party?" He tries to speak but you continue "I really couldn't. I told you, I explained to you what I had to do, I was clear and I was honest" Tears were falling down your face at that point "Were you trying to... to punish me? To humiliate me for leaving you alone?"

"Of course no"

"If you hate me... If you hate our relationship, our dynamic, my schedules, my career... you cheat. You cheat on your partner when you're not happy, you go behind my back and fuck someone else... you don't leave me on my own, worried. I thought the worst thing that would happen was you driving while intoxicating and you were just trying to get rid of me!" You raised your voice "I gave away my phone! I gave away my money and I had to pray God or anyone who could respond right in that moment for someone to not... touch me!"

"Darling..."

"I don't want to be with someone like that" You say and chuckle "I don't think of you as a drug addict. Or an alcoholic. I know you're much more than that. You're evil. You're mean and you're disrespectful. You had no concern for my well being, you didn't care that your girlfriend was outside at fucking 4 a.m. You didn't stop to think about me"

"I did. I think about you, I think about you all the time I left and I was thinking about you, about how I was ashamed of you seeing me like that because I just, I don't want to be someone you rather not have around"

"You are someone I don't want around anymore, Steve"

#steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader

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rmorde · 14 days

Text

Trigun Manga Reaction

Continuing with Volume 1 - Chapter 2

The double spread of Vash here and the grim history of the planet they're stuck in being contrasted by the title "LOONEY TUNES" is darkly funny ngl.

Then we cut to this?!

I know Vash is flexible and can get into wacky pretzel poses a lot from '98 and a bit less so from Tristamp, but this is something else. Combined with the sound effects, one would think this is a NSFW manga of a different genre.

Nightow loves to use sharp lines and triangle shapes, doesn't he? Not an expert opinion tho. Just something I'm noticing.

Did.. DID HIS HEAD JUST BOUNCE OFF CONCRETE?!!!! BABY GIRL!!!

Ahhh.. Dark humor. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Gremlin Baby Girl Vash using the age old tactic of hide-and-seek: people rarely look up!

I love their dynamic so much which I miss a lot in Tristamp. I mean Roberto-Meryl mentor dynamics was good and the series gave her a good origin, but still... I can't wait to see Milly again.

I think this is manga only, right? I don't remember something like this in '98. Meryl can be silly but it's a different kind of silly. Remembering how in denial she was in '98 about Vash being Vash is funny.

LMAO!!! His face! HIS FUCKING FACE!!!

Ok. So, in terms of art, '98 really gets the manga. TriStamp can be goofy but not to this extent... yet. I think Studio Orange is really doing their best to maximize 3D animation in replicating silly anime/manga expressions. They did it during the Jeonora Looney Toons Chase and a bit when Wolfwood was flyswatted by Meryl with a van. Maybe there'd be more next season (?)

Ok. Remember this from '98.

"WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO USE THE GRENADE?! HE CAN'T BE IDENTIFIED FOR THE REWARD IF HE'S PILE OF PULP, YOU DUMBASS!!!"

The trials these insurance ladies have to go through. OMFG. And this is just the start!

Oh... I can print this into a bookmark actually.

Oh. This is very different from '98. But between a bandit or a mob, Meryl and Milly have better luck making a bandit listen to what they have to say. Also, swapping a megaphone with dozens of doughnuts here won't improve matters either.

Meryl and Milly's anime counterparts had it easy at first. They had a trial run! Poor Manga Meryl and Milly didn't get that at all!

A black cat in these despairing times?

Ok... This was a bit later in '98... I think.

But I think TriStamp followed the manga's line of events more closely.

Wow... There'll probably more of these but the double spreads in this manga are always good.

Badass Ladies in longcoats!

What else is there to say about them? They're mad and they know how way over their heads this situation is, but they do their job anyway.

LOOK HOW THEY CRUMPLED THE CHAIRMAN LIKE A TISSUE PAPER!!!

Sigh... A terrible sight it is. This is the third iteration I've seen. It's the same old thing just in another coat of paint I've missed until now. This is tiring and frustrating as a reader/watcher.

While these people do show a bit of remorse because they acknowledge how nice Vash is and the story makes it clear that this was a last resort, it's practically a flimsy band-aid on a bleeding fatal wound.

Oh fuck. Was this number also mentioned in '98?! I can't remember.

But fifty?! Oh, Vash...

And he can't even cry to mourn his sisters...

And another incredible spread in here. Is this style just a Nightow thing? Two pages split into three sections of narrow-wide-narrow? I don't know the correct term. However, it seems to show up a lot. Trying to remember if other mangas I've read does the same...

Ooof. This was not easy on the eyes and it took a while for me to understand what happened. When I did tho... Oof... Vash Baby Girl.. Ow...

However... I know anime physics means character can bend their body like pretzels easy peasy, but what if Vash and Nai just have cartilage in place of bones? Or would that be just weird? All I can think about it '98 Wolfwood bending and twisting Vash 180 degrees during their first meeting.

Wait... What if Wolfwood's bones have been turned into just cartilage too during the experiments? No... These do not make sense!!!

And here it is again! Two pages split into three: narrow-wide-narrow.

AHAHAHA. MILLY NOOO LET MERYL BREATHE!

#trigunbookclub #trimax journey #this was fun and again i can see how the two animes reworked this chapter in their own unique ways #however the meryl-milly dynamic seems to have more oomph here tho #i love them so much #even tho i already have a general idea how the story would go thanks to the animes AND the spoilers i got when i googled the manga #reading this is still exciting!#looking forward to the next chapter!

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captain-mj · 1 year

Text

Angels Of Digitalism

Part 1 Part 2

Soap sat on the couch for a bit, continuing to draw. Simon looked over his shoulder as he worked.

He watched Johnny continue to draw. The little lines and different shades of grey. It didn’t really make sense to him until Johnny zoomed out to show everything. Simon followed each intricate detail, finding it all hypnotizing.

Johnny was so focused, he had his tongue between his teeth as he worked. It was cute. Simon glanced at Alejandro who was still deep in his phone.

Ghost decided to ask a question. “Have you ever heard of Sacred Geometry? Your work reminds me of it.”

“No.” Johnny answered as he continued to draw.

There was a moment of silence. Ghost was more than content to just let it be.

Johnny stopped what he was doing to look up, all of his attention suddenly on Ghost. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

Ghost paused, not expecting the artist they were paying to care about that. “Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. Sounds cool.” Johnny smiled at him and clearly waited for him to go on.

Simon nodded. “Sacred geometry is the study of the spiritual meaning in shapes. You know the fibonacci sequence right?”

“Yeah, in one of my art classes, we talked about it. If you use it while making trees and spirals, it makes them look more natural. One of the golden rations I believe.”

Simon grinned and Johnny smiled back. For a moment, Ghost wondered if he forgot to put his mask on, before realizing Johnny was just looking at his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Most of the time it’s just dozens of interlocking circles and spheres to make patterns but the other shapes are included sometimes. Cells make those patterns, atoms make those patterns, the solar system, the galaxy potentially our universe. All just boiling down into patterns that we can decipher and find the meaning of it all somehow. Circles mean the never ending loop, I believe something to do with reincarnation. The numbers that go into making them.”

“You think we can find the meaning?” Johnny asked him, looking at him with a strange amount of surety. Like Simon might actually know something.

Simon laughed a little and immediately wanted to take it back when Johnny looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. Don’t think there is much of a meaning to anything. I think we’re just here and then we’ll die.”

“How nihilistic.” Alejandro gave him a glare over Johnny’s head. A very clear ‘we’ve talked about this and have you talked to your therapist recently and are you taking your happy meds’ glare that made Simon roll his eyes at him.

“But if you find meaning in it, that’s up to you. Your work just reminds me of it.”

Johnny thought about it before laughing. “I think I know why! I used religious art as a reference fur some things. Especially angels, ye ken, cause o` yer name.”

Alejandro and Ghost made eye contact over his name again. Yeah, Soap was not subtle about being scottish, but his accent thickened so suddenly Ghost couldn’t really understand it. He did find he kinda liked it though.

“English, Soap.” Ghost decided to try.

Johnny slowly looked at him before hissing. “Awa' 'n' bile yer heid, ye british bas.”

Ghost blinked. “Yeah, that didn’t help. I understood that even less somehow.”

Johnny grumbled and went back to drawing. Ghost sipped his drink and decided maybe it was time to bow out. The harnesses were done. The rigging all done. Roach would hopefully be finishing up soon.

Johnny leaned into him, just a little. It was so he could get a better angle with what he was working on, but they were pressed close together.

Simon swallowed and waited for the usual panic that came from being unexpectedly touched so much, but nothing came.

Maybe therapy was working.

Alex and Roach stepped out of the room, both looking tired. “Alejandro, thank you so much for coming and helping.”

Soap glanced at Alejandro, really confused as all he saw him do was sit on the couch and type, but alright.

“No problem guys. I’ll come every day this week.” Alejandro stood up and he and Alex fistbumped and Alejandro squeezed Roach’s shoulder as he passed. “Oh, Simon?”

Ghost looked up.

“Continue being cute for me yeah?” He winked and Ghost blew him a kiss.

“Disgusting.” Rodolfo deadpanned. “Get a room.”

Alejandro spoke in Spanish to him and Rodolfo just shook his head.

“I forgot to get you yesterday Soap so I thought I should make sure you come with us this time.”

The lights went out through out the building.

“Why did they put them on timers? Doesn’t even make fucking sense.” Alex turned his phone on as he spoke, illuminating them all. Slowly, everyone else got their phones out and turned them on. “Didn’t realize how late it got.”

Soap hummed. “I thought you guys just turned them off yesterday…”

“We wouldn’t leave you in here. On purpose.” Rodolfo promised. “It’s why we sent Roach in.”

“Wait, where did Roach go?” Ghost stood up and looked around. He didn’t have his light on, but it wasn’t really necessary with so many lights already.

Roach gently brushed his hand and Ghost tensed for a moment, before calming when he saw it was just Roach. “There you are. Don’t wander off in the dark.” He grabbed his hand.

Rodolfo rubbed his temples. “Alright, let’s try to find the exit.”

They all fumbled around in the dark for a while. Soap awkwardly bumped into more people than he ever wanted to. He found the door though and everyone escaped the dark venue.

Ghost put on his helmet but perched on his motorcycle for a few minutes. Soap didn’t know why, but he waited with him.

Rodolfo did a quick head count of everyone before nodding. “Alright, everyone’s good to go home. Alex, remember, thirty minutes between edibles.”

“No.”

“Kill yourself then. Roach, please be careful in that car. It looks evil.”

Roach saluted him.

“Ghost, remember to take your meds.”

Ghost visibly shrank and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I fucking will.”

“Soap. Keep up the good work.”

“Wait, does Alejandro not get berated for something?? And why does Soap just get a keep up the good work?” Alex immediately complained.

Rodolfo shrugged. “Soap is my favorite coworker and Alejandro is a guest.”

Alejandro gasped. “Mi sol, a guest?? I am a guest??”

“Yes. You’re a guest star. But still a guest. You’re not on a contract right now.”

“Wow, are we not friends?” Ghost scoffed.

“We are friends. It’s how I knew you weren’t going to take your meds, Roach was going to speed, and Alex was going to get high. I don’t know what Soap does when he’s not here!”

Soap hummed. “Mostly just take online college classes and commissions.”

“Boring. I can’t say anything about that. Oh, make sure you get grades??” Rodolfo scoffed and motioned towards Soap. “Get a better haircut??”

“I like his mohawk.” Roach used an app on his phone so it sounded like the vocaloid he used. Soap thought that was pretty neat. “Plus, more importantly, I was not going to speed.”

“We have the Life360 app. Your top speed coming in was 95 miles. Ghost is a safer driver than you. And he doesn’t even have a license.”

“You don’t have a license?” Soap turned to him.

Ghost threw his leg over his motorcycle so he could get on properly. “Goodnight. I totally have a license.”

“Let’s see it then.”

“It has my face.”

“You can cover it up!”

Ghost revved his engine. “No.” He two finger saluted everyone and left quickly.

Roach watched him go with this… almost soft look in his eyes. He looked at Soap and held out a piece of gum.

Soap took it and popped it in his mouth, making Roach grin. “So, have any plans tonight?”

Roach texted him instead of using the voice app. “Not really. You?”

“Go home and relax I suppose.”

“Want to come back to my place?”

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kerubimcrepin · 8 months

Text

Episode 31 - The Break

It will be so refreshing to liveblog an episode that isn't heavy on characterization or analysis, oh god, I am tired of typing words.

He is so sad and for no reason... I just want to wrap him in a heated blanket.

World's most serious case of Sads, finished off with an evil little glare.

I can imagine adult Joris doing the same thing to Kerubim even by Wakfu times. Just a cunty, unamused little gaze. I can see it so clearly. This will happen in season 4, mark my words.

Also, inside me are two wolves. One of them wants to say "perhaps it's unusual for Joris to not go hook line and sinker for whatever ideas Keke proposes", and the other wants to say "Joris and Kerubim having psychic vibe battles moment #5"

He is so unserious.

Joris loses this round in the game of mutual psychological manipulations.

(Guy who notices landmarks in this show voice) (Also, guy who, for some reason, has developed a parasocial relationship with this setpiece in a kids show voice) THE TOWER. THE FUCKING TOWER

I've already spoken on this topic, but Kerubim already being known to sell stuff and have strong opinions on the ethics of museums makes me so unwell. Especially with implications of the Crepin family being salespeople.

I am not going to elaborate. You've read my other posts. Just... yeah.

