#might not draw him like this every time i dunno how satisfied with the fit i am

[unknownarmageddon]

woe. furry

this is the uhhh main sheep’s head guy. protagonist if you will. yeag

[the-iceni-bitch]

Please do 61 with Ransom.

61) “If you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.”

Hmmm, more OTP for all you lovely hoes! You nonnies just keep lobbing em right at me.

This ended up sparking something in me and I ended up writing a full length fic about more escapades with the asshole bunch.

Tagging my babes @chrissquares @stargazingfangirl18 (I’m targeting you a little with this one Siri cuz lacrosse Ransom is def wearing Fila) @subtlebucky @egcdeath

Quick, dirty, outdoor smut!!! No minors!!!

You and Ransom had decided to meet at the park with the other couples in his little asshole group of friends.

It was finally starting to warm up some, and when the boys had brought up getting out the sticks for some lacrosse you had jumped on it. Ransom didn’t have the balls to tell you it was really just a guy thing, you looked so excited about it.

He parked the beemer at the park entrance and grinned when he saw your Volvo already there. He grabbed his sticks and the cooler full of beer from the trunk and headed towards the field where he saw the rest of you gathered.

He groaned as he drew closer and finally got a good look at you as you waved at him. You looked like a preppy dream in a polo shirt and tiny shorts, a headband around your forehead and knee high socks under your cleats.

“Hey baby!” You said giddily as you ran towards him with your stick slung over your shoulders. “Can you believe I still fit in my high school uniform?”

“I think you’re taking this a little too seriously sweetheart.” He grinned, dropping the cooler and catching you when you jumped into his arms and pressed your lips to his with a satisfied hum.

“Says the man who showed up wearing his letterman’s jacket.” You teased as you hopped down and helped him carry the cooler the rest of the way.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.” He purred in your ear as you set down the cooler, wrapping his stick around your back and drawing you close.

“Ha! I’m not playing lacrosse in pants, Hugh!” You said with a shake of your head. “But keep that in mind for later. Can you believe none of the other girls brought sticks?”

“Honey, none of them play lacrosse.” He chided as he watched you stretch.

“Well then what’s the point of... oh goddamn it!” You rolled your eyes as you stood up. “This was supposed to be another boy’s outing where I sit with the other girls and get wine drunk wasn’t it? Don’t answer that! Chauvinist assholes...”

He just chuckled as he watched you mutter to yourself angrily, grabbing your extra sticks and storming off towards the other girls, gesturing wildly as you tried to go over the basics with them.

“So, the girls are playing then?” Dylan asked as he came to stand by Ransom, grabbing an IPA from the cooler and taking a gulp.

“Sure seems that way.” Ran answered as he watched you shove a stick at Lexi and make a throwing motion that she tried to emulate feebly.

“Is this gonna be another day of your girlfriend showing us all up, Drysdale?” Chaz asked as he joined the two of them, chuckling as they tried to figure out exactly what you were trying to instruct the girls on now. “Cuz I don’t think my ego can take it.”

“I dunno what to tell you man.” Ran said with a shrug, grabbing himself a beer and drinking deep. “Quit inviting us to this shit if you don’t want her to hand your ass back to you.”

“Alright douchebags, lets play some lacrosse!” You screamed at them, a massive grin splitting your face.

“I can’t decide if having her on my team or playing against her will be worse.” Logan groaned as the four men walked towards the field apprehensively.

“Alright, should we split this up by couples or what?” Dylan asked as Lexi moved to stand next to him.

“Sounds good to me.” You beamed.

“Great, so Y/N, Ran , Chaz and Brit, you guys can play together and me, Jess, Logan, and Lex will be the other team. Girls play defense.”

“Sounds good.” Ran said fast before you had a chance to start an argument, guiding you away from the center of the field quickly.

“But I play attack, babe.” You whined as he walked next to you and stopped in front of the goal.

“Yeah, I think that you playing attack might be a little too much all at once sweetie.” He said with a shrug as he moved to middle position. “Just channel that frustration babe, you’ll do great!”

You just chewed on your lip as you watched Logan and Chaz grapple for the ball. Logan won out, barreling over Chaz and spinning past Ran like a pro. You smirked as you pivoted towards him, bracing yourself as you charged each other.

He shifted his weight to spin around you and you grinned before full body checking him, ripping the stick out of his hand and helicoptering it out of his grip as you tossed him over your shoulder. You scooped the ball up and lobbed it to Ransom as you sprinted up the field. He passed it back to you when Dylan tried to take him down and you snatched it out of the air before diving around a confused looking Lexi and chucking the ball at the net, grinning when it sailed past Jess for a point.

“Goddamn it!” Dylan groaned as you jogged past him back to your position, giving Ransom a celebratory high five that he followed up with a smack on the ass as he grinned at you.

Logan was still trying to stand up as you returned to your defensive position, glaring at you as he ran a hand through his hair.

“How the fuck was that not a foul?!” He seethed at you.

“A foul?!” You shouted with an air of disdain. “Don’t be a pussy Van Doren! You bring that weak shit to my house and I’m serving it right back to you! Right babe?”

“That’s right babe!” Ran shouted back to you as he shrugged apologetically at Logan when he stalked past him.

The rest of the game went about the same, you hardly let anyone past and Logan flinched so bad every time you got near him it was easy for your team to dominate. Dylan finally called a stop after an hour, he and Logan covered in dirt and bruises from the rough play.

“That’s it, we’re done. I need a fucking drink.” He huffed as he dragged himself off the field, Lexi bouncing next to him excitedly. Apparently, one of the things you had been teaching the girls was how to hit, and she had cracked Chaz and Ransom a couple of times. You grinned and congratulated her and the other girls on a game well played as you moved to grab a porter from the cooler.

“Jesus Christ, Drysdale. That woman is a damn menace.” Logan groaned as he grabbed a bag of ice and pressed it against his ribs.

“Yeah, how the fuck do you keep up with her?” Chaz asked, shaking his head as sipped his lager. “She’s barely sweating.”

“I don’t even know man.” He said with a shrug, gasping for air as he chugged his IPA. “She’s a fucking pistol.”

“Not the word I’d use but whatever.” Logan said, annoyed at you two.

“Shut up, L, you’re just pissed she beat the shit out of you.” Dylan said with a grin. “Where you going, Ran?”

“Gotta take a leak!” Ransom lied as he jerked his head towards the trees suggestively after making eye contact with you.

“Scuse me gals, I gotta help Hugh with something.” You said around a grin after chugging the rest of your beer.

“Jesus, you two will do it anywhere, huh?” Brittney said with an eye roll.

You just shrugged at her as you jogged after Ransom towards the small clutch of pines.

Ransom grabbed you around your waist and swung you off your feet when you reached him, making you squeal before he smashed his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He purred as he pressed you up against a tree, running his lips up and down your throat and making you whine.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking legend babe. I told you.” You muttered around a grin. “Did you see those hits I landed?”

“Mmhm, sure did.” He mumbled, nipping at the hollow behind your ear that he knew drove you crazy as his hips ground against you.

“You ever eat a legend’s pussy, Hugh?” You teased, starting to shove his head down between your legs.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Y/N!” He whined as you forced him to his knees. “I was kinda hoping we could both get something out of this.”

“Sorry babe, middle gets whatever attack says they get.” You said with a shrug as you slid your shorts off and hooked your leg over his shoulder. “Make me come with that pretty mouth and maybe I’ll let you get your dick wet.”

“Bitch.” He murmured as he started brushing his lips over your inner thigh, no real malice in his tone as he gazed at you through his lashes.

“That’s right Hugh, I’m the fucking bitch. Now lick it.”

He ran his nose over your clothed core and inhaled deeply before shoving your panties aside. You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your slit, lapping up the evidence of your arousal before swirling his tongue through your folds.

His hands moved under your ass and tilted your hips towards his face, giving him even more access to your dripping heat. Your fingers gripped his hair painfully when he flicked his tongue over your asshole in a quick series of kitten licks before moving it in a heavy stripe back up to your clit.

You had to bite your lip to keep from screaming when he slid a finger inside you, curling it in a come hither motion at the same time he pressed his tongue against your clit. He lashed your bundle of nerves lightly as you writhed against him, your head thumping back against the tree as he slipped in a second finger.

His lips wrapped around your clit as he started fucking you with his digits, curling and twisting them inside you so he hit every spot he knew would drive you absolutely crazy. You felt him grin against you as he shook his head to bury himself deeper in your folds, groaning when he felt you clench around his fingers.

“Fuck, Ransom! I’m so close.” You panted breathlessly, grinding your pussy into his face as you neared the edge.

You felt him slide his pinky into your puckered hole, spearing past the tight ring of muscle until you felt the cool metal of his ring against your entrance and you fucking lost it.

Your thighs tried to crush his skull as you came violently, somehow managing to swallow the shriek that tried to rip out of your chest. He moaned as he ran his tongue over your pussy to collect your release as it ran over his fingers while you clenched and fluttered around him.

“How was that, champ?” He said around a wicked grin once you finally released his head, sliding his hands up your body as he stood up.

“Good... it was good.” You panted as he buried his face in your neck.

“Yeah? Good enough for you to help me out, babe?” He asked, grinding his hips into you to show you how hard he was at the same time he wrenched your polo and sports bra up to expose your breasts.

“I think we can work something out.” You murmured as he palmed your breast with one hand while the other splayed over your ass.

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” He hummed as his lips moved over your throat softly.

“Oh, I dunno. Something extra special for my favorite middle.” You purred, pushing him away from you a little bit so you could turn around.

“Fuck, really?” He beamed, running his hand over your ass as he pressed you into the tree.

“Really, you did such a good job, baby, you deserve a reward.” You said as you peeked are him over your shoulder. “Now fuck my ass until I come again, Hugh.”

He chuckled darkly into your hair as he slid his shorts down his legs and drew his cock out of his boxer briefs. You moaned as he ran his length through your slick before he pressed his tip against your pretty hole. The groan he let out as he speared into you made your pussy clench around nothing, fluttering as your body tried to draw him as deep as possible until he was fully sheathed in you and his hips were resting against your ass.

“Shit. Oh my god.” He hissed into your shoulder as he stilled his hips for a beat. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Yeah, I know.” You mumbled as the tree bark scratched at your cheek. “Could you move? I’d like to have another orgasm sometime before noon.”

“So fucking bossy.” He groaned before sliding out of you halfway and slamming back into you, making you yelp.

You moaned as he finally started fucking you, his hips moving at a vicious pace as he bounced you against the tree. He wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed lightly as he drew you back against his chest.

“Love when you let me fuck your ass, baby.” He growled in your ear as his hips slapped against your cheeks, making you mewl as slick started leaking down your thighs from your aching pussy. “Love how wet you get and how you strangle my cock. You want my fingers in that tight little pussy?”

“Yeah.” You whined as he teased his fingers over your clit. “Need you in my pussy so bad Ran, I’m gonna come.”

He sucked your earlobe between his teeth and spanked your pussy before shoving three fingers inside you as you came with a shriek, your body arching against him as you spasmed uncontrollably.

“Jesus, you’re squeezing me so good.” He groaned as you came down, sobbing with pleasure and sagging against him. “I’m gonna fill this ass up.”

You felt his cock throbbing inside you at the same time he twisted his fingers and you screamed, your release gushing out of you and soaking his thighs as he filled you with his spend, pressing you against the tree and sinking his teeth into your shoulder as his hips jerked. He groaned into your hair as he shoved his cum deep inside you and pulled his fingers from your swollen cunt.

“Holy fuck.” He mumbled into your hair before sucking his fingers into his mouth and groaning at your taste.

“Yeah.” You murmured as you yanked your bra and shirt back down and pulled your panties back into place before bending over to slide your shorts back on. “You should’ve lettered in that.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: Not just regular assholes, preppy jock assholes!!!

[krisdreaming]

PART 1 | A FAVOR

｢ Masterlist ｣  |  Next >

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

Summary: Somehow, you ended up agreeing to bring your non-existent boyfriend to the family Christmas gathering at your grandparents’. Your chem lab partner and fast friend, Kuroo Tetsurou, agrees to play the part. Your developing feelings for him won’t cause any problems, right?

WC: 1.7k

A/N: I am v i b r a t i n g, it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share this story with you all, I’ve been having an absolute blast writing it! I already feel like it’s so much better than last year, and tbh reading the old fic is so cringy for me lmao I lowkey want to delete it.

The winter sky is slate gray above you, shedding a few stray snowflakes around you as you walk. The streets of the small university town have been decked out with lights and decorations for a few weeks now, and with the falling snow to match, it’s really starting to feel like Christmas. You reach for the door of the coffee shop, stepping inside and immediately drawing in the heavenly aromas of coffee and pastries. The warm air is such a contrast to the chill of the outdoors that you can feel a slight tingle in your cheeks.

Looking around, you spot Kuroo at one of the corner tables and make your way over to him. “So, what do you think?” You ask, making a vague gesture to the entirety of the coffee shop, “So much better than the one on campus, right?”

“I’ll let you know after I taste the coffee,” He says lightly with his usual teasing smirk. He lifts the mug to his lips and peers at you over the rim for a few moments before taking a sip. “Hmm,” He smacks his lips a few times, resting the mug on the table and tilting his head to the side in exaggerated thought.

“Well?” You finally prompt, “Does it get the Kuroo seal of approval?”

“Not sure,” He says, eliciting an eye roll from you as he lifts his mug again and takes a bigger sip. “Oh!” He reaches for another mug that you hadn’t noticed and pushes it across the table. “I ordered this for you. It’s your favorite here, right? The caramel macchiato?”

You blink at him in surprise, reaching out automatically to wrap your fingers around the warm mug. “You remembered that?” You ask dumbly.

“Of course I did. You’re only talking about it every day,” He rolls his eyes, “Meanwhile some of us are actually trying to do our chem lab, you know.” The teasing smile on his face is starting to seep into his voice, and you chuckle.

