#might’ve played nothing to lose on repeat for an hour the other day

[williexmercer]

to end the year of 2023 I did not expect to get back into the soundtrack of jatp

I always knew but I forgot how good the music is

the bands chemistry and how well they work together is everything

[bhaalble]

God Love Me Like a Fawn- A Dark Urge/Enver Gortash fic

I finally finish something for BG3 and its for the guy I didn't give a FUCK about my first playthrough. This is also posted on my AO3 (Skeletorific) if you prefer the formatting there. Anyways. A snapshot of pre-Crown of Karsus heist. Enver does his level best to make sure his alliance with Murder Incarnate doesn't wind up how this kind of union typically should go. Alternatively, the author's barely disguised fetish for men putting jewelry on other men

TW for Canon typical violence descriptions, disassociation, memory loss, and generally toxic dynamics. Dark Urge Tav is an oc, Melkior, who uses he/they pronouns. Nothing explicitly sexual. 3.5k words.

Excerpt:

Still studying, then?”

He’d had to repeat the question before Melkior’s eyes finally lifted from the page in front of him. Fiery yellow set deep in black. Not the most uncommon color for tieflings, but the effect of them piercing through shaggy dark hair was always a touch startling. He always held them a little too wide, blinked too little.

“......You’re back already?”

Gortash can’t help but smile, whisking the door to his office shut behind him. Melkior had been holed up for hours, carpeting his office in books and papers. Everything that had ever been written on Mephistopheles' vaults, accounts from the exceedingly factual to the patently deranged. Most of those hours had been silent, by necessity: the Chosen of Bhaal, prodigiously talented in all arts bloodthirsty, was an almost charmingly slow reader.

Silence was unbearable to Enver. He’d had more than enough of it for twenty lifetimes. It had been better, almost, when they were beating him because when they weren’t he was left below for hours, days, weeks. Not a voice to be heard or a person to see. He made his excuses to busy himself below, lose himself in the tangled noise of his machines and his lackeys.

“Already? The sun’s nearly set, you’ve been in here all day.”

Another slow blink. A scowl crosses the Bhaalspawn’s face, probably a startling visage for most. The grey-white death mask tattooed into his purple skin would twist, rippling over a nasty burn scar on his right cheek. The effect was entirely demonic.

Not for him. He knew better. Knew better of demons, and knew better of Melkior. This wasn’t a threat, but a sulk.

“I was busy.”

“Clearly.” He tilts his head, meaningfully regarding the rest of his office. “Not a drop of viscera to be seen, either. I commend the focus you’ve shown for this task.”

It’s hard to read blushes behind the tattoos, but the way his tail flicks nervously behind him is as good as any coloring. “Why am I the only one focusing? It’s your plan, Baneite.”

“Enver.” He says cheerfully. In two strides he’s crossed the room, taking a seat on the worn chaise he slept in more than his own bed. It was the only surface not entirely littered in paper. “I am focusing. But there are wheels in motion, my friend. Someone needs to make sure they don’t fly off before we’ve had the chance to make our play.”

“I have better-”

“The compliment was sincere, Melkior.”

He didn’t need words to know that was worse, leagues worse. Melkior snaps the book shut, rolling cat-like to his feet. Enver watches him tilt his chin, drawing himself up to his full height to look down at him on the couch. Blazing eyes, stony expressions, claws ever so slightly parted. Like in a twitch they might rend a throat. Divine wrath made manifest.

“I’m returning to the Temple. The flock needs tending. The cattle need culling.” He stalks past him, feet padding silently. “Call me when you have a more productive use for my time.”

Enver says nothing, yet. Waits for him to get nearer the door.

“Then I suppose you don’t want your present.”

Stillness, silence. So thick over his left shoulder it was nearly tangible. A lesser man, a man less practiced in his art, might’ve thought the tiefling had left.

Enver was not a lesser man. And Bhaal’s favorite bludgeon was more a child at heart than they realized.

“....Present.” Melkior’s tone is flat and heavy, trying to smother the curiosity out of his voice.

Without turning, he lifts his hand, holding the palm flat to reveal two delicate gold chains, bookended by clips set with rubies. “You have a penchant for jewelry, don’t you?” The carelessness rolls effortlessly off his tongue, the benevolent disinterest weaving the lie into the truthful statement. “I’ve noticed many of the tieflings in the city have taken to horn decorations of late.” Finally, a turn, a graceful smile sliding on. “A life in service to the Murder Lord doesn’t offer much exposure to the latest trends, I imagine.”

Melkior seems to have frozen mid-stride. He’s frozen in general. Among the more monkish of his habits: the ability to appear carved right from the rock. Even still, the argument clearly taking place in the theater of his mind is all but broadcasted. “...Why do you care?”

He shrugs, closing his hand over the trinkets and lowering it ever so slowly. “You don’t need to take it if you don’t wish. I’m sure I have a few other colleagues who would be interested. “

“I don’t-” His hand jerks. Enver feels the point slide towards him. He watches Melkior feel it slip away. A paroxysm of irritation passes over him, making his lip curl to bare fangs. An animal kind of frustration.

His palm opens beckoning.

“....You waste a lot of time on gestures, Baneite.” Melkior’s heels sink to the ground, pivoting towards him. Seconds before his claws can close on the proffered chains, though, Gortash’s hand snaps shut again.

“Enver.”

An annoyed twitch of the tail. Golden eyes are locked on his hand with a greedy gleam.

“You waste a lot of time on gestures....Enver.”

“Not so difficult, is it?” He smiles, gesturing in front of him. “Come here, I’ll put them on.”

“I can do it myself.” He follows the gesture where it leads, though, tugged a few steps around the edge of the chaise.

“You haven’t seen how they’re attached. I’d like my gifts worn properly.” He tilts his head up to look him in the eye. The bland smile never wavers. “Though, I can’t exactly reach from here.”

“Then...stand?”

“Ah, my friend, this seat is comfortable, and I’ve had such a long morning.”

This, actually, is where it becomes most dangerous. Not lightly do the Children of Bhaal open their space. Even less lightly should they be invited into yours. Gortash doesn’t break eye contact. Almost doesn’t dare to. The long ebony claws now mere inches from his face occupy the whole of his awareness regardless.

Melkior glances again at the hand holding his prize.

He takes a seat on the couch, settling awkwardly at the very edge of the worn green velvet. His gaze flickers towards him again.

“Better?”

The faintest knot of tension that had begun tying itself in his chest is swept cleanly aside. His smile deepens, sharpens as he sits up properly. “Better...but you are blessed with some very imposing horns, Melkior.” He glances at them, near vertical and spiraling like a goat’s. They add nearly half a foot to his height. It’s when the tiefling’s eyes dart up towards the same appendage, however, that he moves. In one blink, he plants a hand on his shoulder, sweeping him off the couch entirely.

In the span of a heartbeat, Melkior is kneeling before him.

Another heartbeat. Gortash half expects to feel a draft over his innards the next second. So, he doesn’t let himself pause. With deft hands, he plucks one of the chains from his palm and begins carefully clipping the first end near the base of his horn.

Melkior’s body goes tight. From this level, he has to look up at him. From the edges of his vision, he can feel those eyes held wide, burning into him. No doubt imagining a thousand ways to split him down the middle for the insult.

“Will this satisfy you, then.”

......

Enver’s been too well trained to let his surprise show. He doesn’t break his gaze from his work, even, carefully lining the clips along the ridges spirals of the horn, assessing placement to see if the chains will lay properly.

“For now.” He says softly.

Melkior rolls his eyes, arranging his legs to fold more comfortably underneath him. His hands clasp politely in his lap, for all the world looking like a penitent at his prayers. The visual has its appeals. Much more so the fact that he’s clearly trying to avoid eye contact at the moment.

Up close, it’s surprising how clean he smells. The undercurrent is there, of course, old blood and fluids of more unmentionable varieties. The reeking incense of Bhaal. Something antiseptic, a rubbing alcohol perhaps. But there’s linen too, notes of a soapy kind of a lavender smell. He wonders if it’s intentional, a way of hiding his nature. Or perhaps this was simply a clean outfit, yet unspoiled by the usual grisly tasks on Melkior’s to-do list.

The tiefling continues to sit quietly. An outside perspective might presume him to be meditating. Certainly his gaze seems far enough away for that to be the case. Gortash looks closer, though, and sees the barely restrained shiver every time he traces the edges of his horns.

Hears the slightly staccato rhythm of his breath.

“If I had known all it took were a few baubles to get you to behave, I would’ve sent earrings ahead of my first few envoys.” The spirals of the horns pose an inviting challenge, drawing the chains taut where they should instead drape. He recalculates the placement some. “Are all Bhaalists so materialist?”

“I don’t care about finery. I take trophies.”

“My favorite assassin, this is a trophy.” Slowly, ever so slowly, his free hand slides into his hair, threading through dark tangled strands to sweep them from his face. This is almost a bridge too far. Melkior’s shoulders snap to attention and his lip curls. Enver only presses firmly on the top of his skull, tilting his head back gently until his eyes meet his own. “We’ve secured our means into the hells.” Not quite a murmur, not quite a whisper, but something velvet and soft and prayerful in his voice all the same. With his hair pushed off his forehead, he can see glints of amber and red swimming in the molten gold of Melkior’s eyes. “Our victory is within our grasp, and I’d say that merits a reward.”

Melkior’s chest rises and falls in sharp movements. The dark purple of his lips peeks through, the usual white paint scraped away by his teeth. “We haven’t won yet.”

“True. But it’s as simple as closing our fist.” He presses his thumb pointedly to the center of the tiefling’s forehead, biting back a laugh when his eyes briefly cross in their attempt to track the movement. “Not comfortable being touched?”

“I’m not frightened of you.”

“I didn’t ask if you were frightened.”

“People who touch me don’t find it ends happily for them.” He still hasn’t moved. The pressure he’s placing on his head is tight, not easily breakable, but Melkior hasn’t so much as tested it.

“I didn’t ask how I’d end up either. Even if I did.” He tilts his head, lifting free hand to show the mark matching the one blazoned on the Bhaalspawn’s shoulder. “We have certain oaths to prevent exactly this. Your Urge isn’t complicating that?”

Melkior huffs, darting his eyes to the side. “No. Father made...allowances.”

“Then you’ll forgive me if I continue to place my trust at your feet. So far as I can see it, then, the only reason for me to not touch you is if you prefer not to be touched.” He’s still looking away. It won’t do, it needles him where he needs to remain placid. He taps his chin, drawing his gaze back where it should stay. “Do you prefer that?”

The office isn’t silent. A draft beckoned in by the open window carries the din of the city below, the echoes of small lives and ways. The floor buzzes with his machines, the clanks and crashes so familiar they felt like music.

Just as familiar is the sensation he feels. A leash, tied around Melkior’s neck. The end lays in front, his for the grabbing. He could layer his voice with such powers as Bane made available to him, let the sensation of his touch seep into that too addled mind neatly cupped in his hands. A final completion of his art, dominating that which was by its nature untameable. Violence incarnate in his palm. Perhaps impossible, but the temptation was there all the same. Nearly overwhelming, even.

He doesn’t reach for it. It means nothing if taken now.

Melkior blinks. Blinks. Blinks. Blinks.

“.....You’ll touch me unless I say no?”

“Correct.”

“........For how-....” His brow knits together. For once not in anger, but confusion. “Continuously? Or just now? Or-”

He can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, for once not the boisterous, controlled thing he saved for meetings. He might even go so far as to call it genuine. It seems to worsen the confusion, but Enver only ruffles his hair before getting to his feet.

“We can work that out later, then. For now, I think it may be time to speak with our diabolist.”

Melkior scrambles to his feet, the new chains jingling slightly in the motion. He seems wholly taken aback. “I didn’t give my answer.”

“Later.” You did . He claps his shoulder, smiling brightly. “Duty calls”

Enver slips out the door before he can say another word. He glances back only once, when the expected footfalls don’t hit his ears.

A gift of his own. Who else in the last century can claim to see a Bhaalspawn smiling without a hint of bloodlust?

------

Some Months. Years. Decades. Eons. Time Later

The patriars are all speaking at once, their chattering so loud as to nearly drown out the whirr and clank of the Steel Watch. The metal monstrosities tower around his party, flatly beckoning him into the fray. All of it fails to overpower the sound of Melkior’s own heartbeat.

The tiefling’s feet strain against the boots Shadowheart had wrestled him into. Without his calloused heels touching the earth he feels untethered. So many people, their reek hit him like a fist to the face. Unbidden a frenzy of gore-spattered images swim past his eyes, made sharper and angrier by all his unrestful heart. The duchess, her legs discarded as bloodied stumps on either side of her. One of the country lords to his immediate left, gagging on Melkior’s staff as it punched through the back of his skull. A sizzling smell of cooking meat as he imagined the Steel Watch chassis stuffed full of lordlings to get acquainted with the infernal iron buried within.

He didn’t even bother to breathe right now, to try grounding himself. There were simply too many things to distract himself from. Easier to let it swim by. His hand twitches instinctively towards Gale’s, but can he trust himself then to leave the limb intact?

The wizard notices the motion. Gale knows enough not to touch him, but he does favor him with a kind smile nonetheless, reassurance dripping from that soft voice of his. “Not far now, my love. We won’t let you lose control.”

“Right. Or if you’ve got to, I’ve got just the dickhead in this room for you to aim it at...” Karlach grumbles just behind him. Gale looks at her disapprovingly, though the regret seems to hit her even faster. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“He’ll be with my father.” Wyll says. Urgent, so urgent, his eyes scanning the throng. Those eyes aren’t meant for anything but Ulder Ravengard at the moment, they can’t be spared for the fearless leader. “Likely near the front-...BLAST these crowds, can you see him?”

“We’ll find him, Wyll.” Melkior says faintly, voice so small it immediately becomes lost in the pandemonium. “And the others...” Though what he’s meant to do about it in here he couldn’t say. This hall. He’s never been in it before, he can’t have been, not with the way everyone’s eyes seem to slide right off him. But something lingers in the hall, a miasma that claws into the aching gapes in his brain.

The machine had known him. He eyes the mechanical soldier like it might echo with that voice again.

Karlach hisses. It’s joined by a flare of heat just at his back. Lucky they were on the edge of the carpet, or it might’ve started smoking. “Got him. Just at the end there.”

“With my father.” Wyll says, relief palpable in his voice. He starts forward reflexively, but hesitates, glancing back at Melkior. “.....How do you want to do this?”

Melkior sees a flicker of strain behind his eyes. The compulsion to move towards his father. Or not, that strain had been flickering ever since Last Light. Since the cler- “It’s your father, Wyll.” He says, strangling the thought in its synapse. A shaky smile forces its way on his face, like it might make them all friends again.

Wyll smiles back, like he might be able to accept it. “And the Steel Watch let you in, my friend. I’ll follow your lead.”

“ Fuck strategy, we should just rush the bastard. Letting him even speak is a bad move.” Karlach says, glaring daggers at the room at large. “Fuck, hang on, he’s on the move. Can’t see him from here.”

“He can’t have gone far” He rocks up onto the balls of his feet, craning his neck above the cross to try to find where Wyll and Karlach’s gazes point. “Is it-"

“ There you are.”

A headache splits his skull, so sharp and profound that the word ceremorphosis floats to the front of his consciousness. It's not me , rumbles the Emperor, but he’s momentarily insensate to it. His heels crash to the ground and he staggers. The cobblestone and the rich carpets swim in front of his eyes. The voice, the voice from just behind him, the whole universe in a voice.

Vaguely, he’s aware of the voice of Gale, concerned, and a yelp from Karlach. All he can do is lurch forwards, dragging a head that seems ten pounds heavier up to meet the origin of the voice.

Black and emerald leathers, set deep with gold. Are all Bhaalists such materialists ? Above them swims a face, the features refusing to resolve themselves. It's like it's being blocked. His face won’t render them into anything human, just swirls them into a sickly whorl of flesh. All that pierces through are two dark eyes, deep and shadowed and taunting.

He nearly doubles over to vomit. The eyes narrow, tilting to the side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The voice again, deep and smooth as spider’s web, I’d tear the voicebox out to keep it on my pillow, but I can’t, but I can’t, it won’t sound if it's not where it should be

“Melkior, can you hear me?” Gale’s touch on his shoulder, pulling him upright, and Karlach’s big arms hauling him to his feet at the waist. All feel wrong, itching, pulling.

“What the hells did you do to him?” Karlach growls. Time was he’d love to wrap himself in that protection, in the ferocity of love it signified. Now he shoved hard at her arm, scratching like a caught stray.

“While I appreciate the faith in my abilities, Karlach, I think you overestimate them a hair. When would I have had time to do a thing to him?” There’s a laugh in his voice, and it makes a mouth sprout in the skin spiral. Smiling, always smiling, dark stubble dotting the jaw. The nose follows, and dark brows. “I think he can stand for himself, now, can’t you, Melkior?”

The face is just a face. He shoves hard until Karlach drops him, lurching forward the last few steps. The last thing he feels is Gale’s hand sliding off his shoulder, the kind touch evaporating like a dream.

He stops a hair short of the dark-haired man. The Chosen, the Absolute, Gortash, Baneite, but he’s missing a name, isn’t he? Treasure locked behind that name, prizes, secrets.

Trophies.

On the last step he pulls himself up. Melkior sinks his claws deep into the fabric of his trousers, planting his feet squarely apart. There’s barely a meter between him and the stranger now, a meter that seems to draw his breath out from him entirely. This is not the Urge, not his father, and yet he fights for control all the same.

“Who....who are you?” His voice rings out impossibly loud. The crowd of nobles immediately near him look around in stunned surprise, creating a ripple of silence.

Gortash scarcely seems to notice. He tilts his head, regarding him with a detached sort of warmth. The look Gale gives to his books that used to claw at him so, the look Astarion gives a willing neck before his teeth sinks in.

The headache is worse. He won’t let himself react, even as his vision whites out-

There is a gentle warmth on his forehead, edged in something sharp and metallic. It brushes the hair on his head back, sweeping the overgrown tangles back between his horns. He blinks hard. He’s touching my head like I'm a sick child , comes the realization like thunder.

“My favorite assassin, what have they done to your eyes?”

His entire face feels hot, the stone set in his left socket itching self consciously. “What are you-”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Karlach barks.

“No need to be like that, Karlach. He may not remember it, but...”

Enver tilts his head. He smiles. For just a second, Melkior’s head feels just fine.

“I do have permission.”

[kenmei]

-ˏˋ EVERYTHING BUT! ˊˎ-

♡ gn!reader x boyfriend!sakusa kiyoomi

cw: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, slice of life, a pinch? of toxic behaviour, kinda suggestive somewhere in the middle, timeskip!au, established relationship!au

synopsis: in the times where home doesn’t feel like how it should, somewhere along the blurred lines of forgiven and guilty, “i’m home” gains back its familiarity

wc: 1900+

notes from mei!

happy bday to omi omi!!

it’s routine.

“i’m home.”

words that are familiar leave his lips; an expected response lingers in the air—it’s routine. the problem is, he’s only met with silence and an unusually cold apartment complex.

there are leftovers on the island; down the hallway leading to yours and his shared room, the lights are off. kiyoomi sighs, shrugging off his coat and not bothering to keep the sound of his dangling keys to a minimum.

and for the fifth time that week, he eats dinner alone.

the next morning proceeds as usual. quiet good mornings, a kiss to the cheek that feels robotic. he makes the food and you make the coffee; working in tandem as the news fills the silence between you both.

“i’m going out today.” you say, spoon clanking against the mugs as you’re pouring in the creamer. “hairi’s birthday.” you add.

he doesn’t turn to face you. “okay.”

you both eat in silence, not bothering to make small talk because the last time you tried, it ended up in a fight that brings you to your situation right now.

the night after, you both “made up,” but after a day and a half passed, he snapped at you more harshly than usual, giving you the silent treatment and coming home extra late just to get on your nerves.

tired of being a verbal punching bag, you reverted back into the person you promised you wouldn’t be again, because you wanted to be better—because you trusted in him enough that he wouldn’t make you feel that kind of pain again.

but now you’re here.

the words scratch at your throat as you open the front door. it’s dark, but you hear the shower running.

you’re not sure why you suddenly feel so anxious, but then again, you dreaded the entire uber ride “home.”

because as much as you love kiyoomi, he’s dragged you to hell and back for the past week and a half. as much as you’re willing to put up with his bullshit because you know he’s just like that, you’re not sure if this relationship is even worth it anymore.

it’s because you know his bad sides, good sides, everything-in-between-sides, you can’t find it in you to say something other than a half-assed sorry because you don’t want to drag things out.

you don’t want to lose him because he’s still your kiyoomi. 

he’s the boy who shared his umbrella with you in high school, the boy who threw his jacket on your head because you never listened to him when he said it’s cold out, wear a jacket.

the man who makes you play with his hair; the one who likes to be babied from time to time. don’t leave, he used to say, arms trapping you to his chest as you both wasted an hour in each other’s embrace.

in every season, all your favourite memories involve him.

and you’re being honest when you say you don’t want anything else—anyone else, but him. he’s a part of you now, and after him, you never thought of life without him.

but as you sit on the couch, head hung low, you think, perhaps, life would be better.

you fell in love rather young, at seventeen where love was like sunshine and rainbows. seventeen, where you didn’t know any other romantic kind of love besides him.

but now you’re twenty-three, where love feels more or less of a shitty scripted tv show. twenty-three, where you know there are many different kinds of love besides romantic.

“what are you doing?”

like you’ve been programmed, you stand. “sorry. i was waiting for you to finish.”

you brisk by him, blindly picking some clothes to use for pyjamas.

and he lets you, waiting for you to finish.

as you’re settling into bed, his lips find yours in a teeth-clashing, empty manner. naturally, you return, unaware of the void in your eyes as you humour him.

hands find their way underneath your shirt and you tense up.

he pulls away. “what’s wrong with you?”

“what do you mean?” you reply, pushing him off you. “...i’m kissing you back? why are you complaining?”