Can I get some love for non-Cra archers in this universe? The degree of unemployment must be hellish.

Also Lou has two swords, and Nella has two quivers. They are so normal.

Some may think that Kerubim is out of shape, but I will argue that this is his Farm Boy shape. His "not constantly on the road and fighting monsters while worrying about travelling supplies" shape.

He's still muscular, because Herding Animals is Serious Business, but he's got a bit of a gut going on, because there's no food insecurity, and the food he has is mostly meat and milk.

Considering old Kerubim also has the gut, — and is, notably, still very agile, — I think that this is just, like, Kerubim's natural shape when he's eating well and living like a normal person.

Sorry for overanalysing his body. I just wanted to talk about my "adventuring should be deconstructed as a concept and examined more closely, considering the multiple characters who had been ready to die "to become legends" about it. Like is all the trauma, food insecurity, and violence worth it, when the only way for people to truly respect you in this career, is to die in a cool way?" agenda.

The resemblance between young Keke in this episode and his older self is actually scary.

Say NO to alcohol, say YES to being a calcium-based lifeform.

I've never mentioned this before on this blog, but it's very likely that Kerubim is kind-of-sort-of accidentally implied to have an underbite.

It varies, whether he has his teeth in a normal bite, or an underbite, — and it is an art style choice, it happens to some other characters, albeit nowhere near as often as it does to Kerubim, — but, once you see it, and know what I'm talking about, you can't unsee it. Hell, it's on half the screenshots in this episode already!

Underbites are something that goes in families, which fits really well.

Because, like... yeah. That sure does seem like a family thing.

Together with the "pale-ish brown pigmentation around an eye or both eyes" thing, and the triangle-ish shape of their heads and snouts, Keke and Atch are the Bouba and Kiki of siblinghood.

Anyway, for transparency's sake, despite the underbite being one of Atcham's very notable character features, he is also sometimes drawn with a normal bite. Which might point towards Kerubim's underbite also being a genuine part of his character design, — instead of it being a case of animators liking the look of it a lot.

Personally, I like to think that both of them had been trying to fix his underbite his whole life by simply willing it away, and it's Not working.

If they actually realized they care about one another, and could be chill about it instead of immediately starting a Doomed Toxic Cottagecore Farm, Pangaea would reform.

Oh? You like Kerubim and Lou? Well, then, do you think Lou and Kerubim efficiently utilized girl power when they, Bontarians, went to their oh-so-hated Sidimote Moors and Brakmar, to conduct what they call a "slaughter-safari"?

This is not a Divorce Theory I usually subscribe to, but my funny crack theory is that she left him to go adventure around the world because he wanted to settle down and adopt a kid or whatever.

Truly, the possibilities of kerulou divorce theories are endless.

If they formed a polycule, Pangaea would explode.

I like to think that whatever Julith has going on is a cloak with a similar, but more complex enchantment.

This item is real, but I can't really find the sword mentioned by Lou moments prior.

I need to inject this image inside, intravenously.

...Anyway, you will never guess what my newest addition to the desktop wallpaper rotation is.

#ep31 #ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #atcham crepin #kerubim crepin #tagging them because i finally brought up The Crepin Teeth Agenda

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honoratacarnage · 4 months

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click for better quality!

My part of an art trade i did with @salamanderdr ! Skzoo versions of Puppy Love Hotel, a Horror!SKZ AU! you guys should really check them out!

tell me what y'all think!

oh and i've made a fic to accompany it, its going to be under read more!

The sun was starting to rise, filling the dark room with much needed light.

Purple sunrays ran lazily across the floor, slowly taking space. The atmosphere felt strangely cozy, you could even say safe if you didn’t know what had happened there just a few hours ago. It was hard not to know, the screams were loud as hell, and the stench of blood overpowered any of the smell of morning dew. Inside that barely lit room, were two of the hotel’s most diligent workers. The rabbit/pig hybrid, nicknamed Bunny, moped the ground after bagging most of the bodies inside jumbo trash bags, piling them neatly in a corner.

While the janitor (also lovingly called housemaid sometimes) cleaned all of those messy bloody memories that ruined the room, the one who had messed the room watched closely. A large two-faced wolf who went by Chaser, was absolutely drenched in blood, which was a surprising feat when you acknowledge how he was fully clothed while… working.

The intense gaze he kept on the pink one was so strong you’d think the pabbit who worked with his back facing him was next on his kill list, but he knew, even while at the tail end of his blood craze, that the pink one was too important to touch. “Important to the hotel. Important to Boss. Nothing else” he repeated in his large noggin, sighing loudly after realizing how tired he actually was.

In reality, he was drenched in not only the guests blood, but also his own. Like the hardheaded bastard he was, he had decided to take down two targets in the same room at the same time. Although successful, they didn’t go down without a fight. The wolf now was breathing shallowly, whining when he felt his own bruised knuckles crackle and licking the blood that leaked off his broken nose like a faucet.

“You overdid it, didn’t you?” – Bunny murmured, so low it was almost to himself – “You are actually hurt.”

“How about you shut up and try to do your job properly, hm?” – wolf quipped

“I would if you stopped whining like a little bitch. Tell me, where does it ache the most?”

Bunny turned around to face Chaser, his line of sight hitting the wolf’s chest. He was way shorter compared to the wolf, but was equally as wide, maybe even a bit wider. Chaser was still staring deeply, trying to make eye contact with the indifferent pabbit. “Jaw feels funny. It’s normal after a night of biting, there’s nothing wrong” he was coming up with excuses to try to get the hybrid’s attention away from him. “Hey, I know to differentiate fresh blood from 3 hours ago blood. Your mouth is bleeding bad. Let me see” Bunny answered, not afraid of his coworker growling sentences.

Not waiting for whatever dumb answer the wolf may give, he reached up and pulled the other’s jaw open, while pulling his lips to the side. Chaser whelped loudly at the sudden intrusion, screaming “HEY AE YA FHUCKIN THTUPID” at the worried hybrid. He, weirdly, let the shorter keep examining him, feeling his thumbs stretch his cheeks and keep his tongue in place. Bunny could make such cute worried faces sometimes.

“You lost a tooth. A carnassial even. How did you bite this hard?” Bunny exasperatedly asked “there was a bull and a lioness. Bet you chose to bite the bull. You know we sell their leather to cutting-proof clothing makers.” Bunny was reading him like a book, he knew Chaser would try some crazy stunt during the fight, his wrestling days never really leaving him.

Chaser, on the other hand, could only shyly grunt in response. He always felt like he had to be better than anyone working on that hotel, he had to provide, he couldn’t be upped by anyone. “You didn’t almost kill yourself trying to up Lovebird’s body streak, right?” Bingo. Bunny wasn’t reading him like a book, it was more like a teen magazine. Chaser felt his ears swivel back and his tail started to go between his legs, he hated that feeling, he hated feeling reprimanded, but he didn’t answer. He knew that Bunny could break his jaw open if he felt like it, and having his hands around it was a pretty clear start.

He chose to tightly wrap his hand around the pabbit’s chubby wrist instead, trying to threaten him against doing anything funny. Bunny didn’t care, he kept massaging the wolf’s tongue with the pad of his thumb while searching for any additional damages.

“We’ll have to visit Boss about this. Maybe he will give you a pretty gold tooth, huh puppy?” Chaser tried to swallow his spit, but with his jaw forced open he ended up drooling all over Bunny’s wrists. He couldn’t lie, having the shorter hands shoved in his mouth while he talked like the wolf was an idiot made his head fuzzy.

“Maybe not” – Bunny answered himself while sticking his own tongue out. He angled it to catch some of the blood that was cascading from Chaser’s mouth – “I can taste some beef in your mouth, I think you already had too many treats” he then finally released the wolf’s jaw, licking his own lips. Chaser felt his heart skip a beat.

Bunny tried to pull away his arm to continue moping the ground, but the wolf was still gripping his wrist tightly.

“What, aren’t you going to let me do my job?” Bunny chuckled “Does my pup Chaser need another checkup elsewhere?” Chaser tried to growl at the outrageous words coming from Bunny, but he could only let a choked sob out of his throat instead -- “Fuck off”.

“I see you are still whining like a little bitch. Beg properly and ill give what you want, dog.”

#my art owo #furthings #PLH #furry art #furry community #wolfchan #dwaekki #chaser #bunny #skzoo #skzoo fanart #skz #art trade #fanfic #tw blood

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hannahssimblr · 8 months

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Chapter Five

After a morning of frantic creativity in the studio, I head down to the shop with a head buzzing with thoughts of Christmas motifs. Petra is comparatively calm, sitting behind the till reading a crochet magazine in her lap and drinking a hot chocolate from one of the sachets she keeps in a drawer with the excess breast shaped candles. “Oh hello.” She says serenely. “Have you come to do the window?”

“I have.” I go into the storage closet next to the employee bathroom and start yanking bits of blue roll off the holder, wrestling my way through the clutter and piles of empty postal boxes for a squeegee and a bottle of industrial window cleaner.

“I can’t wait to see how it turns out.” She flips the page while I start spraying the window and buffing off the dirt and streaks. It’s a smaller window than the café I worked on back home, but tenfold more intimidating, seeing that this is an actual art shop with actual artists working upstairs who will no doubt notice things like crooked ‘o’s or asymmetrical ‘m’s. Recalling the mistakes I made the last time, I first sketch an outline on the outside of the window. The sun is hot on my hair.

The muscles in my arms ache from the gym as badly as I expected they would. As I work I silently curse Shane Healy and his wicked exercise regime, and every time I lift a paint pen to the glass and my biceps groan I curse him harder. I am tired too, my eyes feel dry and heavy after a poor night’s sleep, tossing and turning in my bed with a head whirring with thoughts of Izzy’s gig. I think about it now too. Of Jen especially, and how different she was, but of Jude too, and the strange rift between them. I can’t help but recall all of those little details like the purple skin under his eyes, the nicotine stains on his fingers. Jen’s thin body, the vacancy in her stare. It was freaky to see them both like that, to witness their distance when all I’ve ever known of them was their closeness.

I start sketching out the lettering for ‘mezzotint’. I have a design in an open notebook at my feet, and I refer back to it again and again, trying my best to mark out the shapes as symmetrically as possible. It starts off well. I’m careful, I’m precise, and I realise that focussing as hard as I can upon the task makes it harder for me to dwell on other thoughts. I don’t notice the time passing me by, the shadows moving across the pavement, I even drown out the sound of the tram as it passes, and it’s just me and this window and these pens and…

“Um, hello?” I get such a fright that my marker slips across the window, sending a slash of white through my meticulous lettering. “Shit.”

“Fuck, sorry.” It’s Jude. He’s reaching for a damp cloth so he can help me to erase it. I never even heard him coming.

“Oh, God, Jude, don’t worry about it, it’s just the guide.”

He pulls the cloth over his finger and uses the flat edge of his fingernail to carefully remove the offending mark from where it cuts right through one of the Zs. “Sorry I scared you, I was trying to catch your attention from across the street for like, a minute. I thought you’d heard me.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” I take his wrist and lift the cloth out of his hand. “I’ll fix it later. Like I said, this is just the guide bit. I’ll erase it later anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, it’s fine, it’s just a stupid white line, nothing to get upset about.”

He looks up at the window. “It’s looking good though.”

“You think?”

“I do.” He smiles at me. “Nice job. I’m glad I caught you in time for lunch.”

“It’s lunch?”

“Yeah it’s like five past one.”

“Oh.” I frown. “I swear to God, sometimes I seem to just switch my brain off when I’m working.”

“I know the feeling. Do you have time to get food? If not it’s totally fine, I probably should have texted you or something, I couldn’t remember if we actually made a plan to get lunch or if I just ended up being vague with you.”

I smirk as I start bundling up my art supplies. “You asked me if I take lunch, and then you walked away.” After brushing my cheek with his thumb in a way that made my stomach bottom out, but I don’t bring that part up.

“Ah, sounds like me.” He holds the door for me as I carry my things into the shop. “If you’re not free it’s fine, by the way, I can get lost.”

“No, we can get lunch.” I smile at Petra who is eating a sandwich at the till, and we give each other a quick wave as I leave my supplies on the floor and head back outside. “Where’s Astrid today? Are you meeting her after lunch to do the big tourist round of Dublin?”

“Ah.” He says as we fall into step next to each other. “She’s not feeling well. She doesn’t want to do anything today.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Mm.”

“Do you think you’ll go tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, she, well, she kind of wants to just go back to Berlin at the moment, I’m trying to convince her to stay for the rest of the week but-” He shrugs. “I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Not a fan of Dublin City?”

“Something like that, maybe.”

“I don’t blame her.” The Liffey still stinks as we cross it. A man leans over the railings and hawks up a mouthful of spit to launch into it. I shudder. “It’d be a pity to cut the holiday short all the same.”

“I’d bring her back to Berlin if I could, it’s just with the things I have to do…”

“That family stuff you mentioned?”

“Yeah. My mom is away on business this week, she needs someone to take care of Ivy. Like, bring her to school, cook dinner, laundry, all of that stuff.”

“Oh, damn. Is your dad away too?”

“No.” He kicks a coke can into the road and it goes under the wheels of a passing bus. “He just won’t- can’t do it. He’s not a big fan of, uh, parenting her.”

I frown. “Like, at all?”

“At all.”

“So what does he do?”

He exhales a laugh. “He’s very busy.”

“Right.”