“Oh, please. What would you do without me in lab?” You ask, finally lifting the mug to your lips to take a sip. The milky sweetness of the coffee draws out a soft hum of contentment.

“Get work done,” He laughs, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head as though dodging the glare you shoot his way. “And speaking of work, we’d better get started on this write up if we want to have it finished for class tomorrow.” He flips open his notebook, and you fish around in your bag for yours. It is why you’re here, after all.

You’re about a third of the way through the assignment when your phone rings. Kuroo leans back in his chair as you peek at the screen. “It’s my grandma,” You say apologetically, “I should get this.” Standing to your feet, you step out into the dusk that’s falling outside. “Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N, this is Grandma.”

You shake your head. “Yes, Grandma, I know. How are you?” She doesn’t call you often, so you hope everything is alright.

“Fine, fine,” She says brusquely, quickly brushing past the niceties to get to the real reason she’s calling. “I was thinking, and Grandpa and I agreed that it would be so nice if you invited your boyfriend to Christmas this year.” Suddenly, the coffee you’d just finished drinking is turning to a solid brick in your stomach. “We’d love to meet him, dear, you hardly ever tell us anything about him!”

You let out a shaky breath. It had been harmless – or so you thought. Just a little white lie. Nothing wrong with letting your grandmother believe you’d found a boyfriend at college. She’s always been so hopeful that you’d find someone special, and she asks at every opportunity, so the story had developed on its own. Now you’re starting to realize why that may have been a bad idea.

“No, Grandma, it’s fine, really. He doesn’t need to come.”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room and you know there’s always plenty of food, we’d love to have him.” Your grandmother’s voice crackles insistently through the phone.

“Grandma-”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” She says in a tone you’ve never once dared to argue with. “You bring this boyfriend of yours to Christmas, and that’s final.” You bite down a little too hard on your lower lip.

“I’ll see if he’s free,” You say weakly, hoping to buy yourself some more time.

“Good,” She says, finally satisfied. “I’m looking forward to meeting this young man. Now I’m sorry to go so soon, dear, but I have a pie in the oven that needs to come out. You just let me know when the two of you will be getting here next week, alright?”

“Okay, Grandma. If he can come,” You add quickly. “Bye. Love you.”

“And I love you, dear.” For a few moments after she hangs up, you keep your phone at your ear, listening to the dial tone. Finally, you remember that Kuroo is still waiting for you inside, and you slowly turn and go back into the coffee shop.

“Everything okay?” Kuroo asks when you sit back down. You paste a smile on your face and pick up your pencil.

“Yeah, fine!” You chirp, “My Grandma just wanted to discuss a few things about the Christmas get together coming up.”

“Ah, cool. That sounds really nice.”

“Mm-hmm,” You brush it off, “Let’s get this finished, okay?” You try to focus on the lab report, but your mind keeps wandering back to the conversation with your grandmother. You nod along when Kuroo makes a suggestion and dutifully jot down your answers, but you’re working on autopilot.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Your gaze snaps to Kuroo and you nod quickly. He sets his pencil down and leans back in his chair, eyeing you critically. “I dunno, you just seem kind of distracted,” He gestures to your paper, and when you look down, you realize that you’ve been erasing so fiercely that a hole is worn into the page. You cover it sheepishly with your hand.

“I’m fine. It’s stupid,” You say with a shrug and a light chuckle. He nods knowingly. He isn’t prying, but something in his expression prompts you to keep going. “You’re going to laugh at me,” You warn before continuing.

“Brilliant,” He says, leaning on his elbows and focusing his entire attention on you. You clear your throat.

“I may or may not have implied to my grandma that I have a boyfriend. Perhaps more than once. I said perhaps!” You repeat it at the way his lips are screwed up, already trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

“But you don’t,” He interjects.

“No. Thank you for that,” You say dryly. “Anyway, as it turns out, Grandma has extended a generous invitation for my boyfriend to attend our family Christmas gathering.”

“Your boyfriend that doesn’t exist,” He says with a smirk.

“We’ve established that, yes,” You huff. “Any bright ideas, smarty pants?”

“Hm, so you come to me for advice,” Kuroo strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Sounds like you need to get yourself a boyfriend.” You snort. “Or at least someone to pass off as your boyfriend,” He amends. “For the right price, I might be persuaded. Isn’t this your grandma that sent you those cookies the other week?”

“The one and only,” You nod.

“Mm-hmm,” He nods slowly, watching you a little too closely. Just when you start to feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, he sits back again. “Well, if there are going to be more of those cookies, you know where to find me,” He quips, then clears his throat. “Well, we’re almost finished here, is this what you got for the last formula?” That quickly, it’s dropped. As always when it comes to Kuroo, you’re not sure quite how seriously to take him.

You spend the rest of the evening worrying the situation in your mind. Is it really smart to bring a fake boyfriend to your family gathering? It sounds like the plot of a bad romcom. Say your boyfriend can’t make it, and you know your grandmother will ask for photos, stories, and other evidence you don’t have. Admit the truth, and you may never be able to look her in the eye again. None of them is very appealing, but those are your options.

The next day, you can’t believe you’re really doing this. Sleep deprivation may be a factor, but you’ve decided to take Kuroo up on his offer. After all, you reason with yourself, it will keep Grandma happy. She’ll be absolutely tickled, and you know Kuroo will charm her. Kuroo’s always seemed to love the stories you’ve told about your family, and you know he’ll fit right in with them. Spending the holiday with him – it might not be so bad. In fact, it’s something you might even find yourself looking forward to.

Your afternoon lab is almost over before you work up the courage to broach the subject. “Hey, Kuroo?” You speak up, right as he’s eye level with a test tube and adding a few drops to the solution inside.

“Hm?” He hums, distracted, as you watch him count the droplets under his breath. When he’s finished, he sits back and looks at you, head cocked slightly to the side. You draw in a sharp breath, trying not to think about the sudden twist in your middle.

“Were you serious when you said you’d come to my family’s Christmas and pretend to be my boyfriend?” It tumbles out in one breath.

He barks out a laugh. “Well, yeah, I guess so!”

“I’m not trying to force you,” You insist.

“You’re not,” He assures you. “Wasn’t it my idea in the first place? How am I supposed to turn down an opportunity to eat for three days straight?”

“You have to let everyone think you’re my boyfriend,” You remind him.

“You think I can’t handle it?” He holds out his hand. “Please. I’m in.”

“If you’re sure.” Slowly, you reach out and shake his hand. His grip is firm. This is really happening, isn’t it?

[freebooter4ever]

Semper Fi

Sledge and Snafu walk into a tattoo parlor, what happens? For @diasimar​​ short sledgefu one shot that deals with the - ahem - sexiness of Snafu getting that inner thigh tattoo while in the Marines stationed overseas (suggestive nudity but nothing explicit)

Snafu gets the tattoo on Hawaii during one of the lulls in action sometime after his second stint on Pavuvu. He’s been carousing almost every night, gambling a lot, winning money, sending quite a bit home to his baby sister, spending even more on booze, meeting the finest of the fine in Hawaiian polite society. For the first time in months Eugene and he aren’t attached at the hip in a foxhole anymore, and Snafu’s going a bit wild. For some reason though, no matter how late Snafu returns to their tent, Eugene is still awake, his lamp turned on, his long nose in a book. Even if it’s 3am Eugene greets Snafu as he stumbles into bed, and then calmly continues reading until Snafu passes out. Snafu’s beginning to worry Eugene doesn’t sleep at all. Yet every time Snafu asks Eugene if he wants to come out with him, Eugene politely turns him down.

When it comes to gambling, Snafu tries to stick to branches of the military that aren’t the Marines. He already has a reputation amongst the first and the fifth, and almost every single one of his friends refuses to lose money to him anymore. It’s when Snafu discovers how easy it is to part Navy sailors with their money, that Snafu starts seeing the tattoos. Snafu asks around and discovers there’s a guy who will do it for cheap for armed forces, who is an artist with ink, and who even has some Marines flash to choose from.

Snafu announces his plans for a tattoo to Sledge that evening, who glances up from his book and replies that this is exactly why he takes the night watch these days.

“You’re drunk, Snafu,” Eugene says, “Go to bed. We’ll see if this tattoo is still a good idea in the morning.”

Snafu doesn’t tell Gene that he’s pretty sure this idea has been brewing in the back of his head for days. Instead he goes to bed. And he also realizes that there’s some part of Eugene stuck in those foxholes, still keeping watch, even though they’re on Hawaii where the worst that can happen already has. Gene shouldn’t be worrying about anything, and he certainly shouldn’t be watching over Snafu while he sleeps. If anyone should be looking after anybody it should be Snafu. He’s the one half in love.

“If I get a tattoo on my own, will you hate me?” Snafu asks Gene the next morning.

“Why would I hate you?” Eugene replies, genuinely confused.

Snafu shrugs. He always assumed Eugene would one day.

Eugene rolls his eyes, satisfied that Snafu is back to his normal enigmatic sober self, and then rolls over in his cot and goes back to sleep.

This time Snafu stays awake, studying Sledgehammer’s sleeping face, munching on a chocolate bar while Eugene snores. By the time Snafu finishes his breakfast, and Eugene is properly awake, Snafu gets an idea about how to put Eugene’s watchdog tendencies to good use.

“Why am I coming with you to Chinatown?” Eugene asks that afternoon as they make their way across Honolulu.

“Because that’s where Jerry’s shop is,” Snafu answers, “It’s art, Eugene, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

“Who’s Jerry?”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Gene,” Snafu sighs, “How are you even a Marine? We need to get you out more.”

“I get out plenty,” Eugene gripes and gets that cute nose wrinkle between his brows that happens whenever Snafu teases him too much.

Snafu grins.

“Just because I don’t drink, doesn’t mean I judge anyone else for it,” Eugene says defensively.

“I know you don’t, Boo, and all the guys respect you for it, but they’ll love you for it if you also join us from time to time. You don’t gotta do anything, just be there,” Snafu says.

“Huh,” Eugene says, and thoughtfully considers Snafu’s suggestion while they walk. It baffles Snafu sometimes, how Eugene actually take Snafu’s opinions into consideration. Gene listens, and thinks on it until he understands, and then adjusts his behavior as he sees fit, and he puts a hell of a lot more stock into Snafu’s judgement than Snafu could ever have imagined him doing. “Are you included in this?” Eugene asks after a period of silence.

“What?” Snafu holds the door open to the tattoo parlor for him.

“Will you love me if I hang out from time to time?” Eugene asks and hesitates in the doorway.

“I already love you, Gene, you don’t gotta work on that,” Snafu winks and playfully pushes Sledge’s ass the rest of the way into the shop.

Eugene looks endearingly uncomfortable standing in the middle of the tattoo parlor. Gene’s eyes go wide and they keep sliding over to the corner of the shop where a sailor with bulging muscles is having a delicate bird tattooed onto his bicep. Snafu slides his arm across Eugene’s shoulder to help the poor guy relax while they wait their turn to be helped.

“What am I doing here?” Gene hisses lowly in Snafu’s ear as he leans against him.

“I want to get the tattoo on a sensitive area,” Snafu whispers back and leans closer. Any excuse to hold Gene tighter.

“How sensitive?” Sledge is looking at Snafu like Snafu’s situation has gone from fucked up to total insanity.

“On a part of me that might make things a little too hot, if you know what I mean,” Snafu elaborates.

“Shelton, what the heck are you getting at?”

“I’m getting the eagle and globe on my inner thigh and I want you to be here to make sure nothing turns raunchy,” Snafu explains.

Eugene pulls away and stares at him for a full minute. “What the hell do you think is going to be sexy about a man sticking a needle in your skin for a couple hours?”

“I dunno, Sledgehammer, I’m just concerned he’s going to be nose to nose with certain areas of myself I like to keep private,” Snafu says.

“Then why not get it on your arm like a normal person?” Sledge whispers accusingly.

Snafu shrugs. He swears Eugene looks fiercely jealous, but maybe he’s just seeing things. “Hate me yet?” he asks.

Eugene just glares in response. And crosses his arms in a bit of a huff. But he doesn’t leave the shop. Eugene doesn’t say another word. He silently inspects the art Snafu picks out. And when it’s Snafu’s turn, Eugene stands beside him. He silently watches as Snafu drapes himself over the bench and splays his legs open. A strategically placed thin blanket keeps Snafu’s dignity intact, but his ass is otherwise as bare as the day he was born.

Eugene was right about the artist being professional and too focused to do much else. The guy doesn’t even treat Snafu like he’s a body made of flesh and bone, just canvas. The artist is firm, and calm, and certain of every mark he makes.

And the only thing Snafu finds distracting is the unexpected intensity of Eugene staring at Snafu’s crotch while the tattoo is being done.

At first it’s fine. The tattoo starts almost inside his hip and the pain is next to nothing. And certainly nothing Snafu can’t handle. Until the needle goes lower, into sensitive fatty areas, and the pain explodes.

“Fuck!” Snafu grits out as he tries to keep his body from reacting.

That gets Eugene’s attention on Snafu’s face, finally. Gene turns to him and takes his hand gently.

Snafu isn’t having it. He grips Eugene’s hand so hard his knuckles turn white and Eugene’s eyebrows shoot up on his face in shock. Snafu almost growls with the pain, and tears prick his eyes. In all Snafu’s half baked plans about giving Eugene something artsy to admire that they can both share, and by coincidence letting Eugene watch over Snafu’s dick for a couple hours, Snafu had never considered he might end up looking ridiculous in front of his crush.

“Hey, look at me,” Eugene whispers softly right beside Snafu’s head. Gene crouches down beside the bench so they’re eye level, and gently slides his fingers across Snafu’s cheek. He turns Snafu’s head to face him, away from the work being done on Snafu’s leg, and suddenly all Snafu can see is the adoration and concern in Eugene’s eyes.

“Sledgehammer...?” is all Snafu can manage to say.

Eugene holds Snafu’s hand tight and cups Snafu’s face, and whispers sweet nothings about how beautiful Snafu is. Something about Snafu’s stubble and square jaw, and something about the rain. And Snafu can barely pay attention, but if he watches Eugene’s lips form around the words long enough he almost forgets the pain.