“you’re so bland lately.” he scowls, “you never say anything besides sorry! it’s like i’m dating a fucking statue!”

with the remnants of liquid courage swishing in your bloodstream, you snap, “what the fuck am i supposed to say besides sorry?!” you say, keeping a level-tone as you look at him in disbelief, anger bubbling in your veins. “you’re always mad at me and i’ve done nothing! you keep taking your bad days out on me!”

“that’s because you never do anything right!”

your mouth falls open in bewilderment. getting out of bed, you grab your phone. “fuck you.” you spit, “go find someone else. i’m not dealing with you anymore.”

a shout of your name, the sound of something falling to the floor.

the click of the front door doesn’t let you hear anything else.

kiyoomi<3: please come home

kiyoomi<3: where are you?

kiyoomi<3: talk to me baby please

“no.” you scoff, powering off your phone. you throw it to the other end of your hotel bed, grabbing your laptop.

two days.

(you wish it wasn’t like this).

glancing at the time, you think now would be a good time to go back to the apartment. he’s at practice and you need to start getting your shit out of his place.

your phone beeps a few more times and you wonder why he’s texting so much when he’s at practice. but then again, desperateness isn’t something to take lightly.

and you want to laugh at him, because now, when you’ve left, he’s texting you nonstop, leaving you a shit ton of voicemails you don’t even bother listening to.

your chest hurts, you’re sure everyone and their mother’s can tell you’re literally lifeless as you drag yourself to your car.

the drive is quiet and full of an empty head. you might’ve accidently ran one or two red lights, but you can’t find it in you to care.

jiggling your keys, you swing the door open, expecting to be met with emptiness.

but he’s there, on the couch with his head hung low, phone in his hands.

it looks like he’s pleading to the phone. you take note of his disheveled appearance and apartment. his head shoots up when he hears keys jingle, eyes widening before his eyes gloss over when he takes in your somewhat put together appearance.

you move to close the door, to leave him in there, but his voice stops you from shutting the door all the way.

“wait!”

it’s desperate and broken, you mentally smack yourself in the head for opening the door again. he relaxes a bit when he sees you again, mouth opening before it shuts abruptly.

he doesn’t know what to say.

and before he can get his head to work right, you turn left and go down the hallway, shoes on and all.

he follows, silently, watching in pain as you grab your duffle bag and start stuffing clothes in it.

he follows, chest pinching and palms sweating as you move around the room, shoving whatever you can into your bag.

you don’t even know why he’s here. he never misses practice.

“please.”

your back is facing him as the words, quiet and heavy, leave his lips. you choose to ignore him, rummaging through your bedside drawer in case there’s anything you might need.

a call of your name.

“stop.” you mutter, scratching your eyebrow in irritation. “we’re not doing this again.”

your lip trembles, you take a deep breath to try and stop the tears from falling.

it hurts to see him like this. your chest aches when you see the bags under his eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. “we’re not doing this again.” you repeat, an attempt to solidify yourself, but instead, you’re sobbing quietly into your bedside drawer, a polaroid of you and him staring back at you.

“i can’t do this.” you cry, recalling his hurtful words.

frantically wiping your tears, you reach into the desk to flip the picture backward.

“i’m sorry, y/n.” he says, voice wavering.

it’s only been two days, but he feels like he’s been through a century. he thought he’d be fine, that you’d come back.

but after having his texts being left on delivered and his calls going straight to voicemail, the buildup of everything and the reality of everything punched him in the gut.

a home that was once full of love. a home that was once so easy to come home to.

it’s scary how fast everything went tumbling down.

and kiyoomi’s more than aware of how selfish he is. coming home to everything being in it’s exact place isn’t all that odd, he just loathes coming home to everything being in it’s exact place, but you’re not there.

your candle you love so much stares at him. pictures hung of you and him mock him.

everything in this apartment, it was there. everything but you.

and it drove him crazy.

you, the only one he’s ever felt so strongly for. you, the one who makes home feel like home.

but as he stares at your back, tears of his own getting caught in his lashes, he hates that he makes this “home” of yours and his, feel unfamiliar.

and kiyoomi isn’t good, he knows he isn’t. he’s selfish and he likes things done his way because he likes things done right.

but he doesn’t know how to make this right. he loves you so much, but all he can do now is watch as you suffer.

he knows his problem, he knows his shortcomings, his faults—kiyoomi’s had too much time to be fucked up by it all. but the only thing he doesn’t know how to do right, is to fix the problems before his eyes.

a second passes and he finds his body moving before he can think.

he pulls you into his chest, uncaring of your fists pounding against his chest. he holds you tighter because this could be the last time.

and kiyoomi wishes he could do it all over—to go back in time and be the person he promised himself he’d be for you, his supposed forever.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers into your hair. “i know you’re tired, but please let me apologize to you, i don’t want you to walk out that door thinking the things i’ve said to you are true. they aren’t, i swear.”

his arms tighten around you when you stop fighting against his embrace. “all those things i’ve said and done that hurt you, i didn’t mean.”

“i know that, kiyoomi.” you cry, “but i can’t do this anymore.”

“don’t say that.” he pleads, “please, y/n, let me try again.”

and you’re crying because it’s so raw and real. his voice is so gentle and his embrace feels so soothing.

this is all you want. to be in his arms and be held together by him.

he gets his response when your arms circle around his middle, when you bury your face into him and grant his wishes of letting him fix the mess he made of you and him.

“thank you.” he whispers, a choked sob breaking free and he pulls your impossibly closer.

it’s half-past two and everything is where it’s meant to be.

(i'm home).

[bloodwrittenballad]

The four times JJ almost said “I Love You” and the one time he finally did.

A/N: first fic on tumblr ayyy uh let me know what you think??

Warnings: uh some fighting n injuries, underage drinking and lots of pining. also probably just pure shit writing, this isn’t proofread it’s deadass 2am i wrote this up randomly and really fast i’ll probably just end up deleting it but anywho enjoy and be kind please bye

The first time:

It was a nice day, the weather warm and sunny, and what better way was there to spend it on the HMS Pogue with your best friends. The five of you spent your time in the marsh swimming and drinking the beverages that Kie had so graciously brought along.

It wasn’t long before you all became pretty tired - or intoxicated - and sprawled around the HMS.

You laid next to JJ, your head in his lap as he lazily played with your hair while he and the others talked and teased one another. He looked down at you every so often, taking in your features while you just kept your eyes closed and bathed in the warmth of the summer, and the urge to say those three words grew bigger each time.

But, instead, he just brushed it off and laughed at whatever joke John B had said, though in reality all he could think about was the day he’d finally get to say what he’s been longing to for years.

The second time:

The party was in full swing, filled with a numerous amount of kooks, pogues and tourons, but all he could focus on was you. Kie had drunkenly begged to dance with her and you being you, couldn’t refuse the offer. He watched as Kie squealed and dragged you by your arm, smiling to himself as he watched you clumsily trip, but soon you were dancing confidently to the beat of the song, lost in your own little world.

His eyes didn’t leave you for a second as he watched you move, your eyes soon catching his and you smiled that beautiful smile of yours, beckoning him over to you. At first JJ just shook his head playfully and stayed standing where he was, but once you pulled the puppy dog eyes and pouted your lips, he couldn’t resist.

And before he even realized, he was twirling you around to the music, blind to the world around him as he focused on nothing but you and the way you looked so effortlessly beautiful and carefree.

He swore to himself in that moment that he’d never loved someone as much as you, but as much as he wanted to say it, he couldn’t bring himself to.

One day, he told himself. But not today.

The third time:

The whole gang was hanging out at the Chateau. The weather was a little more on the cloudy side that day, but it didn’t stop you guys from having fun. Especially you and JJ, who you were currently running away from. “Oh I am so gonna get you!” He yelled, his whole body soaking wet from the bottle of water you dumped on him seconds prior. You squealed as you ran, JJ not far behind.

It wasn’t long before he caught up to you, which wasn’t surprising considering he was taller than you. He tackled you, pinning you down on the ground and laughing as he did so. “Say you’re sorry!” He demanded in a mocking tone, “never!” you chuckled along. JJ raised his brow, turning his head to John B and said “pass me a water bottle.”

Dread instantly filled your entire being as John B played along and grabbed the cold water bottle from the cooler. Your eyes went wide as he began to walk over, slowly stretching his arm out to pass the bottle to JJ, who was about to take it before you screamed out, “okay I surrender! I’m sorry!” you apologized. JJ smirked, “apology accepted, princess.” He chuckled before getting off of you, pulling you up with him.

Him arm was around your waist and you shoved him off, flicking him your middle finger and walked over to Kie, not before playfully spitting out “I hate you!”

JJ bit his lip, deciding weather to retaliate by finally saying it, but instead he just scrunched his nose and said “I hate you most!”

He’d get around to saying it one day.

The fourth time:

You couldn’t believe you were actually here, but somehow Kie convinced you to be her guest at the Midsummers party, and who were you to leave a friend in need? Especially when Kie so desperately pleaded for you to go, not wanting to be alone with the Kooks for a whole night. Thus, bringing you to where you are now, sitting at a table with people you didn’t know, drinking a drink that tasted like privilege and ignoring the glares from Rafe and his goons.

You were really starting to regret coming now, if not for the uncomfortable dress and the judgmental stares, it was because you were in distress over the whole situation with JJ that occurred the day prior, when Shoupe arrested him.

Your heart ached for the boy whilst your mind worried for him, wanting nothing more than to just have him here, safe with you by your side.

Little did you know, that silent little prayer was going to be answered just seconds later when said boy suddenly came crashing out of the house, being dragged by a security guard. He was rambling, making a scene and you laughed that angelic laugh he loved so much, which caused JJ to immediately find your smiling face in the crowd, which made him break out into a smile of his own. “Y/N!” he cheered, winking at you. “C’mon, ladies, power hour at Rixons let’s go!” He beckoned for you to follow his lead, so you did.

You got out of your chair and bounced up to the boy, waisting no time in throwing your arms around him and hugging him so tight, afraid he might’ve disappeared from your arms if you didn’t. Tears sprung in your eyes as you spoke in soft whispers, “I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you, JJ.” you mumbled into his shoulder, causing his to squeeze you back even tighter. “That’s never going to happen, princess.” he whispered. “You’re never going to lose me, I’ll always be here.” JJ promised, over and over, saying he wasn’t going anywhere.

And that was true, he wasn’t. Because he still had to say those three little words, and until he finally gets the chance, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go.

The one time where he finally says it:

No one really knows how or why Rafe and Barry found you guys, but they did. And neither of them were happy. Barry didn’t waste anytime in attacking JJ, making you and Kie scream. You tried to rush forward, stop Barry and help JJ, but Rafe was quick to grab you and throw you on the ground, delivering a painful kick straight to your stomach. You groaned out in pain, curling into yourself as you cradled your stomach.

That didn’t stop your assaulter from continuing, Rafe repeating kick after kick as you laid on the floor, helpless and bloody. Pain surrounded your entire being now, and you could faintly hear yelling throughout the buzz of your ringing ears, but as to who was yelling and what they were saying was a complete mystery to you, but your guess was JJ.

He was the only thing that went through your mind before you blacked out entirely, the world fading to nothing...

When you finally came to, you saw JJ hovering over you, his face even more bruised up than before, and it was contorted into a look of pure concern, though he tried to mask it with a smile once he saw your eyes open up and a broken “JJ” left your lips. “Hey, pretty girl.” JJ cooed, “don’t talk or move, alright? Just stay still baby and we’re gonna get you help as soon as possible, yeah? Yeah, you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna make sure of that, everything’s gonna be alright. And I’m gonna make sure that no one ever hurts you like this again, okay? Ever. I love you, you know that? So I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure that you’re alright.”

In the midst of his rambling, he didn’t even realize what he said until you cut him off, “I love you too, JJ.” you whispered tiredly, smiling softly at him with all your strength. It was then that the realization of what he said sunk in, and what you said, and that the words he’d been dying to say and hear, had finally been said. JJ looked deeply into your bruising eyes, which he still found so beautiful even when purple and swollen, and that’s when he knew, there would never be a love stronger than the one you two had.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

So, I have promised @spielzeugkaiser a fic based on this amazing thing and what do you know, I finally lived up to that promise. Please, accept this humble Easter gift ✨💕

I was supposed to post in a couple of days back but when I was literally two sentences away from the end, my laptope froze and deleted the entire thing, so this a 2.0 version

As a witcher, Geralt usually thought himself ready for just about anything. 

No monsters, curses or wars were something that he didn’t know how to deal with, the long training in Kaer Morhen and the even longer life on the Path having prepared him for all the highs and lows, however good or bad. 

The thing he wasn’t prepared for, however, was raising a child. 

Especially a girl. Especially a baby girl, his gorgeous little Child Surprise.

If it wasn’t for Jaskier, Geralt really wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to not only survive the eight months that they’ve had her but to keep the princess alive, as well. For the first couple of weeks, he was terrified of as much as holding her in his arms because she was just so small that he was afraid he’s going to break her if he as much as touches her the wrong way. 

Gradually, over the months, Jaskier had convinced him that it’s alright and that there aren’t a lot of people he knows with their hands as gentle as Geralt’s anyway. That might’ve made the witcher blush uncontrollably but it did ease the worry in his chest. 

Overall, the time went by quickly. It was bewildering to think that Ciri is just a few weeks from turning one year old. 

It goes without saying, though, that if it wasn’t for the rather long list of friends that were more than happy to babysit, that time would’ve felt a lot longer. The list started with Jaskier’s bardic friends like Priscilla, went on to Regis and ended with Geralt’s brothers who were so hopelessly in love with the little princess that they kept travelling to Toussaint to visit them on what seemed like every opportunity they could get. 

Out of the entire list, Geralt’s favourite babysitter was Eskel. 

The witcher would always bring his goat with him, even though it was far beyond Geralt how that little fragile creature could make it over the Amell mountains over and over again on those thin wobbly legs, and there didn’t seem to be anything that Ciri loved more than that goat. 

Watching the young princess play with it in the gardens of Corvo Bianco, losing balance every now and then and flopping down into the grass would make Eskel wipe at his eyes every single time only to then heatedly convince Jaskier that it’s his allergies and he’s not crying. The bard would simply nod with a knowing look while also being well aware that witchers do not have allergies.

Eskel was a very good babysitter, that was true. He played with Ciri for hours and if the weather wasn’t warm enough for them to stay outside, he would read to her even though there was barely anything she understood. 

Jaskier’s personal favourite, however, had always been Coën. 

Whenever the Griffin would visit them, he would straight up steal their child and take her on adventures, riding down to the slopes of Blessure or to the nearby towns, Ciri safe and very happy in his lap.

And when they would return in the evening, he would stay with her in the garden, providing the princess with just about anything that she could poke him - but not herself - with, explain that that is a sword and then proceed to fall dead every single time she would crawl or wobble over to him and poke him in the leg.

Geralt was worried that Coën is putting the princess in danger but she never laughed as much as she laughed with him, and there was simply nothing that Geralt could do when he heard that sound. after all, he was but a man and his heart had its limits. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, had never been worried about leaving Ciri with Coën because even though it seemed like the witcher was raising a little warrior out of her, she would never have as much a scratch on her whenever she was with him. 

Eventually, Geralt had also grown used to Coën’s understanding of babysitting. 

While Eskel was like a mother hen to the girl, he supposed, Coën was his polar opposite. 

A cock, Geralt had once proposed, very drunk and then spilt his entire drink on himself, laughing. 

Overall, both Geralt and Jaskier were more than happy to let someone else look out for the princess for an hour or two, assured that she is perfectly safe and taken care of. 

Whenever Yennefer or Priscilla would visit, it was simply the best thing they could’ve asked for because they would spend entire days with Ciri, telling them both to make themselves busy with something else because their daughter was not going to be theirs for the next couple of days. Those were the times that everything would almost go back to the way it was before the princess was introduced to their lives, and even though they both missed her dearly when Yen or Priscilla would put her down to sleep with them, in the guest bedroom, spending a day or two in bed felt heavenly. 

Sometimes it was Regis that volunteered and whenever he would take Ciri with him to Beauclair, she would return in the most gorgeous dresses Jaskier’s ever seen. When he would say that she’s going to grow out of them in a month or two and that Regis shouldn’t spend so much coin, he would simply say that he has to spend it on something and that it makes him happy to see the princess enjoying herself.

All that being said, there was also Lambert. 

And it’s not that he was a bad babysitter - because he wasn’t - it was that it seemed to be his life’s purpose to slip Ciri some ale instead of water on the first instance that he thought would be safe for her. He still has not managed to, Barnabas-Basil keeping a very close eye on him whenever he would go into the kitchen but he was getting there. 

Ciri did adore him, though, and that made Geralt ask the gods why is she drawn to bad influence so much. 

“Two hours, Lambert,” he says, placing a kiss on Ciri’s temple and handing her over to the younger witcher, automatically taking his hair away when she reaches out to tug on it. “Give us two hours and we’ll join you for dinner. Don’t you dare break my child in that time.”

“Yes-yes,” Lambert said, rolling his eyes and ushering Geralt towards the bedroom. “Now go to your bard.”

With a sigh and one final look over his shoulder, Geralt does as he’s told, crossing the hallway to open the bedroom door and slip inside. 

Jaskier is already in bed, waiting for him, and once Geralt lays eyes upon him, the worry in his chest eases, almost disappears. Just a little sleep-deprived, with that impossibly soft look in his eyes, the bard looks more than perfect. 

“Come, love,” he smiles, reaching out to take Geralt’s hand and pull him down onto the bed with him. “Don’t worry about her, she’s going to be just fine, you know that as well as I do. He loves her.”

Geralt sighs but can’t help the smile tugging on the corner of his lips when Jaskier leans in and places a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

“I know,” he nods. “I know.”

They’ve got a ridiculous amount of pillows on their bed but Geralt finds that very convenient when Jaskier pulls him into a long, sweet kiss and he can lower him down onto those pillows, a soft pleased rumble escaping his chest. 

Breaking away, he finds his way to Jaskier’s neck, peppering soft, gentle kisses over the tender skin there and only stopping for a second when the bard tugs his shirt up and over his head. 

Out of habit, Geralt keeps half an ear out for Ciri, just to make sure she’s alright, and for an impressively long time - considering that she’s with Lambert - he doesn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. 

And he almost completely forgets himself in the feeling of Jaskier’s warm skin against his own, his hands and lips when, on the very edge of his consciousness, he registers Ciri’s wobbling steps, hears her knock into pieces of furniture as she reaches out to hold on to them. 

By the sound of it, she’s making her way towards their bedroom door and, soon enough, there are Lambert’s hurried steps to follow.

“No getting away from me, little lady,” he says, Ciri laughing as he scoops her up into his arms. “Now be a good little nuisance and let your dads fuck.”

Geralt almost chuckles at that, about to go back to trailing kisses down Jaskier’s chest, when he hears Ciri’s high-pitched, excited voice. 

“Fuck!”

He freezes, suppressing a whine and Lambert, bursting out into laugher, doesn’t make matters better. 

“What is it?” Jaskier says, perking up, the sound loud enough for him to hear. 

Just at that, the door to their bedroom swings open and the younger witcher waltzes in, holding Ciri above his head and almost bumping her into the doorframe. 

“Put your dicks away and look what your kid can do!” he says, loud enough for the dutchess in her castle in Beauclair to hear. 

“Fuck!” Ciri repeats again, matching the volume to the witcher. 

Jaskier’s eyes light up and he sits up on the bed, holding the blanket up to his chest and straight-up beaming, his smile so wide that Geralt is genuinely concerned for his well-being. 

“Oh, sweet Melietele, it’s her first word!” he says, reaching his arms out for Lambert to deposit the girl into them. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you!”

He pulls Ciri to his chest, tears in his eyes and that is just about everything that’s keeping Geralt from ripping Lambert apart on the spot. 

“Two hours,” he says, defeated. “I asked you to look after her for two hours and you taught my daughter to curse.”

Lambert gives him the very best shit-eating grin he can muster and winks. 

“Oh, you’re just mad because you weren’t there to hear it for the first time,” he teases.

Without really giving Geralt the chance to answer, he takes Ciri back from Jaskier’s arms and retreats to the door, still grinning. 

“I shall allow you to go back to your ministrations,” he says, closing the door behind him. 

Geralt lets out a long sigh and lays down to rest his head on Jaskier’s chest, the bard playing with his hair gently. 

“Never again am I going to leave them alone without extra supervision,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier snorts and pulls him up into a kiss, smiling against his lips. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Never in my fucking life.”

[tinyhwng]

all at once

request? yes (anon)

pairing: idol!bang chan x reader

t/w: none 

genre: fluff + very slight angst

word count: 2,913 (got a little carried away)

a/n: okkkkkk i’ve been out of this game for sooo long so im sorry if this isn’t the best but i tried! anyways, ending this was a little challenging but i hope it still ties everything nicely :) enjoy! 

summary: seeing you again, he realized that somehow, the feelings he tried to escape once seemed to have returned slowly, but all at once and you failed to realize that their latest song was all about what he felt for you.

Last week, you had met a producer for a project and you had set up another meeting date to discuss future plans about your music. He kindly offered to meet up at his studio and you had no reason to decline which resulted in you meeting his eight other friends that you now so dearly felt attached to. But out of all of them, the one you bonded the most was Chan. He felt similar yet different. He talked about the deepest things and let himself bring comfort to your terrible days. You vented about the exhausting amount of stress that slowly tore through your resilient willpower to make it through as an artist. He comforted you through the days that made you regret where you were today and helped you bring out the emotions you kept all to yourself. He was someone that mattered a lot to you. A best friend anyone would be so lucky to have.

But things started going south.

You noticed the lack of attention he gave you and you thought that maybe, he was just busy and you tried to understand that. Yet as things went on, his lack of time became even more obvious. He would go out of his way to avoid you, not attend the meetings that involved you and from then, you saw him less and less. You tried calling him but the only response you would receive is his voice telling you to leave a voicemail. You asked the other boys if something had been bothering Chan but all the answer they could give you was that he was "busy". Bullshit. You didn't know what you had done wrong and that was enough to anger you. You wanted to apologize but he wouldn't even face you. 

Nothing seemed right. If he was going through something, you wondered why he wouldn't even bother telling you. It wasn't until you bumped into him at a nearby coffee shop that you finally had a chance to talk to him.

