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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

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Once Again (PT.3) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART THREE

Summary

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

A/N: A little Iwa and Hoisuke sketch to accompany this chappie ❤ Thank you for all the love and support. My inbox has boomed since I last posted and I’m so grateful that it is being appreciated by y’all :,) <3

ON TO PART THREE! Let me know what you guys think of this part :) xx

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

------

"Miss Y/N! You came!"

Hoisuke has a beam on his face the moment you step into the Iwaizumi household. That slightly calms your jittery nerves as you remove your shoes and step in, balancing the container of cookies in your hand.

"Hi Hoisuke," you greet back with a smile, "I brought your favourite cookies."

"Really?!"

"Really," you hand him the container with a grin, relishing as he oohs and aahs as he gets a whiff of the said baked treats. He beams up at you, "thanks miss Y/N. You're so cool."

"Not as cool as you are," you ruffle his hair and he giggles, before grabbing onto your hand and tugging you inside, "come, Daddy's warming up the pizza."

To be honest, part of you had combusted when you'd read over Iwaizumi's message repeatedly to make sure you weren't reading it wrong. The other part of you was screaming that this was definitely out of bounds and plus, could you consider this to be a sort of date?

No, of course not. Definitely not. He'd invited you over as a friend. And because Hoisuke liked you.

When you put it like that, it stung a little.

As Hoisuke drags you into the living space, you spot Iwaizumi grabbing for beers in the fridge and he nods at you, "hey."

"Hi," you reply, feeling a bit shy.

"The pizzas just got here," he says, chin jerking towards the pizza boxes already set upon the coffee table, surrounded by four plates, "a friend of mine is joining. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh no, not at all."

"Uncle Tooru! He's the best volleyball setter ever!" Hoisuke adds with a clap of his hands, eyes sparkling with excitement, "do you play volleyball miss Y/N?"

"Nope," you singsong, "I can't even catch a ball."

"But you always tell us to do well in PE."

"Do what I tell you and not--"

"Not what you do," Hoisuke sings along and you can't help but laugh before ruffling his hair fondly, "at least I know you're listening in class!"

"I always listen to you, miss Y/N."

"Unlike his father," Iwaizumi points out while walking over to the pair of you and handing you a beer can, "whom he never listens to."

"But you don't listen to me, daddy."

"Wha--yeah I do."

"Noooo uncle Tooru had to beg you to invite miss Y/N over when I told you a hundred times!"

You burst out into a fit of laughter just as Iwaizumi hollers out, "wha--No! That's--"

"Uncle Tooru said that you should man up and invite her otherwise he'll do it himself," his son chatters on, oblivious to the redness rising in his father's ears, "what does man up mean, miss Y/N?"

"Okay that's enough babbling," Iwaizumi's hand shoots out to press down onto Hoisuke's head. He nudges it towards the couch, "bring miss Y/N to the living room. Scoot."

"But--"

"Now." His father scowls. His son scowls back and you try to shove down the round of laughter bubbling up your throat, for they look like the spitting image of each other and they probably don't even know it.

You reach out, tugging Hoisuke by the shoulder, "come on then. What movie are we watching?"

It makes you slightly giddy on the inside to hear such words fall from Hoisuke's mouth. If there's one thing you've learnt from being around children is that they never lie. That, coupled with the way Iwaizumi's face has reddened a deep shade of tomato, is enough to cause a small tingling in your chest.

Since Oikawa is goig to be late, the three of you decide on watching Harry Potter -- Hoisuke's current obsession at the moment -- while munching on too-greasy pizza and washing it down with beer, coke for the minors. It's been a while since you've watched the series, thus finding yourself cheering and hollering along with Hoisuke which feels like you're seeing it for the first time all over again.

Multiple times, Hoisuke would turn and beam up at you, sometimes hugging your right arm and burying his face into your shoulder during action-packed scenes. You'd be lying to say you don't enjoy his warmth sticking to your side, sniffing the soft baby scent of his hair that still clings to him. The smell of childhood filled with innocence and maybe out of impulse, you pull him a little closer.

You're so immersed in the moment to notice the pair of coffee-coloured eyes are gazing at you with growing tenderness.

"Hellooo! Cool and Handsome Uncle Tooru is here!"

You jump at the sudden intruder's voice booming through the apartment, followed by Iwaizumi's scoff upon meeting your eyes. Hoisuke bounds up without delay, rushing to the door while crying out, "uncle Tooru!"

"Hi my beautiful boy!" Oikawa does not hesitate to sweep him up into his arms, kissing his cheek in affection and causing the child to giggle, "how's my favourite person doing? Has iwa-chan been treating you well?"

Hoisuke nods jovially, giggling some more when Oikawa pinches his cheek, "alright alright. You look dashing--oh, Iwa-chan! And this must be the famous Miss Y/N you've both been telling me about?"

You pink at his words but it doesn't faze Hoisuke in the least, "yeah! Isn't she pretty? She's the best teacher ever and her cookies are amazing!"

"H--Hi," you nod at Oikawa shyly, quickly avoiding his gaze to stop yourself from combusting with embarrassment. You've forgotten how beautiful this man actually is even though his reputation preceded him.

"Ahh it's nice to meet you Y/N," he flashes you a sweet smile, causing you to flush right down to your toes while you manage to stutter, "n--nice to meet you too, Oikawa-san."

"I see why Hoisuke and Iwa-chan like you," Oikawa turns to wink at Iwaizumi, "I approve!"

"Shut up Shittykawa," Iwaizumi scowls.

Oikawa gasps mockingly while covering Hoisuke's ears, "Iwa-chan! Not in front of the child and the lady!"

"I said fuck off--"

Oikawa's quick to slap his shoulder, hollering, "no swearing either! Oh gosh, excuse him Y/N. He gets very flamboyant whenever I'm around. If ever he does swear at you, it's just a matter of showing his affection."

You let out a laugh, spurred on by how red Iwaizumi's ears are, "I'll keep that in mind. I didn't know Hoisuke's dad was such a potty mouth," you say, narrowing your eyes playfully at the said man who scowls in return.

"Only when Oikawa's around," he states, crossing his arms over his chest with an expression that mimics his son's sulking.

"What's a potty mouth?" Hoisuke asks as he and Oikawa take their respective seats, the latter swiping a slice of pizza out of Iwaizumi's plate, who growls and kicks at his shin in turn.

The handsome man groans while you turn to Hoisuke, "potty mouth means someone who swears a lot."

"Like daddy?"

"Uhm--" you stutter, his response causing Oikawa to burst out laughing, "yes! What a bright little mind! Totally like your Uncle Tooru!"

Before Iwaizumi can bash Oikawa's head in, you hurriedly resume the movie with the excuse that the best part hasn't come up yet. That simmers down the atmosphere a little, all eyes now captivated by Harry Potter and his friends fighting against the ogre. Hoisuke gasps, nails digging into your arm as he latches on for dear life, all actions not going unnoticed by the pair of men.

"I like her," Oikawa mouths out to Iwaizumi, whose scowl deepens tenfold.

As per what the rumours stated, Oikawa is fun and easy-going to hang out with, a complete stark contrast to his best friend. You understand why people tend to gravitate towards him the more the evening wears on. It’s not just the fact that he puts you at ease and is naturally adept at making conversation, but it’s in the genuine spark of interest in his eyes, a look that says that he’s listening to you even if that might be faked on his part. It’s that expression stating that he cares, that makes you realize why Oikawa Tooru had been such a hotshot back in your high school days.

So why do your eyes still manage to find their way to the brooding figure on the other side of the couch, who is filled with nothing but spiteful comments and sarcastic responses?

Oikawa's little 'pssst' snaps your attention back to the present to find the sais man pointing at Hoisuke while mouthing "he's asleep." Indeed, your eyes travel down to Hoisuke's tiny figure slumped against your side and your mouth curves up in an affectionate smile.

You're about to shift him into your arms but Oikawa beats you to it, deftly slipping the boy into his arms and glancing between you and Iwaizumi with that same knowing smile that sets you on edge, "I'll tuck him to bed. Iwa-chan, buy me snacks would you?"

"Hell no--" Iwaizumi starts protesting only for Oikawa to walk out of the room, whistling softly without waiting for an answer. You sigh silently, pressing your lips together and glancing at Iwaizumi from the corner of your eye.

He averts his gaze, but not quickly enough, grunting softly, " wanna go?"

"To the convenience store?"

He nods, already moving to grab his jacket by the door as you scramble to join him while trying not to act so desperate to spend just a little more time with him.

The evening is colder than you'd expect, a mixture of wind and rain that makes him curse slightly while you hurriedly open up your umbrella the moment you step into the street. He nods, mutters a 'thanks' and guides you down the pavement where you jostle your way through evening strollers.

Quite surprised by the amount of movement on the street, you catch yourself asking, "is your neighbourhood always that busy?"

"I think there's a fancy fair around the corner," Iwaizumi sidesteps a man as he speaks, his shoulder brushing yours and sending warmth all the way down to your toes, "give me that."

Without warning, his hand engulfs yours holding the umbrella up and jumping at the contact, you quickly retract your hand, "thanks," you murmur, glad that the dark conceals the red splotches dotting your cheeks.

Your mind races to find something --anything -- to get you out of this awkward predicament. You'd die if he finds out how fast your heart is beating, "so uhm--Oikawa-san seems nice. You still keep in touch with him frequently then?"

"More like I can't get rid of his annoying ass," Iwaizumi mutters.

You chuckle, causing his eyebrow to quirk up, "what's so funny?"

"I'm just wondering whether Hoisuke will turn out like you when he grows up," you can't help but grin up at him, "you have a talent for dissing people."

"Only the ones worthy of my attention."

"Am I not worthy of your attention?" You tease.

He scowls down at you, "you're Hoisuke's teacher, that complicates things."

"In what way?" A passerby suddenly nudges against you and you stumble slightly, only to feel Iwaizumi's arm clasp your shoulder to steady you.

He's warm, your mind chants. And he smells good. Like citrus.

He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to notice your flustered countenance, "watch it," he barks out. Then, he turns back to answer your question, "how do I know you won't make Hoisuke fail his grade if I upset you too much?"

"Woah there mister. I didn't know I was that low on your list."

"That's not what I meant," he growls. A few weeks before might have caused you to fear his temper. But things are different now and you've come to know that it's just in Iwaizumi's nature to be so rough around the edges.

So you just bump your shoulders against him, flash him an understanding grin, and say, "I get it, hothead. No need to get riled up."

"What'd you call me?!"

Bursting into fits of laughter at how easily triggered he gets, you reach up to ruffle his hair, "down, boy--"

And that's when it hits you -- you are touching Iwaizumi's hair. Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck.

Your hand drops like wildfire, body instantly cowering away with a furious blush, "I'm so sorry," you squeak out, "that was not appropriate I know--"

Someone else bumps into your back which knocks you straight into the said man's chest. His hands find your waist on instinct as he steadies you both and for a minute, the world stops moving. Nothing matters, apart from the fact that your face is pressed against his torso, his scent overwhelming your nostrils with bliss, his warmth making you melt ever so slightly.

"Asshole," you hear his dim hiss like an echo in the back of your head. Dazed, your eyes stay glued to his shirt in hopes that he won't notice your embarrassment, "s--sorry about that," you squeak out.

Only then do you feel his gaze slide down to your face. He asks gruffly, "you okay?"

"Fine."

Dear god. Someone kill you now.

"Come on," and before you can protest, you feel his warm hand wrap around your own as he tugs you along, ensuring that you are tucked into his side while he weaves through the throng of people.

You're glad he can't see your face, nor the way your pulse is racing underneath your skin.

And the more you gaze at the strength of his shoulders, the more you are hit by a crumbling realization:

That you might be falling for Iwaizumi Hajime, and that might be the worst decision you’ve made yet.

----

He tells you about his married life when you sit outside the convenience store that evening, about how young and inexperienced he was, and how it had ended on pretty bad terms.

The fact that he even opens up about the topic surprises you, but nevertheless, you want to hope that it's his way of showing that your relationship isn't just tied by Hoosuke.

“Why...” you hesitate slightly, tentative, unsure whether one word will cause him to clam up, “why did it not work out? With you and Hoisuke's mother?”

It is to be expected that you are met with his silence. It’s stoic and filled with warning, and you quickly scramble for an out, “I’m sorry, that was inconsiderate of me,” you bow your head and bite your lip.

“She wanted more.”

His words catch you by surprise. You blink, before looking up at him. He doesn’t look away.

It takes a moment. Then, he murmurs:

“She wanted more...of everything. Things I couldn’t give her.”

It stuns you, that he’s so outright. Your mouth opens, but you don’t have anything to say, and you don’t realize that you’re holding your breath until he continues thickly, “she was never satisfied with what I gave her. Always complained that I wasn't enough of a man to sustain a family," he pauses, "I think she was envious. She worked in a big corporation as a financial auditor, and her friends -- well, they all live pretty decent lives. So when we always had our arms full with cleaning up after Hoisuke, they went to get cocktails and eat sushi. I guess she felt like she was missing out somewhere along the line."

It's not the things he says, it's more about the way he says it, voice so thick with emotion that you can hear the tears about to fall from his lips. Your own chest aches with sympathy and your fingers ache to reach out to just hold him.

But you're not that close. You know it's not within your boundaries.

Iwaizumi chuckles before your mind can form a coherent answer, "sorry. Didn't mean for it to get depressive."

You turn to look at him, gaze at the way the streetlight dances over his side profile and down his jawline, "You don't have to say sorry, Iwaizumi-san," pausing and unsure whether you should go on, you decide it's worth the risk, "and while I don't blame her priorities, well, ...was money really such an issue that she left you and Hoisuke behind?"

He shrugs half-hearted, "not my place to say. I was labelled the cheap bastard that wasn't worth shit when she decided to sleep with her ex."

Disgust coils in your stomach, but you decide on letting the anger simmer silently in the pit of your stomach. You don't realize, however, that your fist is clenched so hard into your lap until the warmth of Iwaizumi's fingers flutter over your own.

You look up in surprise only to find his dark orbs searching your face, "hey," he murmurs out quietly, voice surprisingly soft, " s' okay."

You flush against the chilly night air, "sorry," you mumble, "I just-- I know how it feels like. Not to feel like you're enough."

He doesn't respond, only watches you intently. You continue, "my boyfriend cheated on me back in college. I didn't know about it, until six months later."

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath and his fingers tense over yours. Your throat feels scratchy, "so I know the feeling."

"Asshole," is what slips out of his mouth. You chuckle half-heartedly, though with the way he isn't pulling away from your hand makes you feel warm and giddy on the inside.

You'd like to think that this little bit of time spent together has brought you closer, if only to share your woes. But one thing's for sure, you think to yourself as you slowly walk back to Iwaizumi's flat now that the crowd has thinned out, Is that you both have Hoisuke's best interests at heart.

And that is your top priority that you should not forget. Even if you can feel your breath tug in your chest every time your eyes linger a little too long upon each other's.

----

Ha, who the hell were you kidding?

It’s almost impossible to put the certain dark-eyed, dark-haired scowling face of a man out of your mind as the next week comes by. It’s even harder when Hoisuke is more than intent on spending time at your desk in-between classes, chatting on about what he and his father were up to throughout the week. And though you restrain yourself from asking too many questions burning at the back of your tongue, you can’t help but be drawn to the small snippets of Iwaizumi’s life as presented by his son. Even if it’s presented by his son.

So why do you find yourself back in his apartment the very next week with flour all over your clothes ans currently coaching Hoisuke to make figures with his clumsy five-year-old hands?

"This is hard miss Y/N," Hoisuke pouts, arms dropping to his sides, "can't you do it?"

"But that would be no fun," you nudge him playfully as you work on your own little cat figure, "all you need is patience, practice and love."

Glancing at the clock above Hoisuke's head to see that it's already past six in the evening, you wonder where Iwaizumi and Oikawa have disappeared off to. They hadn't told you anything, only that they were picking up some groceries. You guessed it was merely the thought of baking that made them so reticent.

"Don't worry miss Y/N. Daddy's coming back soon," Hoisuke says, as if knowing exactly the thoughts occupying your mind.

"Where did your daddy go anyway?" You decide to play along and ask casually as you move behind Hoisuke to help him mold tiny fingers.

"He and uncle Tooru said that they wanted you to taste the food from the sushi place they love," he then adds casually, almost like an afterthought, "daddy said you looked tired."

He said what now? Your eyebrows shoot up in curiosity.

The sound of the door opening grabs your attention, revealing a dishevelled Oikawa in the doorway with grocery bags hanging from his arms, "we're back with food!"

"Uncle Tooru! Look at the cookie I'm making!" Hoisuke doesn't hesitate to tug onto Oikawa's shirt and drag him to the kitchen counter to marvel at the little misshaped man. Dusting your hands onto your apron and turning to help Iwaizumi, your step falters upon noticing the undecipherable expression shadowing his features.

"Iwaizumi-san?" You blink.

It's gone in a flash, replaced by his usual scowl, "sorry we're late," he murmurs as you help him with the takeaways. You try not to think too much into the way he'd been staring, but your own heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe--

Stop. You mentally slap yourself. Stop it right there.

Similarly, Iwaizumi is having the exact same mental debate.

Don't get him wrong. There isn't anything he loves about the fact that you've just created havoc in his kitchen. Had he insinuated it when he'd asked about your famous cookie recipe? Maybe. But shit man, call him old and cranky but the amount of cleaning up after the mess in his kitchen is something he isn't looking forward to.

But that small nugget of stress instantly melts away the moment he lays eyes on you and Hoisuke, together. Hoisuke is giggling, you are holding onto his hands, maneuvering them so as to make a semblance of a human limb. You're both dusted with flour, pink in your cheeks, and Iwaizumi swears his heart is going to drop out of his chest.

"Daddy daddy! Wanna see the man me and miss Y/N made?"

"That miss Y/N and I made," you corrected out of impulse, grinning as the child repeated what you saie with no less conviction, and Iwaizumi forced himself to move towards his son with nonchalance, "let me see."

Now that he thinks about it, he shouldn't be inviting you over so casually like it's a weekly thing. And maybe you don't even want to be there. Maybe you're just doing him a favour because you pity him. That's enough to make him sick in his stomach.

But this thought dissipates the more the evening wears on and the more he catches your soft eyes, the motherly affection you radiate towards his child, the gentle giggles falling from your mouth.

Iwaizumi wants it. He wants it so bad his heart aches.

And Oikawa seems to know exactly what he's thinking. Or maybe he's too obvious.

"This is so good," you groan in satisfaction while digging into the takeout sushi. Oikawa doesn't hesitate to pipe up, "right? Iwa-chan literally dragged my butt out of town for th-- fuck!"

He howls, clutching his leg where Iwaizumi had kicked at it in growing irritation and when you look at him in confusion, he feels his face grow red, "don't listen to him."

"Uncle Tooru, you're a bad man. You said the F word," Hoisuke chimes in, "it's okay though, daddy. You don't have to be embarrassed."

The redness of a fire engine can't compare to the flush riding the back of his neck. He wishes for the ground to swallow him at this very inetant, though his lips do quirk up in a smile seeing you burst out laughing before ruffling Hoisuke's hair.

"I see the way you look at her," Oikawa tells him a few nights later upon meeting up at the gym where they both train a few nights a week. It is also one of the few times where Hoisuke stays at his mother's place.

Iwaizumi grunts in response. He turns his head away to focus on his pushups, but if his best friend can deduce from his face alone, then that's an obvious way of showing his embarrassment when he is past the point of denial.

"She likes you too you know," Oikawa casually throws in, wiping the sweat from his face as he straddles a rowing machine, "she's like an open book."

"You don't know that," Iwaizumi hisses as he bends his arms, lift them with another grunt.

"Oh yes I do. And if you're smart you'd do something about it before someone else comes in to swoop her away."

As annoying as he is, Oikawa has a point. The nagging thought eats away at his subconscious mind the more Iwaizumi turns his feelings over in his hands. Despite this, he invites you out with him and his best friend one Saturday night and is mildly surprised that you accept so quickly.

"How have we never met if you went to Aoba Johsai?" Oikawa asks while munching on a french fry. As per his request for greasy comfort food, they'd ended up dragging you to one of their local eateries that make the best burgers in town, "would've noticed a cutie like you."

You can't help but roll your eyes, grinning, "simple, I didn't have any talent. I sang like I was deaf and had two left feet. And don't get me started on sports."

"You could've been a cheerleader," Oikawa smirks evilly, causing you to swat him and reply, "unless I wanted to come out of high school with two broken legs, which I did not."

"Good thing anyway, Iwa-chan hated those cheerleaders with a passion," Oikawa nudges him, "whenever I'd get bombarded with them he'd just scowl and they would scurry off like ants. They were scared shitless!"

"As if you didn't like watching those cheerleaders," you throw Iwaizumi a smug, pointed look with raised eyebrows, to which is scowl deepened. But you're used to it at this point, it doesn't even make you flinch.