‘Just fucking kiss me,” Snafu wants to be able to say, ‘I’ve been waiting for you to do it for months.”

He doesn’t say it.

He does, however, manage to survive his first (and hopefully only) tattoo experience thanks to Gene’s helping hand (Literally. Snafu hopes he didn’t maim Gene’s drawing hand.). The artist wraps Snafu’s leg and gives him instructions on how to care for the tattoo in the first few days. The artist also gives him and Gene a considering look, but says nothing. Snafu supposes the guy’s probably used to all sorts, what with him tattooing mostly Navy boys, a branch of the armed forces where what Snafu wants to do to Gene is almost legal. Almost.

Snafu’s leg doesn’t hurt too much, but he plays it up a bit for sympathy. Eugene steadfastly allows Snafu to lean on him the whole walk home, with Gene’s arm strong and secure around Snafu’s waist. To be fair it is hard to walk with a giant bandage around a guy’s inner thigh. Snafu is reduced to an awkward hobble. He is relieved when he can finally stagger into their tent and flop onto Gene’s cot.

“Snafu, wrong bed,” Eugene points out helpfully. He tries to help Snafu stand back up.

Snafu refuses and goes limp.

“Snaf, you’re on my book.”

Snafu does move for that.

Eugene rescues his book and then sits down at the foot end of the cot. “So how long is it gonna take to heal?” he asks conversationally.

Snafu grunts.

“I’ll bring you dinner,” Eugene announces. He pats Snafu’s ankle lovingly and stands back up with a sigh. A few hours of silence and he returns with rice. “I figured simple was better for now,” he explains.

Snafu makes no comment on his freely given dinner, and eats his rice quietly while Eugene carefully peels the bandage off Snafu’s thigh.

“It’s gonna look better in a few weeks,” Snafu assures him.

With his head still bent over Snafu’s crotch, Eugene looks at him skeptically from underneath his brow.

“Hopefully,” Snafu adds, his confidence faltering a little.

Snafu spends the next three days wallowing in comfort with Eugene at his beck and call. Somewhere in town Eugene picks up an odd smelling cream that Eugene swears on his life will help. Snafu agrees, not because he’s in pain or worried about the tattoo becoming infected. But because he just enjoys it when Eugene leans across Snafu’s legs on the cot to get a good angle, pushes down Snafu’s pants, and then rubs little feather-light circles over Snafu’s naked thigh to massage the cream in.

“Think you can walk now?” Eugene asks on the fourth day after he’s rubbed the cream into Snafu’s skin.

It takes Snafu a minute to remember that he never mentioned to Eugene that walking was no longer a problem after the bandage came off the first day. “Oh...probably,” Snafu says while keeping his voice deceptively light.

Eugene sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “Better not try,” he says, “Just to be sure. It’s starting to scab.” Eugene trails a finger down the tattoo. He barely brushes the tiny portions of scabbed skin, but it sends a strange tingle up Snafu’s spine.

Snafu swallows. “Think it’s supposed to do that,” he opinions, “The scabbing.” - not the tingling.

“I might get Jay to bring you your dinner tonight...” Eugene trails off, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. All of Snafu’s focus is on Eugene’s hand still resting over the clothed portion of Snafu’s leg. Till he hears what Eugene said.

“What???” Snafu demands.

“I’ve been thinking of going out with the guys. Burgie says it’s Stringbean’s birthday or something,” Eugene says.

“What? No!” Snafu yanks his pants back up over his crotch.

“You said I needed to spend more time with them...”

“Yeah, but not without me!” Snafu exclaims, “I’ll come along...”

“Not so fast,” Eugene holds Snafu’s chest down on the bed with his hand, and briefly fulfills one of Snafu’s many fantasies, “If you get that tattoo infected, you might be stuck here even longer than if you just wait it out now.”

“But I...” Snafu is realizing his subterfuge in getting Eugene to wait on him hand and foot is coming back to bite him in the ass.

“Jay’s staying behind tonight to write a letter to his folks,” Eugene concludes, “He won’t mind bringing you food, honest.”

“But it’s pork chops tonight!” Snafu says as Eugene gets up to leave.

“I think Jay can handle carrying some pork chops,” Eugene chuckles.

Snafu’s losing him. He’s almost out the door. Eugene’s gonna find a replacement caretaker and that’ll be the end to Snafu monopolizing his time.

“Gene!” Snafu calls desperately. He scrambles out of bed and grabs Eugene’s wrist.

Eugene blinks at him in surprise. “I thought you were in pain...?”

Snafu opens his mouth and casts his eyes anywhere but on Gene so maybe Sledgehammer won’t see his guilt. In his haste, Snafu forgot to button his pants. They’re falling down his hips again.

“You were never in any pain, were you?” Eugene asks.

“Maybe for the first...” Snafu thinks hard, “...three...or four...hours...?”

“It’s been four days Snafu,” Eugene starts advancing on him like he’s gonna give Snafu some real pain to think about, “I help you limp to the toilet four times a day. I’ve been giving you sponge baths!”

Snafu trips backwards and falls onto Gene’s cot. “I’ve been reading your books aloud for you!” he protests, “You like it when I do the heavy accent.” As if that makes them even.

“You. Owe. Me,” Eugene emphasizes. And shoves Snafu flat on his back

“Semper Fi?” Snafu says with a grin.

“Get your own damn pork chops, Shelton,” Eugene shakes his head in disgust - the worst expression Snafu could imagine being on his face, “And get out of my cot. You are perfectly capable of using your own.” He moves as if to tip over the cot and dump Snafu out of it.

“Wait!” Snafu sprawls across it like a heavy starfish. “True, my leg doesn’t hurt, but I don’t want to move too much and risk breaking open the scabs,” Snafu protests, “Remember! Potential infection!”

Eugene stops, and considers this carefully. “Fair point,” he says.

“Fuck...” Snafu groans and pushes himself up on his elbows. “You listen to my advice too much, Hammer. Don’t go out with those guys. Stay in tonight. With me. I’ll even read to you from that dumbass history book you love so much.”

This gets Eugene’s interest. He knows Snafu prefers the fiction novels over the dry facts. But Eugene’s a sucker for timelines and dates.

Snafu’s got him on the edge. He just needs one last enticement to tip Eugene over.

“C’mon Sledge, help me out with this and when it’s all healed, I’ll let you and only you kiss it,” Snafu jokes, hoping that if he entertains Eugene enough, Gene won’t kick him out of his cot. Snafu wiggles his leg enticingly. It makes the tattoo jiggle. The Marines Corps eagle flaps it’s wings. Snafu smiles beguilingly.

Except Eugene’s not laughing. His eyes are devastatingly serious as he thinks over Snafu’s words. He sits down on the cot again, on top of Snafu’s feet. And leans forward, sliding his hand up Snafu’s leg the whole way. His fingers grip Snafu’s thigh just below the marred skin of the tattoo, as if he’s waiting for the day he can touch that skin without hesitance. He stares Snafu straight in the eye with an uncompromising look and says, “Deal.”

Snafu is hit with flashes of fantasy - of Eugene’s head bending down, his lips replacing his fingers, Eugene kissing his way up the tattoo straight to Snafu’s...

“Shake on it,” Eugene insists, holding out his hand.

Snafu shakes wordlessly.

And Eugene marches out of the room to fetch Snafu his pork chops.

Snafu drops back onto the cot again and wonders desperately if jerking off would reopen the wounds, or stretch the tattoo beyond recognition.

[yeojaa]

in the night, ii.

read part one!  dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle​ because she loves assassin!kook and so do i.  i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them.  oops.

pairing.  jjk x reader.  rating.  ... general?  tags.  soft romance in the form of:  pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons.  maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times.  it’s just them being...  them?  ig.  wc.  1.8k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​ 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet  you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup.  You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side.  You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.  

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him.  It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?”  He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare.  It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees.  “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.  

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.”  It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.”  It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly. 

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,”  he repeats, just that bit harder.  The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words;  his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy.  They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple.  Your weakness - or so he’d like to think. 

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements.  He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist. 

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat.  He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate. 

“Bored?”  The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter.  It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion. 

“No.”  But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused. 

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh;  his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set.  “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures.  Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier. 

Note to himself:  pick up some new clothes.  

“I want every dessert on the menu,”  you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.  

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order.  You go take a shower or something.”  It’s not as dismissive as he means;  the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk.  It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists. 

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”  

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against.  Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table.  “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.”  You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you.  Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it. 

“Name one time,”  he retorts, fully on the defensive.  Even though he knows you’re right.  Even though he could list off just five things since last night. 

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table 

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call 

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay 

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three. 

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?”  Okay, you have him there.  “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?”  Another solid and mildly embarrassing example.  “Or—”

“Okay, okay.”  A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop;  the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top.  “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon.  “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!”  And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session. 

“You’re an idiot,”  you state, with a surprising amount of affection.  He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities. 

“You still came,”  he challenges.  

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good.  Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him.  It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows. 

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap.  Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen.  He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer;  it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you. 

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap. 

“Doc?”  Barely a word, made in a whisper. 

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath?  Is it your medical training that gives him away?  Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes. 

He wants to ask.  He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you. 

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile.  “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation.  It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw.  “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.”  Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh.  It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite;  it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic.  He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well. 

“Grab a bath, Doc,”  he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand. 

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.”  A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare.  For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation. 

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs.  He still hears you.  “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”  

“We don’t talk about that!”  He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter.  Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent.  He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder.  It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body. 

It’s dangerous, he knows.  

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon.  That living a life like this came with sacrifices.  Things he’d never really cared for - at first.  But now?  

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between.  They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences:  coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night. 

All because of you and your healing hands.  He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep.  It’d keep you safe - and him, too.  Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.  

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,”  he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck.  The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn. 

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?”  Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.  

“Might as well milk it,”  you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin.  He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do;  it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,”  he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ 

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 5)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-6 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

WARNING: martin's sick! and I describe it a little more in detail here. no vomiting or anything, mostly just coughing.

After fumbling with the doorknob around the large grocery bags in his arms, Jon is not surprised to find that Martin has presumably retreated upstairs for the time being.  Closing his eyes, he allows himself a deep, centering sigh.

A bit of separation ought to do us both some good.

The contents of the bags shift awkwardly in his hold, forcing him to prop them up at a strange angle.  He crosses the room quickly and sets them down on the kitchen table with a heavy THUD.

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window, highlighted now in the absence of electrical lighting.  From this angle, Jon can see ribbons of dust framed in the sunbeams, undoubtedly landing to coat every surface in the small kitchen.  He sniffs reflexively.

Time to get to work.

He flicks on the lights and throws open the windows, willing the stifling air out of the cottage.  After taking out the cleaning supplies he’d purchased and wiping down every kitchen surface, he turns next to the array of vegetables.

Where do I start?  How does soup…work?

He ponders this for a few minutes, setting all the potential ingredients on the countertop and rearranging them periodically in an attempt to draw some method from his memory.  With some doubt, he decides to chop the onions, celery, and carrots first.  Luckily, he is not left to flounder for long��� in a single moment, he finds that he Knows exactly what to do.  His hands begin to work with the rhythm of a seasoned chef, his movements fluid and sure.

Soon after, the aromatic soup bubbling on the stovetop floods the cottage with a kind of lived-in presence previously unknown to it.  As he works, Jon smiles to himself, beginning to hum some half-forgotten tune.  He pops the baguette in the oven to warm it.

At last, Watcher, you give me something useful to work with.

While he waits on their meal to finish, he takes out the mountain of medicines he’d purchased and lines them up on the countertop.  Placing his hands on his hips, he stares at them intently, unsure of his next move.

Should I go up there?

He might be asleep.

…or he’s climbed out the window.

As if on cue, a creaking stair from behind him causes him to turn around quickly.  There stands Martin, pillow creases on his left cheek, smashing down hair that had been standing on end and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Their eyes meet, and both freeze for several seconds, staring at each other, neither willing to shatter the uncomfortable silence.  Eventually, Martin breaks eye contact, pulling a chair out from the table and slumping into it unceremoniously.  He props his head on his hand, staring into the middle distance.

Jon’s heart fills with hope as Martin sits down, and he hurriedly sets the table for two, ladling out generous portions of soup and placing the sliced baguette on the table.  Taking his seat, he sets a glass of water in front of Martin, back ramrod straight, and anxiously studies the man before him.

Martin looks up then, meeting Jon’s eyes, expression giving nothing away.  Jon worries at his bottom lip.  He wants to say something, anything to break this awful silence.

They inhale simultaneously.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sor—”

They pause, mouths hanging open momentarily, before Jon continues, words pouring out of him in a rush.

“You were perfectly in the right, Martin.  You—”

“I shouldn’t have snapped.  I—heh—I can’t really understand what this—” he waves his hands vaguely. “—feels like, to you, but…I should have given you a chance to explain.  It’s only fair.”

At this, Jon drops his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s alright, Martin.  And…I’m still sorry,” he replies in a soft voice.

A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up, and he chuckles briefly.

“I can tell,” he says, motioning at the colorful spread in front of them.

“Y-yes, well…I did sort of plan this before my actions necessitated apologies.  I hope it’s alright.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely, dear.”

Dear.

Martin’s words draw heat into Jon’s cheeks, and he grins into his soup.  It is quite good, actually—full of flavor that Martin praises enthusiastically, though his senses are undoubtedly a bit muddled by congestion.

They eat in contented silence for while.  Jon’s heart bounds when Martin starts to get up for seconds, bowl in hand.  Snatching it from him quickly, Jon delightedly fetches him another steaming bowl full.  As he places it in front of him, Martin smiles fondly, and thin grey wisps travel out with his breath.

“We should probably talk about that,” Jon says, taking Martin’s glass and watching the rising plumes.

“Yeah, maybe,” Martin laughs, which turns hastily into coughing— substantially deeper-sounding than they had been earlier.