“He’s rarely home for dinner. He works a lot. Late hours, paperwork, you know the drill.” I don’t know the drill. My dad only ever worked steady, predictable hours in the medical factory, and my mam, well, hasn’t worked since she gave up her secretary job in 1993. I can’t remember a time that she wasn’t at home, potatoes boiling in the pot while she scrubbed every corner of our tiny council house. She was always there to look after me.

Jude asks me what I want to eat, and I tell him that he can choose, so we head east along the river. “I know it’s weird,” He continues defensively, even though I haven’t said anything “that my mom would rather get her adult son to look after their child than her own husband, who like, you know, fathered her, but it’s just the way the situation is.”

“Yeah it’s not great, obviously, but I suppose this is an exceptional circumstance. One time is inconvenient but manageable.”

He gives me a sideways glance. “Yes. One time.”

The conversation shifts to Ivy as we venture into the Liberties, and he tells me about her. She’s almost thirteen now, she’s in first year of secondary school, she’s still bad at piano and has to be forced to go to her lessons. She still never practises. I like watching Jude’s face when he talks about her, he gets very animated. It’s like he’s a bit proud of her, like he finds her funny, like he genuinely likes being around her. I consider his relationship with Ivy in contrast to Shane and Kelly, siblings who would have beat each other to death with remote controls, fighting for the teddy bears with the hardest plastic eyes, the biggest battery packs so they could cause maximum damage to one another when they smashed each other across the backs with them. I often counted my blessings over the fact that I was an only child when one of them started up a battle, but now, for a brief moment, I catch myself mourning the absence of the sibling I never had.

He takes me to a food van that sells coffee and Italian sandwiches at the foot of an apartment complex. I grab a chicken and pesto panini, which he pays for, and we take a seat on the grass in a nearby park. Jude stretches his legs out in front of him and leans on his elbows. He’s wearing shorts and a fleece, green and white runners and tube socks that have fallen down a bit on one side to reveal a strip of pale skin right up against the deep tan of his legs. He’s away in his thoughts again, eyes turned glassy as he stares out across the park to somewhere among the young trees planted by the fence. My eyes automatically follow the lines of his profile, from his forehead over the slight roman curve of his nose and down to the long line of his throat before I realise I’m staring too much, reading his visual language like a painting at a gallery, so I examine my sandwich instead.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

“Oh.” He says. “Nothing, I don’t even know.”

“Mm.”

He gives me a half smile. “Maybe I was thinking about how I’m glad we could meet for lunch today.”

He definitely wasn’t. “Of course. It’s been nice, you know, to see you again.”

“I missed talking to you.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

I nod. “Well, I missed that too. I’m sorry-”

“No more sorrys.” He reminds me. “It’s all water under the bridge, and like I said, I have more to be sorry for than you do.”

I smile, then he smiles, before getting distracted by a nearby dandelion. He plucks it, and instead of blowing away the seeds he rather barbarically picks them off with his fingers and flicks them into the wind. I wonder if he made a wish. “I hope everything was alright last night with Michelle.” I say, hoping my prying doesn’t seem too much like, well, prying.

“Ah, yes. It was fine she just had to tell me about something that happened.”

“Hope it was nothing bad.”

“Well, I don’t know. It was just… well, nothing.”

He isn’t going to tell me. “Is it a bit weird,” I pivot “That Michelle and Jen are friends? Like I’ve wondered before. I saw them together in a bar a couple of years ago and I was surprised that they seemed close. Do you ever feel, like, a bit put out that your best friend stayed close with your ex?”

He shakes his head. “No, because they were friends first. They went to primary school together, and when I moved to Ireland I started hanging out with them. We were a trio of friends.”

“Really? You and Jen and Michelle?”

“And some other people here and there, on and off at times, but yeah, we were.”

“And then…”

“And then one day I ruined it and kissed Michelle.”

“Oh.”

He splits the stem of the dandelion with his thumbnail, opening it up to flatten against his palm. “I seem to have this weird impulse issue where I can’t stop fancying my friends and then inevitably destroying everything.”

“Harsh. Surely you’ve had a female friend that you haven’t tried to kiss.”

He thinks about it. “Sure, but not as many as I’d like to admit to. When I really get to know people it’s hard for me not to blur the lines, to think that everything about them is beautiful, or whatever.”

“But Jen?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” He rolls his eyes at himself. “I kissed Jen too. When we were thirteen. She called me a fucking freak and went off crying.” His mouth quirks up at the corner. “And then a month of no contact later she approached me in the school yard and said she was sorry, that she actually realised that it wasn’t I specifically who was disgusting, it was just that she didn’t like boys.”

“She sort of came out because of you?”

“Yeah, well, because of my bad habits.”

I mirror him and start picking the grass. “I hope that she’s doing well.” I say.

“Yeah, me too. Things aren’t that great between us at the moment.”

“I’m sure it’ll get better.”

He sighs. “Friendships do this, you know, especially long ones. People kind of eclipse in and out of your life, and it’s easier for it to happen when you’re in your twenties. I guess she’s just, like, eclipsed out right now. I think I should have tried to be a bit more understanding over Pamela. I think I was a bit full on when she started confiding things to me. Jen doesn’t often get into relationships so I can see why she’s been pouring all of her time into this one, it’s just, well, I suppose it’s whatever. It’s not worth getting into it.”

“I think things always get complicated eventually.” I remark. “The longer you’re friends with someone the more likely it is that there’ll be conflict, and then when there is it’s so bad, like they know how to hurt you more than anybody else.”

“A bit vulnerable.”

“Very.” I say. “Back in first year I had a big fight with Claire.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It was because of… well, basically I just lied to her by omission. It wasn’t very wise of me to think that she wouldn’t find out on her own, but I don’t really like conflict, in case you didn’t notice that.”

“Who, you?” He grins.

“But I was so used to always just taking on everything, like, blaming myself for being wrong and for ruining everything, but actually, when we finally got to talk about it and try to fix things, she admitted that she felt the same. She felt like she’d been in the wrong, and that she shouldn’t have reacted the way that she did. I suppose it was healing, or something, to realise that we both hurt the other, and it was okay because our friendship was stronger than that.”

“And now?”

“Now we’re great, we’re perfect. When I fell out with Kelly I thought about it all the time. I still think about it, honestly. I think about the things I wish I’d said to her instead of the things I really did say, and I imagine scenarios where I win and I make her look so stupid. And sometimes…” I wonder if the next part is too insane to admit. “…I think about mowing her down with my bicycle or shoving her into a massive thorny hedge and she gets all scratched up and has twigs stuck in her curls that she can’t get out for hours, and maybe they’ll get so tangled that she’ll eventually have to have them cut out-”

Jude lets out a loud, surprised cackle. “Specific.”

“-and everyone points and laughs at her, and she runs off crying, and I know it’s so stupid and those things would never actually happen, but I’ve never stopped being angry with her, or actually, angry with myself for being weak for our entire friendship.”

“You weren’t weak.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I was.”

“And now? What about with Claire?”

“With Claire I don’t feel that way at all. I handled it so differently, it felt mature and fair, like, I was upset while the fight was happening and for the month that we didn’t speak, but after that, yeah, it was fine. We’re good. I don’t even care about the fight because we fixed it.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Well, that’s lucky then.”

“Whatever it is with Jen, I’m sure you’ll fix it too.”

He sighs. “She’s complicated. It really goes back further than just this year, there’s things I should have done the whole way along, ways I should have been there for her but wasn’t. I’m kind of coming to terms with being a bit of a shit friend.”

“It’s not like you to talk yourself down so much.”

“Hm, well I’m trying out this new thing where I’m more honest with myself.”

“How’s it going?”

“Horribly. It feels very bad.” He smiles weakly. “I think I’ve had a lifetime of being a bastard and it’s all manifesting this year, like I turned twenty one and it decided to come and bite me.” he suddenly sits up straighter and shudders, like he’s physically shaking the self deprecating thoughts from his head. “I don’t mean to be so miserable right now, Jesus.”

“You can be miserable all you like.”

“No.” He gently tugs on the cuff of my jean leg. “I want to hear about you. Tell me about this fancy internship. It was too loud in the bar last night to really get into it.”

I grimace. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“Tell me everything.” He insists. “Don’t leave anything out. When did you apply?”

I sigh and I lie back in the grass so that I can watch the clouds drift past. “Okay well…”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #sims 4 story

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the-coffee-fandom · 1 year

Text

Thanks to @abyssal-ali for the tag! This took so long to compile lol

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

Uh oh 😅

❥ My first fic was actually a disgustingly long word doc that glitched out my computer and someone deleted 😔 just for a fun fact ✨

❥ My first fic would be Will you be my fairy tale?

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Agents of SHEILD 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa

✐ Set in 7x07, beginning of 8. Daisys in the healing chamber and Daniel Sousa decided to stay there with her. Just a cute little snippet of what he was up to while he was waiting for Daisy to arise from her slumber/healing.

❥ Last fic published was Dreaming Of Anemone (though my last work published was HaiBOO but it’s an original work)

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Bio dad au

✐ The Wayne's might have been public figures, but there's a lot of mysteries behind those grand closed doors. Mr. Wayne for one was quite suspicious. They were hiding something and Marinette would figure out what. Even if it exposed a secret or two. Identities weren't the only thing they were hiding.

Flowers can kill after all.

❥ A fic with a ship I’ve only written once is Coming Home To Peaceful Disaster

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Damian Wayne

✐ Damian is so tired, all he wants to do is come home, have a cup of his girlfriends famous hot chocolate, and fall asleep in his loves arms.

But this isn’t too bad either.

❥ My favorite fic. That’s a hard one. I think it have to be Dreaming of Anenome despite its incomplete status but since that one’s already on this list I’ll promote another: Death Bouquet

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Cassandra Cain/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

✐ It's hard to figure out whom your heart longs for when you've spent so long ignoring it. Letting the flowers bloom in your throat as you struggle to breath always left wondering.

Marinette lived her days in Pairs, her eyes on Adrien. But...was that truly what her heart wanted? Or was it a face she hadn't seen in a long time but still haunted her thoughts like the scorch marks left after a fire.

❥ The fic I wish more people would read is Rose Gold Eyes

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Selina Kyle/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

✐ The rooftops were often silent at night, the streets were where havoc rained. The rooftops were often silent at night, a cat endlessly chasing darkness. The rooftops were often silent at night, and so that’s where she lay. The rooftops were often silent at night, so was her suffering.

❥ The fic I agonized the most over is literally any fic in my Flowers Aren’t Always A Love Language series (especially Dreaming of Anenome) because I always try to put as much flower language in as possible to put a story within the story. Otherwise it’s An Angel With Demons Wings. I wrote that to get back into writing after a tough time and put a lot of pressure to get it perfect for my wonderful friend @tylindel whom I love. I did a lot of dancing research and made art to go with it.

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

✐ “They call you a demon but all I’ve ever seen in you was an angel.”

“Even in my worst moments?”

“An angel with anger issues.”

❥ The easiest fic is From Your Favorite Chaos Gremlins. I was spouting ideas like a sprinkler and was really ahead of my writing partners to the point they couldn’t keep up with me. I got overexcited and wrote all but one line of the second chapter. Of course this fic has ended early despite all the ideas left over as authors split so it remains forever unfinished.

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Platonic Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

✐ Family is defined as a group of people related to one another by blood or marriage.

None of them were related by blood nor marriage nor any magical force, only their own love for one another.

Family to them was each other.

And all it takes is a pinch of coffee and a whole lot of chaos.

On the streets of Gotham, the chaos gremlins reign.

❥ A work I’m proud of is Hold Me Tight Till Morning Light. Originally written for the lovely @tylindel ’s birthday, I wasn’t sure how much I liked it though but @tree-reads really helped my confidence in it with her appreciation of it and it makes me love it too. Otherwise it be Dreaming of Anenome or anything in my Flowers series because I work hard on them and I love hanahaki so much.

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Maribat 𓍊𓋼𓍊

❀ Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

✐ Sometimes your demons take control of your body and mind, you never had full authority over yourself as your plagued with memories time and time again, filling your head with thoughts you'd rather rid. Sleepless nights were always in the cards. But that's why there's always your rope, your light, your love, your life, that will be there to pull you back from the darkness.

3 times Damian helped Marinette with her demons and one time he didn't have to.

❦ My Ao3: The_Coffee_Fandom

❦ My Insta: the_coffee_fandom

✮ No Pressure Tags: @tylindel @tree-reads @tim-drake-is-underrated @timinette-is-best @velveteenshadow @verymuchimmortalcat @the-witches-you-couldnt-burn

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #miraculous ladybug #tim drake #maribat marinette dupain cheng #timari #agents of shield #fics #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic rec #ask game #writing stuffs #the coffee fandom #watch me mention the same fic over and over #clearly I don’t like that fic /sarc

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calamity-unlocked · 2 years

Text

Sometimes your zip line park isn't doing well and you have a shift of 4 hours without any people so instead you sit in a tree and write fanfiction on your phone.

Anyways this little thing is based on @manitapaleta 's GORGEOUS art piece, link here if you haven't been graced with it yet.

841 words - Nark

CWs: mentions of boldily harm, blood, injury

The touch of Lark’s hand was cold on Nick’s face, methodical in the way it moved, but lingering every so often, causing Nick’s breath to catch in his throat.

They were quiet, Lark focused on his task, Nick focused on trying not to wince.

Were the circumstances different, they’d probably be screaming at each other until their throats were torn raw. But Lark was apparently concussed – how he’d managed to achieve that he had refused to disclose – and Nick’s sympathetic nervous system still hadn’t completely calmed down after a full minute of believing his son was dead and then reliving multiple traumas at the same time.

