#mud comes from DIRT which you need in order to grow grass so like

[thesixthstar]

I’m not a huge defender of lawn, and some places have native grasses and ground covers that can serve the purpose, but the thing about a lawn is that it’s multi-use. Kids are into soccer right now? Pop some makeshift goals on and they can play soccer. Now they’re into swords and water guns? Plenty of room to run. Whatever game or phase they’re into you can turn the space into that with some shit from target or some DIY (unless they’re into like paintball or ninja warrior lmao). They got older and don’t use the lawn for playing but you want to have a picnic or bbq where folks sit and stand outside? Grass is soft and pleasant to sit on! Turns out having a wide open space that’s relatively soft and relatively flat is a practical and versatile idea! And you can plant trees and vegetables and flowers next to it for both human and wildlife use!

Like I’m all for getting rid of Lawn Culture TM bc 90% of people who have lawns don’t use them for any of the above purposes and just have em for the Visuals, but the idea that you can only Throw Ball 1000 Times on a lawn is uhhhhhh not very imaginative.

it's weird how people will be like "but we need Suburban Lawn so kids can play outside!" as if basically every kid isn't bored to tears by being confined to a yard that's nothing but flat grass.

like have you talked to a kid, have you spent time with kids, do you remember BEING a kid? "playing outside" isn't about Throwing Ball 1000 times it's about squishing mud, using sticks as swords and guns, making potions from plants, catching bugs, climbing trees, and building forts from brush and branches.

A highly manicured lawn has nothing to offer the senses and brain of a developing child. If there are no "weeds," what are they supposed to gather to make into potions?? I'm not even joking, what do you, a child, DO in a yard without wildflowers and mud and dead branches. I feel like my brain wouldn't have developed correctly if my outdoor space growing up wasn't full of chicory and asters and dandelions.

At least video games offer some dim imitation of a variety of stimuli

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

You ever read a fic where they describe the natural scents of people and it’s always either ‘sweet vanilla and toffee’ or ‘dew on fresh grass and cedar wood’ sort of scents that are described?

Has anyone ever actually smelt that on someone? Naturally that is? Cause I know I haven’t and I’m here to do my own take with my old friend, Ghoap. Which is still, such a dumb name for them 😂 also this is long so strap in lads.

Anyway! I reckon Johnny’s natural scent when he was a kid used to be grass, coffee and whatever random shampoo that was on sale at the time.

He was constantly outside and rolling around in the grass, coming home with grass stains down his legs and mud on his face.

Coffee was always in the pot in his house, his family consisting of more adults than kids at that point and all of them needing their beans to keep themselves going. Johnny’s positive he could’ve left his clothes outside for days on end and they’d still come back smelling like his family’s favourite brew.

And given he had to shower every single day ‘cause heaven forbid you get those stains on my fresh washed sheets John McTavish’ his hair just constantly smelt like the shampoo they had gotten for that month.

So yeah, when Johnny was a kid those were the natural scents that clung to him. It wasn’t necessarily a good scent, wasn’t anything that made people swoon at a mere passing by, but it was his.

Simon’s natural scent when he was a kid was something he always hated. He didn’t know it was how he smelt since he couldn’t smell it on himself, but it was how the house and his father smelt and he hated it with a burning passion.

Simon smelt of cigarettes, mildew and wet dirt. All the things he couldn’t fuckin stand for years on end. Still can’t stand when caught in a bad spot or on the wrong day.

His dad constantly smoked, enough so that the walls were yellowed and his clothes reeked no matter how many times they were washed. When all of their clothes were washed the scent rubbed off in theirs, which meant the smell of it would be following Simon no matter how far he ran.

Their house was old, definitely would’ve been considered derelict and abandoned if not for the constant screaming and crying coming from it. Mildew grew in every crack and corner of any surface in the house, there was just no escaping it.

And Tommy had a horrible habit of pushing Simon into the dirt when he was feeling particularly mean. Shoving his face deep enough to choke and make him squirm, tears welling in his eyes and wetting the soil beneath his face.

Simon didn’t know these scents clung to him but he hated any reminder of them. The first thing he had done when he ran was get rid of every single piece of clothing he owned, anything to get that stubborn tobacco smell away from him.

He would clean his rooms obsessively, unwilling to leave any sort of chance for mildew to grow and haunt him once more. When it rained he locked himself away from the outside. Unable to deal with even seeing the rain hit the ground because he knew exactly what it smelt like.

It took a long time for those scents to change to something else. Many years of being in the military and being surrounded by different things for their natural scents to morph and change into something new but still uniquely them.

Johnny smells like everything you’d expect of him now. Gunpowder, nitroglycerin and metal, everything you’d expect from a demolitions expert obsessed with exploding things.

Simon smells almost the same. Gunpowder, metal and the bitter chemical tang of the paint he uses around his eyes. Also what you’d expect from a soldier who hid his face from the world.

But there were little undertones to them that were uniquely them. Little hints that they’d breathe in when hugging one another in order to reassure themselves that yes, they’re still alive and together.

Simon’s got this face cream that he uses that smells of a very specific skincare shop - that Johnny can’t put his finger on - because the paint dries out his face and he doesn’t like it when his skin feels all tight and itchy.

There’s his favourite tea that clings stubbornly to his mask cause the man will take a sip and immediately pull his mask down sometimes, the drops stuck to his upper lip rubbing off on the fabric and staining it with its scent.

And then there’s the shampoo he shares with Johnny, because the latter had found out he doesn’t look after his hair much - doesn’t see the point in it when it’s covered all day, everyday - and the man had decided to make it a ritual of theirs after missions. He washes his own hair and then he’ll get Simon to lean down so he can wash his hair with the same shampoo he uses.

Johnnys own subtleties are a little more potent than Simon’s own, but they’re no less comforting. The mans got the scent of a welder stuck to him and his clothes cause sometimes, Johnny will weld bits and bobs together to make model bombs or whatever.

Johnny swears up and down that it’s just their usual metallic smell but there’s a certain heat to it that can only be achieved through welding, and Simon loves the scent more than he’d care to admit.

He smells of coffee as well, not the brew that his family loved and that he grew up surrounded by but it’s similar. It also clings to him just as badly as the scent from his childhood had.

And then there’s the odd mix of Simon’s paint and Johnny’s pencil lead and charcoal. The younger insists on helping Simon apply his face paint and the older man knows how much it stains but Johnny is adamant. Always was and always will be.

Their scents have changed over time. Morphed into something new and different but still them, and still unnoticeable to the ones who carry it.

But the other can smell it in everything they touch. Their clothes, the bedsheets and the kits they have especially made for them, their scents cling to everything and they both find comfort in it. They both love each other even more for it as well.

[passivenovember]

mama said to smile while I still have teeth : PART TWO

(part one)

(or) Billy gets his wisdom teeth removed and Steve understands things will not grow back in the spaces we leave for them.

--

Billy hops down from the passenger side like it’s written in a script or something. Part B of his master plan, logical in the journey of what happens next.

He swings the car door open and charges through wet grass. Neon green blades stick to the heel of his boot, lopsided smile drawn forward to inspect the ferns nestled on either side of a welcome mat that says Bless this Mess. 

It’s as if he’s been here before. 

As if he belongs.

Steve watches Billy collapse on the porch swing, arms and legs folded under him like a house of cards toppled over in the wind. He must not realize that it’s functional, or something, because Billy sits bolt upright and uses the toe of his boot to get the swing moving, once he does.

Really moving, like. Banging against the bay window his mother leaves clear for her azaleas, moving. 

Billy hollers. Makes grabby hands, like, “Push me!”

“You’re gonna get sea sick.” Steve chuckles, watching Billy shrug and take it for a ride. 

Billy brings the swing to a sudden halt, when. “How come you’re all the way down there?” he asks. 

Catching on. 

Steve watches him struggle to get his feet up on the swing. Feels his heart shudder in fondness, when Billy grins up at him triumphantly. 

“Didn’t know there were other options.” Steve says.

“There aren’t. Come here.” Billy gestures to the porch when Steve’s legs decide to fizzle out. “It’s a carnival ride. You got one on your porch, at your house, and--”

Steve claims of the second cushion when Billy removes the thumb from his mouth long enough to spell it out for him. “Cuddles.” He says.

Simple.

And his eyes are so blue. Bright. Steve doesn’t have a choice because, really, they’ve swapped sides with the rope. 

Up and left this dimension all together when the flea got squashed by the acrobat deciding that they could skip the apologies and get to the good part.

Steve realizes that he wants this. 

Billy. Scooting impossibly closer and humming the bridge to Mama Mia. “You smell good, Stever.” Billy says around the pad of his thumb. Dripping more blood down the front of his hoodie, and. Trying to get his face in Steve’s neck. 

Which should be gross, but. 

Steve just clears a path. Makes room for the warm nose that sniffs a trail up and around one ear. “You said I smelled like ass,” He accuses, sounding shaky. Star struck. 

Billy’s breath feels like fairy wings. “Wrong. I said you smell like sweet grass and have a sweet ass, didn’t you pay attention to my context clues?”

“Um.” There’s something warm on Steve’s throat. Going wet in the middle, parting and sucking and--

He pulls away. 

Billy smiles at him. tries to get in Steve’s lap but the bench moves with him and when the bench moves with him, Steve’s got a brick wall glued to his side. 

Shivering. Cold, or afraid. Nervous.

“You tired?”

Billy shakes his head. With his whole body. “Wanna hang out.”

“You can sleep for a little bit. I’ll still be there, when you--”

Billy grunts. Refuses, so. Steve rubs the side of Billy’s shoulder, instead. Fabric and muscle and heat living somewhere beneath his fingertips. “You don’t wanna go in?” 

“Nope.” Billy somehow works his way under Steve’s arm. 

Feels right, striking oil in the heartland.

--

It starts raining again. Somewhere along the way, it starts getting cold and Billy shivers, peering up at Steve like he made it happen. 

Like the heavens split open and bleeding at his command.

Steve chuckles, pushing off the swing and laughing harder when Billy squawks like an angry rooster. 

“Where are we going?” He demands.

“Inside.”

Billy seems to hate that, like. Instantly. 

“Don’t make me carry you, Hargrove.” 

“Oh, look who’s got Popeye arms all of a sudden.” Billy leans back on the porch swing, thighs spread like. He has no idea how fucking--

It doesn’t matter.

“You need to eat.”

“My stitches haven’t fallen out.”

“Yeah, and they won’t. Not for days.” Steve leans against one of the porch posts, trying not to crack a smile when Billy’s thumb finds his mouth again. “Unless you’re planning to eat your hand, we gotta get some mac and cheese--”

Billy’s off the swing before Steve realizes what’s happened. He wanders in between the ferns in their bright orange pots. Jamming a thumb at the number above the doorbell, like, “This door?”

And. “Yeah?”

“This is the one with the cheese?”

“And the mac too.” Steve winks at him, watching a warm blush spread across a sea of freckles. He cocks his head, like, “What’s up?”

“Maybe we can do inside.” Billy says harshly. “For a minute. To kiss the noodles, or something--”

“Kiss the?”

“Open the door.” Billy suggests. “Now.”

So Steve does, biting down on a smile when Billy clomps through the foyer, tracking dirt and grass and pieces of Steve’s heart across imported marble.

“This is so huge.” Billy says softly. His eyes go bright all of a sudden and he’s right in Steve’s face. “You probably have so many pillows here. And chairs. And blankets, too, like. The big ones--”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s build a fort, Stever.” Billy says desperately. He bounces a little, managing to knock more mud onto the floor beneath him. “Let’s build a house. For me and you, and the noodles if they wanna stay the night.”

Steve grins, untangling Billy’s fingers from his hair. “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Steve points to the ground. “Boots off first, though.”

Billy jerks away. “No.”

“Stop being a little shit for like, three seconds--”

“Stop being party pooper. For like. Your entire adulthood.” Billy shoots back, collapsing onto the staircase and holding his foot in one hand anyway. 

Steve holds his breath. 

Billy stares at the boot, and his foot inside the boot, like maybe the connection between them is lost. 

Steve feels like an asshole for finding it adorable, but. Billy looks up at him through his eyelashes. 

“I think I’m still high.” He theorizes.

“Yup.” Steve tugs his own shoes off, placing them on the rack by the door.

“I don’t think I can untangle the knots.” Billy says miserably. He tries, though, scowling like the laces have done it on purpose.

Steve watches him struggle, and laughs at the struggle, before holding out his hands. “Give me your foot.”

Billy stares at him. “Really?”

“Our only other option is to wait around until you figure it out, and who knows how long that’ll take.” Steve says, waiting for Billy to shoot back with something venomous. 

He doesn’t. 

He coos, instead. Like a little baby bird, pointing his toes in the air with a giggle. “I’m Cinderella and you’re the prince,” Billy declares, laughing harder when Steve drops to his knees and gets the boot off in one go. “Prince Charming, Prince--”

“You’re just saying that because I have amazing hair and you have little blonde princess curls.”

“Hey.” Billy deadpans, holding out his second foot. “It grows out of my hair like that.”

“Head.” Steve chuckles.

Billy’s mouth falls open in a silent O, brows drawn in confusion. 

Steve puts both muddy boots on the rack next to his own, smiling down at Billy’s puzzled face. “Your hair grows out of your head like that.”

“It does?” Billy asks in wonder. “I like it. Do you like it?”

And. “Yeah. It’s cute.” Steve says, holding out his hand. “Come on. Lunch time.”

Billy lets Steve pull him up, swaying a little bit at their proximity. 

He doesn’t pull away, and.

This close his eyes aren’t just blue, they’re green. And yellow. And brown, like a kaleidoscope. 

“Am I a cute person, Stever?” Billy asks softly.

“The cutest.” Steve says. Without thinking, but.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Because Billy’s high as a fucking kite, wiggling his hips and saying, “I think you’re cuter than me. Softer. Like an opil painting, or maybe a box of raspberry macaroons.”

Steve chuckles, not even trying to pull away when Billy’s fingers try to force their way into his mouth. “When have you had macaroons?”

“I haven’t,” Billy admits easily. “But I always thought that maybe you tasted like one.” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but. Billy’s gone after that. Running his fingers along the wall and disappearing around the corner. 

“C’mon, Stever! I want cheese flavored kisses.”

And Steve.

Doesn’t think Billy will remember this. 

--

They order pizza instead. Steve knows that Billy’s gotta be careful with his incision marks. Not go to heavy on the fat and grease less than three hours after his surgery, but. 

Steve tries to hold blue eyes even as they slip through his fingers. Pools and rivers disappearing beneath the Earth.

He’s starting to think that maybe. 

All it would take is bat of those stupid eyelash and Steve would throw every responsible thought out the window. 

Billy says, “You got a laundry machine?” After the pizza performs its vanishing act. 

And Steve says, “Yeah, why?��� 

Two seconds before Billy is stripping down naked. 

“Woah, woah, hey--”

“There’s Kool-Aid on my hoodie.” Billy says from behind a wall of fabric. “I can’t walk around with red juice on my clothes, people will know I’m a vampire then.”

“You’re a vampire?” Steve tries to look away from Billy’s stomach. 

The smooth planes of skin, soft just above a layer of muscle. He puts a hand over his eyes for good measure. Safe keeping when Billy gets the hoodie off in one go and he’s standing there. 

Shirtless.

In the middle of the room like some kind of wet dream Steve never even realized he had. 

Billy grins, curls sticking out in every direction. “They’d think it.”

And Steve’s brain is, fucking. 

Offline. Distracted. He blinks, tearing his eyes way from Billy’s chest long enough to go, “Think what?”

“That I’m a vampire.”

And Steve thinks he couldn’t be. Too tan. Too--

Alive. Steve shrugs. “I don’t think it.”

“That’s because you don’t think.” Billy tosses the hoodie onto floor. He points at Steve, like, “Can I wear your sweater?”

And Steve looks down at himself. “This one?”

“Yeah.” Billy says. “Smells like you.”

And Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. Doesn’t even consider what it might mean, pulling the fabric over his head and handing it to an asshole who examines his Kate Bush tee shirt and says, “That one too.”

Like he’s trying to make Steve catch on fire.

Steve shakes his head. “What will I wear if you take all my clothes?”

Billy shrugs, like, “Not my problem.”

And he’s uncovering truths with those eyes. Getting a little too close to the root of it, the revelation, so. 

Steve gives Billy the shirt too. 

And tries not to think about the four seconds that they’re both shirtless. Standing in a room together, just. looking. Charting unmarked skin, eyes glazing silver springs on bronze soil. 

Billy puts the tee shirt on, and the sweater over the top of that, until It’s just Steve. 

Half naked in the living room.

“I’ll go grab another shirt, and then, um.” It feels like the walls are burning down. Steve’s thoughts fall like bullet points. “We should go outside,” He says. “Wanna go sit on the swing?”

Billy frowns. “’S cold outside.” 

“Yeah, but.” Steve picks the hoodie off the ground. “I’ll keep you warm.”

--

Billy’s fingers don’t leave his skin. Don’t soothe, when they light trails of smoke over his collarbone. 

Steve leans into the touch anyway. 

Gives into the pull, anyway, when Billy grabs his cheek and brings their eyes together, looking every bit like he’s got something to say. 

Something important.

“What?” Steve asks. Wanting to touch. Wanting to--

“You know my mom threw a plate at my old man,” Billy says, eyes resting on a scar they both know is there. Hidden, like gold beneath caverns of rock. “The day she left, she. Threw my Mickie Mouse at him.”

“Your plate?”

“It was a bowl.” 

“I’m sure he deserved it.” Steve says easily. “I’m sure it was the only way to win.”

“There aren’t any winners with stuff like that.” Billy says gently. His eyes are watery again. Steve’s getting suspicious of it, like maybe that’s just how the world comes together for Billy. With water and sphere’s of blue. 

God hovering over the surface of the deep. 

Billy sighs, thumb twitching against his leg. “Neil would’ve killed her.”

And Steve hates Neil.

Knows more than be probably should. Pays attention, takes notes.

“That just means she’s resourceful, right?” Steve whispers. “Using the stuff around her to fight fair.”

“Wasn’t fair.” Billy whispers, finally looking away. Eyes studying the rain as it drips from the trees above. 

“Clean, then.” Steve shifts, rocking the porch swing as he sits criss-cross with his knees pressed against Billy’s thigh. “Even fight. Clean break.”

He wonders how he can get those eyes on him again. 

How he can be taken apart. 

“No such thing.” 

Steve doesn’t get it. “What do you mean?”

“All breaks sever the bone.”

And Steve thinks. Maybe. “Are you high?” He squints at Billy’s face, trying to see if it’s written on his forehead. 

Billy smirks. “I think so.”

“Still high.” Steve says, wanting to lift his fingers. Prod at swollen cheeks. He doesn’t, when Billy’s eyes start welling up again. “Don’t cry.” Steve suggests, sliding closer. “Don’t cry, Billy--”

“I’m sorry about--”

“I know.”

“That night. It was. I never should’ve--”

“She’s your sister.” Steve says fiercely. Because. “We were trying to protect you.” And he was. At the root of it all, deep in the center of himself. Steve turns outward again, feet planted on the ground. “We didn’t want you to get roped into our shit. With the monsters, you were.”

Billy’s staring at him. 

Watching. Steve can feel it, so. He closes his own eyes, just to even the score. To make it easier when his lips say, “You’re too beautiful to have your life cracked open like that.”

Billy doesn’t speak until he does, voice flickering like candle light behind a window covered in frost. “Life was already laying in pieces on the rug.”

And there are fingers in Steve’s hair. Brushing tears from his cheeks. Billy grabs him by the throat with more care, more. 

Love.

Than Steve ever thought he would get in this life. Billy moves him until they’re right in each other’s space. Breathing the same air, no longer running races to escape one another. 

It feels right. 

Billy smiles at him. “Thank you.”

And Steve doesn’t know what for. Doesn’t care what for, but there’s a finger on his mouth, parting his lips. Billy’s eyes burn a hole in his tongue. Clear a path through muscle and bone, until Steve is pulled forward. 

Into an embrace. 

Into a trilogy of kisses; on the corner of his eye. On the bridge of his nose. On the bow of his lip that turns biting. And bruising.

Billy asks if he can lay on Steve’s chest, because. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He says shyly. Billy kisses him once more and  and Steve.

Goes down easy.

[diary-of-an-onliner]

feet on the ground [f.w.]

word count: 3381

warnings: none

a/n: this is based on, and a counterpart/continuation of @ickle-ronniekins 's head in the clouds — thanks for the inspo babe, this one is for you

Fred Weasley was not happy. Sure, he had made a lot of questionable, or as other people like to say 'bad', decisions in his life, but taking Care of Magical Creatures was one of the worst. Yes, it made Hagrid ecstatic, and that's always a good thing to see; yes, it's useful for his future business. However a hellfire-cracken the size of a shoebox was making him rethink his choices.

For the lack of a better distraction, he focused on digging a hole in the grass with his trainer as Hagrid’s rumbled instructiones flew over his head, missing both ears and zooming away into an indifferent oblivion. George is taking this already, he looked to George, who was quite enchanted with his partner, and thoroughly enjoying it, couldn't we have split up? He kicked the dirt lightly, startling the girl next to him.

Neither Fred nor his Slytherin partner were thrilled with each other,but misery loves company, so it might be for the best.

"How's the weather up there?" said his partner, who was crouching eye — er, shell-level, with the creature, but keeping her distance nonetheless. Her hair waved and flickered on her shoulder as she bounced on her heels.

"Immaculate, thanks for asking." he said, not wanting to get closer to the scorpion-lobster lovechild from the asshole of hell. "Y'know Hagrid said those things burn, bite, and sting, right?"

"So do I.” she said sarcastically, still keeping her gaze tied to the monster. “I'm not going to touch it, I'm just looking. You're aware we need to sketch it, label its parts and write an essay about it later?" Fred shifted his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

"Yes." his nostrils flared.

She pursed her lips and, after a moment of silence, said: "I dare you to touch it."

He crossed his arms. "I am not taking dares from you. We met three minutes ago and I haven't enjoyed a second of it."

"What's up your ass?" she turned to him, still crouching. "Actually, I don't care. Just don't take it out on me." The creature clicked their — tail? — pincers? — their something.

"I wasn't—" she raised an eyebrow and he fell silent, and looked away.

"'m not very thrilled to be here." he mumbled. "And that ugly death trap isn't making it better. Can we start over?" he asked, sighing and tiredly sweeping his left hand through his hair, and offering his right to her.

She took it and pulled herself up, then promptly smoothed out her skirt, shook his still proffered hand, and introduced herself.

Unlike his messy untucked shirt, her uniform was pressed down to the socks and her shoes held no traces of mud. It gave her a calculating, and slightly cold aura, as if she was drawn with a set of rulers and a compass. She was probably more geometrical than anyone who had ever taken Care of Magical Creatures.

"Fred." he said, even though she knew.

"Well Fred, we will be working together on this Blast-Ended Skrewt for the next few weeks, so that 'ugly death trap’ is our son you're talking about." she chided with a smile that better belonged on a sly fox rather than a girl.

"You sound very attached to it." he shot back. An idea, a thought, a silver of a notion that this might be fun slithered along the floor of his skull.

"Him.” She corrected with her pointer finger in the air. “And it's called being a good parent." she lightly jabbed him in the chest.

"Okay then. Go pet your son." Fred smirked.

They turned toward the beast which was playing in the grass like a puppy. It seemed to be wiggling its tails.

Her eyes narrowed: "Which part is the head?"

"I don't know. We should probably figure it out, since the other side shoots flames." he said in an amused tone.

"It's supposed to be a sucker, so it might be the penis-looking side." he chuckled, but when she turned to stare at him expectantly, his red eyebrow jumped in question. A breeze ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, don't be shy, we need to compare." she said flatly.

