#love this the fool is literally just bread being slowly baked

[absolutepokemontrash]

I come bearing a request! The Brothers with an MC who's really good at cooking and baking? Like, the stuff food blogs dream of. Master-level instagram pastries. Could compete with the chocolate guy if they put their mind to it.

👀 ooooo, I do love me some pastries-

(I know you have an *ahem* distaste for Lucifer, dear moot, so enjoy Lucifer acting like a bit of a dingus in his section!)

Lucifer

Oh, the human can cook. *insert asshole eyeroll here*. Great. Wonderful. Groundbreaking. That’s what’s got all his brothers acting like- what was that word Levi used? Simps? This human has turned six of the seven rulers of hell into a bunch of simps.

Sure, the human has near godlike cooking prowess. Sure, everyone looks forward to their day for cooking. And sure, everyone thinks the human’s pretty great.

Tsk, not him though. He’s a refined demon. Some silly food isn’t going to make him a lovesick fool… did he smell eclairs..?

Lucifer peered into the kitchen to see MC carefully taking a tray of eclairs out of the oven and letting them cool off on the counter. His favourite dessert… right there in front of him…

Due to not being a total moron, MC notices Lucifer and asks him what the hell he’s doing just standing ominously in the doorway. Lucifer makes up some bullshit excuse about reminding MC to do their homework and just leaves. Okay, game plan, he needs those fucking eclairs or he will spontaneously combust.

As he snuck into the kitchen that night, Lucifer took a moment to briefly wonder why he was creeping around his own house. He was the Avatar of Pride for pity’s sake! He could eat whatever he damn well pleased! Oh shit was someone coming- no? Okay, back to sneaking.

Lucifer crept into the kitchen, saw the eclairs, and all logic was thrown out the window. Time to eat!

“BEEL NO! NOT THE- Lucifer..?” “…” “…” “…you’re very talented, MC, do you mind making more of these?”

SOMEONE SNAP A PICTURE! THIS IS THE CLOSEST LUCIFER HAS GOTTEN TO BEGGING IN THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!

Mammon

Ugh, stuck babysittin’ some dumb human, how lame…

As Mammon was throwing a “I’m broke and I’m stuck in a pact with a dumb human” pity party, the most heavenly smell entered his nostrils. Cooking… good cooking… was Barbatos visiting or somethin’? Nah, Lucifer woulda made a big fuss about gettin’ ready for Lord Diavolo. Huh, so what was goin’ on in the kitchen?

Huh? The human? The human can cook? Well damn, maybe this whole deal wouldn’t be so bad. Oi! MC! As payment for babysittin’ ‘em, he got to have an extra big share of- OW!

Did- did the human just hit him with a spoon?! Th-they can’t do that!

Apparently they fucking can. Mammon gets told to sit the fuck down and wait for the food like everyone else. He grumbles on the way to the dining room, but he can’t fully hide his excitement to try the food.

The food even looked pretty! How did they do that?! Magic. It had to be!

After everyone’s tastebuds were blessed with the heavenly substance that is MC’s culinary exploits, Mammon decides he needs to get on this human’s good side in order to receive more food! Maybe even find some way to make a profit or somethin’!

After weeks go by of trying to suck up to the human without looking like too much of a chump, Mammon eventually realizes… hey, this human ain’t so bad. They’re nice, they make him feel good about himself, they give him headpats… he’s really hit the jackpot here!

He’ll offer to help MC bake or cook, but beware, he will try and sample the food before it’s done. Don’t let him lick the spoon!!!

Leviathan

First thought? This human ain’t shit. Thought after seeing their food? WOAAAAAAAH! JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME-

He was unceremoniously cut off by Beel asking demanding seconds. Humph, fine, he doesn’t actually care about this dumb normie food anyway.

…well at least until Levi saw a little something something on TV that he just had to ask MC to try and make. He shyly knocked on their door and when they answered, Levi shoved the screenshot in their face and stuttered out a dinner request.

On the day MC was supposed to make dinner, Levi poked his head into the kitchen and tried to make it look like he was just standing in the same room as MC and not checking to see if they were making his dinner request.

Not that he’d blame them for not doing that… who’d wanna make some anime dinner for a yucky Otaku- OMG JAHSHSHABA THEY’RE MAKING IT! *fangirl squeals*

As Levi continues to commit the SIN of being in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, MC eventually just asks him if he’d like to help out.

“Here! Just keep turning the takoyaki.” “R-really? You trust me?” “Yes, Levi. You watched how they made it on your show, right?” “Yes! I won’t mess up! I swear on my honour as an otaku!”

All in all, it was a very cute bonding experience for the two. Now it’s a regular thing. Levi requests something for dinner or dessert, MC makes it, Levi helps out.

Satan

So, the human can cook. That’s nice. At least someone in this literally god forsaken house can.

He makes sure to thank MC every time they cook, then he makes sure to thank whatever deity is watching over him that Solomon wasn’t the human staying with them.

As the months progress, Satan realizes, he should learn how to cook better. I mean, Levi and Mammon were somehow both improving in their cooking endeavours, and if MC could teach those two, then he would be a breeze.

Satan walked into the kitchen and simply asked if MC needed any assistance with what they were doing. MC just slid him some garlic to dice and that’s how this mentor/student relationship was formed.

Satan was a star pupil, but Mammon and Levi weren’t above trying to sabotage Satan’s progress to get him to leave.

Here’s the thing, the sabotage worked, but it only worked once, and the two idiots didn’t stop to think that maybe they shouldn’t sabotage the meal they were going to have to eat later.

Well, cooking lessons continued uninterrupted after the ghost pepper incident…

Even when he’s ‘graduated’ their little cooking class, Satan’s always willing to lend a hand if needed. He also will slyly hand over some recipe books and cute baking supplies that he finds. MC should be prepared for lots of cat related things to come their way.

Asmodeus

The human can cook? Oh frabcious day! He’s saved from a life of his brother’s mediocre cooking! And the human’s so cute too! What a bonus!

Not only is the human cute, but their food is just so… aesthetic??? Pretty???? Omigosh he just has to get a picture for Devilgram!

For the first few months, MC’s relationship with Asmo consists of Asmo not at all subtly asking to take pictures of their food and post it to his Devilgram. Listen MC, his followers would just love it!

Being the saint-sheep they are, MC lets Asmo sit in whenever they’re making anything in the kitchen. And Asmo slowly realizes “hey, this cute human with the awesome food is actually pretty cool too!”

New Mission: Make the human fall madly in love with him so they’ll want to hang out more.

Whether the mission succeeds is up to MC of course. (I mean, I’m already smitten with him sooooooooo-)

MC offers Asmo a lot of the pastries they make, but the Avatar of Lust almost always declines. Listen honey, he’s on a diet- wait, don’t make that sad face! He’ll eat it! Look! It’s- it’s delicious…

Diet cheat day is now every day MC makes dessert. The feeling of bliss Asmo gets when he takes a bite out of anything MC makes is only second of the treats is second only to the joy he feels at seeing MC happy that he likes their food. It’s just so wholesome I can’t-

MC’s food Devilgram has almost surpassed Asmo in terms of followers and honestly- he isn’t even mad.

Beelzebub

Gasp! Lucifer finally got him the pet personal chef he’d always wanted! Thanks big bro! :D he’ll be sure not to eat this human!

On the first night MC was supposed to make dinner, Lucifer needed to hold Beel back from breaking into the kitchen to see what was causing that heavenly smell. It was, difficult… especially because Lucifer hadn’t slept in three days.

When they all sat down to eat, Beel practically inhaled everything and held up his half bitten plate for seconds.

We here at Stupid Headcanons incorporated recommend that MC have as many bodyguards as possible stationed around the kitchen at all times to ward off a hungry Beel. We don’t want him eating the ingredients and half-tempered chocolate.

A cinnamon roll through and through, he’ll eat everything MC gives him with a big ol’ smile on his cute little face. He’s not the best person to go to if MC wants advice or critique because the best thing Beel can usually muster is “it was really good.”

As Luke said in Lesson 5, Beel would make an awful food reporter. But we love him.

Similar to Levi, he’ll give meal requests on what to make for dinner. (At this rate, MC’s going to have to make some kind of list).

He kind of just waits by the door like a sad puppy whenever MC is making anything because he can’t get into the kitchen :(

Belphegor

The smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house did reach the attic and it only fuelled his rage more. How dare the human win everyone over with cookies?!

After the attic incident, Belphie was won over with cookies.

Belphie just stands creepily in the kitchen doorway whenever MC is making anything and just makes shit really uncomfortable. Why’s he doing that, you may be wondering, well, he’s trying to calculate the energy needed to swipe the bowl of cookie dough and sprint to safety.

He never succeeds, mainly because once he gets to the bowl, MC already has the wooden spoon ready to smack him, so he just freezes mid-theft and slowly puts the bowl down.

“Oh my gosh, it says let the bread dough rest overnight? Let’s get a headstart and go to sleep now.” “Belphie what-” “I made a pillow Fort, come in. Let’s sleep.” “In the kitchen????”

How’d he make the pillow Fort without MC noticing? Years of experience. He’s trained in the art of- MC? What do you mean you can’t sleep right now and you need to get a head start on shaping fondant?

…he may have eaten the fondant while MC wasn’t looking… whoops… Beel may have rubbed off on him a little…

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

pippin👏 with👏a👏tall👏reader👏 (could you make it veryyyy fluffy?) ((also the reader is human oop))

Big Heart

Fluff and Humor (also a touch of Angst)

----

You met the little hobbit, Pippin, on the journey to destroy the One Ring.

It was by chance that you managed to run into them during their time in Rohan, but completely by design that you ended up their escort to Gondor.

You were one of the best riders and horse tamers in Rohan, so it was only natural that you'd be sent as their guide since the mission was so vital.

And, as time went on, you began to develop feelings for said hobbit.

His mischievousness and humor drew you in easily, and you've never met anyone who could make you laugh as much as him. It was only natural that his winning personality, and ridiculous decisions, would capture your heart eventually.

It's funny, because he wasn't even trying. He's just a natural comedian I suppose (as is his cousin, Merry, who you're also quite fond of).

After all was said and done and the battle for Middle Earth ended, you opted to join the hobbits on their whttps://archiveofourown.org/works/17413022/chapters/70134579/edit#ay back to The Shire and keep them all safe and healthy during their travels even though you and Pippin haven't... discussed anything as of yet.

And, the day before you were scheduled to leave and head back for Rohan, Merry and Pippin approached you sheepishly and asked if you would like to stick around a bit longer.

Now you agreed of course, why wouldn't you? There's nothing left for you back in Rohan, there never really was in the first place other than your title and reputation as a good rider.

Staying in The Shire is nice and all, but there are some things about it that really, really bother you. The scale of everything being one of those things.

The ceiling are low, and the hobbits are even lower than that. You've bumped your head on Pippins high ceilings many times, always forgetting to duck down low since your height was never an issue (much less a factor ) in Rohan.

You'll probably get used to it eventually, but, are you even planning on staying long enough to get used to it? It's not like you've moved there or anything, they just asked you to stay longer.

You and Pippin really need to have a talk.

When this realization hits you, you decide to idly wait in his dinning room while he's out and about.

Now you may be wondering, what on earth does Pippin have to do during the day?

Getting into trouble with Merry, of course!

Sometimes they steal, sometimes they do odd jobs for the other hobbits in The Shire, but, most of the time, they just hang around and smoke outside in the lovely weather.

You, on the other hand, chose to stay inside and enjoy some time to yourself up until these thoughts began to cloud your thoughts.

It isn't until the sun begins to set and the firebugs begin to roam that Pippin comes home, and he returns to a pot of tea and some freshly, baked scones.

It's hard as shit to cook in this tiny little cramped kitchen, but you made it work and the end product was fluffy, flaky, and delicious (so maybe they're more like biscuits).

As soon as the blond-haired hobbit walks in you greet him from the other room, settling on one of the too small chairs with your knees that hit the edge of the table.

He walks into the room you're in and greets you cheerily, zeroing in on the food like someone who has been starving for the last week. It was expected, though, because he's always hungry (even for someone as small as himself).

"Be sure to spare some, Pippin." You warn with a joking edge to your voice, eyeing him with a falsely stern stare, "You need to leave some for me."

Pippin only smiles at you with those shiny white pearls of his and snatches two of the breads from the plate they rest on, "Does one sound fair? It sounds fair to me."

You stare at him blankly and don't offer any sort of quirk our lips or even an eye-crinkle, making it seem like you're wholly unamused by his jokes.

His smile slowly fades when you take on this sudden no nonsense attitude, and you find that you can't keep up the 'unhappy' facade for too long.

Almost in unison do the both of you burst out with laughter, because, clearly, neither of you were actually taking this situation seriously.

You could never joke around like this or enjoy yourself in the likes of Rohan, you had no one to share such moments with in the first place, but it's quite shocking to realize just how much you needed this.

How much longer could your mind have survived such a monotone and honor obsessed environment? This is the exact change of pace that you needed if you wanted to live through your 20's and not die of boredom.  What's so fun or great about being a good horse rider anyways? Well, actually, to be fair it was fun at one point, but then it became your job and everyone had such high expectations that it kind of just sucked the fun out of the one thing that didn't leave you stultified to no end.

Anyways, the both of you cease your laughing eventually and you proceed to swipe and snack on one of those little treats you made, noticing the way that the both of you fall into a mostly comfortable silence.

Your gaze drifts back over to the hobbit sitting in the hair adjacent to yours and you find that he's already looking at you with an expectant edge to his gaze.

Everyone treats him like an idiot, but he's not so much stupid as he is unwise and foolish. He could sense there was some sort of unease rolling off of your shoulders and making the atmosphere slightly tense, definitely not something an idiot could notice so easily.

"You've got something to tell me. Or is it something you want to ask?" He's all business now.

"Yes, I do." You confirm with a shallow nod, gaze flickering over his face, "Something has been troubling me as of recent."

His blond curls bounce a bit when he nods his ascent to continue, and the movement draws your eyes as your brain begins to wander in search of a good way to approach the subject bothering you.

"Truthfully, Pippin, I haven't a clue what I am doing here anymore. You asked me to come to The Shire and I did, and then you asked me to stay, and I did that as well, but we are reaching a point where motivations and reasonings are becoming sparse. I know what my intentions are, and though I have not made them quite clear, which is what we need to talk about. What are we doing, Pippin?"

When you finish speaking your piece and look back at him again, you see that his head is hanging slightly and he refuses to look at you almost.

His eyes are sad and it makes your heart pang painfully in your chest.

"I... I am not so sure myself. I asked you to stay because I... um, Merry and I, don't wish to see you go." He puts down the hardly eaten 'scone' and scoots his chair closer to yours, looking up at you with a slight frown, "If I'm being honest, I can hardly imagine what it would be like if you were to leave, now."

"Yes, I know that much. But what am I doing here? I have little purpose at the time being, all I do is sit here or outside all day and do nothing . I wait around for you to get back because you and Merry never invite me to your schemes, and you do not invite me because I stick out. Literally."

You surprise even yourself with this 'outburst' because you thought your insecurities were only Pippin-deep. As much fun as you have with Pippin, you still feel like an outsider. Who do you talk to really besides Pippin, Merry, and sometimes Sam.

He looks even more sad than before, and you realize it probably sounds like you're thinking of leaving.

"I suppose feeling purposeless just bothers me-"

"I-I don't want you to go." He starts, surprising you slightly since he never really interrupts anyone. "You never treat me like a fool, and you always listen to what I have to say even when I don't make sense. Like, now I suppose. But it is more than that, too. T-The way I am and I feel when you are around is unlike anything I've known before, and, well, I don't wish to lose that or you."

You sit and listen quietly while he pours his little hobbity heart out and even wait some more after that, because this is exactly what you've been wanting in terms of communication.

"It's strange, you know I'm not usually like this, but even thinking about you leaving at this point is painful. Would I be too hasty in saying that I...," he trails off, seemingly contemplating what he needs to say next, "I may have fallen for you?"

There it is, that's exactly what you were waiting, and hoping, for.

"No, it wouldn't be. I've confessed as much myself already; in fact, I'd say you were quite late in saying it." You can't help but to tease him, and it appears to work out well for you because his face flushes and a sheepish expression softens his determined countenance. "Well, anyway. That is all well and good, but I must also say that it doesn't change my lack of excitement. And since you are the one keeping me here, it is your responsibility to mend this fact."

His forehead creases as he thinks it over and his mouth twists with thought, then his eyes light up and he smiles brightly. "Well, Merry and I could get you into all sorts of trouble, if you ask us to. We don't leave you out because you're too tall, we do it because you do not seem to be the scheming type.”

Well, that’s fair. And also unexpected. The whole ‘height thing’ was your primary suspect, but it seems like you’ll have to let it go.

“You don’t know that for sure. I can scheme like no other if I choose to. I just… do not normally choose to, is all. Take me with you, I demand it.”

The lightheartedness returns, and it successfully brings up the mood as well.

You reach your hand across the table and place it over his carefully, offering a fond and warm smile to him which he returns in kind. What a strange thing, being comforted by someone half your size with double the personality that you possess.

“Alright, Merry will be excited to hear that.”

“He’d better be.”