Neither of them were at their best right now, and wanted to prevent getting into a fight that was sure to dredge up painful memories they’d both rather leave locked away alongside the skeletons in their closets. There was plenty of time for fighting later. Right now, the soft, tentative silence between them was being held in place with a mixture of bone-aching tiredness, the desire to keep their children safe, and an all-consuming hatred for Willy Stampler which made their personal feuds pale in comparison.

Willy was still out there. In their fight, Nick had wounded the bastard enough that afterward his semi-light-hearted ‘you should see the other guy’ hadn’t fallen flat. Lark, bleeding from his face and about as talkative as a gravestone, got stuck on demon-sitting duty while the others were chasing Willy, trying to make sure he didn’t get away.

Lark had gruffly asked if Nick was okay with him treating the wounds Willy’s magic knife had caused, seeing how Nick wouldn’t do a great job at it in his armless state. Why he’d offered, Nick couldn’t fathom. Why Nick had accepted was even more of a mystery.

Now, after his arm had been reattached and he’d regained a bit of agency, Nick’s gaze trailed over Lark’s toned arms which were so steadily tending to his face, to the look in his eyes that was too concentrated to be tender, but nevertheless devoid of the burning tenacity that used to always be present there.

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t that much of a mystery.

Nick was holding a bloodied cloth rag he’d previously used to keep pressure on the cut, gripping it tight like a stress ball, betraying how tense he was. He was shirtless and vulnerable, and he shouldn’t trust the man who’d loved him and betrayed him, but for some reason, he did.

Lark had cleaned the long cut running diagonally over Nick’s left cheek, and was now gently applying a layer of antiseptic cream that smelled vaguely like cranberries.

“‘S probably gonna scar,” Lark mumbled, sounding as tired as Nick felt.

“Figures,” Nick said, trying to make his tone light. “Fate’s really trying to turn me into a full-on action hero.”

“Fate’s a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

Lark pulled his shoulders back a bit when he seemed done with the scream, but not his hand. His fingers lingered on the line of Nick’s jaw and he applied a tiny bit of pressure, like a barber moving his head to see the final result. His thumb brushed over Nick’s lips – accidentally? On purpose?

Whatever the intention, Nick’s breath went shallow. Every inch of his bare skin felt hyper-exposed.

Lark’s focus was still on the lower side of Nick’s face, specifically on his lips, as though those also needed his soft-touched care– nope. Cut that thought, Nicky, bad idea. Don’t go there.

The thing was, Nick was pretty sure he could.

He could lean in. He could lean in and close his eyes and pretend that they had both forgotten the past ten years, ignoring how those lonely years had fundamentally changed them as people. He could throw caution and sensibility to the wind, just to feel that spark again.

He wouldn’t. But he could.

He wanted to.

Lark looked up at him, finally. Hesitance and regret swirled in those dark-brown pools, or maybe that was just Nick’s hopeful imagination. He didn’t remove his hand. His thumb stilled on the corner of Nick’s mouth, while his other fingers had trailed down to his neck. His heartbeat pulsed against Lark’s pinkie, betraying the way his body was reacting to their closeness much in the same way as how Lark had seemed to stop breathing altogether.

“Nicky, I…” Lark started.

The door of the med bay slammed open, startling both of them.

“He fucking got away,” Grant sighed, the others coming in behind him, looking bruised but not too worse for wear.

“Shit,” Lark cursed, the hand that had been on Nick’s face a few seconds ago clenching into a fist. The familiar ice-cold determination that left no space for warmth returned to the look in his eyes, and he abruptly stood up and joined the others, muttering in hushed tones about their next course of action.

Nick remained seated on the bench, trying frantically to get his heartbeat under control again, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted iron.

Fuck.

#dndads #nark #nark nation #calamity's writing #lets see if this stays up this time #thanks eri for rbing the art #i totally would have forgotten to post this otherwise

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xticklemeemox · 7 months

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The Love You Want: III, Part Three

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

AO3

Word Count: 10,333 or something

I am ngl I made that last part with the drumming up, I don't even know if ST has a song where II uses all those parts of a drumset at the same time.

Writing slow burn hard they just love each other in my head already I can't do this, fast burn it is... that is mainly a bunch of yearning

For the few days Vessel is sick, II and III remain a constant at his side. He is grateful for their presences, but- He doesn't know what to do with their clear affection and care.

Vessel allows them to hold him, his body half strewn over their laps as either II or III hold him as close as he'll allow. Even sick as he is, Vessel grows distressed whenever they try to hold him in places near his chest or neck, not allowing either of them to even hold his forearm in attempts to deter them from his wrists. They hold him as he cries from the pain of his migraine, as his body aches.

He is cool against their stomachs even as his fever runs rampant under his skin, most prominently felt on his forehead. They wiped his tears and shushed him gently, so soothingly that sometimes it made Vessel cry harder, taking turns watching over him when one needed to sleep or eat.

III was still so new, but he settled in so easily with them, eager to talk Vessel's ear off at any hour of the day. To keep him company when everyone knows Vessel gets no reprieve from this sickness. Every day they would show Vessel a new drawing of a different flower, the one worded meaning written below or to the side. They were in increasingly better quality, Vessel notices, as III very slowly improves their skills with traditional art. It was touching, for III to sit next to Vessel with Vessel's book on flower languages open next to them, carefully inking lines into a spare of Vessel's notebooks.

Vessel had gifted it to them when III dejectedly realized that they had nothing to draw with here. They didn't even think about it while at the store.

III hugs Vessel, then, and if Vessel's heart was in his chest, it would have stopped. Vessel doesn't push III away. He is so warm, head leaning against Vessel's own and arms wrapping securely around him. When III pulls away after a few seconds, it kills Vessel to write out a request for no hugs, unable to meet III's confused, but understanding gaze.

Vessel wants III to hug him again, and again, and again until Vessel is sick of it though he's sure he would never tire of III's warmth wrapped around him. Wonders what it would be like if II hugged him. If he was even tall enough for Vessel to comfortably rest his chin on the top of his head. Vessel wants to pull II to himself, wrap him securely in his arms-

III isn't what Vessel expects. II wasn't either.

III redo's the braid in his hair, even as it gets gross with oils and tears until finally the both of them help Vessel into the bath, giving him the mercy of keeping on his underwear, as uncomfortable as the sensation is. It should be mortifying, to let someone else care for him this way but II was there the last time he was sick, and III never shows any judgment, not even with the full scope of Vessel's self-harm scarring on display.

Vessel likes the way he feels cared for when II washes his hair and III fills the silence with idle chatter and jokes that are sometimes the furthest thing from funny yet never at someone else's expense. Vessel tries to pretend his metaphorical heart doesn't flutter when III brushes a finger under each of his six eyes in wonder, tries to pretend he doesn't flinch away when that same careful hand reminds him of someone else as it brushes his jaw in something a bit too close to grabbing it.

III pulls away with a quiet apology and doesn't comment on it, only squeezes Vessel's hand and goes back to talking about their budding plans to start a garden. They help him dry off as Vessel looks down with an embarrassed blush the entire time, leaving him for only a moment to change into dry underwear and pajamas.

III can't stop staring, glad Vessel is too embarrassed and staring resolutely at the wall to notice because II certainly does. II smiles knowingly at III as he rebandages Vessel's arm and thighs, and the shorter man is thankful that there hasn't been any more cuts added. He supposes its the one good thing about Vessel being too sick to move around much.

II brushes his hair when his arms shake from the effort and lets III show II how to re-braid the damp strands.

II makes Vessel soup, even knowing he doesn't need it. Vessel appreciates it anyway. He can't remember when someone had made him a meal before II, and it makes II happy to see Vessel eat it.

II and III only speak of the weakness of the vines all throughout the house down in the kitchen, where they are sure Vessel won't hear. They're hesitant to leave him alone, even for a moment, but its hard not to notice the lack of movement of the vines when usually they react so keenly to Vessel's emotions, and II is quick to point it out when they're alone. They're listless, like they're weighed down, only moving like they used to when Vessel leaves the room with help from one of the others, reaching out to him, brushing his arms and legs and catching gently in his hair as though to caress the unruly strands. III is a little bit in awe, to truly see something so supernatural, even though they had accepted a God, had undergone and seen the results of their own transformation into a vessel of that God.

As Vessel's sickness wears off, he tries to speak less and less, not from a lack of trying, but because it hurts. As the days drag on, his tongue aches like its on fire, and eventually he is afraid to move his mouth at all. On the third day, Vessel is in the middle of listening to II talk about a new style he wanted to incorporate into his drumming while III also listens in rapt attention, laying on his stomach with his hands under his chin, feet kicking leisurely. Their masks lay piled atop one another on Vessel's nightstand. It hit suddenly, the spike of pain lancing through his tongue.

Iron fills his mouth and Vessel nearly leaps off the bed, stumbling instead, to reach the trashcan that he hasn't needed as often the past few days as his stomach settled.

Blood spills out of his mouth like a river, the taste of iron coating every inch of his mouth unceasingly. II and III exclaim his name in shock and worry, II hopping off the bed and pulling Vessel's face into his hands, carefully keeping his hands away from Vessel's jaw. He turns it this way and that, inspecting him for any obvious wounds.

Vessel lets his tongue spill over his lips to show where it hurts at II's prompting and both II and III stare in confusion at the appendage. It drips blood over his chin onto the floor, split right down the middle about halfway into his mouth.

"Your tongues' been split." III says, an odd expression of interest on his face.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion, head still held in II's careful hands. The touch is soothing, and Vessel basks in it. "A change from Sleep, maybe? Where the split begins, your tongue fades into a black at the tips. " II inquires, contemplative.

Grim realization settles over Vessel's features, but there is no regret to be found in the bond, only acceptance.

The blood spilling from his lips begins to darken as black seeps into the red. It mixes together, swirling like the stars in the sky.

"Your... Vessel, your blood is- black is mixing with the red." III states unsurely, leaning closer to get a better look.

Some emotion they don't have time to try and name raises to concerning heights and Vessel pulls away from II with an expression of great distress.

II and III share a look of concern, a silent conversation passing between their bond with ease. They really need to have that talk with Vessel, they both know that if they do, so many things will come to light, if Vessel will only speak of them.

Vessel needs to see. He doesn't care if the knife gets taken away, he has others. He needs to see, see what using something that wasn't his has done to his blood. He doesn't regret a fucking thing but he needs to see with his own eyes what he has done to himself, in the same way he loves to watch the blood drip down his skin with some morbid fascination at the glimpse into what he looks like on the inside.

Before either II or III can figure out what he's doing, Vessel is pulling a blade from under his mattress and slicing into his arm as they cry out his name in alarm.

Blood spills immediately, and distantly, Vessel knows he went deeper than he normally would've.

Like III said, it is human red mixed with pitch black, swirling together like oil and water, never mixing to become entirely one color.

III pulls the blade out of Vessel's hand with haste, cutting themself on the sharp edge, throwing it somewhere Vessel doesn't care to follow. II is already trying to staunch the bleeding with one of Vessel's blankets.

Vessel's bond does not change to anything like shock, only a little more realization as he watches, entranced by the sight of his own blood.

"Sleep's blood." Vessel manages, though its slurred and far more quiet than usual.

He looks up and all six eyes zero in on the blood on III's hand, dripping slowly between the cracks of their fingers as they try to hide it.

Clarity bleeds into the mess of Vessel's mind.

He slams the door of his bond shut and III cannot stop the tears that fall from their eyes at Vessel being gone, even if he is right in front of them.

"I-" Vessel starts, "S- orry. Sorry. Sorry." He repeats, unable to stop the tears that well in his eyes and slip over.

They drip onto his shirt and the blanket where his blood is seeping through. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

III shakes their head frantically, "Not your fault, Vessel. I'm the one who grabbed the bladed part of the knife like an idiot."

II cannot speak, cannot form a word and shove it past his lips because he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if a single noise escapes him, he will break down into sobs that will never cease. So he keeps his lips tightly shut, biting on the lower one to remain silent. He has to be strong, for both Vessel and III's sake. They are upset by the proceedings and so II needs to remain calm in the face of the storm, for their sakes. For them. No matter how he wants to cry, no matter how it causes his throat to ache or his eyes to sting.

He has to be strong for them.

Vessel lets III hold his hand with their injured one, as III holds his available hand to Vessel's bleeding forearm with help from the now ruined blanket. They both fall silent while II leaves to get a medkid he keeps in a few places throughout the house. He'll have to show III where they're all hidden, II thinks grimly as he picks up the pocket knife III had thrown, pocketing it.

III cannot feel Vessel's guilt at making them cry, at hurting them. Its all consuming, eating away at his mind with such force he wants to claw out of his own skin. He wants to apologize, over and over and over again with the hope that III can forgive him.

When II comes back, Vessel insists that II wrap up III's hand first. He holds his arm close to himself, refusing II no matter what he says. II is desperate to get bandages on Vessel's arm and III just the same, so III offers up his hand quickly to get it over with faster.

Vessel apologized with every wince, a repetitive 'sorry, sorry, sorry' that only further saddened II and III. III was trying desperately to reassure him that it wasn't his fault but it was like talking to a brick wall as Vessel stared at III's hand with unseeing eyes still leaking tears even after the injury was bandaged up.

It wasn't a bad wound, all things considered, but Vessel just wouldn't stop staring with wide eyes that screamed of his shame. III excused himself to take the bloody blanket to the washroom as II began on Vessel's arm and as soon as that door closed behind him, still feeling Vessel's gaze on their back, III rushed down the stairs and all but collapsed into the washroom door after closing it as quietly as they could, struggling to keep his sobs quiet.