He burst out laughing so hard, a few people around them turned to stare - quite a dangerous thing to do at the moment seeing as some of the beasts started snipping. A yelp sounded from afar, and Fred laughed even harder.

At least his partner is funny.

"Seriously though, this thing is going to fire-fart on us soon and we need to figure it out."

“You don’t feel better in nature?” her tone piqued as she turned the pages of a book. Their desk was covered with them, during the first of their many study meetings.

“No.” Fred played with his quill, spinning it through his fingers. “You do?”

“I feel clearer, especially near water.”, thump, she shut her book and discarded it.

“How come?” he balanced on the back legs of his chair, eyes darting around.

“I don’t know. It’s not a thing I question.”, flip, flip, flip, “It just lures me out of my head, and makes me feel a little more real, like I’m aware of my own existence. Sharper, yknow?”

Fred shook his head.

“I don’t have a need to get out of my head, it’s great in there.” he joked. She snorted and passed him a book with a piece of paper sticking out.

“Don’t you? You seem to be in there a lot though. I think you think too much.” Fred chukled, “That’s something I've never been told.”

“Then it’s about time.” she threw his way, but she had yet to look at him, Fred noted. The idea of her as geometrical played around in his head. “Try it next time. People exist a little sharper sometimes. It stops you from feeling like you’re going to float away.” her eyes finally flickered to him like two needles of her compasses, and shot him down. His chair hit the ground.

Before Fred had a chance to say something else or roll her idea around in his brain, she passed him a piece of parchment with a soft order to, “Write.”

His diagram of their unnamed child was much neater than hers, but his illegible handwriting distracted from it perfectly.

"That is not a t."she said, her hair almost electrified from stress-combing it with her hands.

"It's obviously a g." he chirped, but his tone sounded worn down all the same. She squinted at the paper with her mouth open for a moment, then gave up.

"How are you still this peppy?" she asked as her gaze lazily rolled itself away from the books. His tie was completely undone and being used as a bookmark, his shirt unbuttoned and ruffled like his hair, ha, carrot head!, but he took no note of it as he balanced on the back legs of his chair again. Every so often, a clank would sound amid their conversation when the chair struck against the stone floor and his feet hit the ground, before he leaned back again.

"What are you talking about? I'm knackered." he yawned.

She looked up, and her thoughts leaked out of her head. The scenery through the window behind him was gorgeous, lit on fire by the dusk— oversaturated reds and pinks which lined the dark purple clouds.

With a loud tap on the library floor, the front legs of Fred's chair touched the ground and his head covered the sun perfectly, giving him a golden lining and making his orange hair melt into the background. The clear lines of his face looked almost chiseled in contrast to the haziness behind him.

A weight settled in the center of her torso, an iron bowling ball rolling between her stomach and her heart. He was handsome. She knew this. But she used to know it the way one knows they should drink water when they’re thirsty. Knowing you needed it after you drink him in, swallow, and sign, is another story.

She felt a warm metal line grow out of her chest, like a vine towards the sunlight, enter his chest and settle.

For a few moments she imagined it. She tried to note the dragging sensation of warm iron and let herself be pulled to him. She imagined the ball rolling in his center, and all his squirming being in an attempt to adjust it instead of just staying awake.

Then she blinked. Took in the real scene. Despite being exhausted, she felt tranquil in their little corner filled with books and a few very ugly sketches. She picked one up.

“Are we allowed to call his head a dick?” She questioned, but Fred just yawned and shrugged. His chair tipped back again.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” She said flatly, words moving from line to line like trains with the shittiest track designs ever.

“The thrill keeps me awake.” he closed his eyes, hair still a burning red. She didn’t dare look at the Sun for too long. Her eyes tried to follow the words. The ball rolled.

He slid another sketch towards her. “I think we should use this one.”

She put the first one aside, their hands brushing as she took the new parchment. She heard the scraping of his chair on the floor as he moved closer until his collarbone pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to point. The body heat he was emitting only reminded her of the weariness her body carried. It also refashioned her bowling ball into an anchor slowly sinking through her stomach, tickling her insides on the way down.

The sketch was neater and much simpler than others, no more than a handful of black lines on a yellowing parchment.

“This part is the head.” Fred pointed out. “I think. It looks weird and there isn’t exactly a good reference for a randomly cross-bred demon.” He seemed so focused on his drawing that she got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes intentionally. Stupid, really. They’re both just tired and have a lot of work.

Look at me.

He didn’t.

She banished all her stupid silly thoughts, and tried to turn to the books for the next few hours.

Fred stayed circling warmly on the edge of her orbit, moving around her but never looking, never acknowledging her as anything other than a voice and a pair of friendly working hands. The silly stupid thread she felt earlier vibrated. She didn't bring it up for fear they wouldn't finish all their work if she were to derail the conversation, so she waited until the end of their study session.

However, when the anticipated end neared, his chair hit the stone the last time and when she turned to him, Fred was lying on his arms on the table, asleep. His outline was as bright and as sharp as ever, but his face was soft and smooth from relaxation, like a marble statue melting. The anchor in her stomach lurch up at the sight, but she swallowed it down, smiled, and laid her head on the table too.

Another sunny afternoon had George almost skipping to his quirky partner. And Fred was glad, he liked to see his brother happy and loved teasing him for being in love even more — but he still hated the bloody beasts. He was thankful for George's efforts to cheer him up, but Fred refused to move out from under his personal gloomy cloud, choosing to carry it alone instead, the way one would an umbrella.

As soon as George mentions his partner, he knows it's time to leave him to his beloved, as he does, with minimal mocking involved (—but come on!).

As Fred approached her, he saw her roll her eyes. Funny. Something about knowing she's as un-excited as he is made his chest swell up with what can only be described as the sudden understanding of the real depth of companionship between you and a stranger, an acquaintance, a friend. I might not like this, but I am not alone.

"They're four feet long already. Your future sister-in-law," said his partner, gesturing to George's love with her head, at which Fred smiled warmly, "said we only get to work with them for another class. I think she might cry." His clouds stopped thundering.

"Don't be rude." he replied but did not sound angry in the least.

"I'm not. She's a nice girl and God bless her for being passionate about this. We need people like her, otherwise the rest of us would have to care as well." she reasoned.

"There's that warm and welcoming Slytherin care I've heard all about." he said sarcastically.

"Rude. Gingers truly are soulless." Fred got nudged in the ribs.

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself!" she flipped her hair and flashed her foxy smile. No, it's fox-like. "Don't start things you can't finish."

"Well, I'm ready to be done with this thing." he looked pointedly at the snapping creature reaching out to them like a baby in a cot.

They received their instructions from Hagrid to feed, entertain, and check the health of the creature and set off to work. After a few minutes of silence, Fred spoke.

"I think there's something wrong with this thing." he squinted.

"Him." She corrected, "He's our son."

"Well I think our son is pregnant." Fred’s face soured.

“No way." she replied, kneeling closer to the beast than she'd ever dared before. "How do you know?"

"A hunch?" Fred shrugged his very nicely shaped shoulders. No! "I'm not sure. It did eat three times as much as the others. It should be a lot fatter."

"He." She absent-mindedly corrected, trying to get a good enough look.

"He doesn't look sick but he's being weird." he squatted next to her, bouncing on his heels.

"Maybe he's lonely. We both ditched a few times." She bumped her knee into his. "I dare you to touch him."

Fred laughed as he turned to her. "I'm not that commited of a father. You do it."

"Why me? You need to do something too!" she whined as their son approached in a rather puppy-like gait, as if he was going to rub against their legs, and Fred's gaze slipped off her, like that day in the library.

"I'll do whatever you want.” he paused "Within reason, of course."

"Touch him."

"Within reason."

"Fine." their dark-shelled son stood before them now, but they were not as hesitant this time. The beast looked at Fred with either his head or his stinger (how is it still not clear?).

Slowly and shakily, her hand reached out. She almost withdrew it, but it already made contact with their son's back and he made a sound similar to purring, which was both surprising and unsettling. Her face bent in disgust as her entire palm pressed against his black shell, gleaming maroon in the sunlight.

"Ew. He's slimy." she detached her hand to see a catran-like substance coating it. "How is he slimy?"

Fred's nose was scrunched as well but an amused gleam flickered on his face nonetheless. “Disgusting.”

"Well, I did it." she complained, trying to wipe her hand on his arm, but he rose to his feet quickly, laughing.

“Keep that to yourself.” Fred warned, trying to avoid her swift attempts to use him as a rag.

“Come on!” She whined. “We’re in this together. If I have to be gross then so do you.” she jumped up after Fred.

He felt weightless as he maneuvered around her and the clawing beast that still purred by their feet, and he realized how warm the sunlight was. His little cloud was gone. In that distracted second of their impromptu three-creature quickstep, she wrapped her clean hand around his hand and pulled herself closer to him.

She grinned from ear to ear, and Fred felt her wet, cold hand sliding down his shoulder. She wiped a few times down his arm and chest with a wickedly satisfied look in her face as he wondered why he didn’t mind it so much. His eyes danced over her face the way his trainers had over the grass mere seconds ago.

“What?” she asked. Wait, she was speaking.

“Um, nothing.” his face rearranged itself from a goofy smile (What?) and he looked at his stained shirt. Before he even had time to comment, her voice made the center of his stomach tighten.

“Do you think he'd lick one if she asked?” Fred followed her gaze to George, looking as dreamy as his partner who was purring back at their Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sunlight covered them too.

Her hand still held onto him.

Fred sighed, both amused and lightheaded from a new discovery threatening to unveil its face in his mind. George laughed so loudly it reached Fred’s ears, and he responded, “Yes.”

“Would you lick one for me?” she batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” he said without missing a beat.

“What kind of a father won't even lick his own son?” she put a hand on her chest, faux-horrified.

“I still think our son is pregnant.” he said, grinning at her.

“What kind of a father won't lick his own pregnant son?” she humored.

“You're making this worse than it has to be.”

Her eyebrow rose as she offered: “You can always do this alone?”

“No.” something ugly and covered in spikes spun in Fred's stomach.

“Well then,” she said smugly, as if she knew, “you need to start cooperating.” She tugged on his arm with her hand that was there the whole time. Her arm slid around his as she pulled him along, and Fred adjusted his collar with his fingers. When did they get so far away from the group?

“You don’t pet him, you don’t groom him with your tongue like a cat, what do you do? I haven’t seen you change a single diaper!” she over-exaggerated. “I’m basically a single mother!”

He laughed and apologized, feeling lighter and sharper than he had all day.

His future sister-in-law was wrong. They worked on their loving, puppy-like hell scorpions for three more classes, and had another one in a classroom, correcting their essays. During that class, they found out that their son really was pregnant, at which they laughed all the way to the Great Hall.

Fred felt something heavy rolling over his intestines when he thought of the end. It wound itself around his organs until his lips dropped. Nevertheless, he grinned at George (who definitely saw through him), and, with his chin up like a proud lion, departed from him to sit next to his partner, one last time.

He thought about her more often than he expected to, and he feared he might have to stop soon.

As he slid next to her, his metaphorical tail curled closer to him. She beamed brightly at him, and offered her closed fist.

“You ready, partner?”

No, he curled his fingers with a smile, I don’t think I am, and bumped their hands together.

“Doesn’t have to end? Didn't you listen?” she asked him incredulously as he caught up with her. He couldn’t say he has, as his ears buzzed deafeningly loudly since they received their O.

Maybe she had a point when she said there were moments when people felt more defined as he was more sure than ever that he existed in the corridor leading to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom, as his limbs filled with lead at the way she spoke.

“I just thought if you—” his mouth shit on its own. “You know—”

“Holy shit, you really didn’t listen?” but this time she laughed. “Hagrid said we can pick our own partners for the next project.” Her arm curled around his own, “So unless you want to dump me, we march on.”

Whatever heavy thing has been making his stomach a winter home the past week flew off to their summer residence.

She definitely had a point about grounded moments, because when her hand squeezed his arm, the lead leaked out and the awareness of every part of his body slammed into focus.

And Fred smiled back.

She smiled promisingly at him, his heart stuttered, and his sneakers sunk into the stone beneath him.

[deathlikessodaandpizza]

What should we do with a drunken dwarf?

A/N: Hello! I wanted to take a break and write something fun and lighthearted and this is what came to mind! It takes place in an au where everyone lives and what might change because of that! I hope you all enjoy this one shot!

Rating: Teen

WARNING: mild language use, heavy alcohol use, and fight scenes

Word count: 4,006

Summary: Kili has gone out to drink with friends, but, hours later, and he is still not home. Tauriel is about to go out to get her husband, but comes up with an idea when their daughter, Minasel, offers to help. Now, Minasel is set on a mission to locate her father and bring him home safe and sound. 

“Your father has been gone for quite awhile,” was the sentence that started a great mission given to a young half-breed by her mother. The man of the house, Kili, told his family early that day that he would be going to a local pub with some new friends of his, but he shouldn’t be gone long. Hours later and he still was not back, which made his wife, Tauriel, grow anxious. Her husband is unpredictable, especially when alcohol is involved. There is no knowing what trouble he could get himself into. So, her plan was to adventure out, fetch him, and bring him back home, but then their teenage daughter, Minasel, spoke up. 

“I can bring him back if you want,” the half-breed offers.

Tauriel pauses in her tracks and turns towards the red head, a thoughtful look on her face. Send Minasel, her only child, out to a human village to fetch her father, where she could possibly face dangerous characters and get hurt? A foolish thing to even consider! Tauriel thought of declining her daughter’s offer, but another thought came to mind. Minasel has proven time and time again how responsible and how capable she is. Every morning, she goes out, feeds their chickens and sheep, then collects the eggs laid by their chickens, even going as far as to crawl through a tight crawl space under their cabin to make sure all eggs are accounted for. During the rest of the day, apart from normal chores, she will assist both of their parents with anything they need, never refusing any of their requests or complaining. Shear the sheep for the wool, help her father repair the cabin, or hunt for supper that night; she will do it. As for her fighting skills, she has gotten better over time. Through hunting, she has had plenty of practice with her bow, and her parents have helped her everyday with one-on-one sparring with both her sword and her fists. Now, she doesn’t miss a shot with her bow, and she is able to disarm both of her parents in a fight. Of course, Tauriel still worries about her daughter going into a village by herself, since their family lives out in the middle of a forest for Minasel’s safety. She has gone into the village before to help sell eggs or wool, or to pick up groceries, but she was always accompanied by her parents. Minasel has never gone into the village by herself. However, Tauriel also knew that it would not by right to forcefully keep her child in one place forever and that she should be able to find her own independence. If there was a perfect time to finally let her daughter explore an area outside of the forest by herself, now would be it. 

So, Tauriel set up a quest for Minasel; find Kili and bring him home safely. Tauriel gave Minasel a satchel to carry with a canteen of water and some cookies for the journey there and back. Minasel was also given a knife, which is being held by a belt wrapped around her waist, and a map, just in case she could not remember where to go since it had become so dark outside and her sense of direction could be blurred. Minasel felt ready to leave. She turned towards the door and went to walk out, but then felt her mother’s hand grab the back of her blue dress and pull her back. 

“Hold on there,” Tauriel says, pulling Minasel back towards her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” Minasel answers, trying to wiggle out of her mother’s grasp. “Did you already forget that you wanted me to go out and retrieve adad?”

“Oh, I did not forget. I just did not say you could leave yet.” 

“Nana,” Minasel grumbles, slouching over. “Knowing adad, he could be dead by now! We can’t waste time!”

“That is a bit of an over exaggeration,” her mother sighs and walks out of the room, rolling her eyes with a calming smile on her face. 

“Have you met him!” Minasel shouts to her. “I am not overexaggerating!” 

Tauriel walks back into the room, laughing at her daughter and carrying a piece of cloth in her arms. From the maroon color of the cloth, Minasel knew exactly what it was. 

“Oh,” she says, a nervous laugh under her breath. “I don’t think I need that. It is already pretty dark out, so I can just hide in the shadows-”

“Nonsense,” Tauriel interrupts, wrapping the cloak around her daughter. 

Tauriel drapes the cloak over Minasel’s shoulders, pulling her closer in order to tie the strings. Once the strings were tied into a nice little bow, Tauriel’s hands went to her daughter’s head. She lightly brushed her daughter’s cheek as she moved hair out of her daughter’s face and behind her pointed ear, before lightly holding the hood of the cloak and pulling it over Minasel’s head. With Minasel’s head and ears covered protectively under the hood, Tauriel sighs, a kind smile on her face, “that’s better.”

“My ears can’t breathe,” Minasel mutters, obviously not feeling the same way as Tauriel. 

“It’s not that bad, baby.”

“That doesn’t mean I should like it.” 

“No, it doesn’t, but, at the moment, that is not what matters. The world is not the safest place at the moment and it can be very unkind to those who are different. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Minasel stares at her mother for a bit, blinking only twice, then sighs. “Alright, nana. I understand.” 

Minasel turns around to try and leave again, but is immediately pulled back again, but this time into the warm embrace of her mother. Tauriel lays her head on her daughter’s and presses her lips against her cloaked temple. 

“I mean it,” she mutters. “Please be safe.” 

“I will,” Minasel mutters back. 

Tauriel held Minasel there for quite some time until Minasel spoke up. “You can let go now.”

“Oh, yes! Sorry!” Tauriel says, being brought back from her little daydream and letting go of her daughter. 

Minasel nods and starts walking towards the door for the final time. Once farther away, Tauriel notices the lack of shoes Minasel was wearing. All that covers her bare feet is a thin sheet of dried dirt and mud from the day's early activity. 

“Minasel, you should-“ before Tauriel could bring her daughter back in to put some shoes on, the door slammed shut and Minasel was gone. All Tauriel could do was let her daughter go off on her own, with a smile on her face and a shake of her head. 

With the door closed behind her, Minasel steps out onto the grass and looks up at the starry night sky. She was free and couldn’t be happier. She could not wait to go out of the borders of her home, pick up her dad, bring him home, and prove that she is fully capable of going out by herself. She took one more step outside and only to realize there was a problem: he is heavy. Well, at least heavier than her. Even worse than him being heavy, he was probably very drunk. That means he will probably fight back and move around, making it impossible to carry him. Minasel groans and slaps her hand on the forehead.

“Of course this is going to be harder than I thought,” Minasel mutters. “Adad is always difficult.”

Minasel looks around the lot, hoping to find something that could help her. There are the horses in the stable she could use, but the terrain leading to the town hasn’t been the best. There is also the fact that Minasel doubts her father could even stay on a horse. So, she continues to look around the lot, past the chickens and sheep settling down to rest, and the large vegetable garden that her family planted earlier that spring. 

While looking at the family’s garden, Minasel starts to remember something from when she was young. She was old enough to walk at the time, but her legs were so short, keeping up with her parents was almost impossible. Kili, wanting to make sure she was by him at all times, decided to pull out the wheelbarrow, used for carting around vegetables and farm supplies, and just use it to transport Minasel around in. He loved this idea so much that he just decided to use the wheelbarrow for everything. No more did Minasel have to walk anywhere, because her father would make sure she didn’t have to. It wasn’t until Tauriel finally put her foot down, addressing her concerns about their daughter not walking, having her ride in the wheelbarrow everywhere she goes, and how that might affect her in the future. Kili was upset at this statement since he loved pushing his baby around in the wheelbarrow, but, ultimately, it was stored away in a shed that was located on the property. The door was also locked and the key was hidden, just in case Kili decided to go against his wife’s wishes and take the wheelbarrow out in secret. Minasel knew where this shed was… and she knew where the key was hidden. 

It only took a couple of minutes, but now Minasel’s running through the forest, feet bare, and pushing the old wooden wheelbarrow in front of her. Her cloak flew behind her as she ran and her feet barely touched the ground. It was like she was flying. While running, Minasel occasionally looks down at the map that was spread out to each handle of the wheelbarrow, that way she could be holding both at the same time. While looking at the map, she went over bridges and made sharp turns down barren paths that act as shortcuts. 

After some time running, Minasel finally made it to the town her father was at. Her feet were sore and incredibly dirty and her arms ached from holding up the small yet heavy cart, but she knew she couldn’t stop to take a break. She slowly walks around the town, looking upon each building and village folk. With the amount of inns and places to eat and drink, she could tell that this is a town full of merchants, travelers, and workers of any kind. Her father did work in a mine full of men, in order to provide for his family, so Minasel is not surprised that he would be in such a town. As she walks, men stare at her with a tired, yet confused look on their faces, possibly wondering what a mysterious stranger like her is doing in their town with an empty wheelbarrow. Either that or they are trying to look under the hood of her cloak to find out what race she is. Either way, Minasel kept her head and made her way through the town, peering at every pub and inn window. 

Minasel glances through every window, until she sees a familiar figure drink a large mug inside of a pub. He was with two human men and stuck out like a sore thumb with not only his height, but with how much he was drinking. Minasel set her wheelbarrow down at the side of the building and looked at the figure through the window, almost pressing her face on the glass. At this point, she could see more features of this short person. He has long dark hair and a beard that is growing in, telling that he was a dwarf. In his hair, there were a few braids with beads braided in them, telling different things about him such as that he is married. He has brown eyes and stern eyebrows, yet he looks like the kindest soul you would ever meet. Even outside she could still hear his laugh, which is loud and contagious. Minasel knew that this was her father. 

So, leaving the wheelbarrow outside, Minasel walks inside the pub, hood up and squinting at the sudden blast of light. She ignores the barmaids who try to offer her a seat as she goes straight to the table her father is at. As she moved closer to the table, the louder the laughter became. The table was covered with empty mugs, but it seems like most of those mugs belong to Kili, as they circle around him. The two men at the table laugh louder as Kili lets out a loud belch, which makes Minasel roll her eyes. The men were about the same when it comes to size and look, larger around, tall, rugged features, knitted beards, and dirt covering their faces and clothes, but their hair was different, with one having blonde hair and the other having orange hair plus an eye patch over his right eye. She can’t put her finger on it, but she doesn’t much care for these new friends of her fathers. Kili set down his now empty mug and the men started talking. 

“What should we do next?” The blonde man asks. 

“I know!” The eye patch man exclaims. “I bet our good old friend is a good dancer.” 

“Me?” Kili asks, slurring on his words. “Of course I’m a good dancer!”

“Good enough to dance on the table without falling?” The blonde man asks.

“Of course I am!” Kili answers, triumphantly.

The eye patch man’s friendly laughter fades as his mouth curls into a smirk. “How about the roof?” 

Kili scratches his chin. “Never done such a thing, but I can try!” 

After hearing this, Minasel immediately walks over to the table and slams her hands down, causing some of the empty cups to topple over. Then three men jump at the sound and stare at Minasel, utterly surprised. She then turns her head to Kili and looks at him. 

“You’re coming with me,” she orders, grabbing his hand. 

Kili shakes his head and pulls his hand away from her. “I’m sorry, lass. You’re a little too young for me.” 

Minasel’s face starts to turn a bright red as she stares down at her father, standing straight and eyes wide. “W-what?” 

“You’re a young girl, you have so much life left and shouldn’t go after someone old like I. Not to mention I am happily married. I could never go against my beautiful wife.” Kili’s eyes then went into a dazed state as he sighs and leans on his hand, smiling like a complete idiot. “Ah… Tauriel~”

Minasel tries to talk again, face still somewhat red. “Dad, please-“ 

“You shouldn’t call me that,” Kili interrupts, snapping out of blissful thoughts about his wife. “The only one who is allowed to call me that, is my baby girl. Speaking of which, I have a cute story about her!” 

The two men groan and Minasel covers her face as Kili starts telling stories about his daughter when she was younger. At that moment, Minasel came up with a conclusion; her father really was an idiot! He doesn’t even recognize her, his own daughter! Granted, he is very drunk and his perception probably isn’t the best and the moment, but still, it’s embarrassing. She continues to try and get his attention again, but has no luck as he is too entranced with his storytelling. So, she does the only logical thing possible. 