"They were annoying and whiny. Why would I like them?" He muttered into his strawberry milkshake. A surprising revelation, considering his bitter, rough countenance.

"Cause they were hot."

"Cause they had long legs."

You and Oikawa blink at each other before you burst out laughing. Iwaizumi merely rolls his eyes, "idiots," but his mouth says otherwise, tugging up in amusement.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Oikawa-san?" You ask aa you munch on your burger.

"Bah, girlfriends don't agree with me."

"He's too much of a playboy to get himself a girlfriend," Iwaizumi mutters loud enough to reach your ears and you snort at the dagger-eyed stare Oikawa throws him, "I can't just give that," he motions towards his figure, "hot bod to anyone, Iwa-chan!"

"Mine's hotter than yours."

"Shut up! Why are you always so mean to me? You know I've been working my ass off for those back muscles!"

Your snort causes your milkshake to spurt from your nose and as Oikawa yelps and scoots furthest away from you, Iwaizumi doesn't hesitate to thrust a bunch of clean napkins in your face, chuckling deeply as he eyes you with the same fond amusement he's been denying himself of in the last few weeks.

Is it selfish? To want more of you than he can have? To feel the naked throb of his fingers that ache to reach out and just tuck your hair behind your ears?

Of course it is. If he does that, he'll cross a line he isn't quite certain he's ready for yet.

Daddy, do you really really like Miss Y/N? Hoisuke's voice is as clear as water that same evening, after he's tucked his son in, after all lights have dimmed in his flat and he sprawls atop his bed with heavy eyelids and a content stomach.

Yes, he thinks to himself as his eyes slowly slip shut, I think I do.

Fuck.

-----

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bananaofswifts · 3 years ago

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By Paul Tingen

From sketches to final mixes, engineer Jonathan Low spent 2020 overseeing Taylor Swift’s hit lockdown albums folklore and evermore.

“I think the theme of a lot of my work nowadays, and especially with these two records, is that everything is getting mixed all the time. I always try to get the songs to sound as finalised as they can be. Obviously that’s hard when you’re not sure yet what all the elements will be. Tracks morph all the time, and yet everything is always moving forwards towards completion in some way. Everything should sound fun and inspiring to listen to all the time.”

Speaking is Jonathan Low, and the two records he refers to are, of course, Taylor Swift’s 2020 albums folklore and evermore, both of which reached number one in the UK and the US. Swift’s main producer and co‑writer on the two albums was the National’s Aaron Dessner, also interviewed in this issue. Low is the engineer, mixer and general right‑hand man at Long Pond Studios in upstate New York, where he and Dessner spent most of 2020 working on folklore and evermore, with Swift in Los Angeles for much of the time.

“In the beginning it did not feel real,” recalls Low. “There was this brand‑new collaboration, and it was amazing how quickly Aaron made these instrumental sketches and Taylor wrote lyrics and melodies to them, which she initially sent to us as iPhone voice memos. During our nightly family dinners in lockdown, Aaron would regularly pull up his phone and say, ‘Listen to this!’ and there would be another voice memo from Taylor with this beautiful song that she had written over a sketch of Aaron’s in a matter of hours. The rate at which it was happening was mind‑blowing. There was constant elevation, inspiration and just wanting to continue the momentum.

“We put her voice memos straight into Pro Tools. They had tons of character, because of the weird phone compression and cutting midrange quality you just would not get when you put someone in front of a pristine recording chain. Plus there was all this bleed. It’s interesting how that dictates the attitude of the vocal and of the song. Even though none of the original voice memos ended up on the albums, they often gave us unexpected hints. These voice memos were such on‑a‑whim things, they were really telling. Taylor had certain phrasings and inflections that we often returned to later on. They became our reference points.”

Sketching Sessions

“The instrumental sketches Aaron makes come into being in different ways,” elaborates Low. “Sometimes they are more fleshed‑out ideas, sometimes they are less formed. But normally Aaron will set himself up in the studio, surrounded by instruments and synths, and he’ll construct a track. Once he feels it makes some kind of sense I’ll come in and take a listen and then we together develop what’s there.

“I don’t call his sketches demos, because while many instruments are added and replaced later on, most of the original parts end up in the final version of the song. We try to get the sketches to a place where they are already very engaging as instrumental tracks. Aaron and I are always obsessively listening, because we constantly want to hear things that feel inspiring and musical, not just a bed of music in the background. It takes longer to create, but in this case also gave Taylor more to latch onto, both emotionally and in terms of musical inspiration. Hearing melodies woven in the music triggered new melodies.”

Not long after Dessner and Low sent each sketch to Swift, they would receive her voice memos in return, and they’d load them into the Pro Tools session of the sketch in question. Dessner and Low then continued to develop the songs, in close collaboration with Swift. “Taylor’s voice memos often came with suggestions for how to edit the sketches: maybe throw in a bridge somewhere, shorten a section, change the chords or arrangement somewhere, and so on. Aaron would have similar ideas, and he then developed the arrangements, often with his brother Bryce, adding or replacing instruments. This happened fast, and became very interactive between us and Taylor, even though we were working remotely. When we added instruments, we were reacting to the way my rough mixes felt at the very beginning. Of course, it was also dictated by how Taylor wrote and sang to the tracks.”

Dessner supplied sketches for nine and produced 10 of folklore’s 16 songs, playing many different types of guitars, keyboards and synths as well as percusion and programmed drums. Instruments that were added later include live strings, drums, trombone, accordion, clarinet, harpsichord and more, with his brother Bryce doing many of the orchestrations. Most overdubs by other musicians were done remotely as well. Throughout, Low was keeping an overview of everything that was going on and mixing the material, so it was as presentable and inspiring as possible.

Mixing folklore

Although Dessner has called folklore an “anti‑pop album”, the world’s number‑one pop mixer Serban Ghenea was drafted in to mix seven tracks, while Low did the remainder.

“It was exciting to have Serban involved,” explains Low, “because he did things I’d never do or be able to do. The way the vocal sits always at the forefront, along with the clarity he gets in his mixes, is remarkable. A great example of this is on the song ‘epiphany’. There is so much beautiful space and the vocal feels effortlessly placed. It was really interesting to hear where he took things, because we were so close to the entire process in every way. Hearing a totally new perspective was eye‑opening and refreshing.

“Throughout the entire process we were trying to maintain the original feel. Sometimes this was hard, because that initial rawness would get lost in large arrangements and additional layering. With revisions of folklore in particular we sometimes were losing the emotional weight from earlier more casual mixes. Because I was always mixing, there was also always the danger of over‑mixing.

“We were trying to get the best of each mix version, and sometimes that meant stepping backwards, and grabbing a piano chain from an earlier mix, or going three versions back to before we added orchestration. There were definitely moments of thinking, ‘Is this going to compete sonically? Is this loud enough?’ We knew we loved the way the songs sounded as we were building them, so we stuck with what we knew. There were times where I tried to keep pushing a mix forward but it didn’t improve the song — ‘cardigan’ is an example of a song where we ended up choosing a very early mix.”

Onward & Upward

folklore was finished and released in July 2020. In a normal world everyone might have gone on to do other things, but without the option of touring, they simply continued writing songs, with Low holding the fort. In September, many of the musicians who played on the album gathered at Long Pond for the shooting of a making‑of documentary, folklore: the long pond studio sessions, which is streamed on Disney+.

The temporary presence of Swift at Long Pond changed the working methods somewhat, as she could work with Dessner in the room, and Low was able record her vocals. After Swift left again, sessions continued until December, when evermore was released, with Dessner producing or co‑producing all tracks, apart from ‘gold rush’ which was co‑written and co‑produced by Swift and Antonoff. Low recorded many of Swift’s vocals for evermore, and mixed the entire album. The lead single ‘willow’ became the biggest hit from the album, reaching number one in the US and number three in the UK.

“Before Taylor came to Long Pond,” remembers Low, “she had always recorded her vocals for folklore remotely in Los Angeles or Nashville. When I recorded, I used a modern Telefunken U47, which is our go‑to vocal mic — we record all the National stuff with that — going straight into the Siemens desk, and then into a Lisson Grove AR‑1 tube compressor, and via a Burl A‑D converter into Pro Tools. Taylor creates and lays down her vocal arrangements very quickly, and it sounds like a finished record in very few takes.”

Devils In The Detail

In his mixes, Low wanted listeners to share his own initial response to these vocal performances. “The element that draws me in is always Taylor’s vocals. The first time I received files with her properly recorded but premixed vocals I was just floored. They sounded great, even with minimal EQ and compression. They were not the way I’m used to hearing her voice in her pop songs, with the vocal soaring and sitting at the very front edge of the soundscape. In these raw performances, I heard so much more intimacy and interaction with the music. It was wonderful to hear her voice with tons of detail and nuances in place: her phrasing, her tonality, her pitch, all very deliberate. We wanted to maintain that. It’s more emotional, and it sounds so much more personal to me. Then there was the music...”

The arrangements on evermore are even more ‘chamber pop’ than on folklore, with instruments like glockenspiel, crotales, flute, French horn, celeste and harmonium in evidence. “As listeners of the National may know, Aaron’s and Bryce’s arrangements can be quite dense. They love lush orchestration, all sorts of percusion, synths and other electronic sounds. The challenge was trying to get them to speak, without getting in the way of the vocals. I want a casual listener to be drawn in by the vocal, but sense that something special is happening in the music as well. At the same time, someone who really is digging in can fully immerse themselves and take in all the beauty deeper in the details of the sound and arrangement. Finding the balance between presenting all the musical elements that were happening in the arrangement and this really beautiful, upfront, real��sounding vocal was the ticket.

“A particular challenge is that a lot of the detail that Aaron gravitates towards happens in the low mids, which is a very warm part of our hearing spectrum that can quickly become too muddy or too woolly. A lot of the tonal and musical information lives in the low mids, and then the vocal sits more in the midrange and high mids. There’s not too much in the higher frequency range, except the top of the guitars, and some elements like a shaker and the higher buzzy parts of the synths. Maintaining clarity and separation in those often complex arrangements was a major challenge.”

#taylor swift #folklore

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teacup-crow · 3 years ago

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Distress, Disarray

Post (or mid?) S5E40 The Room Where it Happens (see what I did with the title there? It’s like half 12 on a school night and this was a very quick piece cut me some slack)

For the Panic Attack prompt from @badthingshappenbingo. Sam and Five deal with the mission’s events. 5am hurt/comfort. CW panic attack, aftermath of canonical violence, fun times had by all

Sam hadn’t been through Abel in almost nine months; Five had somehow forgotten that. Together, they staggered past crowds of raucous, celebrating townsfolk, half of them trying to slap Sam on the back and the other half still giving Five glares of suspicion. Five glared back. Let them think what they like. Nosy arseholes, the lot of them.

Sam was walking slowly, limping a little. His ankle seemed to be swollen. The residue from the gunshot made his hands sparkle. The whip slash on the side of his face bled freely.

“We should get you back to Maxie,” Five signed one-handed, not wanting to shift the other arm that was taking half his weight.

“I’ve got to see it,” is all he managed to say with gritted teeth.

They continued on through the township, which was waking up and stretching, coming to life again after a long slumber. In their peripheral vision Five saw Tom and Jody, herding people out of the prison block, blinking into the sunlight, an emaciated redhead in Tom’s arms. Cameo. Five swung Sam away before he caught a glimpse and took the slightly longer route, past the schoolhouse. Children were playing tag in the quad, voices ringing out brightly as they bickered. There were still bloodstains on the cobbles, splattered on the hopscotch. Maybe children always were resilient, even before the apocalypse. It was hard to remember.

“Nearly there,” Five said, their voice gruff as ever. He nodded, and gripped them tighter, his grime-caked nails digging into their skin. The comms shack, suddenly in view, was little more than a reinforced lean-to and had been largely ignored since the Ministry coup.

“They boarded up the windows,” Sam noted, his voice oddly empty. Five popped the door open with a swift kick, and snapped on the lightswitch. The bulb flickered, and died. They eased Sam into his old chair, and dug the torch out of their pack.

The shack was never that tidy before, but now papers were strewn everywhere, trampled and in disarray. A thick layer of dust covered the desk. The computers and other equipment had been torn out, aside from Sam’s spare headphones, the ones more gaffa tape than plastic, which still sat there right where he left them. Those were the ones he was wearing when they first met; the ones he had on when he first begged them to come home. Now, the left side housed a small spider that peered out at them with disdain.

Other knick-knacks - a twisted piece of ice-cream tower steel made paperweight, a sketch someone had made of little Sara, a conch shell Five had found at the beach that only shimmered in moonlight - lay scattered on the floor. Five knelt and gathered them together, only standing at the sudden sound of percussion.

“Sam?”

His blackened eyes were glassy. He drummed his clammy fingers on the desk, his breaths growing tight and sharp.

“Sam. I need you to breathe with me.”

They were never usually on this side of the equation. They perched on the desk, like they always used to, swinging their legs round to face him, posing a substantial risk to his cup of tea whenever they did so. This time, there was nothing to narrowly miss. They took his hands, and breathed slowly in, and held it, two, three, four…

“Five?”

“I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.”

“I killed him.”

“He was already dead,” they soothed, the words creaking out of their damaged throat, every one an effort. But they’d be damned if they let go of him now.

“I said all those things about, about us being good and better and… until it happened, I thought I wanted him dead, Five. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone like that. Not even Van Ark. Not even when they stole Sara, I never...”

Five knew - had always known - that he was so much better than they’d ever be. They had been prepared to tear Ian limb from limb, to bite, to claw eyes and soft flesh. They felt like a more primal creature, a pure form of rage, whereas Sam was calm, and gentle, and merciful, and righteous. They pressed their lips to his fluffy hair in a kiss, and felt the damp of blood and sweat.

He was trembling with laughter. Shock. Five had seen it countless times in their Runners, been there countless times themself.

“And I still don’t understand why, not really, he was just a normal bloke… I think that’s why it feels so… he wasn’t some supervillain, he was just a normal bloke, and he…”

He stopped, his gasps still shallow, his heart thudding and visible in his chest. Five tugged at the hem of his shirt, raising an eyebrow, and when he didn't react, they tentatively lifted it. The bruising was beginning to show, now, a couple hours later, stripes of black and violet and mauve. They shut their eyes but could still see it, Sam screaming again in their ear but out of their reach.

“Rory? Don’t you start crying, or I’ll start crying, and then where will we be?”

Their name always sat so softly on his tongue. They’d never prefer it to Five, but still, hearing it was a tender, whispered secret. They wanted nothing more than to slide into his lap, to wrap their arms around him, but touching him would only exacerbate the pain. So they remained, holding on tight to his knuckles, forehead pressed to his, breathing, breathing, breathing until their hearts beat as one

#zombies run #zr #zrs5 spoilers #bad things happen bingo #Sam Yao #runner five #5am #hurt/comfort #rory jeavons

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: Roughing It

Title: Roughing It By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 1601 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: This was no place for the love of his life.

Satisfies the “moonlight” square on my Steggy Bingo, also for a tumblr prompt “I wish you would write a fic where Peggy and Steve are both Cap in modern times (or 40s)” Set Post Civil War

A/N: Totally 100% inspired by Outlander quote from season 1

~*~ Inspired by the following Outlander quote:

Murtagh: I’ll saddle the horses; you take hold of Claire. We’ll be away from here this very night. Jamie: And how would we live? Horrocks was my best chance, now I may be an outlaw for good. Murtagh: We’ll live off the land. Or has castle life made ye soft? Jamie: Would ye have me sleeping under a tree, come winter, with my wife?

~*~

This was no place for the love of his life.

It was dirty, and rat infested, but they were down to their last few dollars and until they managed to figure out how, exactly they were going to make money and stay off the US radar, it was all they had.

That, and each other.

He watched her from the flimsy folding chair across the room, eyes glued tight to how she carefully brushed out her hair, how she rolled and set it with strips of fabric from a face cloth she’d cut up. The artist in him wished he had a book to sketch in or a phone to take a picture. The moonlight flooded around her, bathing her in a silver glow as her fingers separated out the long, wet strands of hair and deftly rolled them up and tied them tight.

He could draw her for hours the way the moonlight settled on her, making her look like a goddess made of platinum, strong and soft, beautiful and tender… It was a familiar look, but he never tired of it. Even in just his oversized shirt, she was beautiful to look at.

They kept the lights off in the small studio apartment as soon as the sun went down, and it reminded him more than he wanted to say of those days back in London when they’d hear the sirens and turn off all the lights and just wait for the moment something exploded around them.

He felt like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to explode figuratively or literally, and it kept his heart pounding in his chest.

They had a little, thanks to T’Challa and Shuri and a quick, undetectable wire. Peggy had been squirreling away money in a little hidden account she called her ‘rainy day fund’ and had always just smiled and winked and said “Once a spy, always a spy,” when he asked why she’d been putting the money away.

Steve was thankful for those few thousands they were able to get and split up between the group of them. It wasn’t like they’d actually thought about anything besides doing the right thing in the heat of it. They certainly hadn’t thought about bringing silly things with them like ID and bank cards or thought about how to survive while on the run. It was enough to get started, and enough to get by- especially if they were careful.

They’d split the money and gone their separate ways, planning to meet up in a few months. He’d been nervous, separating, but knew that out of all of them, he and Peggy would be the easiest to spot and the hardest to hide. They were giving Sam, Natasha, and Wanda a shot at relative anonymity. He and Peggy would get by… they always had.

He hadn’t minded sleeping rough during the war, but this wasn’t exactly the same. On the run, hiding in abandoned buildings and sneaking into empty hotel rooms was necessary but harsh. Holding her close at night while her teeth chattered made him want to scream. But she always smiled up at him in the morning, ready for wherever the day might take them.

The little apartment they’d finally landed in wasn’t much, barely more than enough room for the old mattress on its rusted springs and a half kitchenette with a stove that didn’t always work and a sink in the bathroom that dripped endlessly. It might have been less than ideal, but the landlord took cash and didn’t ask any questions.

“I can feel you watching me,” she murmured, rolling up her last curl and tying the ends of the piece of rag tightly. She smiled up at him. “You’re thinking so hard you’re going to give me a headache.”

He gave her a half smile and shifted back in his chair, not at all embarrassed that he’d been caught.

Peggy stood, moving in and out of the shafts of moonlight like a mythical creature until she straddled him, sitting back on his knees. Steve settled his hands at her hips, fingering the threadbare cotton of the undershirt, thinking that she looked like a dangerous Medusa with the rags in her hair to set her curls. He looked her over, his fingers moving with his gaze, thinking of the softness under them, thinking of the power under them, and how he’d been lucky enough to see both.

Peggy tired of the toying after a minute and took both his hands in hers, sighing. “You’re swimming in the melancholy again, my darling.” She kissed his knuckles and held his hands tight. She waited a breath as he looked at her, but finally could take the quiet no more. “Talk to me, Steve.”

He almost laughed at her earnestness. He shook his hand and wrapped his arms around her, wanting to fold into her as he held on tight, wanting to fall within her and forget all of this was happening. He buried his face in her neck, breathing the scent of her sun kissed skin in as she wrapped her arms around him, fingers running through his hair and massaging his scalp.

Her nails weren’t red anymore. They couldn’t afford the time, money, or the visibility, to go looking for something as frivolous as nail polish.

At least, that’s what she told him when he mentioned it one night.

He owed her something, at least, if he couldn’t give her cozy beds and proper curlers and bright nail polish. Words. He held her tighter for a moment before lifting his head. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the meaning was sharp and harsh. He knew neither of them had wanted this, had wanted any of it from the moments when he held her close, tucked under his shield tight as the Valkyrie dove from the sky, splashing down in the cold water beneath them.

She waited, face open and unjudging, for him to continue.

He shook his head and kissed her forehead, still trying to turn the jumble of feelings into sentences. “You deserve—”

Peggy pressed her finger to his lips, stilling them. “Now don’t you go on with all of that ‘what if’ and ‘should be’ nonsense again.” She shifted, taking his face in her hands and forcing his eyes to hers. “Neither of us could have imagined that this is where we’d end up. But we’ve both always stood up for what we’ve believed in, no matter how difficult, and that has brought us here.” Peggy leaned forward, kissing his forehead gently.

Steve closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her lips on his head, before taking her hands in his, lifting them from his cheeks, and kissing each in turn. “This place, Peg…”

She smiled softly. “Would it have been all that different after the war? A little apartment in Brooklyn on a soldier’s pay while we try to decide what’s next? Pipes that rattle and rickety furniture and you and me against the world?” She kissed his lips this time, soft and sure.

“A house,” he whispered as he chased her lips for another kiss. “With a yard and a porch and a—”

Peggy kissed him quiet before leaning back, serious. “We’ll never know.” She shook her head and ran her fingers through the scruff on his cheeks that was slowly turning into a full beard. “We will never know what might have been. But what I do know…” Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at him, pushing his growing hair from his forehead. “What I do know is that I’d rather be anywhere, anywhere, with you and a clear conscience, than in some warm fuzzy bed and having sold my soul for something I don’t believe in.”