"Chan!" You called out for the boy.

Almost jumping, he turned around to face you. His face almost mortified. "H-Hey."

"Can we talk?" You peeked under his hat, his eyes barely visible to you. "Please?"

You both sit at a table as the atmosphere filled with tension grew. 

"What are you working on?" Your eyes glance at his laptop which he's been typing on ever since you had gotten there.

"Producing stuff." He answered, quickly but softly.

"Oh, for who?" You were beating around the bush, feeling slightly terrified of what he may say if you ask him what's been bothering you.

"No one yet. Just for future references." 

"Chan-"

His eyes freeze at the screen.

"Are you mad at me?"

His eyes quickly shoot back at you, confused at first but realized that you might've felt that way with the way he's been acting around you. "What? No"

"Then why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not ignoring yo-"

"Stop it. Stop lying." You look down, frustrated that none of your answers were answered. "It's been weeks Chan. We wouldn't have talked if I never bumped into you here."

"I'm just busy Y/N." His voice became softer, wanting to comfort you. He knew you felt frustrated but he did too.

"Could've you at least have told me that? So then maybe I wouldn't be spending days and nights thinking of what I did so wrong that you don't even bother to look for me." Your voice trembled. It wasn't the first time he'd seen you this vulnerable but it was definitely the first time that he was the reason you looked like that. 

‘’I know, and I'm sorry. I-I really should've told you but with all the stress... I- don't know. I lost track y/n" You could hear the sincerity from his voice and although you were supposed to be mad at him at that moment, you couldn't help acknowledge his words. "And y/n, I really wasn't mad at you. I promise. It's just-

"Just what?" 

"Nothing. I don't think it's the right time to tell you that right now."

"Why would it not be the right time? Are you leaving or something?"

"No- it's not that. I'll tell you soon, I promise."

You nod at his response, not knowing what to expect but somehow, his words eased you that truly, there was nothing to be worried about. You felt relieved that you now know that you had done nothing wrong.

The two of you parted ways shortly after he received a call from his manager. It was a short meeting but it meant a lot and very much answered the questions you've been wondering about.

A week after your last meeting, you decided to visit the studio to visit the boys. It was a spare time in your schedule so you decided to surprise them. You entered the studio and immediately counted the heads where you noticed that one of them was missing. "Hi, guys." You greeted, lifting the box of chicken with both of your hands that you brought. They immediately ran to you, with incoherent thank yous and we missed yous.

"Where's Chan?" Your eyes continued to wander the room, wondering if he was somewhere you had just missed. 

“Not here." the youngest said with Chicken occupying his mouth. "Why?"

"Well, I just thought he'd be with you guys."

"Studio. His studio." Jisung ran up to you, with chicken in his hands and offered it. "Eat with us, y/n."

You nicely declined as you had eaten prior to coming there. "Where's the studio?"

"Down the hall, to the left" Seungmin responded. "He's been there for hours so I don't think he'll mind company."

"Thank you." You made your way out of the room, with a cup of hot chocolate for Chan and a cup of coffee for yourself. You soon made it down the hall, facing your left as you inhaled in before knocking.

The door slowly creaked open with barefaced Chan staring back at you. "Ahh--- Y/N what the heck." His face looked flustered, his ears quickly turning red as you giggled your way in.

"Let me in Chan, please." You cautiously laughed, not wanting to spill the drinks you had been holding.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming... I look terrible right now." 

"You literally look the same but go off."

"Ouch." Chan teased, his hands still covering half his face.

"No- I mean you look good still." You blurted out. "Anyways- How's it going?"

You and Chan exchange greetings and he lets you listen to bits of the songs he's been working on.

"Wow Chan, it sounds so good."  You stare at his computer in awe. You pulled out a chair and sat beside him as you began skimming through his other songs. "Ugh, why are you talented. This isn't fair." You muttered, with your eyes fixed on the screen.

You weren't looking but Chan was too distracted to even respond to what you were saying. His eyes fixed on you as you listened to the songs he's worked so hard on. He loved it when people listened to the things he created but somehow, it was different with you. The look you have that just got his heart beating faster than usual. The way you compliment his skills like he was the only one capable of doing it. Anything you did just felt so special to him and lately, you were the one that had been going through his mind as he produced songs. Butterflies were definitely an understatement.

As you skimmed through his neverending folder of songs he's never put out, you stumbled upon one called the moon behind the stars. You played it, not knowing what it was. As the melody played, your heart eased into it. Somehow, you wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. It was so beautifully made that you had lost track of where you were but something was missing. The lyrics.

"Chan, wheres the lyrics for this one. It's too good to not have one." You asked, turning your attention towards him.

"There isn't any-" A slight panic in his tone made you even more curious. "It's unfinished."

"It was created almost two years ago though. Something like this should be out there Chan, I'm telling you. It's beautiful."

"I know but it doesn't really fit into any of our album themes yet." He scratched his head.

"Why not?"

"It's a love song, y/n."

"Oh-" Your face looked back to the computer in shock, repeating the song again. "What is it about though?"

"It's cheesy-" he replied, cupping his own cheeks as he whined.

"Oh please. Cheesy is literally MY genre." You laughed.

He sighed, "okay then." You made yourself comfortable as you stared at him, waiting for him to tell you all about it. "Well first, the title "the moon behind the stars" means two things. First, it illustrates how a person is too scared to admit that they're in love but still wants to have a good front towards the other person they're trying to distance themselves from, thus, "the moon behind the stars. Second, it's about the moon representing the one you have feelings for. Even with all the stars, shining and being pretty, somehow, it's always the moon that catches your eye. Almost like, 'there's plenty of fish in the sea but you're the only one I see.' and it has a melodic piece because even though you see them all the time, it's almost impossible to actually be with them. The space between the world and the moon represents the other person's fear and anxiety towards losing the other person. I say it's a love song but it could pretty much pass as a sad song at this point." Chan giggled. "Well- that's kind of all I have for that."

You listened, wonderstruck and speechless at his explanation. "H-How did you even come up with this? All this time I thought you were just an angsty teen who wants to overthrow the government but I guess I'm wrong."

He loudly laughed. "I don't know either."

‘’Unless... it's through experience." You teased, pinching his sides.

"Wha- no. It's not like that. I was just messing around, really." He explained but with the most unconvincing tone.

You definitely didn't buy it. "Who was it Channie. Tell me."

Channie... it had been a while since you had called him that. He's been trying to stay away from you so he could sort his feelings out. He wanted to get over you, fearing that maybe wanting you more than as a friend could put your friendship at risk. But as soon as you muttered his nickname Channie again, his feelings for you came back, slowly and all at once. It hit him as he saw you giggle as you teased him. He sat there with a rapidly beating heart, admitting that maybe, his feelings were never gone. He looked away, feeling his mouth dry out. The love of his life was in front of him and fear was the only thing that kept him from telling you so. He shyly stuffed himself behind his hands, knowing he had been blushing the whole time.

"Chan- are you okay?" You stopped yourself in the middle of laughing with a concerned look in your face. You placed a hand on his back, not knowing why he was suddenly like that.

"I'm okay." He said behind his hands. His voice was soft, but you could tell he was smiling.

"Are you shy? Did me asking who it was made you that shy?" You teased. "They must've been special, Chris."

His heart was about to explode. You calling him Chris was probably his greatest weakness and although he hears that a lot, hearing it from you made it sound so special. If you could just say it once more, he would definitely combust.

"Chan your ears are red, oh my god. Are you okay?" 

He sat upright, collecting himself after almost losing himself. "Yes, I'm okay." He smiled, breathing heavily. 

"I'm surprised you never told her about this." You muttered, repeating the song once more. "Probably would've loved it."

"I doubt that."

"What do you mean? Every girl I know that trained under this building during that time had the biggest crush on you."

"Yeah, right." He turned to you. "Did you?"

"Of course. I told you, Chan. Every single girl did."

His face froze at your upfront answer. Stuttering as he tried to go back to the conversation.

"Are you that surprised that I liked you? I thought it was pretty obvious back then."

"Wha-"

"So you didn't think of anything when I was always using the same studio you guys were using? Are you kidding?" You laughed.

"No..."

"I literally came to your busking event when I had an evaluation half an hour after that." Tears were almost coming out of your eyes as you laughed out loud.

"Oh my god, y/n"

“I know. I was pathetic."

"This whole time... I thought you liked Hyunjin."

"What the fuck- Chris are you kidding? Please say sike."

"I'm not. I literally thought-"

“Hyunjin's my family friend oh my god. He's literally like a cousin to me."

Chan covered his open mouth with his hand, shocked at what he was hearing. ”Oh my god, y/n"

"You're stupid." You teased, slapping his arm. "I did so much and you didn't even notice shit. This is peak embarrassing, Chan."

"I- I'm sorry." he teased.

"The hot chocolate I brought after the JYP stage, the-"

"The hot chocolate? Didn't you give everybody one."

You facepalmed at his response. "I- I gave everybody a cup of coffee dumbass. I knew you didn't like coffee so I specifically ordered hot chocolate just for you."

He went speechless, feeling bad that he looked over your effort back then.

You sighed, "whatever, it's okay. It's over now." 

Suddenly, Chan wanted to confess something. "Actually, y/n."

"Hm?"

"That song," he pointed at his computer. "It's about you."

You stared at him for a while, not comprehending his words. "Sorry?"

"It's about you. You're the moon behind the stars."

"Huh?" You hurriedly repeated the song. 

Chan shyly muttered but it was too incoherent for you to understand, "Sorry can you say that again."

"I- It's actually finished," he confessed. "But it's context is different but I kept the melody and everything."

"What- how?"

He took the mouse from your hand and searched through his folder. Neverending Story.

"Here it is." 

"Wait- Chan. This is released though?"

"Yeah, I know. It's uhh, about you." he voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear.

"It's finally admitting my feelings and that however things might turn between us, I won't ever let go as a person that deeply cares for you and that however long I might have to wait, it's okay because, in the end, my feelings for you just don't ever seem to go away." 

You stuttered in response, not knowing how to take this all in. You've liked him then and you've always felt the same since. 

"Chan- this is beautiful. I don't know what to say."

"It's okay. You don't have to."

"Is this why you have been ignoring me?"

"Kind of. I put out this song with everything I've always wanted to tell you and it was really hard to face you. I know you didn't feel the same but I wanted to at least tell you what I've felt. I was wondering that maybe putting out this song and ignoring for you a bit would make everything go away and let me accept how things are between us now but I realized that somehow, my feelings never left. Every time I'd see you, my heart beats a special type of way and always makes me think that maybe, the moon might not be that impossible to reach." 

You could see him tremble as he explained everything to you. You reach out, holding his hand. "Thank you, Chris. This song is beautiful and so is the message. I'm sorry if I made you think that I would never reciprocate your feelings-"

"y/n, you don't have to-"

You cut him off. "The truth is that, after all this time, I really do still like you. More than before, and I feared that I would get in the way of your dreams. I wanted to be your support still which is why I stayed behind all this time. You have been there through my worst and my successful times. You made me the artist that I am today and you let me stay as the person I am around you. Chris, I don't know where this will take us but I hope you know I still really do like you a lot."

Chan took hold of your hand and sobbed as he held them close. "Thank you, y/n. Thank you so much."

[leam1983]

Felix the Reaper - Thoughts? Review?

Can't really go into too much detail, it's rather late as it is and the ol' bed is beckoning, but I also want to couch this down somewhere while it's still fresh...

So, Death as a concept - as a character - obviously permeates the whole of human civilization. You've got Anubis and Osiris, Humbaba the Undying, thousands of years of mythology surrounding the concept of life leaving you and your flesh-bits rotting, generation after generation of people processing grief in visual and abstract forms - and now, we're sort of living in a context where Death isn't really all that scary anymore. We understand it, we can push it back in some cases - and when we can't, then we can sort of map out its occurrence. What started as just this inexplicable force swiping at hunter-gatherers and that warranted Danse Macabre paintings across Medieval France is now something we can put an almost-precise date and time on. There's a bunch of "death clocks" online that project a potential DOD based on your age, gender, health status, habits and BMI; sort of turning the concept of memento mori into a shockingly literate manifestation.

You will die, one day. We're so aware of that that a bit of science and Web design wizardry can shit out a half-serious guesstimation of when it'll happen. Pre-Colonial aspects of Death survive in Mexican culture in the forms of both calaveras and the Santa Muerte cult, and the inevitability of death now even counts as a game mechanic in the SoulsBorne genre. You've got Terry Pratchett's extremely Humanist rendition of Death and, well, Hollywood faff à la Meet Joe Black. The short of it is we're far from the robe-wearing zombie we used to plop everywhere as a reminder of our own supposedly sinful urges or on the fleeting nature of youth.

Another item that's of interest is the notion of life and youth being represented as the Maiden - and of Death being in love with her. Sometimes, the affection isn't returned and disgust is shown. That's most of Holbein's death-related works, in this case. In others, the Maiden leans in, lets the skeletal figure push a hand underneath her skirt and against one of her thighs. They share a kiss, press against one another in the way honest lovers might. He's a dried-out corpse with a bloated midsection and she might've stepped out of some sixteenth-century church in the Netherlands, but their liplock is intense and genuine. In one statue, the Maiden looks like she might've just surrendered to the Reaper's arms, but her hands are also touching his scythe....

Eroticism, a commentary on suicide or plain acceptance - there's several ways to look at that duality, and it's even managed to worm its way over to cultures that don't natively have similar associations with human remains. The Japanese, for instance, do have their own Gashadokuro concept, but the locals of Nagasaki needed their initially-exclusive exposure to Portuguese traders to shrink down their massive skeletal eidolons of doom and to design woodblock prints where a Danse Macabre effectively meets the dress codes and habits of the locals under sakoku, or the Emperor-mandated closing-off of Japan to the outside world.

Death as a dancer. Death, especially, as a force that's quite lively, despite its attributes. A force that falls head-over-heels for Life in its own anthropomorphized form.

This is what Danish devs Kong Orange opted to work on in Felix the Reaper. Their Death has a human name, has a thing for the stuffier ends of Business Casual, is maybe eighty pounds overweight - and won't ever, ever, let the music die. He's also in love, obviously - and in love with Betty, the equally portly and nimble personification of Life. The pair look a bit like a Fernando Botero couple waiting to happen, with ample waists and sagging breasts held aloft by spindle-thin legs - but if Ghostbusters taught us not to cross the streams, then you can assume that Life and Death starting a tango in the same workspace could have severe coincidences on the biosphere. Not that Felix cares, he'd want nothing more than for Betty to notice him. His supervisor is voiced off-camera by Sir Patrick Stewart, who's as delightful as always, and who sort of plays the part of the well-meaning supervisor who eventually realizes his new employee's quirks don't diminish his potential.

And what is Felix's job, exactly? Well, he's Death. He's not getting paid to distribute hugs and kisses, obviously. He gets sent to the mortal plane to, well, kill people, and more specifically, to kill people in precise and pre-ordained ways. His "televator" takes him to an instant frozen in time, and he has to alter the surrounding scene so that once time resumes its course, the requisite accident or happenstance occurs. You do that by picking up items, flicking switches, and placing targets in the path of whatever it is that's set to kill them. You also move the sun around the world using a magical sundial doohickey, as Death can only move in shadows. You're basically Death in the same sense as in the Final Destination movies, except you really, really, really want to twerk and sashay your voluminous heinie through the small changes needed to turn a nothing-burger into a drunk huntsman getting his head stuck in the stump of a decapitated deer, so the dejected and near-sighted hunter you've been following mistakes him for a target and shoots his spear through his brain-case.

And yes, Felix does twerk and he certainly sashays. Dude dresses like a stuffy librarian, sure, but seemingly loses all inhibitions once his headphones come up - which allows the player to share in his personal soundtrack. This particular Reaper seems to have a thing for very bass-driven and samply EDM, with occasional forays into Ambient and Jazz. His many, many, many idle animations all sync with whatever it is that's playing, and so does the variety of prances, somersaults, grands jetés and twirls he goes through while moving from place to place. Comparatively, you get the sense that Felix's coworkers are more the dour and solemn type - with a few unsubtle cameos from Skeletor and Manny Calavera in the opening cinematic - and Felix, well...

Let's just say it's a wonder he has those hips and that paunch. If he twirls around for every little thing he does, then you'd assume he only sits down to hoover an Olympic athlete's worth of food once a day. Or maybe I'm overthinking things because, well, death.

And therein lies the problem, honestly. In thinking, I mean. Felix is a puzzle game through-and-through, and also ties into a Challenge system in order to really tickle those completionist nerves. The starting scenarios are braindead-easy, but the later ones left me stumped for fifteen minutes per screen. Add to that the notion that the game doesn't check off some of them as complete if you only do the bare essentials, and you're left with another would-be mobile offering that doesn't reach its endpoint until you exhaust every little bit it has to offer - even if you're effectively done with the main gameplay loop. It's a great game, but there's just not a whole lot to do in those six chapters, beyond repeating bits of drudgery until your noodle clicks or you give up and look up a solution online.

It's a shame, too. The isometric perspective is perfect, and the game could've been pitched as a hybrid between a puzzler and, say, XCOM: Enemy Unknown. You'd take cover to hide from moving targets or to escape daylight and instead of shooting at them, would emerge from cover to move items around or solve puzzle elements. You could've had Death evoke the illusion of a friendly face to inject some more concrete narrative delivery, for instance. Steal a friend's features, magically conceal yourself, and then have your target piece her own weaknesses together, leaving you to retreat and regroup before executing your plan of attack. But no, everything is out in the open and everything is spelled out for you. Kong Orange could've also stolen a page from Hitman Go and set multiple triggers in place to truly sandbox the experience.

What is there is fun - it oozes personality and charm - but there's just not enough of it to justify Steam's full asking price, IMO. Comparatively, the Switch's online store is currently running a sale for it (as of Sunday the 15th, at least) and lists it as being 2,15$. Two bucks for a few hours of harmless fun is a pretty good deal, as far as I'm concerned. It also underlines why the devs and Daedalic Entertainment alike consider it as having "bombed", as the marketing effectively targeted Devolver's usual stable. It's not crunchy enough, however, and not exactly irreverent enough to warrant that comparison. A more hefty Felix could've earned its full 20$ price point on PC - and Kong Orange's very design for Betty makes it obvious that if Felix ever returns, it'll be in a co-op setup with the love of his, well, unlife.

I'd be up for more of this cuddly, swinging skelly - assuming the devs mature a tad and put something together that's just a smidge more compelling.

[lovedsammy]

such sweet sorrow; [sastiel coda to 15.03]

I’m mad at Dean rn, so I wrote a vent fic. This is not very Dean friendly (following canon). Wrote this in less than an hour so….. not very well done, and probably has mistakes everywhere. I can’t bring myself to care, lol.

@casquecest @wendibird @avalonsilver

SUMMARY: Sam finds out that Dean caused Cas to leave. 15.03 coda. Some Sam and Rowena feels. Angst galore. Mostly Sastiel. :)

READ HERE on Ao3

He can still feel the grasp of the blade between his fingers, the plunge into soft flesh, see Rowena’s blood drying on his hands. He can still see her, her face wet with tears, pale from a combination of the blood loss and fear, her entire body trembling. And yet, her expression had never wavered in its softness, her smile warm and fond as she prepared for her final swan song.

Goodbye, boys.

It’s a memory on repeat in slow motion, even from behind his closed lids when Dean speaks to him.

“What you did, Rowena….”

He remembers the way her lithe body had fallen into the mouth of Hell, swallowing her hole and closing behind her like a suction hose. She’d looked beautiful in death, her red hair flowing behind her, dressed in her pink, flowy gown. She’d looked like something out of a fairytale, Sam thinks. It’s an odd association, one that is quite unlike who Rowena was, but it’s how Sam chooses to remember her.

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t. But he wishes that, more than anything, he’d had.

And beneath the loss of her, there are so many more welts festering in his heart.

Sam hurts, and hurts, and hurts.

God, when would it end? Well, maybe asking their almighty creator that question was a pointless task. God had no intention of letting this end, he knew. At least not yet. When were things ever that simple? All of his life, his and Dean’s, he’d existed as a pawn for someone else’s game, had been a toy to break and toss and throw away without a care for the breakage. His and Dean’s lives were a tale of endless torment -- sometimes physical, mostly mental. It felt like it would never be over. No matter how much God got sick of them, not even if he was gone. God took a personal enjoyment in their suffering.

You’re enjoying this.

He sighs, gathers himself, and decides to leave his room for the first time in hours to see what Cas is up to. He needs a distraction. He’s pretty sure that Cas does, too. The pain of losing Jack is still raw and heavy, and it would overwhelm almost everything else if it weren’t followed by even more of it. His mother. Jack. Rowena. Ketch. So many losses in such a short amount of time that Sam craves just a little to be able to turn himself off, to feel nothing at all. But that thought reminds him of his soulless days, and those are days that can stay far in the past. But Cas… Cas has lost just as much as he has, the boy that both of them loved but who was better suited to have Castiel as his father, in the end. Sam had lost that title when he’d agreed to lock the Nephilim up. But honestly, he thinks he’d lost it long before that.

He meets Dean in the library. 

“Hey,” Sam says, clearing his throat. 

Dean glances up and nods at him around his glass of whiskey. “Hey.” 

“Do you happen to know where Cas is?” Sam asks. “I checked his room, but he wasn’t there. Tried knocking on Jack’s too, thinking he might’ve - but…I didn’t really go in.” Sam stops himself. It was still too soon to think about Jack’s room. He fights the wave of nausea at the realization that everything of the boy’s was still there. The photo of Kelly, his clothes, his DVD’s and comic books. The box of cookie crisp tucked under his bed that he didn’t know that Sam had found but chosen not to bring up…. 

“He’s gone.” 

Sam’s world, spiraling in a haze of pain, comes to a screeching halt. “What?”

“Yeah, he left,” Dean says nonchalantly, and automatically, it gives Sam a bad feeling.

“Why? What happened?” 

Dean shrugs. “He didn’t wanna be here, and honestly? I didn’t really want him here, either. Do I need to say anything else?”