Minasel pulls off the hood of her cloak, revealing her large, pointed ears and big mass of red hair. The patrons in the bar gasp at the big reveal, which was enough to silence Kili and make him finally turn towards her. Once seeing his daughter with her hood down, he smiles, seeing that his baby girl is with him. 

“Minasel!” He cheers, standing up and falling into her. “When did you get here?!” 

Minasel couldn’t help but laugh as she held her father up, trying to steady him on his feet. 

“I’ve come to take you home, adad,” she states, crouching down to become eye level with him, while still holding onto his shoulders. 

“Oh! A royal escort! How thoughtful!” 

“Where do you think you’re going?!” One of the men at the table, the one with blonde hair,  exclaims. 

Minasel turns to him, a smug look on her face. “I am taking my father home. He is not in a state to be out at the moment and should have been home hours ago. My mother was worried sick.” 

Kili immediately went back into a blissful state, staring at the ceiling with a wishful look in his eyes. 

“Mmm… Tauriel~” he sighs.

“Well, he is with us,” the eye patch man assures and tries to shoo Minasel away. “You and your mother don’t need to worry. We will bring him home.” 

Minasel glares at the men, sits her father down back at the table, and moves slowly to the men, hands on her hips. “We don’t need to worry, aye? As I recall, I heard you two trying to get my father to dance on the roof, something he does not have a balance for at the moment. To add onto that, by looking at the table, it seems as if he has been doing all the drinking and you two have only had a couple. If I take that information into consideration, I am to suspect you only invited my father out to drink in order to get him drunk enough to do dangerous stunts that could either injure or kill him.” At this point, Minasel was only an inch away from the men, looking up at them as if trying to intimidate them. “Am I correct?” 

The two men stare down at her, blinking only a few times. She has read them like a book, and now who knows what she might do. Despite the fact that she is only a kid, they couldn’t risk it. The man with blonde hair brings out a fist and goes to swipe it at her head, but Minasel ducks, causing the punch to miss and go directly into the orange haired man’s stomach. The punch in the stomach causes him to stumble back with a pained grunt. 

“Gods…WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” The man with the eye patch groans. 

“I didn’t mean to hit you!” The blonde man snapped back. “This is why you shouldn’t stand so close to me when there’s a fight!” 

As the blonde man shouts at his friend, Minasel jumps on one of the pub tables, jumping at the man and kicking him in the face. As she lands back on the ground, the eye patch man comes up behind her, picks her up, and holds her to his chest, holding her arms down and squeezing her. Minasel wiggles and kicks, turning towards Kili to see if he can help, but he is still too busy in his thoughts. At that moment, the blonde man has gotten back up and is now slowly going towards Minasel with a knife. 

“Don’t worry, lass,” he hisses, waving his knife around. “This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” 

“Quit moving, you little bitch!” The eye patch man grunts, holding onto Minasel tighter.

Minasel wiggles and kicks more, trying to get out of the eye patch man’s grasp, before the blonde man gets to her, but he is too strong. As the knife inches closer and closer, fear starts to set in as Minasel knows that her end is very near. She can’t save herself and no one can save her. She is doomed. All she can do is wait and close her eyes, hoping that it will help lessen the pain… but that pain never comes. A wooden mug suddenly flies across the room and hits the eye patch man in the head, knocking him out cold and freeing Minasel. Seeing the eye patch man on the floor, Minasel turned to see where the mug came from. Surprisingly, there was her father, sitting up and glaring at the unconscious body on the floor.

“You don’t call her that,” Kili grumbled then laid him head onto the table. 

With a smile on her face as she nods at her father who seems quite fatigued, Minasel takes out her knife and charges at the blonde man, who was still shocked to see his friend unconscious on the floor. With that distraction, Minasel was able to get the upper hand and cut the guy’s hand, causing him to drop the knife. The man curls onto the ground, holding his hand, as Minasel lays one final blow by breaking a chair over the guy’s head. This was enough to knock out the last man and the fight was over. 

Minasel lets out a sigh, looking at the carnage, then goes over to her father, sitting him up in the chair. Kili’s eyes flutter open and he smiles, looking up at his daughter. 

“Look at you,” he chuckles, moving his hand up to move hair out of her face. “Little warrior girl.” 

Minasel smiles at him and rolls her, standing him up. “Come on, adad, let’s get you home.” 

Minasel and Kili walk out of the pub with Kili holding onto his daughter for balance. She leads him to the wheelbarrow and helps him in, making sure he is comfortable. Kili starts shivering, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“S-so cold!” He exclaims. 

Minasel shakes her head, takes off her cloak and wraps it around her father, making sure it is secured. Kili immediately starts to smile, snuggling under the cloak, which tells Minasel that he is satisfied. Knowing this, she holds the handles of the wheelbarrow, lifts up, and makes her way out of town. She decides to go at a slower pass than she did getting to town, since she now has her father and she doesn’t want to tip the wheelbarrow, because of this extra weight. As she walks through the forested area to go home, her father sings to himself, bobbing his head and dancing underneath the cloak. 

“Be careful, adad,” Minasel warns him, trying to steady the wheelbarrow. “Don’t move too much.” 

Kili stops moving and singing immediately, but, to replace that, he tips his head back and looks at Minasel as she pushes the wheelbarrow. 

Minasel looks down at him, confused. “What?” 

“I knew it,” Kili exclaims. “I have the most beautiful daughter in all of Middle Earth!” 

“Oh really?” Minasel asks this, going along with her father’s drunken conversation. 

“Of course! Very pretty!” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Why, look at you! You have mine and your mother’s looks, and your mother is absolutely stunning!” 

“That makes sense.” 

“Not to mention you fight very well. You are perfect! Perfect and beautiful! Even though you are upside down!” 

Minasel just smiles at this statement, but Kili continues to stare at her. 

“I am very proud of you,” he says. 

“Thank you, adad,” Minasel answers. 

“I mean it,” Kili states, becoming a bit more serious. “I am VERY proud of you.” 

“I know you do, adad.” 

“I remember the day you were born. I was so scared, because you were just this tiny pebble. A tiny pebble in a large world, and I didn’t want anything to happen to my baby girl, my starlight. But look at you now! All grown up! I’m so proud of you!” 

“Thank you, adad,” Minasel says and leans over, quickly pecking the top of Kili’s head. 

Kili grins at this gesture, looking absolutely silly. He does a little happy dance before looking back at Minasel. 

“You know why I call you starlight?” He asks. 

“I believe I do,” Minasel answers, still expecting her father to tell her anyway.

“The love your mother and I have is made out of pure starlight, and, since you came from our love, that means you are made out of starlight. Do you want to hear the story of how your mother and I met?” 

“Sure adad.” 

“It started long ago, when I went with 12 other dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit to take back Erebor…” 

[brelione]

Field Trip With A Rich Bitch ll (Rafe Cameron X Reader)

Warnings:Ward Cameron,Mentions of Arsenic Poisoning,Mentions of heavy drugs,mentions of bipolar disorder,mentions of death,Rafe being too tall for every day life

He raised his eyebrows. “Where?”He asked.You rolled your eyes,wishing you had a bottle of wine to take a swig from in that moment. “What?You scared you’re gonna get mud on your shoes?”You asked.He sighed,scratching the back of his neck. “How far away is it?”He asked. “Nevermind,rich bitch,clearly you don't want to know the truth about your father.”You went to turn around but his hand grabbed your wrist quickly. “No,no it's not like that...I just wanna know where we’re going.”He mumbled.You pulled your hand from his grasp,staring down at him. “Come on,then.”You told him,beginning your walk outside the garage.His bike was nearly done,scratches holes and dents gone.The last thing to fix was the seat which wouldn't take long at all.He grabbed his phone,sliding it in his pocket.

He followed you out of the garage,waiting with his hands in his pockets as you pulled the garage door shut,bending over to place a lock on it.You could feel him staring at you. “Stop being a perv.”You grumbled,clicking the lock shut and stood back up.You could see the red blush on his cheek,spreading down his neck and ears.He was so easy to fluster.It was hilarious.Rafe had beat the living hell out of multiple teenagers,made some children cry with a glance and came from one of the most powerful families.But here you were,bossing him around,making him blush and causing him to stutter out apologies.You had that power over most people.Some kooks called you a demon and you embraced it.Most people didn't know it but you had the word tattooed on your thigh with two devil horns hovering over it.You were manipulative,assertive and strong.

You had the charm and the looks to get people to like you without knowing you and you had the glare that made the hair on the back of people’s necks stick up straight.You hadnt always been like that,only becoming this emotionless ball of rage after Ward Cameron had destroyed everything that made your life worth living.The beautiful thing was you had Ward Cameron’s one and only son wrapped around your finger and there was nothing he could do about it.Rafe was deprived of attention.Not only was Ward a terrible person but a terrible father as well.Rafe was desperate for attention now and if you gave him the attention he wanted he was all yours.You knew that and deep down he knew it too. “We’ll take the woods,I can't risk being seen with you.”You walked around the back of the garage.It was a steep hill full of rocks and some poison ivy.You knew where not to step and Rafe did his best to step the same places you did.You were pretty far ahead of him,around ten feet.Down the hill was a narrow pavement trail,cracks and holes all over it. “Anyone ever told you that you walk slow for a tall person?”You asked.

He grinned to himself,trying not to fall while also trying not to hit his head on any branches. “How long do you think we’ll be out for?”He asked.You shrugged. “Maybe an hour.”You replied,walking along the narrow pavement.Rafe wasn't used to being in the woods,at least not this deep in the woods,he was jumping at every noise. “Do you think that was a wolf?” “No.” “Did you hear that?” “No.” “Oh my god-what if there's a dead body out here?” “Rafe.We’re going to a cemetery,if there are no dead bodies then that would be a problem.” “I hate cemeteries.” “Well that sucks for you.” As you were coming to the end of the narrow pavement into the grass Rafe jumped from the crunch of a twig,grabbing onto you and pulling you to his chest.You stood stiff,his arms tightening around your waist as he listened for more sounds. “Are you going to let go of me or will I have to drag you?”You asked.He let go of you with a huff. “Do you think we should head back?”He asked.You sighed.

This was what you got from bringing a kook into the woods. “You're such a pussy.”You sighed,continuing your walk.He kept kicking the back of your heel by accident because he was so close behind you.You two walked onto the grass,looking across the field at the gravestones,benches and statues.He had come here a few times for late night drug deals and drinking with Kelce and Topper.It was a creepy old place that always made him shiver.Beer cans and red solo cups littered the ground from his previous trips here.You sighed as you looked across the graveyard to one corner,the one furthest away.He watched as you began your walk across the field.Most of the graves were covered in pollen and dirt splotches,the grass almost as tall as the stones themselves.It was gross and unkept and smelled like weed and cheap beer from gas stations.His feet were sinking into the mud,causing him to grumble something about how annoying it would be to clean them.He dragged his feet as he followed you to one large stone with vines growing up the sides.There were muddy streaks across the names like someone had tried to wipe it clean with a dirty hand.

 “Rafe,meet my parents.Mom,Dad meet the rich bitch.”You sighed,standing in front of the grave.Rafe’s eyes widened,his chest tightening.You grinned at his reaction. “What?”You asked.He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.What was he even supposed to say?Sorry your parents are dead and ended up in this shitty cemetery.Sorry I dealt cocaine by your parents grave.Sorry half those beer cans are mine. “Close your mouth Rafe,you look like a trout.”You smirked.He closed his mouth,gulping and tapping his leg nervously. “I bet you’re wondering what your dad has to do with this.”You spoke,observing his expression.He nodded,looking at the date on the grave.They had both died on the same day of 2004 which meant you were only two years old at the time. “You ever wonder how your father got all that money in the first place?Cause I can tell you it's definitely not whatever bull shit story he’s been telling everyone.”You used the sleeve of your yellow shirt to wipe the dirt off your parents’ names.He bit the inside of his cheek,waiting for you to continue. 

“Your dad was a dealer.He was my parents dealer.Im not talking about weed either,I mean the heavy shit.Heroin,crack,xanax.What kind of asshole deals xanax?Anyways,he sold to my parents and when they tried to get off the stuff he convinced them to keep buying from him.When they found my ma’s body they found that same heavy shit in her system.But here’s where the story gets really interesting.Not only did they find the heroin but guess what they found.Guess.”You ordered him.He blinked,glancing between you and the grave. “I-I dont know.”He mumbled.You nodded. “Arsenic.Your shitty father poisoned the drugs he gave my parents.WHo does that?”You sighed,flicking a bug off of the grave stone.He bit his lip as he took in this new information. “And he didnt get arrested or charged or anything?”He asked.

You laughed. “What do you think?You think Sarah Cameron would exist?You think you’d live in that big house with all of that nice stuff and your fancy ass gold plated spoons?No.None of that would be possible if your father got what he deserved.You know what your father got?A nice house,millions of dollars,a handsome son and multiple yachts.Thats what he got after killing my parents.You know what I had to grow up with?A one bedroom house with three cousins and a bipolar aunt.Thats what I got.”You ranted,tears stinging in your eyes as you got louder and louder.He didn't say anything,scared that only squeaks would come out.You bit your lip to hold back to the tears,the water leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks as you laughed. “And now my aunt and my baby cousin are dead too!”You gestured to the grave next to you. “And you know what else?I've had to work for 12 years of my life and you know where I live?In a shitty house thats falling apart and all I do is work on cars and bikes every single day and I cant even feel my hands anymore and I have fucking broken toes from kneeling all day and I cant even afford to go to a fucking hospital.And the only person that I can blame is your dad.”You wiped the tears from your face with your sleeves,smearing dirt across your cheekbone.

His bottom lip quivered,fingertips going numb as he listened to you.Something compelled him to step forward,grabbing your waist gently and pulling you into a hug.You did not fight him.If it were under any other circumstances then telling him that his father had been a drug lord,killed your parents,ruined your life and caused you to work every day of your life then maybe you wouldn't have accepted the hug.You never thought you’d be hugging Rafe Cameron,or any kook for that matter. “I can um...I can bring you to the hospital to get your toes fixed.”He offered.You laughed into his chest,getting tears on his shirt. “Wow,thanks.”You whispered,laughing again.He gulped,resting his chin on your head.It seemed that you had both needed a hug.You were holding onto him so tightly,holding fistfulls of his shirt in your hands.He hadnt hugged anyone in years and it seemed that you hadnt either. “Do yourself a favor and don't turn into your father.And if you keep going down the path you’re going down now then you’ll end up just like my parents.”You sighed.He frowned.

You sounded like one of those commercials of people staring at the camera with crocodile tears running down their faces as they talked about some loved one who had died and how drugs weren't the answer.You probably didn't know though,it wasn't like you could afford cable.He just nodded,knowing you did not need his attitude right now. “(Y/N).”He mumbled.You hummed,closing your eyes.You didnt cry often and never in front of people but when you did cry it stung like hell.You couldn't exactly rub your eyes with your fingers either because they had traces of oil and chemicals. “What if we piss my father off and get him to confess to the murders?”He asked.You sniffled,looking up at him with puffy eyes. “How?”You asked.

Part Three will be up this weekend!

@gabbismith​

[patricia-von-arundel]

Danse Macabre: Teaser - Anselma

Summary: A setting of stage: a series of teasers to introduce an upcoming dark AU by @lysissisyl​ and @patricia-von-arundel​. Coming perhaps too soon... 

Rating: G (teaser only)

AO3 || Additional Teasers (coming soon)

Danse Macabre Story Blog

There had been storms the night before.

Summer squalls were not uncommon in Enbarr, but they were usually brief and thunderous, leaving damp earth steaming and the air feeling as thick and sticky as melted sugar. Last night’s storms had been unusually long, unusually intense: heat lightning and throbs like the distant boots of some approaching giant, deep and ominous and growing closer and closer under a sky turned a curdled, heaving mass of green-yellow clouds. Then rain, and rain, and rain.

Anselma had felt the oppressive thrum of it, some monstrous manifestation of the same turmoil within her gut. Perhaps Edelgard had felt it as well; she had been excitable all afternoon, full of even more impossible store of energy than she always seemed to contain, a whirlwind of activities quickly abandoned, toys and books left scattered across every room and corridor, and endless, incessant chatter-chatter-chatter. By evening, when the heavy clouds finally burst into deafening torrents, she had become querulous and irritable, and dinner pushed with an aggravated whine to splatter across the floor was the last straw Anselma could take. She shouted, and Edelgard, with the righteous fury reserved for the most faithful of the church but also four-year-old children, shouted right back before descending into a tantrum that faded only with her consciousness.

She slept afterward as peacefully as if nothing at all had happened, never stirring as the wind took up howling and the rain drummed like mallets against the roof and the windows, each thunderclap reverberating through the floorboards. Anselma wished desperately that she could do the same - but instead, she remained restless, and watched the raindrops glisten golden as the sun finally made desperate attempt to rise and shine against a world of dark and tumultuous surprises.

Unavoidable surprises…

She took Edelgard outside, into that fresh sun, nursing her third cup of tea since dawn and wondering - not for the first time - how much more often such times would be allowed: Edelgard in an old dress, too short, and old boots, almost worn through at the soles from having once been a most beloved pair, both perfect for stomping gleefully in puddles or leaving hopelessly smeared with a canvas of mud. The stomping. The mud. The center of Enbarr - a world of palaces and of prisons - could be reached in less than an hour on foot, less than half that on a horse, but for all Anselma truly knew of it, it might as well have been Almyra. But there were children there - of course there were. In a cottage beyond the walls of the city, or a palace, or in Almyra or Faerghus or Dagda or anywhere else: a child was a child. They played, and chattered, and refused dinner with angry vehemence. Would that, for Edelgard, truly be any different?

Or so Anselma tried, for a time of which she had long since lost count, to convince herself. She tried as well to drink her tea - but it had no taste, and her throat seemed to spasm for a moment as she forced it down, leaving her chest burning and her eyes watering and some primitive corner of her mind convinced that she was drowning: ridiculous, all of it, and all of it she fought. Whatever the cause, tears solved nothing.

“Look!” Edelgard’s voice, eager and excited; she had finally learned where to click her tongue into place for an “L” sound, rather than settling for a “Y.” “Look, look what I found!” The tempests of the night before - internal and external - seemed completely forgotten, and again Anselma wished there was some way for her to do the same. She might live the impossibly-long life of a child of the Goddess, and still she would remember every moment, every detail, of the night of such summer storms.

She put her teacup on the windowsill - carefully; the stone was lumpy and uneven - and went to see what had this time caught Edelgard’s curious attention.

Edelgard was crouched on the broken stone pathway, almost to where the tall row of hedges separated their tiny piece of earth from the endless, rolling farmland beyond: the closest Anselma had been allowed to get to running free of Enbarr entirely. They would not let her take Edelgard from the city. She would not leave the city without Edelgard. As far as truces went, it was not a happy one. She had dreamed a thousand thousand times - both awake and asleep - of taking Edelgard regardless of what they ordered, of escaping to another land entirely, where no one would care who they were or of the fate of any chosen children of the Saints-cursed Hresvelg family. What were the true odds that anyone might care to find them, with so many other Hresvelg children who could be burdened with family mantle?

But it was the lack of absolute certainty - strong odds, but not absolute ones - that kept her from doing it, and kept her in Enbarr. She wondered frequently if she would ever know for sure if this was a good decision, or a very, very poor one.

None of these possibilities and speculations mattered a trifle to Edelgard, of course. Edelgard was four years old, and what mattered to her at that moment was a worm.

The worm had found its way from the depths of the earth to the warm, damp, crooked paving stones that made equally-crooked way from the door down the center of the overgrown garden. (Anselma had made a single season’s attempt at taming it, then was wise enough to return to purchasing her vegetables from the market square just inside the old city walls.) The worm was clearly now ready to return home, the cooler night sky having left it to the merciless beat of the summer sun. She could feel the same thing - the blessed break from oppressive summer dissipating almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the rays of sun sharp and glistening as fangs; the heat was not done sinking deep into Enbarr. Living within the mud must feel quite good…

“Gross,” Edelgard said - but her eyes were fixated and intent, and there was pure fascination in them, and in her little smile as well. The ribbons holding her hair away from her face - away from dirt; there would not be time to wash it again - were already coming loose; she’d been too squirmy to tie them properly, eager to get outdoors after a single day of rain had trapped her inside. Edelgard had never liked feeling anything was forbidden to her, and grew quickly stubborn if it was, no matter how practical the reason. Anselma knew exactly from where she had inherited such inclination… and also now somewhat better could appreciate the frustration she had once caused in others.

“Don’t touch it,” Edelgard added - a curt, firm mimicry of adult authority held carefully in her voice. “We don’t know where it’s been.”

It always took some effort not to laugh, when Edelgard unexpectedly took on tones that seemed impossibly incongruous from a frame so small. It was perhaps something all children did, but what did Anselma know of children besides this one? “And we don’t want to hurt it, do we?” she asked - a more practical reason for Edelgard to leave alone the poor creature, already struggling mightily to wriggle its way back into the earth.

“We could hurt it?” Edelgard looked up briefly - concerned. “I didn’t touch it!” She pursed her lips and shook her head, as if vehemence might erase any doubt of the truth in her words.

“Of course not. He’s just fine. He just wants to go home.”

“To the dirt.” The disgusted glee was back in her voice. “Are worms related to snakes?”

“Snakes?”

“Snakes are slithery.” Edelgard put her fingers on the stone - carefully apart from the worm - and dragged them in little curls. “Sssss!”

“Maybe they’re cousins.” Anselma knew as much about worms and snakes as she did about children, but it seemed a harmless-enough little fiction to satiate Edelgard’s curiosity.

“Slithery,” Edelgard said again. “Sss. Ssssss.”

“How about this?” Ribbons already loose, and frayed at the ends besides - they were as old as the dress and the boots. And unlikely to be needed again soon…

Anselma tugged one away with more force than necessary - more force than intended - as if she might too loosen and pull from her own head thoughts she desperately did not wish to think. She was lucky the knot was already coming undone; Edelgard seemed hardly to notice her hair falling to her shoulder, much less the force of the pull - she was still dragging her fingers and hissing. The worm, equally unconcerned, continued its fight away from the growing suffocation of Enbarr summer heat.

Lucky things…

Envy of a four-year-old and a worm - utterly ridiculous, and yet there it was. And quickly dashed with guilt: here was a four-year-old, excited to be outside, in fraying ribbons and old clothes, fascinated by a worm. A child. A curious, tempestuous secure child.

How much longer? How much longer?

Anselma dragged the ribbon along the stone, mimicking Edelgard’s little fingers. “Another worm! Can you help it get home?”

“Yes!” Eager, excited - content. Content with an old red ribbon.

For a time, the ribbon occupied her. She wriggled it from the stone, shuffling along without even rising from her crouch, into the grass, then back again - this worm needed several trips, or perhaps was attempting to show the other how this should be done. Then another idea occurred - “It’s time for lunch, worms!” - and Edelgard ran off for the hedges, gathering spiky little leaves and then tufts of grass. She mixed them and made careful, uneven piles, several more than she had worms, real or ribbon - perhaps the snake cousins had been invited to share in the meal.

Anselma watched. Watched, and tried hard not to think: a truly laughable waste of energy. She could still run. Take Edelgard, bring more old clothes; who would look twice at a young woman and a child in worn, ill-fitting things, just two more wretched beings spit upon by powerlessness and circumstances? The poor of Enbarr swarmed like rats in parts of the old city - she had seen them herself, more times than she could count - and very few of the more privileged ever paid them any mind, so long as they were not causing trouble. They could go further, see the world. How long had it been since even the thought of Enbarr had excited her? She could feel like that again, and share it with Edelgard, until they found together a place that felt like home. A safe place. A place where…

“Uncle!” Edelgard’s sudden cry once more breaking through wandering thoughts - Anselma had failed to hear the door, or the footsteps on the path behind her. “Uncle, I made lunch for worms! I found one! It’s here, look!”