He squeezed her hands tight, looking away for a moment before finding her eyes again. “And if we never get out of this little shit hole?”

She chuckled at him. “Then it will be our little shit hole.” She stood, pulling him up with her and tugging him towards the bed, pushing him down on it before crawling in next to him. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow,” Peggy whispered, sliding up against him as he arranged the rough blanket over them. “And I know that that eats at you.”

Steve tugged her tight against him, the moonlight falling on her skin again, making her look like a beauty out of a silent movie. “It would be nice to plan, just for once.”

Peggy settled against his chest, kissing the bare flesh there. “I plan on being with you,” Peggy breathed softly, “today, tomorrow, and however long the two of us have left in this world.” She hummed melodiously, eyes fluttering shut. “Dripping bathroom faucet and all.”

Steve shifted one of her knotted curls over from where it was digging into his shoulder as she relaxed into sleep. He watched her breathing slow, her lips part as she fell deeper away from consciousness, and felt a warmth rise up in him at the thought of holding her, just like this, for the rest of his days.

Tomorrow he’d try to fix that faucet. Then maybe he’d head down to the docks, see if there were any jobs that would trade a day’s wages for a little muscle and heavy lifting. Maybe, if they were going to be here a while, he’d try to make their little shit hole a little less shitty.

For now, Peggy and the moonlight would have to be enough.

#Steggy Bingo Bash #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic

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justauthoring · 5 years ago

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No Reason To (35/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: So, here it is ladies and gents. Finally the thirty-fifth chapter to NRT. And what better way to kick it off with a chapter OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS LONG???

I’m literally gonna be so bummed out if this barely gets any attention, but i’m trying to prepare myself for it. Anyways, I have to admit, it was hard given that it’s been so long since I wrote for this series and i’d forgotten A LOT of things but I found my mojo and my inspo and because of came the longest chapter to date. So, please, enjoy!

However, the more comments and response I receiver from chapters will inspire me to write more frequently. It was one of the reasons why I took such a long break – because it felt like no one cared about this series anymore. So, i’m hoping that people still do.

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 05x08, 05x09 & 05x10

“Stiles?”

“Y/N, thank God--!”

An immediate bout of relief floods you at the sound of Stiles’ voice, pulling your hand away from your mouth to stop the way you’d nervously been chewing at your nails and glancing around aimlessly. Your heart is still pounding erratically against your chest, frightened from all that had happened in less then twenty-four hours.

You can’t get the image of Scott shoving a sword through your stomach out of your mind. Even if it had been... well, you still weren’t sure what it was; a hallucination of some sort. Something. But even if it hadn’t been real, you couldn’t seem to calm down.

And right now, all you wanted to do was see Stiles.

“I just got a dispatch, they’ve taken--”

“Kira into custody,” you cut in, nodding to yourself. “Kira called Scott, he’s on his way to check up on her now.”

You hear, though through static, Stiles’ let out a breath of relief at your words. And silence seems to hang in the air afterwards, because while Stiles’ breath of relief is justified, you can’t seem to feel the same. Everything had gone to absolute shit so quickly.

“Y/N?”

Letting your eyes fall shut, you’re thankful that even through a cellphone, Stiles just seems to know. Just know something’s wrong. Because truth be told you weren’t exactly sure how you were supposed to tell him that Scott’s plan had gone anything but well and now, Liam and Hayden were God knows where and there was absolutely no way to track them because there was no scent to track.

“Liam and Hayden, they, um... the Dread Doctor’s got them,” you breathe, voice shaky. “The plan failed. They tricked us, all of us, and now... now they’re gone and Scott and Malia can’t find them because there’s no scent to track.”

The silence echoes for a while longer. You can hear Stiles’ breath spike as you explain, as the weight of everything, the entire situation, seems to dawn on the both of you. And neither of you are sure what to say.

All Stiles’ manages is an echoed; “Jesus...”

Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip, forcing back your tears. It was time to gather yourself. Now wasn’t the time to be acting like this; afraid. Liam and Hayden needed you, and the first ridiculous plan is what got them in trouble in the first place. You refused to fail them again.

“Scott told me to call you,” you speak up, trying your best to steel your voice. “He wants everyone to meet at our place. Come up with a plan.”

“Okay,” Stiles echoes and you can imagine him nodding. “Okay, um, okay. I’ll be there. And I’ll... I’ll bring Theo.”

You hum your agreement; “we need all the help we can get.” Then, pausing just a moment more, you add; “i’ll meet you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, i’ll meet you there.”

You move to hang up, but then Stiles’ calls out for you once more, eliciting a light hum from your lips as you press your phone up against your ear. “Yeah?” You respond lightly, playing with the hem of your shirt. “What’s up?”

“I love you.”

Blinking at his words, you for some reason realize that out of everything that wasn’t what you’d expected Stiles’ to say. You can’t make sense of why the thought wouldn’t cross your mind. But, his words help ease you, even just a little, and you feel your lips curl into a soft smile, glancing down at your feet.

“I love you too, Stiles.”

You turn at the sound of your front door opening, eyes falling on your brother.

He walks in with determination, never faltering in his step, even as Stiles calls out; “hey, is Kira okay?” Your brother just simply ignores him, walking past you, Malia, Stiles and Theo without even as much as blinking a glance towards you all.

Your brows furrow at him, watching as he makes his way to the stairs.

“Scott?” Theo calls, puzzled.

Meeting Stiles’ eyes, you shrug at the look he sends you, the first one to follow after your brother and rush up the stairs. It’s clear he’s headed to where Lydia and Mason are helping Corey get started with reading the book. And your chest tightens with worry on what you fear he’s planning on doing.

Your thoughts are only confirmed when you find Scott digging his nails into the back of Corey’s neck, eyes glowing a bright red.

“Don’t get too close,” Lydia warns.

You shuffle forward when you feel Theo rush up behind you, stepping closer to Stiles to give the former room to catch in on what’s happening. As you glance back at him, you notice the way his brows furrow in confusion, turning to you. “What’s he doing?”

“Tapping into Corey’s memories,” you explain, turning to your brother with a frown. “It’s usually something only Alpha’s do.”

Theo walks past you, until he’s directly behind Scott. Your eyes narrow slightly, just a little, at the look in his face as he regards what your brothers doing. There’s interest in his gaze and he almost seems fascinated by what Scott’s doing, but it’s the question that leaves his lips that concerns you, just a little. “Is it as dangerous as it looks?”

“Probably more,” Stiles sighs.

“Does anyone know if it’s working?”

Mason’s question is left unanswered.

But the silence only lasts so long before Scott lets out a gasp, and a bout of panic floods you. With wide eyes, you watch as Scott yanks his hand back, stumbling back on his own feet. Stiles’ rushes forward, so do you, helping catch Scott before he falls back as Corey rushes up to his feet, Lydia helping him similarly as you and Stiles help Scott.

“Is he okay?” Scott rasps, leaning against the dresser in his room, short breathed.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Corey asks, voice pitched in panic. Glancing back at him, you frown as he touches the back of his neck, clearly distraught with everything that had happened.

Scott braces himself, gripping the edge of the dresser and breathing out; “you’ll be all right.”

Lips parting, you turn to Scott in surprise.

“There’s blood,” Corey whimpers.

“You’ll heal.”

“Hey, Scott--” You move forward, to reach for Scott, but he slaps your hand away, turning to you with narrowed eyes.

“He’ll be fine!” He bellows, dismissing you and anything else you’d been about to say. You take a step back at his outburst, trying to hide the hurt on your face as you meet Lydia’s gaze before glancing down at your feet. “Listen...” Scott pants, “I think it worked. I saw something.” Grabbing a sketch pad from his dressed, Scott continues to explain himself whilst mapping it out. “There were tunnels. Pipes along the walls. There were these huge blue pipes at the entrance. Two on both sides.”

Shuffling forward, Stiles’ glances over Scott’s shoulders; “I know this,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Where?” You question, pulling Stiles’ eyes on you.

“It’s one of the tunnels I used to skateboard in,” Stiles explains, nodding. Then, he turns to Scott. “Remember, my dad caught me one time and told me to never go back?”

“It’s the water treatment plant,” Lydia identifies.

“That’s where they are,” Scott breathes, “that’s where we’ll find Liam and Hayden.”

“Scott. Scott! Just slow down and think for a minute, Mason shouldn’t be going.”

“Liam’s my best friend,” Mason instantly argues, stepping past Stiles and crossing the distance over to Scott without a moments of hesitation. “I’m going.”

“Oh,” Stiles scoffs, “did you suddenly get super wolf powers? I wasn’t aware of that development.”

Swallowing thickly, you glance at Scott before turning to Stiles, biting your lip.

“Well,” Scott shrugs, gesturing to Mason, “if you’re not going, I could use the help.”

“No, I’m coming,” Stiles huffs, “just as soon as I talk to my dad. They’re moving the body and he wants to make sure that this time no one steals it.”

“How’s he gonna do that?”

“I don’t know. But whoever took the last one was strong enough to flip my Jeep.”

Glancing amongst everyone, you shrug; “we can bring Theo,” you suggest, gesturing before yourself. Theo meets your eyes in surprise at your suggestion, before turning to Scott who waits patiently for him to agree.

“Maybe I better stay here,” Theo shrugs, shaking his head. “You know, in case the Doctors decide to make a house call for Corey.”

“Scott,” Lydia calls, “Stiles is right. We need to slow down and think.”

“I am thinking... about how Liam and Hayden could already be dead.”

Lydia’s eyes widen and she says, quickly, with no hesitation; “you could’ve hurt him, Scott.” And her words hang in the air because no one can deny that what she says is true. And that what Scott had done was way out of line. “Really hurt him.”

Shaking his head, Scott shuffles back; “I have to find Liam.” And then he turns, moving towards the door. Malia and Mason are quick to follow after him but before you can do the same, Stiles steps towards you, reaching out for you.

“Hey, text me. For anything.”

You nod without hesitation; “got it.”

“Anything at all, okay?”

Just about to turn out the door, few steps behind the rest, you nod once, this time rushed. “Of course!”

You keep close behind Scott, your gaze concentrated on anything and everything that could be a hint to where Liam and Hayden are.

You don’t have the advantage of scent-tracking like Scott or Malia, but it’s clear it might not be doing as much help anyway if the looks on Scott and Malia’s faces are anything to go by. You feel like you’re in a maze, taking turns left and right but having no idea where you’re actually headed.

It’s the blind leading the blind.

Pausing next to Malia, you catch her gaze before she looks out before herself; “Liam!” She calls, and her voice echoes amongst the tunnels, but there’s no response.

“I have a feeling this is gonna take a while.”

“Liam! Hayden!”

Brows furrowed, you shake your head at the once again lack of response. All you can hear is the echoing calls from the rest, but not from Liam or Hayden as you take random lefts and rights that never seem to lead to anything.

Taking another left, your heart leaps for the millionth time in hope that you’ll manage to find something, anything, that can be a clue. But of course, your hope is misplaced and lost the second you realize there’s nothing more special about this hallway then the rest. However, you do catch sight of Scott, Malia and Mason that have already regrouped, probably from stumbling into each other, as their gazes fall on you.

Sighing, your shoulders drop as you make your way over to them; “it feels like we’re running around in circles.”

Scott nods, “we need to make sure we’re not covering the same area.” He pants, breath laboured. Your brows furrowed when you notice the rasp to his breath, and it’s a sound you’ve heard many times however not in a long time.

“Scott,” you call, concerned. Taking a step towards him, you set your hand on his shoulder, glancing around at the rest.

Mason meets your eyes with a nod; “he needs his inhaler,” then, turning to your brother, he gestures; “right--?”

“Shh!” Scott cuts in, not letting any of you speak again as he tilts his head, shrugging your hand off of him. You let your hand fall by your side with parted lips, eyes narrowed as you hold your breath in anticipation. “I hear something,” he continues, breath still heavy.

“It’s just the lights, isn’t it?”

Scott shakes his head, eyes narrowing in concentration. However, he doesn’t explain anything to the three of you, shrugging off any questioning looks and choosing to ignore them as he steps forward. “Come on, this way.”

Pressing a hand against your chest, you lean forward, trying to ignore the burn that settles right in the middle.

“I’m telling you guys,” Mason breathes, shaking his head as he turns to face you. “We’ve been down this one before.”

“We’ve been down every one!” You argue, unable to stop the pitch in your voice as you meet your brother’s gaze. With distraught and panic, you feel your determination fading as you huff; “we’re getting no where.”

Scott pauses at your words, silent for a moment before he huffs; “what the hell are we doing? We’re running up and down this place. Up and down tunnels.” The burn in your chest seems to fade to the back of your mind when you register the wild panic in Scott’s eyes, slowly straightening out as he gestures around himself in frustration and loss. “And there’s no way... there’s no way that we’re gonna find...” His breath starts to labour again, wheezing.

“Scott,” Malia calls, “you need your inhaler.”

He just shakes his head.

“Scott, this isn’t a joke,” you snap, your voice thick with worry. “Use it. Use your inhaler.”

He falls to his knees, his legs giving out from beneath him as a spike of panic floods you. Crouching down before him, you ignore his arguing and the way he tries to fight off your hands, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out his inhale. Pressing it against his lips, you nod with encouragement as you press down on the top, him taking in a deep inhale. With that, you pull back, hovering next to him and watching carefully.

Your chest eases when he lets out a eased, full breath.

He meets your eyes, just briefly, before glancing down at his feet. “This is all my fault.” You glance up at the rest at his words, for once, not sure what to say to reassure your own twin. “We’re never going to find them. It’s my fault.”

“Scott,” Mason calls, and your eyes fall on his hand, the way he holds it out towards your brother, palm up and inviting. You lean back as Scott slowly turns to him, turning to Malia who helps pull you up to your feet once more. But never once do you look away from Scott.

He glances up at Mason in confusion, to which he just nods.

And slowly, Scott sets his hand in Mason’s own, letting him pull him up to his feet.

“We should keep looking,” Mason reassures, “we should keep trying.”

When Scott turns to you, you don’t hesitate to nod, smiling softly.

A genuine smile falls on your lips at the sight of Liam and Hayden, safe, sat together on the couch. All that mattered to you was that they were safe.

It didn’t matter to you that in the end, you, Mason, Malia and Scott hadn’t been the ones to save them. And you were more than thankful that Theo had, that he was able to figure out something you all couldn’t and get to them before something worse than what had happened did. And in the end, you know that you had tried your best.

Your smile brightens as Lydia steps forward, draping a blanket over the pair that sleep a, you think, well deserved sleep on the couch.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure approach you, pulling your eyes on Theo who makes his way over to you. You step towards him with ease, accepting his embrace as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close.

However, as your head falls into the crook of his shoulder, you finally catch a good look at Scott. And the look on his face.

The way he watches on, the way he glances at the back of Theo with some sort of distant, jealous look. Or rather not jealous, not completely at least. He almost looks afraid. But you couldn’t understand why; not when Liam and Hayden were sleeping peacefully and safely directly next to him.

Biting your lip, you frown.

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles huffs, rushing to catch up with you after you’d let the doors to the school practically slam shut in his face. Glancing around him at the few pairs of eyes you’d manage to catch the attention of do to your outburst, Stiles’ inhales sharply, shaking his head. “Just slow down. Let me talk to you, please.”

Catching you by the arm, Stiles’ halts your steps, pulling you back and spinning you around so you’re facing him. You let him do so, surprising Stiles when you don’t fight against his grip. Instead, you simply cross your arms over your chest, letting him guide you away from the middle of the hallway and towards the side, tucked into a corner where less eyes and ears can pray on your conversation.

Easing his grip a little bit, so it’s a little less forceful, Stiles’ shakes his head down at you, his eyes pleading with you. “You woke up screaming, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you huff, avoiding Stiles’ gaze as you turn your head to the side, jaw clenched. “And it wasn’t the first time I ever had, nor do I think it’ll be the last time.” Pausing, you shake your head, meeting Stiles’ gaze with certainty and without fault; “i’m fine, Stiles.”

“No,” he argues, adamantly shaking his head. He steps towards you when you move to walk off, hastily moving to block and holding his hand towards you. When you glare up at him, he simply just shakes his head, desperation in his gaze. “No, it was different. There was something different about it this time.”

Your lips part to respond, but find yourself unable to.

Stiles takes your moment of silence as agreement to continue; “in fact, something’s been off about you for a while.” Then, Stiles’ falters, just a little, and his shoulders fall as his gaze softens. You bite your lip as he reaches forward, the tips of his fingers softly brushing underneath your eyes. “You don’t sleep. And when you do, you wake up screaming. And don’t lie to me, because I see the bags under your eyes.”

Licking your lips, your eyes flicker downwards, swallowing thickly. “Stiles...--”

“I’m worried,” he breathes, voice a mere whisper. “Really worried.”

You want to tell him. You really do. Because the truth is you’ve never hidden anything from Stiles -- or Scott for that matter -- before. It felt natural to just tell him everything, and yet, when your lips part to do so, you halt. You don’t really know what this is. You’re just as, probably even more, confused about what’s happening to you and your powers as he is. As everyone is.

You don’t know why your nightmares have gotten worse, spiking like they used to when you were younger or when you were first discovering your powers. And you certainly don’t know why they’re ten times worse then they’d ever been before. You don’t why you seem to have no control over your powers, them spiking out of control at random moments that it makes you afraid to do anything in fear you’ll hurt someone.

Hurt someone again.

Waking up screaming, out of your mind, and then proceeding to finally wake up, completely, only to notice that you’d somehow managed to set Stiles’ comforters on fire... well, it left you terrified. More than that. You were absolutely petrified; embarrassed because you’d had absolutely no control of what you were doing and you could’ve really hurt Stiles if he hadn’t caught on to what was happening in time.

Really hurt him.

And hearing Stiles go on about how worried he is, how he just wants to help, for some awful reason just makes you more angry. Makes you want to keep your mouth shut and not tell him anything because why the hell was he so concerned about you when you could’ve hurt him -- maybe even killed him?

Everything was just seeming to pile on top of the other. While Liam and Hayden were safe, nothing had been resolved about the Dread Doctors. You were still just as lost and confused about it all and at this point, everyone was just waiting for the next attack; in whatever way it came. Everyone was different, distant. You hadn’t had a proper conversation with really any of them in a long time.

Not even your own brother.

And when around Stiles, you just found yourself constantly aggravated and you don’t know why. Because he hasn’t done anything. Absolutely nothing. He was just concerned for you, like you would be for him if the roles were reversed.

It didn’t help that you didn’t know anything either.

“I don’t know.” You say bluntly, voice soft but distant.

Stiles blinks, “what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, Stiles,” you huff, glaring up at him as you shake your head. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know why this is happening or-or why it’s happening now. I don’t know if it’ll get worse or when it’ll get better. I don’t know anything.”

Your breath hitches as you finish your rant, swallowing thickly as Stiles just stares down at you, clearly at a lost on what to say.

“You don’t know,” he repeats slowly, nodding to himself. “That’s it? You don’t know.”

Narrowing your eyes, you shrug; “yeah, that’s it.”

“You’re hiding something,” Stiles deduces, shaking his head at you as if that was the only logical answer. “I can tell. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Brows furrowing, you scoff. What the hell did he know? How did he know you were hiding something? And what right did he have to accuse of that when he’s been hiding something for days himself.

“Well then,” you snap, leaning back as you cross your arms over your chest. Stiles watches with a frown, but you simply quirk a brow at him; “that’s quite funny given that you’ve been doing the exact same thing for days.”

Stiles’ face falls, and his eyes widen, even for just a second as he shuffles on his feet. A cough slips past his lips and the heavy, narrowed gaze you hold on him only adds to his sudden growing nerves. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“You’ve never been good at lying, Stiles.”

“I’m not,” he argues, just a tad bit too quickly. “I’m not lying, nor am I hiding anything.”

“You say something’s been off with me, that i’m not telling you everything and you’re concerned,” you ramble, taking a step towards Stiles’ with an accusatory point at his chest. “But you’ve been distant and off yourself. It’s like you’re constantly afraid of something, and I don’t know what it is but don’t you dare accuse me of hiding something when you’re doing the exact same thing.”

Stiles’ face tightens and his expression shifts from the soft, concerned way it’d been before, to a distant, masked one. “This wasn’t about me,” he dismisses with a shake of his head. “I’m not the one who woke up and nearly set the both of us on fire.”

“And I said I was sorry!”

“And you don’t know how you did it?”

“No!” You snap, forgetting yourself and the fact that you’re in the middle of the hallway. Cringing at the attention you receive from a few students walking by, you force yourself to lower your voice, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t, okay? I don’t know anything, like I never do. You don’t think i’m scared? Out of my mind? And yet you continue to interrogate me and I can’t handle--”

“Woah, Y/N,” Stiles cuts in, voice pitch in panic. “Your eyes--!”