The blanket is still held tightly in his hands, and when III can see the blurry crimson and black stains still wet beneath their fingers, they drop the blanket to the floor as though burned by the plush fabric.

They do not want to look at it, covered in Vessel's blood as it is, and it makes III sick to look at. It was one thing to see Vessel's scars and watch II rebandage the healing cuts on Vessel's thighs and arms and hips-

To watch as Vessel so casually cut into his own arm without even hesitating- To watch as blood beaded slowly at first on the surface, then started dripping down as it all gathered at the opening of the wound-

Every time III closes their eyes they can see that exact moment, imprinted into their eyelids-

III sobs harder, struggling to breathe through their nose as he hiccups, hiding his face in their hands. Even as Vessel's bond is closed -He's gone, he's gone, Vessel is dead, III can't feel him, he's dead- , III is glad for II, who keeps the bond open so III can feel he's alive, though he's upset, as upset as III is and still holding strong to the mask of courage he's wearing for Vessel's sake.

Waves of reassurance are stemming from II's bond and III latches onto those feelings like a lifeline, trying his damn best to send the same thing back even though he can barely think through the red bleeding behind their eyes.

Red was III's favorite color. Of his memories from Before, they can remember wearing it often, and how they always wished to dye their hair a bright firetruck red color but could never commit to it.

Red reminds him of blood, now. He wonders if he'll grow to hate it.

As III's sobbing dies down and they gain control over themselves, they venture back up to Vessel's room after grabbing a clean blanket from the cupboard. They nearly scream when Elvira, who had taken residence in that very cupboard whose door had apparently not been closed all the way, meows and blinks bright eyes up at III that seem to glow in the darkness. III picks her up along with the blanket she lays on. When they knock, it is II who tells them to come in. Said man has taken residence towards the middle of Vessel's bed as the taller man lays on his side, half on top of II with their head buried in his stomach, hiding his face from view. Vessel's arm is noticeably bandaged, laid across the material of II's shirt that Vessel doesn't occupy, hand fisted in the material so tightly its like Vessel fears II will disappear. II lifts the arm not occupied holding Vessel close to beckon III closer, and III couldn't stop himself if they tried.

Elvira jumps down from III's arms and makes her way to lay against Vessel's back, rubbing contentedly along the length of his spine before settling down with her tail flicking back and forth.

III crawls onto the bed and takes up residence on II's other side, laying the blanket over all three of them, II laying his arm over III's shoulders to pull them closer. II's chest is warm under III's head as III reaches out and grabs Vessel's hand with his injured one. Vessel doesn't pull away, doesn't make a sound or move at all except to blink slowly at III, like he's not all there in his own head. Even so, he squeezes back, entwining their fingers together, careful of each of their claws.

III notices something for the first time then, notices that while he and II have long, sharp black nails, Vessel's are shaped a little differently. His are sharper, curved down only slightly. III glances to Elvira, whose tail he can still see as it slowly flicks back and forth as it lays over Vessel's hip. Vessel and Elvira's nails kind of look similar, in a way II and III's don't. He lets the thought linger in the back of his mind, focusing back in on Vessel and II beside them.

The bond remains shut, but III can feel Vessel's skin on his own now, the touch grounding him to the reality that Vessel is alive, Vessel is okay.

None of them keep track of how long they lay there until II, forever the sleepiest one out of the two of them who can sleep, eventually succumbs to exhaustion and begins snoring lightly. III forces themselves to stay awake for Vessel's sake, but after a while, can feel their eyes begin to droop in exhaustion as well. For as much as the Second and Third Vessels don't need sleep, human emotions are taxing at least and utterly draining at worst, and the last couple hours have been an exhausting affair.

"Sleep." Vessel says, and at first, III thinks he is calling out to their God.

That is not the intent behind Vessel's words, and he refuses to use that power unless its required for their health. Vessel really is only urging III to sleep because the other is tired, and does not need to stay awake to keep Vessel company. Already, Vessel is coming back to himself from where his mind had half slipped away from his body. He'll be back soon.

Though III shakes their head in refusal, it is only a few moments more that their eyes are slipping closed for the final time, succumbing to their exhaustion much like II had.

Vessel is content to bask in both II and III's touch, and listen to the soothing sounds of their respective breathing, II's snoring, and the occasional sniffle from Elvira at his back when she kicks him in her sleep.

Feeling III's bandaged hand in Vessel's kind of makes him want to die.

Both II and III have nightmares that night.

Vessel eats them and feels sick, disgusted with himself when they're both about him dying, covered in his own blood with numerous wounds in his arms or his thighs or both. He can never tell them what he does. They wouldn't understand.

The nightmares taste delicious, sliding down his throat so easily and settling in his stomach. Vessel is satisfied, and yet, he craves more. More.

The next morning, as the edges of the sun peek through the corners of Vessel's blackout curtains, Vessel slips out of bed, the chill of the room seeping into his bones as he leaves the warmth of the others, grabbing his mask from his nightstand and buckling it on. That warmth leaves his skin in minutes, and Vessel wants to get back in bed and bask in II and III's bodyheat, but he has something he wants to do.

His most recent journal full of lyrics sits on his dresser, and Vessel grabs it, then one of his many pens that lay about.

Gifts always seemed to placate his past partners, even if II and III were merely close friends. Friends.

Vessel is silent as a wraith as he heads downstairs, Elvira trailing after him, thankfully only meowing when they get to the bottom of the stairs. Vessel goes around turning all the lamps off first, which had all gotten left on the night before. Then he makes sure to feed Elvira, who rubs against his leg the entire time he's fixing up her food. After giving her a few careful pets on the head, he heads off.

In the kitchen, he makes tea for both II and III. A floral sort for II that Vessel sees him using often, and a sweeter blend for III, that Vessel adds far too much sugar into. Vessel likes his coffee sweet, but even he thinks the sheer amount III uses in their teas and coffee is pushing it.

He carefully pens two notes, one for each of them, wasting a few pages of his notebook to get the wording for III's as close to what Vessel wants as possible, even if he still overthinks the whole thing he has planned. As he places both of their drinks on an older silver platter that has begun to show signs of age, II's bond clears of sleep, while III's remains fuzzy.

Vessel realizes suddenly that his bond is shut off when II's panic strikes through him, distant, and Vessel can feel the faint, faint impression of II tugging on his side of the bond in frantic question. Vessel's own bond is locked shut, but he opens it a crack, so II can feel his presence again. II's bond calms immediately, and if Vessel concentrates, he can feel the relief II is purposefully sending Vessel. Guilt churns Vessel's stomach. He really hurt II yesterday, didn't he?

An idea strikes him, and Vessel tears off a couple small pieces of paper from his notebook again. Before each drink, laid in front of them, he draws a little smiley face with six dots for eyes, and their names right next to them.

II is still in bed when Vessel pushes open his door. When Vessel enters, II looks over from where he is running his fingers through III's curls. It would be comical how small II looks with III laid beside him, their head still on II's chest, if it didn't make Vessel so sad to see.

Vessel wants to be close to them that way. He's not sure when his feelings evolved from some mix of envy and jealousy into just wanting to hold both of them. Perhaps somewhere between just caring for III and loving them the same as he loves II.

"What's this, Ves?" II asks, keeping quiet so as to not wake III.

"Apology." Vessel replies, sidestepping a stack of books with grace and coming to a stop at his bedside.

He holds out the platter, and while II takes his drink, he smiles wide, but his eyes are sad. "You don't need to apologize, Vessel, I told you already. I- I- just please don't do that again. You scared me. Scared us. But thank you, for the tea. It's just as I like it." II corrects himself, voice as soft as his smile.

Vessel looks away with all six eyes, before forcing himself to meet II's kind gaze with one pair while another watches the slow rise and fall of III's chest. "Sorry. Won't hurt in front of you again." He manages, the words coming out a little slurred, but its the most he's managed in a while.

"That isn't what I meant, Ves. I'd prefer you not to hurt yourself at all." II takes a careful sip, and sighs when Vessel averts his gaze again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize. I-" II pauses, releasing a long breath before gently jostling III after setting down his mug. "Three, Ves made you tea."

III doesn't stir the first time, nor the second, but the third time II shakes his shoulder finally works. They blink their eyes open, pretty blues surrounded by endless black, squinting with sleep still.

Their mug is still steaming as Vessel holds the platter out, and when their eyes light up at the sight and they shoot up, Vessel cannot help the blush or the widening of his eyes, nor the tiny little subconscious smile that pulls at one side of his lips involuntarily. III is just so pretty.

Vessel is still looking at II, and he is also struck dumb by the others beauty. Why did Sleep have to pick such pretty vessels? It wasn't good for Vessel's heart. He knows if he could feel it in his chest, it would be thumping wildly.

III grabs the little note first, with the smiley face. They're smiling when they show II, who holds up his own little drawing. Vessel's face feels hot, and its not because of the fever he'd gotten over.

They both compliment it, laughing lightly and saying how cute it is, how accurate, and somehow Vessel's face grows even warmer.

III takes the mug with both hands, then, and without a care for the temperature, takes a large gulp. They smile afterwards, a big grin that radiates the same happiness Vessel can feel faintly through the bond, "Just how I like it. Thanks, Ves!"

III laughs when Vessel blushes up to his ears again, and Vessel folds his arms in front of himself, using the platter as a barrier, holding it tightly. While taking greedy sips of their drink, Vessel takes a moment to sit beside them on the bed, taking pleasure in the way they make room for him and also get closer at the same time. Their knees all touch as II and III sit cross legged, while Vessel bends one knee and lets the other hang off the bed.

It's comfortable, as he finds things usually are with these two. Vessel is free to simply... exist, here, in this house. II and III never yell at him for making too much noise, or when he asks to hold their hands. Their touch is always gentle, never crossing the line into painful. They're- They're both so gentle with him in ways he isn't used to.

Vessel has never loved someone who was gentle with him. He always seemed to gravitate towards people who treated him like he was used to, treated him with familiar pain and anger. II and III are nothing like the people he fell for before. He is glad for it.

Realizing this only solidifies Vessel's resolve to give them those notes, to do what he's going to, despite the thought making him nervous. It won't be much different from the contact you allow now, Vessel tells himself.

Vessel loves them, he knows. Somewhere deep inside, Vessel hopes II loves him like he says he does. Hopes that maybe III can love him like Vessel can see he loves II.

So Vessel listens as II asks for opinions on what meal he should prepare later that night, listens as III makes corny jokes that are sometimes so stupid that they all laugh anyway. Vessel gives his own input on things, with short sentences that are becoming easier and easier to say, and feels as though he is heard, he is seen, and he is not in trouble for it.

His smiles come easier and easier the longer he spends with them, and Vessel could not be more thankful to Sleep for bringing both of them to him than in that moment.

Vessel waits until the afternoon to enact the second part of his plan, going in search of the others when he's sure they're apart. He finds III first, the other in the practice room with all the lamps turned on, strumming at their bass to one of Vessel and II's songs. They're good, even if they don't have all the parts down yet. The bandage seems to be limiting the things they can do with the injured hand picking at the strings, and Vessel still feels so guilty.

III looks up when the door squeaks as Vessel pushes it open enough to get through, smiling when they see Vessel. "Hey, Ves! I was just finishing up in here before I go to water my plants! Did you need the room, or want to practice together? I know we haven't practiced as a group yet."

"Ah, no, I- Was looking for you. Want to give you something." Vessel stumbles over his words, a little surprised that III looked so happy at the sight of him.

"Oh, what is it?" III asks as he sets the bass aside carefully, standing and meeting Vessel halfway.

'Thank you for the flowers you left me on those receipts, but if anyone's smile were like sunshine, it would be yours. I've wanted to tell you.' Vessel hands over the note, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks hidden by his mask.

When III sees what Vessel has written, taking a couple minutes to squint at the elegant cursive writing, they grin brightly, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. Vessel leans closer on instinct, not quite realizing that their foreheads are nearly touching. "You're adorable, Sugar. I plan on giving you many more in the future, to go with all the ones I gave you while you were sick. And real ones, eventually! Alas, my children need watering, I'll see you in a little while."

With a sly little grin and a peck against the cheek of Vessel's mask, III bounds off with a skip in their step but not before they get to see Vessel's pointed ears turn red. They grin triumphantly as they bounce off and Vessel is left reeling.

When Vessel regains his composure, he sets off to find II. His blush is still prominent when Vessel finds him in the altar room, cleaning the offering table of invisible dust. Vessel's heartbeat pounds in his ears with his nerves, though it must be only him that hears it, since II seems none the wiser. It's a curious thing, one that Vessel doesn't want to think about.

Vessel glances at the sigil on the wall that contains his beating heart, but can't stomach looking at it for long due to the phantom pains of ripping it out creeping up on him.

"Ves? Everything alright?" II asks when he notices him, putting down the rag they were using, uncrouching and walking towards Vessel, a cutely concerned expression on his face.

Vessel does not allow himself to back out, does not let himself over think it any longer. He hands over the folded note, watching intently as II opens and then reads the single word written.

'Hug? :::)'

II looks up at Vessel with wide, disbelieving eyes, but there is excitement there too. Vessel opens his arms wide in invitation and there is no hesitation on II's part to collide with Vessel, almost knocking both of them to the ground. II is laughing, happiness surging down the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel huffs out a laugh of his own, wrapping his arms a little tighter around II.

Vessel didn't know someone could be so happy to simply... hug him. Not even with any skin touching.