“In a moment, Edelgard.” He wasn’t even looking at her - when Anselma turned, her brother’s eyes were quickly fixed hard upon her own. “Good morning, Anselma.”

“Is it?” She made no effort at all to hide the disdain in her voice, only her surprise at his arrival. Why should she hide it? She knew as well as he did the role he had played - had insisted upon - in securing Edelgard’s fate. And he also knew exactly how Anselma felt about that fate.

He ignored her question - as well as the disdain. “Worms? You think it wise to let a child of her birth play with worms?”

“What harm is there in worms? I don’t care a Saints-damned bit about her birth. And neither do you.”

“Anselma…”

“Volkhard.” Petty, puerile - but she also felt, sparking like a flame thought long since snuffed, a defiance growing once more inside her. She lifted her chin, staring up at him with challenge writ quite deliberately across her expression.

He saw it - he knew it well. He sighed. “It would be far wiser, and safer for Edelgard, if you might offer simply a facade of caring. Especially now.”

“I don’t see that it matters. Everyone had made it quite clear that my feelings, facade or no, matter somewhat less than horse droppings do to the horse.”

“You believe they will simply leave you be, no matter how your rash behavior might come to affect them, simply because Edelgard has taken what has always been her rightful place?”

“Her rightful place? There are ten more before her!”

“Not with the Crest of Seiros. The Vestra line -”

She wanted to slap him. Instead, she cut him off: “You’ve said that. A hundred upon a hundred times, you have said that. Say it a hundred upon a hundred times more, and it will still do nothing at all to change my mind.”

Again, he sighed - exasperation, now. “And your opinion on this will change the minds of no others. But that is irrelevant - Anselma, I am trying to keep Edelgard safe. Can you truly continue to refuse to see that, even now?”

“I can keep her safe.”

“You don’t -” But he stopped himself - shook his head. It was not the first time he had almost said more than intended… and just as every other time, the reminder of his secrets, his self-appointed superiority even where her own daughter was concerned, fanned the flames of her defiance and anger from spark to inferno. “There is no safer place for her here than amongst the protections afforded to the royal family.”

“The true danger is within that family. Or were you too busy in prayer to the Goddess to pay attention in your history lessons? You’re asking me to entrust Edelgard to a nest swarming with vipers.”

“She’s being honored by a sacred tradition as old as the empire. No one will harm her. Certainly not her own family - she will be with her father, her brothers and sisters. And the Vestra boy? Anselma, he is six years old!”

She snorted. “A baby viper is still a viper.”

She could hear it, an echo; Edelgard’s voice: Sss. Sssssss. She glanced back, over her shoulder. Edelgard was playing with the twigs she had gathered, arranging them upright in the muddy ground, but if she was listening, it would not be the first time she had appeared to be completely absorbed in something else while taking in every word. Would she say anything later, as in the past she had done to Anselma?

What will happen now if she does?

“Vipers or not, she will be safe,” Volkhard said. He, too, glanced at Edelgard, but his expression was unusually cold and closed - difficult to read. “This is nothing offered to her lightly. If anyone seems to take it lightly, it is you - why is Edelgard not yet dressed and prepared properly to leave?”

The inferno was a sheet of flame across her vision - but had not yet fully engulfed all rational thought. She fought the rage at his words: take it lightly. As if he had not picked such phrasing quite deliberately, knowing her months of refusals, arguments, and blunt anger. She fought it - fought it, and said, “You told me yourself you would likely not arrive much before dusk. Unless the definition of such has changed, you seem to be several hours early. You expected to find Edelgard demurely waiting in satin and braids by the front door, no matter the time of day?”

“I would love to see Edelgard that way, at any time.”

She bristled at that - and certainly, he noticed, but she still attempted to cover it, turning away from him to call Edelgard in. What he would not see were the tears she fought.

None of them would ever see that.

This will not be the end of it.

Words she repeated to herself in silent, determined mantra as she led Edelgard back inside, far earlier than her fevered brain could possibly have prepared for. Repeated as she tugged Edelgard out of her old clothes, wiped the mud from her face and hands, dressed her in a skirt and jacket in Imperial colors - a gift from the Vestra family she had until now tucked into the furthest, darkest corner of Edelgard’s wardrobe. Whatever happened, no harm would be done in making a positive impression on this day of all days.

Edelgard pulled at the pleats in the skirt and twisted the tiny gold buttons with her fingers. “Fancy,” she said. “Don’t get dirty…” She was already dirty - dark crescents under her nails, a stark contrast to the polish and gleam of the buttons. But there was no time for bathing. Not now.

“Be very careful,” Anselma said, and Edelgard nodded in solemn agreement. She was unusually reticent as Anselma brushed and tied back her hair - or maybe the unusual factor was Anselma herself, taking almost-unconscious care in what might be the last time she ever did this.

No… Tying fresh ribbons, new ones, and more tightly this time. A deep breath. For a moment, she held it.

This will not be the end of it.

The little trunk Ionius had sent - it was already filled with Edelgard’s nicest things, all those satins apparently so precious and so rare. On top of them, Anselma put the brush she had been using. It was the only one that didn’t make Edelgard scream and fight any time her hair was touched.

Closing and latching the lid seemed as difficult as lifting the house from its very foundation. She let Edelgard help her carry it to sit by the door, though it wasn’t heavy. The weight was not the point. Edelgard took the task as seriously as lunch for worms: watching very carefully each step she took, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. She looked more like her father when she was concentrating: the same thinned lips and drawn brows.

Volkhard did not let Edelgard help. He took the trunk and secured it to the back of the carriage - but Edelgard, distracted by the horse at the front, paid this no mind. “Does he have a name, Uncle?” she asked.

Innocent curiosity in her voice - no fear or uncertainty at all. But she had also not feared last night’s storms - very few things frightened Edelgard. A boon… except Anselma might once have said the same of herself. Standing now in the doorway of yet another home not truly her own, watching Edelgard stare up at a black beast towering above her - she felt not just fear, not just the anger she had nursed for so long, but something more like terror.

She could grab Edelgard, still, and attempt to flee. Perhaps they would simply be cut down by Imperial soldiers - could whatever skulked and screamed in an afterlife truly be worse than the most powerful men in life? Or they would escape, as she had imagined so often. Or -

“I don’t know,” Volkhard said to Edelgard - blunt. Still cold. “Into the carriage, now. Your father is waiting for you.”

“I don’t remember him,” Edelgard said - but quite matter-of-factly, and she did not hesitate to climb up the high steps. She required no help.

“You will soon enough.”

No goodbyes, just the slamming of the carriage door and a brief wave from Edelgard. It was likely for the best. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering how little Edelgard knew. Her stoicism in this might prove a necessary armor.

Anselma took a deep breath, and hoped only her own false stoicism showed. There was no one to see it - but that was not the point. She would wear this mask for herself. Wear it until…

Another breath, deep and slow and carefully even. This will not be the end of it.

Small, concrete things to do: clear away and clean the breakfast dishes. Tidy the toys scattered the evening before. Perhaps later scrub the floors. Things. Things to do. Things to distract. 

She returned first, though, to the garden; she had left her cup on the windowsill, interrupted from finishing her tea by Volkhard’s early, unexpected arrival. For a moment, she ignored it still - distracted by a flash of red further down the broken path.

Edelgard’s ribbon.

It was a coil upon the stone, bright against drab. Small and fraying, but like some helpless, pulsing creature, clinging stubbornly to life.

The worm had not been so fortunate. It lay next to the ribbon, prone and cracked and drying. Dead. Struggling for refuge, it had not escaped the sun.

[magpiemorality]

Baby Makes Three, Intruality Parents 9

Virgil Makes A Friend

A little skip forwards after the previous part, where Virgil is now roughly two years old! 

Warnings: worms, referenced Covid-19 (quarantining only)

First | Previous | AO3

***

When twenty-twenty rears its ugly head the little family are both glad and not that they’d moved just in time. They’re far from the rest of Patton’s family, but they have a house and a garden and a big enough spare room to convert into a workspace while things are up in the air. 

The sunshine helps them both to see the positives, and Remus in particular is delighted by how much time he can spend with Virgil day to day. Just having him nearby always makes the adult smile, and he’s genuinely more productive with his regular short breaks to hang out with his tiny son. 

Patton on the other hand, isn’t doing so well. He’s always been the sort to struggle with world news, and Remus has had to turn the radio or tv off more than once when he finds his partner sat, brow pinched and chewing on his fingernails. In a last ditch effort to try and help Patton out Remus suggests they start trying to turn their little patch of grass into a proper garden. If nothing else it’ll be a good investment into the future, right?

So they order some supplies, message Virgil’s daycare parents group to get hold of any seedlings and cuttings they can, and set to work. 

It’s awesome. 

Even Virgil gets involved. 

“Baby no!” Patton squeaks, rushing over (again) to stop Virgil putting a handful of new earth into his mouth. He seems to have come to the conclusion that it’s probably chocolate, which is his absolute favourite thing, and Patton is considering finding a bin to put the stuff in so it can be locked away. 

Remus mostly just laughs. “He’ll be stronger for it, Pat!” He chuckles, covered in stains and mud himself, all the more so after hefting Virgil up onto his shoulders. Patton winces as the boy kicks his dirty rain boots against Remus’ chest but his partner doesn’t seem to mind, introducing Virgil to the new trellis attached to the garden fence for the sweet-pea to grow up. “It’s probably good for his immune system, you know?”

“Sure but not like, a whole handful at a time,” Patton sighs, the protest weak as he gets distracted as always by the wave of adoration he feels for these two boys. He smiles dreamily to himself as he turns back to the buddleja he’s been trying to plant. 

The afternoon is peaceful enough, serene with the lack of cars or planes to ruin the stillness. Every so often there’s the sound of someone else out in their own backyard, and distantly they can hear a saw going. Patton is unashamed to say that this sort of life is his idea of heaven; being a homebody with his perfect family, making a home and tending to it outside and in. He hums a soft tune to underscore the sounds of Remus putting their new furniture together by hand (and sometimes quietly swearing, or muttering how much he needed to invest in some proper powertools), until a little hand tugs on his shorts.  

Virgil is stood by his hip when he turns, and Patton gets just a moment’s warning from the kid’s shout of “Look!” before a grubby hand and a rather fat worm are shoved under his nose. 

He doesn’t yelp and fall back in surprise, because he’s been a parent now for almost two years and that response has been thoroughly drilled out of him. But his eyes do widen, and his nose flares as he fights the instinctive expression of disgust. Patton has nothing against worms! Honest! He just... thinks they’re pretty gross. But Virgil, like his father, has a healthy amount of respect for all things icky in nature, and he gasps as it wriggles around in his hand. 

Patton sees his fingers start to close reflexively and catches them gently. “No sweetheart, don’t close your hand. You don’t want it to get squished! Keep it flat, just like that, but put the other one here, see? So it can move around a bit more.” He helps Virgil cup his hands together as the worm starts to meander across the provided surface, looking for earth to burrow into. Virgil giggles when it probes between his fingers, looking up for guidance. 

“‘S’a worm!” He chirps, holding it up again though Patton has definitely seen it. “Um, daddy?” 

“Yes baby?” Patton’s heart skips a beat at the serious little frown on Virgil’s face as he thinks hard about something.

“What now?”

Right. The worm is definitely working on an escape plan and, though Virgil (and probably also Remus) might object; they can’t keep this poor thing as a pet forever. 

Patton shuffles round on his knees, putting his tools down properly to devote his attention to the situation at hand. “Hm, okay. We need to let it go home I think.”

“No!” Virgil gasps, but he remembers his instruction not to close his hands well enough to not clutch the worm to his chest like he clearly wants to do. “My worm, daddy!”

“Darling, we have to be nice to mr worm. He had a nice time with you but he has to go back home now, so he can go to his bed and have his dinner-” Patton is lying through his teeth but that’s parenthood and it softens Virgil’s stubborn pout. “-So we can help him do that. Where did you find him?” 

Virgil leads him over to the corner where Remus had excavated a bunch of roots to put a little miniature pear tree. The soil looks fresh still, and Patton can see the signs of where two little eager sets of fingers scrabbled through the dirt like a tiny budding archaeologist. Virgil points the same spot out- careful not to drop the worm- and looks up at him again for help. 

“Okay, why don’t you put him down in the same place? He’s really good at digging, you can watch him for a bit if you want, but you’re not allowed to pick him up again, okay baby?” 

“Yes,” Virgil nods solemnly, doing his careful knees-to-butt fall that leaves him sat comfortably by the dirt. He puts his hands on the earth and looks at Patton when the worm doesn’t magically race off them to freedom. The adult stifles a fond laugh and demonstrates, cupping his hands and slowly pulling them apart, and Virgil squeals in delight when it works, leaving the earthworm wriggling on the ground. 

Patton can’t help it, he has to bend down to give Virgil a squeeze and kiss the top of his very earthy-scented hair (bath time will be fun tonight...) and then leaves him to his intent vigil as the worm slowly digs its way underground. 

Virgil tells the story for the next three days straight, getting up early in the mornings and jumping on the bed until one of them begrudgingly makes him breakfast and gets him dressed so he can go and sit outside and search for more worms, only to return them all gently to where he’d plucked them from after a quick tour around the garden, parroting the names of the plants in the tone, at least, that his fathers use, if not the exact correct words. 

It’s painfully adorable. 

And it is absolutely the reason why Remus turns to Patton in bed one night with that look on his face that spells mischief, and says, “You know, I always wanted a dog...”

[stillebesat]

What's in a Dream?

Seriously. Tell me. Because I have been having quite the week of crazy dreams vivid enough for me to remember them days later and they've been....stressing me out a bit. It's hard to get a restful night's sleep when you dream like this.

Dreams I've had under cut because of length:

Tuesday Night: We were in the middle of nowhere. Desert sort of landscape. The place where three dirt roads came together. My siblings and I were 'camping' and had pulled over to investigate an old camper trailer that had been left to rot. Typical 'weathered, been sitting here exposed to the elements for ages' type of wear and tear. It was basically a skeleton of a trailer. There was even an old mattress off to the side in the dirt that was more bedsprings than mattress. Mom was there and was like "Okay, let's get in the car." so my siblings and I (3 of us) got in the car/camper and Mom started heading towards the edge of a cliff. As we were more in redrock country now/kinda on the edge of like a Grand Canyon sort of viewpoint. And I was like "Mom, you need to brake" and she was like "I'm just turning around." But she hit the brakes too late and I closed my eyes and steeled myself as the car skidded over the edge of the cliff. Because my eyes were closed I only felt the swooping sensation of falling. But when I opened my eyes again somehow the entire family had got ejected from the car before it crashed somewhere at the bottom and we landed on the side of the red sandstone cliffs which turned out to have a bit of a trail -a sketchy trail with plenty of open air where you had to edge along the side of the cliff and risk a couple of jumps over open air in order for all of us to make it safely back to the top of the cliff. My main injury was a large rose thorn that had embedded itself just above my elbow on my left arm. I pulled it out, leaving a large puncture wound there, as my phone rang. When I picked up it was my "Dad" on video call (said Dad looked like Thomas Sanders) and he was frantically packing a suitcase on the bed -throwing white clothing around- as he was talking to me reassuring me that he was on his way to rescue us and that we're all going to be fine and he'll be on the next flight over.

Wednesday Night: I was with other people in a Aquarium/University/Mall conglomerate building. The idea was to go see a show. Whether it was a movie in the theater or a show in the Aquarium is unclear, but while I was trying to grab food from the food court, someone like a 'big boss' Fury sort of figure informed me that I was a criminal and that they were trying to capture me. So instead of enjoying a show, my life got turned upside down and I had to run away from my family and friends because I didn't know who to trust and I was haphazardly trying to gather 'supplies' because I was like only 15 or so in the dream and didn't have access to everything regular adults did so I was scrambling to find money and gather clothing and my photographer cousin ended up running into me while I was on my college campus and secretly trying to help me out, but we couldn't meet for long as I was constantly running through the hallway like areas between buildings filled with grass and trees and windows that you could look inside to the classrooms and such.

Thursday Night: Me and a guy were walking along the banks of a pond when we saw this male figure (who looked kinda like the human version of Frankenstein from Hotel Transylvania 4) with half his body covered in a grey/brown mud dragging himself along the bank like a zombie sort of creature. He was doing this in a successful attempt to scare me and the other guy away from the reeds of the pond/lake we were at because (POV switch) I -the square jawed handsome guy- had just killed my wife. How I killed her? No idea. Her body (she looked like the mother from Gilmore Girls) looked like she'd been lounging on the couch and had just died. One hand propped under her head, a smile still fixed on her face even as her unseeing eyes stared at me. But there were no signs of injuries. No obvious cause of death. She was just dead. And me -the husband- decided the best way to hide the body would be to bury her in mud in the reeds of a lake, but as I was finishing the burial, I could hear this couple walking nearby, so I smeared mud on the left side of my body and began dragging myself over to them to act like a ghost or zombie so that it would scare them away. But (POV switch) I -the girl- decided that I'd had enough of creepy zombie people and returned to my dormitory (which reminded me of Hogwarts) to change my clothes and return to class. Only, when I tried to go take a shower, the girls showers were full. So I decided that I would go get clean in the boy's area. So I walked, basically naked with only a towel covering my bottom half but my top exposed through the hallways filled with guys who were standing there flummoxed that I was walking around like that and that I didn't seem to care (I did, I was just putting on an act) that I was walking around half naked in their presence.

Friday Night: I was in my bedroom, which was located on the North side of the house/apartment I lived in. I was in a basement room, in the back corner of the house with the driveway next to one window, and the backyard was behind the west one. I could hear a guy outside moving around and occasionally going into the backyard to 'do his business' aka pee on our walls. It turns out some college guy was using the driveway -which was between my house and the neighbor's house (but reminded me of my grandmother's driveway up in Wyoming) as a camping spot with a tent and everything. Which we couldn't have him there because we kinda needed the driveway to park our cars in, and when my roommate A came downstairs to talk to me about the issue, we heard the guy come down behind the house again to pee on our walls, but when he finished there was a cop there who arrested him for trespassing, but also ended up arresting Roommate A because apparently the 'special insect killer' pesticide she used to protect the plants growing on the side of our house carried an ingredient that was spelled something like "Beilium" and that was in fact a poison to humans so the cops thought that she was purposely planning to kill people because as the college students of the forensic's class told us when at least four of them descended on me and Roommate A and Roommate T that in our applications to live in the place we'd put various gothic things like ...idk... "Love tombstones, Wanna dance on graves. Best roommates are the dead ones." etc. But all three of us had filled these out in that way just to show that we had a different sort of humor compared to the other people in the area as we didn't want just 'anyone' to join us in the house to be our roommate and so the three of us had to convince these college aged investigator people that we weren't actual killers, and this was happening in my room/the kitchen so I was puttering around and grabbed a beaded bracelet of like a phoenix where the bird was 3D in beads sitting on top of the bracelet, but the bracelet was made of a tinfoil/blanket material and it folded out and became this big blanket and I was struggling to fold it back up into it's original bracelet shape (I think the colors were red and silver? maybe gold?) but it refused to fold that small and end up covering like my entire arm instead of just my wrist. I ended up giving up in favor of us taking the college students -who were outside with us talking about where they were meeting for their college graduation and basically saying "we don't know but we'll know when we know" as the closing ceremony would be happening 'soon' but first we would go grab a bite to eat and we cycled through the options but I ended up seeing Roommate A/ my sister sitting at a table of an 'Arby's so we went inside to order food to continue our discussion, but as we sat at the table the lights around us flashed three times. Which was code for "Active Shooter in the building." Everyone around us froze, counting the flashes and such and when I looked up there was a 'gunman' standing in front of the counter, with two fast food workers in black standing among the customers seated around eating their food trying to talk the gunman down. There was a buzzing in my ears making it so I couldn't understand what the shooter was saying, but the basic gist was that he would ask each person a question and if they didn't answer it right, he would shoot them. So there was "Garbled question" then BANG. Garbled question. Another BANG. And I was staring at my Cousin A who was sitting at the very front with wide eyes staring at the gunman as he turned to her to ask her a question---

Saturday Night: I had just arrived at work and was preparing to go clean the cat adoption center, only as I came into the room it turned out the adoption group we were partnered with had dropped off like 40 cats/kittens into the room. But instead of trying to fit them all into the ten cages we had, they'd placed like maybe twelve of them in the cages and then left the rest of the cats out to freely roam around the tiny adoption area, though the group had left their traveling carriers around with the doors open so the cats could seek shelter if needed,but they'd left the door to the adoption center open as well meaning that the cats could have free access to the rest of the store. However for whateve reason they had basically stuck to their enclosure. So I didn't have to worry about finding any cats elsewhere they were in this area. And one of the cats was this adorable black kitten that, when it moved, the light would catch on the fur reflecting a shimmering green peacock coloration. (the eyes on the feathers) in the fur. The kitty even had some peacock feathers along its tail. And I knew my sister would love this cat as she loves peacocks and wanted to get a cat but couldn't because her husband didn't want one, but I pulled out my phone to try and take a picture of the kitty to send to her to see if this would be the cat that would finally convince her to go ahead and get a cat, only I couldn't get a good picture because all these people kept coming into the store. First it was a huge class of like pre-schoolers/kindergartners. Then it was a group of older adults with special needs, as well as a group of people who looked to have come from a nursing home, and each group tried to come into the adoption area -which was filthy because there were cats out of their cages so there was cat littler everywhere and some of it had gotten wet from spilled water bowls and mixed from spilled food bowls so it wasn't the safest/cleanest place to be at the moment as I hadn't had time to clean the room yet. And to top it off, it was only like 7:30 in the morning. So we weren't even OPEN yet. We didn't open until NINE. So I had to fend off each group -which all had the same feisty Karen woman (who looked like our 'favorite' red headed regular customer we get into the store (she's difficult to work with)) and inform them that they couldn't be in the store at this time because we were still closed and for their safety they would need to leave. So I had to tell the group of thirty children and their six adult minders, and then the group of special needs visitors with their tenders, and then the group of nursing home people and their nurses that we were CLOSED and to leave and NONE of them were happy to hear that. But like...they were the ones who'd snuck into the building through the door of our vet clinic and not through the main store doors. So I told them to come back later. That no they couldn't see the cats as I couldn't have them in the room while I was cleaning, and that they needed to leave. No one was happy to hear that, and in the process somewhere i lost my phone and found it again in a classroom. But as I was trying to gather the supplies to clean the cages while sending people away these two girls approached me looking for replacement lightbulbs for their reptile cages and they couldn't find them. Which...we still weren't open for the day, but I ended up leading them to a little outside giftshop area where we kept our Christmas decorations -leading them through a random loading dock area filled with people working on stocking the store and such- and showed them where the lightbulbs were -though I didn't see them at first as they'd changed locations and I only found them as we were about to head down the stairs and back outside- so I was showing each customer the lightbulbs they would need for their individual lamps----

And yah....

Those are the dreams I've had this past week.

Overall my takeaway is that every aspect of my life is somehow stressing me out currently. Yaaaay.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 12: Family Dynamics

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Safe on their home island of Eremita, the hermits need to practice, grow their magic stronger. A day in the life of the illegal guild of hermits includes food- practice- more food- practice- contemplating of life.

---------------------------------------------------

The Order returned to their island, healed by the remaining Asklepions and left with more questions than answers. They know almost nothing more about dark magic, despite fighting it twice now. When they thought husks only appeared around crystals, Danes proved they can move. When they believed they understood why a husk appeared, the monsters just tore apart their theories. 

One thing they did learn from the two experiences is they need more training. More experience, especially against dark magic. The hermits were strong, but the forces of darkness were stronger. But before any of them can take on each other, they first need to take on breakfast.

Which is a challenge in itself. Half of the hermits want to jump right into training, ignoring the guild hall and insistence of TFC. The other half are easily enticed by the scent of food. 