Sam’s a bit stunned by Dean’s disregard for their angelic friend. It was true that Dean and Cas had been having their problems lately (and long before that, really), but this new attitude from Dean concerning one of their last remaining allies rubs him the wrong way. 

“Wait. Don’t tell me that you’re seriously still pissed at him?” When Dean says nothing, he huffs.“Really? Our last angel friend - hell, one of our LAST friends, period, and you... what? You chase him off? You can’t really still be blaming him for Mom -”

“You damn right I’m blaming him for Mom, Sam,” Dean snaps. “Jack’s gone. He’s dead. He’s not here to answer for himself or to take responsibility for it. But Cas? He is. He played a part in that too. He didn’t tell us, he didn’t warn us that something was wrong with the kid! Cas hid that from us, just like he always does, and it ended with us paying the price! When something goes wrong with our lives, it’s usually him at the fucking forefront of it all!” 

Sam shakes his head, awed. “Tell me that you didn’t tell him that.” 

Dean snorts. “Does it matter if I did? He left, Sam. End of story. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. And we can take care of us.” 

And now Sam’s feeling ire to go along with the grief. 

“I can’t believe you. I know things are bad right now, Dean. But come on. Cas is our friend. He’s family. He’s been with us for the past eleven years and has saved both of our asses so many times. He’s been there, when no one else was. Cas had nothing to do with Mom, and it’s crap that you’re pinning that on him!” 

Dean rounds on him. “Sam, I know you’re upset about Rowena, but don’t. I’m allowed to feel how I do, all right?” 

“So am I,” Sam says defensively. “And I for one don’t blame Cas. You chasing him out of here was a choice you made, not me. I didn’t even -” He rakes a hand down his face, and then reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. “You know what? Fine. You made Cas leave. I’m calling him back.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Do whatever the hell you want. I tell you this, if he does come back, I don’t want him anywhere near me. So make sure to tell him that.” 

“Yeah, that’s not an issue,” Sam growls, and he stalks away to his bedroom. 

He dials Cas’s number. 

It rings several times, but there’s no answer. Sam’s chest clenches in worry. He hopes that Cas is all right. A small part of him also hopes that the angel isn’t angry with him and is ignoring his calls just because of how Dean is acting. When after three attempts there is no response, Sam decides texting might be the next best approach. 

Cas, 

Hey. You left without even saying goodbye. I didn’t even know you were gone until just a couple of minutes ago. Listen, man, I’m sorry about Dean. The way he’s treating you right now is not fair at all. I made sure to let him know that. But I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you. I never have, never will. I hope I didn’t give you that impression. And I feel the need to apologize to you, Cas. I didn’t get a chance to say it before. I know I messed up with Jack, and I’m sorry. I’m going to regret what happened with him for the rest of my life. I loved him, too, and even though I was mad, I never wanted what happened to him to happen. I went to look for you because I know you’re in pain, too, and I hoped we could talk. If not about Jack, then anything. You’re my friend and I want to support you. Please, call me. Text me back. Don’t shut me out. And come home. Please. Dean’s not the only one who gets a say around here.

Sam. 

He waits for a long time, and starts to think that Cas has no intention of responding when his phone goes off. He answers before it’s even past the second ring. “Cas?”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says, and his voice sounds like he’s been crying. Or at least, close to it. Sam can’t blame him. He’s still hoarse himself. “I got your text.”

The simplicity of the statement almost makes Sam laugh, because yeah, he’d hope so. Classic Castiel. It made him even more appreciative of the times when things weren’t as complicated as they were now. “Yeah? Good. That’s good.” 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks. 

Sam thinks about it, and just decides to be honest. “Awful,” He admits. “I feel like my chest is being crushed with everything that I’m feeling. I can’t really tune it out.” 

“You never really could,” Cas says gently. “You’ve always allowed yourself to feel, and to feel deeply. It’s always a relief to be able to see that side of you still hasn’t changed, even with all that you’ve been through.” 

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he instead goes for the main reason he wanted to talk to Cas in the first place. 

“Cas,” He starts. “Come back. Please. We - I need you here. I want you here. We can just stay and hang in my room and watch Netflix, you don’t even need to see Dean -” 

“Sam, I don’t think I can do that,” Cas says despondently. “I’m sorry.”

Sam was expecting that response, but it stings nonetheless. 

“Please don’t make me lose you too,” Sam says, and God he hates how he chokes on the words, hates how his grief is still so apparent even when he’s trying to mask it. “I’ve already lost too much. Haven’t we both?” 

There’s a despairing sigh from Castiel. “Sam, you’re not losing me. Even if you don’t see me doesn’t mean that you will ever stop being my friend. That doesn’t just stop because of your brother.” 

“Exactly, so…”

“But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to subject myself to more of his animosity,” Cas says resolutely. “Listen to me. I care about you, about both of you, a great deal. And I can still do that without having to be there. You and Dean have each other. You’ll be just fine without me. You’ve done it before.”

I can’t do this alone. 

Yes, you can.

Well, I don’t want to. 

A different time, a different conversation. But Sam holds onto it, because it’s what he’s clinging to most right now. 

There had been a time that he and Dean had been entirely on their own. But that was more than a decade ago and they were different people then. They were just two young men - kids, really -  looking for their dad and trying to kill their mother’s murderer. 

“And what if I don’t want to, Cas?” Sam demands. “I’m tired of having every fucking thing decided for me. Who I talk to. Who my friends are. Who I can let live and who I have to kill myself. My entire life, my fate has been decided for me. Why can’t I decide for a change?” 

He pauses, huffing. “Look, Cas. It’s your call, okay? I want you here. I really do. But the question is, what do you want? If you really don’t want to come back, then I’ll just have to accept that.” 

Cas hesitates, mulling it over. “I’ll come back,” He promises. “Just not now. Not yet. I need time.”

“Okay,” Sam nods. He can hear the disappointment in his own voice, and remedies that. “Take all the time you need. You need to do what’s best for you.”

“Sam, I know I left in a hurry, and I should’ve talked to you before I did. I want to assure you that this has nothing to do with you,” The angel says softly. “I’m not angry with you. I was shocked that you would go along with locking up Jack, but I understand that when it comes to you and Dean, sometimes there’s an imbalance. You’re a mediator. That’s a primary part of who you are. You try to resolve problems. You felt that you’d messed up making choices when it comes to Jack, so you let Dean be the driver.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he can say. Cas is more perceptive in ways than Sam can really appreciate sometimes, and he’s right. He vocalizes what Sam has not said even to himself.

“It was wrong that you did what you did. But I forgive you, Sam. I’m not harboring any negative thoughts towards you. We’re still friends, whether Dean is involved or not. You’re free to call me, or text me, whenever you wish. I’ll answer.” 

Sam closes his eyes, fighting another wave of emotion. “Yeah, me too. You be safe out there, all right? Take care of yourself? And call me if you need anything?”

“Of course.” 

“See you later, Cas.” 

“Take care, Sam.”

Sam hangs up and feels his heart shatter just a little more.   

[where-the-wind-is]

The Dog Dies at the End (oneshot)

Fandom:  The Arcana (Visual Novel)

Rating: General Audiences

Words:1536 Chapters:1/1  Lucio (The Arcana)/Reader

“Oh I’m so worried about her” the count cooed for the umpteenth time that day, combing his non-metal fingers through Mercedes’ unruly white fur.

The dog in question breathed heavily as she lay, sprawled across Lucio’s lap. For weeks and weeks the poor girl had been very ill; never playing, refusing meals, vomiting, it was concerning how off she was. You sit in thought at Lucio’s side on his lavish bed and watch Melchior pace restlessly on the carpet below. Whimpers and growls revealing the other dogs growing concern for his partner.

“Maybe we should have Julian look at her again?” You suggest half-heartedly, fully prepared for him to snap at you. He almost does from the look on his face, but he doesn’t have the energy to follow through. Instead, he just sighs and drops his head, burying his face in the sick dogs’ silky fur.

“No…Jules already said he’s stumped. He’s a person-doctor, not a dog-doctor.” The count laments, voice muffled by Mercedes’ mane.

“Then we should find a dog-doctor! That’s a thing, right?” You continue, now he snaps.

“You think I didn’t try?!” He spits harshly, sitting up abruptly yet careful not to jostle his precious baby. “Specialists are rare and expensive and Nadia said it would be ‘a waste of taxpayer money’” He continues bitterly. Quietly you lean in closer to him and drape an arm across his hunched back, offering what little comfort you can.

You’d had this conversation before in the months Mercedes had been sick, it always ended like this. Sullen and argumentative and ultimately hopeless. Melchior stops pacing and rests his chin on the bed, snuffling Mercedes’s fur with a small whine. You feel your heart breaking for the poor boys watching a family member slip slowly away.

With a hiccup that might’ve been a suppressed sob, Lucio carefully extracts himself from under the beautiful canine.

“I…I have to…not be here” he fumbles his words, making his way to his bedroom door. Melchior follows him curiously but stops in the doorway.

“You’re leaving her alone?” You ask quietly. You aren’t passing judgment, just asking him to say it out loud. He gulps loudly, facing away from you. Metal hand pressed to the wall as if he’d collapse without the support.

“Yes, I can’t…I have busi…*sniff* business and …I can’t watch it…” his shoulders shake but you pretend not to notice, he obviously doesn’t want you to see his crying.

“Ok” is your quiet reply. “You want me to come with you?” You ask wondering if he’d prefer your comfort to any form of solitude. He shakes his head vigorously, casting a nervous glance back at you.

“No no, stay with her…I don’t want h-her to be alONE!” The end of the sentence turns into a squeal as the tears he’d been holding in finally catch in his throat. You watch him stomp quickly away and turn your eyes back on the suffering borzoi. She looks sick and exhausted but not in imminent danger of death. Was Lucio simply assuming the worst? Melchior leaps gracefully to the decadent comforter of the bed and starts grooming Mercedes’ ears.

In time Mercedes’ shallow pants become soft whines. You reach out a hand to comfort her and almost get maimed as Melchior snaps and snarls.

What?

Mercedes’ whining grows more strained and you begin to panic. Why was she in pain? Why was Melchior being so aggressive all of the sudden? You consider getting Lucio but decide he’d just freak out and make the situation worse. Instead, you make sure the dogs are as comfortable as possible and you sit back to observe.

0He wasn’t proud of leaving them, but he couldn’t bear to see his baby girl in that much pain. Lucio sat curled on a plush sofa he’d designated his crying sofa™ and wept for the poor babies. He knew Mercedes didn’t have long, and Melchior would never hold out without his girl. Lucio couldn’t believe he’d lose them so soon, and with another sudden wave of sadness, he remembered that he’d left them alone.  

But that was hours ago.

Now he couldn’t help the pathetic sobs that racked him, and he wasn’t even ashamed anymore. He’d been with those dogs for so long it was like a piece of his soul was dying. This was the end of a huge chapter of fighting for glory and fleeing from his past. All of it with those two beautiful canines by his side.

He kept oscillating between disbelief and complete despair. He’d be so sad and then realize it was actually happening and the grief would drag him deeper. It wasn’t fair! They were only…well he didn’t know how old they were but they weren’t old. They were playful and healthy and they could have easily lived another ten years. Lucio actually couldn’t breathe for a moment from the force of his crying, he didn’t care if he was ruining the suede upholstery.

This was the end, the end. Nothing could fix this, nothing could ever be the same.

He buried his fingers in his hair and pulled as his thoughts seemed to growl at him. The mantra of failure and endings repeating over and over. Refusing to be silent. It was an unexpected voice that pulled him out of the quicksand.

“Lucio?”

His head snapped up at the audacity of the doctor to interrupt his suffering. Quickly his anger turned to fear as he realized the state Jules had caught him in.

“You uh…” Julian looked away, mildly uncomfortable with the sight of the count crying. Not just crying but outright sobbing in abject heartbreak. “MC wanted me to get you, it seemed urgent”

Lucio tossed the words around in his exhausted mind, taking several minutes to realize their meaning. Finally, he felt his stomach sink at the implication.

She was gone.

Numbly Lucio stood and walked past the doctor, not even offering a nod. His legs carried him without his input through the familiar halls of his wing. Expensive paintings featuring the friends he was about to lose mocking him as he trudged.

Coming to the room he’d left, he stood outside the extravagant door. He needed to open it, but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his arm, so instead, he used the magic one. At least there was a modicum of detachment with the gesture. His heart cracked in two as he heard the squealing cry’s that no doubt came from Melchior. Without letting himself hesitate he pushed the heavy door open.

And his heart stopped.

There on his bed was the single sight that could bring him to his knees, and it did. He didn’t even feel the impact as he hit the ground, kneeling in the doorway. Mercedes laid where he left her, breathing heavily with exertion but obviously sleeping. That, however, was not the sight that knocked the wind out of the count.

The sight was that of you carefully cradling several tiny, whining fur balls in your lap, wrapped in a pillowcase.

“Puppies…” you mutter disbelieving to the man who collapsed in the doorway.

Melchior curled himself around your right side, flush against you so he could reach the puppies you held. Dutifully licking each one and making sure they could cry.

Suddenly Lucio was light-headed.

All the building stress and sadness from the months Mercedes had been “sick” suddenly left him. The weight releasing him was so euphoric he swore he could’ve floated away. You almost looked like you were glowing as you cleaned each little pup and placed them by their mother to nurse.

“Puppies…” Lucio repeated you softly, it was all his mind would say.

0Four.

He thought he’d lost his two best friends but instead, he gained four furry little jellybeans. Beautiful coats were already as soft as silk. Big mismatched eyes and even bigger paws. Mercedes woke healthy and happy a few hours after her ordeal was over and Lucio was immediately by her side to cuddle her and shower her with affection.

He had been so scared and so convinced it was the end. In his head, he’d built it up to be the death of everything he loved and the culmination of all his mistakes. Yet in the end, it was only the birth of something beautiful. Literally.

You had taken a liking to a particular puppy, the second one born. His curiosity was only trumped in cuteness by his folded ears. Lucio watched the little fur ball climb clumsily over your shoulders and through your hair, long nose nudging into everything it could reach. You must’ve noticed him looking so you fix him with a stare, carefully untangling the pup from your hair.

“Shouldn’t you go tell Nadia there’s gonna be more dogs running around?” you ask, chuckling as the disoriented, floppy eared boy wobbles away.

“I can’t go anywhere, I’m a father now.” He responds with the utmost seriousness, one puppy in each hand and the third climbing up his chest. Mercedes snorts in a way that could’ve been interpreted as laughter, Melchior follows unnecessarily close behind the floppy-eared puppy as he hobbles across the bedspread.

0End notes:

Nadia wasn’t being a dick by not letting Lucio hire a vet. She knew Mercedes was fine and just wanted to see Lucio suffer a little. As we all do.

[mxrcayong]

the avatar series: 01.16

masterlist.

previous | next 

chapter sixteen

It seemed as everyone was walking on broken glass today; creeping around as if the very words to even address the events of tonight were venomous. To replace the topic of great anticipation, discussions regarding the weather and newest music favorites echoed throughout the island.

The White Lotus Society hasn’t had to prepare for an event similar since even before Avatar Aang passed away. Consequently, even the most experienced society members are unsure how to help out Tari and her companions. Everyone, even Sukiara, has been walking around the island as if one wrong move – one misstep will cause the ocean to swallow Bak Mei whole.

The only society members who seemed to know what today needed were the chefs, as they produced what seemed to be an endless amount of food from all four of the nations in order to give everyone a little bit of home before the event of tonight.

Yuta was focused on the plate in front of him, his utensils digging deep into the series of dishes he chose from the buffet. “This reminds me so much of home.” He moaned, biting into the Komodo Chicken prepared for lunch.

“Okay but would you rather know every native language known to man or have all the knowledge, except languages, from Wan’s Library?” Sonan asked, ignoring Yuta’s praise, as she gulped down her Mango and Lychee tea.

“Wan’s Library, 1000%.” Doyoung insisted, furrowing his eyebrows and flinching his head back. The answer was obvious to him, he’d bet his extra bowl of tofu and mung bean curry.  

Yuta hummed, “I agree.”

“I’d say languages.” Jisung shrugged as he finished his side plate of octopus fritters. His answer made Yuta and Doyoung turn their heads harshly to face him in shock. “What! Native languages allows you to speak to everyone in this world, you can learn relevant knowledge from them!” His voice increased in pitch as he defended his opinion.

“No yeah, I agree with Jisung.” Kilari jumped up to defend him, despite her mouth still being full of smoked sea slug pieces. “I rather be able to talk to everyone living than know everything about the past.”

Yuta faked disgust, before turning to Johnny who was drinking his favorite cherry-berry smoothie. “You?”

“I would say languages so I can translate my articles and even reach out to larger audiences.” Johnny shrugged, “But, I would love the information on fighting techniques from the library.”

“You have to pick one!” Sonan challenged.

“You haven’t picked yourself!” Johnny teased, his head leaning in mockingly. Sonan remained tight-lipped as a result, playfully rolling her eyes as if she was annoyed.

Jisung furrowed his eyebrows, “Anyways, wasn’t Wan’s library a myth?”

To Tari’s surprise, it wasn’t only her who shook her head. Tari’s past life witnessed the sinking of Wan’s famous library, but she can’t be certain that he addressed it to the public. From Johnny, Doyoung, and Sonan nodding – she can tell that others have heard the tales. Sonan, however, might’ve been told the stories as a bedtime story as her father was actually there and one of the causes behind the sudden flooding of sand.

Tari smiled. Although the terrible events of tonight are ahead of them, they are able to relax for a while. Yes, through the last few days – they haven’t always been talking about the upcoming battle, but this is the first time Tari relished in this distraction. Despite her recent thinking she’d be better off alone, she can’t be happier with the people she was with now.

She felt overflowing with gratitude. Eventually, she dazed out of the conversation and observed the smiles on their faces – the laughter, the light-hearted conversation. For once, everything felt normal. Everything felt like it had been before the attacks. Tari ended up grinning at anything and everything. Right now, Tari can’t care less if her friendships with them doesn’t transcend lifetimes. What she cares about is that she’s with them now, and there’s no place she’d rather be.

“Tari?” Sonan waved her hand in front of Tari’s eyes, successfully breaking her out of her trance.

Tari’s eyes widened, her eyebrows lifting and humming as if to ask her to repeat what she said. She couldn’t say it with words – her mouth was full of five-flavor soup and she knew if she’d talk right now, it’d look disgusting.

“She said…” Yuta nudged Tari’s knee with his own, a small smirk playing on his lips. “…would you rather live in the Fire Lord’s old beach home or in a home Ba Sing Se?”

“Modern Ba Sing Se or past as in with the Dai Li?” Tari asked, knowing that’ll completely impact her answer. It’s all about being decisive, but like Aang said – the situation matters.

Climbing onto the bison felt like heaving a million rocks to the top of the mountain.

Maybe it’s the knowledge that there is a possibility they’ll die, or they’ll lose something about themselves, be it bending or a sense of carelessness about world events. Maybe it’s the knowledge that after tonight, the city will completely change.

The day full of distracted dialogue and varying conversations has long been forgotten with the sunset ahead of them. They have four hours until the bending event starts, which means around three hours to get there and get on the attendance sheet. It takes an hour and so to get there, but they need time to get out of their White Lotus robes, pajamas, and hand-me-down clothes.

Tari’s companions seem to have never flew a flying bison without the heaviness on their shoulders and the weights in their feet. From travelling there to travelling home, every moment on the bison was thick with tension. The Avatar only wishes that they could experience a ride free of worries. “Shall we sing a song?” Johnny joked, nudging Doyoung who took that as a sign to immediately start singing.

Tari looked at her friends’ faces - all smiling, singing and humming. Despite the anxiety coursing through her veins, she wished this moment never ends.

“I forgot how buff Johnny was.” Kilari gasped, spotting Johnny approach the meeting spot with his sleeveless V-neck black vest and tight black tactical pants Tari recognized from their adventures rock climbing.  His muscles were practically bulging, taking everyone’s - particularly Kilari’s - breath away. “Why doesn’t he show it off more often?” She whispered to Sonan and Tari, making the two roll their eyes – although they’re both truly impressed with his figure.

Sonan chuckled, “Don’t check out our friend, oh my gosh.” She rolled her eyes, “Plus, I thought you liked Yuta.” Kilari shrugged with a small smirk.

“Nothing wrong with checking out the views.” She commented off-handily before moving to look at Yuta, who like Johnny, was wearing a sleeveless shirt although more loose with the top buttons undone. “Yuta is definitely not as buff, but still, hot damn.”

Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows. “Why aren’t I getting any comments?” He playfully pouted. Tari immediately brightened up at that comment, chuckling, before going to lovingly hold his arm in a hug.

“We love you really.” Tari smiled up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Sonan nudged Doyoung, “It’s just you came with us so we can’t comment discreetly about what you’re wearing.” Doyoung, unlike Johnny and Yuta who were flaunting their biceps, was wearing a windbreaker over his shirt.

“How we feeling?” Jisung asked through gritted teeth as everyone formed a circle, his anxieties and concern obvious to everyone. “I think we can do it.” Tari had a feeling he was saying that due to the Law of Attraction rather than his own belief.

Tari lifted her hand up and rested it on Jisung’s shoulder, “You can go home.” She smiled sadly, knowing what it’s like to be so young and forced into a dangerous situation. Her arm slithered around his shoulders and brought him to a tight hug, hoping to calm down his nerves. “You’re on the attendance sheet, but it won’t matter. After tonight, it’ll be over.”

And she means it. She’ll die before she lets anything happen to Jisung and her friends.

Jisung shook his head. “I can hold my own.” He insisted, his lips forming a small pout that Tari understands was supposed to be intimidating. Kilari, as a result, reached over and pinched his cheek and chuckled – making Jisung flustered.

“He’s the Mouse.” Yuta winked at Tari - an action Johnny didn’t miss. “Don’t underestimate him.”

Tari sighed. “I’m not,” she explained, “You guys can all go home. This is my fight.”

If Kilari wasn’t held back by Sonan, she would’ve slapped her. “This isn’t just your fight. We love and care about you.” Kilari basically barked, “You don’t have to be alone.”