Vessel had put on many, many layers of his thickest clothing, and it was greatly uncomfortable, but he wanted to hug II, just once, so he doesn't mind. II holds Vessel tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, and even then, II is keeping away from Vessel's chest, leaning his head into the space nearest Vessel's shoulder.

Vessel is swimming in elation, utterly content and happy and his heartbeat thumps in his ears and there are butterflies in his chest. Vessel adores II. Utterly adores him, body and soul.

II is one of his beloveds. Vessel would die for him, kill for him. Vessel- Vessel thinks he might have wanted to live for him if death was permanent for him anymore.

II is warm, so warm, and hugging him feels right. Right in the same way his mask brings him comfort, in the same way III's voice makes him happy to hear, just as II's does.

Vessel wants to cry, wants to hold II tighter, to never let him go. Vessel wants II to open him up and climb in to where his heart used to rest. Its where he and III already reside anyway.

Where Vessel's heart used to be, II and III have made a home, whether they know it or not. Vessel wants to live in every breath II and III inhale and exhale.

Vessel and II hold each other for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. Despite his initial contentment, Vessel grows more and more anxious the longer he hears his heartbeat. He worries that II, if he can even hear it at all, may begin to wonder why the thumpthumpthump isn't sounding from Vessel's chest, but under the floorboards and in the walls.

Vessel forces himself to start pulling away. He relishes in II hesitating to begin doing the same, hopes with everything in him that the happiness he felt from II was real, that the disappointment II is broadcasting distantly down the bond is real, that Vessel's mind is only playing tricks on him.

Vessel wants II to love him so badly he aches with it, but Vessel is a coward who is stuck under the abuse he suffered, who doesn't know what it means to be loved.

Vessel excuses himself, blurting out an excuse that he had an idea for a song, glad for his mask to hide his tears, even if his smile is true. Vessel... doesn't know what he's feeling. He's sad, happy, confused and filled with all consuming yearning.

II stares after Vessel, his own longing mirrored in the bond. Vessel wants to hold II again, but his heart stops him. It beats under his feet like a drum as he escapes the altar room, flustered and crying and elated and about to crumble under his fear of the unknown.

Vessel escapes to the practice room to transfer his emotions onto the worn keys of his piano.

After that, Vessel recovers quickly. They all paint smiles on their faces in the hopes of reassuring one another. Vessel quickly regains his usual health, though his migraine has only devolved into a headache but he is quite used to those.

He knows that if they decide it is time to give up the caring act, then he at least wants to make sure III's hand remains cared for. He can do that much, at least. It was his fault, after all.

He expects things to change, for III to lessen the casual touches but they continue to lean on him when standing near each other. They continue to ask to hold his hand, they continue knocking on Vessel's door to talk or read together.

III continues drawing him flowers, talking over his plans for the garden he wants to put out in the front of the manor. Vessel helps them design the layout, such as which flowers they'll put where, with occasional input from II. During one of these planning sessions, III asks Vessel if he'd like to help him with the garden itself, even after it was completed. Vessel couldn't refuse, not when III was looking at him with a big, hopeful grin and shining eyes.

Every drawing Vessel gets from III is pinned next to the original receipts with the utmost care. Every time Vessel leaves his room, the sight causes a smile to pull involuntarily at his lips.

II and III do not leave Vessel to rot under the weight of his negative emotions even if they cannot feel them. They comfort him in small ways, always reaching out to help, and it is only right Vessel does the same to the best of his ability.

It is a struggle to navigate III's outgoing personality, when louder noises or sudden movements cause Vessel to flinch or go silent, when he had been working so hard to get used to his new tongue and speak around the thorns wrapped around his throat at the same time.

Vessel does not want III to stop being themselves. All he wants it to get used to them, used to the way they live because Vessel does not want them to leave. Vessel doesn't want to keep letting those in his past, people whose faces he can't fucking remember, taint what he is creating with II and III but he is afraid. Always so afraid.

Faceless, nameless people haunt his every move, his body, his blood, their actions are ingrained in his soul. He is nothing without them, they made him who he is.

It is easier to forget what they did when II and III are nothing like them.

III worms himself into Vessel's heart so easily, with pretty smiles, jokes, and an exuberant personality. It feels like they belong there, beside II, in Vessel's heart. He can't recall a time when he felt this way, safe, in someone else's presence. Its easy to feel safe when II holds his hand or smiles when Vessel enters a room. It is easy to feel safe when III sits on Vessel's bed and goes over all the different plants they saw that morning, showing Vessel the rough sketches of his favorites.

The house seems to notice the change in Vessel's heart, and it's only been a little while since III arrived.

When III loses something, and he loses things often, he always seems to find it after a few minutes, returned to whatever surface is closest. II explains that its just the house, and that things don't stay missing long, that the vines are sentient and react to all of them, but not quite the way they react to Vessel.

Vessel knows better. He knows what lies in the altar room, what beats through the walls and floorboards though it is not apparent unless he is in the altar room itself.

He knows exactly why the house helps them.

Vessel always has fallen in love quickly, with the entirety of his heart.

III is flabbergasted. Utterly appalled.

"Who organized this nightmare?!" They exclaim, waving a hand at the entirety of one of the living room walls, lined with bookshelves, which are filled to the brim with books.

"Well, we didn't really... organize anything. Vessel just stuck them all down here because I told him he couldn't keep them all in his room. Some are mine, but since there wasn't any order to them, I also just stuck them wherever." II explains, sheepish.

Looking at all the bookshelves, he realizes it is a bit of a mess. There is no order to any of the placements, not to mention a lot of the books are just stacked on top of one another until they can't fit on a shelf any longer and are placed on a different one.

III sighs in mock exasperation before beginning to sort. II offers to help but III shuts him down quickly with a pointed glare at the rest of the mess. II sits back down and simply stays nearby, watching and keeping III company.

III arranges all the books on the shelves in alphabetical order by authors last name and in sections based on genre, dedicating specific bookshelves to each of them living there. It takes hours, and when they are finally done, they ask about Vessel's room.

"As I said, I told him he couldn't keep any more than seven stacks because he trips over them all the time. Nearly split his head open- Well, I'm exaggerating but he scared the shit out of me. Anyway, he now stacks them all as tall as they'll go before toppling while sticking to my seven stack rule. I'm sure you noticed them in his room while we were taking care of him."

III grimaces, remembering how they, too, had tripped one night while going to the bathroom when he was watching over a sick Vessel. Even with the night vision, they were half-asleep and their coordination was a bit off. The whole stack had fallen over, some of the pages in a couple of them getting folded, and Vessel had only waved III's panicked apologies off with a tiny, half-hearted smile.

Vessel didn't tell them that his books had often been put through worse intentionally, by others, long before Sleep came to him. That folded pages was far better than torn pages, or books where entire chapters had been purposefully ripped out. Hateful words written in with permanent marker or scribbles left everywhere.

II had always been careful with both Vessel's and his own books, and Vessel knew III did not trip intentionally, and made sure to tell III that much, at least. III's smile came out a little wobbly, and when they came back from the restroom, they had scooted as close to Vessel as the other would allow.

"Do you think he'd mind if we brought all of 'em down here?"

II takes a minute to ponder the question but ultimately decides that he doesn't think Vessel would mind at all.

III goes to ask, a little nervous but not sure why. When he knocks on Vessel's door, pushing it more open a moment later when Vessel tells them to come in, III does not let himself falter.

Vessel is laying on his bed, Elvira curled on his chest with his hand in her fur as she purrs up a storm. Vessel slides one pair of eyes to look at III curiously, keeping the top pair closed and the bottom pair eyeing Elvira with clear affection. They're adorable, and III wishes very suddenly they had a phone, wanting desperately to capture the moment.

"Hey Ves, I was organizing the books downstairs and wanted to know if you'd mind me putting yours down there as well?"

Vessel tilts his head just slightly, the action coming across a little odd as he is still laying down, but he nods easily. He bites his lip when III smiles, opening all six eyes to look at III properly, before asking shyly, "Can I keep a couple of the ones I'm currently reading in here?"

"Of course!" III exclaims, a little sad that Vessel looked so nervous to ask for something so ordinary, "Keep whichever ones you want, I don't mind. I'm gonna start taking some down, I hope you don't mind me coming in and out for a bit."

"I'll help, they're my books." Vessel says before turning one set of eyes to stare down at Elvira forlornly, "Gotta get up, Ellie."

The cat meows in complaint, stretching out over Vessel's chest further. Vessel picks her up as he sits up, her body hanging limply in his hands as he holds her so gently, meowing in docile outrage. The small, misshapen braid in his hair falls into view, II's work that Vessel had refused the shorter man upon him asking to take it out because it looked 'awful.' A few more tiny braids have been woven into other parts of Vessel's fluffy mess, III's additions that they are very proud of. If II's hair were longer, III would love to add braids in his too, but will settle for the both of them torturing Vessel with II's practicing. III and Vessel match, with the braids, and III feels warm at the thought, giddy even.

Vessel apologizes again and sets her down, where she immediately hops off the bed and runs out of the room past III's feet.

III watches her go with a smile before bending down to pick up as many books as they can carry. His and Vessel's longer arms allow them to nearly carry a stack each, and III tries their hardest not to drop any as they head down the staircase. Glancing at Vessel as he follows them, III concluded Vessel is surprisingly elegant for a man that trips over his own items so often. He's noticed it often enough in the way Vessel moves about the house, silent and lithe. He's pretty, always so pretty.

When they bring down those stacks, II follows them back up without a word, only a loving brush of his fingers against III and Vessel's shoulders as he breezes past them. II makes a comment that somehow, Vessel had accumulated more books since the last time II was in there, and there were more of them strewn about under his bed and on his desk.

Vessel blushes in mild embarrassment at being caught as he hurriedly puts his mask on, avoiding II's disappointed gaze.

Things go quicker then, as II is easily able to carry more books than they can. III makes it a game to see how many they can stack in II's arms before he loses one or II's arms get tired. No strength limit was reached before all the books were taken downstairs, II not having broken a sweat, but he had dropped at least four making his way down the staircase. Vessel had snorted quietly, an action quite unlike him, but III supposes they also thought it was funny to watch II be swamped by books that he couldn't really see past, stacked as high as they were in his arms, laughing easily and with his whole chest at II's expense with nothing but pure affection. Vessel and II glanced at each other with little smiles as they looked at their Third.

After all the books are brought down, III thanks II first, giving him a peck on the cheek. II blushes but kisses III's cheek back, right over one of their little freckles which had slowly been growing into the shape of a question mark.

Vessel is a bit jealous, but III, despite not being able to feel it as Vessel's bond is almost entirely shut off from them, quells it quickly when they walk over to Vessel, kissing his masked cheek and calling him Sugar again as they thank him for helping.

Vessel stammers out a response, too flustered to pay much attention to what was said, excusing himself, cheeks burning as the vines on the walls writhe gently, reaching out in III's direction longingly.

III laughs quietly when he's sure Vessel won't hear and assume it was out of cruelty, leaning into II who has come up to lean half against their side and back. "You're far bolder than I am."

"He's just so pretty when he blushes. I can't help it." III admits, turning around to wrap II in a hug, enjoying how the action sends mutual contentment lazily down their open bond.

They melt into each other easily, "He is pretty when he blushes. Too bad his mask covers it most of the time."

"Yeah, but the blush always spreads to his ears if I get him flustered enough, so its still kinda visible! Well worth it if I can get him to smile too."

II hums an agreement, closing his eyes as he takes in III's heartbeat and the rise and fall of their chest. III lets the hug linger for a few minutes, happily enjoying II's warmth and swaying them back and forth a little while they hold one another.

"I'm gonna make labels." III decides suddenly after a few minutes, "For each of our shelves, I mean."

III pulls way to begin writing out little notes to tape onto each bookshelf. Each section, if whoever owns the shelf or shelves has multiple genres, are given a piece of paper taped over.

They do their own first, and since they mainly read dystopian and sci-fi, it's pretty easy, adding an upside down question mark to represent themself. II's shelves get a big label with the Roman numerals for II, like his name, and a pair of crude drumsticks, and then taped to the right of his name something for the genre, 'II's Gothic horror.' Vessel only has textbooks, so that's what III puts on Vessel's shelves, of which he has quite a few, filled to bursting even after being organized. III adds a little, six eyed smiley face next to Vessel's name on his label, because it's cute, like Vessel himself.

"So, do we just not need phones?" III asks, as he begins rearranging the books on the lower shelves of one of Vessel's bookcases, after realizing they did that shelf wrong.

II smiles sheepishly, "Vessel never said anything and I was kind of leaning into the mystical messenger of a God thing. Didn't think phones fit that, uh, vibe."

"We should definitely get phones. Vessel turns his bond off, and doesn't seem to like going into town with us. It would be best if we had something to communicate with! I think he'd feel better about it too."

"Also, I need photos of you both to admire when I'm sad." III states bluntly, a bright grin directed up at II.

II blushes down his neck but laughs anyway, letting it fade out before stating seriously, "You can just come to either one of us. I'll never refuse you and I'd imagine Vessel wouldn't, even if the physical contact would be limited."

"Let me rephrase. I need photos of you both to admire whenever I want. Just to have them. You're both very pretty and I need physical evidence to carry on my person." III jokes, but in reality, they know they're not joking at all.

II snorts, but doesn't say anything further, only shakes his head in amusement, letting III continue working.