Grian is practically vibrating in his seat, to the point that Iskall has to reach out and press his hand on the blond hair to keep him seated. “Who thought it was a good idea to give him syrup?” 

“It’s not the breakfast, I can’t wait to get back to sparring!” Grian grins, turning to Mumbo. “You ready for another round of quickdraws?” 

Mumbo groans, head falling back and mouth falling open. “Gri, you know I can’t quickdraw my magic circle.” 

“Like, at all, dude.” Iskall hums, picking the skin off an orange. 

“That’s how you’ll get better! Learn by doing!” Grian points out. He knows that Mumbo struggles with his magic- it’s a lot of magic to handle, being a multi-mage. But he’s seen Mumbo’s strength, he sees the potential in his best friend. And only someone as equally powerful as him, like Grian, can take on that power. Once it shows itself. 

Stress walks by, rolling up her sleeves and brushing the rat’s nest from her hair. She sits down next to False, squeaking as the sharp slice of rock against metal cuts into the air. Stress realizes the shining alloy isn’t a plate. “False, haven’t we said before- no weapons on the tables?” 

“It’s no used weapons. This is brand new, just finished forging it last night.” She picks the chakram by the handle in the center, tossing the disk blade across the table to Wels. “Why don’t you give it a try today?” 

Wels laughs, giving the weapon a slice and a spin. “Let’s see Etho dodge this.” 

Etho, hearing his own name, abruptly stands up from his seat and scurries into the nearest shadow, a strip of bacon shoved into his mouth as he pulls up his mask. Doc and BDubs only laugh, divvying up the remains of Etho’s breakfast. 

Under the quiet seats under the massive oak, as old as the island itself, Keralis and Xisuma are studying. Keralis stopped by his family’s bookstore on the mainland, sifting through ancient tomes in hopes of finding something about dark magic. 

“Ugh, why does no one write about dark magic, sheshwammy?” Keralis growls, his thick south Lairyon accent struggling to say Xisuma’s central name. 

“Probably because it’s illegal to practice it, so no one knows anything about it.” Xisuma sets down another book, picking up the egg sandwich he made and taking a frustrated bite. “Though someone obviously does. But we need proof that this is dark magic, written proof.” He knows they can’t stop it themselves- that’s the arcane guard’s job. But after seeing all of Gildara abandoned, and most of the Asklepions killed, the least he can do is this. 

“You really think the pen is mightier than the sword?” False questions, raising an eyebrow. She presses her knife into the sausage patty on her plate, daring Joe to answer.

“I mean, when my pen can make a giant magic sword with fire and lightning, yeah.” Joe grins, pressing his chin to his open palm. A dangerous glint appears behind his glasses, and he uses the other hand to push them up. Sun reflects off the spectacles, making it impossible for False to see anything beyond the smirk and the light- infuriating her. 

“Cleo,” False grabs the pirate by her long coat and dragging her into the conversation. Without the paladin here to back her up, she needed someone else with a way with words. “You get what I’m saying. Tell me your blade there wouldn’t completely destroy Joe in a fight. I mean, all I’d have to do is cut up that journal of yours and your magic is useless!” 

“Well, Joe does have a point. Sure, your forged weapons are the best in the kingdom, and Joe is screwed if he ever has to face you without his magic.” Cleo pauses, watching the two. “But I’m inclined to believe that words should come before violence- which is why anytime Mr. Joe of the Hills here refuses to finish his breakfast, I remind him with my words that I’m going to break his knees before i actually do.” Cleo pulls out her sword, setting the tip on the wood table. 

Joe shoves the last of his pancakes into his mouth, quick to retreat from Cleo. He was asking for trouble with False, but he knows any of the women could easily kick his ass. Even as an S-Class. “Hey False, why don’t we take this debate to the training field, see how mighty the sword is to the pen?” 

“You can’t escape me forever, Joe!” Cleo calls, watching as the two S-Class mages run down the hill and onto the latter half of the island. Their home island, Eremita, was separated into two parts. The southern side of the island lays claim to where the hermits live. An odd mix of towers and forges, ships and caves. It was up to the hermits to chose their own style of household- which created some disunion of the overall complex, but allowed for each member to express themselves. Everyone helped, whether Scar packed stone bricks or False forged iron nails. 

The other half of the island, however, was left mostly untouched. A large field of grass, combed by the salty sea air, dotted with targets and barriers. A dirt circle cuts into the field, where hermits can duel one on one. Beyond the field, a large pond expands like an eye to the face of the island. Caressing the other shore, a dense forest grows on a slow rise of a hill, before stopping at the edge of the cove of a broad, sandy beach. It was a perfect home, a perfect place for an illegal guild to lay claim. 

Training grounds quickly filled with groups and teams, even TFC getting in on strengthening himself. He wasn’t going to let some little rock keep him down for long. “Hey Cub, lets show these guys a thing or two about magic.” 

The two silver haired, bearded men join the others well settled into today’s training. Deep in the forest, a soft explosion can be heard, followed by the giddy laughter as Zedaph leaps from tree to tree. Tango and Impulse struggle to follow him, and the birds diving for their heads don’t help. At the interface between trees and grass, Doc and Jevin have teamed up to amass an army. Objects under the devious control of Doc’s puppeteering magic, violent and unshaken to mimic the husks they fought. Jevin’s slime soldiers add bodies to the battle, flanking Iskall, Ren, and Xisuma. Hiding behind a barrier, Etho is waiting for the sun to reappear and for shadows to return, ducking his head as the chakram whizzes past. Despite his terrifying predicament, he has a coy smile on his face. 

In the field, BDubs is practicing his aim with Scar, shredding apart haybales with their unique magic. Plants grow from one, thorns dug deep into the tightly bound material. The other has been knocked over and crushed by a boulder, Scar cheering his success. And in the center of the dueling ring, Mumbo and Grian stand still as stone. The quietest Grian ever has been. In a flash, as simple as a shift in the wind’s direction, Mumbo rushes to summon his circle. A second later, he’s blown off his feet, Grian grinning with blue embers fading away from his fingers. Mumbo groans, rubbing the dirt stained fabric on his rear. “You couldn’t have given me a few seconds? It’s not like I’d ever win.” 

Grian offers an easy smile, waving Mumbo closer. “Come on, let’s practice the basics again. I know you can do it, friend.” 

The hermits continue into the afternoon, only stopping their training briefly for lunch under the cool relief of the oaken guild hall. Groups disband and reform, training and practicing and learning from each other. Trying to be better, stronger together. So that next time they come face to face with an enemy, or the dark magic, they can win. They will win. 

No guild is quite like the Order of Hermits. Apart from being illegal, they’re a mix of just about every kind of magic. A healing mage like Grian can stand side by side with Cleo’s underworld magic, no set skill required on requested. Varying strengths train side by side, not separated from better or worse. They all have something to learn from each other, even the strongest S-Class can be surprised by the newest mage. And often, Grian is. The magic is just as diverse as the people, the hermits that call Eremita home. 

Training is cut short by a squall, appearing like magic and blowing across the Ashioll sea. Broiling grey clouds engulf the sun, and quickly send the hermits scattering into shelter. Well, most of them. The ZIT trio remained wrestling in the mud, and BDubs couldn’t help but join in. 

Wels returns the chakram to False, a number of other hermits huddled around the blasting heat of False’s outdoor forge, nestled under the stone roof. Stress jumps back as an ember sparks out, nearly catching the trim of her robes. She rubs her exposed arms, the warm material of her fur coat wrapped around her waist. So much for the hot summer day. 

Joe and Cleo have made up, and are plucking books from his library to read as the rain pours down, laughing as they watch Ren skitter away to his home, ears and tail tucked. 

Xisuma sits at a window, looking out across the clouded green sea from his tower. He chose the Ashioll sea for a reason to make this his home. To start a guild here. No one else dared called these waters home. Old magic, magic so wild and arcane that not even the kiplings can control, residing here in these waters. Merchant vessels and battleships avoid the sea, and even the hermits don’t have every island mapped out. Though Grian and Xisuma are working on it. The sea was their safe haven, the island their home. 

Xisuma turns his head, glancing at the white envelope on his desk. The yellow seal bearing a sun remains unbroken. He’s not ready to think about his brother. He knows he could have valuable information, and is likely concerned about him, but he can’t bear to open the letter today. He turns his head back to the storm, watching lightning streak across the sky, smelling the scent of the void left behind by the bolts. He doesn’t need his brother- he has his own family, right here. 

They’ll do this, without Ex.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Safety In Numbers (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary:  Red knows how to play the game. The only problem is, not everyone gets out unscathed.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Background Kustard, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!, Unhealthy Relationship, Unnamed Ship

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

Musically Inclined

Lest You Be Judged

Solo Act 

Appealing To Better Judgment

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Refuge.

That was what Toriel named the protected Monster settlement that rose up at the base of the mountain, for all the Monsters who either couldn’t or wouldn’t live in Ebott.

Red supposed if there was nothing else, they could all thank her for sparing them from whatever dumb shit Ass-gore would’ve called it, like New New Home.

Despite all the treaties and negotiations, there were plenty of Monsters still living there. Some found that once they set their feet on the grass, they were about as far away from the mountain as they cared to get. Some were plain afraid to live out amongst the Humans. And a fair few simply weren’t allowed to leave, their little laminated ID cards didn’t grant them clearance through the front gate. Monsters with LV, Monsters with an appearance that might be considered disturbing. Any Monster likely to hit a ten on the Human freak-o-meter wasn’t allowed out not yet, anyway. Made sense, really. If they scared the shit out of the Humies by going too fast, they’d be lucky if they only ended up chased back beneath the mountain and not used as potting soil.

Try telling that to the dumbfucks, though. Red kept an ear hole close to the ground for any incoming gossip and from what was coming down the line it looked like the Assholes of Asgore were using it as a recruiting point. Red suspected that they didn’t have only have the interest of one or two disgruntled folks.

Anyone with half a lick of sense should see through their bullshit, but if Red was supposed to count on any of the dipshits he knew underground having common sense, he might as well shove a bone through his own soul now and spare anyone else the trouble of dusting him.

Their real goal was to start the bloody war Asgore promised them all and if they managed it, well, it was gonna be a pretty damn short one. Magic was handy dandy, all right, but the Humans kinda outnumbered them a million to one. Hell, while they’d been down below twiddling their thumbs, the Humans figured out their own version of magic, one that was a fuckton more explosive than anything Monsters had on tap. If Red was a betting man, and he was, thanks, he knew which odds he was putting down on.

Red looked out the tinted window of the car driving him through the newly paved streets of Refuge, watching the scenery pass by. Much as he hated being chauffeured around, these days he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Back when he was training in the guard, there was still some opportunity to skulk around. Strip away his uniform and its delta rune crest, and he was only another Monster with a shitty attitude wandering into Grillby’s for a drink.

Being Chosen took away any chance he had of wandering around unnoticed. Even if Red slipped away from Rus, his face was too well-known now and probably rated a solid six on the Humies freak-o-meter.

If he thought the chucklefucks throwing themselves at Rus’s feet begging for blessings were annoying, it was a damn sight worse when they tried that shit on him. As if he had any say in the way the Universe trundled on down the road. He wasn’t the one second in the queue to chat with the Angel, thanks, and none of the Divine had seen fit to give him their direct line.

Shame Edge didn’t let him fuck with them; a few broken fingers and a bruise or two might give them all a little peace, but eh, his bro was a spoilsport that way. His own fault for leaving the kid on his own years ago while he skulked off to join the guard, instead of sticking around to teach him what’s what. Edge’s code of morals didn’t line up so much with Red’s anymore and wasn’t that a bitch.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, ignoring the sour look the driver gave him in the rearview mirror. They didn’t say a peep, though, kept whatever words they wanted to say locked up tight behind their tusks. Being Chosen did have a few perks other than risking his life and getting to spend plenty of quality time communing with Rus’s pussy.

Red lit the cigarette with a harsh rasp of his lighter, took a long drag of smoke and breathed it out as he leaned his skull against the cool window glass, watching the blurred landscape. The streets were lined with cheaply made carbon-copy houses, but there wasn’t a whole lotta room to complain about that. The first few months most of ‘em spent huddled in patched-up tents given to them by the reluctant Human government, miserable in the spring rain and mud that tried to suck off your shoes with every step. Far as Red was concerned, all Monsters should be damned grateful for a house to call their own and if someone wanted their place shaped like a fucking fish, they were gonna have to wait their turn.

Yeah, lots of Monsters struggled when they hit sunshine, trying to wrap their minds around everything that happened. Red wasn’t one of them. He’d been Chosen only days after his boots hit the ground, but he’d spent some time out in the mudholes, searching out threats against his freshly appointed Judge. He’d learned a few useful tricks before putting on a uniform and they sure did come in handy from time to time.

These days, Red didn’t get out as much anymore. Maybe if Rus had more Chosen than only him and Edge, he could’ve kept up with it, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The kid needed him, all of him, and that was that.

Inconvenient, yeah, but probably just as well. Kept him from having to hold the lid down on his boiling need to shiv anyone who fucking dared touch what was his. He played nice enough when it came to all the unity mumbo jumbo bullshit, the Judge was an avatar of the Angel, the Judge belonged to the people, yeah, sure, he’d toe the party line.

But when it came to laying hands on his boy there was only one other Monster with the right. He was as much Red’s as Rus was and that’d be true until the day Red shivered to dust.

So, yeah, he couldn’t do the footwork himself anymore, eh, sucks to suck. Instead, he was forced to rely on other Monsters to keep him rolling in that sweet, sweet info. He’d vetted all of them himself, checked into every detail of their lives all the way back to the day they dropped from their mama’s cooch. Every single one of them was loyal as fuck to the Angel and as willing to spy on each other as they were anyone else, and that right there helped weed out most of the trouble. Wasn’t a perfect method, but it usually worked pretty well and let Red keep his fingers hooked into a few pies. That was, whenever he could pull 'em out of Rus's desserts.

Right now, all his people were working overtime, trying to dig up some dirt on how those fuckers managed to get into the cafeteria to take a pot shot at Rus. When they finally got something concrete, Red planned to deal with it personally, and if Rus ended up giving him a Judging look over it, he didn’t much give a shit. He was Chosen for the Judge, to protect them in every way possible and if the Angel was having second thoughts about it, She could stop by and deal with it herself.

None of that had shit to do with what he was up to today.

The house his car pulled up in front of was as unremarkable as the rest, a cookie-cutter copy with different curtains and a doormat. The driveway was empty but that didn’t mean shit. He already knew they were home, had to be, because they never damn well left.

“stay here,” Red ordered the driver. He nodded silently, sodium-yellow eyes meeting Red’s in the rear-view mirror. Red got out, hopping down to the ground from the high seat with a silent grumble. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. Straightening his uniform shirt was an automatic to him these days as taking his next breath. Didn’t make Red hate the fucking thing any less and he forced his hands back down as he trudged up the walkway.

He didn’t knock on the front door. Instead, he went around to the back of the house where he already knew what he would find. A turn of the corner an expansive garden was spread out before him, filled with neat rows of greenery already creeping their way out of the rich dirt.

There was a garden in every backyard in Refuge, every one of ‘em planted at the Queen’s command. Part of her plan was making sure that eventually Monsters would be as self-sufficient as possible. Couldn’t depend on the Humies to keep them in clover forever and sure they had some tech deals getting hammered out, but if there was one truth all Monsters knew, it was that G wasn’t food.

True, it wasn’t a perfect plan; some of those mandatory gardens were pretty fucking sad, brown straggly plants that might cough up a tomato or two before they kacked it. This one, though, was pristine. Red didn’t care about growing shit that couldn’t be rolled up into a blunt and knew even less about it, but even he could see the way all the plants were evenly spaced and that there wasn’t a single weed growing anywhere. Not a stray piece of grass or a single thistle dared peek out of the soil in this garden.

A Monster was kneeling in one of the plots, dressed in overalls and a funny little straw hat, a wagon next to him heaped with tools and paper bags, a small pile weeds who ignored the warning signs.

Red didn’t actually know Blue real well. When Rus talked about Blue, it was always with a wealth of fondness in his soft voice, often whispering his memories in the darkness of their bedroom whenever insomnia haunted him.

Whatever sweetness Rus remember in Blue, it was long since eroded away, torn out of him, and whether it was being Chosen, his past Judgement, or Asgore who did it didn’t much matter to the outcome.

He was one of Sans’s early Chosen, back before Red even joined the guard and the few times he’d seen Blue were when he came to assemblies to watch the trainees before they were instated as full guards. Red remembered seeing him those days; dressed to the nines in his uniform, boots polished until a person could see their reflection in them from ten steps away, every crease straight, every button fastened. Seen him a few times from a distance, too, with Sans, always a nice, respectful two steps behind him and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt between his knees. Couldn’t even picture the bastard ever getting bent over a sofa getting fucked by a desperate Judge.

(Sans was more likely to flop back and take a fucking, way back when, all sly smiles and slick pussy, knees spread wide in invitation. Whatever becoming the Judge did to him must’ve given his preferences a good topsy-turvy, ‘cause gossip in the barracks warned all the guards to be prepared for spending plenty of time on their knees)

They’d talked a few more times since then and not a single one of those chats endeared Blue to Red any more than the first.

These days Blue was pretty fucking hard to look at. His skull looked like it’d been busted apart and put back together by hands that didn’t care if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit right, parts of the bone still discolored with char. The empty left sleeve of his shirt was pinned up neatly to his shoulder and the cane leaning against his little wagon wasn’t for show. He’d survived the coup, but not by much, the only one of Sans’s chosen who didn’t die along with him, and there was a memory that Red didn’t like to take out and play with too often.

His team came in far too late, after it was all over but the vacuuming. Breaking through the barred door and walking into the leftovers of a massacre, a mass Judging, no one who’d been in the throne room came out unscathed. Blue the only one still breathing right and Sans…yeah.

Probably a wonder Blue hadn’t offed himself yet.

All that aside, it was a shame that the stick in his pelvis didn’t get yanked out along with his arm. The eye light that lit his less damaged socket was blazing sharp, and he was struggling to his feet the second Red started walking across the yard, snatching up his cane and brandishing it like a sword.

“What are you doing out here?” Blue demanded loudly. He stormed out of his garden, tracking mud across the carefully shorn grass. “You should be with Rus, he needs to be protected!”

“well, hello to you, too,” Red drawled. He stuck his hands in his pockets carelessly, rocking on his heels. “kid is fine, edge is with him.”

Blue’s dismissive scoff raked across Red’s nerves like the tines of a fork on a cheese grater. “Oh, certainly, with Edge, that’s surely impenetrable protection! Edge wasn’t even a full guard when he was Chosen!”

"might be so, but edge is the one in charge these days. you think i want out there handling that shit?" Either Blue wasn’t keeping up with the times or he was just being a prick. Either was possible, but the fact of the matter was that in public, Edge was the boss. His word was law when it came to Rus and it had a lotta spillover onto Toriel. To insinuate that he wasn’t capable of protecting the Judge was an insult about the level of hocking a juicy loogie into Red’s face and if it was anyone else, Red wouldn’t be fussed about getting the dust out of his shoelaces before he headed home. Blue caught the barest hint of a break, for Rus, but he was already fucking pushing it. Still, Red kept his voice carelessly easy, “you sound kinda worried about your bro.”

Blue shed the glove on his remaining hand and pulled a tidy bandanna out of his back pocket, mopping at the sheen of sweat on his shattered skull. “I heard about the attack, of course. Everyone has.”

“yeah?” Red raised a brow bone, reluctantly interested. “hear any useful gossip about it?”

“If I had, you would already know about it,” Blue retorted. He sighed and gestured for Red to follow him, making his staggering way up to the back porch. It was surrounded by flowering bushes, heady perfume overwhelmingly filling the air while bees flee drunkenly from blossom to blossom. Sitting on a little patio table was a carafe of lemonade, lemon slices floating amongst the ice.

Blue poured two large glasses, pushing one over to Red. He took a long drink, the tartness blotting out the nauseatingly thick reek of the flowers.

Blue took a sip from his glass, ice cubes rattling, and he dabbed away the thin stream that ran out of his cracked jaw with the bandanna. “I don’t hear most of the gossip, I’m afraid, not anymore. I’m a failed guard, the neighbors don’t exactly stop by for visits and chats.”

“You didn’t fail at shit,” Red retorted sharply. Bullshit was all that was, all because Blue managed to not die.

Red wasn’t fond of Blue, but fuck, he’d had nine toes in the dustpan when they managed to tow him back into the land of the living. He’d fucking well tried and if anyone wanted to toss in their opinion on whether they thought Blue didn’t try hard enough, they were welcome to give Red’s fat one a good ol’ suck.

Blue only let out a humorless laugh. Once, his eye lights had been a starry yellow-blue, showcasing his traits. Patience and justice, pretty good draw for a Chosen companion to the Judge. The one eye light he still had was pale and colorless now, reminiscent of Rus’s, only Blue’s was dull, doughy-blank, showing none of Rus’s vibrancy. Hard to believe anymore that these two were even brothers.

Curious that Rus’s Choosing gave him a pair of brothers with a matching trait of Determination. Made a person wonder exactly why, but neither the Angel nor the Judge were telling.

The glass in Blue’s hand rattled against his trembling fingers, the bones still yellowed and scorched. “Tell that to Sans.”

“tell him yourself,” Red lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. The cunning little device in his pocket would’ve warned Red if there was any active listening devices around, but Red hadn’t survived as long as he had without harsh lessons in watching his mouth, “i told you before, i can get you up to our rooms, no one’d ever know.”

Blue’s mouth twisted disgustedly. The movement from his jaw pulled the gaping crack over his dead socket grotesquely wider as the first real emotion winking in and out of his eye light in a flash. "And I told you, there is a reason that former Chosen aren’t allowed near the new Judge,” Blue slammed down his glass, a wave of lemonade slopping over his damaged fingers. “There's no telling how he'd react if he saw me! If he recalled I was once Chosen, he might--ugh!” Blue hunched over with a shudder of revulsion, “It's bad enough that you and your brother are servicing him."

“you questioning the judge’s choice?” Red said coolly, just this side of waspish. He didn't really give a good shit what Blue thought of it, especially considering Red’s reasons for being here to begin with, but he did wonder what Blue would think if he knew Sans popped out for a recent visit. Whispered a coupla sweet nothings while he jammed Rus’s prick East bejesus up Red’s cunt. The memory made a slick of wetness form at Red’s crotch and he shoved the memory back. Not the time and he stuffed that little reminiscence back where the one of his brother’s cock in his mouth lived, the knowledge of how it felt, soft and slick with his own come and Rus’s, carefully tucked into the furthest corner of his mind.

That tart question struck the dartboard in a bullseye. Blue faltered like he’d been jabbed right in the tailbone, sputtering out, “No, of course not, but—" He recovered, straightening his spine and that cool soldier’s expression dropped over his face, the stick in his ass jammed straight. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the damage it could cause my brother to see me, so you can stop asking, the answer is no, it’ll always be no.”

“whatever you say,” Red shrugged, ‘cause he didn’t care, not really. Except for how desperately Rus wanted to see his fucking brother, just once, one last time. The brother he’d missed out saying goodbye to between Blue’s unconsciousness and him being Chosen. Any other Judge at least got a chance to say fare thee well and the fact that Rus lost the opportunity was just one more bar in Rus’s prison, caged in, body and soul.

Blue’s answer was about what he’d expected though, and that was fine. Another useless attempt to get him to the Embassy wasn’t Red’s real reason for coming.

“not really here about you anyway, pipsqueak,” Red said, letting the words fall lightly. “i heard papyrus is staying here with you these days.”