“And that,” Jon says pointedly, filling Martin’s glass with water.

“It’s not that bad,” Martin replies, even as his eyes begin to stream.

Jon huffs sharply.

“Well, you’re going to take something for it anyway, now that you’ve eaten.  Here—”

He shakes two fever-reducers into Martin’s hand, which he swallows obediently.  Jon then turns to flick the kettle on and leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely in front of him.

“How do you feel?”

Martin has the audacity to simply shrug as he takes a bite.  When Jon sighs loudly in frustration, Martin looks up, setting his spoon down and swallowing.

“Alright, alright.  I’m…better than this morning, I think.  Least I’ve got my voice back a bit.”

“Fever’s still there, though.  A bit higher, even.”

At this, Martin chuckles again, shaking his head and stirring his soup.  Jon holds his hands out to his sides palms up in questioning.

“What?”

“You’re fussing!”

“I most certainly am not!  I’m being perfectly reasonable, thank you.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hmf.”

Jon turns back to making tea, pouring a mug for each of them, adding plenty of honey to Martin’s for good measure.  As he sets them down on the table, he continues his line of questioning.

“And the…Lonely stuff, then?  What should we do about it?”

At this, Martin lets out a heavy sigh, congestion crackling audibly in his chest as he does.

“Dunno.  Seems to come out more when you’re being sweet, though.”

Jon’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“And I wouldn’t complain about having more of that,” he continues with a sunny smile, tipping his head onto his hand again, eyes full of amusement.

Jon returns his gaze with a sidelong glare, and watches as Martin’s shoulders begin to shake in silent giggles.  His own face melts into a smile, even as he tries to stop it from doing so.

Oh.

I think…I might love him.

Somehow, the thought does not alarm him.

Walking over to Martin slowly, he runs a hand over his hair where it still sticks up.

“Don’t push it,” he says tenderly, planting a soft kiss onto Martin’s scorching forehead.

Satisfied with the beet-red flush he’s pulled onto Martin’s cheeks, Jon sits down in the adjacent chair, taking Martin’s hand in his.  They enjoy the peace and quiet for hours, sipping at their tea and simply taking joy in each other’s company.

The fog rolls out of Martin in billows.

Jon awakens with a start, sitting up immediately, causing his head to rush.

What…?

Something had woken him, but listening now, he hears nothing but the house creaking around him.  Running a hand over his face, he tries to wrestle his sleep-laden thoughts into something resembling competence.

Something is…

He turns sharply to the right side of the bed, finding it empty.  Alarm rings through his head as he passes a hand over the Martin-shaped indentation on the sheets—already gone cold.  Breath quickening, he runs through worst-case scenarios in his mind, preparing to fight whatever had found them here, grabbing the knife he keeps at the bedside.  He slinks out of bed with cat-like grace.

From downstairs, he hears Martin’s deep hacking, urgently trying to clear his lungs.

Fuck.

Jon drops the knife to the floor, flooded with relief that he will not have to fight anything other than illness tonight.  Dropping back onto the edge of the bed, he doubles over, allowing his heart a moment to slow as it pounds in his ears.   Martin’s fit continues for nearly a minute before mercifully ceasing.

He must be miserable.

Jon winces in sympathy before standing again, pulling on his dressing gown as he heads down the stairs.

Upon entering the living room, he finds Martin once again on the sofa, curled up as tightly as his long legs will allow.  Jon can see his shoulders shaking as he desperately tries to hold back the coughs bubbling up in his chest, his face pressed into a tissue.  He turns away from Jon as he enters his peripheral vision, shaking his head rapidly.

“Martin?  What’s—”

He’s cut off abruptly by sneezing, loud and wet, that morphs quickly back into rattling coughs.  Jon’s chest aches as he watches, hearing whatever nastiness occupies Martin’s lungs refusing to loosen.  With a determined grimace, Jon steps over to him, placing a hand on his back, and begins rubbing circles with a gentle pressure.

Unfortunately, this does not seem to help, and Martin continues his half-drowned hacking with no respite in sight.

Biting his lip, Jon makes his decision and begins pounding the heel of his hand over the ribs protecting Martin’s lower lungs.

At last, this seems to break some congestion free, deepening Martin’s cough before he finally manages to get something up.  Looking into the tissue for a moment with disgust, Martin balls it up and throws it into the bin he’s dragged near the sofa, sniffling exhaustedly. He drops his head to rest on his hands.

Jon walks around the coffee table to sit beside him, resuming the slow circles on his back.

3͙̋̎9͓͂ͫ̆.̣̖̿6̩

Christ.

“I’m sorry, Jon.  I’m so sorry, it’s disgusting.” he rasps, voice wobbling with effort.

“Don’t—don’t apologize, Martin.  You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jon replies in the gentlest tone he can manage, continuing his ministrations for several moments in silence.

He looks up when he feels Martin’s shoulders beginning to shake, thinking he needs to cough again.

To his dismay, Jon sees hot tears threatening to spill over Martin’s cheeks.

“Oh, Martin, no.”

At his words, Martin immediately chokes out a sob, hiding his face in his hands, now unable to stop them from coming.  He gasps and heaves as Jon continues rubbing circles on his upper back, eventually coming to kneel in front of him, one hand resting on his knee as the sobs give way to shaking.

“Look at me, darling.  Look at me.”

Jon gently pries Martin’s hands away from his face, fever-glassed eyes meeting bright green.

“Listen to me.  I want to look after you.  I want to.  Please…please let me.”

Martin’s breath hitches, tears spilling out again, and Jon pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, stroking a hand through his faded curls.

They stay just like that for a few minutes, before Jon curls back up on the sofa next to him, hand still moving through his hair as he drifts off.

After several hours of fitful rest, Jon had managed to coax Martin into some breakfast and medication before dragging him back to bed for some proper sleep.  Basira and he had planned to speak at noon via the phone box in town, and he had told Martin as such.

Jon had left a note for him near the bed anyway.  Just in case the fever stole his memory.

He has just made it to the outskirts of the village, where sits the phone box.  It’s a bit dilapidated, peeling paint showing some hastily covered old graffiti beneath.  Jon smirks.

Martin would love this.

Stepping inside and closing the door, Jon dials Basira’s phone.  She answers almost immediately.

“Jon?  Is that you?”

“Y-yes, hello Basira.”

She exhales a long sigh of relief.

“You made it then.  Thank God, I was starting to get worried.”

Jon can’t help but smile at this.

“Yes, we’re here.  I don’t think we were followed, so we should be relatively safe for the time being.”

“Good.  That’s good.”

They pause as Jon carefully considers his words.

“Have you…have you found Daisy?” he asks in as soft a tone as he can muster.

Basira sighs heavily.  When she replies, her voice is lower, each word measured.

“I’ve got some leads.  But…I don’t want to go after her in earnest until I find out whether or not there’s any way she could…be the old Daisy again.  The real one.  I’ve been talking to some ‘experts,’ as it were.”

“Experts?  Wouldn’t that be us?”

Basira huffs out a laugh.  “You know, there are other people in the world outside of the Institute, Jon.”

“No, there aren’t.”

She fully chuckles at this, before they slip into a brief, but comfortable silence.

“And you?  How are you doing?” she asks, her question heavy with implication that Jon chooses to ignore.

“We’re fine, we’re…managing.”

“Are you, though?”

Jon sighs at this, knowing he has never successfully hidden anything of import from Basira, and he was unlikely to be able to start today.

“The Eye is…getting hungry.  Harder to control.”

“Thought as much.  You’ve been feeding on innocents again, then?” she asks waspishly.

“N-NO!  No, Basira, I’ve been able to resist.  I just…don’t know what to do going forward.”

“I’ll send you some statements then.  Should tide you over until…well, until the next horrible thing happens, I suppose.”

Jon feels he could cry with relief.

“Thank you, Basira.  Really, thank you.  You’ve got the address then?”

“…yeah.  I’ve actually been there before, you know.  With Daisy.”

Her voice grows muffled with emotion.

“It’s a lovely little spot.”

“It is.”

Their grief hangs in the air like a curtain for a few moments, and they decide to let it be.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Just let it go.

Basira clears her throat and continues, voice stronger.

“Is Martin alright?  Is he…still Martin?”

“Yes, yes he’s been…more Martin than I’ve seen him be in a while.  Which is saying something, given that he’s quite ill at the moment.”

“Ill?  Ill how?�� she says, her voice ticking up in concern.

“It’s…complicated.  Some kind of dreadful chest cold or flu or something, certainly.  But…sometimes, when he feels—”

Jon cuts off, embarrassed.

“Sometimes he breathes out this…fog.  It looks like the fog that was in the Lonely, so he thinks it’s a sign of the Lonely leaving him.  That it’s a good thing.”

“And what do you think?”

Jon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I think he might be right, but…I also think it might be what’s making him ill.  He’s…gotten much worse, even just since yesterday.”

“Hmm.”

Another silence falls, both pondering.

“Well.   Something else I can look into, I suppose.  You’re at the phone box in the village, right?”

Jon chuckles, looking around at the smudged glass.

“Of course.”

“Right.  Let’s plan to talk again in a few days.  Half past one on Thursday okay?  I’ll rush you the statements in the meantime.”

“That sounds perfect, Basira.  Thank you.  And…”

He cuts off, softening his voice.

“Good luck.  I hope you can find a way to get her back.  And…that we’ll see each other again, soon.”

Basira sniffs audibly, leaning away from the speaker for a moment.

“Right.  Be careful, Jon.  I mean it.  Call if Martin gets worse.”

The receiver clicks.

Jon gets back to the cottage just in time for Martin’s next round of Dr. Sims-prescribed medication, his hair tossed wild by the Highland winds.  The downstairs lights are still off, just as he had left them.

I hope he managed some decent sleep, at least.

He grabs the meds from the kitchen counter along with a fresh glass of water, and ascends the stairs on tiptoe.  Swinging the bedroom door open, he finds Martin sprawled across the bed, mouth open and propped up on every pillow they had managed to find.  Jon smirks fondly.  He then sets the meds and the glass of water on the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed.

3̗͒ͩ9̬̖̊̔.̳̰̓3.

Jon frowns the moment he places his hand on Martin’s flushed neck.  It’s down from earlier, but not by much, and still on the border of worrying.

Dammit, I’ve got to wake him.

Stroking his arm, Jon calls his name softly.

“Martin.  Hey, Martin.”

He brushes the damp fringe back from Martin’s brow.

At this, Martin lifts his eyelids halfway, heavy with sleep.  After a moment, he turns his gaze to Jon before groaning and scrubbing at his eyes.

Poor thing.

Jon holds out the pills and the water glass to him.

“Do you think you can take these?”

Martin stares blankly at them for a moment, as though mesmerized by their colors, before reaching out with shaky hands.  He pops the pills in his mouth successfully, but as he reaches for the glass, his hands shake so badly that Jon is forced to keep a hand over his as Martin tips his head back to swallow.

His breaths are shallow and crackling when Jon takes back the glass, and sweat begins to bead his brow.  Grimacing for a moment, Jon rubs his shoulder briefly before standing.

“I’ll be right back.”

He walks quickly to the bathroom, finding a clean washcloth and dampening it with the coldest water he can coax from the tap.  Deep, rattling coughs echo from the bedroom as he does, and he shakes his head frustratedly.

Why isn’t any of this helping?

As he returns, Martin has reached the bitter and unsatisfying end of his fit, his chest still crackling with each inhale in spite of his efforts to clear it.

“Christ, Martin.  You sound awful.”

But Martin has squeezed his eyes shut again, leaning back against the pillows in exhaustion and rubbing painfully at his chest.  Jon perches near his elbow and begins gently sweeping the cold cloth over his face, eliciting a contented sigh from Martin as soon as the coolness hits his skin.  Jon moves lower, stroking his neck soothingly before depositing the cloth on his forehead.

As he does so, Martin reaches up, grabbing his hand lightly.

“What is it?”

Martin does not reply, merely gazing at his hand with half-lidded eyes as he begins to massage it, much in the same way he had done the previous morning on their drive to the village.

Oh, Martin.

Jon smiles and runs his free hand through Martin’s hair.  Martin’s fingers work over the length of each of Jon’s, before Jon’s gentle motions relax him enough that he falls asleep halfway through his ministrations.

Chuckling fondly, Jon lifts the towel from Martin’s brow just long enough to plant a few lingering kisses there before replacing it.

“Sleep well, darling,” he whispers, moving the tissue box within his reach on the bed and patting his arm before slipping out the door.

[hallie-fics]

author spotlight - restlessqueenx

“If you get yourself killed doing this,” Harry murmurs, his hand on the back of her neck, his forehead warm where it's leaning against hers, “I will never ever forgive you.”

- Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind @restlessqueenx

it’s not hard to note the fics that define a fandom. this author has written three, three defining stories. the amount of love and respect i have for them is immense, and i was honored to be able to ask and receive answers for these various questions regarding everything from their writing process to favorite hallie headcanon. 

this is only the first in a series of interviews done with hallie authors. if there’s anyone who you’d like to see, please message me and i’ll get that sorted out right away!

the q&a

*quick note, I tend to shorten my titles when talking about them because I always pick such long titles, so I may refer to Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind as “Spine,” It Feels Like Winter Follows You Around as “Winter” and Screaming at the Stars as “Stars”

Favorite of your stories (and why)

I think, at least right now, it has to be Someday I’ll Need Your Spine to Hide Behind, because it’s complete. Also, because Winter (Harry’s POV) wouldn’t exist without it (I had never intended to write it, and it just sort of happened), and Screaming at the Stars is probably more in the vein of what I normally write, but I can’t decide how satisfied I am with it until I wrap it up.

Easiest story to write

Probably Screaming at the Stars because it just sort of showed up as this emotion in my chest and I knew I wanted to put it down on the page. Spine was pretty time consuming because it’s canon divergent and I was constantly having to check scenes to get the dialogue/descriptions right. I wanted to use as much of canon as I could, but that meant that I couldn’t really write it if I wasn’t home with the episodes available. Winter was (is) difficult because of how dark of a headspace I sometimes have to get into with Harry. Stars is overall a much lighter emotional space to access.