Blinking, you pause; “what are you...”

“Your eyes, they’re glowing. You’re... You’re glowing...”

Glancing down at your hands, you swallow thickly, finally noticing the way your powers have surged amongst your panic. You hadn’t even noticed, blinded by your own anger as you forgot yourself. Meeting Stiles’ eyes with your own panic ones, you try to calm yourself down but find that you can’t. You just won’t calm.

Then, you seem to take notice of your shortened breath and the way your skin has grown clammy. It’s happening again. You’re--

“Y/N?”

Blinking, your head snaps behind you at the sound of a different voice. And despite everything, relief floods you when you meet Theo’s eyes who had slowly been approaching, more in hesitation then anything. However, when he seems to catch sight of what’s happening, he doesn’t waste any time in rushing over to you, taking you by your arms and pulling you into the nearest empty classroom and away from prying eyes.

Stiles’ follows aimlessly behind.

“Remember what we talked about, Y/N? You’ve got to breathe,” Theo directs, voice soft and gentle. He continues to gently nudge you back, until he pulls out a chair for you and lets you fall back. Not having to stand on your own wobbly legs helps you and you’re able to focus in on Theo as he moves to breathe with you. “Breathe with me, Y/N. Just breathe with me.”

You do. You breathe in as he does and holds it until he exhales. And slowly, by the second, you feel your heart calm and the pounding in your head ease as you gather yourself, Gather your bearings.

When it’s settled enough for you to think and speak coherently, your head falls into your hands, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s getting worse,” you whimper, oblivious to the way Theo still keeps you close and a steady hand on your arm to calm you. Pulling your head away from your hands, you turn to Theo with a watery gaze before meeting Stiles’ eyes whose stands a little bit in front of you, lost.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We just have to--”

“I nearly set Stiles on fire this morning, Theo,” you mumble, turning to the boy with a frown. “I mean, I could’ve really hurt him.”

Theo glances back at Stiles, as if for confirmation on what you’ve said.

“It’s true,” Stiles nods, voice quieter then usual. “How’d you, um, how’d you know how to do that? Calm Y/N down like that?”

“Theo’s been helping me,” you mumble, rubbing at your face. “With my powers.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Theo nods, standing up but still sticking close to you. “She just needs a little bit of guidance.”

Stiles nods, slowly, his lips pursing. “It’s amazing how you seem to just know how to help her,” he comments, his suspicion of it all very clear in his tone. “How’d you even know, huh? You just happened to come at the right moment.”

Theo’s lips part, shaking his head; “Stiles--”

“Oh, come off it, Stiles.” You snap, tired of his accusatory attitude. He hadn’t stopped being like that since you walked through the front doors of the school this morning and right now, you couldn’t deal with it.

However, it’s clear both Theo and especially Stiles, are surprised by your tone.

“Seriously,” you huff, pushing yourself up to your feet and ignoring Theo who tries to get you to sit back down. “If he hadn’t come, you could’ve gotten hurt, again. So maybe we should be thanking him. In fact,” turning to Theo, you soften your gaze, nodding at him; “thank you, Theo.”

“Yeah,” Theo mumbles, clearly uncomfortable, “it’s... it’s no problem.”

“Y/N,” Stiles calls, disbelief in his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you roll your eyes, pushing yourself away from the desk and moving to take a step forward.

Theo is quick to rush forward. “Woah, here, Y/N, let me help you.”

“No, I’ve got it,” Stiles’ cuts in, beating Theo to the punch and slipping his hand in your own. You don’t bother fighting his grip, instead using his support as a means to gather the rest of your strength and will. “I can walk my girlfriend to class, thank you.”

Stepping back, Theo holds up his hand in surrender.

“My God, Stiles,” you sigh, “just... let’s go.”

You glance back at Theo once more, offering a small wave before you’re completely out of the class and he’s no longer in your peripheral. There’s an echo of silence that hangs over both you and Stiles, his grip easing on you now that Theo is no longer there.

“Y/N--”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” you cut in, interrupting him before he can say anything. “I just want to go to class. We’re already late enough as it is.”

You ended up going home.

You felt pathetic doing so but you just couldn’t stand another minute of sitting in class and pretending everything was fine. And you found yourself snapping at people quite easily, getting yourself into more trouble then usual.

Being afraid of losing control and hurting people didn’t help either.

Besides, Stiles and you didn’t really talk after your conversation in the morning. And you couldn’t find Lydia anywhere, nor your brother or Theo. Malia had simply brushed past you when you’d walked past her so it didn’t really feel like anyone would miss you if skipped out on one day anyway.

And for the most part you’d enjoyed it. Getting to just be by yourself was nice enough, even if you’d let your thoughts get to you a little bit too much. You’d distracted yourself by calling Isaac, and it was nice given that you hadn’t been able to talk to him in a while. You heard all about how his fancy new life was going and he sounded genuinely happy, like he always did when you called him. It was a nice contrast to the gloom that seemed to be hanging over you and everyone else’s heads recently.

You lied when he asked how you were doing. You pretended like everything was fine and he seemed to believe you for the most part.

And he’d kept you distracted. Reminded you of simpler times. It was nice.

But then you’d gotten a text from Theo, saying that you needed to get to the vet instantly. You hadn’t bothered on asking why and you appreciated, that despite everything, despite him seeing how stable your powers were probably more than anyone else, he still trusted you enough to make sure to keep you in the loop. You couldn’t handle being kept out of things like Scott and Stiles had that one time.

So you raced over immediately, taking no more then twenty minutes to get there. And the second you did, your heart fell with panic when you saw just exactly what was wrong.

“What happened?” You ask with worry, racing over to where Liam is sat with Hayden in his arms. Her face is scrunched up in distress and it’s clear she’s in pain if the whimpers that leave her lips every few seconds are anything to go by. Her skin is pale, worryingly so, and as you flicker your eyes upwards towards Liam, he stares back at you with absolute terror.

“The Dread Doctors came for her,” Theo explains, pulling your eyes on him as he settles a few inches behind you. Slowly pushing yourself up to your feet, you send one last worried glance at the pair before making your way over to Theo, crossing your arms over your chest. “Scott and I got there as soon as possible. I tried to find you but...”

“Yeah, I, uh... sorry, I just had to get away.” You frown, biting your lip as guilt floods you. If you had known so much would happen on your one day away, you wouldn’t have left. But then again, you maybe should’ve expected it. It was, after all, the life you now lived. “I’m not sure what help I would’ve been though.”

“Don’t say that,” Theo argues without hesitation, “and you shouldn’t be afraid to use your powers.”

Cheeks warming, even if only faintly at Theo’s words, you advert your gaze from his own, opting to glance around in search of your brother only then realizing you haven’t seen him since you’d walked in. In fact, as you look around Deaton’s animal clinic, you realize, he isn’t there at all.

“Where’s Scott?” You question, curious and a little worried. Pushing yourself up and off the lab bench you’d been leaning on, you turn to Theo with furrowed brows.

“Outside,” he explains with ease, “talking to Stiles.”‘

Stiles... You should probably talk to Stiles too.

“Oh,” you mumble, making your way towards the back door. “I should probably--”

Theo’s hand wraps around your wrist, halting your movement completely before giving a small tug, trying to pull you back in his direction. You glance over at him in bewilderment, eyes narrowing in confusion as your eyes flicker from the tight grip he holds on your wrist to his eyes which stare carefully and deeply into your own.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What?” You question, baffled. “Theo--”

“Just... there’s something I have to tell you.” Theo cuts in gently, sending a small nod towards Liam and Hayden, clearly signaling that he doesn’t want to say it front of the two. You wait a moment before nodding, letting him pull you off from the two and tucking the two of you into a corner. You don’t miss the way Theo inches closer, probably more closer than appropriate, towards you, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper as he hesitates.

“I’m not really sure how to say this.”

“Well you’re the one who told me you have to tell me something,” you huff, shaking your head at him. “Just tell me, Theo.”

Swallowing thickly, Theo inhales sharply. “It has to do with Stiles.”

“Stiles?” You ask, voice pitching in concern and worry. “Is something wrong? Did something--”

You inch towards the door once more, worry clouding your judgement before Theo pulls you back again, this time, his hand falls on your arm and he leaves it there. You turn to him with narrowed eyes, shaking your head as you try to make sense of what he’s trying to say.

“Stiles’ is fine,” Theo dismisses, shaking his head. “At least, physically.”

“I... What the hell are you going on about, Theo?”

“Y/N, Stiles...” And he pauses, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if he’s trying to prepare himself for something. Well, nothing could’ve prepared you for the words he says next. “Stiles killed Donovan.”

And you pause, not really sure how to respond to that. Your first instinct is to just laugh, outright deny whatever lie Theo is trying to spit out right now. But you don’t. You can’t seem to force any other words but a strangled and choked; “what?” out of your lips as you shake your head adamantly at the accusation, at a lost.

“Donovan went after Stiles in the library.” Theo explains, voice eerily quiet. “You know his shoulder? You know it’s hurt?” You nod, numb, your mind trying to remember what excuse Stiles had come up with to explain why his shoulder had hurt but drawing a blank. Had he even given one?

But the truth was, he had. However not without simply brushing off your concern and then you’d reached out for him, touched his shoulder and--

Darkness. Fear. Terror. Regret. Guilt.

Guilt.

“I just saw the end of it. That’s it, but... but...” Stammering over his own words, Theo shakes his head, his grip tightening on you ever so slightly. “Stiles had hit him with this-this wrench and he just... he wouldn’t stop. He just kept hitting him. And he wouldn’t stop.”

Lips parting, you let out a shaky breath; “that... doesn’t sound like Stiles.”

“I know,” Theo breathes, voice pitching, his words hanging in the air for a moment. “I couldn’t stop him. I tried to. I shouldn’t be telling you this, I-I know that but I didn’t want you to go out there and--”

“Scott knows?”

Theo nods; “yeah. I... I told him.”

He told the both of us?

Glancing over your shoulder at the back doors, you swallow thickly. Something... Something doesn’t feel right. Something feels wrong.

Your lips part and you move to say something, but nothing make sense. Theo’s story doesn’t make sense and... and you know that. You know that. So why are you so confused? Why does your heart feel as if it’s going to break?

Stiles had been hiding something. You’d said it yourself earlier this morning.

There had been something off about him for a long time.

But to bash a man’s head in?

“Y/N, i’m... i’m sorry.” Theo’s voice quivers, shaky and breathless as he takes a step towards you. “I’ve just never seen someone so... so angry.”

And for a long while you’re silent. You don’t even have the courage to properly look at Theo in the eyes. You just stand there, feeling numb, feeling heart broken and confused and everything in between. And you don’t say anything because you can’t. Nothing... Nothing feels right.

But you know Stiles. You’ve known Stiles for years and you know he’s not a violent person. He never has been, whether someone he cared about was in danger or not. Stiles was not a violent person, you know that, and for him to have bashed a boys head in... well, that just seemed impossible.

“No,” you whisper, eyes narrowing as you slowly begin to shake your head. “No, that’s... you’re wrong. That’s not--”

“Y/N,” Theo calls, moving to pull you back towards him, “I know what I saw.”

You yank yourself from his grasp, meeting his eyes with absolute disbelief. He looks at you stunned, as if that was the absolute last thing he’d expected you to do. But it felt right for you to react this way and it rubbed you the wrong way that Theo seemed so quick to judge Stiles and think he’d actually be able to make you believe a story like that.

It was impossible.

Stiles and you might not be getting along the best recently, you may feel more distant from him then ever, but you knew you loved him. And you knew who he was. You know that the boy you’d fallen in love when you were just a little girl who’d protected you from your father, who’d never failed to make you laugh at his silly ways. Who’d hold you when things got to be too much, who never stopped believing in you and who always gave you hope, even in the toughest of times, was not capable of a story like that.

“You’re lying,” you sob, taking a step back from Theo. “There’s... There’s no--”

You turn, moving to race out and find Stiles and talk to him and ask him, plead with him to tell you what you know you already know. But the second you turn, Scott walks through the door and you end up crashing into him instead. However, your eyes catch sight of Stiles’ just before the door falls shut, standing there, looking heart broken, and without even regarding Scott, you move to catch him before he leaves.

“No, Y/N, wait, Stiles--”

“You believe him?” You screech, glaring up at Scott as you point back at Theo whose lips have parted in absolute shock. “You believe him over Stiles?”

“Y/N, he practically told me that he killed Donovan.”

Your shoulders fall, left speechless for a minute, before you whimper out; “like that?”

Because bashing a mans head in seemed worse then just simply killing a man out of self defense.

Scott doesn’t reply.

Scoffing, you move to step forward, but Scott holds you back, muttering about it not being safe. You just ignore him -- because how could Stiles not be safe --fighting his grip wildly and thanking, silently, when Hayden lets out a cry of pain. It’s selfish, you know, but it catches Scott’s attention and Theo’s too, which allows you to rush out the door like you’d intended.

You catch Stiles just as he’s stepping into his jeep.

“Stiles!”

You fall to a stop just before him, two or so feet away from him. Stiles’ seems stunned at the sight of you, and there’s an echo of silence that hangs in the air as he slowly steps back from his jeep, gently shutting the door. Even though rain pours over both of you, you can tell he’s crying, and you know he can tell the same on you.

Neither of you know what to say. Stiles looks like he wants to say something but looks afraid, petrified even. So you speak up first.

“Did... Did you?”

Stiles shuffles on his feet, glancing downwards before swallowing thickly; “do you think I did?”

No. No, I don’t. You want to scream, but something holds you back. Not in that way.

Stiles steps forward at your silence; “do... do you believe me?”

Yes, without a doubt.

Instead, all you can manage is a shaky; “I don’t know.”

Stiles doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t plead with you to, he doesn’t try to defend himself, he doesn’t scoff or anything. He just stands there, for a minute, before taking a step back, moving towards his jeep and pulling open the door. Your body itches, flinching to run after him as he slips into the drivers seat and turns on the engine, the lights blinding you.

And you want to, needing to do something as he begins to pull away.

But you don’t.

You don’t know why.

“Stiles!”

He halts, hesitating by the front of the police station. He obviously hadn’t expected for you to be there.

Falling to a stop behind him, you hesitate, breath heavy and laboured. Your heart is pounding erratically against your chest and it feels as if you might collapse right then and there. But... But you needed to say this. You needed Stiles to know.

“I believe you.”

Turning, Stiles glances back at you, lips left parted. He doesn’t step towards you, doesn’t say anything; he stays rooted exactly where he is, refusing to do anything else.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Then, last night...--”

“I was confused, I... I’ve been confused, Stiles.” Your breath quivers, shaking with desperation as you take a small step forward. You want to reach out for Stiles, but you don’t know where you stand. You don’t understand anything. It seems to be the only thing you can properly actually understand right now. “And last night I was, I... It doesn’t matter. What matters is I believe you, of course I believe you.”

You take another step forward, this time actually reaching out for him but he pulls away before you can touch him, moving away from your touch.

Your hand hangs in the air, helpless.

“You don’t even know what happened,” Stiles reminds.

“Doesn’t matter,” you whimper, feeling your eyes water. “Whatever it is, I trust you. I believe you.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

Silence echoing, you glance to your left, swallowing thickly. “You’re going to tell your dad?”

Nodding, Stiles murmurs his response.

“I saw Malia pulling out, she... she, um, drive you here?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

Lowering your gaze to your feet, you fiddle with your fingers, swallowing thickly. “You could’ve asked me. I... I could’ve helped you.”

“Drive me to the police station or cover up a murder?”

Inhaling deeply, you shake your head. “Why didn’t you tell me, Stiles?”

“Same reason you won’t tell me the truth either.”

Scoffing, you wipe at your eyes, trying to fight away and hide the tears that stream down your cheeks without fault. It’s obvious Stiles’ sees them, how can he not? And it hurts he does nothing to stop them. That the two of you are in a situation where we can’t.

“You want me to tell you? Tell you the truth?” Throwing your hands up beside you, you cross the distance until you’re directly in front of Stiles’, never wavering your gaze away from your own. “The truth is, I really don’t know what’s going on with me. I have no clue. And i’m scared. More than that; i’m petrified because I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know anything... everything’s so messed up right now and I can’t help. I can’t do anything. And I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”

Stiles stares back at you, taking in your words as they echo amongst the silence. You wait for him to say something back, begging him, albeit silently, to say something. To say he understands, to accept your apology for doubting him, even if it had only been for a second, last night. To pull you into his arms and hold you tight and just never let go because right now, all you wanted above everything else, was him.

But he doesn’t. Doesn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he takes a small step back, small, just a shuffle and you feel your heart plummet as he simply just shakes his head at you.

“I’m gonna go talk to my dad.” He mumbles, voice oddly quiet. “I just gotta go talk to my dad.”

And then, like he had last night, he turns, pulling open the door and walking into the police station without another word. You let him, not able to find any fight within you to stop him, as you feel your heart shatter. And you watch him, until you can no longer see him, and you’re just left there.

Lost.

“You know, this really isn’t how I anticipated it all going down.”

Meeting Theo’s eyes, you scoff; “what the hell are you talking about?”

Theo just smirks, stood across from you. There’s a glint in his gaze, and suddenly, something wells in you. Something you’ve felt before. Something that maybe you’d felt this entire time, but just ignored. Couldn’t really sense but... it’s the same thing you’d felt when Stiles had been possessed by the nogitsune.

A witches instinct...

Suddenly, your chest tightens with worry.

“You know, out of everyone, I thought you’d be the first one to figure me out.” Theo continues, not at all threatened or concerned by this new knowledge that’s come to you. It only sickens you with worry more. Because if he was so unconcerned with you finding out the truth, that meant he’d already done something. Or was in the process of doing something.

“What did you do?” You hiss, clenching your jaw and narrowing your eyes at the boy. “Where’s Liam? Hayden? Scott?”

“Liam and Hayden are fine, for now,” Theo dismisses with a roll of his eyes. “It’s Scott you should be concerned about.”

Anger flooding you, you rush forward, but the second you move to do so, your vision turns blurry and your head feels heavy. The familiar pang in your forehead returns and while the anger still hangs around, nestles in the bit of your stomach, you find you no longer have the strength to do anything about it.

Actually, it hits harder then you’re sure it ever has and you find your knees collapse beneath you, falling to the ground with a thud as you let out a cry of pain.

“It’s a shame really,” Theo continues, crouching before you and brushing back a strand of loose hair. You let out a growl as he does so which only elicits a laugh from Theo as he shakes his head at you. “I had hoped to have you fully with me when this all came to be.”

“With you,” you repeat, slowly, unsure, your eyes scrunching shut as another painful pang echoes through your head. “What the hell are you talking about? Where’s Scott? What... What did you do to him?”

“I came for a pack, Y/N. And I intend to have one. Scott’s just not apart of it.”

You move to lash out at him, push him back, do something but you can feel your heart pounding against your chest and the second you move to do anything, you find you have no strength in you to actually do it. The pounding in your head gets worst and your vision turns blurry, your hands shake as you clutch at yourself desperately, trying to keep yourself upright. And every bit of struggle that leaves your body only causes Theo to laugh at your pitiful attempt.

“You’re your own worst enemy, Y/N.”

Hissing, you bite back the cry that threatens to leave your lips. “Fuck off.”

“There’s so much power inside of you, just waiting to be released, but you won’t let it. You’re too afraid to.”

Eyes falling shut, you can’t stop, not this time, the cry that leaves your lips, letting out a whimper. “Stiles was right,” you breathe, chest caving in as a convulsion racks your body, unable to stop Theo as he grabs a hold of you, hauling you up to your feet. And even if you hate it, even if disgust burns deep inside of you, you have no strength to fight Theo as he picks you up, carrying you somewhere.

Your head simply lulls, staring at the concrete ground in disbelief. “Stiles was right.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Theo mumbles, his words an echoing mumble in your own head. “Once Scott is dead and i’m the alpha, i’ll help you get control over your full powers. Just like a promise. You’ll be unstoppable, just the way I want you.”

You feel your back hit something and as you blink upwards, a cry leaving your lips, you realize you’re staring at the ceiling of a car. A ceiling you recognize. Theo’s truck. You’re in Theo’s truck.

You feel him grab your feet, pushing them upwards until they’re positioned on the end of the car seat. When you feel the uncomfortable sensation of rope around your ankles, you move, whimpering as you try to sit up and stop him, but your head pounds and every movement makes you lose proper sight of everything more.

So, you end up just falling back, completely and utterly vulnerable.

“Where... Where are you taking me?”

“No where,” Theo shrugs, “I just have to keep you away until it’s all finished.”

You blink, swallowing thickly, as a single tear slips past you and rolls down your cheek. You felt like a fool, an absolute idiot. You’d fallen for Theo’s good guy act so quickly, so... easily. You’d been charmed by him and his smile and it’d even made you lose sight of what was important -- your friends and family. It had made you doubt Stiles...