That little tidbit of gossip came through the vine in the wee hours last night, Red checking his phone with Rus sleeping peacefully beside him, Edge on the far side. He’d spent the rest of the night lying awake, cold fury thrumming in his soul and that was the real reason Red came all the fucking way out here for a little face to face chat. “shacking up with sans’s little brother, huh, that sure must be something.”

Papyrus was only a kid when Sans was chosen as Judge, still in striped shirts and missing his two front teeth. Biggest difference between him and Edge was the Crown gave a stipend to the families of Chosen to make up for the loss of income. Papyrus probably never had a hungry day in his life and certainly not after Sans put on the robes. His bro never had to worry if the shit wage he was earning in the guard was gonna be enough to keep a roof over his kid brother’s head or keep him in clothes when he started growing like a weed. Sans didn’t have to set aside enough for a bribe to make sure that whatever G he made actually found its way to his brother and didn’t end up lining the pocket of some greedy deliveryman.

None of that was Papyrus’s fault and sucking on a silver teat didn’t make him miss his brother any less. Kid tried the join the guard a few times and always washed out, only got to try more than once because of who his brother was. Red wondered morbidly what Blue’s stuck up, sanctimonious ass would’ve thought if Papyrus had gotten into the guard and Sans Chose him.

Now it was looking like that stick in Blue’s ass didn’t keep him from inviting Papyrus between the sheets.

Whatever color was in Blue’s skull leached away, the bone dulling to chalky white, and taking with it any hope that Blue wasn’t using that kid as a dim replacement. His gaze skittered away, hunted, skipping around the yard, looking for fuck knew what. For Sans to step out of the void with shrieking admonishments, for a stray bolt of lightning to finally strike him down and send Blue after those who went before him. There was nothing, only Red standing here holding half a glass of decent lemonade in the sunshine so many died to get.

There was nowhere else for that look to go, no escape, and finally Blue reluctantly looked at Red again. He said, raw and stiffly, “There’s nothing against the code about that.”

“no, there ain’t,” Red agreed, softly. He only met Blue’s solitary eye light evenly. Red couldn’t see into Blue’s soul but he fucking well hoped Blue felt his sins crawling their leisurely way up his spine.

Red set his lemonade down carefully before he gave into the urge to toss it glass and all right into Blue’s broken face. He turned away and started back around the house, barely off the patio when Blue called his name.

“Red?” Blue struggled for words finally asked, plaintively. “Is he happy?”

Almost Red wanted to tell Blue that they kept Rus well fucked. That his little bro looked good stuffed with cock on both ends, that he sucked dick with the expertise of a thousand G whore.

But he wasn’t about to talk about Rus like that, not even to get one up on his shitheel brother. “i like to think so. he’s a real sweetheart.”

Red made no mention of the almost desperate adoration that rose up in his soul that came from only thinking about Rus. That wasn’t for sharing time.

“Yes,” Blue said. His hoarse voice was low, subdued, “he always was. take good care of him?”

Better than you could, Red did not say. “want me to give him a message or anything?”

Blue’s melancholy faded and he shook his head immediately, "Judges are forbidden from any contact by a former Chosen or family, and I’m both. You know this.” He sounded like he was reading straight from the guard manual.

If Rus hadn’t been Chosen, he’d be here right now taking care of his piece of shit brother. Standing back helplessly while Blue fucked the old Judge’s kid brother and pretended he was someone else, and Red was a selfish enough bastard to be glad he wasn’t. “you’re right, i do. so is there?”

Blue only lifted his chin and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t a Judge, because his single eye light was loaded with resentful judgement. “No. There’s nothing I could tell him that he wouldn’t already know.”

Yeah, just as well Rus was Chosen. Blue didn’t fucking deserve to have his brother here with him.

Wasn’t a fucking thing Red could do about Papyrus; he was out of stripes and kid was gonna have to make his own bad decisions and what was Red gonna do about it anyway? Take him back home like a stray puppy he found on the streets? Tell him that he didn’t have to settle for Sans’s leftovers, remind him that it wasn’t Sans’s idea to leave any of them? That he didn’t need to live here, the two of them burying themselves into a dusty tomb that Sans wasn’t even in.

He wondered what Papyrus was getting out of it. If he was closing his sockets and played his own version of pretend.

He wondered why he even cared. Why had he come out here to Refuge, really?

“tell paps i said hi,” Red said finally, “ain’t nothing against that in the code, either.”

“I will.”

Red turned on his heel and headed back to the car before he said something he wouldn’t regret, but would hurt Rus if he ever heard about it. He lit a cigarette before they’d even pulled away from the curb and by the time they got back to the Embassy, he’d smoked his way through the entire pack.

~~*~~

When Red got back to their quarters, he was too fucking tired for the early hour of the day and faintly nauseous from too much nicotine. He closed the door carefully behind him, resetting all the alarms. His joints ached like all his frustrations seeped out of his soul and settled into them.

In their living area, Rus and Edge were sitting on opposite sofas, playing some kind of stupid card game. Rus was choosing to stay home for a few days, barring a Judgement, and that was the only reason Red felt comfortable enough to leave the two of them alone, anyway.

Kid didn’t want to endanger anyone else, perfectly reasonable response to what happened, but they couldn’t hide away in here forever. Rus needed fresh air and sunshine. He needed his meditation gardens, not the weedy looking herbs Edge grew on the narrow windowsill for his cooking.

That meant Red needed to go over the intel his contacts were sending along. Search for reoccurring names, patterns, anything that’d lead him to the end of this snake so he could chop off the head.

Needed to, yeah, but it’d have to wait. Right now, his head wasn’t exactly in the game. He’d left too much of his mind behind in Refuge, turning that chat over and over, trying to find a chink, a solution that didn’t exist.

Probably better to get settled so he didn’t miss a trick, yeah, that was the ticket. All Red wanted right now was some manufactured forgetfulness and he wanted to get started making it right now.

“welcome back,” Rus called cheerily. He only glanced at Red, pale eye lights filled with warm greeting, before turning back to the cards in his hand with a little frown.

That gave Red a chance to discreetly run a mental inventory of his honey. Rus was looking good today. There was some color back into his bones, his pristine skull glossy with health. His magic was leveling out to its normal slower upward trickle. Hell, at a glance he was damn right perky, and that made it hard not to appreciate how fucking pretty he was. His long robes were discarded in favor of a pair of soft, loose pants and a t-shirt to match, bare feet tucked under his knees and a hint of his clavicles peeking tantalizingly over the neckline, begging for a mouth to give ‘em a taste.

Just seeing Rus like that leached some of the aching tension out of Red’s soul, trading it out for relief.

It was tempting to step up right then, but Red hung back, waiting for them to finish their game. When Rus wasn't giving Judgments, what he was mostly was bored. There was only so much meditating and bonding with the spirits or whatever the shit that anyone could do. Protecting the Judge was the focus of their job, the most important thing, but it wasn’t the only one. The other part of their bit was plain taking care of Rus and that included entertainment.

Sex might be an easy way to knock out two birds with one dick, but it couldn’t be the only thing.

Their living room was lined with shelves filled to the brim with books and blu-rays, video game consoles and board games, anything to help Rus pass the day and hopefully forget that the sunshine his brother nearly died to get for their people couldn’t really be his.

“What were you off doing anyway?” Rus asked absently. His attention was mostly on the game, sockets narrowed, and across from him, Edge only waited patiently, the slightest hint of a smirk curving his mouth. Rus didn’t seem too worried about Red taking a field trip, it did happen from time to time.

His brother was probably less than pleased that Red took off without a word as to where he was going other than a hastily scrawled note of ‘back soon’, but eh, Red could take that medicine when he had to.

There was a split-second choice to be made here, whether to tell Rus the truth of where he’d gone or not. With only a couple words, Red could make sure Rus never wanted to see his brother again…and taint every past memory he clung to in the process. Almost did it anyway; Red was an old hand at cleaning up all kinds of messes, he could handle one more. The only thing that held his tongue was thinking of Rus’s grief, the choking tears streaming down his pretty face, and his memory of his brother would end up just one more thing he’d lost.

Only this time it would be Red doing the taking.

Fuck it, if the Angel wanted Rus to know about it, She could do the dirty work.

“nothing important, darlin’,” Red said smoothly, and that was true enough.

Rus didn’t notice anything amiss, but Edge gave him a narrow, suspicious look. Eh, he’d catch his bro up on things soon enough. Now wasn’t the time. For once, Edge wasn’t buttoned from his clavicles to his toes in his uniform, instead dressed in soft pants and a sweatshirt that was a hair too tight, probably from Rus’s side of the closet. Probably meant they’d spent some cuddle time on the sofa before starting up on the game or at least Red hoped so. He might watch the cameras later. Just to make sure.

His wandering thoughts were coagulating, coming back together in his skull and Red was already wondering what kind of distraction he could come up with to tug their attention from the cards when he heard it. Faintly, the familiar, hollow sound of a constant buzzing against bone.

Well, now, this was getting interesting, now wasn’t it.

“care to fill me in on the rules to this game?” Red drawled. He leaned against the sofa arm and treated himself to a more in-depth perusal of them both. Nothing unusual leapt out at him, not yet.

“it’s pretty simple,” Rus said. His cards were fanned out messily in his slim hands, a disorderly array of suits. “whoever loses a round has to wear a vibrator in the next round. winner gets to put the vibrator wherever they want.”

Huh. Rus sounded a little more disgruntled than that called for. Kid was an ace at counting cards, it was a little surprising he’d even persuaded Edge to play. “sounds fun.”

“i thought so too,” Rus said, shooting Edge a sulky look. “only edge doesn’t even work up a sweat, no matter where i put it. i’ve tried it behind his sternum, his sacrum, pubic arch. i'm about ready to toss it into his eye socket and let it rattle around in his skull for a while, see if that shakes him up.”

Edge laid the queen of spades on top of the card pile and said placidly, “My apologies for my self-control being so boring.”

Boring, huh. Red looked his brother up and down calculatingly. The little details were there if a person knew how to look. Eye lights barely hazed, the slightest hitch to his too-even breathing. He was a little worked up, but Rus wasn't lying, he still looked like an ice cube wouldn't melt in his shorts.

Meanwhile, Rus was pouting unhappily, his pretty smile turned upside down, and that just couldn’t be allowed, now could it. An idea perked up in the back of Red’s mind, ripe with possibilities, and Rus would go for it no question. Whether Edge would was dependent on how happy he wanted to make Rus, which usually fell under ‘a lot’. The odds were good, and Red never shied from a good bet.

Red leaned in and settled a wandering hand on Rus’s knee, sliding lightly up his inner thigh and snagging his attention. "how about we play another kind of game, honey."

Rus immediately looked wary, but Red wasn't offended. Couldn't blame him; Rus'd played Red’s games before, good on him for taking the lesson to heart.

"what game?" Rus asked suspiciously.

"Doesn’t anyone want to know if I want to play a new game?" Edge asked no one in particular. They ignored him.

Red rose up on his toes and laid a soft kiss on Rus’s mouth, lingering a little too long over that sweetness before he reluctantly drew back. “lemme get changed first then we'll talk. you go on ahead and finish that round.”

He strolled off, whistling cheerfully. The day was already looking up.

In their shared bedroom Red stripped out of his uniform, carelessly dropping it to the floor for Edge to bitch over later. A pair of well-worn shorts and a t-shirt was a decent match to the wardrobe choices of two brats out there, and made for easier access and cleanup. Ready Freddy, except for one thing.

Red knelt down and dug out a small box hidden underneath their bed, grabbed a little something that might come in handy right soon. He tucked it into his pocket, shoving it deep enough not to arouse (heh) suspicions.

Edge was picking up the cards when Red came back out, tucking them back into the box. The previously unseen vibrator was sitting innocently on the coffee table as if Red couldn’t see the faint traces of crimson that’d been hastily wiped away.

Red crawled up on the sofa next to Rus and held out an arm, pretended that his soul didn’t give a solid throb as Rus immediately snuggled in against him happily. The kid rolled over on his back, his skull in Red’s lap, looking up at him with bright curiosity in those pale eye lights as he said, “c’mon, red, tell me!”

That pout was back and Red took a moment to lean down and quickly kiss it away, allowing only a brief flicker of their tongues together before he pulled back. He stroked the smooth bone of Rus’s forehead lightly, soothingly, “all right, honey love, here’s the game. you got five minutes to get edge to come, however you can. if you don’t get it done in the allotted time, i get five minutes to make him come. winner gets the prize.”

As he’d guessed, Rus’s eye lights immediately blew wide, briefly tinging golden in an abrupt surge of desire. It faded quick enough, Rus struggling to hold it back, but the cat was out of the bag now, wasn’t it.

Across the way, Edge barely stifled a sharp, startled sound, but if he had an opinion about Red’s little suggestion, he kept it to himself.

The rest of Red’s words seemed to have wormed their way past that first thoughtless rush and Rus was frowning again, “that's not fair. if i lose, he'll already be all worked up for you.”

Red leaned down and gave him a light kiss in reward for figuring that out. “ah, but see, difference is, i don't get to touch him. no bone on bone for me, sweetheart, i promise.”

Mollified, Rus settled back. “what do i get if i win?”

“you get to ask a favor of me, anything at all.”

Poor kid was gonna get whiplash the way he kept flipflopping from interest to disappointment. “i can already do that.”

“yeah, but you don’t.” Red pointed out, “you never do. this one you’d earn fair and square, might make it easier if you’re spending your own dime rather than the inheritance.”

Rus nodded slowly, understanding coupled with intrigue lighting his face, “and if you win?”

“same deal, i get to ask one thing from you. anything i want.” That win or lose Rus was gonna enjoy himself thoroughly was heavily implied.

“anything,” Rus murmured, rolling the word around in his mouth, giving it a good taste, but before he could decide if he liked the flavor, another bargainer stepped up to the table.

“I have a question,” Edge said, coolly. Red glanced at his brother meaningfully, met crimson eye lights that were a match his own. Edge was sitting on the opposite sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. The line of his jaw was tense, teeth gritted together, but that wasn’t distaste or reluctance on his face, not one fucking bit. He waited to see if his bro would beg off or outright refuse. They’d teeter-tottered around into a little touchy feely a long time ago, didn’t matter so long as it helped get Rus off. They'd been ramping it up lately, but this was a horse of a different color, deliberate red on red without a buffer of honeyed gold between them.

He was counting on his brother not to disappoint.

“what’s that, bro?” Red asked.

Edge’s crimson tongue flicked out over his teeth, an almost imperceptible hint at nervousness. "What do I get if neither of you get me to come?"

Oh yeah, that was his bro.

"ah, that’s easy,” Red said lightly, “favor is all yours, little brother. from both of us."

Red looked back down at Rus and he could about see the gears turning in his mind. He was a smart kid, even smarter when you took into account all the Judges in creation playing house in the back of his mind. He was trying to work out what kind of monkey's paw bullshit Red wove into the bargain, but looked like he wasn't finding anything cause all he said was, decisively, "deal.”

“Deal,” Edge agreed softly. He stood and turned on his heel, walking out. Came back only a minute later with a couple towels over one arm, fucking neat freak. He spread them out on the sofa then shed his clothes, folding each piece neatly as he stripped it off. Edge wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Rus, his bones were thicker with none of the delicacy that was laced into their lover’s, pocked with scars from the years before he was in the guard and the training alike. Strong bone that could take a beating and had, bearing the marks of a survivor and warm pride flowed over Red like syrup, like the honey he so often named Rus.

Edge’s joints were already lit with mana, either from the earlier vibrator or the recent chat, and a cloud of it filled his pelvic cradle, a thunderstorm of brimming desire. He settled back on the sofa, long legs stretched out, and said, mockingly sweet, “Ready when you are.”

A hasty search found lube where it was thoughtful stowed under one of the cushions and Rus drizzled it over his slim hands, rubbing them together until the slender bones were glossy and slick. “summon your cock first, give me something to work with.”

Edge tutted in disappointment, shaking his head, “Asking for a concession already?”

“everyone knows you don’t start a game without setting up the pieces first,” Rus countered, waggling his slippery fingers teasingly.

“he’s got you there, bro,” Red chuckled, amusement mingled with a peculiar sort of relief. All the nastiness of the day was flowing away, dirty water down the drain, simply by being around these two sassy shits. “don’t you think he deserves a little head start?”

Nice to see that Red wasn’t the only one who weakened under a pair of wide, pleading eye lights. Edge softened like sweet butter left on the stovetop. The swirl of his magic solidified, his cock formed between his femurs, already heavy and hard, a formidable piece of equipment that Edge usually put to good use. Rus reached out with dripping hands, only waiting when Red called out.

“hold up.” Red pulled out his phone, setting the timer, “okay, rus…go!”

Red settled back into the throw pillows to watch the show, one hand slithering down the front of his shorts, hard phalanges idle against his pubic crest where his magic was settling humidly. Wasn’t any part of the bet against him coming and Red was all ready to hit the concession stand.

Rus didn’t waste any time, both hands already curled around Edge’s shaft, spreading the slippery lube until the scarlet ectoflesh was glistening wetly. The rhythmic sound was wickedly obscene, startlingly loud over Rus’s satisfied hum.

There was no reaction at all from Edge, his eye lights barely flickered as Rus stroked him. Even when Rus frowned determinedly, kneeling between Edge’s spread legs, tongue already eagerly extended. He lapped softly at the little jewel of scarlet fluid beading at the head of Edge’s cock before sucking the length of it down with a messy slurp.

“that’s it. little brother,” Red called, smirking as Edge only hissed out a breath, keeping stubbornly still, “don’t make it too easy for him.”

It was a helluva show, to put it mildly, worth it even if by some random chance Red lost the game. Rus was pulling out all the stops, using every dirty, wicked trick he’d been taught between them about giving head and a couple made up on the spot. The long, flexible length of his tongue wrapped around the shaft, a thumb and forefinger surrounding the base, following the tight rhythm of Rus’s head. Mouth sloppy wet, golden spit sliding down his chin and wetting his hand as Rus sucked Edge in deep, his formed throat bobbing as he swallowed, formed muscles massaging the hard length. His free hand wandered wherever it could reach, seeking out places he knew were sensitive. Rus had mapped out their bodies with those shy, nimble fingers of his too many times to count, committing their every twitch to memory, and now he was tweaking cartilage, fondling up the length of Edge’s spine, teasing at his floating ribs.

All the little details put together a fine picture; Rus’s ass in the air, his clothed pelvis wriggling enticingly as he worked. Muffled whimpers were spilling into the air from him around the cock filling his mouth, garbled pleading, and Edge sure as fuck wasn’t unaffected now.

Sweat decorated his skull like glittery sequins as Edge breathed hard through his nasal cavity, his tongue caught between his jagged teeth hard enough that a thin rill of crimson was spilling down his chin. His knees jerked slightly with each bob of Rus’s head, bones clattering softly. A raw groan escaped Edge, hinting at desperation at the exact moment the timer buzzed, shifting to a pained gasp as Rus pulled off with slow deliberation, giving the head a last teasing suck.

Rus sighed in mock disappointment, wiping at his mouth fruitlessly with the back of his hand and only succeeding in smearing the mingled gold and crimson fluids. “damn it, guess i lost.”

“guess you did,” Red slid down to the floor with less grace than he would’ve liked, knees wobbly and his own arousal settled heavily into his pelvis. “have a seat, honey, watch the master at work.”

Mischief flittered over Rus’s face, far too quick for anything but a warning. He caught hold of the front of Red’s shirt and yanked him in, forcing his sex-tainted tongue down Red’s throat. The taste was one he knew all too well, honey sweetness mellowed with spice, rich and addictive.

A last delicate swipe of his tongue and Rus sashayed away, snagging one of the pillows to curl around while he settled in for his turn to watch.

Red licked the back of his teeth, catching the last of that tang before it faded completely. Yeah, Rus was gonna pay for that.

Or maybe Red needed to thank him, because Edge was watching them hotly with a riveted gaze, a thread of crimson fluid leaking from the tip of his cock to stain the towel.

He didn’t quite flinch as Red crawled up on the cushions, keeping a careful distance from his brother’s bare bones. There was a certain fraught quality to Edge’s expression, a feral wildness like he might bolt away.

“close your sockets, bro,” Red told him, gently. Which mean of course that Edge did no such thing, contrary bastard.

“Why?” Edge said suspiciously. His gaze flicked down Red’s body helplessly to where his dick was pushing out the front of his shorts, then away, then back to Red’s face, the color blooming his cheekbones lovelier than any flower in Refuge.

Thoughts like that weren’t gonna help Red win the game and he shoved it aside, adding it to his growing collection of ‘ain’t thinking about it’.

“because i fucking told you to,” Red retorted, “that’s why. now play the game right.”

“I don’t recall following orders being in the rules,” Edge grumbled, but this time he did as he was told.

Red waited until he was sure those sockets were closed tight, not the faintest hint of crimson showing. Then he reached into his pocket for his special toy surprise.

This particular prize wasn't from their normal toybox since Rus didn't have a lot of interest in his cock. That might be changing, he'd give it a thought some other time. The toy was made of a gelatinous material was only slightly softer than ectoflesh, formed into a hollow sheath that was lined with small bumps and curving grooves designed stimulate, drag out every drop of pleasure possible, willingly or otherwise.

The expected cries of cheating didn’t come and Red flicked a glance at Rus to find him watching with wide, rapturous sockets, face flushed golden bright. One arm was wrapped so tightly around the pillow the fabric threatened to burst and his other hand pressed between his legs overtop his pants, fingers digging in helplessly as if he could stop his cunt from forming by sheer, physical will.

The audience was waiting, the timer was set. Time to get this game started. Red scooped up the depleted bottle of lube and squirted a dollop into the sheath and with one motion, deftly slid it down on his brother’s dick.

The reaction was gratifying. Edge’s hips lurched up wildly, his sockets flying open, hands curled into claws that very nearly latched onto Red’s skull before they abruptly diverted and clenched into the sofa cushions.

"You said no touching!" Edge hissed, crimson eye lights flashing as he trembled with outrage. His sharpened fingertips dug into the cushions, tearing through the fabric down to the memory foam.

“i ain't touching you a bit, baby brother,” Red crooned, and tightened his fist around the sheath, giving it a quick, vigorous stroke. Those bumps had to be digging in, massaging their way up and down with each rub.

Edge gasped wetly, squeezing his sockets shut, "Don't call me that!"

The other sofa creaked and Red slanted a glance at Rus who was halfway to his feet, reaching out weakly and conflicting emotions tangled across his face. “red, stop," Rus said, trembling but firm. "not if he doesn't want it."

Red only chuckled darkly, dragging his clenched fist down achingly slow, then up abruptly again, "oh, don’t you worry, honey, he wants it. don't you?"

Edge said nothing, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he struggled to keep his pelvis still while Red jerked him off through the thin barrier of the sheath. Looked like the trap might need a little more bait.

Red leaned in closer, careful not to so much as graze his brother’s strong, scarred bones, and whispered, low and harsh, "you remember the first time you fucked him? the way he was spread out under you, begging you to take him?”

This time his brother’s breath creaked out like the hinge of an old door as Red kept it up, murmuring breathily close to his auditory canal, “remember pushing your cock into that pretty virgin pussy? how it was already dripping with my come, how tight he was around your cock? kinda like this, yeah, remember him cryin' cause he needed it so much? how scared he was, showing us his soul? sweet thing all dripping wet, he needed it so bad, the mess he made, oh, that honey magic and silver, practically squirting over himself the second you touched his clit, remember that? you remember how he looked when he came?"

He kept up the relentless pace with every low word, letting the memory warm him. There was a certain charm to clumsy eagerness, inexperienced hands searching unknowingly for all the places that felt best. Not that Red missed it exactly, but he sure didn’t mind bringing that memory out to play with from time to time.

Edge was struggling, heaving, his eye lights narrowed to pinpricks as he stared blindly up at the ceiling.

Almost there, almost, and Red leaned in close enough for Edge to feel the heat of his breath, a bare whisper too low for Rus to possibly hear him, "member the first time he said he loved us?"