Hardest story to write

Spine, just because of how much work it took to weave the canon with the canon divergence and reframe scenes. Winter is easier because (even though it does include some scenes that aren’t in Spine) I have the blueprint of Spine to refer to, and I reuse some sections of it word for word to highlight the difference in POV when it diverges. Winter is definitely emotionally heavier, but it’s less tedious work.

Pre-writing process (if any)

For me, it depends a lot on the fic. With Spine, the very first thing that came to me was “What if I wrote a soulmate AU where the only thing that indicates that is that wherever you fall asleep, you always wake up where your soulmate is?” Then I thought, “Could this be set in the canon universe? How would that potentially just twist around or change what we’ve seen?” And everything spiralled out from there. I didn’t really outline initially, I started writing it, just to see where it was going. Then I ended up having to go through every episode and watch each Harry, Allie, and Hallie scene and write basic outlines of the dialogue and what happened in those scenes so I could start to figure out how to adjust the scenes/story to fit the soulmate AU idea. I’m not very patient about outlines, so I mostly just bullet point brief descriptions of what I need to write and then re-examine the scene as I’m writing. I’ve never written something that relied so heavily on canon before. It’s a lot of work and I’m really impressed by people who do it regularly. So Spine’s pre-writing was basically an idea on a twisted trope (I don’t know if I’m the first person to think of it, but I’ve never read a soulmate au with the basis of Spine before) and then watching/transposing the canon scenes. Winter didn’t really have any since I had Spine as a basis. Stars I started thinking about while taking a shower and I just jumped right into it.

What drew you to Hallie?

I love ships that I see potential for, but aren’t all neatly worked out immediately in canon. And I love ships that I feel the characters have a lot of potential to grow and change as individuals within the relationship. I was a little unsure about Hallie at first as I was watching the show, because it took me a while to work out how I felt about Harry in general, but I just see so much potential for a great story between them. And, to be quite honest, Kathryn and Alex just have loads and loads of on screen chemistry, they just light up with each other in scenes. Sometimes actors just have that with each other and it’s almost hard to look away.

Hopes for season 2

Growth and help for Harry! I’m okay with having to wait for romantic Hallie (presuming we get more seasons) as long as keeping them apart feels organic and true to the story (and not done solely for tension & keeping the audience coming back), but I need to see Harry receive help (I get that he can’t get professional help in these circumstances, but he really needs people who are genuinely looking out for him and trying to help him) and to also grow as a person and make better decisions/amends for some of his actions. I want Harry to have friends/people who actually care about him. While I really love Kelly’s character, and appreciate that she’s tried to keep an eye out for him, I think Harry needs people in his life outside of just an ex (and obviously outside of Campbell) and that’s pretty much all he’s had for a while. Harry’s so isolated in season 1, and I don’t see him being able to develop much (in a positive manner) if he continues to be so isolated in season 2.

Favorite line (or lines) that you’ve written for a hallie fic/ a section that you’re really proud of

From Spine, probably my favorite pieces are-

Allie tells him to leave like it matters, like come morning she won't find herself curled in his bed, close enough to feel his body heat. She tells him to go, because she wants to hate him, thinks she deserves to hate him, but she doesn't. And that's even worse.

And then the end, which I wrote long before I actually got to it. Specifically-

“There's probably a world somewhere,” Harry says, and his voice rumbles through his chest, against her skin, “where we never worked any of this out, and you and I are on opposite sides and always will be.”

“Probably.” It wouldn't be hard, she thinks, to have ended up somewhere else, anywhere else. They fought for this, a small sliver of peace in a fucked up world. It might be all they get.

“I'm glad it's not this one.”

“Me too.” Under her cheek, his heartbeat is steady, in sync with hers.

From Winter my absolute favorite section so far is the flashback to Harry when he’s 13 & deals with his familial relationships. I also am pretty happy with-

Allie is simultaneously fragile and hard as steel, one for a moment, the other the next. Harry doesn't understand it, how she can bear to wear her feelings to blatantly on her face, how she survives without a protective shell to keep her safe. He could never do that. She doesn't burrow down inside herself, she burns. He almost can't even watch it. Harry doesn't know what he is, but he knows Allie is something else entirely.

And-

She lets out a little shaky exhale. “I don't know how to hate you.”

Harry wonders how that can be. It's easy, he wants to say, if she doesn't already, all she needs to do is crack open his ribs, see that dark void yawning underneath, that place he falls into. But Allie isn't like him, even her darkest moods and thoughts are full of fire, casting light. Allie burns things down, she doesn't swallow them up.

He tells her the truth, one he's known for a long time. “I do.”

And, finally-

She's not starlight or sunlight or candlelight, she's a forest fire. When she leans into him, skin fever hot and her nails biting into his shoulders, he wonders if her inferno could burn the darkness right out from behind his ribs. Harry thinks he could be reduced to ashes, but he'd still let her try.

From Stars, I’m a little less sure, but I do like this part-

Just outside the doors, she catches a glimpse of Harry, head thrown back, laughing, his friends crowding close to him like moths to a flame, like they can't help it. Harry's always been magnetic. Allie remembers his face in the moonlight, the way she'd felt compelled to lean closer. It wasn't her fault; if you get close enough to Harry, he draws you into his orbit, planets rotating around a sun, basking in his light. Even now, her feet ache to drift in his direction. Those aren't her friends, he's not her friend anymore, but his gravitational pull is strong.

What type of Hallie stories do you like to write/read? (canon divergence, modern au, soulmate au, etc)

I’m an AU girl at heart, which is ironic considering 2 of my 3 Hallie fics are canon divergent. But really, I’m a big fan of AUs, almost any of them, I love them so much. I think I get more and more attracted to them the further I get into a show (the more seasons) because canon gets more confining as you have more of it. I think the kind of AU I like the most depends on the ship. I like soulmate AUs (obviously, I wrote one, lol) for Hallie because they have a history of not being super fond of each other & it’s a great way to force them to interact.

Favorite Hallie trope?

I think…. maybe Bed Sharing? You may notice that I write it into like everything I write ever. I just love the intimacy of it and the conversations people can have late at night in the dark or sleepy in the early morning. I dunno. It’s a thing for me, I guess.

Favorite Hallie headcanon?

I haven’t written it into anything (yet), but I have this mental picture of Modern AU Hallie getting really competitive about playing boardgames with each other. That has a soft spot in my heart.

How long have you been writing for?

Pretty much as long as I can remember. The first thing I can remember writing (like thinking I was seriously writing something people would want to read) was this ridiculous story about unicorn royalty when I was about seven years old. I never finished it, but I think I actually did write like at least a couple thousand words before I quit. I have hundreds of beginnings of original works, literally several hundred, but most of them are only a few hundred words. My parents always encouraged me to write, so it was just something I did pretty much ever since I physically could.

How has your writing style evolved over time?

Oh, I’m not even sure where to begin with this. Because I’ve been writing since I was really young, it’s definitely evolved a lot, some of it just through age and getting a better grasp of language, and some of it deliberately. I think when I was younger, I tried really hard to mimic the styles of writers I liked, and I’ve definitely moved away from that as I’ve gotten older and found my own voice. I’m not trying to sound like anyone in particular now. That’s not to say I don’t find other writers influential, I certainly do, but I’m not actively attempting to write in someone else’s style. I think everyone who writes is always evolving. You can’t help but be influenced by everything you read and absorb.

Do you ever worry about how your stories are received?

All the time. I only have 3 works on the restlessqueen AO3, but I think I’ve posted about 25 fanfictions over various platforms/accounts for various fandoms and ships, and I get nervous about them every time. Whenever I write something, I usually get this glow of like “Oh, I’ve done something and I like it!” and then that sort of slowly wears off and I start to just question everything about it. I don’t know anyone who feels 100% confident about the stuff they post. I think I’m a little less nervous about it than I used to be, because people have been very kind to me for the most part (I have one old fic from around 2012/13 that got a couple of comments that still haunt me a bit, but other than that I’ve had good experiences) and so that’s helped ease some of my fears. I think what makes me the most worried now is when I post something and I just don’t get much feedback or it takes quite a while for responses to roll in, because I’m always thinking like “is it really so bad no one has literally anything to say?? Is it that bad and I didn’t realize it?” Also, I’m a bit insecure about my descriptive writing, I feel like I don’t do a very good job of describing location/setting, and it’s something I’m working on. I’m always a little scared someone will say they basically just didn’t get any sort of mental picture from what I write.

What’s the hardest part of writing for you?

Focus. I have so many ideas always bouncing around my head, but I get distracted super easily. I can’t ever seem to only do one thing at a time. If I’m writing, I’m definitely either listening to music or sometimes even playing a podcast in the background because it’s like if there’s any free space at all in my brain, I just completely lose my ability to do anything. It’s a big struggle for me. I actually write with the most focus when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I wrote 150k worth of an original piece by writing when I was supposed to be taking notes in history class in high school. In fact, a lot of my fanfiction has been written during lectures, because somehow if I’m supposed to be focusing on something else, I’m almost always the most productive version of my writing self. I wish I were different, though.

Do you get writer’s block and if so how do you deal with it?

Ugh. Unfortunately. I’m not great at handling writer’s block, tbh. Sometimes I just don’t write for a long time. I think reading can sometimes oust me from it, but not always. The worst is that occasionally I have to just push through it and write my way out of it (which basically means just writing really uninspired crap until I manage to find some inspiration again). I do think that talking to someone about what I’m working on is a big help, though it’s not always an available option. I’m part of a writing group, and I usually feel really inspired after we’ve had a writing discussion.

Biggest risk you’ve ever taken as a writer?

Wow, this is actually a really hard question. I feel like I’m not a big risk taker, and this is making me wonder if maybe I should try to take more writing risks. I guess most recently it could be creating the restlessqueen AO3. I made it because I have written quite a few fics for a pretty large fandom and I had gotten comfortable within that space and I thought it would be good for me to step outside of that world for a bit. I think it really has been, too.

again, the biggest of thanks to @restlessqueenx for doing this with me! to anyone who hasn’t read any of these fics, please do so immediately. each of them are amazing and i will never step recommending them!

[destinychose-a1]

“  Say, Raihan… Whaddya say about becomin’ Hammerlocke’s new Gym Leader?  ”

“  Eh?  ”  Raihan makes no attempt to conceal his surprise, his hand stilling against Flygon’s neck as he stares across at Kaede — the man who has solidified himself as Hammerlocke’s very own pride and joy, a Gym Leader that Raihan has admired ever since he first witnessed his fierce battles on TV at the tender age of five. To him, Kaede is a living and breathing legend, someone’s he’s idolised and looked up to from the moment he began his journey as a Pokémon trainer.

When he was a kid, he never would have dreamed that the two of them would one day become something like friends, or that Kaede would prove to be a trustworthy confidant when his self-esteem plummeted following his continuous string of defeats at Leon’s hands. This is the man who helped him cultivate his confidence, who inspired him to discover a brand new style of training and battling, who has always pushed him to become the best person he can be… 

…And now he’s casually offering him the title of Gym Leader as if commenting on something as mundane as the weather.

Incredulous, Raihan exclaims,  “  Y’want me to take over as Hammerlocke’s Gym Leader?  ”

Kaede throws his head back and laughs, a loud, hearty sound.  “  Y’make it sound like I jus’ challenged ya to a life or death battle or somethin’!  ”

At Raihan’s awkward silence, Kaede sobers, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiles.  “  Look ‘ere, kid. I might not’ve held this position as long as Opal over at Ballonlea, but I ain’t exactly a spring chick’n. I think it’s ‘bout time t’put all o’ this behind me.  ”  He quickly holds up a hand to silence Raihan as he takes a step towards him with words of protest on his lips, continuing in an amicable tone,  “  There ain’t nothin’ more I can offer trainers like y’self. What’s the point in bein’ a Gym Leader if I ain’t givin’ you kids a prop’r challenge? S’what this whole thing’s ‘bout, ain’t it?  ”

Raihan’s lips curl down at the corners as he lifts a hand to the back of his head, muttering unhappily under his breath,  “  I dunno ‘bout that. You’re not exactly an easy opponent, y’know. It still takes everything me and my team have to beat you in battle.  ”

“  Ha! Y’say that, but when’s the last time y’lost to me, anyway?  ”

Well, there’s not much he can say to that, is there? Thinking back on it, he hasn’t lost to Kaede in a while — at best, their matches tend to end in a draw, or with Raihan’s close victory.

Somewhere along the line, he’s managed to surpass his own idol, a realisation that leaves him stunned.

Kaede seems to notice his hesitation. He steps away from his Noivern’s side and crosses the distance between them, clapping a weathered hand against his shoulder.  “  Raihan. It’s only been a few years, and yet you’ve already gone an’ surpassed me an’ everythin’ I managed to achieve in a decade. Trust me, you’re the best fit for this gym. Hammerlocke’s your home. Dragon types are ya passion. Your style of battlin’ will make all the trainers who face ya quake in their boots.  ”  Kaede squeezes his shoulder.  “  You’ve got it in ya to soar as far an’ as high as y’want.  ”

With one last squeeze, Kaede releases his shoulder, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.  “  You’ve got ya heart set on surpassin’ Leon, don’tcha? Becomin’ a Gym Leader’ll pit ya against all kinds of trainers, give ya the chance to hone your skills even further. Face it, it’s the next big step for a kid with a bright future like y’self. You’re good enough to take on the challenge, so what’s stoppin’ ya?  ”

Raihan sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, overcome with a sudden swell of emotion.

When he set out from Hammerlocke four years ago, determined to prove himself as a Pokémon Master, he was the bad kind of cocky, quickly growing overconfident in his skills as he and his partner — Trapinch, at the time, long before he evolved — bested every trainer they came across. He began to believe that his victory was assured, that he would swiftly prove himself to be the best and strongest Galar had to offer.