"But...," he trails off and you fall silent to show him he has your full attention, "I wouldn't be truthful if I were to say that I haven't had my own troubles."

You nod your head once and allow your hand to fall back to your lap.

"I think you are beautiful. One of the loveliest people I have ever seen, meanwhile I... am a short, foolish hobbit that few people take seriously. Surely you could have, and do, more than what I offer. A hobbit hole with... low ceilings that your forehead has met many times and clutter in almost every corner."

You're shocked that such a thing could bother someone as uncaring as Pippin - well, uncaring in a sense that he doesn't care for others opinions on himself - and it pulls at your heart strings.

"Pippin, if I had any care for something as trivial as height then I would be a hypocrite. If you're too short then I must be much too tall. And if your house is a mess than Rohan must be incomprehensibly disastrous." All of these things are true in your eyes, and you hope to help him see through the same lens as you. "Those things matter to me not, I wish I had made you understand that sooner."

He smiles at you and you smile back, and in this moment you feel at peace. A couple of shared words won't immediately extinguish the insecurities and issues that have come to surface over time, but they make it easier to bear.

"Besides, you may not be a big person, but that heart of yours is one of the biggest I've ever had the pleasure of benefitting from."

He blushes again, and it does things to your heart.

You never thought you'd fall in love with someone so short and mischievous, but here you are.

It's peculiar.

"Well, I suppose we should seek out Merry. I'm ready to get into some trouble."

"That makes two of us."

[sunflowerstalks]

Shining Just for You

Sometimes, after a long day of running Out and About and *literally* saving the world, a moment alone together was what Roman and Virgil really craved.

(title from ‘mirrorball’ by taylor swift)

This is my gift for Patton, @4ngstyc00kie​, for @sanderssidesgiftxchange​! I hope you enjoy your gift, and I hope your holidays were and continue to go well! :D

(sidenote: the recipe for the pretzels in this fic can actually be found here! i can personally vouch for em they are SO good)

word count: 2199

rating: gen/teen and up (for slight language)

content warnings: none; mentions of food and kissing; slight anxiety attack, but for like two sentences; slight innuendo i guess?; two mentions of cannibalism but in a debate context and not in any detail

relationships: romantic roman/virgil (focus), romantic logan/patton (background), platonic sides (all of em)

characters: roman, virgil, logan, patton, janus, remus

additional tags: superhero au (v subtle, i guess), coffee shop au

The bell above the entrance to Out and About chimed as the door swung inwards, the puff of warm air and smell of pastries loosening the tension in Virgil’s shoulders. The door fell into place behind him as he hung up his snow-dusted coat—he smiled at the jackets already haphazardly strewn across the hooks, familiar leather and denim and down in the shades of his friends signaling his status (yet again) as the last one to arrive. Though, Roman wasn’t even off for another thirty minutes, so Virgil stopped himself before falling down that rabbit hole of self-loathing. He waved to the table where Patton was currently sidled next to Logan in the corner booth, both of them sat across from Remus and Janus—their faces were flushed from the cold and already bright with laughter, but Virgil knew Roman would forget the rest of the world entirely if not reminded of their biweekly after-hours confabulation, so a venture into the kitchens was necessary. The group returned his greeting, before falling back into the passionate conversation that resounded around the shop, twinkling against the glass and settling into the wood. Virgil chuckled as he ducked under the counter, pushing open the heavy doors into the kitchen.

Virgil sucked in a breath, opting to lean on the doorframe for support rather than interrupting… whatever his boyfriend was doing. Roman was a vision, sleeves pushed back, hands dusted with flour, twisting loops of dough over and over before setting them aside—Virgil vaguely identified them as pretzels, but the way that even fluorescent lights struck Roman like a  sunset to marble clearly took precedent. Virgil cleared his throat, hating to ruin previously-said perfect moment, but nonetheless aware of the endless teasing the pair would suffer if they spent too long on their own. Bastards, thought Virgil, as Roman looked away from the task at hand, shaking himself out of his reverie. But his smile came back just as fast and twice as brilliant when he recognized Virgil, immediately making grabby-hands at his person. Virgil giggled (which he would never admit to anyone other than the witness, but it was sort of the point that it stayed between the two of them—it was the point of this time alone in the first place), and made his way into Roman’s arms. He was sure his shirt was getting dusted in flour and spices, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when all he could sense was Roman—yeast and oak and love and warmth and home.

“You’ve made me a sap,” Virgil whined—though it came out as more of a mumble, thanks to the position of his  face pressed into Roman’s shoulder. A rumble, as Roman laughed, loud and strong, and against his reputation, Virgil smiled like the lovestruck fool he was, and tucked himself further into the crook of Roman’s neck.

“As much as I love surprise hugs from my paramour,” Roman fiddled with the hair at the nape of Virgil’s neck as he spoke, “I do need to get back to baking if we’re ever to join the others.” Virgil huffed, ever the dark cloud Roman adored;

“Do we need to though? I mean,” Virgil unentangled himself slightly, pulling back only enough to grasp the strap of Roman’s apron, “really, I think they’ll be able to handle thirty minutes on their own, don’t you?” He looked up at Roman innocently through his lashes, like he wasn’t absolutely certain that he was what Roman would rather be focusing on—they both loved their friends more than life itself, but sometimes, after a long day of running Out and About and *literally* saving the world, a moment alone together was what they really craved.

“You,” Roman flicked Virgil’s nose, leaving a trail of flour in the process, “can be a terrible influence. Besides, you love helping me bake!”

"No, I love watching you bake—there’s a difference.” Though, in reality, Virgil’s words held little weight, as he had already found another apron and had begun tying the straps around himself. Roman cooed, and Virgil bit back another giggle—as long as he was going to help, he could at least keep himself from giving Roman any more ammo against his reputation. Thus, the pair got to work, kneading and twisting. Pretzels weren’t exactly difficult, but Virgil wasn’t usually a kitchen guy in the first place. The third time his pretzel came out too twisted and small, Virgil stepped back with what could only be described as a growl. He pressed his palms into his eyes, and focused on his breathing.

“Hey, no worries, babe, okay? Trust me. Can you look at me?” Roman circled his own hands loosely around Virgil’s wrists, a presence but not a force. Slowly, Virgil moved his hands from his eyes, smiling sheepishly as his boyfriend gave him a small “yay.” His shoulders slumped a little from the stress, but Virgil had calmed down for the most part.

“Thank you, Ro.”

“No worries, my darling,” Roman squeezed his shoulders, “Do you want to stay with me, or go sit with the rest of the group while I finish up?” Virgil considered his options for a moment, savoring Roman’s touch.

“Can I stay with you? I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be, but I want to be around you. You make me feel safe, but like, you know,” he started backtracking, “not in a gay way or anything.”

“Of course you can. And,” Roman said, kissing Virgil’s nose, “I love you, too.” Virgil blushed scarlet as Roman returned to his task, perfectly aware of the stuttering mess he had just made (even though he’d never admit it). Refusing to give in to the teasing, Virgil pressed his lips into a thin line before settling himself onto the counter, perched to watch Roman. He spent as long as he could watching before getting antsy—and when he got antsy, he got curious.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to use powers to make breads and stuff that takes this much work?”

Roman hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, but I like doing it this way. It’s not the same when it’s done with… whatever powers use. What do they use? Vibes?”

Virgil chuckled, sending a flurry of flour falling down on both of them with a flick of his wrist. Roman looked at the faux snowstorm with glee, and then at his boyfriend with admiration. Virgil didn’t show off often, but, when he did, it was for Roman (he laughed at how that was nearly always the case).

“It’s more of a feeling, I think.”

“So what I’m hearing is that I’m right—vibes,” Roman said wiggling his fingers for emphasis, the pretzels all parboiled and ready for baking. A parting (if it could be called that, as Roman was only walking across the kitchen to the oven and back) kiss was shared as the pretzels began their journey to deliciousness.

“So,” Roman grinned devilishly, clapping his hands together,  “The timer is set for twenty minutes. Thoughts on how to fill the time?”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Without raising suspicion? With our group of friends?”

“Powers, Virgil, show me more magic things! Please?” Roman pleaded with his puppy dog eyes, nudging himself as close as he could get to Virgil. In their current position, Virgil was almost taller—a truly amazing thing to be, if Virgil was being honest—craning his neck to get an awkward view of his boyfriend was not the best of times. But now, he could breathe Roman in like the light and airy pastries he had such a way with, and take him all in at once without having to drag him down to his own level. It was a nice change of pace, and Virgil—Virgil wanted to give Roman everything he wanted. So he concentrated his energy, and…

Roman shrieked.

“What a drama queen,” Virgil sighed, fonder than he’d have liked, looking up at Roman as he hovered maybe a foot above the ground, taller once again. He giggled as he swung his arms, attempting to remain balanced (though, in reality, he really had no impact on it—it was all Virgil, except for the joy). Roman made for Virgil’s hands, an invitation and a request and a declaration of love all in one. Virgil accepted, taking Roman’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers together—somehow, Roman’s smile grew even wider, and he tugged, pulling himself closer to Virgil.

“You,” Roman began, kissing Virgil’s forehead,

“Are,” His cheek,

“Perfect,” His jaw,

“Wonderful,” His nose,

“Amazing,” The corner of his mouth,

“Superb,” Roman breathed, finally kissing Virgil square on the mouth—they bumped flour-covered noses and their teeth clicked at first, but there was so much warmth that neither could bring themselves to care. Virgil smiled into the kiss, pulling Roman ever closer, holding him tight as his concentration turned from keeping him floating to keeping him close. Virgil hummed, pleased, before being rudely interrupted by the tinny ring of the timer. Roman pulled back reluctantly, giving Virgil one last chaste peck before making his way to the oven to remove the pretzels. He began transferring them to the cooling rack on the counter, and, not for the first time that day, all Virgil could do was stare—Roman was glowing, like, literally. It was faint, a remnant, or maybe a reflection of Virgil’s own powers, but it was there nonetheless. It cast Roman in a light similar to that of a sunset, breathtaking and golden and entirely overwhelming. Virgil’s breath hitched when Roman turned to look at him, and suddenly he was feeling much too small, and not at all worth the man in front of him. He decided to start small with confronting his insecurities:

“Hey,” he whispered, reverent and somewhat strangled. Roman laughed, and kissed him, still unaware of his own aura and its effects on his boyfriend. He picked up the plate of pretzels—half salted, half cinnamon-sugar—and offered Virgil his hand. He took it, gently, and stepped off the counter with Roman’s help. Their aprons were hung on the hooks, and they made their way out into the foyer of the cafe.

Patton was behind the counter at the drink machines, while the other three had spread themselves out across two booths, covering the floor and tables with papers and bags and… dice? Something of the sort—moving on. At the sound of the doors opening, Patton turned to greet Roman and Virgil, flicking his wrist to keep the coffees making themselves, but when he saw the two of them, he froze.

Regaining his composure, Patton grinned and waved. “Heya kiddos! How was baking?”

“Wonderful—look, pretzels!” Roman presented the tray with a flourish, earning a small round of applause from Patton—the others were thoroughly enamoured with their conversation, and had yet to notice the addition of the last two members of their group—but all good things must come to an end.

Remus finally looked up at the sound of laughter and clapping, and immediately smiled wolfishly—which was fitting, because he then wolf whistled obnoxiously. The trio behind the counter turned in confusion, as did Logan and Janus, pulled out of their debate about the morality of cannibalism. Logan looked like he was staring at a three headed dragon:

“Virgil, what did you do?”

“Uh,” he said, turning again to look at Roman, who was only glowing brighter, “Made pretzels?”

“Dude, you’re GLOWING!” Remus had jumped over a table and was leaning over the counter to poke and prod at his brother’s face.

“Huh,” Roman remarked, extending his arm and turning it over, “I guess I am.”

“Fascinating…” Logan had Roman’s other arm in his hands, and was closely examining how the light reacted to his touch. Virgil couldn’t help but feel a little excluded—he went from having all of his boyfriend’s attention to none of it, which was fine, and Virgil could live with that, but he didn’t think there was anything wrong with being a little jealous from time to time.

“Okay, okay, my boyfriend glows, lets eat,” Virgil huffed, stretching and wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders—as he preened under all the attention, his aura doubled in size, casting the shop in a soft light.

“Gross,” Remus wrinkled his nose, mouth full with half a pretzel, “Get a room.” Roman squawked at his brother’s teasing, and turned to Virgil to defend him (though all he did was shrug, it was enough to appease Roman). Somehow, in all the chaos, Patton, Logan, and Janus were able to carry the assorted baked goods that were left after closing, and the several drinks, to the table without incident. Janus and Logan had resumed their argument, this time interspersed with moral questions and praise from Patton—though, really, he was just paying attention because Logan looked awful cute when he was passionate. Virgil snapped his attention back to the twins, who were still arguing, albeit playfully, but far too long for his taste—he yanked Roman along through the opening in the counter (ignoring the offended noises of both brothers), and over to their friends. The remaining three fell into their places in the booth, as careful as they could, being themselves and all—and with their arrival, the night truly began.

[eternalstrigoii]

Bittersweet

“It’s just gonna be a nice little fluff fic,” I say as I start this last night. I am. So sorry.

Platonic!Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader + Diaval; Maleficent x Diaval; Borra x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

                As with all proper bonded pairs, there were times when you were not with Borra.

In the nest, those times used to be spent honing your skills, chasing captive deer through the tall, dry grass along the rocky outcroppings; scaling from the caverns to the plains using nothing but your wits, your talons, and your knees. You sparred with others, you sat with Ini in the rocky outcroppings of the nest outside, watching the cold and violent sea, and, from time to time, you entertained your kinsmen’s children with your strange ability to recall and emulate the sounds of the birds you heard on the moors.

These days, you spent an increasing amount of your free time with Diaval.

It wasn’t that you miraculously spent none of it with your kinsmen – you did, but Ini was always the curious sort, and the moors offered her a great deal of new stimulation, and Shrike had Percival. Udo always had his fledglings, and you loved him for it, but when Borra convened with Maleficent, it was in your best interest – and often also in Diaval’s – for the both of you to find something else to occupy your time.

For the moment, the days of war and battle plans were over.

So you wandered.

Whether he was a bird or a man didn’t matter, Diaval was good company. Sometimes he saved you shiny things that he’d thought you would like, and you did like them. Sometimes you lay together in the sun and you ran your talons through his feathers until he shivered (which was more amusing to watch when he was a man, and your smirk never failed to rile him).

And, sometimes, he took you to the kingdoms.

Perceforest was not a welcoming place. It better resembled a dumping ground when compared to Ulstead; the buildings were weathered and the stone streets uneven. Even its people seemed burdened by invisible forces. For a land that knew communal, council-based living (or some form of it), they still suffered. You didn’t like to go there because you knew if you went frequently enough, you would feel motivated to do something about it, and that would inevitably work its way back to Maleficent, and you would have to hatch some sort of plan.

You quite liked your free time, so you contented yourself with perching high in their trees and drawing shapes in the air until their crops flourished. Despite their farmers’ toil, it brought them some measure of relief, and there was almost always some left over for you and the raven to share.

The open-air markets of Ulstead were also a draw, with their ready-made sweets and shiny baubles, and you had yet to bother with the Midlands.

You stayed with him near Perceforest most often.

The farmer that nearly killed him twenty years ago was dead, and his daughter now owned the land. She was a pretty thing, round-hipped under her shift. Very clean. She kept house almost obsessively, and at first Diaval agreed with the thought that it was to keep nature from entering, but then she did something neither of you planned on.

She left pastries sitting on the window. In plain sight. Of you and anything else that just so happened to be looking.

You looked to your raven companion, who was, at the time, literally a raven.

He awk’d, partly flapping as his best approximation of a shrug. Do what you will, it won’t be my idea to start something.

“They smell good,” you replied. “We can share.”

He fluffed his feathers at you. No, I will not do your dirty work.

You pursed your lips so they quirked at the corner and thought for a moment. You could take one with your vines, or you could respect peace and not touch them at all, or you could find a third option that would please you both without having to cope with either extreme.

You resolved to do the latter, hopping down and quirking your fingers so that her squash vines continued to flourish while you strode up to the window.

You plucked one from the platter and made a mad dash back, going even higher into the branches than you were originally perched. Diaval laughed at you, and you swept your wing so he had to fly or be shoved off the branch by its wind.

Awk! You said something about sharing?

“You did nothing to help.” You took quite the bite only to pause and look down at it strangely. You weren’t sure what you tasted or if you liked it, so you surrendered the other portion to him.

He picked at it, and after several swallows, quirked his head back to you. Awk! Not much of a baker.

“It’s terrible,” you agreed.

Another few mouthfuls. Awk! No sugar?

You ate it, though it wasn’t as pleasant as you thought. Not pleasant like the molasses cake at the palace, or the stall-vendor with fresh raisin buns. You had no use for currency, and Diaval saw no problem with pocketing some for you from time to time.

“It’s just grain,” you said after a moment, nearly in disbelief. “Who eats just grain?”

Awk! Bread. It’s bread. Surely you must have had bread.

“That is not bread. That is…” Small and lumpy and wrong. Not much of a baker at all. “A rock.”

He quirked his head to the other side and made a low chitter of disapproval.