But being alone is all I know, Tari wanted to respond. You guys deserve better, she wanted to let them know.

“Stop being stupid.” Johnny sighed, “You’d do the same for us.”

“And not just because you’re the Avatar.” Doyoung seemed to read her mind.

“I know I’ve been mad at you recently, but,” Kilari let out – obviously reluctantly. She always hated admitting her mistakes. “I love you more than you know, and I’ll do anything, anything, to protect you.”

Sonan let out a chuckle, “Sounding like a real Fire Sage there, Kilari.” She winked, before reaching out to the right and grabbing Kilari’s hand. Her left hand went to grab Jisung’s. “Tari, we’re in this together. You aren’t forcing us. We’re here because we love you…and because this affects us too.” She teased lovingly. Jisung and Kilari were quick to continue reaching to their sides, holding the hand of whoever is next to them.

Her heart felt elated as she noticed everyone nodding, and slowly start to hold hands. How am I so lucky? A smile graced her face before even realizing.

“Are we really doing this cliché?” Doyoung basically groaned, earning himself a punch from Johnny. “Fine.” Doyoung did the final connection – interlacing his fingers with Tari.

“I would say put our hands in the center and scream ‘Team Avatar’, but that’ll give away our position.” Johnny whispered loudly so that everyone could hear him, making everyone chuckle. Tari could always count on him for lightening the mood.

Sonan smiled at Tari, without Tari noticing. She smiled at how Tari finally looked comfortable in her own skin, how her smile didn’t seem forced. The oldest girl felt proud for how far Tari has gone over the last few days. Tari’s smile even was present when they let go of their hands and huddled closer together. But she had to get back on track. Sukiara wasn’t here and she was the one who knew the plan best. “Okay, Johnny and I will have to sneak in cause we aren’t benders.” She reminded, “so we need at least two of you guys to cause a bit of a scene – Kilari and Yuta, right?” The attendance was sorted out by gender, therefore Yuta would help Johnny sneak in while Kilari would help Sonan in. “But we need to spread out to cover more ground.”

Everyone nodded. “Everyone ready?” And the question was met with seven thumbs up.

Almost in an act of further disrespect, the government decided to hold the event at the NCT theater. The entrances were flooding with security, and Tari was so glad that The White Lotus society created pole weapons in the shape of pens.

The reason for pole weapons? Tari insisted on avoiding causalities. The supporters of the cause may be forced into it rather than wanting to do it.

Making her way through the crowd, her heart was racing miles per second. What if something goes wrong? She thought, What if I’m not a good enough bender?

But eventually, she got to the attendance paper. And Johnny was right. As soon as she said her name, the security told her to go to a ‘special’ area after giving her a stamp on her hand. As soon as she stepped foot inside, she noticed that the shrine for the bender killed in the attacks was ruined – the candles gone. His lights have been dimmed and Tari was infuriated. Her heart hurt for his family, for his children who may forget his legacy of fighting against wrong-doers.

I will die for this cause. She reminded herself. I cannot back out now. This is for the good of everyone. So, she started looking around and memorizing the stadium as organized by the government. She needed to have an upper hand, and that meant making sure they don’t have any upper hands they think they have.

The crowd felt like an overpacked can of tuna – everyone pressed against each other, unable to have their own personal space. They are cattle, stuffed together in one big cage to be slaughtered. But there was one easy way to make through the crowds – evident through the Equalist guards, who were wearing an all-black outfit with hoods and metal masks with green eyes. They looked like they’d be ready for anything, especially as they were armed.

Tari scanned each of the routes, trying to memorize their layout like the back of her hand. The stadium was divided into four parts – ordered like the Avatar Cycle. Water and earth on one side of the stadium, while fire and air on the other side. There were guards circling the stage where boxing would happen, and even more guards marching down and up the divisions. She, herself, was standing in the box where close friends or family would sit to watch the fighters.

She knew whoever was in charge must be in the underground room, where Yuta and Jisung explained most of the training and preparation happens before a fight. I need to find escape routes, she thought as she knew she needed to make sure her friends get out of the arena if needed once the fight starts.

Eventually, her inner voice hushed down as the entrance doors had shut after an hour of waiting. This is where it starts, she thought, no turning back. Tari focused on the sounds of the doors amongst the loud noises of the crowd talking to each other. No one seemed to notice the sound of harsh locks on the door.

She continuously searched the environment, her heart thumping viciously as if it’s trying to break out of her chest. In her smaller box, she recognized four other names from the list. Jaemin and Jeno weren’t there, although they were born the same year and from the North Water Tribe. Then again, they were cancelled out as they ‘showed no signs of being the Avatar’ when visiting Roddie’s house, according to the sheet.

And within minutes, the stage went dark.

“Good evening.” A haunting voice echoed off the floors, bouncing off each body. “I am the leader, Amon.” It sounded almost ghostly yet mechanical. “We are creating a society where no one will have to live in fear again.” From the voice, Tari could describe them as confident, regretless, and eerie.

Suddenly, the lights went back up. A man wearing a mask stood in the center, where the shrine was, with G-Dragon and the Big Bang Crew chained. At every side of the square box, there was a table with someone there. Hundreds and hundreds of metal bands rested there. But dead center - just right behind the man, was a large box that looked like a soundproof booth.  “We will be implementing measures to ensure your bending goes to check.” She heard groans from the audience, people trying to push through. “This is a mandatory change, and you will be arrested as soon as you leave the building.” The movement in the crowd stopped.

“Now,” Amon paused for dramatic effect, “are you ready to be equalized?”

She knows it has to be now, she knows this is it. But she wanted to make sure everyone is okay. She felt the breath leaving her chest when she realized she won’t be able to see Doyoung and Johnny – her usual peace of mind.

Tari looked across the crowd to look at the earth nation section. She saw Jisung and Sonan standing within a feet of each other, looking over to her.

You ready? She mouthed.

Jisung closed his eyes and nodded, she turned to Sonan who gave her a look that reminded Tari to do what she needs to do, to do whatever it takes.

And then with the click of the button, the stadium went dark and the only thing she could hear were thousands of screams.

request anything for future parts / penny for your thoughts here

[bing-fucker]

Chase brings his kids fishing bc that's a Dad Thing to do and imagine his surprise when he accidentally reels in a whole ass merman with a bright green tail and hair. Didn't know they lived in lakes, but this one sure does. (His ex-wife thinks the kids are just making up a story when she goes to pick them up and meets Chase's new boyfriend with bright green hair)

I've never had a dad so I honestly assumed dads taking their kids fishing was just a thing in TV shows, but I'm gonna trust you on this, kitten-

Grayson is the canon name of his younger son, while Trey is said (by the wiki) to maybe be the name of Chase's older son. Trey is eight, Grayson is five. Also I adore that Chase canonically calls his kids "sweetie" and so now he has a million and one sweet nicknames for his kids and you all can suffer-

Warnings: Fishing accidents, mentions of blood, light monster fucking, merman anatomy that I made up on the fly. As always, ask me to add any necessary warnings!

Chase was always grateful to get to spend time with his kids. Being away from them was one of the hardest things Chase had ever had to deal with. But luckily, it was summer break and Stacy was feeling generous. Chase had a whole two weeks with the kids before he had to give them back, and they were just as excited as Chase was. So Chase did exactly what he'd always wanted to do with his own dad- he rented a cabin out in the countryside by a lake, and he brought the kids.

They'd been there for three days and, for being raised by their spoil-prone mother (it was adorable, really. Stacy loved spoiling the boys in the best ways), Grayson and Trey were beyond overjoyed about the cabin. The presence of wifi probably helped that, but Chase liked to think that it was because they took after him and his wilderness exploring ways.

Breakfast went (mostly) beautifully, even though it was about two hours earlier than the boys were used to getting up. But Chase was determined. If they wanted to get good enough fish to be able to have them for dinner, they needed to start early! So Chase and the boys were up, dressed, lunches packed, and in the boat by six AM. Grayson was more sleepy than Trey was, but that was understandable since he was only five. Chase smiled softly as Grayson leaned sleepily against him. Grayson had been too sleepy to eat, so Chase had packed an egg sandwich for the little boy for when he got hungry soon.

"Daddy!" Trey exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at Chase. "Daddy, daddy, something's pulling!" Chase smiled and set his fishing pole to the side, carefully shifting Grayson to make the little one sit up properly.

"Okay, little bear," Chase said, crouching behind Trey and guiding his hands on the reel. "Remember, you have to reel for a bit, then give it some slack. Can you do that?"

"I got it, daddy!" Trey declared proudly, dancing in place as he reeled in a surprisingly big trout. "Whoa! Daddy look!"

"Whoa!" Chase gasped, looking at the fish and pulling Trey into a hug. "That's incredible, bud!" Trey giggled and snuggled into Chase's chest, giggling more as Grayson sleepily tried to join the hug.

"Daddy, how do we get the fishy off the hook?" Grayson asked sleepily.

"Well," Chase said, setting the boys to the side and carefully gripping the rod between his knees. "Trey has done really good in that the fishy has the hook in his lip, see?"

"How is that good, daddy?" Grayson asked, more alert now as he watched Chase's hands.

"Well, the fishy isn't that hurt yet," Chase explained, carefully removing the hook and setting the fish into the cooler he brought. "See, that way he stays alive until we need him!"

"Can we let him go, daddy?" Trey asked, looking at the trout. "I think he's cute. I don't wanna eat him!"

"I don't wanna eat him either!" Grayson protested, looking at Chase with the biggest puppy dog eyes alongside his brother. It really was incredible how the boys managed to look so much like their mother with dark skin and curly hair and big, bright blue eyes.

"You two, I swear," Chase laughed, shaking his head fondly. "Okay, my sweetie-pies. We can let him go." Chase kissed both of their foreheads before carefully lifting the fish out of the cooler and threw it back into the water.

And that was that for the next six hours. Chase and the boys didn't catch another thing, and Chase had pretty much given up. The boys were currently playing in the water with all fishing hooks safely in the boat so they didn't risk getting hurt. They were having fun, luckily, and didn't seem to mind that Chase had dragged them out early for seemingly nothing.

"Daddy!" Trey called, swimming back to the boat slow enough that he didn't lose Grayson. Chase grinned and lifted both boys into the boat once they were close enough, wrapping their towels around them.

"Daddy, we're hungry," Grayson declared, sitting next to Trey.

"Really? You are?" Chase replied, pulling out the lunches he packed for the boys. "Then it is a very good thing I packed these, hm?"

"I want peanut butter and jelly!" Trey said, bouncing in his seat. "With potato crisps in it!"

"Well, you can certainly put your crisps in it," Chase said, handing Trey his back. "I didn't want them to get soggy!" It wasn't true peanut butter. Since Stacy found Grayson's allergy a few years back, all tree nut products had been eliminated from both Brody households with a vengeance. Instead, it was sunflower seed butter. But Trey liked to call it peanut butter anyway.

"Roast beast!" Grayson cheered, reaching for his back.

"Roast beef," Chase corrected patiently. Chase was pretty sure Grayson picked up calling it roast beast from The Grinch. He didn't mind it, but Stacy said the other moms at Grayson's school could be vicious, so correcting him it was.

"Roast beef," Grayson repeated, joining his brother in slowly and neatly arranging his lunch on his lap. Chase shook his head fondly, watching his boys for a minute before grabbing his fishing pole and preparing it quickly before casting.

"Daddy, we saw something in the water," Trey said, trading one of his potato crisps for one of Grayson's barbecue ones.

"Did you?" Chase asked, looking back at the boys as he waited for something catch.

"Mhm!" Trey hummed. "It was pretty and shiny!"

"Yeah? What color was it?" Chase asked, grunting softly as something pulled on his pole strong.

"Green!" Trey replied. "It was bright green and blue and super shiny! Was it a fishy?"

"Well, it might've been," Chase grunted, pulling on the pole strongly. "But most fish around these parts aren't very brightly colored."

"It was a mermaid!" Grayson declared.

"No way! Mermaids live in the ocean!" Trey replied.

"Nuh-uh! They just live underwater! They can live in lakes!"

"No they can't!"

"It was a mermaid!"

"It wasn't!"

"It was a mermaid!"

Chase yelped as he suddenly pulled out something large and glittering bright green and blue. Chase yelped again when he fell back against the boat as it landed on his chest, looking down at him. It was... a man. With bright green hair and bright blue eyes and pale, powder blue skin as he looked down at Chase. Large gills slit his sides and his skin faded into glittering blue and green scales at his waist.

"Actually, boys," Chase said, laughing weakly. "I think it's a merman."

"Whoa!" Trey and Grayson exclaimed in unison.

"You hooked me!" The merman exclaimed, lifting his tail and showing off a large tear in his fin, dark red with blood.

"Oh, shi- shoot!" Chase replied squirming a bit to get out from under the merman. "Uh. I-I have a first aid kit with sewing stuff at the house, is it- can I- is it okay to take you there?"

"I suppose," the merman replied, glaring at Chase skeptically. Chase nodded and carefully helped the merman shift so he was fully in the boat.

"Uh. I-it's kinda lucky that the hook went full-way through, so we don't have to pull it out," Chase said awkwardly, taking the hook off the line and putting it in his tackle box before starting the boat up again and turning it towards the cabin.

The boat ride was surprisingly pleasant, given that the merman was probably still mad at Chase. Trey and Grayson were ecstatically curious, and the merman answered all their questions patiently. Chase gratefully docked the boat and tied it off.

"Boys, run ahead and fill the big bathtub in the master bathroom with water," he said. Trey and Grayson nodded and took off running for the nearby cabin. Chase carefully put one foot in the boat and kept the other on the dock, carefully lifting the merman up bridal style.

"Thank you," The merman said, looping his arms around Chase's shoulders and blushing faintly. Chase blushed as well, getting out of the boat and holding the merman close.

"I-I'm really sorry I hooked you," Chase said quietly.

"It's okay," the merman said. "I know it was an accident. I'm Jack."

"Nice to meet you, Jack, I'm Chase," Chase said, carrying the merman up to the cabin. "My boys are Trey and Grayson. Trey is the older one, he's eight. Grayson is younger at five."

"They're beautiful," Jack replied, smiling softly. "You and your wife must be very proud."

"Ex-wife," Chase corrected. "But we are very proud, yeah. They're brilliant boys." Chase carefully carried Jack through the cabin and up to the bathtub in the master bedroom.

"Here we go," Chase said, carefully setting Jack in the tub. "I'll be right back." He left to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.

"Daddy, he's pretty," Grayson said when he saw Chase. The boys were both on the floor, trying to clean up the water and blood Jack had dripped.

"He's very pretty, yes," Chase agreed absentmindedly.

"Are you gonna marry him now?" Trey asked.

Chase looked up so quickly he hit his head on the door of the cabinet. "What!?"

"In the fairytales, the fisherman always marries the mermaid! Or the prince does! And you're a king, so you have to!"

"Wha- I am not a king," Chase said for lack of a better reply.

"But mommy says we're her little princes, so that means you're a king!"

"But he's a merman, not a mermaid! So he can't marry daddy!" Grayson replied.

"Yes, he can, stupid!"

"Trey, don't call your brother stupid!"

"But you said that the mermaid has to marry the fisherman and prince!"

"But two boys can get married, so a merman can still marry the fisherman and prince!"

"Boys, stop! I'm not gonna marry Jack!" Chase exclaimed, face burning as he stomped back to the bathroom. Trey and Grayson both shrugged and turned back to their task.

"So. Marriage?" Jack asked, quirking an eyebrow at Chase when he entered the bathroom. Chase blushed more and sat down next to Jack's tail, carefully getting to work sewing it up.

"They read a lot of fairytales," Chase said sheepishly.

"It's adorable," Jack said, laughing and fluttering his eyelashes at Chase.

Chase blushed and looked back at Jack's tail. The rest of the time was silent and Chase practically ran from the room when he was finished.

For the next three days, Chase and the boys fell into a sort of routine with Jack. They brought him three meals a day, occasionally sat and talked with him, and otherwise went about their adventures by the lake.

After the boys were asleep, Chase carefully knocked before entering the bathroom on the night of the third day Jack had been with them. Jack had explained his tail needed a few more weeks to heal before he thought he could safely go back into the lake, so Chase had rented out the cabin for a while longer to stay with him. Of course, the boys would still need to go back to Stacy at the end of the week, but that didn't stop them from enjoying spending time with Jack.

"Hey," Chase said, smiling at Jack as he entered. "I was gonna shower, is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Jack replied, resting his head on the lip of the bathtub. The bathroom was huge- the whole cabin was huge, really. But the bathtub was right across from the separate shower. Chase had been using the downstairs bathroom for the past couple of days, but he really needed to shower now.

Chase grinned awkwardly and turned his back to Jack as he stripped and started the shower, barely waiting for the water to warm up before he climbed in and closed the glass door, internally cursing that the glass wasn't even warped or frosted to hide his body. Chase was by no means insecure about his body. He was muscular and he knew it- he took great pains to be that way, in fact. But there was a difference between showing his chest off at the gym and to friends, and in having a merman you've known for three days see your entire body as you wash. Chase could definitely feel Jack's eyes on him. He didn't even have to glance over at Jack to know that the merman was blatantly watching him wash himself. But Chase made the decision to ignore the feeling Jack's eyes on him- and the way his cock was quickly hardening at said feeling.

Chase was almost grateful when he climbed out of the shower, except that he'd forgotten a towel and now he didn't even have the illusion of the shower door to pretend Jack wasn't looking at him. Chase cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away from Jack's blatant staring at his cock.

"Are you large for a human?" Jack asked.

Chase squeaked, blushing brightly. "Jack! Jaysus! You don't just ask a dude that!"

"I'm curious," Jack said, frowning curiously. "Please tell me?"

"I-" Chase blushed and ran a hand through his hair anxiously, walking closer to Jack. "I'm a bit above average, yeah, but not by much."

"Can I touch it?" Jack asked, leaning closer.

"Can yo- What!?" Chase exclaumed, blushing somehow brighter and staring down at Jack in shock.

"Please?" Jack asked, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

"Jack, you know what that means, right?"

"Well, duh," Jack replied, rolling his eyes. "It's like sex or foreplay. Please?"

"I-I guess," Chase consented, carefully climbing into the tub with Jack once the merman made room.

Jack quickly shifted around to be next to Chase, resting his head on the human's shoulder. Chase's breath hitched as Jack wrapped a webbed hand around his cock, slowly stroking him. Chase moaned softly, gripping the edge of the bathtub tightly.

"Fuck, Jack," Chase moaned, licking his lips and looking at the merman. Jack bit his lip and slowly guided one of Chase's hands to a slit in the scales. Chase leaned down and kissed Jack passionately, gently rubbing Jack's slit. Jack moaned into the kiss, pulling away and panting.

"Chase," he whined, arching his back. Chase carefully slipped his fingers into the slit, moaning as Jack's hand tightened around his cock in shock. Jack pressed his forehead against Chase's, moaning and rocking into his fingers.

"There's something hard in there," Chase said softly, thrusting into Jack's hand.

"Th-that's my cock," Jack explained, kissing Chase deeply. Chase moaned into the kiss and pulled his fingers out as Jack's cock slowly emerged, the merman rutting against Chase's thigh weakly.

"Chase," Jack breathed, pulling away from the kiss. "I want you to fuck me~"

"Yes," Chase moaned eagerly, rolling over on top of Jack. Jack pulled his hand away from Chase's cock, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

"D-do I put it in-?"

"Yes," Jack replied, whimpering desperately as Chase slowly pushed his cock into his slit.

"Oh, fuck," Chase moaned, gripping Jack's hips tightly and straddling his tail for stability as he slowly started rolling his hips.

"Hah~ Chase~" Jack moaned, thrusting his cock up against Chase's stomach weakly.

"Relax, baby," Chase breathed, thrusting in and out of Jack quickly. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So perfect~"

"Harder, Chase~" Jack moaned, gripping Chase's hair tightly and pulling him down. Chase leaned down willingly, moaning as Jack kissed down his throat. Chase groaned and sped up his thrusts wincing briefly as Jack dug claws into his shoulders.

"God, Jack, I'm not gonna last much longer," Chase moaned, pressing his forehead against Jack's shoulder.

"Do it," Jack moaned, draging his claws down Chase's back. "Fill me, Chase, let me feel you, please~"

"Oh, fuck," Chase moaned loudly as he thrust deep inside of Jack and came. Jack gasped, biting deep enough into Chase's neck to draw blood as he came at the same time.

Chase pulled put of Jack, flopping to the side when the merman released him. He lifted a hand to his neck, wincing slightly at the pain.

"Fuck, dude," Chase laughed breathily, wincing at the press of the tub against his back. "You did a number on me, huh?"

"Sorry," Jack apologized, resting his head on Chase's chest. "It's something merrow do." He carefully touched Chase's neck. "It's a claim mark. My way of saying you're mine."

"Oh." Chase laughed weakly. "Should I give you one, too?"

"If you'd like," Jack replied. Chase hummed and leaned down, latching onto Jack's throat and sucking a dark mark into it.

"Yeah, that'll work," Jack breathed, his still exposed cock jumping at the sensation.

"Yeah?" Chase laughed. "That feel good?"

"I think you should do it again, just to make sure." Neither of them got much sleep that night.

At the end of the week, Chase had managed to find a wheelchair and carefully covered Jack's tail, settling the merman on the front porch so he could say goodbye to the boys properly. He was wearing one of Chase's shirts to hide his gills.

"Hey, Stacy," Chase greeted when Stacy got out of the car. Chase blinked slightly. He thought Stacy hated box braids because of how long they took, but there she was.

"Hey, Chase," she replied, smiling softly. "You look a bit beat up."

"Yeah, took a few tumbles playing ball with the boys," Chase laughed, glad that Stacy couldn't see the rest of the marks Jack had left. It was unsurprisingly easy to get bruised on a bathtub. "You look beautiful. Should I be giving a guy the talk about not hurting you?"

"Ha, no," Stacy replied. "New job, I wanted to look my best."

"Oh! Congrats, that's awesome," Chase replied, nodding. "The boys will be down in a minute, Grayson is still packing."