You were such an idiot. “

“I just need you know Y/N, that I truly did come back for you. You maybe more than anyone else.”

Face scrunching in distress, hating how helpless you are, you let out a cry.

The pounding gets worst and your breath becomes laboured, getting trapped at the back of your throat as your eyes suddenly become heavy. The idea of just falling asleep and waking up and this all being just some sort of nightmare is all too tempting to ignore that when Theo pulls you forward, with the intent to tie your wrists, you barely even realize, your vision fading to black.

“--I never lied about why I came to Beacon Hills.”

Blinking slowly, you let out a groan, moving to sit up before you realize something feels wrong. Your vision clears as you register the car ceiling before you, the distant ache in your head, as memories resurface. As you sit up, trying to gather where you are and your bearings, your suspicions of what happened are only confirmed when you see the roped wrapped tightly around your wrists.

And you realize you’re also no longer sat on the backseat of the truck and rather on the floor, tucked tightly in between the back of the front seats and the backseat themselves.

“I’m here for a pack.”

Breath halting, you swallow thickly at the familiar sound of Theo’s voice. He’s clearly talking to someone, but... who?

“I came for the werecoyote,” Theo continues, “the one whose first instinct is to kill. I came for the Banshee, the girl surrounded by death. I came for the dark Kitsune, the Beta with anger issues... I came for Void Stiles. That’s the pack I want.” Then, pausing, Theo continues, “and I came for the witch, whose power is the greatest amongst all of you but just doesn’t know it yet.”

Swallowing thickly, your heart plummets at the mention of yourself.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t include Scott.”

Scott... Scott was in danger.

“Your heartbeat’s rising, Stiles.”

Stiles? Stiles was here?

Pushing yourself up, best to your ability, you try to maneuver, despite the lack of use of your limbs, to glance out the window trying to catch sight of either of them.

You can’t.

“It’s not because you’re afraid. Nogitsune is gone, but you’ve still got more blood on your hands than any of us.”

There’s an echo of silence, then; “i’m about to get more.”

You halt when you hear footsteps, nearing footsteps that sound like they’re getting closer to the truck. Glancing around you, best you can, your eyes widen when you see the familiar head of Theo, back turned to you, and the faintest glimpse of Stiles directly in front of him.

When Theo turns towards the truck, you duck quickly, hoping not to have been caught.

Your worry fades when you hear him say; “i’ll tell you where your dad is, if you promise not to help Scott.”

Without hesitation, there’s a thud, and one glance back out the window, you just manage to catch sight of Stiles’ swinging his arm towards Theo, the latter stumbling back in response. But he doesn’t seem all that effected if the laugh that leaves is lips is anything to go by.

“There he is!” Theo cheers, “that’s Void Stiles. It felt good, didn’t it?”

You watch Stiles’ land one more punch on Theo, this time, sending him to the ground.

Using this to your advantage, you lean forward, enough to bring your wrists to your lips, biting at the rope in an attempt to free yourself. You still listen closely, your heart still pounding against your chest erratically. But the fact that you no longer feel as if you’re going to pass out, like you’d felt before, you use to your advantage. You didn’t know when it will happen again.

“We won’t tell Scott though,” Theo pants, voice wavering, “cause you can’t lose your best friend, right? Even though we both knew you never needed him. Or--! What about Y/N? Should we tell Y/N?” Halting, just for a moment, your breath stops short, fearing Theo’s next words. “What if she saw this all? How do you think she would react--?”

Stiles’ lunges forward, you can tell because you can no longer see him. But Theo’s words worry you -- did he know you were awake?

Inhaling sharply, you push the thought aside, moving to untie yourself once more.

“You hate me now, but you’ll get it eventually,” Theo pants, “this is the hard part. Cause you can’t help Scott and save your dad’s life. You’ve still got time, Stiles. You’ve still got time.”

You know, even though it’ll kill him, who Stiles’ will go for.

So you quicken your pace, best you can, trying to rip the rope around your wrists as fast as you can. Digging your teeth into the rope and ignoring the disgusting taste. Your heart leaps with hope when you manages to get a good grip, enough to loosen the tightness and wiggle your wrists. As silence echoes outside the truck, and then a set of footsteps grow quieter, you manage to free one wrist, and then the other.

A bout of panic floods your chest and pain and you know instantly, even if you somehow hadn’t felt it before, that it’s Scott. And you need to hurry.

But then, another set of footsteps follow, and your chest tightens with worry, scared that Theo will catch you. Because for some reason, even if deep down you know you can protect yourself, Theo scares you. However, he doesn’t check on you, he simply opens the door to the drivers seat and you’re quick to position yourself in a way he can’t see your now free wrists.

You stay quiet, eerily so, listening to him turn on the engine and speed off, God knows where.

“Let go--!”

“Come on!”

Huffing, a hiss of pain leaves your lips as Theo pulls painfully on your hair, tugging you through the hallways through the school with a quick and determined step. Your feet shuffle beneath you uselessly, trying to catch your bearing but ultimately failing each time you do.

The grip on your hair hurts but you find yourself, stupidly, too stupid to do anything about it. And the pain that floods your entire body, due to Scott and whatever’s happen to him, isn’t helping either because every movement, every pull and twist Theo moves on you sends your whole being into a blinding pain.

It takes you a second, as Theo takes a sharp turn, that he’s pulling you into the library. Nor do you hear the two other voices until Theo cuts in, voice sharp; “bad timing.” And he lets go of you, letting you fall to the floor with a thud as he races forward, stopping directly in front of Scott and Mason.

“I mean, seriously. You couldn’t have waited five minutes?”

He grabs a hold of Mason, tossing him and knocking him out with one simple movement before zoning in on your brother.

“I should’ve stayed,” Theo hisses, angry as he glances down at his claws, “I should’ve made sure.”

Barely able to stand on his own feet, Scott mumbles; “because now you have to kill me yourself.”

“They’re still mine. She’s,” he turns, pointing a sharp finger at you. Your breath halts as you meet your brothers tired and defeated gaze. “Still mine. Maybe not yet, but they’ll come around.”

Shaking his head, Scott simply says; “not for you.”

And you see it, before it happens. Feel the anger that floods Theo, but it feels like all you can do is watch as he suddenly lunges forward, digging his claws directly into Scott’s stomach. A cry leaves your lips in response, tearing past your lips and bouncing off the walls of the library as Scott’s eyes glows red in response to the pain and you feel it well deep within your own stomach. You feel every bit of pain he does, only, you won’t die because of it.

“They’re not like you,” Scott pants, and you call out for him weakly, pushing yourself up. “They never will be.”

“Because i’m a Chimera? Because i’m not a real werewolf?”

“Because you’re barely even human.”

But you get to your feet a second too late. Because the second you’re steady, Theo is already digging his claws further into Scott, knocking him back until he falls against the steps, a groan leaving his lips in response. And you don’t hear the cry that leaves your lips as you watch your brothers eyes lull shut and his head tip to the side, his skin growing pale and the red of his eyes fading.

And that feeling, the one you’d felt back at the hospital when Scott had died a first time, floods you again. The feeling of emptiness and pain because Scott was dying, or... was already dead and you’d just stood there and done nothing cause you were too afraid. Because you were afraid to use your powers. Because you were too much of a coward to do anything.

It’s that, mixed with everything else, that causes you to just... let go.

A scream tears past your lips, and you don’t see it, but your eyes glow purple, as a wave of it pulsates around you. Your powers bursts through you, completely and powerfully, directed at Theo only as he’s sent flying back and into one of the shelves of books, landing with a crash. Everything seems to slow as it happens, as everything you’ve been holding back just breaks free.

But the feeling of ease that washes you doesn’t last long, not even a second, as you rush towards Scott, your brother, your twin brother, dead...

“No!” You sob, voice cracking, eyes watering as you fall next to him. “No, no, no... Please, God, no... Scott... No, you can’t. I can’t do this...” Pulling at his hands, at his jacket, your hands shake before you as you observe the blood now coating your hands completely.

Scott’s blood.

You shove at him desperate for him to come back.

“Y/N...” Mason calls, hesitant, voice light, unsure. “Y/N...”

“This is all my fault, this is... I could’ve... I could’ve done something....” Eyes flickering from Scott, to Mason’s own, your breath comes out in short rasps, trying to find the words but all that leaves your lips is incoherent mumbles of distress as that feeling of emptiness won’t leave you.

It just won’t leave.

You don’t register falling into Mason’s arms, or the fact that fifteen minutes pass before your mother even arrives. You don’t even notice her come in, not properly, not completely, distressed and upset as the tears just keep falling from your eyes and the emptiness hovers.

Is this how it will always feel now?

But then, you hear Mason trying to tell your mother that trying to bring Scott back was hopeless... that it’s been fifteen minutes since his heart last beat and that it was impossible... And the words seem to hit, seem to register within you as your eyes finally seem to properly zone in on your mother. You’re pulling back from Mason’s grasp and reaching out for your mother with slow, lethargic movements.

“Mom... he... you can’t...”

But the words don’t come out because you don’t want them to be true.

And she doesn’t stop, even when you try to reach out for her. She just continues to give him compression's, going on that Scott can’t die like this and that he’s an Alpha and...--

But then she pulls back, hitting Scott hard directly in the middle of his chest and suddenly, the emptiness just... goes away.

Then your ears hurt and you realize Scott is roaring, loudly, and it’s pounding your ears so badly that you have to press your palms against them to stop the pain. Stop the pounding.

“You still have me, you know?”

Blinking, Scott slowly glances up, catching your eyes from where you’re stood at his doorway. He doesn’t say anything, simply staring at you with a defeated look. And the truth is, you stare back at him with a similar one.

But, you need him to know.

“You’ll always have me.”

And while Scott doesn’t smile, because, how could he? And he doesn’t say anything either. You know, you just do, that he appreciates your words. Appreciates the reassurance. And there’s an understanding between the two of you as he nods, and you hold his gaze just a little while longer to make sure before walking off, heart heavy.

Part 36?

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sun-daddy-yoriichi · 4 years ago

Note

Can i get prompt 94 on “100 ways to say I love you” with Sanemi? Where reader is nervous about her 1st art commission and kinda starts spiraling?

Sure thing! My blog lacks any Sanemi content so y'know I'll take anything for him-

▬▬▬

Warning(s) : Mentions of anxiety, spoilers (maybe)

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader : "You can do it." [ILY Prompts #94] [Kimetsu Gakuen AU]

It was two in the morning when Sanemi woke up to the irritating light coming from his girlfriend's tablet.

He loved her. Loved her a lot, in fact. Quite strange coming from the diamond-tough Mathematics teacher from Kimetsu Academy. Still, it was the truth, and he would be damned if anyone were to think that he didn’t worship the very ground she walked on.

Still, did she not know how fucking late it was?!

“Babe. . .” (Y/n) nearly shrieked in response when a hand gripped her knee, freezing before she figured out that it was just her drowsy boyfriend. Slowly, she turned her head, trying to meet Sanemi’s eyes through the darkness. Something told her that it wouldn’t be a good idea to wake up Sanemi this late at night, but it was too late now.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning the brightness of her tablet down, “go back to sleep. I won’t be long.”

‘You woulda said that twenty minutes ago, too. It’s, like, 2:30, babe, and we both have to wake up early tomorrow.” His words were tempting, but so was finishing the last layer to her art commission. Usually, she stuck to physical art, paintings and sketches, so the world of digital art was more or less a mystery to her. She wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

During her moments of hesitation, Sanemi had somehow taken the drawing pen away from her, setting it on the bedside table, before holding a hand out for her tablet. In reality, she knew that she wasn’t obligated to give it to him. She could just as easily have moved to the living room and worked there until she was satisfied.

“M-My work-”

“Will still be here in the morning. Come on, get some sleep.”

The thought of going to sleep did seem like a good idea.

Reluctantly, she set her tablet aside, getting comfortable once again. Tired or not, what Sanemi wanted, Sanemi usually got. Even if what he wanted was just for her to go to sleep at a reasonable point in time.

“You’re so stiff,” Sanemi hummed, pulling her closer to him to curl an arm around her waist, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up before. What’s wrong, dollface?”

Looks like neither of them would be getting much sleep, if that was the direction this conversation would be taking.

“Nothin’ in particular,” she told him, squeezing his wrist gently, “Just. . .stressed, I guess.”

“That’s a dumb excuse, (Y/n).” What that earned him was a slap to the shoulder, but nothing more.

“It’s not an excuse, you dumb idiot,” she defended, her voice rising slightly, “It’s the truth. There’s nothing wrong, I’m just stressed. Digital art is hard.” As delicately as she could without disturbing the arm thrown over her, she shifted to lay on her back.

Sanemi huffed in response, though he couldn’t say that it was out of irritation, seeing as he was digging his face into his lover’s shoulder. She brushed a hand through his hair, listening to the sound of his breathing slow to a calm, repetitive rhythm. He had fallen asleep. It made sense. She did wake him up.

(Y/n) smiled, rotating again to face him, pulling the comforter up to her shoulders. “Dumbass.” It wasn’t loud enough for Sanemi to wake up from it, but the one single word felt as if it echoed through their entire flat.

She was glad that sleep came quickly, dozing off to the sound of her lover’s breathing in her ear.

. . .

Morning came sooner than needed or asked for, (Y/n)’s phone alarm going off on the pillow next to her. Blearily, she reached out one uncertain hand to pat around for it, hoping to God that it wouldn’t magically slip off the pillow and under the bed. She didn’t want to make friends with any of the dust bunnies again.

Thankfully, she was able to grab it before anything catastrophic happened, and turned off the alarm as soon as her fingers managed to swipe into her phone. The time on her phone said that it was around 6:00, which was an hour too early for her to be waking up. And yet her alarm had still gone off.

A post-it note attached to the back of her phone caught her attention.

She took it off her case, and unfolded it, having to focus her tired eyes for several seconds in order to even read what it said. It was no doubt in Sanemi’s handwriting, that messy and somewhat loopy scrawl would be recogniseable anywhere.

‘Hope you’re happy that you get to wake up early and work on your art. I made coffee.’

It made sense now, but she hadn’t even realised that Sanemi had even gotten up when he did. Judging by the fact that the bed was still warm, he didn’t leave that long ago, either.

“Coffee first,” she told herself, “then work.”

Throwing on one of her boyfriend’s many plain shirts, she padded down the hallway, trying to hide her eyes from the blinding morning light. Their flat was as marvelous as it was (surprisingly) cheap, but she still hated how it faced the sunrise. Waking up early was never a strong suit for (Y/n).

As soon as she found herself in the kitchen, she made a beeline for the pot of coffee at the very end of the bar. It was still hot, so Sanemi must have brewed it not long before he was to go to work for the day.

Moving to get her favourite coffee mug down from the cabinet, (Y/n) found another note stuck to it. A note which made her heart melt, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

‘Rengoku promised us dinner tonight, so be ready. You can do it, so don’t you dare stress.’

#demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer oneshots #demon slayer headcanons #kny imagines #kny oneshots #kny headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba oneshots #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi x reader #ask prompts #writing prompts #this took a surprising amount of time

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hartigays · 5 years ago

Note

How about #9 as a prompt, please? Maybe something post Starcourt??

9. “I missed you so much.”

every second leading up to steve knocking on the apartment door that looms before him was, initially, filled with excitement. but now that steve is finally here, soon to be face-to-face with the person who’s only lived in his dreams for the past year and a half, he hesitates.

it’s just nerves, but it feels like it’s eating away at steve’s core. leaving him exposed and raw, like a nerve.

what if things are different? what if nothing feels the same? what if steve’s dreams are better than reality? there are too many questions in need of answers. but steve doesn’t have the luxury of taking another few months to figure them out.

so he knocks.

steve takes a deep breath, steeling himself. willing his hands to stop shaking and his heart to stop feeling like it’s beating in his throat. it takes a moment, but finally he hears the sound of distant footsteps, growing closer and closer until the door swings open.

it isn’t billy. steve doesn’t know whether he should feel relieved, or concerned.

“you must be steve,” the woman in the doorway says, giving steve a dazzling smile.

it’s then that steve is confronted with recognition. she has the same smile as billy, the same bright blue eyes and sharp jawline.

she has to be billy’s mother, sandy. the person steve knows only through stories and shared memories. the person who had to leave billy behind years ago, when neil fought dirty for custody and painted her as some sort of evil criminal, stripping her of her parental rights.

billy is 18 now. billy can live with whoever the fuck he wants. billy is here, now, in california. and this is billy’s mother, the person he never should’ve been taken from, giving steve a smile bright enough to rival the sun.

steve isn’t expecting the swell of emotion that bubbles up inside of him. it has him surging forward, flinging his arms around the woman that he’d met mere seconds ago.

it’s a thank you, of sorts. a thank you for coming back, for welcoming billy back into her home, for giving billy a safe place to rest his head while he heals and recovers after the trauma and near-death of starcourt.

for letting billy love whoever he wants, and for letting steve stay here in her home, just for a little while, to love him right back.

“sorry,” steve says when he pulls away, clearing his throat. he wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, stepping back. “didn’t mean to bombard you like that.”

“come in, sweetheart. let’s get you something to drink,” is all sandy says, stepping aside to let steve in. “billy’s just hopped in the shower, he won’t be long.”

steve doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful for the extra time to collect himself. he’d turned into a blubbering mess after speaking little more than two words to billy’s mother - he doesn’t need to fall apart the minute billy walks through the door.

billy has had enough to deal with. it’s the least steve can do to not turn into a gigantic crybaby today.

“was the flight okay?” sandy asks from where she’s rummaging around in the fridge. she returns with a bottle of water a moment later, and steve accepts it gratefully.

“oh, yeah. it was fine,” steve tells her, his leg jiggling nervously. he’s seated at one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, his elbows resting on the cool marble. “getting a cab here from the airport was the hardest part.”

sandy chuckles, nodding. “i imagine so. sounds like your flight came in at one of the busiest times of the day.”

steve just smiles. he picks at the label on his water bottle, trying to come up with something to say. nothing seems to fit, but in the end he goes with, “i, uh. i want to thank you for letting me stay here for a bit. with billy, and - um. and stuff. i know that it’s not - it’s not usual. but i appreciate it a lot.”

“everything and nothing is usual. it’s just a matter of perspective, or circumstance,” sandy says. she huffs out a soft laugh when steve just blinks. “billy can love whoever he wants. it doesn’t bother me one bit - i just want my son to be happy. i think you and i are alike in that respect.”

“has he been?” steve asks, relief flooding through him, warm and comforting. “happy, i mean?”

“he’s been well. healing. he misses you, though. i think he mentions it about five times a day,” sandy says, a small smile playing on her lips. “writing to you has helped him take some important steps in his recovery.”

“i’ve kept them all, the letters. didn’t know if i’d ever get to come out here,” steve explains, his voice soft. “it was nice to have that little piece of him while he was gone.”

“not gone, just a little out of reach.”

steve whirls around at the sound of billy’s voice, accidentally knocking his water bottle onto the floor in the process. it spills all over the counter and the hardwood, and steve curses.

“shit- i mean, sorry, that wasn’t- i didn’t mean to do that,” steve says, rushing to find something to soak up the water with.

sandy just shakes her head, resting a hand on his shoulder. “go on, i’ll take care of this. it’s just water, honey, don’t worry about it.”

billy is standing in the entrance to the hallway, leaning against the wall with a fond smile on his face. steve gives sandy a grateful look, before moving around the counter to put himself directly in front of billy.

it isn’t until they’re in billy’s room, with the door cracked at sandy’s request, that steve pounces. he has billy in his arms in a split-second, burying his face in billy’s hair and breathing in deep.

“i missed you so much,” steve mumbles, his voice muffled and strands of billy’s hair getting stuck to his tongue.

“missed you too, princess.”

billy smells like the beach. like coconut shampoo and sunscreen and saltwater, even after his shower. he’s squeezing steve tightly, and steve knows it means that billy has missed him just as much.

they stand there for a long time, holding each other. it doesn’t feel right to speak, so neither of them do. they just cling to each other like their each other’s lifelines, their hearts beating in sync.

“do you want to sit down?” billy asks after a while, rubbing soothing circles onto steve’s back.

“no, i want- ” steve stops short, pulling back just enough to look into billy’s eyes.

then, he’s kissing billy with enough force to make them both sway a little. billy nearly topples over and steve eases up, but their lips never separate. steve kisses billy desperately, chasing the taste of weed and nicotine and toothpaste on his tongue. billy kisses him back just as desperately, one hand grabbing a fistful of steve’s hair, the other holding steve steady by the small of his back.

“you know, we could’ve done that sitting down,” billy says when they break apart, panting just as hard as steve. but he’s grinning from ear to ear, and steve is suddenly struck by just how much he looks like his mom.