“What in skies do you want me to do about it? You never help.”

You swore before your ancestors if he tried to levy peace against you as an excuse, you’d smack him from the branches. Instead, he hopped onto your leg and scaled your side until he was perched upon your shoulder. And he nuzzled you, the conniving bastard.

“I will not be goaded into acts of kindness,” you hissed.

He chattered at you gently, and you could hear the honey in his tone. Oh, come on. She’s just a girl. No better than Aurora.

You scowled. Severely.

More chattering; if you help her, we can steal sweet buns.

“I should throw you in her window and see how well you manage.”

He gave you the full force of his beady, black little eyes, and you set your teeth and growled at him.

But he was Maleficent’s mate, and the scheming little brat knew you would do nothing of the sort.

“Where in skies does one find sugar?”

Awk! Awk! Don’t act like I’d make you farm it. Come on. We’ve got plenty of work to do.

He took off from the trees, and you did your best to quietly follow. You left the bread for the squirrels, though you figured if she had the guts to leave her concoctions unattended, she knew how palatable they were.

       You came back several days after dropping off the sack of sugar with a note in Diaval’s marginally neater hand. From one neighbor to another, may sweetness always be shared.

You thought he was being too obvious. He thought it was a brilliant plan.

There was no bread that time, but something was certainly roasting over fire. You breathed in the smell and your wings nearly sagged against the thick limb of your perch.

“What is it?” Diaval, the man, asked.

You had to think of it. You ran your tongue across your teeth and tried to conjure up the memory of what it might be, though it failed you. “I don’t know. It smells good.”

He fluffed with pride, and pretended to wait patiently beside you.

But it took so long. You swore hours passed, and you began to ache with hunger as though you hadn’t eaten just that morning.

She put something on the ledge before you had to run off – narrowly before you had to run off, and, this time, Diaval had no hesitation about sneaking up to the window and grabbing one of them for each of you.

You waited until you were nearly halfway back to indulge yourselves. You found a nice spot in one of the sunny meadows full of flower sprites, and toasted one another to your success with the still-hot pastries in both your grasp.

You bit into it deeply, and promptly spit it back out.

Diaval actually choked.

“How hard is it to cook sweet bread?!” you yelled so loudly it startled the willow sprites napping in their tree. “Sugar, flour, leavening – sweet cream and berries!” It smelled so good, and you wanted to enjoy it, but it was half-baked at best and the gooey center was clumped with poorly mixed batter. You yelled in frustration, threw it halfway across the field, and promptly flopped backward into the grass.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day?” Diaval offered.

“I don’t know where Rome is,” you lamented. “Structural planning and baking are two entirely separate things.”

He patted the leather strap over your shoulder. “We can go to Ulstead next time?”

You were being stubborn. You didn’t want to go to Ulstead, and you didn’t want Perceforest to be a miserable little town. You looked up at the treetops, and the sky, and the vastness of it all to avoid looking at him, because then you would have to acknowledge what the horrible little bird wanted you to do, and you would rather eat handfuls of grass than be of assistance.

“Rome is a very famous city,” Diaval began, and you reached up to put your hand over his face before he could continue.

Skies. Awful, horrible, persistent little bird.

“Speak a word of this, and you’ll be missing a wing when I return you.”

He smiled at you, the beast, like he took pleasure in your kindness. “Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it. Suren of the Cavernous Dark, helping a human. So soon after peace. What would your husband say?”

“My mate would tell you to shut your horrible little mouth and keep it that way.” You got up slowly, brushing the grass and its creatures out of your hair, and turned abruptly on your heel to go back to the little farm near Perceforest.

“I don’t think he would.” There was a note of laughter in his voice as he got up to follow.

“He would,” you pressed. “Only without so many words.”

         Are you a fool? was the introduction you’d settled on. It doesn’t take an army to bake a batch of sweet bread. You planned on the inherent sharpness of your tone to convey your displeasure.

But she was out in the fields when you got there, and you stopped short at the edge of the trees.

She was crying.

You turned around to leave, but Diaval was right behind you. You gave him a wide-eyed, furious look that implied he had better leave your path immediately or else he would never get the opportunity to be his beautiful bird self again, but he looked at you with the same manner of even-natured patience as he gave Maleficent.

You could’ve slapped the plumage right off of him.

You jerked your head quickly back toward the field. No. No! I am not dealing with this! This is the exact opposite of what I stuck around to do!

He sighed and leveled his gaze.

You could’ve beat your wings at him. Pushed him, smacked him, hurried him off. Instead, you flared and you quirked your head with a set jaw.

“Will it batter you so much to be nice?”

“Yes!” you whispered, much too fiercely. “Or did you forget that her father nearly killed you!”

He waited.

The things you enjoyed the most about Diaval’s company were also the things that infuriated you. He was lovely, intelligent, wholly without judgment and often also without reserve. He was a peaceful, good-natured bird, and there was even a part of you that would’ve admitted that you loved him the same as the rest of your kinsmen if he asked you directly.

But he could be a real bastard when he wanted to. Making you do things you didn’t want to. Having the audacity to ask. To propose you extend your kindness to a human. Skies. Disgusting. It spit on your fallen ancestors.

And yet, you turned back to her. Lowered your wings so you could actually see her. See her the way you’d seen Aurora on the battlefield, a child-queen with more heart than strength (though she grew into the latter). She was no more than a sniveling child, hardly much older than the girl you’d grown so fond of.

Beloved by all who meet her, you reminded yourself. Bitterly. Intentionally bitterly.

You waited until you were several paces away from Diaval to breathe out your fury. The warmth of summer left your body and made the lovely little flower grove perk with life anew, and the crying child looked up only to startle in fear.

“Your sweet bread tastes terrible,” you said by way of greeting.

She stared up at you with her mouth open like a fish plucked freshly from the river. You set your teeth to avoid laughing, and then you forced yourself to look away.

“You are very bad at baking, and I would like to understand why. It’s not a difficult task. Anyone can do it with the right resources.”

You heard Diaval sigh, and you beat your wing at him. Shut up. I’m being as nice as I am.

“…no one taught me.” She was crying again, for skies’ sake, and you really, truly, genuinely could’ve wrung Diaval’s neck like you meant to eat him for dinner.

Surely someone can, you meant to say. You meant to say it, but she went on before you could stop her.

“I’m trying. I really am trying. It’s just been so hard. I’m all on my own out here… the whole farm is mine to run and mine alone. And it just keeps growing.” She was…flush with her tears. She dabbed lightly at her wet face. “Now the cow’s calving and my goat’s getting old and I can’t harvest all of this by myself.”

“Have you no family?”

She gestured at the place where she left her terrible sweet bread, a plot of untilled yarrow and blooming sorrel. “I’m on my own.”

“No neighbors?” you offered. “No kin at all?”

“My neighbors don’t count for family.”

How strange humans were. How utterly, pitifully alone. Each and every last one of them made themselves into an island, as though the individual and the collective could not coexist.

“Your cow is calving?” You were more deliberate with your words. “Then they will soon have milk?”

“She already does.” She wiped her face again.

“Then you will also have milk for yourself. One calf won’t drink it all. Add it to your mixture before you bake. And stir it until it’s smooth. Whatever sugar you add that you feel is enough, add twice as much. And berries.”

She looked at you strangely, and you sighed so forcefully it made your wings move.

“I will help you harvest if you make edible sweet bread. Do we have a deal?”

“Why would you help me? You’re moor-folk. You have everything you need.”

You ignored the note of resentment you heard in favor of leveling your gaze upon her as Diaval had you. “Everything but sweet bread, which you will give to me in exchange for my help. That is how a bargain works.”

She was silent for a moment, studying you. You were no pixie-witted fairy godmother, nor was she some helpless child in need of your defense.

But she was alone, and your kind didn’t do that.

So you were pleased when she nodded, if only for the food.

“Then try your hand again. We’ll be evenly matched; everything I do for you is repaid in return.”

She nodded. “But…if I’m not good--?”

“You will improve.” It came out as much of a threat as you meant it.

        “He’s gotten very attached to you.”

You nearly startled out of your skin at Maleficent’s voice, though, to your credit, your wings didn’t fold in defense.

“Who? The little bog-thing I shooed off?” Even you had to scrub your leather from time to time, and you put effort into the task. You washed it, dried it, re-sealed it with waxes and mended all the broken spots. “It kept throwing mud at me.”

She raised her chin, and the humanness of her expression gave you pause. You huffed back a lock of your hair from your face and tilted your head oddly.

“Diaval,” she replied. Her voice betrayed nothing.

You stared at her for much too long before you shifted back onto your haunches. “Romantically?” Your feelings on the subject were much too clear in the way you said the word – you were too fond of him to be disgusted, but that wasn’t by much.

She quirked her head at you in return.

“Skies, Maleficent, talk to me. He’s your mate.”

“And Borra is yours.” The cool evenness of her tone was so familiar and yet so frustratingly difficult to constantly have to decipher. “It would be a shame to tell him—”

“To tell him what?” No sooner had you asked than you realized the implication, and you laughed out loud at its mortality. “Do you think he would be jealous?”

She stared at you. You saw the swirl of power in her eyes.

“Are you jealous, Maleficent? You? Protector of the moors, Queen Mother to all kingdoms? Great skies.” You nearly threw your leather down on the riverbank. “Diaval is my friend, and we’ve been bothering a girl on a farm outside Perceforest for sweet bread for several weeks. She’s a terrible baker, and promised to try to do better.”

“You spoke to her?” Something told you she didn’t believe an ounce of what you said.

“I did. She’s the daughter of the human farmer who nearly killed your mate when he was just a bird. The man’s dead now. She’s by herself. No kinsmen to help her.” You left out the part where you were, though you imagined she’d be able to connect the mutually beneficial dots. “I’ll take you out there, if you like. You can endure her cooking with me.” And then, without thinking, you added, “And then you can tell me why the kingdom of Perceforest is in such disrepair.”

“It’s had more corrupt leaders than it’s had good ones.” She hid nothing from you in that respect, at least. “We’re working on resolving that.”

“We as in you and your daughter, or we as in you?”

You knew how easy it would’ve been for her to throw you headfirst into the river, and yet you still talked to her like your equal.

“You’re not one of them. You know that, don’t you? You can ask for help. We’re your people, Maleficent, your family whether or not we’re blood to you.” You picked up your leather and your leather-cloth and settled back on the shore. “Conall didn’t pluck you from the sea because of your great power, he did it because you’re you. Your place with us isn’t a matter of evening out a bargain or repaying a debt. You were one of us whether or not you fought at our side.”

There was a crease forming in your side that you’d have to reinforce before it split. You’d almost forgotten what you were getting at, only to have your head snap back up so you could reply with much too much vehemence, “And ravens mate in pairs. You’re the one he wants. That won’t change because he steals sweets with me.”

She was silent for so long that you’d almost thought she left without acknowledging you. But she hadn’t, and so you sat up without thinking to pluck the bird skull at her forehead and pull her leather wrappings off.

She let you.

“I never tell Borra that I love him as a reminder. I wish I didn’t have to say the same for you.” You closed her hands around the wrapping and brushed back a lock of her hair.

Whether or not she believed you, you thought she might’ve understood. Even when she took wing much too quietly, some part of you knew that she would eventually. She had just been on her own for far too long.

           You grew nothing for the girl, but harvested much.

She spent most of her time helping you. She spent most of her time toiling still; you only came on occasion, and you had enough of a physical advantage over her to accomplish much in significantly shorter a time.

The next sweet breads she made for you were not terrible. They were not very good, but they were edible. You left half a plate for Diaval and pretended to be upset when he bounced along on raven-toes with a whole one in his mouth, just taunting you with it.

You did not help her clear the field after the second set. They were not very good, and you left the one you hadn’t finished. The squash you harvested you took with you, and it was roasted with herbs over your bonfire that night.

That was the first night Maleficent joined you.

She said nothing of your encounter at the riverbank, nor did you. She wore her hair down and Diaval the man was at her side, where he belonged.

You kept your smile to yourself for their sake.

         “Try these.”

You gave a well-warranted pause. It looked like the girl – whose name you pretended not to remember, but secretly knew – had grown bold about how elaborate she could be. The bitterness of the last batch was still fresh in your mind, and you looked at her skeptically.

“Oh!” she huffed and felt around in her apron until she had their recipe in hand. “I got it from the baker. I told him that I was trying to refine my skills,” an understatement if you ever heard one, “and he offered me this. It’s very simple, and I think you’ll like it. It’s not a bread, it’s a cake. It takes much less time.”

“You didn’t forget about it?” you clarified.

Her cheeks reddened. “No, not this time. I sat there and did my mending while I waited.”

You took one of the small cakes from her plate and looked it over for scorch marks. The bottom was brown and firm, a little flaky, and the rest was a nice, spongy lump. You took a bite in front of her, and, for once, weren’t immediately repelled.

“It’s good,” you admitted.

“It’s good?” she repeated, much happier about it than she should’ve been.

You nodded. So, you could leave her be after harvest or pawn her off on the other moor-folk. You weren’t the only one in pursuit of a coveted sweet, and you imagined, lonely as she was, she’d enjoy the company of their many over just you.

“Oh, I’m glad! I’ll have to keep one and let him know how it turned out. Tell me if there’s anything special you want, will you?”

Molasses cake, you thought with renewed enthusiasm. But you shook your head fondly and watched her rush the plate back to the windowsill as though Diaval’s approval was as necessary as yours.

He wasn’t as rare of a help as you’d thought he’d be. So, perhaps, he deserved equal share.

        The calf bleated, shoving his head into your hands.

“I know.” You rubbed the velveteen fur along the back of his neck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You’d stolen the girl’s leather-brush to help the little creature itch the velvet fuzz from his horn nubs. Like any child, he was consumed with the thing that bothered him, and you took a surprising amount of pleasure in knowing how to help.

Surprising, considering you’d been dancing around the raw place in your heart that still burned like an iron wound. The raw place flared up again when you thought about your people’s own fledglings and the balms and tonics used to soothe their growing horns.

Harvest was coming. Your people had yet to decide whether you should stay in the moors or return to the nest for the winter. A great many of you believed the moors would stay unsullied; that you couldn’t just survive, but thrive if you stayed. The others worried about the change in seasons upon your elders and your fledglings, and called to make the journey before the headwinds changed and the sea became violent.

There were several reasons why you did not choose a side.

They were the same reasons why you refused to enter Ulstead even though Aurora’s young husband sent along casks of spiced cider and mulled wine. They were early, some of the first made, and the boy could’ve talked about the orchards near the sea where they were harvested all night, if you’d listened. You refused to acknowledge them, lest the raw place begin to bleed again.

“Are you alright?”

She stopped with her wash-basket on her hip, and you heaved a sigh that moved your wings. “Can you manage the work by yourself, now?”

There was a part of you, however small, that hoped she’d say no.

Instead, she beamed like Aurora as she rested her basket on the fence and leaned over it like a child. “Actually,” there was an edge of false shyness to her voice that made you bristle, “I won’t be alone for much longer.”

The ancestors enjoyed your torment, then.

“The baker’s name is John. He’s a very good man, and we’ve gotten very close. I told him of how well the farm has done, and he’d like to join me here rather than live in the village. I agreed.”

The calf rubbed his head into your palm, and the raw spot in your heart wept.

“I planned on telling you when the molasses cake was done, but I suppose now is as good of a time as any? You can still come for sweets, but I don’t suppose you’ll need to help me when I have a husband around.”

Diaval was your blessing, then more than ever. He flew down from his perch in the barn – he’d been mousing, the loaf – and plucked a garment from the basket to take to the line. She exclaimed with laughter and ran after him, uttering some gentle variation of silly bird, and you put the leather brush down.

You did not wait for the cakes. And you did not plan on going back.

         “I’m not good company today,” you said as soon as the twig-nest rustled against folded wings.

Your warning didn’t faze Borra in the slightest. He joined you in your bed, folding a wing around your middle and using it as an excuse to pull you close. You tucked your chilly feet between his, since you’d already been laying there for a while, and got his face pressed into your hair for your trouble.

“Where do you run off to?” he murmured after a moment, certainly smelling the human in your hair.

“A girl in the valley makes sweets.” You told yourself that you kept your tone even, but you could hear yourself lamenting.

He waited, patiently, for the rest.

“Now she’s getting married.”

She was getting married and Maleficent checked in on her daughter at least a dozen times a day. Why she didn’t just leave to live in the castle, you’d ruefully considered asking. That lonely little thing would forge a life, Diaval would be a grandfather, and you…

You awoke with the dawn every morning and made your way down to the half-naked field of glowing blooms. A cemetery desecrated, countless lives robbed of their honor, innumerable families robbed of their memories generations-deep. Your little bloom finally opened during the summer. It was slow to grow, and very small, and you tended the rock-circle you made around it obsessively. Plucked the stray grass that dared attempt to bloom between them; replaced your shed pinfeathers when the ones sticking up out of the ground started to look weathered. Little Thing should’ve been inside you, growing. Warm and loved in the cradle of your body. Big or small, warrior or pacifist, whatever they would’ve been, you would’ve loved them so fiercely. You ached for them, and you would continue to ache for them even when the ache was, once more, an open wound.