When the organizing is done, II comes to stand next to III to get a better look. III leans their arm on II's head, gently, without much of their weight and II only looks mildly put upon. III gives II a kiss on the cheek, a shy little smile afterwards. II returns it, getting on his tiptoes to kiss their cheek in return.

"The little drawings next to our names are cute." II says as III places their arm on his head again.

"Thank you. Oh! I'm getting a gaming console. As much as I love to read, I love gaming just as much."

"Sure, not like we're wanting for money. Sleep has us set for eternity with that credit card Vessel holds on to. Never played any games myself though."

"Oh, you have got to try NieR: Automata! I- Hm, I think I was only on the second ending but that shit is painful but so, so good. Soundtrack is one of the best I've ever heard."

"Maybe we can rope Vessel into watching you play then." II agrees, interested.

"Hell yeah, this game is going to make us all cry, just you wait."

The first practice session they have as a band is the most chaotic one to date. All three of them were trying to get the feel of how they wanted their music to go with a bass added in to the mix. Vessel couldn't quite sing yet, struggling with his voice still, and so they decided to work on his piano segments and how II was going to incorporate his drumming into the song they were working on.

Fiddling with the tuning on his bass while Vessel sat at his piano playing the song, III was half-watching II playing a drumbeat full of hi-hats and fast bass drum kicks, casually as though it was second nature.

When II moved to play a beat on the medium tom, his drumstick slipped out of his hand due to the speed at which he was drumming. As it flung towards the wall, silver glinted in the lights of the practice room as it spun, transforming into a battle ax with a spray of golden sparks. It barely misses III, who lets out a loud shout of alarm, jumping back and falling on his ass while simultaneously trying to protect their bass.

Vessel startles at the sound, hunching into himself and slamming his fingers into the keys of his piano, creating a discordant sound at the same time the battle ax made a loud thwack as it struck the wall.

II looks down to find that his other drumstick has transformed in his hand as well, and put a fucking hole through his snare drum.

Everyone stares in silence, stunned by what has just occurred. There was something to be said about vessels of a God having strange eyes or skin that turns pitch black, or literal fangs. It was something else entirely for an everyday item that II has used his entire life to suddenly turn into a deadly weapon while in use. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to break through a drum head as though it were paper. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to get launched in the direction of someone he cared for, barely miss them, and get stuck in the wall five inches deep.

"What the fuck." II states, with a blank expression.

They all continue to stare, looking back and forth between the wall and II's broken snare, as though II hadn't said a word. II wonders if they sit and stare at the weapons long enough, they'll turn back into drumsticks like nothing ever happened. He wonders if this was a dream given to them by Sleep-

Ah. II has an idea.

II reaches out and tugs on the bond in his chest that leads to his God, so different from the ones he shares with Vessel and III, and yet so similar. He does not tug with the same intensity or aggression as he did before, but Sleep is clearly displeased all the same when they answer his call.

"While not as disrespectful as the last time you called upon me, I am quite disappointed, my Second. What is it you have called me for?" Sleep's voices bounce around the practice room, displeasure clear as day.

"Why- Why in the everloving fuck did my damn drumsticks turn into axes?" If there was a way to exclaim something with utmost feeling while having the most dead expression in the world, II would have accomplished it.

"It is a gift. You ate the apple of Eden, and it has granted you abilities." Sleep states, indifferent to the confusion his vessels share.

Vessel turns his head away, refusing to look anyone in the eye, or even in their general direction. He is well aware what the apple of Eden is, but to find out the others ate it as well is... unsettling. His heartbeat thumps on his tongue, and its like he can still taste it, still feel the texture of his own heart as he bit into it.

II glances at Vessel and takes a gamble. At worst, the God can correct him and he'll apologize to Vessel for assuming things without first asking for a proper answer. Its besides the point as to whether Vessel would answer in the first place.

"Is it like Vessel's ability to put people to sleep?" II asks, and purposefully does not glance at Vessel as he does so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vessel stiffen further, going rigid as a corpse. Ah, so II was right. He should feel satisfied at the confirmation of his theory, but he is only profoundly saddened.

"That ability is not my Firsts. It is not meant to be wielded by anyone but myself. It is a dangerous ability, much like the Firsts penchant for-" Sleep pauses, and everyone turns to look at Vessel as he frantically shakes his head, six eyes begging Sleep not to say anything.

"As I was saying, you have all been granted a gift by eating the apple of Eden. It is only a matter of unlocking them." Sleep continues as though He had never even mentioned another dangerous ability that Vessel is using, "My First and Third ate the entire apple, so their gifts will be stronger. You, my Second, ate everything but the core. Transforming your drumsticks into weapons of battle will likely be the extent of your gift alongside your superior strength."

II will not be forgetting the God's slip up. III either, from the way they squint in displeasure, their brow furrowing alongside the thinning of their lips.

"My... strength?"

"Yes, you are far stronger than any human ought to be. Especially one of your... stature. You're quite vertically challenged for males of your species."

III cannot stop the laugh that spills from their lips, a little high pitched and unsure. Even Vessel, who has remained silent and tense, manages a small, silent huff of a laugh.

"Yes, well, thank you for answering my question, Sleep. That was all I wanted." II bites out, flustered as his brows furrowed in something akin to anger, perhaps outrage.

There is a laugh that echoes around them, sounding as though it was from a man and a woman, a child and an elder, fading into nothingness.

With an answer given, the silence wears off quickly.

"Sorry Vessel, didn't mean to scare you, but that sure scared the fuck outta me." III apologizes, and Vessel slowly untenses, glancing nervously at the weapon in the wall with one pair of eyes, III as they finally stand from the floor, and the last pair on II.

Plucking the ax out of his snare as though it weighed nothing, II walks over to grab the other from the wall. Despite how deeply its stuck, he pulls it out with ease. The weapons look right in his hands, as though he was always meant to wield them.

"Suppose I'll be keeping these in my room until I figure out how to turn them back." II mutters, before heading to the door, bond radiating fervent upset.

III has wandered over to Vessel, trying to coax the other into standing. He remains frozen in his seat, two pairs of eyes now watching II as the last set watches III. Through his mask, which he continues to wear nigh on constantly, unlike the others who do not feel the need to hide around people they care for so deeply, his expression is hidden from view. Without the bond, without being able to see his face, Vessel's feelings remain a mystery.

"Vessel," II stops just before the door as III silently rejoices Vessel letting them hold his hand, "I'm not upset with you, to be completely honest so you don't think I'm angry. I'm upset you hid something dangerous to your health from me, and clearly there is still more I've not been told. I just- I want to talk it over with you."

Vessel loses some of the tension in his shoulders, then, disbelieving relief creeping into the cracks of his soul. He knows he cannot avoid this, no matter how he wants to.

"Tomorrow." Vessel states, hoping that if he gets it over with faster, the longer he'll have to pick up the pieces of his heart when they learn what Vessel has done for them.

He knows they will not be grateful. They do not seem to like anything Vessel does that puts his body in harms way. Its something Vessel doesn't understand, but has grown to expect from them.

As the day turns into night, Vessel emerges from the practice room he had insisted on staying in, long after II left, no matter how III tried to convince him to go rest or come out for dinner, even just to be near while the others ate.

Quiet laughter can be heard as Vessel makes his way into the upstairs sitting room. He pauses at the top of the staircase to listen as III giggles at something II has said. It makes him smile, but also causes sadness to weigh heavily on his chest.

III opens their door to leave his room, an empty mug in hand, just as Vessel turns to head to his room.

"Vessel!" III sounds so excited, so happy to see him, and Vessel wants to believe he's reading their faint emotions right in the bond so badly.

"Did you want to sleep with Two and I tonight? We've got room!"

The vines on the walls tremble with Vessel's heart, his longing and desire. Vessel glances at III's hand, hanging limply at their side. The bandage is starkly visible. Shame fills him up, foul like tar, burning the back of his throat.

Vessel shakes his head. Vessel... doesn't want to refuse. But he is afraid they'll notice his lack of heartbeat. He's too afraid of the outcome of tomorrow. Perhaps he should bask in the affection they are willing to give him before they take it away but Vessel is a coward.

The hope Vessel felt faintly through the bond crumbles, but III smiles anyway, a wobbly thing that Vessel can tell they're barely holding up, "Okay, um, we'll- we'll see you in the morning then?"

Vessel gives a shaky smile back, unable to help himself as he walks forward, moving his mask up a little to leave room between it and his skin, taking III's hand and placing it under the mask on his cheek. Vessel leans into it, closing all six eyes for a moment, before pulling away, dropping III's hand and fixing his mask at the same time.

"See you in the morning."

III stares after Vessel as he turns away, not seeing II come to lean against III's door frame.

"'Night Ves." II calls out quietly, but Vessel doesnt turn around, no matter how he wants to.

They both watch him go, desperately hoping he'll turn back around and join them anyway.

He parrots the saying even quieter before his door shuts behind him firmly, hoping they don't notice the tears dripping down his chin.

#poly sleep token #vessel sleep token #sleep token band #sleep token iii #sleep token sleep #sleep token #fanfic #sleep token fic #polyvessels

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ccss10987 · 1 year

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Happily Ever After

Notes: Definitely the longest thing I've ever written. I'm very proud of it. Thank you so much to @tss-storytime Without this big bang I never would have written something this long. Thank you so much to ivaryn0 and aperezvalderrey for beta-ing for me. First time for that, so everything is written so much better. Definitely would be as polished without them. And of course huge thanks to @hyperfixated-homo for making such beautiful art for this fic. I love it so much. You will too. Be sure to check it out (here)

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Patton, Janus, Remus, and Logan, also orange side

Words: 26K all together

TW: Remus, major character death, fantasy violence, swearing, slight description of a panic attack

Summary: The narrator controls the story. That's how it's always been according to the many history books in Roman's kingdom. Just like his family before him, he has to go on a quest of his own for his happily ever after. Roman's story goes something like once upon a time, a prince saves a princess then gets married. Prince Roman decides this is absolutely ridiculous. He goes on a journey with his personal knight and meets some other people along the way. A witch, two thieves, and a dragon tamer. This story line does end with a happily ever after, but it turns out that happily ever after isn't all what it seems to be.

Links: Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, also on A03

Chapter 1: Destiny

Roman’s peripherals started to line with an orange glow as he began to wake. He sighed in a tired annoyance. “What is it this time?” he asked in his empty room. He made no move to get out of bed, only rubbing the sleep from his eyes

“Once upon a time, there lived a prince named Roman. He was to be going on what he would call an “epic adventure” today”. The narrator stated with a stern and clear voice.

“Nooooo! I don’t want to!” Roman whined. He turned on his side and put a pillow over his ears trying to drown out the narrator’s voice.

Usually, he had no problem getting out of bed and getting ready for the day. His appearance was very important to him and sometimes it would take him hours just to get his hair just right. A strand of brown hair in the back of his head would always stick up and ruin his whole appearance. It was such a problem that he gave it the name Linda. Anyway, today was different. How could he possibly focus on his appearance when today was the day he had to follow his destiny?

“Roman decided to get up anyway, for he knew this was his duty in the story. His parents went through this, and their parents, and their parent’s parents.” his narrator told him.

Roman took the pillow off his head and threw it at the ceiling just for it to fall back down on his face. He glared at the pillow harshly with his brown eyes.

He knew the narrator wasn’t in the ceiling or walls, but after years of the narrator telling him what to do to get ready for his destiny, he got used to looking at the ceiling of whatever room he was in whenever the narrator decided to put his two cents in. Roman noticed that other people got into this habit as well.

“Roman threw a pillow at the ceiling but got out of bed anyway for there was a knock at the door. He had to answer it for it was of great importance.” Roman rolled his eyes at this, but there was a knock at the door and it might be important. The narrator liked to exaggerate things in order to get him to do what the narrator wanted, but it also might actually be plot important. Roman learned the hard way that it was better to waste time on unimportant things than to be in danger after ignoring a warning of some kind.

Roman sighed loudly, and practically rolled himself out of his soft and cozy bed, glaring at the ceiling while he walked over to the door. He made sure the narrator knew Roman hated him every moment he got.

“Is it important?” Roman asked the person on the other side of the door. He put his ear up to the door and listened closely. There was a moment of silence before a response was given back to him.

“I’m being told to tell you it’s extremely important.” Everyone had their own narrator for everyone was the main character in their story.

Roman recognized this voice as his personal knight, Virgil. He was one of Roman’s closest friends. They were supposed to be close because it was important to the plot or something. Roman wasn’t sure they would have become friends otherwise. They absolutely hated each other when they were first introduced. They used to make fun of each other and call each other names. They still do, but it’s less hurtful and more playful now.

“Alright. Just give me a second to get decent.” Roman called to Virgil through the wooden door.

“Don’t take too long. I’m not going to be waiting out here forever.” Virgil told him.

“Oh and you call me the dramatic one,” Roman scoffed. “It doesn't take me forever to get ready.”

“Biased opinion.” Virgil laughed. “If I wasn’t out here, you would take an hour just to decide what to wear.”

Roman pursed his lips as he looked at his large array of outfits for the day. He didn’t want to annoy Virgil or prove him right by taking too long, but he wanted to put at least a little thought into his appearance today.

He chose his white princely outfit with golden tassels on the shoulders and on the front of the shirt was a bright red sash. The shirt also had his kingdom’s emblem on the right shoulder. This outfit was by far his most favorite. The colors complimented his brown skin. It was also the most comfortable along with the most fashionable outfit he owned.

He spent a few more minutes looking at his appearance in his vanity before his narrator got too annoyed with him.

“Roman opened the door, for it was of great importance.” The narrator told him, starting to get louder and more impatient. Roman groaned.