“didn’t want to wait,” steve murmurs, leaning in to press another kiss to billy’s lips, this one quick, but tender.

then steve pulls away, taking a moment to look around the room. he’d been in billy’s room in hawkins once before when neil was out of town, but it’d felt like it belonged to someone else. there were posters of women in bikinis everywhere, playboys stacked on almost every surface, beer cans crushed and tossed around the room, almost like they were staged that way.

here, steve feels like he’s resting comfortably in billy’s mind. there are still posters hung up, but they’re of the movies steve knows are billy’s favorites. billy’s got two big bookshelves, filled top to bottom with worn books that have steve’s lips twitching into a soft smile when he spots them.

there’s also a hell of a lot of art all over the place, hanging on his walls and even tacked up on his ceiling. all pieces steve knows billy painted or drew himself, because whenever he and billy were alone, billy’s nose would always be buried in some sketchbook or another. he’s always struck by billy’s talent, rendered speechless at the depth to it all.

steve spots a small drawing resting on billy’s nightstand, propped up against his lamp. it’s a simple piece done in black ink, but steve can’t see what it’s of until he steps closer. his breath catches in his throat when he sees that it’s a sketch of him, perched on the hood of the beemer, smiling with a cigarette in hand.

“you drew me?” steve asks, picking up the drawing and cradling it delicately in his hands.

“i draw you a lot,” billy says, shrugging. he comes up behind steve and wraps his arms around his middle, hooking his chin over steve’s shoulder. “i can show you the rest later, but first you have to let me draw you again. it’s been a while.”

billy doesn’t let steve go, but he does maneuver around him to open the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a faded polaroid. it’s the photo billy’s drawing is based on, and the memory of the night it was taken hits steve like a train.

they’d been out at the quarry, drinking beer and smoking, shooting the shit. the sun was starting to set, and steve knew they were days away from graduating and everything was about change. he remembers his heart feeling so heavy he thought it might fall right out of him. but billy had been all smiles, staring at steve as he leaned up against the beemer, the sun setting behind him.

billy had said something stupid to make steve laugh, and the moment steve smiled billy had taken the shot. the memory has steve smiling down at the polaroid, his smile a little watery.

“i can’t believe you kept this,” steve says, twisting a little in billy’s hold to try and look at him. “it feels like this was so long ago.”

“i carry it around everywhere,” billy tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to steve’s shoulder. “carry these in my wallet, too.”

billy digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, producing a torn photo strip. it’s from the time they’d taken pictures in the photobooth at starcourt, before all the pain and devastation that came soon after. the booth had only printed one set, so billy took half, and steve took the other.

“i ever tell you that you’re kind of a softie?” steve jokes.

billy huffs a soft laugh, unwinding himself from around steve so he can take his hand and pull him towards the bed. he flops backwards onto it, and pats the spot next to him. steve curls up next to him immediately, resting his head on billy’s chest.

steve hears the click of billy’s lighter, and smells the smoke soon after. the window behind them is cracked, and steve can only hear the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore, seagulls, and billy’s soft breathing. he passes steve the cigarette a moment later and steve accepts it gratefully, taking a long drag.

“how long can you stay?” billy asks after several beats of silence, taking the cigarette from steve’s outstretched hand.

“‘bout a week. that’s all they’d let me take off,” steve sighs. “wish i could stay forever.”

“wish you could too,” billy says, his voice almost inaudible.

steve tilts his head up, pressing a kiss to the underside of billy’s jaw. “one day. i promise. i’ll be here to stay.”

billy just combs his fingers through steve’s hair, humming softly. they end up falling asleep like that once the cigarette is finished, dozing off to the sounds of the ocean and the city, the evening breeze ruffling their hair. but not before steve looks up at billy one last time, struck dumb by how much he loves him.

and for the first time in a long time, everything just feels right.

#thanks for the request nonnie! i love me some post-starcourt feels 💜💜💜#harringrove #my fics #ask #anon

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dawniebb · 4 years ago

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CANON IS AN ILLUSION PT. 2

If it doesn’t spark joy, throw it away.- Marie Kondo

So now that @healing-winston-pratt and I have explained how we got rid of ¼ of Supernova, let me tell you that it doesn’t stop here because you don’t mess with the type As when something gets into their heads.

For background, you can use this post as a masterlist because we don’t have one yet: https://healing-winston-pratt.tumblr.com/post/624723862884696064/well-this-is-the-last-piece-of-our-marathon

This is our post-Supernova canon divergence :) which, btw, it’s the one we’ll use from now on to create our content (actually, @healing-winston-pratt already used it for her birthday drawings and I just stood there playing dumb pretending I didn’t have anything to do with it jssjjs). So, if you see that Callum and Winston are suddenly alive in our content or you find some of the things established in this list it’s because...yeah :)

Sooooo @novadreamer95438 and @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff you asked to be tagged if we uploaded more content about the canon divergence (Which we appreciate very much! thank you!) so here you go <3!

As mentioned before , Leroy starts living with his daughter Nova and Winston, in a house provided by the State (The Council hee hee).

Callum and Winston are (evidently) alive, but Genissa is dead.

Ace, Evander and Honey remain dead.

And this is where our canon continues uwu.

Leroy has to do community service for like...indefinite time :)

Winston, on the other hand, has two jobs. He works in an animal shelter, where he adopts a dog named Carnival bc wE CAN and also we want to quote this post :https://chiyuki-hiro.tumblr.com/post/621159663188180992/oh-no-a-head-canon by @chiyuki-hiro (AFGSHFVDGB THAT HEADCANON IS G R E A T WE LOVE YOU) because we had come to an agreement that Winston would have an art therapy group for children but this addition is honestly so freaking wholesome :’))))))) <3

Nova has a temporary resignation from patrolling and starts going to therapy, where she is diagnosed with PTSD.

Nova also helps with the establishment of a new system, modifies the recruitment system and that stuff.

She’s not in the Team Sketch full time. Sometimes she’s in the offices, and at night she works with Callum.

And just like Narcissa, she digs her own grave :)

Thing is: Nova suggested that every time a new recruit arrived, the Council had DNA samples taken from them so they could check if they had any crime attached to them.

Now, by the end of Supernova in the canon universe we elected to ignore it is mentioned that Maggie sees Leroy staring at her in the distance, in a very suspicious way. Now, we don’t know about y’all, but we interpreted this as Leroy noticing Maggie looks like young Nova XD. So, this does happen in our canon, when Leroy is already out of prison.

By this time, DNA samples from Maggie and Nova have already been taken and uploaded to the system; and let’s say that Leroy gets very...concerned about the lookalike and decides to tell Winston, who confirms Maggie looks a lot like Nova X’DDD and so, they reach out to the Council to ask them to pls compare Maggie’s samples to Nova’s. U know, like angry mothers at the principal’s office :)

And so they do it just because they have nothing to lose.

And when the results arrive, everyone’s like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r92hykpvZRw

SO MAYBE, TO DOUBLE-CHECK, they compare Maggie’s DNA to DNA found in the crime scene (from David and Tala or maybe baby Maggie herself) and the results are still the same :).

Then, Winston and Leroy have to tell Nova and she reacts in the worst way possible for reasons I’ll explain in a fic I’ll be uploading soon cause’ I wrote it MONTHS ago.

Maggie doesn’t react much better tbh :)

But after a while, since this is, like, the right thing to do, Maggie starts living with them , but changes her name to Margaret Artino until she feels part of the family and is comfortable living there.

Because at first, Nova and her don’t get along and Maggie claims she fucking hates this house even though she knows is better than living in the streets.

They basically have a very chaotic home during the adaptation period until the girls start tolerating each other :) and even then, they’re still very chaotic bc it’s Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie we’re talking about :) :) :)

Not long after Maggie starts living with her big sis, Simon and Hugh ask Nova to join a family vacation and bring Maggie w/her.

Maggie doesn’t want to go, so Leroy and Winston go to Nova all like “If your sister doesn’t go, then you’re not going either” and Nova fucking loses it so she ends up begging/forcing Maggie to go :)

They go to the beach in MATCHING OUTFITS bc Simon said so (LIKE IN THE WIZARDS OF WAVERLY PLACE MOVIE) :) they take a lot of embarrassing pictures and Nova and Adrian are forced to go in the banana boat with Max and Maggie.

They fall and Nova and Adrian are acting as if they were in the Titanic while Max and Maggie are having the time of their lives lmao

BC NOVA ALSO NEEDS BONDING WITH THE IN-LAWS

At some point, too, Maggie adopts a stray cat whom she names Tofu, and he fucking hates Carnival even though Carnival is the cutest thing :’)

Winston, Leroy, Nova and Maggie celebrate birthdays every year bc they’re trying to compensate years of trauma.

And for that same reason (compensating years of trauma), Nova and Maggie take their sweet time to move out.

Actually, Adrian meticulously plans the date when he’s gonna propose to Nova, so he asks her to move with him exactly a year before that.

They live in an apartment for that whole year, he proposes and they start planning the wedding uwu.

Nova and Adrian have a non-religious ceremony, and since they’re fucking extra, Nova gets married in a black dress and Adrian in a white tuxedo bc miss Artino wanted a dress the same color as her soul :)

Leroy walks Nova down the aisle.

Ruby is Nova’s Maid of Honor and Oscar is Adrian’s Best Man.

Max and Maggie have the rings.

Tamaya’s youngest son is the flower child.

Which, talking about Tamaya, she fucking hates Leroy and Nova bc, honestly, we would hate them too. Leroy fucked up her face and Nova was part of the terrorist attack lmao

SO, YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW CHAOTIC THAT WEDDING WAS, bc they had to avoid leaving Tamaya and Leroy alone at all costs :)

She hugged Nova so violently when congratulating her, that she left a bruise in her shoulder :)

Basically she was there just because she loves Adrian even though she doesn’t approve his decision to marry Nova

Nova and Maggie maintain a close relationship even after Nova marries Adrian. Maggie and Max are included in every family vacation after the honeymoon ofc.

Nova and Maggie get matching tattoos uwu

Nova has the Big Dipper and Maggie has the Little Dipper.

As for the others. The ones who...are no longer there :’)

@healing-winston-pratt and I have this headcanon that Evander’s wife (we named her Sandra) was expecting a baby at the time of the battle. They had already chosen a first name (Arthur), so she used Evander as his middle name, as the baby didn’t get to meet his dad.

Arthur Evander Wade.

Winston finally gives Evander his DS back.

The Council, thanks to Nova’s suggestion once again, limited a specific area around Georgia’s spot and called it The Aisle of The Fallen.

Genissa, Honey and the victims of the attack to the Arena, the lift of the city and the battle of the Cathedral are there.

Evander, however, is resting in Georgia’s mausoleum, next to her, because we think that mausoleum was constructed in the first place so all the members of the Council could rest together once they left, meaning that they’ll all be there at some point in time. Unfortunately, Evander was the first one to join Georgia despite being the youngest.

Ace is not in the cemetery.

Nova left his helmet in the cathedral, but asked for his body to be cremated.

When she was a child, David used to tell her stories about how Ace seemed to be really happy back in Italy; how he had revolutionary ideas and wanted prodigies to be free; how he used to be a good brother that helped him survive.

So, a few months after Leroy was released from prison, she, Leroy, Winston, Hugh, Simon, Max and Adrian went to Italy with her, to spread Ace’s ashes so he could find peace in the only place he was ever sane and happy.

Ace Anarchy rests in his cathedral.

But what was left of Alec James Artino rests in Italy. (I have a fic about this too)

Yes we’re crying as we write this

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fanfic-collection · 5 years ago

Text

Loki x Reader: Quarantine

Please comment

‘And this is Captain America, signing off, reminding everyone once again, stay safe, stay strong, and stay true to America. Please, buy only what is necessary, if you’re quarantined, stay home for the assigned days, get a lot of rest if you’re sick, take the necessary precautions, and we’ll get through this, we always do.’ Steve smiled, saluting the camera on his laptop then looked at Bucky.

Bucky gave a tired thumbs up.

'Signing off, I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ Steve clicked the end transmission button and the feed ended. 'That was really good Bucky, I really think we’re making a difference, I hope we can keep people calm in this trying times.’

Bucky raised his eyebrow and leaned back in the seat groaning as he covered his face, 'Are you seriously going to drag me through these podcasts every day?’

Steve stood up and stretched, 'Until the quarantine ends, it’s the least we can do for the public, so yes, yes I am.’

You snorted into your vitamin enhanced energy drink, watching the two super soldiers across the counter.

'Don’t start.’ Bucky muttered, looking at you, raising a warning finger.

You set down your glass and held up your hands defensively, 'Not a word.’

'It’s day two and I’m stir crazy already.’ Bucky groaned, running his hand through his hair as he stood up and began to pace.

The big screen turned on and Tony appeared, poolside with a margarita in hand, shades halfway down his nose as he squinted at his phone to see the three of you in the kitchen. 'Cap! Other soldier, teddy bear.’

'Why does he call you teddy bear again?’ Bucky asked, glancing at you.

You sighed and shook your head. The automatic kitchen doors slid open and the two norse gods walked, mid conversation, stopping only when they saw Tony on the monitor.

'Oh excellent,’ Tony continued, 'thunder bros, anyways, Steve, loved the pep talk, my stocks stopped their nose dive, they’re still dropping but not nearly as bad, I heard one of the local grocery stores even had toilet paper on the shelf too.’

Steve rolled his eyes, 'What do you want, Stark?’

'Can’t I check in? One quarantinee to another?’

'You’re pool side in Malibu.’ Bucky grumbled.

'And you’re in Stark tower with tons of friends in New York, your point?’

'Tony? Lunch’s almost done!’ You heard Pepper call from somewhere within the house.

'Yea just a second honey.’ Tony grinned, 'Quarantine is awesome, am I right?’

Thor grumbled, 'I don’t see why I have to be stuck in this building.’

'Thor, we’ve told you countless times, people are worried you could transmit the disease.’ Steve replied.

'No Midgardian illness is a match for me.’ Thor replied, fist on his chest.

Loki rolled his eyes, 'And yet, the disease may cling to you and travel to the mortals, brother. How our physiology is compatible to theirs is unknown, must we go through this again?’

You made eye contact with Loki and smiled softly.

Loki’s irritation seemed to fade somewhat and a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth before he turned his attention back to Thor, folding his arms.

'So are you guys going to have a party then?’ Tony asked, 'Wait, where’s Hawkeye? Two of you are missing.’

'Hawkeye and Nat are around.’ You replied. 'Nat was taking a nap last I knew and Clint’s… lurking.’

Tony shook his head before abruptly touching his phone, 'yes, what is it? Kid, I told you to only call in emergencies. What, wait, say that slower. You’re quarantined? Do you have enough supplies to get you through the next two weeks, just calm down. No, I’m on the phone with the other Avengers. Yes, most of them, the ones that are quarantined at the tower. Yes that includes Loki. Why do you call him Mr. Loki. Kid… Focus. Yes, ok good, you have supplies, yes you’re not sick, I know, Aunt May is pretty young, yes I know, she’s fine, you’ll both be fine, it’s just a quarantine, keep entertained with Cap’s podcasts, they’ll keep you calm, he posts them each day, yes you’re talking too fast for me to understand you. Kid. Peter. Listen to me.’ Tony sighed. 'Kid.’ He sighed again. 'Listen. I will hang up on you. Kid. Listen, stop it. Stop. I’ll send over a suit with groceries. Yes, I’ll send toilet paper. Yes, I know all the stores are out, I have connections.’ Tony smiled weakly, 'I got you covered, you’ll be fine. You’ll get through this. Now all of you, I’m hanging up and getting lunch with my hot date. Bye.’ The screen went black.

'That spider kid got quarantined?’ Steve asked, looking around the room.

You blinked, 'I guess so.’

Loki crossed the room, moving away from Thor and came over to sit beside you. He left a respectable distance, peering into your glass curiously before easing himself into the chair next to you.

'I could bring him supplies.’ Thor grumbled.

'Brother we have dealt with plagues, as has humanity before, if their response is to lock themselves away to deter the spread of it, we are not to interfere. Their healers, doctors, have made their demands,’ Loki looked up from your drink, 'We do not interfere.’

'We are protectors of humanity, we must safeguard the realm in whatever way possible.’ Thor urged.

'You cannot fight a disease with your hammer.’ Loki replied. 'Or are you suggesting culling the sick to limit its spread?’

Thor creased his brow.

Loki raised his eyebrow, 'Such action has been taken in the past and will likely take place in the future.’

Steve and Bucky watched Loki uneasily.

Loki continued coldly, 'Tell me brother, would you risk more lives or take them because you are uneasy with patience?’

'Loki…’ You said slowly.

Thor growled softly before turning and stomping from the room.

'He’s never patient.’ Loki muttered, shrugging.

You sighed and touched his forearm hesitantly.

Loki glanced down at you somewhat surprised. You slowly pulled your hand away as Loki’s eyes trailed your hand, watching where you had been and slowly staring at your hand where it lay a few inches from his arm.

Steve cleared his throat. 'Well I was thinking I might start drawing again, I haven’t had a chance to sit down and just sketch in a while.’ He managed a smile, 'Anyone have any suggestions? Maybe I’ll do some skylines…’

Bucky sighed, 'I haven’t had a lot of time to hone any hobbies.’

'Well now is a great time to start!’ Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, 'C'mon, Stark is bound to have plenty of things lying around this musty old tower. Let’s go digging.’

You finished your drink, staring at the empty mug. 'Do you think there will be a culling?’ You asked, looking at Loki.

Loki shook his head, 'Not at all. Thor is too quick for action, this disease is easily controlled by your mortal means. Stay clean, take care of yourself and avoid too many people. The spies staying to themselves are smart, the three of you are the only regular humans in this tower, otherwise it’s nearly empty on the top floors. Between the soldiers and myself and my brother, you’re the only mortal really.’

You nodded slowly, staring at him with concern.

Loki carefully touched your hand, a bit of color rising to his cheeks, 'I doubt with the chemicals running through their bodies and my brother and myself and our genetic make up, we seem to be safe from this disease. I fear only for you falling ill, but we will keep you safe and even so, there are many more cases of recovery than there are fatalities.’

You nodded, 'Yea, you’re right.’

The black screen flipped on. 'What motherfucker, is stealing all of SHIELD’s motherfucking toilet paper?’ Nick Fury’s voice roared over the speakers as he glared out around the screen, staring down at you and Loki. 'Where is Rogers?’

You blinked, quailing beneath his glare. 'He went looking for art supplies, sir.’

'Someone got it in their funny little head that it would be a good idea to ransack the SHIELD bathrooms for toilet paper and now I got nothing to wipe my ass with. HILL, get me Hill on the line.’ Fury continued, barking orders at someone out of view.

Loki rolled his eyes, 'I don’t know what you expect us to do about it, we’re under quarantine.’

You snickered, fighting back a laugh.

Fury looked down at the two of you, 'Oh right, I’d forgotten.’ He sighed, 'Do I have any Avengers or SHIELD agents I can call into duty?’

'Not that I know of, sir. I’m pretty out of the loop.’ You waved your hand, indicating the quarantine.

'Fine, fine, carry on.’ The screen blanked out again.

Loki looked at you and you looked back at him before the two of you started laughing weakly. You both quickly looked away.

'Want to go check out the library? It’s going to be a long quarantine.’ You offered your hand to him.

Loki looked at your hand hesitantly before taking it, 'Certainly.’

It might be a long quarantine, but perhaps not a terrible one.

#Loki x Reader #ficbit #quarantine fic

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elecman108 · 3 years ago

Photo

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #OCs #D&D #art dump #Miitopia #of all of these drawings I gotta say the most cursed is censored bottom!Axel and the most blessed is Cecillia's lap nap #I drew a lot of D&D stuff lately! Most of my OC stuff has stayed in the sketch stage so #I guess that says something about what I've been prioritizing in my drawings?#Also that drawing a twunk as a twink is incredibly funny and cursed. love my pirate boy

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ark-polaris · 4 years ago

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Think about Things

Octavio vents about a certain inkling in his native language.

Cuttlefish knows Octarian.

What could go wrong?

This fic was also posted on ao3 under the name Stardust_Speedway.

Cuttlefish had just been drawing when Kaito came in. The dj next to him was sitting up a little straighter, grasping the fabric of his pants a little tighter.

“I seriously couldn’t come to your apartment? He’s sitting right there. For all he knows we could be talking about some kind of secret plan to take over.” It took the inkling a few seconds before realising they weren’t talking in Inkling. Why were they suddenly talking in a different language he understood?

“Saucy is having a bonding day with the professor. Does… does he not understand Octarian?” he quickly began working on that drawing again to escape the kids stare. He was curious now, okay? He wanted to know more!

“Nah, pretty sure we always talked in Inkling,” Octavio did a little dismissive hand wave, “Anyways, we’re not here to talk about languages, we’re talking about my… feelings.”

Heh. Tavi, talking about feelings? That was a new one! Last time he did that… Was when he apologised for everything that happened. What had him so worked up that they were talking in Octarian?

“right. Saucy sometimes whine about how you two should just confess and kiss.”