That did the trick. Edge let out a wretched sound like a sob, bones rattling as he came, filling the sheath to overflowing with his seed. Red could feel the surging heat of it through the thin plastic, smelled the rich spice even as the blare of the alarm came from his phone.

Game, set, match.

Red pulled off, tossing the dripping sheath to the coffee table to join the vibrator already there. Edge only lay weakly in his defeat, pelvis smeared with come, the rest of his bones dabbled with sweat. Red left him there to wallow in his filth, prowling over to Rus.

Who scrabbled back into the corner of the sofa, his sockets so wide it looked like his eye lights were gonna pop loose and fizzle out on the carpet. He fumbled for the phone gracelessly, somehow managing to turn off the warbling timer without dropping it on the floor even as Red raked a look over him. Taking in the heated glow of his joints, the honey-tint to his eye lights, the wet patch seeping through his pants, leaving a darkened stain that clung visibly to his pussy lips.

Yeah, Red had his number now. Looked like their honey had a lil' voyeurism kink going on. That was a new toy Red was looking forward to playing with, fuck yes. But for now, he had a problem of his own going on in his pants and Rus’s magic was crackling hotly in the air, searing lightning searching for the ground

"lay back, sugar," Red slipped off his shorts, briefly fisting his own cock, groaning at the feel of his own hard fingers.

Rus did it instantly, squirming as he worked his pants down his legs and kicked them off even as he asked doubtfully, "this is what you want as a favor?"

"nope, this is mine by right.” Red jerked Rus down until his pelvis was at the edge of the sofa, long legs dangling to the floor. He shuffled forward, lining his cock up with Rus’s eagerly clenching entrance, smearing his cock with golden wetness. “i'll let you know about the favor."

Then he shoved into that wet pussy, groaning at the soaking, tight heat around him as Rus’s wail filled the room.

So fucking gorgeous, watching Rus whimper and flail as Red fucked him. Pretty as Rus was on his knees, Red liked him better on his back. Liked watching that lovely face scrunch up every time Red fucked into him, honeyed tears welling up, streaming down the rounded curves of his cheekbones as that sassy mouth dropped open and his tongue curled behind his teeth.

In the down under, he got to watch his dick moving in the soft, golden magic that filled Rus's pelvis. His cunt was a slippery, plush delight, that first thrust inside always bordered on too tight until his walls loosened up a little, Rus whimpering out little cries as Red forced his cock in, past the rippling clench to fill him up.

And fuck him for how hot that was. Red knew Rus could take a fist all the way up to the elbow into his pussy, a cock wasn't no big thing, (heh), but the feel of it, fuck, like taking his virginity all over again. Red braced his heels against the coffee table and pumped harder, watched the length of his shaft slide in, pussy lips spreading wide around it, parting to give him a nice look at Rus's swollen clit. Red reached down to trace around it teasingly with a careful, sharp-tipped finger and Rus let out a frantic whine.

"you want somethin’, sweetheart?" Red panted out.

"i want to come!" Sweet desperation poured from him, fuck, talk about no stamina. Then again, Rus was like a little energizer bunny of orgasms, he could keep going and going, popping off one after another. Wasn’t no reason to hold him back now.

One hard drag of Red’s thumb over his clit and Rus was arching, his legs going tight around Red’s hips, holding him in deep as he convulsed. A fresh rush of wetness flooding his pussy, smoothing out the ride.

Rus sagged back against the cushions, hiccoughing soft little cries as Red kept it up. His own orgasm was swelling in him, tantalizingly close. Next to him, the sofa suddenly dipped with added weight and maybe Red couldn’t lean up high enough to give Rus’s pleading mouth a kiss, but that was fine, cause Edge was there to do it for him, his brother’s crimson tongue moving sinuously against Rus's golden one, fuck, yeah.

"come on down here, bro,” Red growled, flicking his thumb over Rus’s swollen clit again, “got something better for you to work with."

His brother shifted downward instantly, tilting his head in to lick at that sensitive nub. His crimson tongue was long, prehensile, dipping in between Rus’s femurs. Not his normal one, either, this one forked at the tip, all the better to work against Rus's clit, circling it from both sides, yeah, his fucking clever brother. Sometimes it wandered too low, one of the tips occasionally grazed against Red's cock, slyly pushing into Rus’s cunt and catching Red off-guard with a brief firework of sensation.

Red could taste his own sweat, sharp and faintly bitter, tried not to jerk as that tongue lashed against him again. He didn’t want Edge the same way he did Rus, he didn’t, but oh, you kid—

Fuck it, he couldn’t hold out anymore.

Red let go with a groan, pulling out to come in hot streaks over Rus's pelvis, and, oh, yeah, his bro's face. Edge flinched, closing his sockets and didn't stop, licking Rus through another orgasm even as a glossy spurt of come striped across his tongue, the fluid a shade of crimson darker than the ectoflesh.

With a deeply satisfied sigh, Red shuffled over enough to flop on the sofa even as Rus trembled and writhed through his shuddering ecstasy. He watched through narrowed sockets as Edge sat up, blinking too fast and his tremulous expression was loaded with conflicting signals. Almost, Red reached out, his sense still blurrily pleased, struck with the idea of rubbing his come in, smearing it across his brother’s scarred bones, marking him—

He reeled back, snorting aloud at his own stupidity. Yeah, yeah, his brother and no one else’s. He’d lived that schtick his whole life, no reason to complicate it now.

Looking at it sideways, the mess of his come was dripping down Edge’s skull in a way that made Red think hilariously of strawberry syrup on cheesecake.

Well, it could be a sweet treat for someone to eat, now couldn’t it.

"whoopsie, looks like i messed him up," Red drawled, elbowing Rus lightly. "you gonna clean him up, sugar skull?"

Rus stirred at the pet name, sockets fluttering open, then going wide as he took in the sights. He swallowed audibly, husking out, "yeah i can…i can do that if…if you want?"

Like Edge was even capable of turning that down. A short, sharp nod and Edge sat obediently still, let Rus lave at his face, greedily licking up the spatters while Red watched the crimson smearing the deeper gold of his tongue avidly. The sudden flood of fresh arousal was startling, almost unwelcome.

Almost.

The way he figured it, Edge would only stand that for so long before he hauled them all off to their massive shower. The three of them standing together beneath the generous spray, the water pouring down on them about two degrees lower than the temperature of lava, exactly how Rus liked it. The probability of blowjobs or fucking was high and so was the chance of a nap afterword, Rus snuggled up against him blissfully well-fucked, his brother on the other side. A preciously rare gift from the Angel to make up for the slagging shithole of Red’s life before.

He'd guarantee that Rus would mumble out a sleepy ‘I love you’ for them both before drifting off and right about then, Red wanted that more than anything in the fucking world. Those three words, Rus, and Edge.

His, all his in a way no one’d ever been his entire life. Not even Sans.

Red didn’t have a fucking clue what game they were playing anymore. Didn’t matter, either. All he knew was that the fates were sore losers and that he didn’t give a shit.

He was playing to win.

-fin

Next Chapter

[ladleposts]

Pancakes

All about Sayuri's favourite food.

Notes:

This is another ficlet about Obito and my OC, Sayuri. And I guess her parents too! Minor spoilers for my long-running fic, Sayuri.

Uzumaki Yumi didn’t always cook.

In her youth, she is too busy running through the waves, like lots of children her age, or rolling about in the long grass, much to the despair of her mother, who moans about the stains.

In kunoichi lessons she listens eagerly when the teacher talks about flowers and ikebana, and her arrangements are often touted as fine examples of work.

For cookery she gets an acceptable pass. Edible. Nothing to write home about.

“Hmm,” the teacher chews thoughtfully, “a little tough. Needs more salt.”

“I don’t see what I need to cook for,” she retorts, “I can just buy from the store.”

“And what stores will you find in the middle of the field?”

“Well, uh, I’ll find one,” she replies, cheeks warm.

And then, the war starts, so she is dodging smoke bombs and projectiles, and finding the best way to patch up wounds when there is no medic nearby, and eating riceballs and protein bars on the go.

But sometimes protein bars are not enough and she has to learn how to cook, so if her teammates, her friends are to survive to the evening, they sure wouldn’t die from food poisoning.

And then, as the city crumbles, fleeing with her husband, Kenta, who says nothing of the subpar stews that she concocts, although she sees how he grimaces as he chews his way through overcooked venison.

At a civilian village in the Land of Fire, she sees a poster at the village hall.

‘Home cooking class, for all your family needs by Pan Keiko.’

“Do you want to have a go?” Kenta says, once he had doubled back after seeing his wife was not behind him, “We could stop here for a while.”

“We can’t,” Yumi shakes her head, already pulling away, “it’s far too expensive. We only have so much, and it’s got to last. Who knows how long we’ll be here for?”

“What’s wrong with right here? It seems safe enough.”

“Well, if you think so...”

“Besides you’ll be needing to eat well soon enough, for the little one,” he touches her stomach, at the subtle swell of her belly underneath her clothes.

“If you’re sure…”

“Go on,” he finishes with a kiss to her cheek, “ I’ll find a place for us to stay.”

The class consists of making a katsu curry from scratch, and, surprisingly, pancakes.

Yumi is sure her curry sauce doesn’t taste quite right, and finds herself growing increasingly flustered as she tries to fix it with the numerous spices available.

Here dear,” the elderly woman leans over from the table next to her, and works adding a bit of this and a bit of that—so it resembles something closer to the example.

“Thank you,” Yumi replies easily, “I shall have to remember more how to do the blends.”

“You’re welcome dear. But between you and me, you can easily just buy the packet roux from the shops. It tastes just as good. Of course Keiko would argue differently.”

“So you know Pan-san do you?” Yumi asks as they prepare the ingredients for pancakes. It is an odd choice, but Yumi is glad that the recipe seems simple enough.

“Oh we go way back. But what about you? You come from far?”

“We were just passing through,” Yumi says guardedly. This elderly lady looks kindly enough, but they can never be too careful.

“Little one on the way?”

“Oh, yes,” Yumi confirms, consciously putting her arm protectively over her stomach. She is barely showing and this lady has noticed already?

“It’s nice when they’re small,”  the lady muses, “I take care of my grandson. Growing lad he is, I seem to forever find myself getting more food for him. Always getting himself in trouble, fighting with his friends. But what can I do? I just make sure he’s got enough, and he’s happy, it’s the best I can do.”

Yumi nods and smiles, hoping to herself that there will not be too much trouble ahead for her child.

—

Uchiha Rina arrives home to Konoha late that evening. Her grandson is waiting on the steps, still in his mission gear, which looks rather like it need a wash. He scrambles to his feet when he sees her.

“Grandma you’re back! You should let me escort you going that far!”

“Pah!” She brushes off his hand trying to help her in—she was proud of her grandson for always being so caring, always willing to give a hand, but she is hardly an invalid—”I’m perfectly fine thank you! The road’s safe enough.”

The next morning Rina tries out the pancake recipe, seeing if she can replicate what she had done in the class.

Her grandson comes down the stairs sniffing the air. He had taken a shower thankfully, as evidenced by his hair being more unruly than it usually was. Rina always had to resist the urge to tame his locks, as whenever she tried to get a hairbrush near him, he would squirm away with a wail of “Grandma!”

“What’re you doing?”

“Trying out this recipe I got from Keiko. If you stay and help you might get some.”

“Oh no thanks! I gotta train! Gotta work hard and then I can finally beat Kakashi!”

“Rin might like it if you cooked something like these for her.” Perhaps it is a little devious, but Rina is fond of Rin. She is a good influence on him. This...rivalry with Kakashi, she had hoped it was harmless childhood play, but it had only amplified once Obito had become genin.

She does worry about him.

“Oh yes, I guess she might!” Obito exclaims, interest piqued by the mention of Rin and jumps in to help.

“Well you do it like this, that’s it, and pour the batter carefully, you’ve got to do the—watch it Obito!”

—

The village isn’t suitable after all. No housing available that isn’t an extortionate amount of money.

“I’m sorry Yumi,” Kenta says, holding her in his arms.

—

The rainy village of high rise buildings admittedly wouldn’t have been Yumi’s first choice, but it is a welcome refuge, especially when her stomach is already considerably swollen.

“Everyone’s welcome here,” they say.

And two weeks later, she gives birth to her daughter in the room of a worn and busy hospital.

Yumi sings to her daughter in the tiny cramped apartment, rocking Sayuri in the sling as she  giggles and grabs fistfuls of her hair.

It is worse when she is mobile, as she climbs over all the furniture and Yumi has to keep an eye on her at all times. She has to arrange the bulk of her cooking while Sayuri is taking a nap and then make sure to oversee as she eats from her highchair, feeding herself pancake clumsily with a fork in her pudgy little hands.

One day Sayuri manages to clamber onto the sill and knock down the vase of irises there. Yumi jumps to save it, but of course, it is too late, and she silently mourns the casualty.

Sayuri is blissfully unaware of the consequences of her actions and sits there in her napkin clad bottom, waving her little fingers.

“Buhbye.”

Kenta bursts into laughter.

“You saying bye-bye to the flower Sayuri-chan?”

She stops in her waving, looks up wide-eyed at her father, and sticks her fingers in her mouth.

But then that place too becomes unsafe and once again,  they have to flee.

Yumi is almost in tears as the skies burn, holding on tightly to her husband’s hand, Sayuri held close against her as they escape.

“Kenta, we can’t keep on running, please!”

They flit from place to place and when they hide in the cramped backroom of a store, the owner having caught sight of them and ushered them in, Yumi feeds Sayuri with cold bits of pancake to distract her, silently praying she will not cry.

Eventually, they find a place where they could rest.

It is safe. Safe and normal. It comes with a price. Renounce your old lives. Forget everything you have come from. Your family, your heritage. Shinobi create conflict. They are banned.

“Yes, of course, we’re just a simple civilian family. We just want a good life for our daughter.”

She can have the garden of her dreams. Roses and bluebells and chyransatheums and hydrangea.

Sayuri plays in the dirt, scooping up fistfuls of mud and forming them into flat discs.

“Pancakes! I’m making pancake!”

When she tires  of playtime, she runs to her mother.

“Mummy? Can I have some pancakes?”

“Sayuri-chan, you cannot have pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“When I grow-up I will,” says Sayuri with all the wisdom of a four year old.

—

Obito learns to make pancakes properly eventually, after a few mishaps.

Rin and Kakashi come round after one failed baking session.

“Oh, Obito-kun, what are you making?”

“N-nothing!” Obito lies, glad that he has hidden the burned offerings.

Kakashi sniffs the air pointendly.

“Smells like burning.”

“Shut up Bakakashi!”

“You two! Come on, I got popcorn from the store. Let’s watch this movie.”

Some weeks later he manages to produce something edible and presents it to Rin, eagerly waiting for her reaction.

She takes a bite.

“Hey, these are pretty good! Thanks Obito.”

He tries to play it cool, though his palms are sweating.

“Ah, it’s nothing.”

Rin. How he loves her.

—

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Sayuri-chan. Pancakes, your favourite.”

The child shakes her head.

“My tummy hurts,” she complains.

At the parent-teacher meeting, Kubo-sensei talks about Sayuri’s behaviour.

“Sayuri is a very vivacious young girl, we are only concerned where she is spending her energy. Does she practice her needlework at home?”

“Oh yes, I make a point of homework before play,” Yumi replies. She will not be seen as an incompotent mother.

“Of course. Just to make sure, your daughter does know the law of the village? We all abide by the rules.”

“You understand, don’t you Sayuri-chan?”

“Yes,” Sayuri says quickly, looking downcast.

Sayuri keeps up her subdued demeanour on the walk home.

“Are you okay? Did you want to speak to Kubo-sensei about something?”

“No mummy, I’m fine.”

—

It would be easy to just order ready made meals and takeaway, so long as she gets some form of sustenance. He doesn’t have to pay that much attention to her. Just enough to make sure she doesn’t wither away, not until she’s fulfilled her purpose

It won’t hurt to indulge, just a bit.

He makes the goofy, clumsy persona for her.

He fools around, going to drop the whisk and catching it at just the right moment, speaking in that childish voice, dancing around the kitchen.

She laughs easily at it, a childish giggle that softens the edges of his heart, just a bit. If he has a heart, that is.

“Welcome to Tobi’s pancake cookery class.”

She grins delightedly, eyes wide in childish curiosity.

She pushes the whisk around with a grim determination, pulling on all the strength from her inner core, which is not a lot. He has to take the bowl from her after to combine the ingredients properly.

Of course, she insists on flipping the pancakes herself and Obito has to navigate the delicate balance of catering to her innocent demands and not allowing her to injure herself. It’s all for the long game of course. Seeing her expression turn to sugar-induced delight is not any indication that he actually. He just has to do enough, to get her to trust him completely.

Yes, a little bit of indulgence won’t hurt.

When it becomes evident she is not what he thought, he vows not to have anything to do with her. Oh, he could keep her, as another foot soldier, she is obedient enough, but best not to pay any mind to her. Best not pay any mind to the small ache he feels when she avoids his gaze, pulling on her long sleeves.

—

When she wakes up screaming from a nightmare, he automatically goes to crack the eggs and stir in the milk and the flour.

What the hell is he doing? He isn’t meant to do this. She is nothing, nothing.

And she is everything.

She forgives him of course, far too easily.

He watches her as she pushes the food around her plate, looking towards nothing.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

At his words, she looks up at him, and for a moment the vacant expression flickers to something akin to what she would look at her childhood teacher with, before it reverts to a neutral expression. She takes a very small bite.

At night he can hear her crying.

—

She lazes on the sofa, feet up on the arm, munching something from a paper cone. He looks at the packaging and sees it’s from the new crȇpe stand she had been talking about earlier.

“They’re alright,” she says, “Yours are much better.”

She pivots, feet hitting the floor, then she stands, and her face gets very close.

“They’re sweet. Like you.”

Her smiles are becoming less of a child and more those of a woman.

—

She watches him often as he cooks, insisting that she could help. He decides to keep her far away from the stove, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to peer over his shoulder. She pokes at the batter and licks it off her finger. He takes the bowl from her and she pouts at that, then moves onto the syrup bottle, eating it by the spoon.

He grimaces; how could you like that much sugar?

She grins in that impish way of hers.

“Are you going to save any of that for your pancakes?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

She nestles in his lap, eating with her fingers, and every other bite she would pass up bits to his mouth. They are sickly sweet, although he is not sure if that is to do with her own preference, or the way his tastebuds have matured.

She licks the remnants from her fingers so that in the end she is very sticky. He has to insist she wash her hands afterwards to which she does under protest, berating him for bossing her around.

She kneels between his legs and he has to struggle to keep his moans quiet. One hand is between her own legs, fiddling with herself before she sinks down atop him.

She latches herself onto his neck, and not for the first time, Obito is grateful he wears things with high collars.

They sleep together peacefully for once.

—

He knows it has been a difficult mission, for she ends up in hospital afterwards. When she is let out she insists that she is fine. She follows the rule about not showing emotion as a shinobi to the letter and often tries to hide her feelings even when they are in private. Part of it is his own doing, he knows that. And although he could reassure her that it was perfectly okay for her to show her emotions more readily, he cannot force her.

He could hardly lecture her on it given his own track record.

Giving her the once over with his sharingan he deduces that she is mostly okay, although he feels that at least one night or two more in the hospital might have benefitted her. He does not voice his concerns though as the last time he did it had not gone well at all.

“So you don’t want me here do you,” she accuses, and flounces off.

“It is not that. I’m just thinking after your health.”

“Oh,” she blinks, and has the grace to look embarrassed, “But I like being with you.”

He can’t help but smile at that and resigns himself to let her have her way.

That night,she sobs into him as he holds her and strokes her hair. He does not ask about any details, and she does not tell him.

“Can I have something to eat?” She asks quietly after she is more settled.

“Sure. What do you want?”

“Pancakes.”

He nods and heads down to the kitchen to prepare, her trailing along behind.

Pancakes it is.

[justakpopfic]

I am Not-Chapter 13

Stray kids fic

Masterlist

When the sun rose, we had already walked far from our sleeping spot.

We stopped for a while, watching the sunrise. I never knew that the sky could also be orange, red, and pink at the same time. The colours blended mystically into a pale blue.

The sun rays soon basked the land in a golden light. There were no more clouds in the sky today. Just blue. Endless, beautiful, blue.

“This is amazing,” SM71 said, breathless. “Isn’t this amazing?”

“It’s nice, I guess,” HH49 said, with bags under his eyes.

“Did you not get any sleep last night?” I said.

HH49 only stared at me with his black eyes. He definitely was tired. I took that as a sign to leave him alone.

When the sun had reached the top of the sky, I felt a rumbling in my stomach.

I wasn’t the only one either. Almost everyone had a rumbling stomach. It dawned on me what that meant.

“We need to eat,” WJ00 said, confirming my worries.

“We don’t have any food?” LM55 said. The boys all turned to me. My empty stomach did a backflip.

I might not have planned our escape this far.

“I didn’t bring any food,” I said quietly.

“You mean, we have nothing to eat?” HH49 said, voice rising.

“HH49, it’s okay,” IN42 said. “We’ll just have to find some.”

“How? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you except us to be able to eat dirt?”

“HH49,” HJ19 said. “Calm down, we’ll find something to eat.”

HH49 scowled at HJ19 before sighing. “Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

We continued walking. I tried to search for food, but the land was so vast and barren.

Who knew this is what would greet us if we ever got out of District 9? I’ve never expected an endless field. I guess I was expecting another building to come across.

But no buildings appeared. Only grass and dirt all the way to the horizon. My stomach rumbled again, begging for food.

I looked to the other boys. Each of them wore faces of hunger and irritation. We needed food. Now.

It wasn’t until the sky turned orange and pink that we finally saw a light at the end of our tunnel.

In the distance, slowly growing as we walked towards it, was water. Just a large body of water, almost like a giant puddle.

“Water!” SM71 said, running up the edge of the water. We followed after him, desperate to finally have something to put in our mouths.

We reached our hands into the water, scooping water into our mouths. It tasted fresh. New. And delicious, despite it having no taste.

After we had our share of water, we lay down on the mud satisfied. The sun slowly sank down into the horizon, leaving tiny white specks to appear in the sky.

“We should go to sleep now,” I said. “Then tomorrow, we can walk around the lake.”

“Why can’t we stay?” IN42 asked.

“District 9 might be close on our tails. We can’t get caught by them again.”

IN42 nodded to himself. The boys lay down on the ground next to each other, huddled close together.

I stayed awake, not wanting to go to sleep yet. As the boys fell asleep, the sky awoke. I looked up to see tiny flecks of white, sprinkling the black sky. So many dots. If I raised my hand to them, could I touch them? Would they feel cold? Warm?

I lied down on the muddy ground, gazing at the white flecked sky. They seemed infinite, almost magical. Beautiful.

I heard footsteps. I sat up, turning my head to notice another person. A black figure was walking towards the lake, just a little distance away from us.

It couldn’t be. There couldn’t be another person here.

“Guys,” I said. My hand went to shake the shoulder nearest to me. “Guys, wake up.” I shook another shoulder, hearing soft moans of sleepiness.

“What is it?” SM71 said, yawning.

“Stay quiet,” I whispered.

“Why?” WJ00 said, as quietly as he could.

I pointed to the figure, who had now reached the edge of the lake. “That.”

I heard the boys take a deep breath.

“Who is that?” SM71 said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But they may be dangerous.”

“You don’t think they’re a guard from District 9? Do you?” WJ00 asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”

We sat and observed the figure. They took a step into the water. The soft light reflecting off the water from the sky illuminated the figures face.

They didn’t wear a guard helmet. In fact, they didn’t wear anything resembling that of a guard. I stood up, slightly less scared.

“CB97,” SM71 whispered harshly, “What are you doing? Get down!”