You had done your share of crying. But the time for battle strategy was over, and you had no other outlet for your pain.

He pulled you close until you were so flush you could feel how he moved with every breath. Neither of you spoke for a long time; you trusted that he knew why you phrased it as you did, and he did, and so you lay there and navigated each painful reminder with the same inopportune dodging that you’d given the queen’s iron bombs.

“We can try again,” was how he broke that silence.

Your lips quirked half-heartedly.

When you didn’t respond, he propped himself up on his elbow and guided your chin until you were looking at him. You pressed your lips to his thumb when it brushed over them.

“If you want to.” He searched your face, and you thought it was entirely unfair for him to be so beautiful. You brushed your fingers over your favorite little decorative crack on his nose, breaking the respite of your misery to revere him. “If you’re ready.”

           She left you alone for about a week. Then a paper-wrapped parcel appeared at the edge of the moors with your name on it, and it was full of sweet, sticky spiced rolls.

I’m hope I didn’t offend you, the note in her hand replied. I very much liked your company, and Diaval’s. You’re always welcome to come back. Sweetness is meant to be shared, after all.

The moor-folk bothered you for portions, and you ended up stealing three rolls and leaving them the rest. Four, you decided after a moment, before the hoard descended.

One for you, one for him, and one for the people you both loved.

           Baker-John of Perceforest brought with him a cart well-stocked. He would not abandon his duties in the village, so he would simply have to go back and forth between the village and the farm. You watched them unpack said cart, your little human carrying big, stone dishes and sacks nearly half as big as she was. Her intended, not much older, brought heavier.

“And who is she?” Maleficent asked of Diaval, who told her all about Baker-John of Perceforest, who was apparently a kind and gentle, patient and loving man who your human was dearly, truly, madly in love with.

“Sarah,” you replied. John and Sarah, Sarah and John. The humans. Didn’t have the same ring to it as Maleficent and Diaval, Diaval and Maleficent or Borra and Suren, Suren and Borra, but it would do.

“They know about you?” Borra asked.

“She does,” Diaval replied.

She’d learned from you, you saw while you studied the little farm from afar. From both of you. Gone was the scarecrow, for the crows ate the pests more than the food; there was a little pile of what could not be used some ways away from everything, left to return to the soil where it could be used in the spring. The leather brush had been nailed to the fence and the calf, still shedding velvet, mooed in pleasure while he worked his head back and forth over it.

You were glad for her. Really, you were.

When she kissed him, it was warm and sweet and bright like the sun – brief, gentle, and almost always followed by delighted laughter. He brought firewood to the barn in droves, and as she gathered another satchel, she paused. Her hair fell in her face and she swept it back only to stop when she saw you. All of you.

You crooked your wing around Borra and canted your head toward Diaval and Maleficent. I’m not offended. You were the one all on your own.

She was not Aurora. She was human – just a plain, ordinary little person living a plain, ordinary little life. But when she smiled at you, at all of you…

Well, you had to stop yourself from smiling in return. Diaval would’ve never let you hear the end of it.

             “Easy.” You patted the strong neck of the no-longer-calf that ran to greet you in his spring pasture. The fields were newly tilled, and your little human wore her hair up while she planted on bent knee.

Her eyes lifted, and you weren’t surprised at all by how eagerly she got to her feet. “It’s you!”

“The winter was kind to you.” She looked happy. Better fed.

Her feet sunk into the pliant earth when she ran to you, and you let her throw her arms around you like you were an old friend. Your wings even folded partially around her.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Diaval’s been coming for cakes, but he never tells me if you like them.”

“That’s because he didn’t tell me he was,” you admitted, though you could hardly be upset with him. Awful little creature, positively doting on his mate.

She laughed and hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh no.”

“I’ll deal with him later,” you joked. “That isn’t why I’ve come.”

She straightened, taking your unexpected presence seriously. Smart girl.

“With your permission, I would like to tell the moor-folk of you. They will help you with your fields in exchange for sweets just as readily.”

She glanced at the ground with her false shyness, her bright eyes glinting just like your child-queen’s. “Actually, I’d love the help. You know my husband travels back and forth, and it doesn’t give me the help I’d planned on.”

You nodded, all business. “Then I will. They are troublesome at times, but they understand gentle discouraging.”

“Of course.” She went to one of the buckets beside the well and washed the dirt from her hands. She knew nothing of your time rebuking poachers on the moors, and you didn’t feel the need to offer that information now.

“I feel I will be of little use to you this year. I also have business in Ulstead. The queen’s had twins, and I am to be their godmother.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! Do you know her well, then? Aurora, isn’t it?” She was so pleasant, so calm. You could’ve told her that you’d taken fond to a seven-headed sea dragon and you doubted she would’ve been concerned.

“I do. She loves your village, and she’s doing everything in her power to extend the benefits of annexation across the kingdom.”

“Well, that will be lovely. I’d like to thank her myself when she visits.” She was gentle and kind, your little human, but she also wasn’t entirely foolish. She paused when you offered nothing else, and you let your smile betray you.

“Aurora’s fledglings will not be the only ones soon to discover the moors.”

You’d come all this way to tell someone you barely knew and shouldn’t have trusted, and yet the way she threw her kerchief in the air made you laugh out loud. She ran to you, pulled you close against her, and hugged you like you were kin.

She withdrew with an excited gasp, taking one of your taloned hands. “The man you were with was your husband, then?”

You quirked your head. In so many words. Your people didn’t rely on institution for a crutch the way they did.

“You – you stay right here.”

You laughed at her retreat, quietly for once. You were warm with joy and hadn’t come alone, not that Diaval could be pried away from his daughter or his grandchildren even if you’d asked him to.

Your no-longer-calf butted you in the arm, and you butted him back with your wing. “No.” Let the fledglings play with the farm animals.

Sarah waddled out of the house with a stack of nesting cloth nearly half as big as she was, as though she’d never felt the warmth of your skin and failed to notice that you could forage for your own materials.

“Here, feel free to keep or give away whatever you like.” She gave them all to you, and you had to push them down in order to see over them.

“Why are you giving me a gift?”

“Because you’ve given me one! Well, several, but if it hadn’t been for you,” and how terribly you’d confronted her about her lack of practical skills, “I never would’ve met John. They say true love is what woke Aurora, and you gave true love to me. You and Diaval.” She put her hands on the blanket-stack to help you squish them down. “I hope you both know true love in all its forms – with the people you love, and with the families you make.”

“Thank you,” you said before you could stop yourself. Aurora would get her peace yet. “I will see you again, Sarah of Perceforest.”

“I’d hope so. I wanna meet them. And your husband, when the time’s right.” You pretended not to notice that she pointedly did not glance over your shoulder, and you squished the stack of blankets against your side.

“And I, yours.”

Sarah beamed.

It was not a straightforward thing, happiness. Much the same way that peace was dependent upon the presence of war, you would ache over Little Thing for the remainder of your life – but, even though Borra didn’t say anything out loud, he still gave you a sidelong glance with just a bit too much of a quirk to his lips when you retreated into the woods with that stack of nesting-cloth under your arm.

You took one of the quilts out of the pile and flung it at him. “He goaded me into being nice.”

He caught it, folded it into a more compact form, and carried it under his arm. “As has Maleficent, I see. Aurora didn’t learn it from the air.”

               If you liked this and want to see other work, click here.

[impulseislost]

Coming Out

Chan really should’ve come out about being fae earlier

Length: 2300+ words Warnings: language warnings Characters: Chan Felix Woojin and Minho, there are mentions of the others though

____________________________

It started off just like any other day for them; Felix was lounging across the couch like some sort of cat (Which Chan just assumed he was to an extent) while Chan was watering his plants. He had been in the kitchen cooing at them and praising how big and strong they'd gotten when he'd heard the door knock.

He'd ignored as he'd heard Felix call that he'd get it and the sounds of his feet walking through the apartment. Chan looked up as the door was opened and brief snatches of conversation reached him through the open kitchen door.

Probably hyunjin then, maybe they're organising that meet up finally, He thought, placing his water bottle on the counter top and letting his bare feet glide him out of the kitchen.

"Channie hyung? You're awake?" Chan's green eyes glanced towards the door, to where a certain demon leant in the door frame, apparently mid conversation with Felix. Felix appeared to be relaxed, standing with a lean and his blonde hair in disarray from waking up.

A ruby glint shone in his otherwise brown eyes but quickly faded to brown upon spotting Chan.

"Yes? I normally am awake at this time of the morning, Minho. It's not like I'm naturally nocturnal or anything?" He replied slowly, catching Felix's eye in a pointed gaze and letting out a soft laugh as the boy looked away. How typical of him.

"Could've fooled me then." Minho murmured before shrugging loosely, "Anyway, I was stopping by to see if Felix had saved my coriander plant yet." Felix laughed quietly, his blonde bangs falling into his eyes as he glanced at Chan.

"I think Chan managed to, yeah." Chan wracked his brain for a moment, trying to remember the plant in question before he clapped his hands together in understanding.

"Oh, that plant. Yea, You were just watering him a bit too much Minho. Tone it down a little before you drown him. He says you try to do that a lot." Minho frowned, pushing himself out of the door frame in a smooth motion.

"I didn't know talking to plants was in your skillset." Chan tilted his head in confusion, exchanging a glance with Felix. The ruby in the boy's eyes returned for a moment before fading again as he shrugged himself.

Minho didn't know he could talk to plant? He was sure he had talked to a few around the demon before. Including that rose bush the younger had near his house.

It didn't make sense.

"Oh, ah, well, I do. Sorry for, uh, not telling you." Chan's green eyes darted around for a moment before coming to meet Minho's amber ones with a frown. He was genuinely confused by this.

"Must be an odd skill to have as a vampire." Chan blinked in surprise. Beside him, he heard Felix choke, On what though? Chan had to guess it was probably air or some saliva. Wouldn't have been the first time Felix had done that after all.

But had he heard that right? Had Minho really just called him a vampire? If he was a vampire, then what was Felix. The confusion must've shown on his face because a moment later Minho was speaking to him again after all.

"You, are a vampire right?" The demon had sounded so confident in his original guess of Chan's race that it was almost funny.

But it wasn't. Not quite.

"Hold up if he's a vampire, what the heck am I?" Felix's coughing fit had ended, and now he sounded just as confused as Chan felt.

Chan wasn't a vampire. Minho blinked, staring between the two of them in genuine confusion.

"You're... a tree, aren't you?" Felix outright laughed at that, a grin flashed across his mouth at that. He shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh.

"Oh, Hyunjin's going to love this. You obviously haven't been spending enough time with the actual dryad in our friend group, man." Minho opened his mouth weakly to argue.

Chan took that as his queue to leave, disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve the plant. A multitude of quiet hello Chan's reached his ears as he greeted the plant filled room and crossed the room to the window.

The kitchen window was the sunniest window in the house which is why it made sense that the coriander plant had been placed there. Already, almost a week after being admitted into his care, the plant was looking much better. The leaves no longer held the rot from before and the plant preened when Chan examined it.

A smile reached Chan's lips as he picked up the plant up and carefully carried it out the room. Returning to the lounge room, he saw a horrified looking Minho and a smug Felix with ruby glowing eyes.

A moment passed, where Chan just stood in the doorway squinting at the pair, before he offered out the coriander plant.

"Here. Put him in the sunniest window of your house this time, and don't give him quite so much water." Minho shook himself into movement, sauntering across the room to get the small coriander plant.

"A'ight. Uh, sorry about the misconception, but... You do know that literally all of us think you're a vampire right?" Chan sighed, solders falling, and shrugged.

"I'll ask Woojin. Maybe it's finally time to tell him me and Felix aren't human." Felix, at the sound of his name, floated over to curl into Chan's side and nod.

Woojin's bakery was home to a variety of smells and flavours, all of which Felix was forced to try and pretend to enjoy all for Woojin's sake. In all honesty, he was sure that the sweets and things that the elder made tasted great, if you weren't well... If you weren't Felix.

Hell, at least Chan was always happy to be there.

The bell at the door made a sound as the boy pushed the door open and again as Chan followed him through. Immediately, Felix was attacked by a headache of smells that made him nauseous. Hell.

The room before him was coloured in warm browns cream with a glass case displaying all manner of baked goods and decorated with warm spring flowers. The whole place felt like home. Felt like Woojin.

It was a nice feeling. If Felix excused the feeling of nausea he got every time he walked in.

"Just a moment!" A voice called from the back of the shop before a brown haired man walked up to the counter with a warm smile. He paused for a moment, taking in the appearance of both Chan and Felix (It's not Felix's fault that Chan pushed him out the door before he could get out of the pyjama pants) before greeting the boys warmly.

"Hello Channie, hello Felix." Felix nodded in response, yawning behind his hands. Woojin smiled warmly at the pair, leaning on the counter and waving them over, "How can I help you two today?" He asked in warm tones.

You can help me by not poisoning me today, Felix thought glumly, leaning into Chan's side as he nodded. He was momentarily distracted by the way Chan's blonde curl's bounced at the movement.

"Yea actually, do you uh, mind if we talk about this privately though Hyung?" Oh, that's right, they were talking. Felix glanced back up at Woojin with wide eyes.

The human's smile faltered before he nodded and motioned for them to follow him into the kitchen. Felix wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the room, the scent of bread stronger here.

Deep breath, in through the mouth out through your nose. He told himself, following the words along before nodding once to himself and attaching himself onto Chan's arm.

Once in the kitchen, the air changed slightly, becoming harsh and wary. Was this really the best idea? A moment passed before Woojin tilted his head at the pair with a confused smile.

"So, uh, What did you want to talk about?" Felix caught Chan's curls bouncing again as he moved his head out of the corner of his eye before the elder was speaking. His words were slow, faltering. As if he was just as unsure about this idea as Felix was.

This wasn't the right idea?

"So, uh, Hyung. You know how Jisung is a siren, and Seungmin's an elemental right?" Chan started and Felix trained his gaze onto Woojin. The eldest man nodded once, smile faltering nervously. It was like he could almost tell where this conversation was going.

Felix shifted in discomfort.

"Yes? Like Minho is a demon right? Supernatural? That's the words you guys use right?" Felix nodded in response, biting his lip before he continued for Chan.

"Well, uh, Sungie, Minnie and hyung aren't the only supernaturals you know. I uh, won't tell you who else is but um..." He glanced up at Chan with a pout. This was hard, he'd never had to reveal anything to a human after all.

He was glad when Woojin nodded reassuringly and Chan continued for him.

"Me and Felix are supernaturals as well." Woojin blinked once, before he smiled reassuringly once.

"Ah, that makes sense. Mind if I guess what you two are then?" Felix blinked, suddenly relieved at the reaction. His gaze wandered away from Woojin to stare blankly at Chan's curls again.

"Sure, go ahead Hyung." Chan smiled, a nod once again dislodging his curls. It was kinda distracting. Woojin made a noise of reassurance before he continued speaking.

"Chan, I'm going to guess you're a vampire." He sounded so certain that it was almost funny. Felix couldn't help the little snort that escaped him as he snuggled into Chan's side in search of body heat, his gaze once again turning to Woojin.

Chan groaned.

"Why in the name of-- No, No I'm not a vampire, that's Felix. I'm summer court" Woojin stared at Chan blankly for a moment before he sighed, "Fae. I'm fae." Woojin blinked again before nodding in understanding. Then pausing.

"Wait, are you sure that's right? Shouldn't...?" Chan shook his head and Felix giggled. Woojin looked really confused and Felix found it amusing. God, humans were funny, weren't they?

"I can show you my fangs if that'll help you hyung." Felix was still giggling as he spoke, a smile bright on his face as he clung to CHan's arm.

Woojin nodded weakly eliciting another round of giggles from Felix. A moment passed where the boy struggled to regain his breath before he opened his mouth, eyes flashing scarlet, to reveal the sharpened teeth in his mouth, the most obvious of which of course being his canines.

There was a sound of sudden understanding before Felix closed his mouth and his eyes faded back to brown. He smiled brightly at Woojin and Chan, fingers nervously tapping on Chan's arm.

"That's uh... Cool?" Woojin stiltedly commented. Felix tensed, hiding his face into Chan's arm. Greta.

"Uh, anyway. Hyung. Do I really give off vampire vibes?" Chan questioned, moving to rub Felix's back gently. The boy purred (fucking cat) and relaxed as Woojin nodded.

"Chan, have you seen yourself? You're pretty much nocturnal, never sleep, pale as the living hells and really old." Chan blinked, letting out a little noise of surprise before he nodded.

"Ah... Uh, alright. We'll get out of your hair then. That's, all we really came to say. And I should probably get this one home" He replied after a moment, motioning at Felix as he spoke. Felix nodded, letting out a small yawn.

Woojin smiled, offering up an understanding nod.

"I understand. Take care then."

Back in their apartment, Felix asleep with his head on his lap, is when it finally hit him. Everyone thought that he was a vampire. He frowned, hands brushing through Felix's hair.

He at least figured that he should still check, and fumbled for his phone with one hand, the other busy with Felix's hair.

VIVA LA PLUTO 9 members

(@Christopher Bang) bAnG bAng BAng

do y'all rlly think im actually a vampire? y'all know im fae right?????