“Don’t point at him, he might ask what we’re talking about, and it’s not that simple!” The older octoling hissed, nails pretty much digging into his legs. Out of the corner of his eye the captain could see Kaito crossing his arms.

“I mean! Like! I’ve stole the zapfish twice, I’ve brainwashed his granddaughter, kidnapped him once, and let’s not forget the Great Turf War. Most important event in our life.”

“And yet, he’s forgiven you for all of that. He has offered his friendship and most importantly, you’ve changed. You’ve tried restoring the relation of octoling and inkling kind, you’ve apologised multiple times, and you’re showing that you have learned and that you grew from those experiences. Why wouldn’t he love you? You seem to light up his world.”

“...no. I’m afraid he’s fallen out of love with me. And I’m only holding onto feelings of the past.” Poor Cuttlefish was trying to wrap his head around Octavio confessing right next to him. The younger octoling simply sighed and shook his head.

“Whatever you say. I’m not blind. Feel better now?”

“Yeah. ...thank you. For coming when Saucy couldn’t.”

“No problem. Say hi to the captain for me.” A little wave and he was off, through the grate again, probably running back to the apartment. The captain simply sighs, finishing the last clothing crease on Octavio’s clothing.

“What are you drawing?”

“GAH! N-Nothing!”

The next time it had happened he was drawing Octavio while he was calling someone. So the King was his muse, who cares?! Good practice drawing him, alright?!

“Gah, he was insufferable today!” His ears couldn’t help but perk up, continuing the sketch as he listened. Was it eavesdropping when they didn’t know you understood?

“When he draws, he takes off his glasses to better see or something! It’s the worst! He’s already attractive with glasses, and with glasses off he manages to make my hearts beat ever harder!” So Tavi liked those glasses? Good to know. Something the other person on the line said made the octoling blush furiously, though.

“I do not have something for glasses! Something like that is preposterous! I-I just like him, okay?!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing before continuing, “I’m not gonna elaborate on that, Saucy, you endless tease. Go bother Kaito for that or something. Anyways. I won’t hold you up for much longer. Take care.” Cuttlefish barely registered he was staring at the king, now smirking.

“You want me to pose or somethin’?”

“N-no! Don’t worry about that!”

He was half asleep when Octavio made the next call, voice hushed and surprisingly soft.

“You won’t believe it, we were just watching the stars when he laid his head on my shoulder! My. Shoulder. My whole mind was going into overload before I looked at him and saw he was asleep. I almost had a heart attack! Thought he had seen right through me…” his voice faded out, and Cuttlefish couldn’t repress the urge to open an eye and see. Nothing. The Dj was probably in the shack though, judging by the sounds. He quickly closed his eyes before the calling man came back.

“There we go.” Ah. A blanket! So soft! Nice and warm after the octoling stood up. A hand through his tentacles and he had to try and not tense up.

“...he still has the same ink colour as when I met him. His tips are yellow! And those tentacles are quite flexible for someone who dried himself out.” The stroking of his well, hair, felt quite nice and he almost couldn’t help but fall asleep right there.

“No, he can’t change his ink colour anymore. Anyways… I should call it a night. Bye.” He could hear the click, and a small sigh from Octavio. He didn’t know how long he stood in front of him.

“I’m just… gonna nap right next to him. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

His dreams were filled with with question about what Tavi has wanted to do.

Eights appearance was a welcome surprise and distraction. At least, for the captain who trying to talk his ears off.

“Please, Captain, I need your help, I want, no, need to surprise Three and I can’t do that without your help!”

“Ah, well, what did you have in mind-“ Octavio slamming his hands on the desk scared then both. How long had he been raving about his love for Cuttlefish in Octarian?! He had known it the whole time! H-he just needed some clear air to think. Yeah, think. And maybe die because of embarrassment.

“I-Euh, Sorry, I’ll just go take a look around Octo valley. This doesn’t seem like a conversation I want to impede on.”

Quickly hide that reddened face.

He was still busy trying to get his Coddam head together when Cuttlefish sat next to him. Of course. Because they couldn’t just leave the elephant in the room, huh?

“You okay?” a simple groan should be enough to get him of his back, right?

“Look, I’m sorry. You just started talking and-”

“And what?!”

“-and you were just, like, talking about your feelings. You were actually opening up. Not gonna lie, you were being pretty cute.” The octoling could feel the noises die in his throat. He was not cute! He was a badass Octarian King, Super cool DJ, he was-

“I love you.” wait, what? he couldn’t whip his head around fast enough to see the inkling next to him, face yellow from the amount he was blushing. He loved him. He actually did. No joke. No prank. he grips his pants, claws digging into his legs. yeah, sure, the captain knew, but…

“I love you. I… don’t think I can put into words how much. And Cod, I might not say it everyday. Just… know I do, and I’ll try to show, kay?” He barely turned to look at him before his jacket was grabbed and their lips met. Oh.

This would be a delightful conversation to have in Octarian.

#cuttletavio #cap'n cuttlefish #dj octavio #octavio takowasa #kaito hiraku #agent 8 #commander Saucy #Saucy is Octavio's robo kid #Kaito is Saucy's friend #Octavio is a dumbass-#Agent 8 and Cuttlefish spoke in Octarian #I want more content so I make more content. take the gay grandpas.

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problems-turn-fics · 4 years ago

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Y’ALL! Okay Robert/Mulligan is the greatest so please enjoy part 1 of my post war fic where they get to be soft and happy. [5,402 Words] This is part 1. Part 2 is here. And Part 3 here

The chill in the air cut through Robert’s shirt, chilling him to his bones. That was the problem with trying to dress in the fall now that he actually worked outside again. In the mornings he’d start with his jacket on, then he’d have to shed it by the middle of the afternoon, but by the time the sun started to dip he’d feel the chill start to set in again. He shook his head to clear out his own complaints so he could focus on bringing in the last row of squash.

He was interrupted again by the sound of hooves carrying up the narrow drive. Robert half expected to see Abraham there, ready to bring more trouble into his life. Instead it was a messenger. “Are you Robert Townsend?” the man asked as he came to a stop.

“Yes,” Robert said, frowning and not bothering to hide his confusion. Usually when a messenger came to their home looking for a Townsend it was for his father. Robert hadn’t exactly left many friends behind in New York.

The man reached into his bag and pulled out a large soft parcel, held together with twine. He tossed it to Robert who caught it as the man was already turning his horse, likely wanting to get back into town before it became too dark.

Robert turned the parcel over in his hands, it was light and squished wherever he gripped it. Maybe his father had ordered something the last time he’d been in the city and had put Robert’s name on the order. He set the package down next to his jacket on the front steps and went back to finish his work. The cold was a good motivator to be fast.

It was about an hour later and the last dregs of light and warmth were long gone when he shut the barn door and finally went inside, picking up his jacket and the package as he went.

His father was in the kitchen finishing dinner and humming to himself a happy little tune the way he did whenever he was particularly pleased with whatever it was he had made. The song had sprung to Robert’s mind every time he’d eaten something delicious in the city even though his father had been miles away.

Robert set the parcel on the table on his way to the washbasin. The sound of the crinkling paper must have grabbed Samuel’s attention because he turned around and picked it up. “What’s this?”

“I thought it was yours? Robert asked, digging the dirt out from under his nails.

He took that as permission to open it. Robert whipped his hands as he approached the table and his father revealed two carefully folded black jackets. Samuel immediately pulled on the one that was closer to his size.

The rest of the country might never know what you did but I can still say thank you - Hercules Robert flipped over the card. I estimated your father’s measurements. Come in if it needs adjusting. It will be good to see you.

Robert looked up at his father who was practically preening in his new jacket. The shine of the buttons matched the shine of his shoe buckles and it seemed to fit him perfectly. Robert was relieved to see that his buttons were as plain as they had ever been.

“Who are they from?”

“Mr. Mulligan and Cato,” Robert said, forcing himself to put down the card and not keep searching it for an additional explanation. In hindsight, he supposed the man did seem the type to send gifts to anyone for almost any reason.

Samuel paused to give him a look that Robert had yet to decode even after decades of receiving it. “We should take him something in thanks when we go into the city next week,” he said as he went to the stove and started to serve the stew.

“I suppose we should,” Robert said, taking his soup and sitting at the table. His father was probably already making a long list of items for them to take to Mulligan and Cato in thanks.

For the rest of the night, Robert pretended not to notice his father watching him, and he made sure that when he took his jacket to his room Samuel didn’t notice him swipe the note in with it to be safely tucked away. Robert also tried not to think about why it was so important that the note be safe.

A week passed and they made their way into the city to deliver the food and be paid by a grocer. They both wore his new jackets as it was only polite to show the appropriate appreciation for the craftsmanship. But once they were in the city Robert was shooed off by his father to go to Mulligan’s with the flimsy reasoning that Samuel had been working with these same men since before Robert had been born he could handle it.

So Robert left with the basket full of bread, jam, and a few of the better squashes from their harvest and went to Mulligan’s shop. He felt a twinge of nostalgia at the sight of Rivington’s pub but kept walking without a glance inside.

There was no one inside the shop when he entered but Mulligan yelled from the back room at the sound of the bell. “Just a moment.”

Robert just hummed and paced the room, looking at the fine clothes on the walls.

A few minutes later Mulligan came out. “What can I help y- ah. Robert. I didn’t expect to see you,” he said with a smile, coming forward. His eyes caught on the basket and Robert handed it to him.

“A thank you.”

Mulligan looked inside and smiled. “Thank you but,” he started as he set the basket on the counter. “Seeing you in the jacket is more than enough thanks.”

Robert’s heart gave a hard thud that he ignored.

Mulligan gestured at him. “May I?”

Robert nodded and took a step closer at the same time Mulligan did and they were suddenly very close. Mulligan ran his hands over the shoulder seams, his brow furrowed in concentration. He paced around Robert who barely resisted the urge to shut his eyes and relax into the touch, as he tried to remember how to breathe properly. His hand ran down Robert’s back, stopping at the base of his spine with a satisfied hum before he came around and took Robert’s hands to inspect the cuffs.

In a thoughtless gesture, he ran his thumb over Robert’s knuckles. “I do marvelous work, don’t I?” he said finally as he let go of Robert, though he stayed firmly in his personal space.

“And you’re so humble,” Robert managed.

Mulligan just laughed and then shot a look out his own windows. “Will your father be coming by? Your measurements I had, he was more of a challenge.”

“I’m sure he’ll be along. Though your estimations of his measurements were fine. He’s half-convinced I was helping you.” Robert’s smile was small but grew against his will when Mulligan laughed at his joke.

“Come, let’s sit in the back while we wait for him. I don’t have any appointments this afternoon and it'll be nice to catch up with a friend,” Mulligan said, one hand already on Robert’s arm and leading him into the back room and the other carrying the basket with them.

There were rolls of fabric on shelves against every wall but one where two large tables were pushed up against it, one clear of everything but a pair of scissors and the other covered in sketches. “Where’s Cato?” Robert asked as Mulligan poured them both a glass of madeira and he sat in one of the chairs. “Half of what’s in that basket is for him.”

“If he’s had any luck, Canada by now.” Mulligan relaxed into his chair and passed Robert his glass. “I’m having a hell of a time trying to hire a replacement. He was really quite talented.”

“I see,” Robert said. “I hope it’s everything he’d hoped.”

Mulligan smiled. “Me too.” For a moment he looked far away but then he looked back up at Robert with a smile. “What about you? What are you doing?”

“What I was always supposed to be doing. Honest work,” Robert said, keeping his face schooled in a neutral expression even though he felt a twinge of laughter in his throat.

Mulligan laughed. “But you made such a fine bartender. I thought it might have been your true calling.”

Robert raised a brow. “Did you become a spy because you're a patriot or because you enjoy lying?”

Mulligan put his hand to his heart. “You wound me,” he said, still grinning. “I suppose we all have our talents,” he said as the bell above the door rang. “Stay here, it’ll only take a moment,” he whispered as he stood.

“I’m sorry we’re cl - oh Mr. Townsend. It’s so good to see you,” Mulligan said as he entered the front room again. Robert sighed and set down his glass on the table before he went out to join them. He didn’t examine why he felt so put out by his father’s appearance, and pushed the feeling away. He had wanted him to arrive so that they could leave the city and make it home before it was too dark. There was no reason for him to have wanted him to stay away.

“Please, call me Samuel,” he said with a polite smile, though his eyes flickered to Robert as if to gauge the reaction. “After you gave us such fine gifts.”

“Only if you’ll call me Hercules. And they are gifts I would like to inspect. Do you mind? I had to estimate your measurements based on the few times I saw you in Rivington’s,” Mulligan said, still smiling like he was actually enjoying seeing them in their jackets and checking the measurements brought him immeasurable joy.

“Of course,” Samuel said, being led happily to a short pedestal so that Mulligan could inspect his work.

There was more humming and frowning than when he’d looked at Robert’s and his touch seemed lighter and more precise instead of the sweeping motions he’d made across Robert’s shoulders and back. Robert didn’t know what to think of that difference as he noted it, but it made him blush all the same.

“Would you take off your jacket? I made your sleeves too short and your shoulders just a touch too broad. I’ll take some proper measurements and fix it for you,” he said, already starting to take Samuel’s jacket.

“Oh, it’s really -”

“Please, allow me.”

“If you insist.”

Robert shot his father a look through the reflection of the mirror but Samuel only grinned wider.

Mulligan disappeared into the back for a moment and came back with his kit in hand. “You can go sit in the back if you like. This won’t take long but it’s not terribly exciting,” he said, his smile gone as he focused on the task at hand.

“I don’t imagine staring at your walls of fabric is any more exciting back there than it is here,” Robert said ignoring the way his father was staring at him in the mirror. He recognized it from when Robert had been a teenager and girls from town would try to talk to him. He’d been grateful when it’d stopped until it started showing up whenever a man anywhere near his age was kind to him. Samuel had always been too observant and too encouraging for his own good.

Mulligan did crack a smile as he measured Samuel’s shoulders and for a second his eyes flickered up to meet Robert’s before they went back to the tape and to the little piece of paper to write the measurement down. “At least go get your drink. Don’t let my good madeira go to waste.”

Robert sighed as he started towards the back. “Would you like your glass as well?”

“I finished mine, but I wouldn’t say no to another. Samuel?”

“Oh, no thank you.”

“You just want me to pour your drinks for you again,” Robert grumbled.

Mulligan laughed loudly. “You’ve caught me.” Robert went back, grabbed his still mostly full glass, and poured some more into Mulligan’s empty. He brought both glasses out and placed Mulligan’s on the counter next to him.

“I do so miss seeing you at Rivington’s,” he said, taking a sip and staring at Robert while he did.

Robert felt hot all over and the warmth of the madeira in his stomach wasn’t helping.

Mulligan turned back to Samuel with a smile. “And you too. It was a bright spot in my day when I’d see you come in to harass poor Robert and James.”

“I hardly think I harassed them,” he said with a frown.

“For once I agree with Mr. Mulligan,” Robert said with a satisfied smirk to his father.

Mulligan stepped back to look at Samuel. “I didn’t say it was undeserved. Let me get you a cloak. I won’t send you into this weather without a jacket.”

“But how will you get it back?” Samuel asked in the tone of voice Robert had learned to be wary of when he’d still only been a child. It was the tone he took whenever he had something in mind and wanted someone else to suggest it first. He usually got his way.

“I’ll bring your jacket out myself and I’ll get it back then. How does that sound?”

Samuel smiled and Robert drained this glass. “Only if you agree to stay the night. I’d hate to have you make that whole trip in a day just for us. I'll make us something nice for dinner,” Samuel said with a smile.

Mulligan’s gaze flickered to Robert and then back to Samuel. “I’d love to. I’ll ride out the Friday after next, how does that sound?”

“Just wonderful.”

“Let me get that cloak,” he said before disappearing into the back and reappearing with a black cloak and handed it to Samuel with a smile.

“We should be leaving if we want to get back before it’s too dark,” Robert said with a frown and a nod at the sun that was already making its descent.

“You’re right, unfortunately. It was so good to officially meet you, Mr. Mulligan,” Samuel said, securing the cloak around his shoulders.

“It was, Mr. Townsend,” Mulligan said and for a second they both stopped to stare each other down while Robert rolled his eyes and opened the door.

“It was nice to see you, Mr. Mulligan. We’ll expect you the Friday after next,” Robert said. Samuel walked out in front of him he followed, the door almost shut when he heard Mulligan quietly say “I’ll be there.”

They were back on the road, the sun setting quickly when Robert broke the tense silence. Though he was fairly certain it was only tense on his end. “You should leave Mulligan alone.”

“Why?” Samuel asked, clearly having expected the statement, probably before Robert had settled on saying it.

“Because I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. He’s married.”

“I am simply making a friend, Robert. With a man who already considers you a friend,” Samuel scolded.

“No, you’re not. You’re trying to force us together because you think we harbor feelings for each other. The type of feelings that get a man executed,” Robert snapped, jaw set as he looked out onto the road.

“Spying can get a man executed as well.”

“I would hardly compare the two.”

“Of course not. That would be far too easy.”

“Father-”

“There is no harm in having dinner with a friend. Especially not in your father’s house,” he said, firmly. There were days when Robert felt as if he were the one who was the parent, curbing his father’s more fanciful impulses. But there were times, like that moment, when he felt as if he were still a child, being taught a life lesson he’d rather not know.

The rest of the ride was silent.

The steady beat of hooves striking the ground at a trot approached and Robert felt his heart jump into his throat. He’d been listening for the sound all day, not that he could admit that even to himself. Just like he wouldn’t admit that he’d been saving brushing down the horses until the evening so that he would be in the barn already when Mulligan arrived.

He stepped outside to see Mulligan slowing to a stop, smiling brightly down at Robert. “Hello, Mr. Mulligan. Welcome,” he said as Mulligan got off the horse. He wasn’t dressed as brightly as he did in the city, though Robert was sure that if he felt the cloth it would be no less fine. He scolded himself for the desire to confirm it. “We’ve made a place for your horse.”

“You hear that? They made a place for you,” he said to the horse, though his eyes never left Robert’s, laughter clear.

Robert turned back into the barn, partially just to hide his smile and get himself back under control. He liked Mulligan but he knew he couldn’t allow that.

He opened the stall door next to his own horse’s and stepped aside. There was water and hay and a fresh apple on the half-wall as a treat because Robert had always had a soft spot for horses. He thought for a moment that Mulligan would say something about it, when his eyes caught on it and he smirked, but instead he just clapped Robert on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“We saw each other two weeks ago,” Robert said, tense as Mulligan’s hand ran down his arm before dropping to his side again.

“A lot can happen in two weeks.”

Robert started out of the barn and towards the house. “Not out here.”

Samuel was standing on the porch to greet him, a pleased smile on his face. “Hercules, you had a safe ride?”

“A delight,” Hercules said, going up the two steps and clapping Samuel on the shoulders. “I believe I owe you a jacket, sir.”

“After dinner. Come inside and wash your hands, both of you.”

Dinner was less terrible than Robert had feared. Robert was able to sit quietly while Mulligan and Samuel kept up a near-constant chatter. Somehow they both resisted the topic of Robert and whatever stories they could think of that would embarrass him, though there were a few times that the conversation strayed and Robert had chimed in, hoping to steer it away from himself.

True to his word, after dinner and while Robert was cleaning up, Mulligan took Samuel to the sitting room where the fire was brighter and had him try on the jacket. A few minutes later they came striding back into the kitchen where Robert had just finished, both looking incredibly pleased with themselves. “What do you think, Robert?”

Robert barely looked at his father, finding himself drawn to staring at Mulligan’s smile instead. He corrected himself and examined the jacket. “It looks much the same as it did before.”

“You wound me,” Mulligan said, shaking his head. “Your son has no appreciation for craftsmanship.”

“I have plenty of appreciation. It was fine before.”

“Fine is not perfect.”

“Perfection is not for us.”

“Then as close to perfect as we lowly humans are allowed.”

Samuel broke up their bickering with a laugh. Robert’s face felt hot. “I’m glad you two get along so well. Robert, will you join us?”

“It’s not as if there’s somewhere else to be,” Robert said, though he grabbed a bottle of mead and three glasses. Neither his father nor Mulligan needed to know that it was the bottle Robert had purchased from their neighbor after Mulligan had said he would be visiting.

He followed the two of them into the sitting room.

There were two chairs that sat on either side of a small table and a couch on the opposite side of the room. Robert poured them each a drink and pretended that his heart didn’t jump into his throat when, as he passed Mulligan his glass, their fingers brushed and Mulligan grinned at him like it’d been on purpose.

From then Robert went back to ignoring what they actually said. He settled into the corner of the couch with his book as he did every night and let their conversation wash over him like white noise. Every once in a while something would catch his attention and he’d look up, and chime in, much to the delight of both men. It was nice, Robert supposed, to have a friend who didn’t mind Robert ignoring him and still smiled at him when Robert deigned to interrupt him.