“It’s not a guard guys,” I said. “I’m just going to get a closer look.”

If I could see them, I’m sure WJ00 and SM71 would be staring at me like I was an idiot. Which I probably was. Still, I needed to see this person up close. I crept towards them, walking in a stance as if I was sneaking up on them. Curious, but cautious.

The figure waded through the water, leaving a trail of small ripples in their wake. They didn’t see me, and I wasn’t sure if I should make myself be seen.

Just as I was about to reveal myself, the figure dropped into the water.

I couldn’t see the person anymore. They just disappeared. Where had they gone?

My mind decided to have a flashback, taking me back to District 9.

Drowning is caused by too much water in the lungs. People begin to drown when they are breathing in too much water, usually in lakes or oceans...

Drowning. That person was drowning.

“Hey!” I shouted to the lake. I was sure that they wouldn’t hear me. My breathing sharpened. I scanned the surface to see any sign of the person.

Nothing. The lake was as still as stone.

I jumped into the water. My feet sunk into the wet sand. I had to lift my knees to my chest in order to move forward.

“Hey person!” I shouted. “Where are you?” I looked for a sign, any sign that the person was still near the surface.

“CB97!” I heard SM71 yell. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to save someone!” I yelled back. The water seemed like black ink. I ran my hands through the cold water, trying to find the drowning person.

I took a step forward, and I went under.

Whatever yells I heard before grew faint and distorted in an instant. Water attacked my eyes and nose, leaving a trail of what felt like fire. Everything was pitch black, not even the light from the night sky poked through the water.

I flailed my limbs helplessly, trying to reach the surface. I didn’t know what position I was in, what direction I was facing, all I knew was that I needed air. Now.

The water sunk into my back, seeping into my unhealed wounds, stinging every inch of the cuts. The pain distracted me from my situation, tensing my arms and legs up.

I was certain that I would sink in the abyss of the lake forever, fighting hopelessly. But there was a tug at my shirt. Then a stronger tug. And before I knew it, I was being dragged through the water.

My head broke through the surface of the lake. I gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. I felt myself being pulled somewhere, and soon I could touch the bottom of the lake.

Although I could see, my eyes didn’t pay any attention to the pair of hands that grabbed at my clothing, dragging me to the shore.

I lay down on the mud, taking in gulps of air. Once I felt like I could breathe properly, I sat up, my eyes focusing on my surroundings.

The boys were all staring at me. Some with looks of relief, others of anger, and some of confusion.

I stared at all of the faces in the dark, still shaken from everything.

“Who…” I took another deep breath. “Grabbed…me?”

The boys all stepped aside, letting me lay my eyes on a stranger.

She looked familiar.

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Organization Members as Babies/Toddlers

Suggested by: Anon.  Let me know if any of the links don’t work!!! I didn’t do actual babies because babies don’t really have personalities and they don’t really... do much? So it’s more on the line of toddlers instead of babies.

Thanks to the headcanon queen, @4ddictwithapencil for help with this one!

Let’s just say that most of this is happening at Grandpa Xehanort’s house.

Xemnas

Favorite Toy: a Fluffy Puppy Rocking Chair where he can sit and judge people with his arms crossed and hatred in his eyes.

The grumpiest of babies.  Nothing you do ever makes him happy.  Will glare at you and judge you for everything you do, practically being judgmental at your parenting.  Does not cry or scream, which would be a lot better because it would make him seem like a normal baby, but he does bite often and unashamedly.  Also pulls hair, but not to be spiteful.  He’s just fascinated by hair for some reason.

Sticks to a fairly strict schedule.  Goes to bed at certain times, eats at certain times, naps at a particular time, etc.  If he gets off of his schedule, he goes nuts and gets really upset.  A decently calm baby when he’s on schedule, but when he’s off schedule? He’s a nightmare.

Xigbar

Favorite Toy: Nerf Guns

The naughtiest of tiny babies, absolutely 100% the worst baby ever.  Gets into literally anything and everything because he likes to touch things just for the sake of touching them.  Most likely to stick a fork in an electrical socket.  Also likely to pee on you when you try to change his diaper.

Definitely a kid that will test your limits and really try your patience.  He likes to see how much he can get away with without getting into really big trouble, so if you’ll tell him not to touch something, he’ll immediately touch it when you look away.  Then during a scolding, he’ll pretend like he never did anything. Like this is literally Xigbar.

One positive about Xigbar is that he’s a great sleeper.  Goes to sleep without a fuss and barely ever wakes up in the middle of the night.  Also?? surprisingly cuddly when he’s tired?  He doesn’t like being picked up or coddled too much, but when you see him yawn? He’ll definitely want to be held as he falls asleep.

Xaldin

Favorite Toy: The Jungle Gym Playground Set where he and Lexaeus help to protect baby Zexion

A baby with a surprisingly big appetite.  He’s not picky when it comes to food and will literally try anything you put in front of his face.

Has a fascination with putting his face out of the window on long car rides to feel the breeze.  Also has a tendency to fall asleep in the car when driving around for a while.  For some reason it just makes him sleepy.

Xaldin is pretty content with being by himself.  Likes to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else play than actually participate.

Vexen

Favorite Toy: Science Experiment Lab

Super curious!!!  Like to pretend to be a scientists and make pretend experiments.  Never misses an episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Never goes outside unless it’s winter and freezing.  LOVES the snow more than anything else in the world.  He’s one of those kiddos that you have to drag Vexen inside the house, even with the bribe of hot chocolate with little mini marshmallows.  He just loves the snow, having snowball fights, and making snowmen!

Lexaeus

Favorite Toy: Tonka Dig n Rig Playset

That kid who likes to dig in the sandbox because he claims he’s going to dig to China.  Just likes being in the dirt for some reason.  He can just lay outside in the grass for hours without moving.

The quietest of all the babies.  Seriously silent because he generally prefers to point at things instead of speaking.  Never cries or talks, either, and his parents were seriously getting worried, so they actually took him to a doctor to see if something was wrong with his hearing or vocal chords, but no.  He’s fine.  When prompted, he was literally able to speak in fully formed sentences and shocked the hell out of everyone in the room.  He just likes to stay silent more than anything else.

Zexion

Favorite Toy: Create Your Own Books Activity

Another baby who is seriously curious about the world.  Likes to get into literally everything if only because he wants to know what it is, what it does, and how he can use it or play with it.

SO CUTE AS A BABY.  Has chubby cheeks that you just want to pinch.  A seriously lovable baby who’s wonderful and amazing.

He’s that baby that always accidentally gets into trouble, and Lexaeus and Xaldin know it.  They’ve formed a pact between the two of them to follow Zexion around and keep him safe from other babies/bullies (aka Xigbar.)

Can’t go to sleep unless someone reads him a story.

Saix

Favorite Toy: Fisher Price Desk and Lamp to store his crayons and important documents

Pretty similar to Xemnas, Saix has a god damn schedule and you need to stick to it or he will go absolutely insane.  You’ll be left with a very unhappy baby and he’ll make sure you know how unhappy he is, loudly and often.  He needs order to function, more so than most babies.

Bossy as shit and a little know it all.  He will definitely correct adults when they’re wrong about something and has absolutely judged his parents on their parenting skills and tried to tell them what to do.

Axel

Favorite Toy: Sit and Spin - definitely makes himself dizzy as hell on purpose.

You can’t have candles in the house with this sweet baby.  He’s absolutely fascinated with fire and will very much stick his hands on or near the fire on the stove if given the opportunity.

He’s also very loud! Not in like the uncontrollable screaming way, but he just babbles a lot.  He’ll definitely be trying to have a conversation with you like, “Bla bla baa bebebe sha ba daaaaaa da ba.” And you just have to nod and agree with whatever he says.

Like Xigbar, he’s great sleeper because he has so much energy during the day that he’s practically exhausted by nighttime.

Axel sometimes throws tantrums, but it’s usually only when he doesn’t get what he wants.  You won’t let him have a snack or a piece of candy from the store and he’ll get pretty upset with you, but he’ll get over it fairly quickly.

Demyx

Favorite Toy: Sing-Along MP3 Player

Singing gibberish since literally the day he was born.  Demyx has one of those little machines that has a speaker and microphone, and he drags the thing around ALL DAY, practically screaming into it because he thinks it’s singing and practically drives everyone nuts.

Loves to go in the pool! Demyx is a natural swimmer that doesn’t need floaties and isn’t afraid of water or getting water splashed in his face.  Laughs hysterically every time you let him play with the hose pipe.

Luxord

Favorite Toy: Kid’s Playing Cards

Luxord likes all sorts of card games, like Old Maid, Go Fish, etc. He’s also a really great master at Peekaboo.  Even though he’s a kid, 100% definitely has the skill to take all of your money in poker. Also likes matching games where you can find the matching pictures, Solitaire, and board games like Mouse Trap and Guess Who!  Not Monopoly, though.  He hates Monopoly.

Attracted to shiny silver and gold things, especially coins.

Likes to have someone sing him a lullaby before sleep and, unlike most kids, he really likes to have a bath.  Can’t sleep unless he’s clean and in new jammies!

Marluxia

Favorite Toy: Kid’s Gardening Set

Marluxia loves playing outside! Spends more time playing in the yard than inside, so he gets tons of fresh air.  Likes to play in the garden, pull weeds, and plant pretty flowers.  Would try to plant acorns and other seeds because he wants to see them grow into something big.

Also gets dirty A LOT.  He’s that crazy kid that makes mud pies whenever he possibly can and gets the mud everywhere. Over his clothes, tracked through the house, all across the driveway, on his skin, etc.

Larxene

Favorite Toy: An Old Barbie Doll, but it’s beaten up, hair torn out, and damaged

Larxene is a drama queen baby.  Practically acts like she’s a teenager even though she’s only three years old.  Definitely bosses the other babies around, like Angelica from the Rugrats.  An unbelievable amount of sass within a tiny body.

Terrible.  Tantrums.  All the time.  Every day.  Everywhere. Larxene is the master of the temper tantrum because she knows it’s one of the best ways to get what she wants. Doesn’t care who she bothers with her screaming as long as she gets whatever it is that she wants.

Roxas

Favorite Toy: A stick that he pretends is a sword.

A happy, cheerful baby who laughs at everyone and everything, but he is very clingy. You can’t set him down or he’ll get really upset and worried that you’ll suddenly disappear.

He’s a happy baby, like I said, but he also has a short temper.  If everything is the way he wants to be, he is the cutest most lovable baby in the world.  If anything is annoying him, he’ll throw an absolute fit.

Also likes to play with styrofoam swords all the time.  And for some reason, he has a habit of stealing your car keys (though you aren’t sure if it’s because he likes the shiny stuff or the jingling noise.).

Xion

Favorite Toy: A GIANT teddy bear that she can cuddle and sleep on.

A content, curious baby who doesn’t do much and is just happy to look around and see new things.  She’s absolutely precious!  Such a cuddle bug that loves hugs and skin contact just because she likes the warmth.

She’s cries sometimes, but not because she’s being a brat or throwing a tantrum.  Poor thing just has a lot of emotions and the only way she can get them out is to cry.  A quiet cryer, though.  She doesn’t have loud, screaming cries.

Gets distracted really easily.  She likes shiny things and noisy things and toys that squeak and rattle.  She loves toys of any kind and is always happy to get new stuff.

[spirkup]

Ready To Come Home.

Pairing: Maleficent / Diaval (Maleval) Prompt: “Please... don’t leave.” Word Count: 1, 885 Rating: G Notes: This is my first time writing Maleval so I'm still getting my footing on identifying the characters, but please enjoy it anyway! It’s all a learning process!

It was days after the battle at the castle. Maleficent retreated back to the Moors and removed the rooty barricade from the perimeter she had created in order to separate her world from the human world. Diaval and Aurora stood from afar on top of a grassy hill, watching the faerie do her work in the sky. It was breathtaking watching her destroy the barriers. The way she moved through the sky as if it were her home. The giant roots feel back to the ground with as much ease as when they sprouted. When they completely vanished, it was like they were never there at all.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Aurora’s soft voice said to Diaval. The man turned towards the small girl and saw the bright, toothy smile on her face. Her eyes were glowing with yellows and reds from the evening sun so brightly like Maleficent’s, it was almost like the two were biological related.

“Yes, she truly is.” He said, his eyes wandering from the girl back to the sky. Almost all the roots were gone and the sun was setting behind the castle. Maleficent was unable to be seen in the distance but left decaying roots in her path. “It’s time for bed, little one.”

Diaval accompanied Aurora on her walk to her home. Technically, all of the Moors were her home now that Maleficent claimed her as the new queen. However, she decided to reside in the old cottage that the pixies raised her in. She was still human after all.

The sun was gone and the moon had erupted its blue tone to the black sky. The stars reflected on the water surface that helped them light their way down the familiar trails to the rusty old wooden house. When they arrived at the front door, Diaval went to open it for her but was stopped when she reached out and put her hand on his.

“Thank you for walking me home, Diaval. And for everything you have done for me.” She said.

“It was my pleasure, your majesty.” He takes a step back from her to bow, one hand extending outwards and the other covering his stomach in the proper fashion. His gesture makes Aurora laugh and the sound sends butterflies to his stomach.

“Diaval, please. My coronation is not until tomorrow. I’m not queen yet.”

“You’re a queen in my eyes. Crown or no crown.”

Aurora softly smiles at him, and there is something about it that is so overwhelming Diaval cannot seem to overcome it. He raised his arms and wrapped them tightly around her frame, in which she did so in return, and hugged him so tightly she might never let go.

“I’m so glad you’re in my life. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Her confession struck him.

Left him wordless.

How, in human words, could he possibly explain how he would go to the ends of the earth for this girl, that he would give up everything he has for her, that he would fight with everything he could muster and ask for nothing in return but to see her happy?

Instead he hugged her harder, because one thing he has learned in his many years of being a bird is that actions speak louder than words. One day he’ll find the right things to say, but tonight was not that night. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by trying to guess them.

When they parted, he waited until Aurora entered the house and shut off the lights behind her before he left. He went down the path that led to the stream, and took his time there as fond memories of mud fights filled his mind.

He twiddled his thumbs as he walked, his bare feet trailing through the leaves and grass that littered the forest floor. He was too ecstatic to sleep. His heart was beating far too fast for him to lie down. After the day he had, Diaval felt accomplished.

But there was a feeling in his chest that hasn’t left him since the castle. He’s been keeping it dormant in his chest while he was with Aurora in order to not to let his emotions show, but the girl has gone to bed and he’s all alone. There was nothing stopping him from thinking about the moment Maleficent gained her wings.

It was an astonishing moment to watch her transform from the helpless, defenceless creature on the steps of the King Stefan’s castle to her true and fullest potential. All that thanks to a pair of wings. But it made sense to Diaval, losing something that made you who you are. He felt that way when she first turned him into a human and thought he’d never see his beautiful self again. The confidence and passion that came out from inside her when she saved him and Aurora from King Stefan was breathtaking. She became her true self again. It was magnificent and terrifying at the same time.

Because now that she had her wings, what was he?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought when the sound of flapping emerged from above him. He looked up through the trees and spotted a figure flying across the dark sky, descending downwards and landing in front of him.

Was it a sight to see. The black wings on her back stretched outwards as if awaking from a morning slumber and each feather dazzled in the midnight glow. The life inside them was so evident it was mesmerizing to watch. Then they wrapped around her form as if to protect her and then rested behind her back in a relaxed position. Aurora was right about her wings; they did trail behind her.

“Is it done?” Diaval asked rather breathlessly, referring to the wall.

Maleficent nodded. “Yes. Every last root.”

“Congratulations, mistress.”

A silence fell upon them. Diaval’s gaze fell to the ground and Maleficent’s eyes stayed on him. He wasn’t sure what to do now. That terrifying feeling of being cast away had grown in his chest and he wasn’t so sure what to do about it.

“Diaval?”

He raised his head, unaware of what she wanted to ask him.

“I couldn’t accomplish what I did today without you. Thank you.”

Her words sounded like a parting of ways. He knew this was coming.

He bowed his head to her, trying to keep his breathing under control despite his heart beating out of his chest. “You’re welcome, mistress. As you said from the day you saved me, I will be your wings.”

At his words, Maleficent looked at hers. They gently fluttered at the comment, and an unreadable look crossed her face.

“But I understand what happens now.” Diaval said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You change me back into a raven and I set off on my way.”

A confused look crossed Maleficent’s face.

“You have those again,” he pointed a finger at her wings. “I understand that I am no longer needed to be yours.”

He waited for her to say something, or to raise her fingers and instantly turn him back to his original form without a word of goodbye. He didn’t like goodbyes, and he knew she didn’t either. They were one and the same like that, and in many other ways too, so he closed his eyes and waited for the sensation of growing his feathers and beak one last time.

But nothing happened. The feeling never came.

He slowly opened his eyes and was astonished to see Maleficent’s expression. Her red lips were parted and her eyes were glistening.

“No longer needed to be mine?” She repeated, her voice softer than before.

There was another silence between them. Diaval didn’t understand what was happening. Why wasn’t she turning him back?

“Mistress-“

“Just because I have my wings doesn’t mean I don’t want you anymore.”

Her words fell off her lips like a foreign language; with some confidence but lacking the familiarity they bring. Her stance seemed passive but strong at the same time, as if she was ready to attack and submit at the same time. He’s never heard her make a sensitive confession of the sorts until toady with Aurora, and perhaps that moment awoke something inside her.

“Mistress-“ he tried again. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Don’t you want me to leave?”

She approached him slowly, like a turtle taking its first steps on the sand after it’s been born. Diaval stood frozen in his spot, dumbfounded by her actions and for some reason very aware of the dirt under his human feet. She stood before him, only a foot or two between them, and had her eyes on his chin and not his own.

“Please…” her voice was so frail he wouldn’t be able to hear her if she wasn’t so close to him. Her hand touched his forearm and he felt the sensation of her sharp nails nudging the fabric of the clothes she’d given them. His human heart jumped in his chest at the contact, unaware that it could do that just from the touch of someone else.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It was so subtle and light it was almost like he was dreaming, but the hand on his arm reminded him that he was, in fact, in reality. And an amazing one at that. One that he has dreamed about for many nights and many days in the years that he’s known her.

The bad feeling in his chest exploded into warmth when her lips touched his. It was like his insides were burning and the heat spread down his body to his fingertips.

When she pulled away, her eyes fluttered open, and he sensed she had the same feelings as him.

There was another moment of silence. He was never a man of words, not before and not now when they mattered the most. It was like with Aurora - how could he explain all the emotions he had for this woman?

“I don’t want to leave you.” He said truthfully, worried that his silence would give the wrong answers.

She took a breath of relief when he said that. He could see her eyes glow brighter in the darkness and the small smile that creased her lips, but he could tell she was still trying to diminish her emotions from him.

He didn’t want that from her. After today, he never wanted her to hide her feelings ever again. In this moment, he is vowing to praise every emotion she ever has so that she no longer has to pretend to be the misinterpreted evil dweller everyone thought she was. He vows to treat her like the person she is; Maleficent. A being capable of love.

He raises his hand to cup her cheek and brushes his thumb along her cheekbone. Despite the cold of the night, she felt incredibly warm. He learned forward and returned the kiss with more fiery passion than she had before, and she gratefully accepted it, falling into his frame like he was her sky and she was ready to come home.

[april-december]

Shower

It was raining, Clint realised dimly as he woke from his nap.  The room had gone dark as the sky had darkened, and the window pane was blurred with droplets.  He stretched, stood from where he’d lain cramped on the sofa and stretched again.  Rubbing the late afternoon stubble on his cheeks, Clint looked around the living room for the safe house’s only other occupant.  She wasn’t there, and she wasn’t in the adjoining kitchen either.

‘Tasha?’ he asked as he knocked on her bedroom door.  When there was no reply, he nudged it open, and his heart sank.  No sign of her in there, either.  Beginning to worry, he searched the house from top to bottom, becoming more frantic with each room that turned up empty.  They’d come to this safe house to get away from Shield and the Red Room, neither of which looked upon her with particular favour at present.  He hoped Shield would come round eventually, but the Red Room would remain a problem.  As did Natasha’s flighty unpredictability.  If she’d run away now, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried; he just didn’t understand why this time.  They’d been getting along well for weeks, months even, way past the biting words and the trying to kill each other that had marred the beginning of their relationship.  So why would she disappear now?

A chance look out the window and into the large yard told his racing heart that she was in fact still there and unharmed.  She was just outside, sat on the large flat rock a few yards from the porch.  Her hands were turned upwards where they rested on her knees, and her face was lifted slightly skyward.  Clint frowned: what was she doing sat out in the rain? Sure she was hardier than most people, but as far as he was aware, she didn’t have a fondness for rain.  Grabbing his coat from the hook by the door, he shucked it on and went outside.

Natasha didn’t move or react as he approached, and that made worry creep up on him again.  He didn’t doubt she knew he was there, but he’d learned that her moods could easily turn distant, even dissociative.

‘Tasha?’ he asked softly as he drew level with her, and to his relief, she looked up at him with a faint smile.

‘Hey,’ she said.  ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.  I came out looking for you.’

‘I’m okay,’ she assured him.

Clint nudged a stone with his toe in the mud at the base of the rock she was sat on.  ‘You sure? Most okay people don’t sit out in the rain.’

‘I’m okay,’ she repeated.  ‘It’s nice.  It’s...cleansing.’

Clint stopped studying the stone and looked at Natasha.  The look on her face wasn’t entirely happy.  There was some contentment there, but there was a strain too, something hidden behind the smile.  ‘Cleansing?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.  ‘Like it’s washing things away.  All the dirt, the grime.  The wrongs.  The sins.’

Ah, Clint thought.  There it was.  Since she’d stopped being purely what the people who had raised her had made her into, Natasha had struggled with the flip side of going straight: the guilt.  And she had a lot of things she could feel guilty about, a long long line of misdeeds and corrupt orders.  

‘Tasha,’ he said gently, sitting next to her on the rock.  ‘You don’t need to be cleansed of sins or whatever.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked.  ‘There’s a long line of them, most of them pretty serious.’

‘We’ve been through this,’ Clint said gently.  ‘The things you did...that’s not who you are now.’

‘How do we know?’ Natasha asked, worry showing through the earlier contentment.  ‘I’ve only been this ‘new person’ for a couple of months.  What if she’s just the same as the old person?’

‘She isn’t,’ Clint said with certainty.  ‘Besides which, the old person didn’t have much choice in who she was or what she did.’

Natasha remained silent, her jaw working as she swallowed.  She’d stopped looking at Clint, and started staring at the damp grass.

‘But you do now,’ Clint continued, then tried a little smile.  ‘You could also choose to come in out of the rain before you get soaked.’

She smiled at that, and gave a little breath of a laugh.  He was right; the sky was only growing darker, the air colder.  Soon the rain would be less cleansing and more freezing, and after a moment’s deliberation, she nodded and uncurled her legs, standing from the stone she’d been sitting on.  When she turned back, there was a lighter, dry patch where she’d been sat, now being flecked by splashes of rain, turning it dark.

Clint stood too, and together they headed back into the house.  As Clint took off his coat and hung it up to dry, Natasha shivered from the rain that clung to her clothes and skin.  Seeing this, Clint came over and gently rubbed her cold arms.  She had a slightly distant, slightly lost look now, and he worried she was going to slip away into that distance.  

‘Go get dry,’ he instructed, and she took a deep breath and nodded, struggling against the depth of her thoughts.

While she was gone, Clint started a fire in the woodburner, building it up until a log crackled and flamed in the grate.  He’d just finished when Natasha came back into the living room, wearing dry jeans and a long sleeved dark sweater.  She still looked a little lost, and Clint wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and tight.  Natasha tucked herself in, and gradually laid her head against his chest where she could hear his steady heartbeat.

‘You’re okay,’ he said quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Natasha said with a soft smile.  ‘I’m okay.’