Minnie mouse (@dandymins) Wait, hyung You're a fairy?

Tohot, hotdamn (@dancinggem) oh is chan hyung coming out about it?

Responsible Human (@KimWoojin) I'm going to assume he is. Y'all know Chan's not actually a vampire?

(@Christopher Bang) bAnG bAng BAng jinnie I litterly just said im fae

Son of a birch (@hyunjinnie<3) that, strangely makes sense. considering you helped save my tree last winter after all

J.one is better than SpearB (@Siren's Song) huh 😑 winter or summer court????

Jisung stop lying (@SpearB) Wait Channie hyung where's Felix?

(@Christopher Bang) bAnG bAng BAng sleepin n summercourt jisung

J.one is better than SpearB (@Siren's Song) ew wintercourt is better chief 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Platn man (@freckleboi) Hung ur phone keeps buzing Makin it stop ｡゜(｀Д')゜｡

(@Christopher Bang) bAnG bAng BAng felix go back 2 sleep also sunge ur a fat liar

tooth fairy (@i.n) hyung go back to sleep

Minnie mouse (@dandymins) Lix go back to sleep

Tohot, hotdamn (@dancinggem) go back to sleep babe

Responsible Human (@KimWoojin) Felix, sleep.

Son of a birch (@hyunjinnie<3) alright felix.

J.one is better than SpearB (@Siren's Song) nou 👀👀👀

Jisung stop lying (@SpearB) ... that was way to notifications all at once (Seen by, 8 people)

In retrospect, Chan realised they probably should've opened up about this earlier. And going by the way Felix was groggily typing away at his phone, probably arguing with Jisung, he figured that it had been the right choice in the end.

He smiled at the vampire, who's head was still resting on his lap, running his fingers through his hair as he let his phone drop onto his chest.

"You should sleep 'Lix. You've been awake too long" There was a whine of discontent and Chan smiled. While he still wasn't sure why they assumed Chan was a vampire, he figured he'd just have to deal with it, it's not like it'd kill him after all.

It was actually kinda funny to be honest he thought.

[mable-stitchpunk]

Jester Lure: A Massive Character Questionnaire

Here’s a long list of questions and answers detailing Jester Lure, the lead character in my book A Fool’s Endeavor and the upcoming A Fool’s Golden Cage. The questions were taken from Charahub, a website for creating and tracking characters that was unfortunately shut down. Thankfully, a kind soul saved the list of questions- so here we go!

Short Description: Name: Lure or Jester Lure by title.

Pronounced: Like lure usually is- “Loo-er”.

Age: Early twenties.

Extra: Nickname: None, just Lure.

Occupation: Court jester to the princess of Acalathoy, full-time jester.

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Usually seen wearing a full jester ensemble of navy and cyan, fit with hat, gloves, and boots. Wears a gold and ivory colored mask that fully covers his face. Underneath his costume, he has sienna skin- affectionately called ‘cinnamon’- and soft brown hair that is usually bedraggled from his costume. 

Personality: Lure is vibrant and full of life, with a sarcastic streak and an ounce of wit mixed in. He tries to keep things optimistic even when his words portray him as a bit more cynical than that. He can be reckless at times, but is smart enough to prefer talking himself out of a situation before jeopardizing himself, and is rather good at it. There are parts to him that are sly and cunning, but Lure is not without morals, and he is very loyal to those who become close with him. He relishes his job as jester and holds his title with pride, but begrudgingly accepts that few others respects his role. He loves his young princess and enjoys the life he has with her, enough so that he is able to stifle the desire he has for travel and adventure. (Though if given the proper means, Lure will throw himself into an adventure without much preparation and find a way to stay on his feet.)

Fandom: A Fool’s Fables (A Fool’s Endeavor, A Fool’s Golden Cage, ect.) 

Sexuality: The only person Lure’s been attracted to has been another man.

Voice: Naturally warm, going between cheerfully chirp to dead flat to go with the mood.

Back Story: The backstory Lure spreads is that he was found by the queen as a baby, who was so endeared by him that she took him in and raised him as her personal jester. Sadly, the queen passed on shortly after the birth of her daughter. Lure became the princess’ jester to help make up for the lack of a mother figure. Even though the king wasn’t entirely fond of him, he helped raise her alongside the nursemaid who helped raise him.

Ongoing Story: In A Fool’s Endeavor, an attack on the castle led to the king being killed and the princess being kidnapped. Lure went on a foolhardy quest to rescue her, joining up with Apprentice Balsam, Sir Morrick, and Hunter Yves. In A Fool’s Golden Cage, Lure will be afflicted with a strange ailment and need to journey for a cure, again accompanied by his companions.

Likes: Music, Astronomy, Astrology, Divination Cards (Tarot), the overall act of jesting, reading fables, extravagant costumes and colorful fabrics, roasted pheasant and pastries, feeling like he won an argument, traveling, his close knit group of allies, tending to his princess, and being able to witness extraordinary things up close. 

Dislikes: His costume getting destroyed and needing mending, ‘peasant food’ such as sop and gruel, ‘evil’ jester stereotypes, loss of control or choice, his princess being upset, and stagnation. 

Strengths: Lure is athletic and acrobatic, and knows some self-defense techniques. He’s capable with a dagger, which he always keeps in his boot, and by the second book begins bringing a poleaxe with him. However, Lure’s greatest strength is his ability to find ways around direct fighting. If he can find a way that avoids direct conflict then he will take it. He also uses a more theatrical persona to convince others more easily, usually to mislead or get assistance. 

Weaknesses: Lure can be a bit reckless and get in over his head without considering the repercussions. He’s also of slender build and wears no armor, meaning that if confronted head on he has a mark disadvantage.

Favorite color: Blue, all shades.

Kind of clothing: As said before, Lure typically wears a navy and cyan jester costume. He has a few of these, most in the same colors but with different patterns on them. Instead of typical jester shoes, he wears leather boots, and typically carries a card pouch at his waist. 

What element would they be?: Fire. Burns warmly, glows brightly, and doesn’t handle water too well.  (At least, at the beginning of the first book.)

Theme song: Lure might write his own, but personally I could see ‘The Show Must Go On’ or ‘Seven Seas of Rhye’ by Queen.

Deadly sin that best represents them: Maybe lust- not in the typical sexual sense, but that lust for life and his job in life being to literally entertain and enthrall. 

Hobbies: Divination Card reading, instrument playing, reading, and dabbles in astronomy and alchemy at times. He also enjoys playing games like chess, cards, and backgammon.

Special skills/talents: Lure is a gifted virtuoso, learning how to play the harp and lute at a young age. As such, he can pretty much work with any string instrument and make some form of music, even if it is new to him. He’s also good with making up song lyrics on the spot. There are other various things, such as juggling, tumbling, and various ‘jester’ acts that would be expected. Knows some self-defense. 

Patience level: Depends on the circumstances, but Lure’s capable of grin-and-bearing through many situations if the need comes. If in a situation where it doesn’t matter what he says, he will willingly speak his mind.

Regrets: During A Fool’s Endeavor he regrets letting the princess get captured, even when he truly tried to protect her, but gets over it by the second book. Lure’s not the type to linger on past stakes after they are no longer relevant.

Favorite places: Lure has a few special places. The princess’ bedroom and playroom is one of them, as this is where he spent most of his time in raising and playing with the young girl. The courtyard is also a place where he frequently gets away to. Even though introduced to it at a poor time in his life, Lure is fond of Alchemist Coffcord’s home. It is the only ‘quaint’ home he would prefer over the castle setting.

Role model: He looked up to both the queen and the king while growing up. 

Favorite foods: Roasted pheasant, venison, tarts, pies, mousse, freshly baked bread, rich cheese, sugared and glazed nuts, and fruits such as figs, plums, and pomegranates. 

Favorite book: He loves fairy tales, fables, and legends that he can read and then retell to others later.

Mode of transportation: Across the books he’s used various means of transportation- mostly walking- but he knows how to ride a horse.

Weapon: Keeps a dagger in his boot that he got from Balsam. During the second book, Morrick gives him a poleaxe to defend himself.

Smells like: herosmellslike.com claims Lure smells like ‘spring water and desert’, so lets go with that.

How do they feel about love: Lure has experienced familial, platonic, and romantic love and is for all three. As cynical as he is, he makes bonds with people and then does all he can to keep them.

Least favorite color: Dull grey or sunken brown- if it is worn out and faded. 

Home town/Where they live now: the Kingdom of Acalathoy

Makes a living by: Being the court jester and personal playmate of the princess.

Fears or phobias: During A Fool’s Endeavor, Lure copes with a fear of water and drowning, but he slowly overcomes it and faces it by the end of the book. One of his biggest fears is, ironically, to lose his title of a jester and be forced to the life of a nameless, faceless jester.

Race, ethnicity and nationality: Lure is a citizen of Acalathoy and of mixed ethnicity, with his mother being fair skinned and his father having a darker skin tone. Music they listen to: He likes most kinds of music, but especially likes flute music- perhaps because it is the one instrument he has limited access to and is completely unpracticed in.

Bad habits: The closest thing would be Lure’s pickiness with food.

What turns them on: He’s excited by displays of strength and passion, but also has an extreme soft spot for those who are willing to show a gentle hand.

What turns them off: Romantic-wise, he is not interested in anyone like himself, ironically enough. He’s also disinterested in ‘stuffy’ people who lack passion in something.

If they transitioned from their world to ours, how would they react: Lure would put on a bright face and be full of quips, all while withholding the inward horror that none of his survival tactics would work here... Though he would probably like how accessible entertainment is. 

Religious and to what extent? Any spiritual beliefs?: There are various religions in Lure’s world. He worships one that may be titled ‘Fateism’, which worships the Creator, Death, and Fate. While Lure is not overly religious, he does seem to believe in some divine being.

Pet peeves: The biggest one would be the constantly passed around belief that jesters are evil and shady. Though he also doesn’t like narrow-minded folk or people unwilling to listen to reason.

Personal problems: Lure must constantly wear a mask to hide a secret that isn’t just his.

What ONE item would they take to an uninhabited island: Probably his dagger. It has so many uses.

Outlook on life: A cynical realist, Lure actually has a positive outlook, believing that it is worth fighting for a better life.

Most important person in their life: Even with a romantic partner and friends, Princess Vivianne would still be the most important person in his life. He does all he can to protect her and keep her happy.

What was your character like as a child: He was attentive and well-behaved, listening closely to his queen and learning everything she taught him.

What (if they can) does your character eat: Usually whatever the princess is dining on or served to the court.

What is something other people assume about your character?: That he’s evil, both in story and out of the story. That evil jester plot point is tough to shake. XD

Do they like the name they were given: Lure loves his name so much that the fake name he occasionally uses, Cajole, is just a variation of his own name.

Nervous habits: He tugs at his collar when he gets flustered or overheated.

Siblings: Short answer: Yes.

Wears jewelry: Only if the mask counts.

Have they ever wanted to commit suicide: Never. Even at his lowest point, with his princess gone and his home destroyed, him at a loss and running out of options, Lure was desperate but unwilling to give up. He will risk his life for the slim chance he can succeed, but he is not suicidal.

Close friends: Balsam would be Lure’s closest friend. Their clashing personalities fill a void that each of them has and over the course of the books they become almost like brothers. Though Lure might worry Balsam at times, but he also guides him to be more bold. Likewise, Lure trusts Balsam’s word and is the first to assure him that he is more skilled than a simple apprentice.  Morrick originally start at odds, but then they start to acquire a mutual respect and understanding. Which then involves into something deeper and less friendly. While Yves is largely standoffish with everyone, Lure and Yves do become friendly and respect one another. They also share a similar interest in dry humor. Elia is the nursemaid who Lure has been close with for years, and is more of a motherly figure than a friend. In the same vein, Lure seem to look to Coffcord like a grandfather figure.

First kiss? (when and with whom): Spoilers: . Lure’s first kiss was with Morrick. If counting non-mouth kisses, his first is one Morrick gives him on the neck while on board a ship to Olaylark. The first true kiss would be between Lure and Morrick in an inn not too long after this. 

Views on gambling, lying, killing, etc...: Lure’s views on morals are not black and white. He makes playful jokes about those who give into temptation, but he doesn’t show real disdain for them. While he doesn’t think highly of lying and stealing, he is willing to do either if it is a situation where the greater picture is more important. Especially if it might lead to a life or death situation. While Lure believes self-defense is justified, him actually having to kill someone would horrify him- as seen in the first book. 

How much do they value money: Because of Lure’s circumstances- growing up in a court without much need for it- he sees money as just a tool and a means to an end. When in the castle, he’s willing to hand over shillings without care. Outside the castle, he’s willing to perform and tell fortunes to make shillings if it means supporting him and his allies.

Wants to get married: A private ceremony would be fine with him.

Wants to have kids, raise a family: He pretty much raised the princess, but he wouldn’t be against raising a ward or orphan offered to the court. Chances of him having his own children are unlikely.

Sworn enemy: None anymore.

Is their name a pun of anything: Lure’s name is literally a play on entertainment. That being said, the name Lure can be a stand-in for the name Leroy, which means ‘the King’. This was something I found out after naming him, so it wasn’t on purpose. XD

Anyone they really hate: During the first book, he despised the King of Olaylark, who was the one who attacked his kingdom and took the princess.

Most traumatic experience: Even with the horrible attack on the castle, the death of the queen is still what he considers one of the worst periods of his life. Largely because of how quickly she passed.

Favorite holiday: The Feast of Fools, a jester themed holiday that falls close to what we would see as Christmas. Slightly different than the Feast of Fools from our history, the day is seen as a celebration of merriment, playfulness, indulgence, and gift exchange. 

Well, that’s it for now! Hope you enjoyed!

[noa748]

Do you have the Trigun Si posted anywhere?

nah.  but for your amusement, here’s what I have so far…

The sky is an unbelievable shade of blue.

The observation sparked a sense of déjà vu in him.  The temperature was unusually mild today and the sunshine more cheery than severe.  It almost felt like he was being mocked.

That’s right.  I remember thinking the same thing the day I met…

…The day he met that terrifying man in the white jacket.  The last person he had met that made him feel such an utter lack of control.  He felt like he was unraveling today, just like he had back then…

Another step.  His feet felt like they were weighted with lead.  History repeated itself, didn’t it?  Here he was, alone all over again.

His brother was gone.  Vanished.

Well, that wasn’t right.  He was certainly somewhere, but there was no trail to follow.  He hadn’t even taken his gun, which was unthinkable.  Had he been in his right mind?  Still injured, he posed a threat mostly to himself—but fully healed, he was a threat to humanity.

Vash the Stampede wasn’t sure what to make of it.  He just knew that the moment he lost track of Knives, he had to leave everything he had built for himself behind.  No one he loved was safe with his brother on the loose.

Rem… how could I have been such a fool?

His pack felt heavier than normal; his shoulder was already getting sore.  He wasn’t used to traveling like this anymore.  He had practiced shooting and worked out every morning for the past six months, but he had still softened up.  He hadn’t realized how much he had been hoping for it all to finally end… until it hadn’t.

He was thinking a lot about the past today, as he trudged step by step through the desert to the city of Octovern.

The girls, at least, were safe.  They were going to be angry with him for leaving, for doing this again, but they were safe.

One night, back then, they almost hadn’t been.  The night he’d taken a life to save them.  How much more would it take to protect the ones he loved?

God helps those who help themselves, friend.

He could hear Wolfwood chastising him even now.  It was the truth; he would just have to keep moving and hope for the best.  He was just so damn tired… couldn’t he be shown some kind of sign, some kind of pat on the back telling him it’d be okay in the end?

Just as he had this thought, he crested a hill and caught a glimpse of a crumpled figure on the other side.  For a moment his breath caught in his throat and he forgot his weary musings; then the figure shifted weakly, and he unthinkingly broke out into a run.

—-

Hey.  Hey… miss—are you okay?  

It was hard to differentiate the voice from the hazy dream I’d been having.  Was this another hallucination?  Blond spiky hair, red coat, bright blue eyes… I knew him.

“Vasss th’ zampeede,” I managed to mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again.  My tongue felt swollen.  There was sand in my mouth, in my eyes, jammed into every crevice in my body.

He froze for the briefest of moments, but then I saw him shuffle around for something in his coat.  Something touched my lips and then water, glorious water was flowing into my mouth.

I grabbed at the waterskin and managed to take a solid swig before he tore it out of my hands.  The water stayed down for about two seconds before my stomach revolted and I threw it back up.

“Easy now,” he said quietly, lightly rubbing my back.

When I shakily reached for the waterskin a second time, he kept a firm hold on it and let me have a little at a time.

—-

Who is this girl?

She knew his name.  That alone was coming as less and less of a surprise nowadays, as people started to learn the full story and hear his name associated with more positive deeds.  Without Knives actively working against him, the tides had begun to slowly turn.

But something about her was so strange.  First of all she was carrying no pack, just a small purse slung over her shoulder.  She wore jeans and a t-shirt—nothing to shield her from the desert sun, which was made even more evident by the sunburn she was sporting.

Nothing to shield her save for the cap she wore, a style he hadn’t seen in a long time.  The logo on the front of it read “Patagonia”.