And then… He met Leon.

Over the course of a single battle, Raihan’s entire world was tipped upside down and ripped apart. Thinking back on how angry he’d gotten after his first defeat at Leon’s hands, it’s embarrassing how childishly he’d acted, trying to force Leon into a rematch, claiming his loss was merely a fluke.

Every battle against him after that ended the same, no matter how hard Raihan tried to change the outcome. His frustration only grew. Leon stood in his way, an insurmountable obstacle, a prodigy whose name swiftly spread throughout the Region as he went on to become the youngest Champion Galar had ever seen, leaving Raihan behind in the dust.

For all his stubbornness and pride, even Raihan was able to recognise when he was outmatched. At first, his numerous defeats nearly caused him to give up on being a Pokémon trainer — at the age of fourteen, all he could think about was being the best, and if he couldn’t have that, what was the point? But, the more he watched Leon’s battles, the more he started to see. The more he started to understand.

Leon’s leadership in battle went beyond anything Raihan had ever witnessed, beyond anything he was able to achieve himself — he cared for each and every one of his partners, he knew their abilities inside out and knew how best to use them in battle, who was better suited for what. His strategy was stunning, awe-inspiring, worthy of the highest form of admiration. For the first time in his life, Raihan felt true, deep respect for someone other than himself.

For all he loved his partners, he’d never truly taken the time to understand them, and that was what set him and Leon apart. That was what he needed to work on first if he ever wanted to battle against Leon and win.

And that was where his long and agonising struggle began.

He eventually met Kaede, much to his inner joy, and began to hone his battle instincts with his help, which enabled him to move on from his fourteen-year-old bratty self who was always quick to blame his defeats on anything or anyone but himself and his own shortcomings. He was humbled repeatedly over the next four years of his life, forced to accept where he fell short and figure out a way to cover all bases in battle rather than attempt to blast his way through any obstacles with brute strength alone. 

His ability to strategise and synergise with his team began to improve tremendously, to the point that when he finally faced Leon again, he was able to hold his own against him and even KO several of his Pokémon, a feat that had proven impossible up until a few years ago. 

It was that battle that changed everything for the two of them. Finally, Raihan was able to accept Leon as his rival, a sentiment that went both ways and has remained true for years now. The two of them have even gone on to become good friends, something his childish pride never would have allowed before. He’s come to learn that Leon’s a really good guy. A little goofy — intense at times — but the kind of friend he’s certain he’ll have for life.

He’s no longer the same kid who set out from Hammerlocke. While he still can’t beat Leon in a battle — a fact that still causes a twinge of insecurity, even now — he’s taken strides towards improvement both in battle and out of it. But he can still go even further. 

Maybe Kaede is right. Maybe he is ready for the next big challenge.

A quiet, uncertain chuckle bubbles past Raihan’s lips.  “  Well… If y’really think I’m good enough t’be your successor, it’d be pretty rude of me to say no, huh?  ”

Kaede grins.  “  Aye, that it would. So whaddya say? Are y’ready t’become a Gym Leader, Raihan?  ”

Raihan’s shoulders lift in a carefree shrug.  “  Sure. What’ve I got to lose?  ”

He’s ready to start a new journey, regardless of what it entails.

[lisbonsteresa]

Just Like Titanic, Only No One Dies

Hey, remember like a year ago when I said I wanted to do a chelenor Legally Blonde AU? No? Well here you go anyway.

This boutique was one of the nicest in Phoenix. It was the kind of place where sales attendants followed you around to ask if you needed something every five minutes; where the music alternated between soft indie covers of classic rock songs and softer jazz covers of the songs currently on the radio; a place that claimed children were ‘always welcome’ but never carried anything even slightly for kids other than a table of adult coloring books with a standee sign next to it: ‘for display only’. 

Bearing all of this in mind, Eleanor Shellstrop was fairly certain that the women working on this particular Thursday afternoon did not appreciate her shouting “Are you bitches ready?!” while she threw open the fitting room door. 

(Luckily, she was also fairly certain that she didn’t care.) 

“It’s perfect, right?” she asked the two women lounging in the waiting area of the fitting room, giving a little spin before turning back to the mirror to admire her selection. 

“Mhmm, I dunno babe,” Madison began, finally pushing her ‘three-vodka-cranberries-too-many-last-night-now-daytime-hurts’ sunglasses to the top of her head to take a proper look. “Is white really the best way to go? I mean, Chris isn’t a….super genius, but that might be too obvious for even him to miss.” 

Her comment drew a loud snort of laughter from Brittany, who was studying Eleanor’s outfit while sprawled across the plush white couch, her head resting in Madison’s lap. “Plus like….sleeves? Long sleeves?” her nose scrunched up in distaste. “Don’t you maybe want to try something a little more fun? Maybe sleeveless, and tighter, oh and a little bit shorter too.” 

“She’s getting proposed to, not partying at a strip club Britt.” 

Brittany tilted her head to look up at Madison, mock-offended. “Hey I was proposed to at a strip club once! It was very romantic.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Madison responded, rolling her eyes even as her lips curled into a soft smile “I was the one proposing.” 

“No I’m fine, thanks so much for asking!” Eleanor snarled as she spun on her heel and stomped back to the dressing room, slamming the door loudly enough to draw the disapproving eyes of every employee - and most of the customers - in the store. 

Brittany groaned, sitting up and digging through her purse. “Oh my god you seriously need to chill out. I know I’ve got some Xanax in here somewhere….”

“I’ll take one.” Madison said before calling out in the direction of the closed fitting room door: “Besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about – Chris is nutso for you, plus you’ve looked smoking hot in everything you’ve tried on.” 

“I still can’t believe that in a few hours you’re gonna be the future ‘Mrs. Chris Baker’”. Brittany’s voice sounded dreamy as she paused her search, likely already picturing the Save the Date cards. “Do you think you guys’ll have an open bar at the reception?” 

“With all that Baker money, they better.” Madison grumbled, leaning forward and in one swift motion grabbing Brittany’s purse from her, fishing out a small pill, swallowing it, and dropping the bag back onto the seat between them.

 There was a huff from behind the fitting room door before it cracked open and Eleanor’s annoyed face poked out. “There isn’t going to be a wedding at all if you asshats don’t help me decide on a dress!” 

“Excuse me,” came a bright, perky voice to her left. 

“JES-eez louise, you scared me lady!” Eleanor was suddenly very thankful she was still behind the fitting room door - it hid how high she had jumped at the sales attendant’s greeting from Brittany and Madison. 

“Oh I’m terribly sorry for the scare.” the woman continued - her tone suggesting she was nothing of the sort - “But I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you ladies were having, and I thought I might give you another option”. 

The look on the woman’s face reminded her of a schoolteacher trying to bribe a problem student into behaving, but Eleanor had to admit the dress she was holding was gorgeous. It looked short (but not short enough to risk any wardrobe malfunctions), tight (but not clingy), and bright, bright red. “Well I guess it wouldn’t kill me to try it. Thanks…..” 

“Courtney.” the woman supplied cheerily.

Eleanor bit her lip to stop her natural impulse to mockingly repeat ‘Courtney’ and instead took the dress from her hand with what she hoped passed as a smile. After a moment or two of shuffling noises and the sound of a zipper being pulled up, the fitting room door burst open again and Eleanor stepped out, looking slightly shocked. “Guys….holy shit.” 

Courtney’s smile dropped slightly. 

Madison and Brittany’s mouths fell open. “Holy shit.” 

Courtney looked pained. “I hope that…..language means you like it”. she said, her voice weary. 

“It’s perfect!” Brittany exclaimed. 

“Damn, if Chris doesn’t propose, I will”. Madison agreed, still staring at Eleanor. “Not really” she murmured to Brittany. 

“….it’s a front runner.” Eleanor sniffed, hoping she seemed as unaffected as she was trying to appear. 

Courtney - who had apparently remembered her commission goal - bounced up and down and clapped her hands. “Oh I’m so delighted! And of course it comes with the Friends and Family Discount!” Seeing the confusion on the other’s faces, she leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially to Eleanor “Any ‘friend’ of the Baker family is a friend of ours”. 

“Right…..” Eleanor trailed off. She really didn’t like the way this woman was looking at her, like she had suddenly become a hot commodity. Of course now that she had connections to the ‘right’ people, she deserved Courtney’s full attention. Now that she might have money, she was worth the time and effort. God, what bull. 

“So with the discount added on, the total comes to only…..$784.” Courtney continued cheerily. “And just so you know, we take cash, check, and any major credit card….even American Express”. 

Eleanor resisted the urge to roll her eyes and plastered a grin on her face. “Wow, that is just amazing Courtney”. This time she didn’t try to hide the nasal, mocking tone in her voice. “But I think someone over there really needs you attention”. 

Courtney turned to look in the direction Eleanor was pointing and found that there actually was an older woman waving at her from the register. “Oh, I, um,” she dithered, clearly not wanting to lose the sales momentum she had built up, “I will just run over and see what Melissa needs. You take this time to think over your choice – I’ll be back before you know it. With drinks! Champagne for everyone, yeah?” she looked anxiously from one girl to another, the bright smile still fixed on her face before turning and dashing away. 

The moment she left the smile fell away from Eleanor’s lips. “Oh, so now that you’ve got a rich boyfriend, suddenly we deserve champagne and sweet talk service, huh?” Madison muttered, dropping back down onto the couch with a huff. 

“Boy is she gonna be surprised when you tell her the most you’ve got to spend is sixty bucks” Brittany chuckled as she settled back down next to Madison. 

“I don’t know,” Eleanor could feel the corners of her mouth curving up again, although this time it was most definitely in a smirk. “maybe there’s another kind of discount we can work out”. 

Both Madison and Brittany perked up, sharing a knowing look before focusing on Eleanor. “A discount of the five-finger variety, maybe?” Brittany asked with a grin. 

“Just follow my lead.” Eleanor instructed as she stepped back into the fitting room. A moment later, she reemerged in her jeans and sweatshirt (which looked slightly less baggy than it had when she first arrived). Her friends stood up from the couch and started to move with her towards the exit. 

“No security clips?” Madison whispered. 

“None. I even double-checked”. 

“Tags?” Brittany asked. 

“Pulled them off, threw them in the corner”. 

Satisfied, both girls nodded and pulled out their phones, trying to appear as casual as possible. “Courtney!” Eleanor called over to the sales woman still deep in conversation with her coworker. “I’ve decided I really just need a little more time to think, but I left the dress in the fitting room for you – thanks!” 

Courtney looked more than a little put out and started moving towards her, but Eleanor turned and continued towards the door, cutting off any further conversation. “Almost there girls,” she murmured “just keep walking, nice and casual”. 

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice floated out from the fitting room area. “There’s no dress in here…..” 

“Ok, now run!” Eleanor exclaimed as, ignoring the shouts of the sales women and sounds of footsteps following them, the three of them ran, laughing and whooping, out of the store and into the bright sunshine.

[scarlett-olivier]

10 (30?) Questions Writing Game

Hey, y'all. I've been meaning to do this for a hot minute now. Ever since I got tagged by our lovely @faireladypenumbra. So without further ado, lets get started.

1. What do you hope to communicate to your audience with your WIP?

Find the people who appreciate you for you. Even the best of us have hard times. Finally, even if you've had a really shitty past, or are currently in a shitty situation, you can still be the hero of your own story and possibly to someone else too. ^.^

2. What do you find the hardest to write? (Ex: emotion, humor, seduction, etc...)

Anything fast paced is notoriously difficult for me to write. Humor, wit, action, any of those things that live in the fast lane, and are usually just a one-two punch, are horrendous labor. They take forever to write (I'm sure there's some kind of irony in that statement). I love for my audience to be able to savor the moment and live vicariously through my characters, so fast paced moments always feel well, rushed and forced to me. It takes at least 4 drafts of the scene for me to feel alright about it.

3. How bad do you feel your first draft was/is?

Oh, my, holey spacerocks batman, was it awful. POV breaks, spelling errors (their mostly. I before E my ASS. My peeps, beware of the grammar fuckery, it abounds everywhere.), wrong verb usage, and just all around plot and flow shittiness. I kept some of it, but 2/3 got hit in the face with a rusty crowbar, shoved right up in the payload area of a rocket, and blasted off into the sun.

4. What is your favorite genre to read? Write?

Fantasy. To both. All the fantasy. Gimme.

5. Who have you based your style of writing off of?

Honestly, I'd like to think that I've picked up bits and pieces from a multitude of various authors' style and garishly sewed it all together to fashion my own personal brand of magnificent monstrosity. However if you forced me to narrow it down to three specific authors, I'd have to say... Edgar Allen Poe, Jane Austen, and Angie Sage.

6. What made you want to publish your work?

I ran out of books on my bookshelf, and I'd read the ones I had to the point I could almost recite them by rote. While I was writing my first story, I thought that my problem could be someone else problem too, and it was selfish of me to hoard these stories I kept on inventing to myself when someine out there might like them. So, I decided to share.

7. What have you had to research the most for your WIP?

How to write. Due to my upbringing's effect on my mental health, and the fact that I'm a high school drop out deciding to get together and tag team my self confidence into the nearest portapotty and flip it down a hill, I'm incredibly hypercritical of my own abilities. Therefore, I acknowledge that I lack the ability to judge my own work properly and rely heavily upon research, beta readers, and critique partner feedback to appropriately improve and turn out a quality product.

8. What character do you like (that you've written) the least?

Hmmm...... Merlin. He's a douchenozzle in a saint's disguise. If he were real, I'd have to punch him. Repeatedly. In the face.

9. Are you basing any of your WIP off your life and what would it be ( if not to spoiler - ex: people, places, situations)?

Finally, an easy question! Yes and no. Every author draws inspiration from life, but as far as specific instances or anything of that nature? No.

10. Who would you dedicate you book to?

My mom, my daughter, my fiancee, and my critique partner. Without them, the book would've never happened, for whatever reason.