"That's okay, I'm good to stay for a bit," Stacy replied, smiling faintly. "And who's your friend?"

"Oh!" Chase grinned. "Jack, this is Stacy, the boys' mom. Stacy, this is my boyfriend, Jack."

"It's nice to meet you, Jack," Stacy said, grinning and shaking Jack's hand.

"Mommy!" Trey and Grayson yelled, running down the stairs with their backpacks.

"Mommy, mommy, daddy took us fishing!" Trey exclaimed. "And I got a big fish! But we let it go!"

"Really?" Stacy gasped. "That's amazing, little bear! Does that mean I can send you out to find dinner now?"

"Mhm!" Trey hummed cheerfully. "I'll be a man, like daddy! But better, because daddy sucks at fishing."

"That I do," Chase agreed, sharing a look with Jack.

"Mommy, mommy, guess what!" Grayson sound, bouncing until Stacy picked him up.

"What, cutiepie?"

"Jack is a merman!!" Grayson declared.

"Really? Is he?" Stacy replied, humoring the little boy. Grayson nodded and Stacy laughed, setting him down. "Okay, baby. Say goodbye to your daddy, grandma's waiting for us for dinner."

Both boys quickly said goodbye to Chase and Jack before following their mom to the car. Stacy waved goodbye cheerfully and Chase returned it before turning to Jack.

"So. What should we do now?" he asked.

Jack looked at Chase with a smirk. "Oh, I have a few ideas~"

[a-ratt]

Building Bridges

Day 1: Kindness

Marinette March 2019

Marinette tapped her knees impatiently as she sat on the floor of Master Fu’s massage parlor. Nearby, Master Fu, himself, was opening the phonograph hiding the Miraculous, placing the returned Bee Comb back inside. She’d only just arrived several minutes ago, and he’d given a relieved sigh when she held the briefly lost Miraculous up.

However, she didn’t watch as he set it back where it belonged. Instead, she stared off into the distance, her mind muddled and messy. Thoughts ran rampant at a thousand miles per hour, crossing and clashing and crashing as she tried making sense of the scene that’d played out in front of her.

“According to me, Chloé just clearly demonstrated that there’s nothing exceptional about her.”

How could anyone say that? About their own daughter, no less.

“Marinette.”

She blinked. “Huh?” She looked up and found Master Fu sitting in front of her.

“I said, thank you for returning the Bee Miraculous, Marinette.” He smiled and bowed, hands pressed together. “I knew I chose you for a reason.”

She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Of course, Master Fu. I’m still really sorry about losing it in the first place.”

He shrugged. “We all make mistakes. Is there something the matter?”

“No, master….” She looked down and tapped her knees, but then looked back up. “Well, actually, yes. I need to be somewhere soon.”

“I see, well, you are free to leave.”

“Thank you, Master Fu.” She bowed briefly and stood up. Then, turning to Tikki, she asked, “Do you have enough energy for another transformation, Tikki?���

Her kwami nodded. “Mmhm. Just say the magic words.”

Marinette smiled and brushed the hair over her earrings away. “Spots on!”

-

She landed on the roof of Le Grand Paris and glanced around before de-transforming.

“Um, Marinette, this isn’t your house.”

“I know, Tikki,” she said, stepping over to the roof access door.

“But you need to pack to go to New York City with Mme. Bourgeois! She won’t be happy if you’re late!”

“I’m not going with her,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Tikki. “I’ve got something more important to do.”

She opened the door and walked down the steps until she reached the top floor of the hotel. After getting her bearings, she moved towards the only room in the hall. She could already hear Chloé sniffling on the other side.

She raised her fist to knock but faltered. There was a tug on her purse strap, and she looked down at Tikki.

“Marinette,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but a crash cut her off. She gasped and stepped back, but then heard a furious cry, followed by a choked sob. “Why won’t you love me!”

Marinette faltered, but tightened her fist and swallowed down her fear. She looked at Tikki, who retreated into her purse, giving a small, reassuring smile as she went.

“Okay,” she breathed, “here goes nothing.”

She knocked. There was a sniffle, followed by another, then Chloé shouted, “Go away!”

She waited a moment before knocking again.

“I said go away!” Chloé screamed. “Leave me alone, Jean! Daddy! Whoever you are!”

There was a moment of silence before she went back to sobbing. Guilt and pity twisted her gut painfully as she stood there, listening to the girl who’d bullied her for years in the most vulnerable state she’d ever been.

Whatever hatred or rivalry they’d had, she didn’t care. This was about more than past judgements and retribution. Someone pettier might’ve chalked it all down to poetic justice, but Marinette put it at a tragic childhood that no one should’ve ever endured.

She checked the door and found it unlocked. Opening it, she stepped inside Chloé’s room and found her curled up on the ground, back facing her. A vase was shattered nearby, shards, dirt, and roses scattered across the carpet and marble tiles. Beneath her shoe was the sunglasses she always wore, some of the glass sticking to her soles.

Marinette took in the sight with a grimace, but then found her resolve and took a step forward.

A hand wiped over Chloé’s face as a sob wracked her body. Marinette reached out a hand and touched her shoulder gently. “Chloé-”

The blonde girl jumped and swung an arm. She instinctively jumped away, dodging it by an inch. Her arch-nemesis scowled at her, running mascara turning her tears black and making the red of her bloodshot eyes pop out. “What part of leave me alone don’t you understand… Oh, it’s you.” Venom dripped from her voice. “What do you want, Dupain-Cheng? You’ve already won.

Her heart dropped and she opened her mouth to speak but closed it. Chloé glared at her for a second longer before she turned back around to burn holes into space. The tension was thick between them and she didn’t know what to say without setting her off.

There was a buzzing nearby and Marinette looked over to find Chloé’s phone on the ground. She glanced at the blonde girl before stepping over and picking it up. The screen was cracked, but not distorted enough for her to mistake the image of André Bourgeois.

She offered the phone to her. “Um, your dad’s-”

Chloé slapped it out of her hand before she could finish. The phone sailed into the next room over, hitting the ground with a crack. She cringed and backed away but couldn’t help the pitying look that crossed her face. “Chloé.”

Chloé, in turn, bared her teeth in a snarl, but halfway through expressing her fury, she let it go and slumped her shoulders. A few tears hit the floor before she wiped her face and sniffled. “Just… go away. Go to New York, at least you’ll be gone too.”

She looked down at the daughter of the mayor who’d always seemed invincible on her pedestal. Pity coiled in her stomach and her heart bled. Swallowing down her hesitation, she balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to New York.”

She waited. A second passed. Then, Chloé lifted her head up.

A weak “What?” was her response, followed by a confounded face. Marinette crossed her arms and looked away, wearing a frown the entire time.

“I… I’m not going,” she repeated. “I can’t-... I can’t do that to you.”

Chloé furrowed her brow and tilted her head, utter bewilderment all over her features. She could see her mind trying to wrap itself around the concept of her moral choice, but just not getting it.

“What game are you playing?”

Marinette frowned. “I’m not playing any game. I just… I can’t….” She shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. “She’s your mother, Chloé, I can’t just go with her. That should be you.”

She expected an outburst. A confirmation. Some kind of Chloé-trademarked, snide remark. But all she got were falling eyes and drooping shoulders.

She shifted uncomfortably in front of the unusually quiet bully. “Chloé… why do you even look up to her?”

The blonde girl didn’t give an answer. She sat silently and Marinette watched her.

“Because she’s exceptional….” She curled up, drawing her knees to her chest. “She’s everything I’m not and… and I….” Her face scrunched up, something between anger and misery crossing her features. “I wanted to be her… ever since I was a little girl.”

She stepped over tentatively before sitting down next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Daddy used to want me to grow up like him. He wanted me to sit in a dusty, old office and sign papers all day, but mother… she wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to be her legacy, to be everything that was perfect about her and more.”

“But you didn’t live up to her expectations.”

Chloé glared at her. “Who’s telling this story? Me or you?”

“Sorry… but, I still don’t get it,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “Why her? Why not… anything else?”

“Why? because she has it all,” she snapped, rising up to stand over her. “Fame. Fortune. The love and adoration of her fans.”

“But?”

“But what? She’s got everything, she’s perfect.”

Marinette frowned. “But you’re not.”

It was less of a claim and more a prodding, a soft suggesting that Chloé confirmed with a brief glare before she flicked her eyes away. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be her.”

“Well, you don’t have to be.”

“What! Of course, I do!” She put her hands on her hips. “Weren’t you listening! She has everything! She is everything!”

“But she’s not you.” She stood up and looked her in the eye. “And you’re not her.”

Chloé pursed her lips before she bowed her head. “How could I ever be anything else?”

She reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, but the blonde snapped up and grabbed her ponytail. “I’ve modeled my look after her when she was my age, ponytail and everything!” She picked at her jacket. “Even my entire wardrobe has the same color scheme! There’s nothing that’s not her!”

What hatred or sadness had plagued her before was replaced with desperation and fear. She was forced to grab her wrists before she started drawing blood with her nails.

“Hey, calm down! It’s alright!”

“Nothing is alright!” She struggled in her grasp, tears streaking her mascara further. “I’m nothing if I’m not her! I’m- I’m-”

“Chloé Bourgeois!” she shouted. “Your name is Chloé Bourgeois and you are exceptional!”

Chloé stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She swallowed and let go of her wrists.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you, especially your mother. No one can make you be something or someone you’re not.” She shrugged her shoulders and gestured over at the Ladybug themed carpet in the next room over. “Ladybug wasn’t always a superhero. She wasn’t always supposed to save the day. I wasn’t always going to be a fashion designer… I used to just want to play video games professionally.”

The blonde girl in front of her searched her face with lost eyes while she laughed awkwardly. “Look, the point is… you are exceptional, Chloé, no matter what anyone tells you. The only one who can tell you what you can or can’t be is yourself.”

They stood quietly for a few moments, studying each other. She wasn’t sure what Chloé was looking for, but she was searching for any hint that the blonde girl would be alright. She didn’t find it, at first, but slowly, the pain and anguish that’d stayed in her eyes waned away, leaving the blue a little brighter.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she resisted the urge to break out into a grin. “I’m going to, um, leave now.” She pointed at the door and stepped around her. She stopped just past her and turned around, patting her on the shoulder. “You’re going to be alright, Chloé. If you ever need anybody to talk to… I’m always open.”

With that, she opened the door and walked out into the hall, daring one last glance into the room at her arch-nemesis.

-

“Nino?”

Nino raised his hand up front. “Here!”

Mlle. Bustier scribbled on her clipboard. “Rose?”

“Present!”

“Kim?”

Marinette glanced back at Kim, who was in the middle of a conversation with Max. She rolled her eyes and looked back at Mlle. Bustier, who was looking over her clipboard.

“Kim?”

The Vietnamese boy turned his attention down to the front of the classroom and flushed red. “Uh, here!”

Their homeroom teacher shook her head and laughed under her breath. Then, she frowned. “Has anyone seen Chloé?”

Everyone glanced over at her seat, their eyes lingering on the empty spot next to Sabrina. The redhead, herself, seemed crestfallen, almost depressed.

There was a nudge from her left and she glanced over at Alya.

“Bet she’s busy crying about mommy,” she teased.

She responded with a frown. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Adrien tensing up. Nino, beside him, looked over then back and up at them.

“Talking about Mlle. Unexceptional?”

“Guys.” She narrowed her eyes. “Come-”

The classroom door opened before she could finish and in came a tanned girl dressed in white. Her blonde hair tumbled down her head, freed from its usual ponytail and a new pair of sunglasses sat on her head. A simple, white designer purse sat at her side.

Marinette sat up and locked eyes with Chloé. There was fear in those blue orbs, of judgement and jokes, but she sent her a smile and an encouraging nod of her head.

Chloé swallowed and looked at Mlle. Bustier. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t decide on what to wear.”

Their teacher, who was usually on top of things, blinked and stared at the mayor’s daughter for a second longer before she regained her senses. “That’s… alright, Chloé. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

“Of course, Mlle. Bustier.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, she strode to her seat, walking up the steps. While Sabrina stood up to let her in, she leaned over to Chloé and whispered, “I like your new look. It’s very… exceptional.”

Chloé almost grinned, but then glanced around her and reduced it to a small smile. “Of course, it is. It’s me.”

She sat down then but gave her a final look of gratitude before turning to pay attention. She would’ve done the same if Alya hadn’t nudged her again.

“Girl, what was that?” she whispered.

She shrugged. “Just me doing what I do best.”

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/55580260

Chapter 9:

The next morning Nick woke up to the soft tune of cheery music that came from the radio that used to wake everyone up every day. He instead hadn’t heard it for a long time now, because he had usually overslept it or he had been to high to notice it. Still tired, Nick looked out of the window into the twilight of the morning and asked himself how anyone could stand up at such an unearthly hour. But some Wellies were already walking outside, so he guessed they got used to it. And also, they didn’t experience any wild chases yesterday.

The music followed him when he walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, where he met Morrie. He could only rasp „Morning,“ and had to clear his throat because for some reason his voice left him. 

„Morning, Nick“, Morrie returned casually. „Fancy a coffee?“ 

Nick affirmed immediately.

„There you go,“ the other man said and placed an already filled cup on the counter. „With milk, just the way you like it.“

Nick stared at the cup, still dealing with his own thoughts. He was unable to decide how he should feel. He couldn’t handle that he was in one room with Morrie just like that, without getting attacked, drinking a coffee with him like old friends and that Morrie even cared enough to serve it the way he liked. Nick felt numb, as if it was a dream, as if he would still lie at the couch in Sally’s place and yet it was like he held back feelings that could break out any second. Above all, he didn’t know how to act, especially not after what they had done last night. Had Morrie been serious or did he only want some amusement? 

„There must be something terribly interesting in that coffee if you keep staring at it like that,“ Morrie ripped him out of his thoughts. „As if you wanted to summon a ghost.“

At Nick’s puzzled look he added „You tried that before.“

„Really?“, Nick blurted out. „I can’t remember.“

He took a sip from the hot drink, thinking about it and he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his chest. Why did Morrie have to bring old memories back? Who knew how long that had been.

„Nevermind.“ Morrie shrugged. „Uncle Jack’s News Hour is about to start, I don’t wanna miss that.“

Nick followed him into the living room, asking himself what was the last time he actually watched a broadcast of Uncle Jack. That was certainly a long time ago too. 

„Wakey, wakey, everyone! It’s another fabulous day in Wellington Wells…“ declared the charismatic and ever so jolly uncle from the telly and minutes later, Nick was sure that everything was quite alright after all, that there were no serious problems in town, that everything could be solved with just a bit more confidence, and joy, of course, and that everyone in town had a lot of fun every day. His mood was getting better and better until it came to the news of an incident in the Avalon Hotel. 

„Some of you might’ve heard rumors about a downer attack at the Birdie Callagher Concert in the Avalon Hotel last evening. What a ridiculous story“, Jack shook his head, sounding all amused. 

„The truth is, it was a way too well played out theater act to add some spice to the program. No one was really hurt and our lovely singer Birdie Callagher lets you know that it was indeed a very pleasant event and she’s exited to return to the Avalon whenever she can.“ Jack smiled at the camera and put the papers away.

„And don’t worry,“ he added and playfully held up a finger, „if there’ll ever be a downer attack somewhere, you’ll hear it fist from Jack Worthing. That’s me.“ He winked at the camera in an irresistible way. „And for now, let’s listen to the brand new song of our favorite new singer.“ With that, the broadcast ended and was followed by a cheerful song that must’ve been one of Birdie’s. 

„Anytime you smile, baby, you know you drive me wild, crazy! That's why you got me screamin'. I think I might be dreamin’…“

Nick’s stomach turned at the thought of having to listen to this until the end. Then thankfully Morrie turned off the tv.

„I heard she’s Virgil’s creation, just like you,“ he stated.

„I’m not his ‚creation‘“, Nick disapproved. „I’m just his favorite.“

„You were,“ Morrie corrected him. „Weren’t you in the Avalon too? And didn’t the bobbies chase you yesterday?“ 

Nick sank into the couch, clinging to the now empty mug and remaining silent, so Morrie went on.

„I was wondering if you only made it up to make me come around. I guess I have my answer.“

„I’m not proud of it,“ Nick simply said, still looking away.

Morrie silenced too and Nick now wondered how he would judge him now.

„Since when have you been a downer?“, he suddenly asked and Nick almost let the mug fall.

„I’m not a downer,“ he bursted out. „Murderer, downer, what’s gonna be next?“

Morrie stayed calm and took a sip of his coffee before he went on.

„Are you on Joy right now?“

Nick sank back down in defeat.

„No…,“ he confessed. „I forgot it in my jacket.“

Morrie wiped his forehead.

„Why am I not surprised?“

He took a bowl from the couch table and offered it to Nick.

„Here, take one of mine.“

„Only one,“ he repeated when he saw Nick greedily reaching out for the bowl.

„I know, I know, only one per hour. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.“ Nick took one pill and eyed it.

„You’re still taking Vanilla?“

Morrie shrugged. „It’s still the best mixture. Makes me happy but not dizzy.“

Nick popped it and hoped it would come along with the Blackberry.

„About yesterday…“, Morrie came back to the topic and gave Nick a serious look. „Do you still mean it?“

Nick was glad he only needed seconds to get what Morrie was referring to.

„Yes, I absolutely mean it,“ he answered with emphasis and returned the look.

„It’s gonna be hard work,“ Morrie said. „Do you still remember how a band works?“

„Sure, it’s nothing but a bunch of egomaniacs that try to get their own way. Actually it can’t work but somehow it still does. Right?“

Morrie sighted.

„You couldn’t do all you want anymore.“

„I know.“ 

Nick tried to remember what it felt like, but the Vanilla cloud in his head spread out and made him unable to believe that there could be a problem.

„One more question,“ Morrie went on. „Do you think Virgil knows what you did yesterday?“

The question caused Nick to wriggle about on the couch, feeling very uncomfortable.

„I hope he doesn’t,“ he said meekly.

„Okay…II talk to the lads today and you make amends for Virgil,“ Morrie decided and pointed at Nick. „Do your best! Kiss his feet if you must!“

„I’ll make it“, Nick waved him off. „He always came around at the end.“

„Or you did…“, Morrie muttered to himself.

„What did you say?“

„Ah…nevermind…“, Morrie shook his head and Nick chose to forget about it.

„Well…I guess I’m out then…“, he said unsurely and left the couch.

„Wait,“ Morrie followed him. „Not in these rags. You can’t risk that someone recognizes you again. I’ll borrow you some of mine.“

„You borrow me clothes?“, Nick asked in surprise.

„Yes, that’s what I said. Follow me..“. Morrie made a gesture and Nick obeyed nervously. He had never worn one of Morrie’s clothes - why would he? But he was surprised that he got to that point now after so many years. While he leaned at the doorframe he tried not to look at Morrie’s stuff while the other man was searching in his dresser. 

„It’s gonna be one size too large for you but the color should suit you,“ he said pulling out a dark blue suit that made Nick weak in the knees. He couldn’t help but imagine Morrie wearing it.

„I’m waiting downstairs,“ Morrie said and left the room.

Nick didn’t want to have such strong feelings about such simple things as a suit but putting on a layer that had Morrie’s scent on it was something he couldn’t take calmly. He skimmed over the cloth and felt sorry that he couldn’t keep it. Going back to Morrie, he tried not to show how much it affected him.

However, Morrie was confused today too. If someone had told him yesterday that he was going to let Nick Lightbearer back into his life he would’ve thought that someone was suffering from too much Joy. He had been so sure he had learned his lesson once and for all, until he found him on his doorstep again, being afraid and helpless, with his clothes dirty and shredded, giving him this pleading look that he could barely withstand, especially when he looked like Norbert Pickles, with this cute messed up hair…

Morrie had locked him up in the guestroom because he couldn’t handle the sight, because he had been afraid to soften again, to let Nick use him for his selfish plans and then throw him away again. But of course he couldn’t forget who he had let into his house and he couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Morrie was glad that he didn’t hurt Nick but he still couldn’t trust him. Even if he wanted to. He wanted to believe that Nick changed, that the monster the music industry had turned him into was gone and that he had turned back into Norbert Pickles again. Morrie had no greater wish than to get him back and at the same time he was afraid to lose him once more, to find out that all of this was just a short moment in the eccentric life of the Lightbearer and he would walk out of the door and never come back again.

Perhaps his fears had been the reason why he had lost all is good grace and taken the opportunity yesterday. What he had really wanted, he didn’t know. As if he could get Norbert back with this, showing him what he lost, but trying to be not too nice, to protect himself. It was like begging or punishing him or both. Or he had only comforted himself and used Nick just like he had used him.

Whatever the reason was, he knew that he shouldn’t have done it.

„Nick, before you go…I have to tell you something…about last night…“ Morrie said when Nick came back, dressed in his clothes. Morrie’s voice was quiet and he bowed his head as if he couldn’t handle looking Nick in the eyes. Nick however couldn’t get his eyes off him and waited eagerly for what he was about to say. 

„I shouldn’t have done this…“, he said meekly.

Nick was upset. It was not at all what he had hoped for.

„You think it was a mistake?“

Morrie still looked down to the floor.„I should’ve contained myself,“ he almost whispered. Then he took courage to look up again and their eyes met.

„Can you forgive me?“

Nick was melting away at the sight, and still, his decision was fixed.

„No,“ he answered and shook his head, causing Morrie to give him a shocked look.

„I can’t forgive you that you think it was mistake. And I’ll change your mind. Just you wait.“

With that, he turned around and stormed out of the front door.

„Norbert!“, Morrie shouted after him but Nick was already out of reach. All he could do was watching him go and fighting down his worries.

Nick reached the Avalon without making any new enemies for once and used the secret entrance to his suite that Virgil had installed for him. First, he carefully looked around the room to see if any fan had sneaked past the staff and was lying around somewhere. When he didn’t find anyone, he crawled out from under the bar and started changing into his fancy rags with regret. 

However, he also noticed how much he had missed them and how he slowly turned into his full self again. In the bathroom he adjusted his wig - finally some hair he could tame! He felt much more comfortable in his skin when he returned to his bed where he had left Morrie’s suit. He carefully folded it, something he never did, but he knew how accurate Morrie was with his things and he didn’t want to anger him at any cost.