Her shirt had a logo on it, too.  It said “Anchorage, Alaska” and had picture of what looked like… were those mountains?  He had only seen mountains in the books he’d read as a kid.  Alaska…

“The last frontier,” he muttered to himself.  A memory was stirring, though it was hard for him to sort out his thoughts with his mind muddled from exhaustion.

She was still severely dehydrated.  Her short hair was mussed and full of sand from the desert wind; she was sunburnt and her lips were cracked.  He could think about these abnormalities later.  First order of business was to get her out of the sun.

Octovern was still a few iles away…

Oddly enough, he found a little more pep in his step now that he had someone to support.  She would die if she was left out here; he couldn’t afford to drag his feet.

So Vash set off at a much faster pace for the city, the strange girl slung over one shoulder.  For the time being his problems were on the back burner.

—-

For a while the stranger-but-not-a-stranger carried me, and for a while everything was dark.  Time seemed to blur together and my perception of events was hazy.

Then, finally, everything became still and I felt almost centered again.  I was made aware suddenly that I was lying in a bed, eyes closed.  Sunlight was filtering in through my eyelids.

I awoke to see a fairly plain, generic looking room with white walls and wood flooring.  There was a glass of water and a tray with a few medical instruments on the nightstand next to me, so I guessed that maybe I was in some sort of clinic.  A tall window to my left was open, and the sheer white drapes hung over it blew in the warm breeze that was coming in.

There was a man sitting in an armchair against the wall.  He wore brown pants and a white button up shirt, his blond hair slightly messy but still standing in near vertical spikes.  His eyes were closed and he was propping his cheek against one fist.  I noticed a small beauty mark under his left eye.  Such a small detail, but so telling—suddenly I was absolutely certain that I knew this man.

Of course I knew him.  I had spent half of my awkward early teens idolizing him.  

There were a few vague memories coming back of an endless desert and the unforgiving sun… and a man in a red coat, leaning over me.  It was definitely him… but how was it him?

Water.

Suddenly I remembered and the need hit me like a freight train, but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate the way they were supposed to and I flailed so hard trying to reach the glass by my bedside that I fell clean out of the bed.

The man in the chair woke up with a yelp and was fussing at my side in an instant, though all I could muster with my dry vocal cords was a disgruntled groan.  After lying there grimacing for a second, I made grabby hands at the glass of water that was still out of reach.

The blond sat me up and placed the glass in my hands.  I gingerly took a few sips, suddenly remembering throwing up back in the desert.

“Jeez, you scared me,” the man said, sinking to the floor to sit beside me.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “You okay, miss?  Oh, man, I told the doc I’d watch you, he’s gonna kill me…”

I coughed, swallowed another gulp of water, and then chanced a smile.  My cracked lips hurt.

“I’ve been better,” I admitted.  “Where…?”

“The city of Octovern,” he replied.  Then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Sorry.  I’d introduce myself, but it seemed like you already knew me back there.”

I blinked.  Had I said his name back there?  I must’ve.  Octovern?  And the desert… what the hell was going on, anyway?  Was this some kind of elaborate dream?

“Guess so,” I mumbled, brow furrowing.  I pressed a hand to my forehead.  “Sorry.  Um.  Vash.  My name’s… my name’s Brittany.”

“Brittany…” he tested it out, and then looked over to smile at me.  His eyes practically sparkled as his voice dropped a note.  “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks…” I blinked.  It was literally the most common name ever.  Was he trying to flirt?  I didn’t have the energy to figure it out.  “Uh, do you have any food?”

His face fell but he was quick to recover, jumping to his feet.  “Right!  You must be starving!”  He bent down to scoop me up, catching me completely off guard, and placed me back on the bed before dashing out of the room with a quick “Be right back!”

I was left with a brief moment of peace, sitting there on the bed in the quiet room.  My brain was still fighting to catch up.  Octovern… Octovern…

Wasn’t that a city in the manga?  It had been so long.  And that was Vash, so the desert setting made sense, but…

I pinched myself.  Pain.  I glanced around the room, focusing on my senses—the sterile smell of a clinic, the warmth of the breeze coming in through the window, the sound of kids playing outside…

Leaning forward, I peered out the window for a better view.  My room overlooked a busy street.  There were in fact a group of kids kicking a ball around out there.  Across the way was a bakery, and I caught a whiff of what smelled like fresh baked bread.  My stomach growled.

…How could this be a dream?

Staring at my hands in my lap, I fought to remember just what I had been doing before waking up here.  Wandering in the desert…

Suddenly I stopped.  I frowned and felt a cold feeling in my stomach as unwanted memories came back.  Why…?  Couldn’t I just not dwell on shit for one second?

I had just been so depressed, so bitter, so done with the charade of my life… nothing I did ever seemed right or good enough, and I was sick and tired of everything.  The last week of my lease I finally snapped, sold almost everything I owned, and packed the rest in my car.  I quit my shitty job, and that shitty man, with zero notice and got in my car and drove.

That was right… the last thing I remembered was crossing the state border, sobbing, wishing things could’ve been different.  Wishing I could’ve been stronger instead of running away.  Wishing for a sign, any sign, that things were going to be okay.

And then, somehow, I was wandering through the desert, sunburnt and dehydrated.  If he—Vash, if he was Vash—hadn’t found me, I would’ve died.

Footsteps coming back up the hallway.  I looked over just in time to see the blond come back through the doorway, wearing a bright smile.

“Here.”

I reached out to take a steaming bowl of soup from him.  It looked disappointingly brothy, but I understood that that was probably the best I could manage for now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, pulling the chair up closer to the bed and sitting down once more.  He examined me for a moment before continuing.  “What were you doing wandering the desert with no food or water, anyway?”

I shook my head, idly stirring the soup.  “I don’t really remember.  Last I checked, I had a vehicle and I knew exactly there I was.”

“Where was that, exactly?”

“Um…” I stared at him dubiously.  “White River Junction, Vermont.”

“…Vermont?” A blank stare was all I received in return.

“Yeah, you know, east coast?”

I knew I was still weirdly in denial… but seeing the look on the man’s face gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, couldn’t this just be a dream?  The implications of it being real were too terrifying.  I had wanted to escape, to run away, but this…

“The shirt you were wearing when I found you…” The blond was frowning, brow furrowed.  “It said ‘Alaska.’”

“Yeah, I have a friend who lives in Anchorage,” I replied, attempting to seem nonchalant.  

Where were my clothes, anyway?  After glancing around the room for a moment, I saw them washed and folded on the shelf below my nightstand.  My Patagonia hat sat atop the pile, mocking me.  I would’ve much rather ended up in Patagonia than stranded in a godforsaken desert.

He was staring at me hard, his blue eyes piercing.  With his cheery façade dropped, I found it difficult to meet his gaze.  The silence felt like it lasted forever.

Then he suddenly reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card with a sheepish grin.

“So where’s New Hampshire?”

“Hey!” I nearly spilled the soup, lunging to snatch the card back.  “Where’d you get my license?!”

He both hands up in a gesture of surrender, leaning back a bit.  “Hey, hey!  Careful!  I just found your wallet and was trying to figure out who you were, that’s all!”

“Coulda said that from the start,” I huffed, clutching the license protectively.  A tiny bit of hot soup had sloshed out and scalded my thigh, and I was trying to hide my pain.

I looked down at the license, and my picture stared back at me.  It was a small bit of familiarity, reassurance that I wasn’t actually going insane.

After some hesitation I opened my mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps caused us both to look up.  A stocky middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair had stopped in the doorway.  He was wearing a white lab coat, so I assumed he had to be the doctor.

“Ah!  So she’s awake at last.  Thanks for the help, Vash.”

The blond rubbed the back of his neck.  “Heh, it’s no trouble.”

“How are you feeling, miss?” the doctor asked, turning his gaze on me.

“Um, I’ve seen better days… but I’m holding up okay.”

“Well, I’ll mark that as an improvement,” he replied, smiling.  “Vash, may we have a moment?  I’m sure Felicia would be happy for a hand in the kitchen.”

“Oh—of course!  Right away, Doc!”

I watched as the blond straightened up and was out the door in record time, a dopey grin on his face.  It didn’t take a genius to notice that he had been a little too excited there.  Felicia was probably pretty, whoever she was.

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head.  “For someone who bears the namesake of such a dangerous outlaw, he sure is predictable.”

“You don’t believe he’s really Vash?”

He snorted.  “Do you?”

“Well…”

“Don’t fret over it, in any case.  He was kind enough to bring you here from the desert, after all.”  He paused a moment, frowning.  “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners.  My name is Stanley Ross; I run the clinic here on the east end of Octovern.”

“My name is Brittany Furness,” I said, subtly tucking my driver’s license under the sheets of my bed.  “I’m sorry for the trouble.  My memory’s still a little messed up…”

“That’s to be expected.  You were showing early signs of heat stroke when that young man brought you in.”

He reached over to press the back of his hand to my forehead.  “Your temperature has stabilized since, but I’d still advise you to take it easy for a few days.  I’d like to monitor you for another twenty-four hours just to be safe.”

I stared at the soup in my lap.  That was probably good, considering I literally had nowhere else to go…

A hand on my shoulder.  I looked over to see the doctor giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry too much.  You’re still recovering; I’m sure things will seem much clearer by tomorrow morning.”

Feeling dread settle in the pit of my stomach, I forced myself to smile back.  “Thanks… you’re probably right.”

We chatted for another minute while he checked my vitals and made sure I really was okay, and then he left me to finish my bowl of soup, which was now growing lukewarm.

My hands were shaking enough that it took some concentration to spoon the broth into my mouth.  I felt a strange mixture of emotions, though most of all I figured I was disoriented and in some degree of shock.

I thought about the life I had abandoned.  Wasn’t this what I had wanted—a complete change, a new start?

But I hadn’t asked to leave my entire world…

Even though I had shut down and left New Hampshire, all of my friends and family had been a phone call away.  I hadn’t wanted to turn back, but I could have if I needed to.  But now all of those options had been snatched from me and I felt like I was stranded…  

This couldn’t be real… this couldn’t really be happening.  How could this be happening?!

I put my head in my hands, but I had spent so much of the past month crying that I had no energy left to do even that.  When could I just catch a break…

—-

How can this be real?

Vash stood at the counter of the kitchen downstairs, methodically cutting vegetables for the doctor’s daughter.  Felicia was indeed cute—there was no doubt about that—but he really had just jumped at the opportunity to sort out his thoughts.

Well, there was also the fact that she was an absolute pro at acting oblivious to his flirting.  He’d mostly given up, but it was still entertaining to try every now and then.  For now he was happy to have a task to keep his hands busy while he tried to figure out just what mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

“Mr. Vash, are you feeling all right?” Felicia had stopped her task, seeming to take note of his silence.

He forced a cheery smile.  “Hmm?  Oh, yeah!  Heh, I guess it’s just been a long couple of days.”

“That’s for sure.  You’re the most interesting newcomers we’ve seen in a while.”  She returned the smile.  “Well, hopefully we can all sit down for dinner together tonight.  Could you dice these too?”

He took the carrots he was handed with a nod.  He knew his smile looked fake and she probably saw through it, but he was too tired to put up a good front.

Brittany Furness… who are you?

Vash trained his eyes on the cutting board once more, brow furrowing.  The young woman’s meagre belongings were safely stored in a cabinet in the room he was renting.  He had gone through them in an effort to find some sort of information about who she was and where she had come from.  The more he had looked, the more confused he had become.

That ID card in her wallet had her name, photo and what looked like an address… but the address named a town he had never heard of.  The corner of the card read “NH – USA” in bold letters.

There was currency in the wallet that read “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,” as well as other plastic cards bearing her name.

There was a red pen in the purse with the name of an inn written on the side and the words “Jackson, New Hampshire”.

And there was a strange rectangular device with a screen in the purse as well—he had been shocked to see the screen come to life when he pressed the button on the front.  It had displayed a time and date, and when he pressed the button again, it prompted him to input a passcode.

That in particular was advanced technology he hadn’t seen in a very, very long time… not since he was a child.  Which begged the question… who was that woman?

He remembered some of the books Rem had shown him a long time ago, books about her home, where all of the humans of this planet came from—a place called Earth.  Rem had been from a country called the United States.

And—he remembered.  Her hometown was a place called Juneau, in the state of Alaska.  That was why the girl’s shirt had stirred something in him.  He had been so fascinated with the book about Alaska and its dramatic, dreamlike landscapes and cool nicknames, like “the last frontier” and “land of the midnight sun”.  Back on the SEEDs ship, it had seemed impossible that such a land could exist… and it was infinitely amazing that Rem had grown up there.

But Project SEEDS had been formed because Earth’s resources had been depleted… and its creation had occurred nearly two centuries ago.  Was Earth even habitable anymore?

No—unless… unless one of the cold sleep pods had survived the crash, and she had only just now woken up?

He shook his head.  That didn’t explain that handheld device she had.  There was no way it could’ve survived this long and powered up so easily.  And why would someone have boarded a SEEDS ship dressed and equipped like they were just going for a quick outing?  None of it made sense.  She was a mystery.  

What a nightmare… with Knives on the loose, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone.  But there was no way he could just ignore this.  It was too dangerous for her to be around him, but he might be the only one that could help her.

Damn.  He shouldn’t even be here right now.  But he needed to get information, and the city was the place to do it.

He paused in his task for a moment as another thought came to him.  Whatever the explanation… if Earth was all she remembered, how the hell did she know who he was, especially on sight alone?  

This just got more confusing by the second…  

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: Don’t Cry, Young Lovers (1/4)

Rating: R (sexual situations, non-graphic descriptions of past violence, language) McLennon (DUH...)

Greetings yet again from Overused Trope Land! This time we're with our boys in Paris, spending someone's hard-earned pay John's 21st birthday money. (Sorry, Paul, I love you but “Two Of Us” is NOT ABOUT LINDA.)

This is a work of fiction. The character of Sylvie/Sarah is based on and dedicated to the mother of one of my childhood friends. May she be remembered for blessing.

Anyway, this is the first of four parts. The story is mostly complete but needs editing, which is my least-favorite part. I’m hoping that exposing Part 1 in public will light a fire under my slothful self. ::lights match::

Don't Cry, Young Lovers

 Paris October, 1961

  The City of Lights was so much more beautiful, more bohemian, more enticing, more MORE, than either John or Paul could have imagined.

 Once they set foot in Paris and made their way through the winding cobblestone streets in search of cheap lodgings and cheaper food, they fell deeply in love with the city and began looking for excuses not to venture further to Spain.

 John's birthday money wasn't enough to allow them to travel in style, but it did get them a small, clean room with a window that let them look out on the glories of autumn. Paul's worries about sharing the tiny bed dissipated when John threw the window open and let in the crisp, rain-washed breezes.

 "The city smells alive," John remarked as he clambered up on the windowsill to get a better view.

 Paul, busily emptying his little suitcase and storing his few possessions neatly in the cupboard, simply smiled in agreement. He was a bit road-weary, particularly from having to do all the polite chit-chat with the drivers who'd been kind enough to give them lifts, but his heart had not been so light in years.

 John had chosen him. Not Cynthia, not Stuart, but Paul. And, amazingly, Paul's father had acquiesced to the trip with fewer dire predictions than anyone could have anticipated. He'd even pressed ten quid into his son's hands, "just in case."

 It was, Paul thought as he turned his suitcase on end to use as a night table, probably a sign that something was about to go terribly wrong.

 "Hey there." John's voice broke through Paul's musings. "Quit being a housewife for a few minutes and look at this." John beckoned toward the window. It wasn't large enough to seat them both, so Paul settled for peering over John's shoulders at the narrow streets below. It wasn't a grand part of town, of course, but it had a certain shabby charm that absolutely failed to remind him of Hamburg in any way, shape, or form.

 Score one for Paris, then.

 Squirming a bit on the hard ledge, John stuffed his glasses back in his jacket and turned to Paul. "What should we seek out first - food or booze?"

 "Food. Absolutely, food." Paul's words were punctuated by a loud rumble in his stomach.

 John's laughter was intoxicating. He hopped down and mussed Paul's hair. "Can't deprive a growing boy, now, can we? Let's take a walk."

 Following John was as natural as breathing. Paul patted his pockets, reassuring himself that he had both his camera and his wallet, as he strode quickly to keep up with John's long-legged gait. The scenery was so interesting that John was actually wearing his glasses. Looking around him swallowed up all Paul's attention, resulting in his foot slipping on one of the damp cobblestones. John reacted quickly, wrapping an arm around Paul's waist and steadying him. "Watch your step - can't have you breaking an ankle, now, can we?"

 "I'm not a fucking racehorse," Paul grumbled, but the warmth of John's body next to his was a solid, comforting familiarity in a strange place.

 They wandered aimlessly through the twisting streets until the scent of freshly-baked bread seduced them into a cozy boulangerie. Proud to show off his French, Paul ordered bread and tea for them both and reached for his wallet to pay. John stopped him with a firm hand on Paul's wrist.

 "Nope, I'm buying," he declared as he handed francs to the old woman behind the counter.

 "But I have money," protested Paul.

 "And now you have food and you still have money. It's a miracle!" John reached to take his change from the woman, and Paul saw him pull a face.