11. If you could steal one idea from a famous author, what would it be?

I dunno. Honestly, even if I were able to do that morally, what would I possibly DO with it? I think the reason some stories are timeless is, in part, due to the author. They've poured their heart and soul into their work, breathing a life into it that could've only been so perfectly captured by them. Even if I took the idea, it wouldnt turn out the same in the end. For example, my Frankenstein would be vastly different from Mary Shelley's, simply because we're two different people with different values, morals, beliefs, and standards. I'm not saying my version would've been bad, per se, but it definitely wouldn't have been Mary Shelley. In ancient times, it was thought that the story (carried by the muses) chose the author, and the author had minimal control over what story they were to write, and I kind of follow that line of thinking.

12. What's been the hardest to write in your WIP so far? (Ex: beginnings, middles, ends, etc.)

Beginnings are the bane of my existence. Like I said before, I'm hypercritical of my abilities, so during the beginning of a story (before I get into the flow of things) I spend a ludicrous amount of time going over, and over, and over, and over my starts. On the plus side though, by the time I'm somewhat satisfied by the "first draft" of my beginning, the rest seems to fly by in comparison. Just gotta get over that initial hump. 😉😜

13. Which characters in your WIP get along the worst? The best?

I'd have to say Merek and Rowan, as the worst. As the best.... Cassandra and Nimue.

14. Tea, coffee, water, or nothing when working?

Tea, mostly. Tea is life. Followed by Redbull and Pepsi. I rarely drink coffee.

15. Is your desk organized or messy?

*eyes a particularly large stack of objects suspiciously.* Hang on a sec. *sweeps the uppermost of the stacks onto the floor with both arms.* Amazeballs! I actually have a desk! How long has that been there?!

16. Can you summarize your favorite piece of writing (that you've created)?

Orphaned girl gets captured by strange creatures and thrown into a world not her own, where she's informed she will finds out that not only is she NOT an orphan, but she will have to fight one of her parents to the death for the fate of the multiverse.

17. How long have you been working on your current WIP?

About a year and a half? Ish. It will, hopefully soon, be my first published novel. 😸😸😸😸

18. Sum up your main characters in three words. (Sorry, not a question)

Nimue- Troubled, stubborn, curious

19. What time of day are you most productive?

1 bloody a.m., when I'm trying to sleep.

20. What's your favorite fictional place?

Neverland. Because Alliteration. Magnificent Murderous Mermaids....

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😄

21. What book inspired you to write the most?

Probs a toss up between T.A. Barron's The Lost Years of Merlin series, Tamora Pierce's The Circle Opens series, and Cecelia Dart-Thornton's The Bitterbynde series. I love all of them.

22. Do you write by hand, type, or some combination of the two?

Both. I prefer to type because it's far easier on my hands and joints, but writing by hand seems to improve my productivity. Not that I have the option of typing atm... My fan quit on my laptop and I can't afford the replacement part for it. 😭😭😭😭 why, wiritng gods, WHY?!

23. A book you would recommend to anyone?

Well, unfortunately, there is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all book. Books are usually targeted towards a specific audience, and will tend to go over better with that audience, than with those aren't part of that particular grouping. A book recommendation is a highly personalized experience based on a variety of factors such as; age, gender, orientation, beliefs, and morality.

29. What is the one thing you NEED while writing, that isn't necessarily a writing tool?

Scully, my skull shaped pillow, a warm blanket, and music. 😆 I know you said one thing. I lumped them all together under the comfort umbrella. Comfortability is a major factor in my productivity levels. If I'm in pain, those levels drop, sharply.

25. How much time do you spend writing?

Ideally? When I'm not in the midst of a pain flare up, 30hrs a week is pretty typical.

If I'm in the middle of a flare up? 10 to 15hrs per week. I hate myself for it all the time.

26. How much time do you wish you spent writing?

Again, ideally, I would wish to spend about 8hrs a day, 5x a week on writing. This would leave the weekends open for time with my loved ones.

27. Do you set writing goals? If so, what is your writing goal for this year?

Oh boy. I set myself some unrealistic goals. They are as follows;

- Finish writing my horror short story, edit, and publish it.

- Finish editing my novel 'Something Wicked'

- Send out ARC copies of my novel

- Set a solid publishing time table and sales goal for my novel.

28. What's you favorite POV to write in?

Limited third person will always be my go to.

29. How may WIPs do you currently have?

One short story, two novels.

30. What is your favorite thing about writing?

Watching the world, that had previously only been a seed in my imagination, bloom into it's multi-tiered glory.

And so concludes the 30 questions game! Thank you again, to @faireladypenumbra for the tag. Sorry it took me so long to get around to. Also, in return, I'm tagging @alisonhaines and @alittleredfinch. I hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed answering the questions. ^.^ Hope y'all have a lovely day.

[forcedapotheosis-blog]

Gloomy Days VI

(Or chapter VIII, or .. just as I wrote in the last post, I messed up with this)

Well fellas, here it is, my magnum opus’ next chapter (huehuehuehuehuehue). Actually, there are only two more chapters to come (plus the epilogue) before it’s finished. All of this has taken me a long time, thinking about the musings and of a coherent plot etc., the writing itself was done relatively quickly. And I just wanted to use this preface to thank you for the incredible amounts of support I’ve received. This author is very grateful for every like, every reblog, every kudo, every fav and every follow. Most of all, that shouldn’t be too surprising, I’m grateful for the people who’ve taken their time to leave a comment, that’s .. I don’t know, probably the Holy Grail for every writer (besides fanart, I guess, but contrary to commenting, not everyone can do that or has the time for it).

Where am I going with this? Well, dunno. I just wanted to let you know that I enjoyed this ride with you very much and I hope that I’ll be able to give the story a satisfying end.

As a last note, I’d like to dedicate this chapter to user @alaznesweeran / @onepiecefeatstuff for being an infinite source of support. I appreciate it more than I’m able to express with words. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters don’t belong to me. Which still is a shame.

Chapter VI – The Maiden of Honour / Tying Loose Ends

Can you hear the silence, fighting with the wind?

Numbed by the illusion, that nature is a wind

Flying trees can’t handle needs

Waiting for your call

In this kingdom, queens are ruling, all for you all

Witchcraft – Ghost House

She was a dream dressed in the colours of the night. The light tone of her skin went perfectly with the gown of night-blue she had chosen, it was flawlessly tailored aswell, emphasising all the fine, feminine assets she had inherited from her mother. Paired with her unusual height and her black, flowing hair, she sure was a sight to behold, frequently drawing lecherous looks from men old and young (besides the jealous gazes she gathered from a lot of women). All of these attributes together, her incredible looks, her height and the mysterious air of a seductress that was surrounding her, were carefully put together, though. Old habits did die hard and on more than one occasion in the past, she was able to gather informations from their adversaries, acting as a spy in all but name. Even at an occasion like the one she was attending right now, it definitely wasn’t to her disadvantage.

It was true, men were easily manipulated by looks and some of the older fellows might drop a hint or two about their families history, providing her with more vital informations for her line of work. At least sometimes.

Knowing all too well that she was able to turn men’s heads around the world, the recent moments were even more surprising to her, if slightly amusing. As mentioned, she was well aware of the fact that her looks were indeed working at peak performance, which made it all the more strange that the one man she knew who possessed an outstanding ‘beauty radar’ didn’t even take notice of her. Amusing and interesting at the same time.

Maybe it has something to do with the woman he was talking to? Maybe a conversation with her could be worthwhile. If she’s a witch, the worst thing that could happen would be her biting my head off. Oh, exciting!

The woman that had caught the cook’s undivided attention was leaving him alone at the bar, giving herself to the everflowing current of guests that surrounded this oasis for the brokenhearted, as it seemed. It wasn’t much of a problem for the maiden of honour, though, as her eyes and wits were as sharp as ever. She was quick to notice that the woman’s movements left the impression of not being mundane at all, even though she was surrounded by people, none of them even grazed her. The grace and flow that gave life to her movements were not natural, but in a good way. They were inhuman and it seemed to the archaeologist that her feet never really touched the ground, as if she was floating on a low air stream to reach her next destination.

Oh, shouldn’t I be looking for Luffy? There’ll still be time for that. Well, if she doesn’t bite off my head. Wouldn’t that be an interesting way to start a marriage?

She was quick to follow that woman’s trail, her height alone was enough to enable her to stride through the crowd. Maybe not as graceful as the other woman was, but it worked just fine. And if even that wasn’t enough, there would always appear a literal ‘helping hand’ to make space for her.

It took a few minutes to catch up to her and another few until both of them reached the crowd’s edge, a place were a normal conversation might actually be possible. Robin’s eyes met the woman’s back and she was astounded to see that her skin took the word ‘flawless’ and raised it through the roof. She wasn’t able to find even the smallest scar or the slightest disturbance on the woman’s skin, a fact that made her even more unnatural. The only people she could think of that might even be able to come close to it were the Celestial Dragons, but she was sure that this woman didn’t belong to them. The dragons, even though they didn’t have to breath in the ‘polluted’ air normal people were living on, were oftentimes hideously deformed due to countless generations of inbreeding. This strange woman though, at least as far as the archaeologist could say, was perfect in every sense of the word.

The only thing that was up for debate might have been the small tattoo that adorned her left shoulder blade. Tattoos were indeed prevalent in many parts of the world, but they usually didn’t appeal to the upper echelons of society. Instead, they were mostly found on the bodies of gang members or pirates, both professions not really fitting for the woman in front of her. It also was a rather peculiar and dark motive: A diving black bird, quite possibly a raven or a crow. Robin wouldn’t have thought twice about it if there wasn’t something special to it, though. The bird had three legs.

Just one more reason to start a conversation, and this would be the best time to do it, too. Robin raised a hand and softly touched the woman’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, madam?”, the touch made her stop in an instant and while Robin was lowering her hand, the woman turned around, a warm, approachable smile on her lips. The maiden of honour was indeed a little disappointend that she didn’t transform into some abomination from beyond the deepest depths of the ocean. A little disappointed.

That being said, the beauty found within her face easily matched the flawlessness of her body. I will never see eyes as clear and green as these again, not in a thousand years. Maybe the reason that cook-san didn’t notice me is more simple than expected?

“Pardon my impudence, but would you mind if I asked you a question or two?”, she began.

“Oh, I’d be delighted to, my dear.”, her smile widened a little and she brushed a lose strand of hair aside, a simple gesture that appealed to the subconscious mind, making the person who saw it think that they had their undivided attention now.

“I’m very grateful, thank you very much. When I was standing behind you, I couldn’t help but notice the ink on your shoulder and since then, there’s the gnawing question on my mind if it is what I think it is. Travelling the earth, I think I’ve seen this particular bird a few times already, venerated mostly by the inhabitants of rural and reclusive villages and a few hermits along the way. May I ask if that is indeed Yatagarasu, the heavenly messenger?”, the woman’s smile widened, if that was possible.

“My, I’m very impressed by your knowledge, my dear. Very impressed. Your assumption is correct, this little piece of ink depicts one version of the messenger, the most accurate one, in my .. opinion. It’s the version most relevant for the rural people from the North and West Blue, as a lot of their myths tell the tales of the Three-legged Crow.”

“While in the East and South Blue, he’s the Eight-headed Crow. I’ve stumbled upon a few of such tales whie I was working in those parts of the world.”, the archaeologist complemented the facts she stated, much to her delight.

“My, you are a sage and a scholar, my dear! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be recognised.”

To be recognised?, Robin raised a brow, waiting for a correction that should never come. Unfortunately for her, this was not the time to think too long about such trivialities and she moved on to the next topic, deciding not to pay attention to this remark.

“The last thing I wanted to talk to you about, though .. a few minutes ago, I saw you talking to one patrticular blonde man at the bar. He’s an old friend of mine, but we didn’t have the chance to have a conversation in years and I fear that this marriage might be a lot to stomach for him ..”, she paused as the other woman raised a hand, returning to this enchanting mixture of smirk and smile that was sure to break men’s hearts by the dozen.

“Ah .. I see, straight to the point, right? I adore this attitude, even though I’m of the opinion that the mind needs rest, at least from time to time. Oh .. alright, I’m guessing that you want to know how he’s holding up? Appropriate, regarding the circumstances, but still on the verge of making or breaking, if you allow me the jest. This man knows that the abyss returns even the boldest of gazes, but his decision to shy away from it is crumbling.”, Robin was left speechless. This woman wasn’t talking to Sanji for more than five minutes, yet she still possessed a unique insight both into his thinking and into the situation at hand. This could not be the work of five minutes of conversation alone.

“I’m .. astounded, to say the least. You seem to be understanding him better than a little chit-chat should allow you to. Could it be that you knew him way before your meeting here?”

“Dear, my dear .. this is not what you want to ask, we both know it. For all of your life, you have been nothing but efficient, there is no need to stray from that way, now.”, the woman was right. All throughout her life, Robin had to be efficient, she had to be sharp to outsmart those who hunted her, to forge bonds that she could use to her advantage. The dangerous knowledge she carried was a burden for her but a blessing for those who seeked the truth.

“I understand. So .. that leaves me to the question if he’s willing to accept that she’s getting married to another man.”, usually, it would have been more fitting for Robin’s nature to give a snide remark about the whole situation and move on with more important things, only that this time, the exact thing that was of the utmost importance was this situation. Even though she usually didn’t show it in the same flashy and over-the-top manner that her former nakama did, she cared deeply for these people. Her true friends and the closest things to a family she had all over the seas.

“At this moment? Yes, he’s willing to accept it. Even though he’s on the brink of crossing the river, all his strength and willpower will fail him when push comes to shove. Thus, yes, he’s going to accept it, her marriage and the fact that it will break him. As you probably have expected, this man is more than ready to sacrifice every single little thing that’s keeping him alive to see her happy. Even if that last thing is hope.”, her smile had faded away and the tone of her high voice had become increasingly sombre while she was speaking, according to the topic she was touching.

“What .. what is going to happen after the wedding?”