Still, he shortly cuddled into the jacket to take in the scent before he folded it back on the bed.

After that he hoped to find Virgil in the hotel. He assumed he was in the breakfast lounge because the buffet was still open. He left the suite, now being Nick Lightbearer again and strode along the corridor where he met a boy who’s face fell at the sight of him. 

„Lovely day for it,“ Nick greeted him in an overenthusiastic way.

„Right as rain,“ the boy said half-heartedly.

„I can’t hear you,“ Nick insisted, smiling widely.

At that the boy put on a silky mile.

„Right as rain, Mr. Lightbearer, Sir!“, he greeted him with fake excitement.

„There we go!“, Nick said and laughed as he made his way down the stays, not noticing the rude gesture the boy threw after him. It wouldn’t have changed his mood anyway. No one would take him for the rotten downer he had been yesterday. 

With an expansive gesture he pushed open the wooden double doors leading to the breakfast lounge and strode in, looking around for Virgil.

Then he walked around the room, searching the tables, all aware that the guests were staring at him, either in disgust or with awe. It was likely that Virgil had already seen him if he was in this room. 

Nick stopped when his gaze fell on a thick blonde mane in a corner of the lounge. The man in the purple suit who sat next to her could only be Virgil. Of course, Nick thought to himself. He should’ve known that Virgil wouldn’t give up on Birdie just because someone gave him a black eye. Nick had to act like nothing happened.

He approached them while they talked silently to each other and didn’t take note of Nick. They jumped when he loudly knocked on the table right between them.

„May I join?“, he asked with amusement, ignoring Virgil’s annoyed look.

„Did I interrupt you?“, he added and gave Virgil a suggestive look.

„Nick,“ Virgil almost blurted that out but he caught himself halfway. „…

allow me to introduce Miss Birdie Callagher. Miss Callagher…“ he made a gesture towards Nick, „…Nick Lightbearer.“

„Birdie Callagher, really? I’ve heard so much about you…“, Nick said and tried not to stare too much.

„I hope only happy things,“ she answered and offered him her hand which he gently kissed. „It’s a pleasure to meet you.“

When he looked up to her he saw that she was giving him her ravishing smile with a mixture of surprise. Content with himself, he turned back to Virgil to say: „When you’re finished I’d like to talk to you in private.“

The look Virgil gave him was unreadable, but he answered: „Alright, wait for me in your suite. I’ll come along.“

With that, Nick was dismissed and doomed to wait. He hated waiting but he had to please Virgil, so he shortly said goodbye to Birdie and went back to his suite and stretched himself out on the big couch.

After what had felt like an eternity his manager finally granted him a visit and slumped down on the couch next to him.

„I’m glad you’re back to your senses“, he said with an emphasis that told Nick he could stop acting.

„You know it…“, he only said and tensed.

„Of course,“ Virgil shouted. „Wasn’t hard to guess. I’ve known you for years! I have to give it to you though, you surprised me. I thought you stay in the tunnel and let me make a good deal without mistaking it all. I should’ve known you would come to steal the show.“

„So..you..didn’t ditch me?“, Nick asked meekly.

„Hell no, do you think I can only have one star at a time? You still had a chance. And what were you doing with it?“ Virgil pointed a finger at Nick’s face. „How long has it been since you promised me to get your shit together? Two days? And then you showed up as a downer.“

„I*m sorry I hurt you, Virgil. Are you alright?“

„I’m fine,“ he waved him off. „But did you think about Birdie for one second? She almost had a breakdown, didn’t see a downer before and the doctors were busy all night to cheer her up again. You could’ve ruined her, made her a downer. Perhaps that was your plan.“

„No, believe me, I had…no plan. None at all…“ Nick didn’t dare to look Virgil in the eyes anymore. He just curled up and hoped he could make it up to him.

„Well, that’s not a surprise. Thank god you didn’t freak her out again. I wonder how you got back in such a good shape today.“

„Yeah…actually…I’ve managed to do something right yesterday. That’s what I wanted to tell you.“

„Yeah, what? Surprise me again.“

„I think I can get my old band back.“

„You…think?“, Virgil squinted his eyes.

„Well…I convinced Morrie to join me again and he’s gonna talk to the band today and likely he’ll have them gathered back together by morning.“

„That’s indeed a surprise… Morrie Memento, ey? He’s sensible, he could do you well…“ Virgil thought about it, already back to business. „But…Nick?“

„Yes?“

Virgil gave him an urgent look.

„Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want. You better tell me first  before you do it.“

Nick was puzzled.

„….okay?“

Virgil got up from the couch without further explanation. 

„Well, then, I’ll go prepare a happy reunion I guess. And you…“, he looked at him sternly and pointed a finger at him. „You keep your head clear.“

„Yes, Virgil,“ Nick was eager to obey. „And…Virgil?“, he carefully held his manager back and locked gazes again.

„I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.“

Virgil didn’t look angry anymore.

„You trust me now?“

„Yes.“ 

[s-3-xp-3-st]

untitled

word count: 3,899         started: april 30th, 2019         finished: august 17th, 2019

   Walking through the bakery, the smell of dough and sugar-filled his nostrils and he wasn’t sure how much he appreciated it. A girl -- his girl, or though he’d hoped -- was standing at the counter, her shorts short and red with pretty stitchings of sunflowers all over. He grinned ever so slightly, practically internal, at the way she tried but failed to conceal her excitement while ordering the doughnuts.    She’d been craving doughnuts from this particular place since October; it was June. She’d been waiting for him to come around again and for the weather to be nice. She planned this elaborate picnic in her head where they’d sit by the river on the grass with a red and white blanket like in the movies and she’d watch as he took a bite from a creme-filled or jelly-filled pastry: he’d be taken aback by the taste, of how savory and sweet it was, of how great it felt against his taste buds and how smooth it went going down his throat after chewing it. She could picture them splitting half a dozen and then laying on their backs, staring at the clouds and listening to each other’s breathing as the sweetness stirred in their stomachs for a while. And when the sun hit high noon they’d stretch out, stand up and walk back to the car. It was a dream she was intrigued to emulate into reality.    She held the white box close to her chest as they walked back to the car in the parking lot, and kept it that way until they’d gotten to the park. She faltered a little when she tried getting the things from the trunk, and when he offered to hold the box, she just shook her head and moved to the side, silently asking him to pick up them up for her.    He found himself carrying the majority of the load--as he often did--while she continued along the overgrown path, with that damned white box full of sweetness tucked cautiously under her arm. It was obvious she was lost in her own world: wanderlusting she’d called it. She’d apologized profusely for it every time she felt it coming on, saying, “I’m pre-lusting,” or “I’m gonna wander so hard in about a minute”. It always made him chuckle.    This was his third time visiting her town. Each time, they’d get close enough to catch him off guard, to make him believe that maybe they were something more than just two friends “hanging out”. But then the trip would end and he’d have to go back to his campus without getting a chance to officiate things: to kiss her.    She was hard to read. They’d talked about living together, marriage, even kids months before, but now he was questioning her devotion. Was she seeing someone else? Was she slowly letting him go? How much longer would these trips last? (They were already so few and far between).    She stopped at the edge of the lake, where the trees provided minimal shade. She stared at the water for a minute, mesmerized, before turning around. Seemingly on queue, he dropped the picnic supplies on the grass and started to set up.    She stood back, feeling helpless as what to do or how to help, but she finally decided to just set down the box, snug in the grass. She wasn’t sure if she was being rude when she turned back toward the water, leaving him to do all the work on his own, but she was too captivated to care much. The sun was glistening on the surface of the water and the greenery was in full bloom. The birds sang, their voices being carried away with the soft breeze that fluttered her hair and kissed her nose. She breathed in, the scent of nature tickling her nostrils. After exhaling, she paused, then sneezed.    “Bless you.”    She turned back around, sniffling.    He was sitting on the blanket, the boxes of doughnuts in the shade at his side. He looked like art in the sunlight; his skin gold-toned and his eyes shimmering like melted chocolate, though there was an intense glare from his glasses. She could stare at him for hours, she thought as she sat down on the other side of him, basking herself in the sun. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard to keep himself busy but simultaneously exploiting his awkwardness. Perhaps there was a tension between them--or maybe he was just intimidated by the romantic aura of the setting--but either way, it was making him grow anxious and quiet.    He stayed sitting up while she lay back, her eyes closed and her lips curved in a subconscious smile. She was breathing deeply; her heart was beating in time with the melodic birds, keeping them in rhythm; she was happy. She loved being around this boy, and though her actions had been more friendly than girlfriendly, it didn’t make the statement any less true.    She loved him endlessly, from the bottom of her heart and then some. She hoped that this date (she avoided the word to keep it as casual as possible as not to freak him out) would be the date that they finalized their relationship and sealed it with a kiss. There were so many times she had wanted him to kiss her, where she wanted to kiss him, but they’d both been too afraid; he wouldn’t make the first move and she wasn’t sure if he was ready for her to either. Once they’d been lying in bed together, both sun-kissed and fatigued from a day at the pool and it would’ve been so easy; no effort at all to just tilt their heads slightly and connect their lips with calculated naivety. But even the idea let loose butterflies in her stomach. She could only imagine the anxiety he felt in those recurring moments: how fast his heart was probably beating and how quick his thoughts were racing around in his brain.    “I’m too shy,” he’d said months earlier. “If I want to kiss, chances are I won’t because I’ll be quietly losing my mind.” She’d laughed, cooing at him and calling him adorable, then reassuring him that their first kiss would be conducted as a ‘team effort’.    This had been before the trips back and forth between his college and her hometown before the expectations were dropped; not because they weren’t in love but because they hadn’t taken into account the truth of their situation: they were both just too afraid.    It scared her to think that he was falling out of love with her. The conversation about his conservatism had happened many a time. It was not the lack of physical admiration that fed her paranoia, yet it would still creep in and make her second guess if he was genuinely trying to keep her.    She’d be driving home after dropping him off and she’d think about the other girls in his classes, the other girls on campus, other girls walking down the sidewalk or passing his dorm room. She’d think about girls who had more interesting things to say, things that were coherent and made sense and how he’d realize that he’d never understood anyone as much as he’d understood her.  She’d think about the eventual decline in trips, then calls, texts, and how eventually he would disappear altogether.    She reached out her hand, feeling the softness of the blanket against her palm. She slid her hand toward where she expected him to be sitting, only to feel nothing but fabric. She sat up abruptly, thinking about him leaving without any goodbyes or plans of returning.  A heavy pain rose in her chest, aching terribly.    “Hey,” he was sitting at the edge of the lake, a stick in his hand, playing with the water. “What’s up?”    After exhaling the breath she’d been holding in attempts to calm herself down, she made her way over to him, sat down and hugged his arm. “I didn’t know you moved. Thought you might’ve left me for good.” she sounded lighthearted, trying her best to laugh it off, but her heart still hadn’t retreated to its normal pace.    He put down the stick and caressed her hair, smiling before kissing her forehead. “I would never leave you like that. I just thought all the excitement got to you and you crashed.”    Leave you like that, she repeated in her head. It was just a normal remark, but it still made her uneasy, almost nauseous.    She straightened up beside him, his arm still draped over her shoulders. “You hungry?” he asked. She responded simply with a hum, afraid of saying too much. They walked those few steps back to the blanket holding hands; he could feel that something was off, and knowing that sometimes the girl he loved wandered around in her head a little bit too much, he understood it took a lot more than words to get her to come out again.    That was one of the many things that pulled him to her. She couldn’t just watch a movie; she needed to feel the blanket on her skin, the taste of popcorn on her tongue, the smell of his cologne as he sat next to her, the volume turned up loud to immerse herself fully into the film. A sensory reaction could determine an entire mood for her while another could completely flip it on its head. It gave him this fierce sense of intrigue that constantly needed to be fulfilled, and she was the only one who knew how.    He grabbed the white box when they sat down and handed it to her, prompting her to open the cardboard flaps and reveal the plump pastries. Her mouth started to water at the potential ones she’d devour, different flavors each testing themselves on her taste buds. Her stomach reacted to the vivid imagery with a small grumble.    “You pick first,” she said, holding out the box to him. He scanned the two rows, face unchanging. He reached for one with white cream swirled in a spiral in the middle. “That has chocolate frosting in it.” she grinned. He cradled it awkwardly in the palm of his hand.    She copied his choosing method, though she already knew which one she wanted. Easily and almost expertly, she picked up a powdered one, knowing full well it was injected with tangy lemon jelly. Holding the doughnut in one hand, she steadily set the box down next to her and flipped the lid again, the white blinding against the mid-morning sun.    They sat with the pastries sticking to their fingers, the excitement building so much it started to boost her heart rate.    “You okay?” he asked, but she talked over him.    “You go first.” she was trying hard not to beam at him like a freak.    “Okay..” he raised his brow in mock suspicion. He looked down at the treat and hesitated before biting into it graciously. The taste of soft dough and buttercream chocolate frosting was overwhelming, and the sugar pummeled his taste buds. He felt his teeth start to rot from the outside in. He fought to swallow it. She was looking at him with childish eyes, all wide and expectant of positive review. It hurt him to disappoint her, but he couldn’t hide the grimace on his face.    She tried to keep her features from falling when she noticed his frown. He cleared his throat, his hands resting on his knees, the frosting in the doughnut warming in the sun. He cleared his throat again when she continued her silence.    Awkwardly he said, “We should've brought some water.”    “Why? Do you not like it?” She asked quickly.    “No,” he shook his head, “it’s just hot.”    She nodded, hiding her uncertainty. She chewed the inside of her lip covertly, a nervous habit well known to him.    “Do you not like it?” she hadn’t realized she’d repeated herself; the words had fallen out of her mouth carelessly. He looked down at the pastry for a moment, not saying anything, his mind going over all of the possible responses and consequences: none of them seemed like the right answer. But once he looked her in the eyes -- those beautiful, honey-swirled, baby cow eyes -- he knew he had to tell the truth.    “I don’t, to be honest,” he tried gently. “I’m sorry.”    Her teeth were gritted not out of anger but as a means of protection; she was unaware of what her muscles would do if she allowed them to relax. Her mouth could stay in a permanent smile, her eyes unblinking and her mind racing, or she could break down in the ugliest manner: heavy sobs, ragged breathing, big fat tears, the whole shebang. So instead, she sat rigidly, her jaw tight and her eyes vacant, staring at the corners of his glasses.    He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to reach out his hand, touch her face carefully, and say something so romantic and heartfelt it’d maybe make her cry or, then they’d finally kiss. But he didn’t.    She blinked and looked into his eyes. Damn, they were gorgeous. “It’s okay. Don’t sweat it,” she looked back down at the doughnut in his hand. The box, which looked a little dimmer than before, sat in the direct path of the sun, the four remaining pastries dwelling in the heat. “I guess I’ll just take these home with me. Someone will eat ‘em, y’know?”    “Mhm,” pause. “What should I do with the rest of this?”    Something stung in her chest, and she didn’t know why it was happening. It wasn’t his fault that it was too sweet, even she’d admit it was an acquired taste. But now, the fantasy was gone, never fulfilled and tragically still warm. She did that a lot: conjuring up radical ideas in her head, her standards increasing each time she thought deeply about it, and then being let down by the outcome whenever it missed the mark -- and it did, quite frequently, do just that.  She tried not to let out the sigh building in her chest, but she couldn’t help it.    “I’ll eat it.” she tried to sound cheerful.    He saw right through it.    “I’ll just put it back in the box,” and he did, making sure the open end was facing toward the cardboard so it wouldn’t contaminate the rest. She reached over him quickly, placing hers back in the vacant space. “Why’d you do that?”    She now stared disconnectedly at her hands in her lap, and without looking up she said, simply, “Not really that hungry.”    “That’s a lie. You just said you were starving.”    She said nothing, just stared at the blanket, tracing the patterns with her forefinger. He continued, hoping it would help.    “Please eat something, babe. Even just half of one?”    She cleared her throat gently, and couldn’t conceal the smirk pulling at the corners of her lips when he called her “babe”. She stopped fiddling her thumbs and tucked some hair behind her ear; he loved when she did that, it drove him insane and thrust him deeper in love.    She nodded, almost to herself. “I’ll eat one later. Just not right now. I promise.”    “Kya hua bubba? Tell me, na.”    “It’s stupid.” she hugged her knees but looked at him this time.    “You know it’s never stupid. Ever.”    She sighed heavily, and squished her cheeks between her knees, making her words come out all muffled.    “It’s just,” she paused, nervously biting her bottom lip. He was looking at her with a slight pout on his lips, copying her expression. She couldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to worry him or make him feel sad. She wanted him happy because that’s the type of boy he was: a happy one. With her eccentric mood swings and emotions unpredictable even to herself, his normalcy came as a welcomed commodity, an easy comfort. “It’s just… I had this vision, y'know? I thought that we’d get those doughnuts, come to this park and chill and talk about random shit, maybe laugh or something. Then you’d fall in love with these as soon as you taste them, and you’d eat one half and I’d eat the other, and you’d rave about them constantly as we ate. We’d laugh some more probably, then head back to the car, drive around a little, then maybe park somewhere with ice cream, watch the sunset or the stars and then-” she stopped herself. She looked at him again, sitting up straight before continuing. “And then maybe we’d kiss.”    Instantly he started blushing, his eyes darting toward the ground and his cheeks turning a beautiful sunset pink. They both laughed airly and withdrew from the conversation, suddenly becoming shy acquaintances. She thought about kissing him then, like all the other times their quiet flirtations blossomed from teasing to a type of challenge: one that neither he nor she wanted to address or initiate. She wanted to kiss him, softly at first, then deeply, with tongue and spit and everything, hands wandering bodies and breath becoming shallow. It was a private, cherishable moment, but she wanted it now; she had been wanting since the day they met.    And he wanted the same. He wanted to feel her soft skin, feel her lips on his; to be connected so deeply it felt as if they were inseparable. They’d been together for a long time, but it hadn’t felt as if they were truly intertwined yet like he thought they’d be by then. They’d always talked about it when the mood shifted to a soft and vulnerable place, similar to that of pillow talk or early morning confessions: never leaving each other’s side; being tangled in the sheets after long nights of treacherous fucking and holding each other tight; walking down the street hand in hand. He wanted her and her only, every night and day, but he couldn’t get his damned thoughts in order, to tell her.    Their nervousness subsided enough for the laughing to cease, and the only sounds left were the rustling leaves and chirpy birds around them.     “So.” she started.    “So,” he replied, “I’m sorry that I ruined your-”    She playfully brushed it off with a wave of her hand, “Please, it’s okay. I can’t make you like stuff.”    “Still. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”    She placed her hand on his arm, adoringly tilting her head to look him directly in the eyes. Butterflies, birds, caterpillars, the whole goddamn garden erupted in the pit of his stomach; he’d stared into her eyes many times before but for some reason this moment seemed more intense, like the world was off-kiltered, and the only way for it to rebalance on its proper axises was for their lips to connect, for their saliva to exchange and their tongues to dance around as if the organs themselves were intoxicated.    “Don’t worry about it. Please.” She blinked so innocently it made him want to weep. He placed his hand over hers, glanced at her lips, and before he could muster the courage to kiss her, she was leaning in.    Their lips collided with such supple tenderness it was almost supernatural. His hand cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek. They sat there for a good minute, making out slowly. It was magical. He relished in every second of it.    She’d been waiting for him to make the first move. She didn’t want to intimidate him or scare him off, but she needed it to happen. She’d been waiting.    It was the right thing for her to do, to lean in and kiss him first. As soon as she did he took control and guided them, deepening the kiss and making her insides burst like bubbles in orange soda. She felt bubbly for the first time in a long time and she knew it wasn’t going away.    She rested her cheek in his hand and let hers travel up his arm and wrap around the base of his neck. They pulled each other closer, barely easing up. In her head, she was humming and swaying in the grass, shoes off; a dream had come true. It was bliss.    His mind, however, was blank. He focused on his senses; the sun on his back, the whoosh of the distant cars passing by, their tongues intertwining, the bumps of acne dotting her cheek, the curls in her hair gliding against his knuckles, the sweetness of the doughnuts as the frosting started to heat up. He would memorize each of these sensations and each time he experienced it after today he’d remember. He’d be transported right back to this morning on this picnic blanket next to the sticky, melting doughnuts and be reminded of everything: from the way she woke him up that morning, all jittery and anxious from the anticipation at 7am, to the car ride filled with sing-a-longs and a coffee shop (for him only), to the intense fragrance of the bakery as if the sweetness had stuck to the little hairs in his nostrils and clung on for years.    They broke away at the sound of a horn, fearing it was directed toward them. It wasn’t, though their faces blushed anyway. They were giggling again, and it felt as if they were releasing the creatures from within their guts, their irrational fears escaping with them.    “You should eat,” he repeated, his cheeks still warm.    “Mhm, I will,” he flipped open the lid and started to reach for the lemon one, when she interrupted, “can I have the chocolate one with sprinkles this time?”    “Yes, you may.” He replied as he handed her the pastry she asked for. As soon as she held it between her thumb and forefinger her mouth began to water, and the first bite sent endorphins rushing through her brain. She closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of chocolate melting on her tongue, the soft dough filling her stomach while parts of the rainbow sprinkles stuck in her molars. He couldn’t contain his laughter.    “You’re adorable,” he practically cooed. “Truly.”    “Shhh.”    She took more bites, each one more satisfying than the last. The sun was hitting her perfectly, and her hair was framing her face in the most attractive way. While taking a mental picture to pair with the scented memories, he noticed some frosting in the corner of her lip.    “You have a little something…” he leaned in, his thumb and his forefinger resting on her chin. She leaned in too, her eyes gleaming and her lids lowered; her brain was fuzzy from the rush of their passion and her stomach full from the sugary treat.    He smiled crookedly, and kissed her, the eagerness between them growing more vehement the longer their lips connected. He enjoyed the chocolate taste as their tongues danced around each other, and couldn’t help his laughter from interrupting the intimacy.    “What?” she pouted, pulling away from the kiss.    “I kinda like the filling now. It’s growing on me, actually.”    She laughed, almost too loudly, and hit him playfully on his arm. “Shush,” she settled down and looked back at him with those narrowed eyes that enticed him beyond belief. “Kiss me again, please.”