 "What?" Paul whispered, but John shushed him. The boys took their food and cups of tea and went to a vacant table by the window.

 "She has Mickey Mouse hands," John stage-whispered when they were settled.

 Paul gaped blankly at him.

 John held up his hands and tucked his index fingers behind his thumbs. "Only four fingers on each hand. No, don't turn around, you numpty!"

 Paul stopped himself. "That's weird," he said before taking a huge bite out of his bread. It was hot with a perfectly crisp crust, the inside so soft and flaky that adding butter would be a desecration.

 Evidently John felt the same, because he managed to smile blissfully whilst chewing.

 Their repast wasn't going to last long at this rate, so Paul concentrated on his tea and broke off only one tiny piece of bread at a time. He gazed out the window at the pedestrians and pigeons, none of whom seemed to be in a hurry.

 He liked that very much.

 After a few minutes, Paul examined the interior of the shop. Glass cases displayed every kind of sweet and savory baked good he'd ever seen and quite a few that were mysteries to him. Half a dozen tables, draped with mismatched, spotless cotton cloths, dotted the floor. But what drew Paul's attention was the mahogany spinet in the corner.

 His fingers twitched. He'd gone two days already without touching an instrument - he had grudgingly consented to John's demand that they leave their guitars at home - and he longed to make the lovely, lonely instrument sing for him.

 John followed Paul's line of sight. He shook his head in mock exasperation. "Honestly, are you conisdering cheating on your guitar with that tart of a piano?"

 Paul, whose body was almost aching with the need for music, chose to shoot the bird at John rather than give a verbal response.

 Leaning forward in his chair, John snatched the last of the bread from Paul's plate with a triumphant grin. "Hey!" protested Paul, "I wasn't finished yet!"

 "You know what they say: if you eat slowly, you eat less." John tore the morsel in half and brought one piece to Paul's lips.

 Paul considered nipping the finger along with the bread, but literally biting the hand that fed him seemed ridiculous. He sighed as he allowed John to pop the bread in his mouth, his gaze still focused on the piano.

 "We couldn't very well bring both guitars along, and we can't share, now, can we, since you need yours upside-down?"

 It shouldn't have stunned Paul that John was reading his mind. It happened far too frequently to have any element of surprise left, yet every time they finished one another's thoughts, Paul felt a tiny jolt like an electrical charge.

 The same charge went through him whenever John touched him, as he did now when he leaned forward to flick a crumb from the corner of Paul's downturned mouth. "Are you still hungry?" John asked.

 "No," Paul lied, but the hesitation in his voice didn't fool John at all.

 "Let's get you something else," he offered.

 "I'm not hungry."

 "Rubbish. And if I take you back to England looking like a starving waif, your dad will have my guts for garters!"

 "John, I'm fine, really, just let me finish the tea and--"

 Out of the corner of his eye Paul saw a plate with four piping-hot croissants being set on their table. He realized that he was looking directly at the old woman's deformed hand, then averted his gaze with a guilty start and began to sputter. "Ce ne sont, uh, pas, uh, le nôtre...n'avons, uh, pas d'argent..."

 "I speak English," the woman said kindly, circumventing the need for Paul's schoolboy French. Her voice was accented in a language Paul didn't recognize. "Please, they are old and must not go to waste."

 Paul opened his mouth to protest - the food was clearly fresh from the oven - but John interrupted. "That's very nice, thank you." His voice was soft, free from jest or sarcasm, which left Paul as curious as he was ravenous.

 When the woman smiled, Paul was surprised to realize that she wasn't as old as she seemed. She was probably in her early forties; her prematurely gray hair and the scars on her hands had been deceptive. Paul could see that John was not looking at her face but her arm, and when he glanced over he could see some crudely tattooed numbers just below the crook of her elbow.

 When John kicked his ankle under the table and made a "you're embarrassing me" face, Paul realized that he was staring. He forced his gaze upward again and said, "Merci - thank you very much" as the woman walked away.

 Unusually sober-faced, John sat utterly still for several moments, not touching the food but regarding it with a strangely abstracted expression. "What?" asked Paul around a mouthful of croissant.

 "You saw it," was John's terse answer, and Paul knew he meant the tattoo rather than the scarring. "I've heard about them, but I've never seen one. Shit." John ran his hands through his hair until it nearly stood on end. "Jesus, that's just wrong."

 Paul turned the words over in his mind for a few moments before the realization dawned. They'd been numbered with tattoos in concentration camps, the Jews and  everyone else HItler had wanted to kill. "So she's..."

 "Yeah."

 Paul's chest felt tight. He struggled to swallow, washing the food down with a gulp of the cooling tea. He'd heard his relatives talk in horrified whispers, their voices kept low "to spare the children," but it had never seemed real to him. To boys his age, the war was a dim memory, kept alive by the shadows of rationing and poverty that were only now beginning to lift.

 "And I thought it was a drag that we couldn't get sugar," John said, completing Paul's thoughts yet again. He picked up a croissant and began to eat it. "We've led pretty charmed lives by comparison, haven't we?"

 "I'd never thought of it that way." Paul knew he sounded as dazed as he felt. His life hadn't felt charmed, not since his mother's illness and death followed by his family's slide toward impoverished gentility, and he certainly wouldn't describe John's life that way. But compared to this woman and the story they'd only seen on the surface, Paul and John were princes of the realm.

 They finished their food, rising to thank the woman - the lady, Paul corrected himself in his head - before setting out to find enough cheap red wine to keep them merrily tipsy for the rest of the evening. John procured two bottles from a nearby shop and handed one to Paul.

 "What should we do tomorrow?" John asked.

 Paul, who wanted to "see the sights" without knowing exactly what they were, shrugged. "Up to you. It's your birthday party, you know."

 "Best birthday ever, and I haven't even had it yet," John said with a wide smile. "There are bohemian delights galore here, and wine to drink our health with. What else could two young, adventuresome lads ask for?"

 "A girl who won't give me the clap," Paul said archly. The rest of the group had never, ever let him hear the end of the Hamburg debacle so he tended to bring it up himself to lessen the painful inevitability.

 The sparkle in John's eyes dimmed somewhat. Surprised, Paul raised an eyebrow at him but John turned away and was silent for the rest of the walk back to their hotel.

 They climbed the narrow, dark staircase and opened the door to their room. John had left the window slightly open to freshen the air, and now the room was far cooler than Paul could have wished. He shivered a bit and drew his jacket more tightly around himself. "Mind if I shut the window? Getting a bit brisk in here."

 "Be my guest," John said in a listless tone as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

 Paul had no idea how in the world he could have offended his mercurial friend, but he knew better than to ask. He closed the window gently instead, then he took a seat next to John and slung one arm around his shoulders. "I know I'm your guest, and don't think for a moment that I'm not grateful, 'cause I really, really am."

 John blinked at him a few times, then shook himself from head to toe like a dog emerging from a puddle. "Sorry, I'm just knackered. Don't mind me." He set his bottle of wine on the floor next to the bed. "I'll save it for tomorrow, I think. Gonna turn in, maybe get an early start in the morning."

 Despite residual anxiety about John's changing moods, Paul got to his feet and went to the cupboard to get his pyjamas. He changed quickly, shivering with the cold. In his peripheral vision he could see John doing the same and then rushing to the sink to clean his teeth. Paul followed suit, taking care to wash his face carefully as well. It wouldn't do to get a pimple during such a grown-up adventure.

 By the time he finished, John had rearranged the covers and pillows on the bed to make one little nest for each of them. Top-and-tail. John surveyed his handiwork with a frown. "I've seen bigger postage stamps. I'm liable to get your foot in my face all night long, smelling of God knows what."

 "My feet are daisies compared to yours." Paul knew that his new-found devotion to hygeine was the laughingstock of his bandmates, so he used it to toss a bone to John, to get him to laugh.

 It worked. John's sour face crumbled and he favored Paul with a genuine smile as he snuggled down under the covers. "Night, then."

 "Good night, Johnny." Paul crawled into his little space and twisted around, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't encroach on John's area. Given that they were two long-legged boys trying to share one narrow bed, his efforts met with no success. Every time he drifted off, a bony ankle would connect sharply with his ear, or he'd feel John swat at his shins.

 It was also cold, far colder than Paul had expected, and he began to shiver.

 He felt a shift in the bed and bedclothes. When he opened his eyes, there was John, leaning over him. "Best come up here with me," John said, a little quickly, adding, "There's only one proper blanket anyway, and it's too cold in here to fuss about your modesty."

 Relieved that he might actually get some sleep, Paul moved his pillow next to John's and curled up on his side with John behind him. John was always a few degrees warmer than most people, so he was like a living, breathing hot water bottle, albeit one with pointy elbows. As Paul relaxed into slumber, he was dimly aware of John tucking the bedspread around him and whispering something into his ear that was too soft to understand.

 ***

[lazy-stitch]

Briny Dregs

It was supposed to be another quiet summer, this time working with two of her best friends... but Levy finds out that regulars at a coffee shop are different than regulars at a library. (A GaLe/Gajevy coffee shop au)

Rated: T Disclaimer: I don’t own Fairy Tail. Trigger warning: Not the usual coffee shop au.  And two mild descriptions of anxiety attacks.

There was something pretty nice about working in a coffee shop, Levy mused.  While she never drank coffee because she could always taste the heady bean flavor, she did love the smell of it.  It was a nice way to start her summer days, smelling coffee being brewed and greeting Extalia’s regulars.  In the school year, she knew Extalia got far more customers since it was relatively close to both the high school and Magnolia’s community college, but customers never ran dry even in the summer.  Adults always had work, and there were some students with summer classes.  Besides, Extalia’s main draw wasn’t the coffee - it was the baked goods. Shagotte Faust, the owner, was the queen of the kitchen.  Breads, muffins, brownies, mini pies, crepes… whatever people craved, Shagotte could bake it, and she could bake it well.  Levy was more than happy to buy herself treats sometimes (and take home any unsold leftovers if she was on the closing shift).

With the promise of astounding baked goods, coffee, free Wifi (with a purchase, mind you), and its good location in Magnolia, there was no way Extalia would ever run out of customers.  It also never ran out of people willing to work there. Young people were especially attracted to the work, and Shagotte liked giving them the chance.  Levy had been roped into applying by her childhood best friends, Jet and Droy.  Normally, she’d work at the Crocus library, Crocus University library, or Magnolia library, but when Jet and Droy asked, she couldn’t really say no.  It wasn’t like she’d make any less with Shagotte, and she’d be able to spend time with her friends that she didn't get to see often anymore.

Jet and Droy had been working for Shagotte every summer for four years in a row.  Droy was immensely useful in the kitchen, and Jet could somehow apply his quick running speed to making coffee.  Plus, they could easily switch roles because Jet could follow a recipe and Droy could make a mean expresso. They could pick and choose when their shifts were, and their good word to Shagotte certainly didn't hinder Levy’s exemplary resume when she applied.  Levy wasn’t exactly cut out for working at the coffee shop, though.  She was a bit clumsy sometimes, and that was why she was given cash register duty more often than not.  She was terrible in the kitchen, even following recipes with Shagotte looking over her shoulder.  Her tendency to daydream when something snagged her attention also kept her out of making drinks because she’d accidentally let cups overfill more than once.  Honestly, Levy felt very lucky to not have been fired already, but Shagotte just took the small expenses from her paycheck and left it at that.  Everything had been exactly how she’d thought it’d go (hell, it went better because she was still working at Extalia)… except…

Her eyes flickered from the customer at the front of the line to the man three people behind them.  He had a knack for appearing during Levy’s shift, and he was even better at showing up in Extalia during the morning rush line.  He was tall, and he was handsome.  His dark clothing always looked good on him, fitting in all of the right places.  He ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling it away from his sharp facial features.  There was something about him that drew in people’s gazes, and a hint of danger kept them reeled in.  Currently, he was wearing a slight frown, staring down at the screen of his iPhone.

“A large Americano, got it.” Levy said, stealing her eyes away from the man in the middle of the line of customers.  She rang up the drink then turned to Jet, who nodded very seriously and locked gazes with her.  So, he’d noticed the man, too.  Levy almost wanted to laugh.  Of course Jet noticed him.  It was hard not to, honestly.  Jet winked at her with a half smile before he turned to make the Americano.  After giving change to the customer and signaling them to wait at the side counter, Levy accidentally met the gaze of the tall man. She flushed and looked down, heart racing.  She was such a fool.

“A slice of coffee cake and a medium dark chocolate mocha. Anything else?”

Levy could feel his dark eyes on her as she left the cash register to retrieve the cake from the glass counter.  Her fingers trembled a bit unconsciously as her heartbeat picked up even more.  Levy clenched her teeth, breathing quickly through her nose as she concentrated on getting a slice of cake and not dropping it on the ground.  It wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly not the first in front of the man.  A thin sheet of ice seemed to be growing over her shoulders, swooping slowly around to envelope her neck and slow her breathing to sharp bursts.  Her chest hurt in ways she didn’t know were possible before this summer.  Levy pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and, when she accidentally met the eyes of the tall man, again, over the coffee cake, bit down hard. Why was he already here?  He was early today.  Extalia had only been open for a half hour, and he usually showed up forty-five minutes in.  That was when the normal morning crowd was, anyway, not that six people in line was a real crowd.  But he was here already and that was unnerving and he really shouldn’t be there, smiling at her and making the butterflies in her stomach multiply to the point where she felt like she was going to be sick and…

A hand on the middle of her back made Levy jump. She squeaked a little bit, but thankfully did not drop the slice of cake from the plate she’d somehow gotten it on in the middle of her thoughts.

“Looks like we need to tell Droy and Shagotte to make more coffee cake, huh?” Jet’s voice was soft, and the look he gave her was softer yet. He grounded her thoughts spiraling out of control even though she loathed needing it.

“Yeah.  You mind doing it?  I’m-I’m okay.  I was just thinking about a book I read last night.” Levy smiled at him, both knowing she was lying though her teeth.  Jet’s eyebrows knit together and his lips puckered slightly, but he nodded and headed to the back room anyway.  Levy straightened herself, eyes on the slice of cake as she walked back to the register.

“Sorry about that!”  She said, putting on her best retail worker smile.  The older woman gave her a gentle one in return, shrugging it off with a, “It’s no problem, dear.”

“A’right, I need six small black coffees, stat.  I’m already runnin’ late without having to do a stupid coffee run.” The next customer groused, looking down his nose at Levy.  She said nothing, just ringing him up before turning around to the coffee machines. Jet had just started working on the dark chocolate mocha, but he’d need help with six drinks in one order regardless. Levy knew when the irritated man joined the old woman by the side counter because the air around her got heavier. She could feel the weight of the man’s gaze on her back, making her shoulders subconsciously curl inwards.

“That last one was six black coffees, right?” Jet asked as Levy joined him.  She made a noise of agreement, pulling six small cups off of the holders.  She started pouring the first one, eyebrows slanting downwards over her eyes.  The tall man wasn’t going to affect her.  She wasn’t going to allow his stupid smug face to affect her in any way. Concentrating solely on pouring coffee and slapping on the lids, the next few minutes passed much too quickly for Levy.  She didn’t want to pass on the drinks to the irritated businessman because that meant her resolve would be tested.

You’re prettier when you smile.

The memory made Levy bite the inside of her lower lip, willing herself not to smile.  Levy knew she was a bubbly person when she wasn’t feeling shy.  She liked smiling.  Even when she didn’t mean to smile, she usually did to help alleviate awkward situations.  But this man… he didn’t deserve that.  Levy felt tainted when she smiled around him.

“Hello there, Peaberry.” He smiled roguishly at her.  Levy figured his smile, all straight white teeth, could be blinding to some, but she preferred the snaggletooth grin of someone else.

“What would you like to order?” Levy asked, not meeting his expectant gaze or reacting to his greeting.  From someone else, nicknames were endearing, but from this man… it made her skin crawl.  Jet’s presence, leaning against the counter with the coffee machines, gave her courage.  Levy was startled when she heard the back door open and Droy walked out, bearing a platter of banana bread.  He was whistling some sort of tune, and even after putting the loaf on display, stayed behind the counter instead of returning to the kitchen.  The both of them being there, and the fact they weren’t actively butting in, made her sense of dread fade a little bit.  Jet and Droy had eventually learned she could fight her own battles, but it was nice knowing they always had her back.  She had allies if something ever got messy.  Not that Levy thought Shagotte wouldn’t be on her side, just… she’d known Jet and Droy since she and Jet were five and Droy was six.  They provided comfort few others could give her.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Peaberry!  We’re friends, aren’t we?” His saccharine voice didn’t match the intimidating aura he had.  Levy sucked in a sharp breath, mentally cursing herself for keeping her hands on the counter instead of literally anywhere else.  The man reached forward, patting the back of her hand twice, lingering for a fraction of a second too long after the second pat before pulling back.

“Ah well, there is a line here.  It’d be just terrible of me to hold it up.  Hmmm…  today, I think I’ll get a blueberry muffin and… a salted caramel frappuccino.”

He definitely thought he was doing Levy a favor, and it made her sick to her stomach.  Levy didn’t respond to him, turning to get the blueberry muffin only to almost run into Droy.  Droy smiled at her, holding up the requested blueberry muffin on a plate.  Jet was already working on the drink order with quick hands.