After a while though, Samuel’s yawns became more dramatic, and Robert was sure falsified, and he excused himself to go to bed.

Robert listened to the steady, familiar rhythm of his father going up the stairs and felt himself relax into the couch despite himself. Mulligan was still right there, and of the two of them, he was the one to be more worried about. Though the fear of Samuel saying something embarrassing in front of Mulligan had kept him on edge all night.

“I can see why you prefer it. It’s nice here,” Mulligan said, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip of his mead, his eyes fixed on Robert.

“Thinking of a change in profession?”

“God, no. Can you imagine?” Mulligan said, looking taken aback.

“No, I cannot.”

Mulligan laughed and Robert forced down another smile at the accomplishment. The man had a beautiful laugh, and he did it often and seemed pleased with himself constantly. It should have been much more grating than it was charming and yet there Robert was absolutely charmed.

“Are you going to go back to that book or can I convince you to play a game of draughts with your guest?”

“As long as you don’t mind losing,” Robert said, placing his bookmark and setting aside the book. He got up to fetch the board and pieces from the shelf.

“We’ll see who loses,” Mulligan said, scooting up a little in the chair so that he was closer to the small table where Robert had begun setting up the board.

“If you’re so confident, how about a wager?” Robert said as he sat in the other chair.

Mulligan stared at him for a moment, his head cocked and a small smirk on his lips. For a moment Robert thought he saw his eyes flicker down to his lips, but it must have been a trick of the flickering firelight. “I’m not sure you want to play for the kind of stakes I have in mind.”

Robert wanted to press, to find out what those stakes were. Maybe he still could. “Then how about my stakes? Lose a piece, answer a question.”

“If you have questions of me, you need only ask.”

Robert hummed. “I’m not sure you’d answer them.”

“Then what makes you think I’d answer them if you asked from the game?”

“You seem the type of man to honor your word.”

“He said to the spy.”

“The spy said to the other spy.”

Mulligan smiled. “Very well. Lose a piece, answer a question.” He refilled both their glasses.

Robert made the first move and took his drink when Mulligan handed it back. It was only a few minutes before Robert took the first piece.

“Damn,” Mulligan swore. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

Robert knew exactly what he wanted to ask. It was the same question that had been burning a hole in his mind for weeks.“Why did you make the jackets?”

Mulligan paused as if he hadn’t been expecting that question, which seemed odd. It was the obvious question. “Because I wanted to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe you should be more specific in the wording of your questions. Win another piece, find out why I wanted to.”

Mulligan took his turn and Robert took another piece. “Were you nicer to Rivington when you two played? Because I can beat him and he said he held his own against you.”

“Win a piece and you can find out. Now, why did you want to?”

“At the time it seemed like the best way to get your attention again.”

Robert frowned. Mulligan took the next piece. It didn’t feel like a friendly game anymore. “Does it bother you that I made the jackets?”

“Yes.”

Mulligan flinched as if he’d been hit and Robert felt the urge to take it back, but he knew he couldn’t. He sacrificed his next piece instead.

“Do you wish I hadn’t? Do you wish I hadn’t come here today?” Mulligan’s face was closed off and colder than Robert had seen before.

“That’s two questions.”

“Pick one.”

Robert sighed and rolled them both over in his mind. It was the same answer, and they were equally dangerous. “No. I am glad to have you here.”

His face softened a bit and Robert had no qualms about taking the next piece. “Why are you here?”

Mulligan took a drink. “Your father invited me.”

Robert narrowed his eyes and shook his head. For a while, they avoided each other on the board. They each got a piece kinged and after every move Mulligan watched Robert’s face instead of the board.

Robert took two pieces. “Why did you accept?”

“At the time, it seemed like the best way to get your attention.”

“Why do you want my attention so badly?”

Mulligan looked at the two pieces that had been stacked to the side with a frown. “Because, my dear Robert,” he began, looking up to hold Robert’s gaze. “I enjoyed having you as my friend. You’re sharp as a whip, you’re funnier than anyone appreciates, and you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known. In all, I like you.”

For a moment, as Mulligan continued to stare at him, Robert was overwhelmed, his mind spun and buzzed without processing any of it. He looked back to the board. He’d have Mulligan beat in just a few more moves and then he could escape to his room.

Mulligan moved a piece, though it didn't fit with any strategy that Robert could follow. When Robert chanced a glance up at him he was still staring directly at him. Robert took the next piece. He didn’t look at Mulligan when he asked. “How long have you been married?”

“Six years,” Mulligan answered. Robert still didn’t look up but he could feel him staring. There were six pieces left and Robert, having decided to abandon his genuine curiosity was floundering to come up with more questions.

Mulligan moved a piece directly into Robert’s path. He took it. “Do you have a favorite customer?”

“Yes.”

Mulligan took a piece. “Why aren’t you asking the questions you want to?”

Robert stared down at the table. Five more pieces, five more questions he would have to think of and ask or he’d keep being asked questions he didn’t want to answer. “Because I don’t want the answers anymore.”

“What? One complement and Robert Townsend backs down? I never expected you to be so soft,” Mulligan said with a smirk.

“Forgive me for wanting to save you the embarrassment,” Robert shot back. It was foolish he supposed, to back down as soon as Mulligan said something nice about him. It was clearly only a ploy to distract him from the game at hand and learn what he wanted to know.

“I’m not embarrassed by anything I said.”

“Of course not.” Robert looked back to the board with a new determination.

Another few moves, each of them actually trying again, Robert took a piece, knowing the next would be Mulligan’s. “Do you miss the excitement of the war?” Robert did, sometimes, much to his own shame.

“Oh, asking interesting questions again, are we? Yes. I do, but I don’t miss the fear that caused that excitement. Doesn’t make much sense does it?” Mulligan said with a shrug.

“Unfortunately, it makes perfect sense.” He motioned at the board and Mulligan took his piece.

Mulligan held the piece up for a second as he stared at Robert. “Do you miss the city?”

A lie lept quickly to his lips but Robert pushed it away. He’d asked for honesty, he needed to return it. “Sometimes.” Mulligan nodded slowly like he understood the deeper truth there; that sometimes Robert missed being unknown, being anonymous. He nodded like he understood what that anonymity meant to Robert.

Robert refocused on the board. It was getting to the point that they’d locked their pieces into place and any move to capture one piece would mean sacrificing their own. After a few more turns Mulligan managed to capture a piece. “Did Rivington know or did you leave preemptively?”

“He caught me changing the books.”

Mulligan’s eyes lit up. “And he didn’t change them back?”

“There wasn’t time before they had to be delivered,” Robert said with a shrug. The whole night was a little bit of a mess in his memory, too much emotion and too little sleep had clouded the whole thing. He’d left as soon as he’d finished, quietly as he could so as not to chance running into Rivington again, just in case he changed his mind.

“That man,” Mulligan said with a smile, rolling his eyes.

Robert hummed in agreement as he took the next piece. Mulligan’s question had piqued his interest. “Were you and Rivington actually friends or were you just using him as I was?”

Mulligan shook his head and took a drink. “I’d call us friends. He and I have a lot in common.” He made his move with a sigh, clearly ready for Robert to take the piece and expecting the next question.

“What do you mean by that?”

“We have you in common, don’t we?”

Robert narrowed his eyes with a frown. Another few moves and he took the second to last piece. “Do you regret making the jackets?”

“Not for a second.”

He had to chase Mulligan’s piece around the board for a few moves but he caught him. Mulligan looked like he was on the verge of laughing, like causing that small amount of inconvenience had brought him as much joy as anything.

“Last question of the night.”

“I’ll make it good.” Robert took a drink, draining his glass. “Do you intend to come back here again?”

Mulligan smiled, wide and genuinely pleased, without a hint of laughter. “If I’m welcome.”

Robert held his gaze as he nodded. “You are.” Mulligan’s smile softened and the air was suddenly heavier. He didn’t know how long they sat there, the fire crackling next to them, the air thick with some unnamed tension, as they held each other’s gaze. It was the clock in the hall chiming midnight that broke the spell.

They each leaned back into their chair, looking anywhere but each other. “It’s late. We should go to bed,” Robert said after a moment. He stood, putting the board and the pieces in their proper place as Mulligan took their glasses into the kitchen.

Robert lit two candles for them to take upstairs and ensured the fire was safe to leave for the night, behind the grate and already dying out.

They met again at the bottom of the stairs, too close as they went up the narrow steps, Robert just a step behind Mulligan. On the small landing that had the doors to the three bedrooms they stopped, facing each other.

“Well-”

Robert cut him off. “What were the stakes? The ones you had in mind?” Robert asked, unable to help himself. He still wanted to know what it was that Mulligan had assumed Robert wasn’t willing to risk.

That time Robert was sure he saw Mulligan’s eyes catch on his lips. “I think we both know that’s another question you don’t want the answer to.”

For a second, in the flickering candlelight he did know and he was trapped. He couldn’t look away, he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. Mulligan stared back, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Goodnight, Robert,” he said finally, going into his room and leaving Robert breathless in the hall.

#robert townsend/hercules mulligan

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spine-buster · 5 years ago

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Alone, Together | My End and My Beginning: Epilogue 2 | Morgan Rielly

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS AN IMAGE THAT I HAVE MADE/DOCTORED SO THAT IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S FROM A MAGAZINE CALLED “TORONTO LIFE” (A REAL MAGAZINE) THAT CONTAINS A FACE CLAIM FOR BEE. IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE IT, SKIP PAST! IT’S A QUARTER OF A WAY THROUGH THE EPILOGUE.

July 2022

“I still can’t believe you’re engaaaaaaaaaaaaaged,” Angie wrapped her arms around Bee for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night as they stood out on the deck. Rocco and Clarette had thrown Morgan and Bee an engagement party at their house and had somehow invited the whole team and some of Bee’s work colleagues. Clarette was in heaven hosting for everyone. The team was in heaven gorging on the Italian food Rocco and Clarette catered in. Bee was sure Rocco had showed someone his vegetable garden.

“Can you believe?” Bee mimicked Jonathan Van Ness dramatically. “It’s finally happening.”

“It’s happening when it’s supposed to be happening,” Angie said. “You lived your life first. You accomplished your professional goals first. It was important for you to accomplish those things before marriage. You’re a fucking CFA, Bee. Morgan had better wife’d you up. Not like he can do any better.”

“Hey! That’s my fiancé you’re talking about!” Bee giggled.

“I know. And I love him. But it’s true.”

Bee rolled her eyes playfully at Angie’s words. “He bought us a house in Forest Hill, Angie.”

“You’re going to live in Forest Hill, Bee,” Angie gritted her teeth into a facetious smile. “Mason and I will be there every weekend.”

“Obviously.”

“Stealing all your food.”

“Of course.”

“Swimming in your pool. If you guys build a pool.”

“Better start buying more bathing suits.”

“Our kids will be best friends just like we are.”

Bee smiled. “Naturally. Like there’s any other option.”

***

December 2022

“Is there a way I can keep all these flowers after the wedding? Fuck,” Angie asked as she flipped through Rachel Clingen’s lookbook and the sketches that had been prepared for Bee. Bee had gone to see her a few weeks ago with Aryne, who was adamant that Rachel to the floral décor for the wedding. She didn’t disappoint. “This is going to look stunning.”

“I know, right? I can’t believe how good she is.”

“She’s great. It’s literally everything you said you wanted and she somehow made it come to life. And in the Grand Banking Hall? All that beautiful old architecture and then this? Literally every magazine should be begging you to profile it because it’s gonna look beautiful.”

Bee couldn’t help but chuckle. She had a much better relationship with the media now than she did when she first started dating Morgan, and she was much more comfortable around photographers or the press – especially in terms of hers or the Lady Leafs charity work – but she was always, always a bit weary. She wouldn’t want people she didn’t know at her wedding. A magazine had already approached her asking to profile the interiors of their house once it was completed, but she politely declined. Maybe she’d change her mind in the future, but she didn’t think so. “Rachel’s gonna put it up on her website. So is Mango – the photographers. I think that’s enough.”

“I think I’m gonna need a giant photo too to hang over my fireplace.”

“I think we should blow up this one instead,” Bee smiled, digging into her purse to retrieve the envelope she was planning to give to Angie this whole time.

Angie looked at her weirdly. She took the envelope from her, opening in slowly, only to reveal a photograph – perhaps the most important photograph: the first one they ever took together. It was in university, during a exam study session at E.J. Pratt Library. There was a stack of books beside both Bee and Angie. A girl they were friends with at the time had taken it, though they weren’t in touch now. “Oh my God,” Angie snorted as she inspected the photograph. “Look how awful my curls looked.”

“I still fell in love with you,” Bee winked.

Angie gave her another look. “So did Mason, surprisingly,” she quipped. “God, we were so young. We’re only eighteen here!”

“Remember how we stayed so late they kicked us out because they were closing?” Bee asked. Angie nodded her head. “Do you remember what you said to me after we packed up?”

Angie thought back. Bee watched as the gears in her head began to shift, and as the realization dawned on her, her brows furrowed. “I said ‘When I’m your maid of honour, I’m going to tell everyone the story of how I helped you pass this exam’,” she said.

Bee smiled. “So are you ready to do that or what?”

Angie pursed her lips to keep from crying, but when she looked at Bee, Bee could see a tear in her eye. “Obviously.”

***

“Hi my beautiful Isabella! Hi! Hi!” Bee smiled wide as she saw Isabella chilling in her Bumbo on the counter. “Are you happy to see Tia Bee?”

“BAH!” Isabella Tavares babbled happily, smiling. “Bah bah bah!”

“Bah bah bah!” Bee mimicked. “How’s my darling princess?”

“Darling princess is fine now that she’s burped,” Aryne smiled as she finished folding a dishtowel and lay it back on the counter. “Jace! Come say hi to Tia Bee!”

Bee heard the quick flutter of his steps as he ran to her from the family room. “Hi Tia Bee!” he screamed loudly, crashing into her legs and giving her a hug. Bee picked him up and held him in her arms as she kissed him dramatically all over his face, causing him to giggle profusely.

“How’s my prince doing?”

“Good.”

“What are you playing?”

“I play with my Lego.”

“What are you building?”

“I build a car.”

“Can you finish building your car and then show me?”

“Okay!” he said, wigging out of her arms and running back to his place on the carpet in the family room.

Bee turned back to Aryne, who was watching the whole encounter unfold. “What’s that in your hand?” Aryne asked.

“Oh, I got your mail for you,” Bee said absent-mindedly, handing her the envelope. “Just one thing in there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Aryne said as she began to tear it open. Bee looked on as she did, a small smile on her face. Like clockwork, Aryne’s eyes furrowed as she saw what was in the envelope: a card that had the first picture taken of them together, from a game at Scotiabank Arena. “What’s this?”

“Will you open it?”

Aryne flipped the card open on command, reading the words that Bee wrote. The more she read, the more her eyes began to well up with tears. “You want me to be your bridesmaid?”

“Of course I do,” Bee said softly. “I can’t imagine you not being up there with me, Aryne.”

Aryne began crying. She outstretched her arms as she walked around the island to hug Bee, squeezing her tightly. “I love you so much.”

***

“Oh…oh, Briony,” Shirley gasped as Bee walked out in the last dress. It was the first one they had chosen, but the last one Bee was trying on. From beside Shirley, Clarette put her hands over her mouth. “Briony, I…I’m speechless.”

“It’s looks good?” she asked nervously, patting down the delicate lace.

“It’s stunning,” Shirley nodded. “It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

“It’s the one,” Clarette said. “It’s so beautiful, mignonette. The lace is exquisite. The…the…everything.”

Bee turned to Angie, only to see her eyes red with tears. “What do you think?”

Angie shook her head, unable to find the words. She continued to shake her head until she could. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said between sniffles. “Morgan’s gonna absolutely die.”

Bee turned around, looking at herself in the full-length mirror, most of the most important women in her life behind her. She saw the lace draped over her body and sprawling train behind her, delicate but elegant. The v-neck framed her chest and shoulders perfectly, the fabric draping over her hips. As she stared at herself, she pictured herself holding a bouquet. She pictured herself at the end of an aisle, a crowd of people standing in front of her. When the sales associate swooped in and placed a veil on her, the vision was complete. She pictured herself walking down the aisle. She pictured herself walking, making eye contact with the guests. She pictured Morgan at the top of the aisle staring back at her, smiling. She pictured Angie smiling. Aryne smiling.

“Is this the dress?” the sales associate asked.

Bee smiled. This is the dress.”

February 2023

“Hey Andy?”

“Yeah Bee?”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Can…can you sit down?”

Andy stopped moving. He had been preparing a glass of water for himself, but he stopped as he looked at Bee and recognized how serious her tone was. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, I just…I just want you to sit,” she repeated, going so far as to move the chair so he could follow her command.

He sat down slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Um. So listen,” she began nervously. “I know…you know…you know that I don’t have a dad – well I have a dad, I just don’t know my dad – and, well – I, uh, I – God, this isn’t coming out right at all,” she shook her head, her thoughts getting the best of her.

“Bee, calm down, it’s alright,” Andy said. “It’s just me.”

She nodded her head and took a deep breath. “You know how much I love you, and how much I appreciate you being there for me since the beginning of mine and Morgan’s relationship. And, well, I’m doing the father-daughter dance with Rocco during the reception, but I wanted you – I would love it if you could walk me down the aisle.”

“Oh, Bee…” Andy cooed, a giant smile overtaking his face. “Of course I’ll walk you down the aisle.”

“Really?”

“Are you kidding? Of course,” he repeated, reaching out to hug her. “I have two sons, Bee. I never thought I’d be able to get the opportunity. And now you’re able to give it to me.”

Saturday July 22 2023

CLICK HERE TO SEE MORGAN AND BEE’S WEDDING

“Be careful!”

“How do I get this thing off?”

“It’s delicate!”

“I know! I can’t get the – do I do the buttons or the zipper first?!”

“There’s only buttons, Morgan!” Bee exclaimed, giggling.

“Then what the hell is this?! What is – oh,” he stopped dramatically. “Oh, I gotta – okay – I – here we go,” he muttered as he began to unbutton the dress as quickly as his big thumb and drunken mind would let him. He knew he shouldn’t have had that last round of shots with Jake. “Jesus, how many buttons are there on this thing?!”

“It’s gotta stay on, doesn’t it?”

“NO! It’s gotta COME OFF!” he exclaimed, causing Bee to burst out into laughter. “It’s my wedding night, damnit! I WANNA HAVE SEX WITH MY WIFE! HOT, STEAMY SEX!”

“Is that what we’re gonna do? I thought we were just gonna put on our pyjamas,” Bee looked behind her, winking.

Morgan gave her a death stare. “Don’t even joke about that, Bumblebee,” he finished unbuttoning her dress. “Now get out of this thing so I can fuck you, please.”

“You need to be patient,” she instructed in as stern a voice as she could muster. “This thing is thousands of dollars. I can’t just whip it off, step out of it, and leave it on the floor or chair.”

“You can, you just decide not to.”

“I won’t, because it cost almost ten thousand dollars and it’s the most sentimental piece of clothing I will ever have.”

Morgan grumbled as he collapsed on the bed, still in his shirt and pants. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he watched Bee slip out of the dress slowly, making sure she located its hanger on the curtain rod before she did so. At the sight of Bee standing with no bra and only white lace panties, Morgan could feel his cheeks flush. “White, Bumblebee?”

“Was I going to wear any other colour?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you tonight.”

“Guess I should put it to good use, huh?” she arched her brow.

Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “Mrs. Rielly…” he began, shaking his head. The feeling of calling her that would never get old, he thought quickly. “Now that you’ve pinned me down with marriage you think you can talk to me like that?”

“Oh, I’ll pin you down alright.”

Morgan stuffed his hand down his pants. To him, there was no point in waiting anymore. She was standing there looking like that and he was too much of an impatient drunk to care. “Get over here, baby. Get over here now.”

“Patience.”

“I have no patience. Get over here!”

Bee took her time. She wanted to tease him; make him wait. She wanted him to groan in frustration and whine in anger. It was working. His look of frustration and overall unhappiness with how slow she was going was apparent on his face. When she finally climbed onto the bed, he picked himself up from his annoyance and practically lunged towards her, wrapping an arm around her body and pulling her down with him, causing her to yelp in laughter. He began placing light butterfly kisses on her exposed skin, smiling at every giggle that escaped her mouth.

“I’m never gonna get tired of saying that,” Morgan mumbled against her skin.

“What? Get over here?” she giggled out.

“Noooo,” he chastised. “Mrs. Rielly. You’re finally Mrs. Rielly.”

“Finally,” she smiled. “I can’t believe it either. This is the best day of my life.”

“This is the best day of my life,” Morgan repeated. “Can’t believe I landed such a fox.”

“Can’t believe I landed such a hunk.”

Morgan smiled sheepishly as he finally kissed her on the lips, slow and sensual and all encompassing. “I love you so much, Briony Rielly.”

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