[itsmyusualphannie]

you had me at hydrangea

Chapter 6/6 - last bud not least

“I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.” ― Francesca Lia Block, Dangerous Angels

a phan flower shop/video editor au

(read on ao3) - start from the beginning!

previous chapter

~~

Dan kind of hated everything right now. He hated the smudged, scribbled papers on the floor in front of him, he hated the ugly dead bouquet by the trash bin that seemed to be reflecting his own misery back at him, and he hated the goddamn floor for being so cold under his ass.

He angrily scrawled a few music notes down onto the sheet paper before him and stared down at them, then immediately scratched over it. How could he think that that would sound good? He wanted to crumple this paper and throw it away, but he only had two weeks left to finish and then practice his entire piece, so he couldn’t afford to waste any more hated papers.

The unfinished music notes cheerfully mocked him. Dan scowled down at them, running the arrangement briefly through his mind before deciding that it all sounded terrible. This wouldn’t work. This was horrible. He hated it even more.

“Dan!” Louise called from the front room. “How’s it going back there?”

It was going fucking spectacularly, that’s how it was going. He told her as such.

“Oh, Dan,” Louise said. She came through the door, trailing petals with every step. Her hands were piled with limp flowers. She smiled fondly down at him, dropping the assortment onto the floor beside the other dead bouquet. “You know, I have a perfectly good chair that you could be sitting in to work on that.”

Dan spared it a scornful glance. It was ugly and stout, so close to the ground that he’d have to sprawl his legs out in front of him to even sit on it. The small table beside it wasn’t much better. The rickety stool behind the counter in the front room was dangerous, but it was much better than this alternative. “No thanks,” he said. “I like the floor.” He did not. He would like it better if it was comfortable enough to lie down on face-first.

Louise looked like she was considering sitting beside him on the floor and commiserating with him, but ultimately she must have decided that she had too much work to do. “Well. Take your time, I’m just cleaning now that we’ve gotten that big order ready to go.”

Fortunately, the big order was piled and arranged in the front room, not crowded into this already-small back room. Dan had practically been choking on pollen by the time he and Louise had finished preparing them. He didn’t understand how Louise could still be cheerfully cleaning after their hours of work.

His phone dinged with an alert. Dan spared it a glance just to see that it was a message from his talent manager. She probably wanted to know how his piece was coming along. He definitely wouldn’t be answering that right now. He caught a glimpse of the time on his phone and glanced up at Louise, who was still hovering beside him. “Are you going to close up the shop? It’s almost two.” They always closed early on Saturdays so Louise could spend more time with her kids and so Dan could go back to his flat and be pathetically alone in peace.

She glanced at her watch. “Oh,” she said. She suddenly looked so acutely disappointed upon seeing the time that Dan was thrown off-balance. “Hmm. I might stay open for a little longer. Who knows who might pop in?”

“Are you expecting anyone besides the pick-up truck for the big order?”

Louise’s eyes casually darted away from him and Dan was instantly suspicious. “Er, no,” she said, unconvincingly. “I mean…no.” She whirled, ruffled skirt bouncing around her, and vanished into the front room.

“Yeah, right,” he called after her. Maybe she was going to have the babysitter bring her daughters by the shop. Dan hadn’t seen them in a few weeks and, though he wouldn’t ever admit it to Louise, he missed their tiny faces and adorable smiles. They always lit up when he performed his occasional ritual of tying a flower stem into a knot and wrapping it around their fingers like a giant, petaled ring.

“It’s not the girls!” Louise told him, her voice echoing into the room. Apparently, she was now a mind-reader.

Dan didn’t want to think about anyone else coming into the shop. Especially Phil. He certainly didn’t want Phil to come into the shop today. Not with Dan’s fresh memory of that hurt look on Phil’s expressive, open face that Dan had inflicted upon him yesterday.

Yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that had all been...bad days. Dan still didn’t feel completely recovered from them. He didn’t think he’d ever be completely recovered from any of his bad days.

“Fuck bad days,” Dan muttered to himself. He regarded an open space between sprawled, cascading notes on a piece of paper and he scribbled down what he’d just said. He felt pleased upon looking at it. That was how he felt. That was what he wanted this piece to be about. “Fuck bad days,” he said again, more vehement this time. The words echoed in the small room. He squinted as a few notes played cautiously in his mind and he began reluctantly writing squiggles that vaguely resembled notes across the paper. The door to the shop whooshed open and Dan could hear Louise greeting someone, but he ignored it.

The notes stubbornly churned in Dan’s mind, but they began to take shape as he repeated “Fuck bad days,” under his breath. A few fell into place at a time and he scrawled them down, ignoring bars and repetitions to get down the basics of what he was imagining himself playing. It was almost like he’d crossed some sort of hurdle and the notes began cascading from his fingers to dance across the lines of the paper.

His fingers ached after only a few minutes, but he pressed on urgently, desperate not to lose this streak. The half-imagined, distant ideas that he had been forming, yet unable to write down over the past few weeks, had pieced themselves together in his mind with shocking clarity. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than he’d written without furious back-tracing in weeks or maybe months.

It was four long pages later when Dan finally sat back, hand almost numb, and eyes aching from his fear of closing them, as though he might’ve lost the notes if he'd looked away from the papers. An unfiltered outline of music lay spread before him, the pages crinkled and worn with his handling. It was raw and beautiful and he hated it, but he also loved it a little. It was a start, finally. It was so much more than he’d been doing. Nothing more pressed at him, no more urgent notes that begged to join the piece, so he let himself relax, sitting back and massaging at the reddened indentations the pencil had left in his fingers. He blinked, feeling like his eyelids were scraping against his eyes. Maybe he’d be able to actually sleep tonight.

Dan felt a belated rush of accomplishment. This was something and it was maybe even good. He unfolded his legs and hauled himself to his feet, grabbing the ugly little chair for balance. With a swipe of one hand, he gathered the suddenly-inspired pieces of paper and clutched them to his chest. His head spun as he stood up, either from the abrupt change in altitude or his growing excitement at the breakthrough. He needed to tell someone about this, and since it wouldn’t be his manager, who would likely just be exasperated that it’d even taken him this long, it would need to be Louise. She would certainly be excited about his progress.

It was only as Dan stepped through the open door to the front room that he realized he hadn’t heard Louise bustling around out here pretty much the entire time he’d been writing, and now he could see why. She was standing just inside the door to the shop, blonde curls cascading over one shoulder as she talked to Phil, who practically towered over her. Phil, facing the back of the shop, glanced over her head just as Dan caught sight of him, and his gaze landed on Dan.

“Oh god,” said Dan, without meaning to say it. He backpedalled hastily, almost tripping over the flowers on the floor by his feet. Louise and Phil vanished from sight as he ducked back around the corner. His breaths came short and fast. He was not prepared to deal with this right now.

Now that he was listening, he could hear them both talking. Something about cacti plants. Dan wanted to hide in this back room forever, but he also wanted to go out and somehow apologize to Phil for being an asshole yesterday. He also, kind of, wanted Phil to apologize to him for being so absolutely confusing on Sunday.

Dan heard his own name, then, and his attention snapped back to the conversation in the front room.

“ - Yeah!” Louise was saying. “He’s in the back, gimme a sec.” She apparently didn’t know that Phil had seen Dan walk out, catch sight of them, and then immediately flee back to safety. Her boots clopped against the floor as she walked toward the back room.

Dan allowed himself a few moments to steel himself, dropping the papers in his hands onto the table, then he let out a long breath and stepped back out into the room again. Louise almost collided with him.

“Oh! Dan, hey.” She was grinning up at him, a big, too-convincing smile. “Great timing! Phil wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Phil offered, lifting a hand in a timid wave. His eyes looked careful, like he was afraid of spooking a wild animal.

Louise pushed past Dan. “I’ve got to finish sorting these flowers!” she lied blatantly. There were no flowers that needed sorting, and Dan knew it, but he didn’t stop her. He stepped involuntarily toward the counter, meeting Phil’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Uh,” said Phil. He also took a few steps toward Dan, stopping in front of the counter and the slumping boxes of flowers that were waiting to be picked up. One hand was tucked awkwardly behind his back. “Hey, Dan.”

Dan felt his heart judder in his chest. He didn’t know whether to shake Phil by the shoulders and demand an explanation for his confusing actions over the past few weeks - no, months - or to just apologize for being rude to Phil yesterday. He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t help but notice the annoyingly perfect arch of Phil’s cheekbones and his unbelievably blue eyes that were even bluer behind his glasses. “Hey, Phil,” he said.

“I wanted to...” Phil stopped and glanced down at the Luigi bobblehead by the till, his eyebrows furrowing. He heaved a sigh and continued, “I, well, I wanted to say sorry for being so weird the other day. Well, I’m weird all the time. You’re probably used to it. I mean...ignore that.” He had looked back up at Dan, and the intensity of gaze, belying his soft tone, made something burn inside Dan. “I thought - never mind what I thought. I just wanted to apologize. And, if you might want to, I wanted to ask…”

“Wait,” Dan interrupted him. He blinked. He hadn’t expected the words to leap from his mouth, but they had. His gaze fell subconsciously to the loose shirt that Phil wore, hanging open over an undershirt.

Phil waited.

“It’s fine,” said Dan. “I mean, I’m sorry too. We were both weird. I was kind of an asshole yesterday. A little bit.”

The wrinkles around Phil’s eyes became even more wrinkly with his small smile. “A little bit, maybe. It wasn't completely undeserved.”

“Maybe,” Dan repeated. His feet moved without his permission, carrying him past the sad, warped stool, the wall full of flowers, the cracked and meticulous counter, and finally, the heaps of boxes piled by the counter. He stopped in front of Phil, barely a foot from him. He could hear the dramatized sounds of Louise crashing through the back room, her way of letting him know that she was giving him time and wasn’t listening in.

Phil had drawn back a little when Dan came toward him, but now he leaned forward into Dan’s space, the one arm still clumsily held behind his back. “I - ” he started, but Dan interrupted him again, not willing to let him spoil the moment with a panicked declaration of friendship.

“What do you want?” Dan asked him, rather bluntly.

Phil blinked, a slow sweep of his eyelashes. “What do you want?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Dan could feel something thudding dangerously in him as he reached up and tugged at the loose edges of Phil’s overshirt, drawing them closer together. He let his fingers linger purposefully, smoothing over the dips of the fabric. There was peril in what he said without saying it, his actions obvious and yet skirting the edge of meaning. If Phil didn’t understand what he meant, then Phil meant something else entirely. Maybe he really did just want to be friends. Maybe so. Dan wouldn’t bet on it.

Phil had gone still and quiet under Dan’s touch. His eyes were dark when Dan glanced back up at them. “Dan,” he said, and then nothing.

Dan waited for a few moments, his breath stilling in his lungs, and then he took a meaningful step backwards, giving Phil space. He wasn’t giving up, though. He remembered the music he had just been writing, the notes that had poured out of him, and the feeling of triumph after getting it all down. “I have a piano recital in a few weeks,” he said, the words tumbling from him, “and if you can, I’d like you to come.”

Dan hadn’t noticed how tense Phil’s shoulders had been until they relaxed suddenly. His whole body was somehow looser, relieved of strain. “You play the piano?” Phil asked, instead of answering the indirect question.

“Yeah,” said Dan. “I write a little, too. I’ll be playing one of my pieces. Do you think you can make it?”

It was no longer indirect. Something was soft around Phil’s eyes as he looked into Dan’s.

“As a date,” Dan clarified before Phil could answer.

“Yes,” Phil said, and it was almost instant, the word escaping from his lips with a suddenness that seemed to surprise him. “Yes, I’d - I’d love to go with you. Of course I do.”

“Of course,” Dan echoed. Something giddy was taking hold of him, burning bright inside of him. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “As a date.”

“Definitely as a date.” Phil hesitated, the corners of his lips slowly lifting to match Dan’s grin. “I...I really like you, Dan. Like, a lot.”

“Is that so? I happen to like you, too. If you hadn’t noticed.”

“I might have noticed a little bit,” Phil admitted. “But I thought - never mind. I. Um. I got you something.”

Dan was surprised and he didn’t think to hide it. “You did?”

“Yeah, I…” Phil finally withdrew his hand from behind his back, his shoulders twisting with the effort. In his tightly clenched hand, he held a beautiful black lily with arching petals. “Louise told me that it’s your favourite.”

“Oh!” It was a pleasant feeling, this surprise. Dan reached out to let a finger stroke the softness of a petal. “It is my favourite.”

Phil let out a little huff of satisfaction, then lifted the flower and tucked it behind Dan’s ear. Dan could feel the coolness of the stem nudging against his ear and tangle into his hair. The base settled against his ear and the long petals tickled against his cheek. Phil’s face had melted into an open, pleased expression, his gaze warm. He didn’t pull his hand away immediately, however. Dan felt the brush of Phil’s thumb against his cheek and he leaned into the touch subconsciously, smiling helplessly, giddy with the sudden joy of everything.

“I love your dimples,” Phil said quietly, his thumb pressing into one. He leaned ever closer, swaying toward Dan.

Dan knew he did. He’d noticed the glances over the past few months toward his cheeks, and though he didn’t understand the obsession, he knew. He let Phil cave in the dimple, his thumb gentle against the curve of Dan’s cheek.

“Dan,” Phil said. The word was a hot breath against Dan’s lips, so close Dan could almost taste the vibration of the air. Phil’s voice sounded tortured with the effort of staying even that far away. “Can I kiss you?”

“What are you waiting for?” was Dan’s answer.

And then Phil’s lips were on his, and his hands were sliding into Dan’s hair, and Dan was surging up against him, and...it began.

~~

“I must have flowers, always, and always”

~ Claude Monet

[secretagentdreamer]

Day 20: Trembling

Fandom: Marvel. Character(s): Peter Parker. Tony Stark, Morgan Stark. Warnings: nightmares, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of (not-quite) character death. Word Count: 1791

-*-

2024

“When’s Penny gonna be home?” Morgan asks as she bounces around the house.

“Soon Morgana, soon,” Tony chuckles, catching her by the waist and pulling her up into a hug. “Aunt May picked her up from the airport an hour ago so they should be here in any minute now.” It had been agreed upon (by Pepper and May: Tony was outvoted) that May (with Happy in the car for extra precaution) would pick Penny up from the airport after her school trip.

“But I want Penny now! It’s been ages since I saw her.” She complains, dragging out the word ages. Morgan squirms briefly before flopping against Tony’s chest and hugging a soft plush bear (one of Penny’s old toys Tony realizes with a smile) close to her chest. Tony shakes his head at his youngest daughter but secretly he can’t help but agree with her. Tony hadn’t even wanted to let Penny go on this school trip.

He had just gotten her back after Thanos and The Blip (Tony absolutely cannot stand that name, but the whole population has apparently agreed upon the name so Tony has to just live with it.) only a couple of months ago after all. So, after five years of believing that his daughter was gone for good, he had been (in his opinion, righteously so) reluctant to let her go overseas for a school trip for a week.

Pepper and May had sat him down one afternoon before the trip when he had still been refusing to give Penny permission, and given him a stern talking to about not being a helicopter parent and allowing Penny the freedom she needed as a teenager before she started to resent him for sheltering her so much.

So, Tony had allowed the trip. Even though the thought of sending Penny overseas without him (or even, at least, Happy. Because that idea had been shut down as well by Pepper and May. With a resounding no from Pep: ‘Do you want your daughter to hate you, Tony, cause that’s where you’re heading.’) had been sending him into panic attacks and bringing back nightmares of an alien planet and dust-soaked hands.

And all his fears had been justified to make it worse!

Tony hadn’t wanted to be correct. Why, just this one time, couldn’t have Tony been proven wrong. Penny had nearly died: killed by a man who Tony couldn’t even remember and Tony hadn’t been able to go and help his daughter. He had tried to get in contact with Steve and Barnes but they had been over in some exotic mountains somewhere with little to no service. In their defense (something Tony will never admit to out loud: defending Roger and Barnes, disgusting) Steve and Barnes had actually hopped on a plane to go help his daughter. But Tony’s daughter is so much of a hero that she had nearly defeated the villain by the time the two super soldiers had arrived in London.

The presences of the soldiers had however helped to subdue Beck before Penny was forced to do something that any seventeen-year-old shouldn’t ever have to do. And thankfully Beck is securely locked away somewhere so hidden and away from the human population that Tony would eat his shoes if he ever got out somehow. Tony had spent many hours perfecting the security of the prison, had taken a great deal of petty pleasure out of it in fact.

Because sadly, he wasn’t allowed to kill the man who had tried to murder his daughter to get some revenge at him.  

Tony holds Morgan a little tighter at the thought. If Morgan ever has the ridiculous idea to try and be a superhero, he’s going to honestly cry. Between Iron Man, Spider-Girl, Extremis and Killian and losing an arm to bring back the population, Tony Stark has had enough with the Super Hero business to cause a lifetime worth of aneurisms.

Tony will be glad to have both his daughters back home and safe. As it should be.

“Penny will be home soon, Morgana,” He repeats. “Do you wanna go play outside so we can see when they get here?” He suggests and Morgan nods eagerly, squirming out of Tony’s grip and racing outside. Tony follows, eager to get all the time he can with Morgan until she gets too old and doesn’t want to spend any time with her father. (He dreads the day already.)

Father and daughter maybe spend a total of thirty minutes outside, playing tag and then with Morgan’s dolls before May Parker’s dark red car comes into view. May and Happy are sitting in the front, talking to each other and Penny is sitting in the back, the grin on her face, while looking at Morgan and Tony, is a mile wide and Tony returns it enthusiastically. The car has barely pulled to a stop before Penny is stumbling out of the back and racing towards Tony and Morgan.

“Penny!” Morgan screams, jumping into Penny’s awaiting arms. “I missed you Penny: Daddy isn’t as fun to play with as you!”

Tony squawks in mock offense. “Oh, I see how it is. Betrayed by own flesh and blood.” He laments but he’s so happy that even Morgan can easily tell he’s joking.

“I missed you too, Morgs. I got you a present from Venice: you’re going to love it!” Penny says, nuzzling her head against Morgan’s and making the little girl squeal with giggles.

Penny sets Morgan down and Morgan is instantly back to jumping around and yelling about her present. “No hug for your old man? I see how it is then.” Tony jokes opening his arms for the hug he knows is coming.

Penny grins and falls into the hug, tucking herself under Tony’s chin and into his arms like she’s still a little girl. (Which she always will be in Tony’s eyes.) And Tony finally relaxes in a way he hasn’t done since Penny left for the airport a week ago. Finally, his family is safe.

-

Tony has gotten better at having a proper sleep schedule over the last five years, Morgan’s birth was a definite help but occasionally he would pull the rare full-nighter or occasionally be woken up by a panic-inducing nightmare. These nightmares had been more frequent in the past few months and had been happening every night for the last week. With Penny now finally home safe, Tony thought he might’ve finally been given a reprieve from the nightmares.

But as he jerks awake at three o’clock in the morning, he curses his optimism.  

On top of the nightmares, he’s also experiencing phantom pains from his non-existent arm so he knows he’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon. Carefully, as to not wake the sleeping Pepper, Tony maneuverers himself out of bed and walks downstairs to the kitchen in search of hot cocoa before maybe going to work on a project.

As he pads downstairs, he’s surprised to see that there’s a faint light coming from the living room, so he changes his destination and heads into there instead. In the living room, he finds Penny curled up underneath a big blanket on the sofa. One of the newer Disney movies (one that had come out during The Blip) is playing on the TV but Penny doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to it.

Her shoulders are shaking and Tony’s heart breaks a little when he realizes it’s because she’s crying.

“Oh Pen,” He says softly as to not startle her but Penny still jumps. She whirls around, looking at Tony with wide and red eyes.

“I had a bad dream.” Penny mumbles, sounding so much younger than she actually was. “Can I have a hug please?”

“Oh, baby, you never have to ask me that. I’m always going to hug when you’re upset. Even when you aren’t upset, I’m still going to hug you.” He jokes feebly as he sweeps around the sofa, Penny has opened up her blanket cocoon and Tony worms his way inside and hugs Penny to his chest. Tony is very glad that he wore his prosthetic to bed so he can hug Penny with both arms. “Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

Penny gives a weak sounding laugh at his bad joke before burrowing against his chest. She’s trembling like a leaf against him and Tony has another strong urge to go hurt Quentin Beck for hurting his baby girl. Tony thinks that maybe Penny won’t talk about her dream, she’s silent for a long time, just taking comfort from him, and Tony won’t push her.

“I killed him,” Penny whispers out of the blue. “In my dream, I mean. In my dream, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes didn’t turn up and I kicked one of the drones and it shot him. There was no one else there. You weren’t there either Daddy and I don’t know why. I watched him die in my dream Daddy. And the worse part is, is that I wasn’t even sorry to watch him die.”

Tony could kill Quentin Beck.

Instead however, he pushes Penny’s curls away from her face and kisses her forehead. “It was just a dream, baby, Beck is alive and is going to be locked away for the rest of his life. And even if he had died it wouldn’t be the worse thing in the world.” Penny makes a pained sound in her throat and Tony knows that that was the wrong thing to say. “It was just a dream, sweetheart. You have the biggest heart out of anyone I know (well maybe you and Morgan are tied) you’re so trusting and caring and I don’t know how you came from me because you are nothing like me: you are everything that I wish I could be. I love you so much, baby. You saved all those people and even after all Beck did too you, you still made sure that even he didn’t die. You are the best person I know baby, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Penny’s trembling has lessened slightly and her crying is lighter now. “I love you, Daddy,” Is all she whispers back.

Tony plants another kiss to her forehead. “I love you to bug. Now, how about you try and sleep a little? I’ll be right here for you if you have any more bad dreams okay?” Penny’s only answer is to nod slightly, burrowing into Tony’s arms as he manages to pull the blanket tightly around without letting go of Penny too much. In a matter of moments, Penny has fallen asleep and only a little while later, Tony falls asleep too.