Even after ringing the man up and giving him his muffin, he wasn’t out of Levy’s hair.  He leaned casually on the side counter, trying to strike up a conversation.

“You know, after I saw you eating one of these delicacies, I thought to myself, ‘Bora, you just have to try that muffin!’ I know everything here is delicious, but I want to find the best treat.  I think I’ve found it, if I do say so myself.” The man was always dropping his name, probably in hope to hear Levy say it. She vowed never to say it or to even think it.  It’d mean he’d won something if she remembered his name. So, she always pushed it out of her mind as she casually ignored him.  Levy could get away with ignoring him since he was only around when there was a line keeping her busy, but she assumed he showed up then so she couldn’t go to the kitchen “for a few things."  She’d done that once, letting Droy take his order, and he’d shown up in the middle of a line ever since.

His presence seemed to choke her even when he got his drink and sat down.  He always chose a little table far enough from the counter to not seem creepy, but he was always watching her.  Levy didn’t like leaving the register even when he stared relentlessly because she didn’t want to appear weak.  There were so many things that made her look weak, and she knew that.  So she wanted to prove that she was strong.  If she could bear him for the fifteen or so minutes he was there, she told herself she wasn’t weak.  She had endured him, and she could be proud of herself.  But some days, when she was feeling particularly lonely or just off her game, she had to escape to the back kitchen to talk with Shagotte and whichever one of her boys was helping Shagotte bake.  It felt horrible, like a retreat, but she just couldn’t take the weight of his gaze on bad days.

After the line had dissolved, Levy pulled the barstool out from beneath the counter and sat down, pulling her phone from her pocket.  Shagotte was pretty lenient on phones as long as the volume was low and they weren’t on for too long since an employee on a phone seemed unapproachable to some people (Levy understood that since she felt bad interrupting someone who was looking at something).  Looking at her notifications, her sour mood lifted and her shoulders uncurled. Unlocking her screen, she tapped at the message, positively glowing when she saw the image she’d been sent.

“These two assholes somehow unlocked the damn cabinet, found the catnip, and got so high they passed out.” The text read beneath the image of two cats, a very large, very fluffy silver Maine Coon and a smaller Russian Blue, curled up together.  Her phone buzzed alive with a new message of, “How do fucking cats figure out child locks???”

“What’s making you smile like that?”

Levy jumped, phone tumbling to the floor.  She’d been so close to laughing in his presence and hadn’t even realized it.  Immediately, her face flushed, and she scrambled off the bar stool to get her phone from the ground.  She wasn’t scared that it had cracked since she’d bought a heavy-duty case, but she felt the need to move away from the man leaning over the counter and into her personal bubble.  Levy shoved her phone back into her apron pocket, blinking rapidly. She could tell the man it was a message from her boyfriend, but then he’d want proof or something.  He could carry the conversation, keep her talking and expressing emotions. 

“I was—it was a funny picture on the Internet.” She scrambled for something safe, something that he couldn’t extrapolate on.  It was hard because naming a site, especially a social media one, was taboo.  He’d suggest being friends with her on the site then. Levy hadn’t touched Twitter ever since he’d followed her on there.  She also couldn’t name an online news source since he could dig into what she read (“Aren’t politics these days just a disaster?  That newspaper is so biased, you should try this one instead.”).

“Oh really?  What website?  I might—“

“Hey, you mind going to the back and getting some more cups, Levy?  You know it’s hard for me to get down to the bottom shelves with my knees.” Jet casually interrupted the man, coming up to Levy’s side.  He was lying because his knees were fine, but it was a believable lie since Jet was tall.

“Y-yeah, no problem.” Shame burned furiously on Levy’s cheeks and she turned tail and went into the storage room.  She wasn’t mad at Jet, no.  She would’ve done the same had he been in the same situation. It just made her feel… like she couldn’t handle this man.  And she wanted to prove so desperately that she could.  That her friends didn’t need to worry about her because he didn’t bother her that much.

Once the storage room door closed behind her, Levy leaned against it and slid down to the floor, frustrated tears making pin pricks at her eyes.  She felt pathetic.  Only forty, forty-five minutes into her shift, and she already was crying in the storage room.  Plus, she had to be saved by Jet because she’d been floundering, unable to handle that man. Bile rose in her throat as she tried to hold back her heavy heart and heavier tears.  Her phone started vibrating, but she barely noticed it.

“You’re just being stupid, Levy, he’s just some stupid guy… he-he’s got nothing over you…” Levy whispered, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling.  It was the same thing she told herself, looking at a screen with Twitter, before she closed out of the website without doing anything.  Even to her, her words felt hollow and meaningless now. Sniffing, Levy ducked her head into her knees that were pulled up to her chest.  Maybe if she spent the remainder of her shift in here, she’d finally be fired like she should’ve been ages ago after her fourth ruined coffee… or second dropped sweet… or third burnt batch of cookies… or… Levy grit her teeth, unable to think with her phone buzzing madly near her face.  She’d been able to ignore it before, but with such a close proximity now, it was impossible.  Sneering, Levy pulled her phone from her apron pocket, ready to throw it against the wall in frustration before she saw the name on caller I.D.  Straightening slightly so she could lean her head against the storage room door, she swiped right and answered the call.

“Yer on speaker phone.  Oi, Shrimp, how do ya ignore all those cat pics an’ comedy gold, huh?  I mean I know yer at work, but—“

“Shove off, Metal Face, and get to the point already!” A second voice interrupted him, slightly muffled.

“I’m gettin' there ya fuckin' piece o’ flamin' shit—“

“Happy could be dead and all you’re doing is flirting!”

“He is not fuckin’ dead, yer just bein’ an overdramatic asshole!”

Levy gave a shaky laugh at that, rolling her eyes.

“Pot calling the kettle black, Gajeel.” She said softly, feeling warmer the more he spoke.  She could imagine Gajeel holding Natsu away from his phone, the both of them wrestling somewhere.  Probably the floor in their living room.

“Aww, whatever, Pipsqueak, ya know ya love me.”

Levy sniffed again, nodding despite knowing he couldn’t see her.  Boy did she love this big, overgrown dork.  She’d met him in her first semester of college and hadn’t been the same since.  Gajeel Redfox was a very odd person, but he was full of love, especially for her. And they both knew it.  It was hard not to, seeing how he was a lovesick fool around her.  Not that she was any different, mind you.  Hearing Gajeel now in her current state made Levy's heart ache and fingers burn, wanting to be touching him somehow.  They'd only been separated for a month, but she missed him so damn much.

“Stop – ugh – fuckin’!  Flirting!  And!  Ask!  FUCK YOUR LONG ARMS FUCK FACE!”

Yeah, they were definitely wrestling on the floor, and Gajeel was winning, if barely.  Somehow.  Natsu was a very flexible person, so Gajeel had to be sitting on him.  That was the only way he’d ever successfully kept something out of Natsu’s reach despite being six inches taller than Natsu.

“What are you supposed to ask me, Gajeel?” Levy asked, unsuccessfully preventing herself from sniffing for the second time since picking up his call.  Hearing Gajeel’s voice had made her tears start falling, but she felt more relieved than anything else.

“… Are ya okay, Levy?”

Oh no.  Cold lightning ran down Levy’s spine.  Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no no no nooooo.  She didn’t want Gajeel finding out about her current predicament. He’d weaseled some of it out of her during their daily Skype calls, but she didn’t want him knowing how utterly useless she was with this man.  Gajeel was so big and strong, and nothing ever seemed to bother him.  He could always keep his composure in public (if Levy wasn't around).  Levy wanted to be more like him, more like his iron-like sturdiness… He couldn’t know how weak she was, no no no.  Plus, she could totally see him driving down from Crocus and beating the living shit out of that man, and she couldn’t have that.  That man would deserve it, but Gajeel would end up in jail.

“Oh my god!  Will!  You! Stop!  FLIRTING!”

“Shut up fer a goddamn second, Flame Brain!”

Levy heard a loud thump and felt sorry for Natsu. Now she was causing him pain… not that he and Gajeel wouldn’t eventually fight over something…  but still.

“Oi, Levy, what’s wrong?”

 And now she was making Gajeel worry.  Fuck.

“It’s-it’s nothing.  I just have a bit of a head cold.  What are you supposed to ask me?  Ask real quick and then I have to go, you know I only picked up because I’m—not behind the register.” Her sentence was jerky because she’d been a half second away from saying “hiding somewhere.”  But saying that, even though she had before, would only increase his worry.  Levy didn’t want that.

“… Natsu thinks Happy isn’t breathin’.  We ain’t got those lil mirrors.  How can we check?”

Gajeel sounded incredibly reluctant to change the subject, but Levy was thankful he did.

“He’s still with Acnologia, right?  Have Happy face Acno and see if Acno’s fluff moves at all.” Levy instructed, rolling her eyes.  They’d definitely disagreed over feeling Happy breathing on their hands.  That’s what prompted the call.  Idiots.  Gajeel had to be very damn sure Happy was breathing since he’d been flirting with her before he’d been sidetracked by her sniffles.  Gajeel was nothing if he wasn't crazy about the welfare of animals, especially cats.

“Yer a genius, Levy.  Thanks.  A’ight, Fucker, go see that yer cat is alive.”

Levy heard muffled movements and wanted to laugh at just how predictable the boys were.  She heard Natsu grumbling as he got up.

“Now he’s dealt with, Levy—“

“I’m sorry, I have to go, Gajeel.” Levy interrupted him, hanging up immediately.  She turned her phone off before composing herself, grabbing a sleeve of small cups.  If the man was still somehow there, it’d be weird if she didn’t leave with cups.  Levy squared her shoulders before leaving the storage room, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t see the tall man anywhere.

“You okay, Lev?” Droy asked, watching her closely.  Because he was sitting behind the cash register, it meant he and Jet had traded positions.  Jet was now helping Shagotte bake, and Droy was going to help Levy with the customers.

“Yeah, sorry, Gajeel called and Happy supposedly wasn’t breathing and… yeah.” Levy shrugged, putting on a smile. Despite the fact Jet and Droy had known her the longest out of all of her friends, she was always able to fool them eventually.  That, she supposed, was one of her strengths.  Lying about her feelings to the people closest to her when she really didn't want them prying.  The only one that was always able to see through her was her socially awkward boyfriend. Gajeel said it was because he knew how she felt, and sometimes she let herself believe him.

“Dang.  He must be worried sick.” Droy’s eyes widened, taking from her choice of words that Happy was okay.

“Yeah, he is.” But about the wrong thing, Levy finished the sentence in her head. Placing the sleeve of cups next to the others, she sucked in a deep breath, and faced the rest of her day with more confidence than she felt.  Their shifts passed without anything else eventful happening, so when Levy went home with Jet and Droy, she had almost convinced herself nothing had happened in the morning.  The first part of her shift was just a small hiccup, nothing serious, something she’d just blown out of proportion because that man was staring at her.  She shouldn’t have let it bother her that much.

At night, tucked into her bed with her laptop open and Skype pulled up, that notion crashed around her and shattered into pieces twenty minutes into her call with Gajeel.  His cat, Acnologia, jumped into his lap and started batting at his nose for attention and food, and the memories came back with an edge.

What’s making you smile like that? You should smile more.  You’re prettier when you smile.

All Levy could see was those leering eyes as the man, the first day he’d come in during her shift, leaned down close to her chest.  Her nametag was pinned there, but girls could always tell when someone was looking at their chest.  Levy was no exception.

Oh, you’re a cute one!  Levy is it?  Nice to meet you!  I’m a regular here.  The name’s Bora.

“I-I have to go, I…” Levy stammered, unable to come up with a plausible excuse as she hung up the Skype call before Gajeel could say anything. She logged out of Skype and shut her laptop off, shoving it away to hug her knees to her chest.

“You’re just having a bad day, Levy.  Shake if off.  You’re okay.  You’re okay.  You-you’re okay.” She gave herself a small shake, concentrating on nothing but breathing slowly in and out.  Levy refused to let that man ("The name’s Bora") affect her in her own home.  He (“I thought to myself, ‘Bora, you just have to try that muffin!’”) couldn’t touch her here.  He (“You know, I had a crazy ex once – know what she told me? ‘Juvia can’t believe you, Bora!  Prioritizing your work over Juvia!’  Well, she doesn’t know the name, Bora, my name, will soon be heard around not just Fiore, but all of Ishgar because I work so hard!”) was not allowed into her sanctuary.

Levy started when her phone started vibrating, but she didn’t answer it.  She let the call go to voicemail, not even looking at who was calling.  She didn’t care, and she didn’t feel like talking.  She did, however, look when her phone buzzed again, telling her whoever called had left a voicemail.  Levy played it when she saw it was Gajeel, feeling guilty. 

“Ya hung up ‘fore sayin’ g’night.  So, good night, sleep tight, an’ don’t let the bed bugs bite.  I love ya, Levy, no matter what.”

His voice, saying those words and being suppirtive, shattered something within her.  It had been a while since Levy had cried herself to sleep from something other than test anxiety.  But in the morning, with puffy red eyes, she felt…  better. Depleted of all emotions and slightly robotic, sure, but that was better than feeling her skin crawl endlessly, heart thump painfully, and brain pulse against her skull erratically.

“Today is a new day, Levy.  You can beat him today.  You’ve already forgotten his name.” She whispered to herself as she brushed her teeth.

“He’s unoriginal, so he’s not going to come up with anything new. It’s been a month.  You’ve heard all his stuff by now.” She reassured herself as she got dressed.

“He’s just a dumb, disgusting little man and you’ll be done with him in fifteen minutes.  He’s got nothing on you.” Levy mumbled to herself as she chewed her toast at breakfast, careful to be quiet so Jet and Droy couldn’t hear her across the kitchen table.

“You’re not going to let him win today.” Levy told herself as she and the boys climbed into Jet’s beat up car.

“He’s not going to get the best of you today.” Levy promised herself, entering Extalia’s back door with Jet and Droy.  They were there before opening.  She and Jet cleaned and set up the front of the shop while Droy helped Shagotte start baking in the back.

“You will beat him.” Levy steeled herself when Jet turned the front sign from “closed” to “open.”  As people started leaking in over the course of fifteen minutes, she gave herself more pep talks, feeding more and more into the feeling that she’d win the mental duel with that man.  It felt like it was her only defense after a night like hers.  She felt nothing but spite and dread as the clock ticked closer to the normal morning rush.

With five minutes left before the usual start of the morning rush, the bell above the front door jingled.  Levy looked up and her heart stopped.  A tall frame filled the doorway, and it broke her resolve a little.

“Oi, heard ya got some good kiwi bread?”

Heat pooled in Levy’s face, and it stung the bottom of her eyes. Gajeel gave her his snaggletooth grin, raising his arms in his “oopsie” gesture he thought made him look innocent.  It, however, always made him look like he was saying, “Come at me, bro,” especially when he was wearing a tank top like he was 

“I thought I told you that shirt is so stupid?” Levy rolled her eyes at him, willing her tears not to fall. Personally, she had thought she’d cried all the tears out of herself yesterday, but Gajeel always proved her wrong. He looked down at the bold letters saying, “Sun’s out, guns out,” made a noncommittal noise, and left Extalia’s doorframe to stop in the center of the store.  He looked unsure of himself, like he might not be welcome.  Jet sensed the tension between the two of them and said nothing, eyes traveling between Gajeel and Levy like he was watching a tennis match.

“What are you doing here, Gajeel?  Don’t you have work in Crocus?  Don’t tell me you were fired again.  You need to work on your customer service smile.” Levy started babbling, hoping he hadn’t actually been fired.  If he had been, that meant he’d be hanging out with her until term started and they both had to go back to Crocus for classes.  Not that she didn’t want Gajeel around…  just… that man complicated things.

“Oh, uh, no, called in sick – Natsu is coverin’ fer me, which is definitely a bad idea, but, ya know… ya seemed like ya had a problem, yesterday.” Gajeel shoved his hands into his pockets, looking a little to the left of Levy’s head.  She watched his eyes dart to her face every few seconds and saw the muscle jumping in his jaw.

“And you’re here to, what, solve it for me?” Levy frowned, heart sinking.  It was bad enough that he had figured out something was wrong and thought it was serious enough for him to make the four hour drive from Crocus to Magnolia, but… if he wanted to come, barge in on her problems, and fix them himself… he was not wanted around.  At all.

“No ‘course not!  ‘Member the first memorable thing I told ya?  I’m goin’ ta make ya big, Levy McGarden.  I’m here ta support ya.  If ya want me here.  If not, I’ll just go an’ – ooof!”

As soon as he’d finished saying her name, Levy had started moving.  It had been the first time Gajeel looked her in the eyes since entering Extalia, but she was still able to surprise him with the strength of her hug when she barreled into him.  Levy pressed her face into his chest, half crying and half laughing.  It was hard to tell what Gajeel was going to do… except when it came to her.  He’d never stepped in to fight her battles for her, not once.  Though this was an entirely new situation, one he didn’t even know the scope of, she was glad he hadn’t changed his ways.  Levy felt Gajeel’s arms wrap around her, holding her tightly.

Now she had the force of a dragon behind her to fight off the unwanted suitor prince, and her shoulders didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.