The strange woman shrugged before she answered. “I don’t know, to be honest. Nor do I care. Don’t mistake my role for an active one in your stage play, Nico Robin. It is my wish and my purpose to show the actors another way, but I can’t force it upon them. This is what free will is all about. The decision is up to any single person involved, and neither the Heavens nor any God can change a thing about that. The world keeps turning, my dear, but it’s neither stagnant nor unalterable. Personally, I’d like to see a world in that people are free. So free, in fact, that some of the branches of the current World Government would consider it a crime. Your former captain might have been able to bring about this future, but with how things currently are, the situation looks dire. I hate to say it, but this is the point of no return. The true test, Nico Robin: Hold fast! Or expire.”, she was turning away by now, ready to move on to wherever. Still, there was one question left to be asked.

“Does he still love her?”

She stopped in her tracks, turning around once more. This time though, she was smiling again.

“Irrationally so, yes. With all his heart. Dreams might be shattered, bonds might be broken or forgotten, but the love that this graceless knight is carrying within the depths of his heart will never waver. It is what will drive him insane.”, with those words, she vanished out of sight. Like feathers in the wind.

But Robin wouldn’t have been Robin if she was easily shaken. There were other, pressing concerns to be taken care of. The wedding was about to start and the clock was ticking lives away.

Her feet were moving on their own, carried her to the next destination without failure. The archaeologist’s former captain was still waiting were she left him and she used these few moments of reprieve to slip into Nami’s room, knocking twice while she was already opening the door.

“Sanji-kun?!” was what greeted her. (Author’s notes: See chapter II for their entire conversation, it’s been a while, I know)

“Not exactly, dear navigator-san. He’s here, though.”

With all the additional impressions she had gathered from her time here, this conversation was bound to be unpleasant. At the climax of it, the archaeologist finally asked one of the most important question of all.

“Are you happy?”

The appropriate answer for a bride would have been ‘yes’, but only silence was heard, occasionally interrupted by Nami’s sobbing.

Cook-san might have said that a woman’s tears always told the truth., she contemplated when she softly embraced her former navigator. There might have been some truth to it, too. As her tears were falling, her tongue was loosened.

“I should be .. I really should be, this was supposed to be the most wonderful day in my entire life .. look at me now .. it’s not, I don’t even know if it can be .. he’s here, Robin, you said it yourself. Is his purpose to mock my damn heart? Has fate decided that it would like to see me suffer? Why did I ever write his invitation?”, her sobbing became uncontrollably and it took her a few seconds to regain some composure.

“I’ve .. I’ve told myself that the only reason for his invitation was to prove to myself that I was strong again .. but from the moment the letter was sent, I felt weaker and more frail every day. Now that he’s here, I .. I just don’t know what to do! Can you send him away, Robin? Is that possible? Would you do that for me?”, irrational thoughts within a stressful situation were the norm, the mind was clinging to everything that might be able to reinstate normality.

“Shh, my dear navigator-san .. everything’s going to be okay, I promise. But .. if it helps you and if you really want me to send him away, I will do it.”, Robin knew all too well that this was a dangerous gambit, especially considering what some parts of her were hoping for each and every day of her life, all since the great divide. She had taken it with more countenance than most of her male nakama, but she wasn’t the ice queen that she used to be. And quite happy about that, too.

For a second it seemed that Nami would indeed beg her to send him away, and that would be the end of things. The true funeral of dreams, as throughout all of these lines, the central conflict was always the one that the human heart fought with itself.

Adversaties, though, could foster hope. And resilience. Within the darkest hours and against the backdrop of despair, sometimes, all it took was a moment of valour to burn the shadows away.

Though the tears didn’t subside, her voice was steady again when she answered.

“No .. no, Robin. I have to go through with this, I have to see him one last time or my mind will never have peace. It .. it might not be the most wonderful day of my life anymore, Robin, but clarity will do ..”, Robin was quick to recognise how much her friend had to fight with her demons to remain calm and composed, an admirable effort in the face of tragedy, past and present.

“We’re going to work something out, my dear. That much I can promise you.”, while she was talking, the powers of her devil fruit were invoked. Arms that came from nowhere sprouted on any possible surface, all the way from her dresser to where they both were sitting. All for the simple act of carrying tissues to her friend. She was a bride and had to look like one. Robin took the initiative, let go of her and began to dry her tears and clear up her makeup. A sysyphean task, but a much needed one.

“Why did he accept the invitation, anyway?”, the archaelogist had been afraid of this question for a long time, because back then, she wouldn’t have known what to answer. To be perfectly frank, she didn’t exactly know it right now. Up until this point, things went reasonably well, Nami had even regained her composure when she was standing on the very precipice to oblivion. This matter was a completely different one, though.

Well, what did my mysterious acquaintance say? ‘Hold fast! Or expire.’ Does it really matter what I say now? The situation is bound to end in tears, but what’s the lesser evil to go with? Wouldn’t it be my duty to tell her the truth? But what’s to come after that? She might cancel the wedding and they’d still be in the very same situation of days long gone by. Then, should I lie to her? I don’t like the prospect, even if navigator-san is able to live through the wedding just fine, wouldn’t I be damning her to sticking to the second-best? People are complicated and I’m not even a single step closer to knowing what to do.

“Robin .. are you still with me?”, the navigator sounded hesitant, excited and fearful to hear the answer at the same time.

“Yes, my dear .. I’m not going to leave your side until all of this is over.”, this might just buy her a few more seconds of thinking. This is not going to work out, I need a little more time .. just a little more. With a little luck, the others might have an opinion of their own on how we should act. Despite her undeniable intelligence, the archaelogist was a supporter at heart. It had always been like this, others would know where to go, but she would work out how to get there and collect intelligence.

“My dear navigator-san, he’s here for the same reason all of us are. He wishes to see you happy, no matter the cost.”, that was vague at best and distracting at worst, but some decisions could not be made on her own.

Nami affected a laugh and straigthened her back. She sure was grateful for everything Robin had to say, but a clear answer would have been very welcome.

“Would you excuse me for a moment? I’d like to have a word with our former captain, my dear. We’ll be with you again in a few minutes, if that is alright.”, Nami nodded and rose up from her chair, making her way to the dresser. She had to renew her makeup at all costs, a bride wasn’t supposed to look the way she was. “Don’t take too long, please.”

Leaving the room, the first thing to do for her was to look after Luffy. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t ruining the whole buffet, instead patiently waiting for the beginning of the ceremony. The only odd thing about this situation was the deathly pallor his skin was showing. One more reason the archaeologist had to chuckle, stygian humor always was her go-to.

“Captain-san? I think that our navigator-san is as ready as she can be to .. say the words. Oh .. you look pale, captain-san. Could it be that you’ve seen a ghost?” The rubberman was known for his strange antics, no questions asked, but this time, his serious face was the source of all the weirdness.

“I don’t know, but .. Robin, I don’t think that Nami belongs here.” That actually was astounding. Monkey D. Luffy, as obstinate as he most of the time was, wasn’t one to take matters of the heart, at least of other people, into his own hands. Especially not if these matters promised a bright, or, at least, a good future. Nami’s marriage fulfilled all these qualities, Robin had a few conversations with Cassian and thought that he’d make a fine partner. Maybe not the perfect one, but a good one, nonetheless. If she had any other opinion, she would’ve told her good friend. It was still too early, though. And she had to act fast

Within an instant, hands were sprouting from his cheeks and pressed against his mouth to stop him from talking. The archaeologist closed the distance between the two and her voice was nothing more than a whisper. She was good at thinking fast, waiting for an opportunity. These things might have come with her past as a criminal, even an assassin. Acting too hurriedly was almost certainly bound to bring about a catastrophe. Not regarding the stress, her mind was working as quickly as ever and assumptions were made.

When I first talked to him, he wasn’t exactly delighted about the occasion, but he was still willing to take the role of being  her surrogate father for the ceremony. This has changed now. ‘It is my wish and my purpose to show the actors another way’, those were her words. I’ve seen her talking to cook-san and talked to her myself. Could it be that she had a little conversation with captain-san, too? And the others? That woman also said that she’s not playing an active part, only showing us another way. We were all supposed to be guests, to support her at such an occasion, could it be that ‘the other way’ is us taking a more active role? One that might change the outcome of this stageplay, as she called it? Oh, what a sly little devil the heavenly messenger is ..

“Please, captain-san, I can understand your doubts about her wedding, all of them. But I beg you, have a little patience. Just a few more minutes, until all of us .. until the ‘troupe’ is ready and the stage is set. No matter what happens, just .. just wait a few more minutes. You’ve seen her, too, haven’t you?”, she lowered her voice a little more. The door to Nami’s room was thick enough, but her navigator’s senses had been exceptionally sharp all throughout the time they’ve known each other. Finally, I’m beginning to get a grasp on the whole picture. I think.

To her surprise, the rubberman was shaking his head and mumbled something into the palms of her devilish hands. She loosened the grab enough to understand what he was actually saying.

“To her? No, Robin, I’ve talked to a long-haired fortuneteller! Yes, he really was one! Oh, he also has something to do with the wedding, but I didn’t care about that. He reminded me of something, Robin. Something that we used to live on.

Hope. Hope, as long as we still draw breath, there is hope. And as long as there is hope, we dream. For too long, I had forgotten what it meant to be dreaming. That is no longer the case.”, this man was incredible. Normally, during a conversation he was prone to make absolutely idiotic remarks, living up to his fullest only when facing danger. Could it be that his subconscious mind recognises Nami’s wedding as a danger to dreams that we thought long gone? But moments of clarity were just that, moments.

“Also, I think I’ll call him Halflight. When I was trying to get a grasp of him through my haki, this is what he appeared to be. A sudden glimmer of light within mostly confusing things. I think that he might like that name.”

“I .. eh .. yes. I’m sure he’s going to like it.”, she couldn’t add anything else, being astounded how quickly he was able to switch between insightful and inspiring to .. a child.

“I’m going to tell her that she’s got to bail out of the wedding. Right now.” Did this man ever listen? She stopped him before he was able to move, pressing her hands against his mouth again.

“Captain-san, please, listen to me. I’m of the same mind as you. This wedding is not what’s going to make her happy. But we have to wait just a little longer. I assume that your ‘Halflight’ was not only talking to you, but to all of us. And if I’m right, he .. or, well, she, is trying to show us a different way. Remember how we were invincible when we were together, no matter the odds? We have to act flawlessly, my dear captain-san. And soon. The bride is waiting, but the stage is still missing something. I will take care of that. Just heed my words. No matter what’s going to happen, wait for the right time.”, his nodding was good enough. She hoped that it would suffice. The hands that were pressing his mouth shut vanished into flowers and she took his hand, wanting to lead him inside of Nami’s room.

“Remember, alright? Don’t act until we’re all ready.”, the task was simple, but little did Robin know about the test to his resolve that was about to come up.

When they entered Nami’s room together, the bride was quick to hug the man who had been a brother and a surrogate father foremost, being her captain was of secondary importance. There was the test coming up, though. When they entered and both of them greeted each other, Robin was slightly relieved that he didn’t shout his thoughts out, as she expected he’d do. Up until now, things were working quite fine. Then, the request came up when the navigator walked towards her wardrobe. What’s she .. oh, please, no ..

“Luffy .. I .. I do have another request, one that you might not like. Most of these people here don’t know who I am and what I was. I .. I admit that I have forgotten myself for some time. But just this once, maybe for the last time, I want them to see my true colours. And I can’t think of a better way to do it than through you. All of you, my family.”, with these words, she grabbed the lonely strawhat out of her wardrobe, turned around and presented it to her former captain.

Needless to say, Robin feared for the worst. An emotional outbreak, him crying and telling her all the things they talked about, telling Nami to bail out of the wedding. Again, he surprised her. A truly astonishing man. Monkey D. Luffy, a feared pirate, a child, a relentless eater. But he also was deeper than one might expect, insightful when it was necessary and he was able to stick to a plan when his subconscious mind thought it being the right thing to do.

And within just a moment in time, king and crown were reunited once again, and even though they were just three friends standing in a dressing room, when he put it on his head again after too many years of absence, Robin was able to feel how the weight of the world fell down from his shoulders and shackles, thought unbreakable, vanished.

“I’ll see you outside, navigator-san, captain-san. There’s just something very trivial I have to take care of. Don’t worry about it, your rings are safe with me.”

After leaving the room, the archaeologist approached her objective as quickly as her feet carried her. Together, they were invincible, but how could they be together if one of them wasn’t walking the earth anymore? The solution was all too obvious.

“Storm’s coming, mates. It’s going to hit the harbor in about half an hour, if the folks here can be trusted.”

“So what? You afraid of a little wind and rain, man? Let’s just get hammered inside. If you’re lucky enough, one of the girls here will be drunk and blind enough to take ya home,” another one answered him.

“Oh bugger off, you know that I ain’t afraid of no storms. It’s what’s livin’ within these that I’m wary of!”

“Better shut the hell up about all your deadly fogs and storms and whatnot, man, I ain’t buying your shit about freakish voices in the dark and ghosts sailing ships! No ghost in his right mind would do that, they’d just swoosh around and find the first comely girl taking a shower!”

Robin cleared her throat and won their immediate attention. Too easy.

“Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to grant me a request?”

The men were looking at each other, under different circumstances, they’d have probably thrown themselves into the waves to impress the lady, but they had a job here and the ceremony would begin in just a few minutes.

“Please, it’s just a little change of plans. It actually is a request of the bride herself, she’d be very grateful if you grant her that wish, she said that she’d even take to you to meet some of her bridesmaids if you would find it in your heart to do her this favour.”

The men were still hesitant, looking at each other, as if one of them had the answer. But Robin knew that they’d accept. They didn’t know it, but they would, soon enough.

“Well .. if it’s the bride’s wish, I guess we’re ready to comply, miss. What’s the song she wants us to play? And when?”

“I’m very grateful, gentlemen, as is the bride. I’ll give you the sign, just don’t take your eyes off me, hm?”, she said, winking.

“And the song in question is ...”