“Fine. I’m opening the door! Are you happy!?” Roman yelled at the ceiling while opening the door.

“Roman opened the door without shouting or complaining like he usually does.”

“Too late. I’m shouting at you, and I have complained.” Roman chided while pointing at the ceiling accusatively.

Roman swung open the door with a bold smile, excited to see Virgil and whatever he had that was important.

Virgil was standing in front of the door, slouching and holding a tray of breakfast. His fair face peeked out at Roman through his bangs from the black cloak with purple patches he always wore. The knight was wearing all black as usual with the exception being the patches on the cloak. He didn’t normally wear a suit of armor like the other knights, because Virgil’s expertise was stealth and quick attacks. Neither could be done very well in a loud, heavy, clunky suit of armor, so he opted for all black and dark colored clothes with some black pigment under his eyes.

Roman wished he got to see his face more. His lovely brown eyes light up whenever he’s happy about something. Freckles that were just barely noticeable dusting his face… Virgil certainly was the fairest of them all. Fair meaning pale of course.

“Well, that’s not really important.” Roman huffed, as he put a scowl on his face. He looked down at the tray, hiding his face from Virgil’s view.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” Virgil offered, handing the tray of food to Roman.

Roman gave a dramatic sigh and took the tray. “I know you and I know you didn’t eat breakfast, so why try to get me to eat mine?”

“I did eat breakfast.” Virgil defended himself. Roman raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms at this. “A small breakfast.”

“How small?” Virgil was quiet for a while, trying to think of a good answer or to stall long enough to have Roman change the subject.

“A handful of oats.” was what Virgil came up with eventually. Roman rolled his eyes and shook his head as he pulled Virgil into the room.

“I can’t be in the room. I have to be stationed outside. What if something happens?” Despite his anxieties, he allowed Roman to pull him inside the room. Virgil had been in his room plenty of times before without getting too anxious. Recently, however, he seemed nervous in Roman’s room, and around Roman in general.

“Someone could come inside through the window. Maybe this food is poisoned. You clearly have to try it.” Roman said, pushing the tray toward Virgil.

“Someone can’t come in here through the window, this is the tallest room in the castle. They would have to scale the wall.” Virgil scoffed.

“Tell that to Rapunzel.” Roman shot back.

“If the food is poisoned the food taster would have noticed.” Virgil told him.

“Maybe it’s a slow acting poison. Try some fish to make sure. ”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he ate some of the fish. “Are you happy now, your highness?”

“Very.” Roman told him.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me. Scream if someone’s trying to kill you.” Virgil stood up off the bed and walked across the room. Roman chuckled and began eating the food on his tray.

“When Knight Virgil closed the door, a letter seemed to fall from the ceiling.” The narrator stated.

Roman watched a letter fall from a crack in the ceiling, then continued eating.

“Prince Roman stopped eating his breakfast and walked not even five feet away and picked up the mysterious letter.”

Roman chuckled and shook his head. “How about the narrator started working on more realistic plot devices, and Roman kept eating his breakfast for this was of utmost importance.”

“Maybe the leftovers from breakfast will be extremely useful later. Also, you can’t just use my words against me. It’s very hard being a narrator, you know. ”

“Yes. It sounds very hard, telling me what to do every day.” Roman said, pushing his carrots into the corner of the tray. He swears every time he tells the chef he doesn’t like them, they put more on his plate.

“That’s the easy part! It’s hard getting you to do what I want. I am in charge of making sure you achieve your destiny and receive a happily ever after! I thought you wanted that. You used to listen to everything I told you to do when you were a child.” the narrator yelled. The orange in Roman’s eyesight got brighter and covered more of his peripherals. He was also starting to get a headache. Nothing too serious, just something that happened when Roman ignored the narrator for too long.

Roman rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time the narrator started yelling at him. It was all fine and good until he didn’t get his way. Then the narrator would just start yelling until Roman did what he wanted. He was used to it and it didn’t stop Roman from making snappy and witty comments. “Are you complaining and shouting right now? What a hypocrite.”

The narrator scoffed at him. A strong wind blew through his window and picked up the letter and blew it towards Roman. It fluttered around his head and landed on his tray.

“Real realistic wind.” Roman muttered as he pushed the letter on top of his carrots in a poor attempt to cover the horrible aroma.

“I’m trying to do my job here. Just read the damn letter! It’ll take only a few minutes of your time. I am begging you here.” The narrator said, breathing heavily as if he used up a lot of his strength.

“I am busy. This food is of utmost importance.” Roman told him while continuing to eat.

The narrator was silent for a while and the orange glow and headache started to dissipate.

As soon as Roman finished eating, another gust of wind blew the tray of carrots onto the floor and the letter fell gently onto his lap.

Roman closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You can’t make me open my eyes. I’m never gonna read that letter, I’ll never save a princess, and I’ll never get married. Ever.” Roman stated.

“You are acting like a child. This is your destiny. This is the story you have to follow. Everyone gets their happily ever after and you will too.” The narrator told him.

“Are you alright?” Virgil asked him.

Roman jumped from the bed, opening his eyes. The letter fell to the floor. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I heard a loud noise… and I was told to.” Virgil mumbled. “You really should listen to your narrator. Isn’t it easier to just let them make the decisions for you?”

Virgil always listened to his narrator. He was in fact terrified to not listen to his narrator. To him, his narrator was a godsend. His narrator made all the hard decisions for him and he never had to think about it.

“Not for me. The idea of destiny is fun and all, but I don’t like the fact I don’t have a choice in how my life ends up. I hate following the orders of some voice in my head. Isn’t this whole narrator thing a bit bizarre? Have you ever even questioned it? Do you know how long this has been going on?” Roman was pacing as he talked. His hands spoke just as passionately as he did.

Virgil let him rant, watching him pace around until his view was surrounded in an orange glow. He began to focus on his narrator’s voice instead. “Knight Virgil saw a letter on the ground. ‘What was that?’ he thought. ‘Could it be a warning?’” Virgil’s narrator said to him. His anxiety spiked and he rushed to pick up the letter going through all the worst case scenarios of what could be written on it.

Roman was too deep into his rant that he didn’t even notice that this was happening. His narrator was quiet as Virgil read the letter.

“Roman.” Virgil said. Roman was still pacing and talking, so he couldn’t hear Virgil trying to get his attention. “Roman!” Roman stopped suddenly and looked at Virgil. “Sorry,” he apologized. “For yelling.”

It was at this moment, Roman noticed the letter in Virgil’s hands. “Please don’t tell me you read that.” Roman pleaded. He watched as Virgil’s eyes were tinted with orange. He groaned, knowing Virgil would listen to his narrator over him. He pouted and crossed his arms, but accepted the fact that he would learn what was in this letter whether he liked it or not. Everything that was destined to happen, happened anyway.

“Knight Virgil started reading the letter out loud to him.” Roman’s narrator told him. Virgil read the letter quietly to Roman who slumped down on his bed, sighing loudly.

“There’s trouble in the Kingdom of Thera. Um, Some ink spilled on the paper here. It’s my fault… There's more ink smeared here. Get here as quickly as you can. I am putting my trust in the nonsensical narrators to get this letter to someone who is expected to help if anyone even is. Signed, L.”

Virgil put the letter down on Roman’s vanity. “Sorry.” he mumbled.

“I know. It’s fine. I just don’t want to do this.” Roman told him. Virgil nodded in understanding. There were plenty of times his narrator told him to do something that he didn’t want to do. He did it anyway of course, but he could understand the fear of the unknown.

“What do we do now?” Virgil asked Roman. His narrator answered for him. “Knight Virgil accompanied Prince Roman on a long journey to the Kingdom of Thera on foot.”

“On foot!?” Virgil and Roman said together. They looked at each other. They knew their narrators had said the same thing.

Roman sighed. “Well Sunshine, we might as well get this over with. As soon as my story is over, the narrator will go away and I’ll never have to hear his annoying voice giving me instructions ever again.” Roman said, getting up. He grabbed Virgil’s hand and dragged him out of his room.

“But I thought you didn’t want to follow your destiny. I mean I could go alone. That would mean I follow my narrator and you could go back to your life even if that would mean becoming a script-breaker.” Virgil told him.

“I could.” Roman said. “But a whole kingdom is counting on me, so I have to for them. I’m destined to be their hero. Also, I’d have to deal with him yelling at me. He’s never been this pushy before.”

“That just means this journey will be important… and really long.” Virgil complained.

“Right, we’re going on foot. I own several extravagant carriages and I have to walk for two days to the neighboring kingdom.”

Roman traded his sash for a red leather vest to try and hide the emblem of his kingdom. You could never be too careful after all. The journey was long and therefore they would most likely run into a few gangs of bandits.

The two left the room and started on their way out of the castle. Virgil was listing off all the things they might need to take with them and Roman needed to let his parents know that he would be gone for a long time and he wasn’t kidnapped or dead.

Roman’s parents were in the throne room taking suggestions from the citizens of their kingdom. They were scripted to be kind to their subjects. Of course, they’re also nice just to be nice. He was glad they didn’t decide to become evil like all the script-breakers he learned so much about.

There weren’t any records of someone scripted to be evil and choosing to be nice, but there were plenty of stories of people who became evil even though their narrator told them otherwise. Sometimes these stories were told to children to make sure they did what their narrator told them to do. Roman had definitely heard his fair share of stories like these. It was practically all that was read to him when he was a kid.

Roman’s parents noticed him and Virgil were waiting. They sent the citizen out of the room and called Roman forward.

“What is it, my dear child?” his mother asked him, her eyes sparkling with orange flakes.

“Prince Roman told his parents the frightening news of the Kingdom of Thera. He was excited to fight whatever threat ailed them, but of course, he was filled with nothing but sympathy and compassion for the people of Thera.”

Roman rolled his eyes and told his parents, “My narrator told me to go to the neighboring Kingdom of Thera walking on foot with Knight Virgil to follow my destiny or something like that. They’re in danger, but for plot reasons, they couldn’t tell me why they are in danger. Not to mention the person who wrote the letter claimed they caused it.”

His parents frowned, showing disappointment. His mother was the first to speak up. “Well of course you have to go.” she frowned at him. “You should be happy about this. It’s your destiny and your path to happily ever after.” she told him.

“Clearly we haven’t taught you well enough to be happy with your narrator’s decision. You should always listen to your narrator with no complaints and plenty of enthusiasm. It’s the only way to get your happy ending. ” his father told him, looking down at him sternly. Specks of orange also sparkling in his eyes.

Most people, like Roman’s father, didn’t agree with people that chose not to follow their destinies. Not only were they more likely to become evil according to the history books, but they interfered with other people’s destiny as well. They were all for chaos and destruction and can’t be bothered to think of others.

“I know, father.” Roman looked down. Virgil looked at him with sympathy. He knew that people with numerous generations in their family who followed a close storyline were likely to be hard on their children. One person could ruin an entire line of happy endings.

Virgil was lucky in that way. His parents were told by their narrator to leave him on the doorstep of an orphanage, so Virgil didn’t grow up with parents pressuring him. He often wondered if his parents regretted it or maybe they just didn’t want him for whatever reason and disobeyed their narrator. He couldn’t blame them for whatever reason they had.

He was absolutely terrified of his narrator telling him that he has to make an irreversible life changing decision. He was told that old friends of his that he used to hang out with were bad influences, so he had to leave. It was something he thought back to a lot, but it was probably for the best. How many people were forced to do something like that just because their narrator told them to?

“Knight Virgil was overwhelmed with worries for he was so deep in thought that he didn’t listen to a word that was spoken to him, Roman, or the king and queen.” his narrator broke him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t paying attention. What did he miss? He was so busy spiraling that he was spiraling into an entirely different direction now.

“You two can leave now.” The king stated plainly. Virgil bowed, then turned and left with Roman.

“Once they were out of earshot of the king and queen, Virgil admitted that he wasn't paying attention.” Virgil’s narrator told him.

Virgil opened his mouth to follow orders, but Roman started speaking. “You weren’t paying attention? That’s not like you. Are you doing alright, scare-amour?” Roman asked him. Virgil jumped up and looked at him. Roman’s narrator must have told him. One of the many bad things about the narrators. Not very many secrets are safe.

“Yeah. I wasn’t paying attention because I was too busy worrying about something else. You were listening though, right?” Virgil asked him. Roman nodded.

“Yeah, they told us to be careful and scolded me for a long while about arguing with my stupid narrator…” Virgil watched as Roman’s eyes flashed orange for a few seconds. “Oh shut up. I didn’t ask you.” Roman huffed at the ceiling.

Roman felt already prepared while Virgil was still fretting about things they don’t have but might need. “Do you think we’d ever need a saddle?” Virgil asked.

“We’re going on foot. Why would we need a saddle? Roman countered.

“You’re right. You’re right.” Virgil took a deep breath and went through all of their belongings once more. “I think we’re ready.”

Since the two were ready, they left the castle, the guards lowering the gate when they saw the prince. The two walked out of the town with Roman stopping at nearly every person they saw to say farewell on the way.

Virgil admired how confident and talkative Roman could be. There was so much passion in his voice, and the way Roman smiled made his stomach do flips. Maybe he was just a little jealous of his charisma.

The two looked at the dirt path with hills and a large forest in the distance. Roman sighed.

“The two adventurers started walking forward, without knowing the dangers that lurked ahead.”

“Oh, shut up.” Roman told him, looking up at the sky.

#my writing #sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #orange side #fantasy au #human au #roman is a prince #virgil is a knight

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