#my bed frame simply refused to be assembled

[wifegideonnav]

moved today and only like 7 things went wrong

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

Shigaraki x Reader Request

Anonymous:

So I love your writing and I'm not sure if you've already done it before but I just wanted to ask if you could maybe do a shig x F! Reader scenario where she is on an important call, but Shiggy's all horny and starts feeling her up, maybe even goes as far as actually stuffing her, but she can't put the phone down cause it's a very important call with a very important client or smth like that heh I'm sorry the thirst for the crusty boy is so real rn 😩

Shigaraki Tomura, one of the greatest known villains of all time. It wasn’t that he was extremely powerful, or intelligent, but he had enough common sense to assemble some of the more... interesting people to join his League and make it as powerful as it was today. You though, you were the best out of all of them. 

Your quirk was simple, you simply couldn’t get hurt. Like your classmate Kirishima Eijiro, your skin was your weapon. But unlike him, the effects of your quirk never went away. Simply, you couldn’t be cut, scratched, or punched. You felt no pain in the areas where you focused your quirk, and your skin couldn’t be destroyed. 

Sure, you were a lot like Kirishima, including your bubbly personality and need to always improve your strength, but you had a big secret. You were the fiancé to Tomura Shigaraki, or Tenko Shigaraki he had eventually told you. You remembered the day he had proposed to you. It was when he got back from fighting UA at the Summer Camp. 

He had “kidnapped you” just so he could get you alone for a few days, and ended up having you run away and act like you had “escaped”. During those days, he was more romantic, sweet, and loving than usual. Tenko loved pda, and refused to let you get up from the couch for days at a time. 

When the heroes were close, he gave you the ring, which you put a string on and put it on your neck to be hidden by your shirt, and then ran out into the road, pretending to be passed out for the heroes to find you. 

Lucky for you, it was Summer Break, and you were allowed to spend all the time with Shiggy that you wanted without the hassle of trying to keep such a secret. You also spent that time doing hero work, hanging out with your friendly classmates, and of course arranging things with your mentor Fat Gum, and your two best friends/ partners Tamaki and Kiri.

At the moment, it was noon on a Saturday, and you were sitting in the League’s living room watching tv, waiting for a call from Fat Gum to talk about starting working with Kiri and Tamaki during the week. Even though Fat Gum thought of you like his daughter, he was a big deal to you still, and this phone call meant a lot to you even though a lot wasn’t on the line.

Plus it was perfect for the call, with the League out on a mission, and you alone with the entire place quiet. Shiggy would be back tonight for a dinner date, and today would go smoothly. As you thought about your sweet boyfriend and hoped that he was okay, your phone began to ring. Picking it up, you heard the friendly voice of your mentor.

“Ahh, Y/n! Great being able to talk to you! We have Kirishima and Tamaki on the call as well!” Fat gum exclaimed joyfully as you heard greetings from your two guy besties. “Hey Y/n!” They called out in sync, Tamaki’s voice barely hearable. “Hey guys, I-” You stopped, hearing the sounds of the door becoming unlocked. What? They weren’t supposed to be home for another few hours!!

You got off the couch and ran upstairs to the room that you and Shiggy shared, closing it and sitting against it angrily. “Y/n, you good?” Fat gum asked as you responded with a happy hum, doing your best to be discreet as you heard your name being murmured around the League’s apartment. What that Shigaraki??? Oh no no no...

“Good, now here’s what I’m thinking...” As Fat Gum began trailing on and on, you opened the door to see a tired, worn-out Shigaraki. Feeling your heart be filled with pity, you signaled that you were on the phone, opened the door, and let him in. He walked towards you, pressed himself against your small frame, and kissed your forehead. “Aww, rough day baby?” 

You asked, cupping his face in your soft hands as he nodded, pulling you close to hug. He began to rest his chin on your head as you continued the call. “I’m free all day, but on Wednesday I won’t be able to go to Sakura Street because I need to take my sister to her swim practice.” Kirishima explained as you piped in, trying to catch up in the conversation. 

“I can do it for you!” You exclaimed, before Shigaraki began kissing your neck tenderly, letting his hands grip your ass and waist tightly like he usually did. “What t-time do you need?” You tried not to stutter as he pushed your body against him, letting his knee rub against your entrance like he did when he was horny for you. Oh god... not now Shiggy baby.

“Awesome! I just need you to cover Sakura street between three and four pm. Could you do that? You just need to walk down, and check that one alleyway that we were talking about because...” As Kirishima rambled on, Shigaraki kissed your lips passionately, beginning to push you up against the bed and bend you over slowly.

Biting your lip and mumbling any sounds you could make, you brought the phone back to your ear and listened as the boys talked. “Well I’m not busy then so I can take your shift Y/n. What are you doing 3 to 4?” Tamaki asked, as Shigaraki began to remove your pants. Shaking, you felt his hot breath on your body as you tried to carry on a conversation.

“Um, yea Tamaki...” Both of your shirts were now off, “Three to four?” Shigaraki slipped down his pants, revealing his boxer and large erection poking through, “I’m going to be... um...” Shigaraki slipped your panties down, and began fingering you, causing you to lose all control of your legs as you wrapped your legs around his torso to hold you up. 

“I’m going to be patrolling the Green Bridge area, n-near the baseball stadium. Just on those three streets, and then I was planning on stopping by Deku’s mom’s place to move some of her furniture. Shigaraki smirked at you, rolling his eyes and beginning to move his boxers down to reveal his large cock, throbbing for you.

Swallowing nervously, you tried so hard to focus on the call as your fiancé moved you, positioning you and getting ready to stuff you full of him. “Okay! Sounds good kiddos!” You sighed happily at Fat Gum’s comment, hoping that this call would end so you could focus on Shiggy who was seconds away from fucking you senseless.

“So Tamaki, tell me about your weekend.” Kirishima exclaimed as Tamaki began speaking, endlessly mumbling about his plans and how excited he was to see you and Kiri. Before you could mentally prepare, Shiggy shoved his cock into you, letting you scream out in pain and such amazing pleasure. It was amazing, feeling your walls wrap around him and throb with him.

“Y/n?! Are you okay?!” Kirishima asked, letting you know that you had probably frightened the three guys on the other ends. “Oh! Yea! I just... saw a... bug!” Between breaths, Shigaraki pumped himself into you, one hand around your neck tightly, and the other around your waist. 

“Oh, what did it look like?” Tamaki asked, and at that moment, you wanted to kill your best friend for making conversation. “It’s... big... and fuzzy. I’m going to go... kill it!” You squeezed the sheets beneath you, silently gasping as Shigaraki pounded into you, overstimulating you to the ends of the Earth, which you both loved.

“Love you guys! I’ll text you guys tonight in the group chat... when I’m... done! Bye!” Without hearing their responses, you hung up the call and threw your phone to the other side of the wall angrily. Shigaraki smashed his lips to yours as he pulled out, laying you on the bed, and climbing over you. “Good girl... such a good girl. You’re able to be a good hero, and still please the worst villain.” He bent down and kissed your forehead again, before beginning to just lay on you.

You ran your fingers through his curly hair as he rested his head against your plump chest, breathing slowly and trying to calm him down. “So... what happened?” You asked sweetly, almost swearing that he began purring. “Dabi had to save me from almost getting shot in the face.” You looked down at your boyfriend, your eyes wide and fearful.

The guy was behind me, and was about to shoot before Dabi burned him and made him miss. If Dabi wouldn’t have been there, he would have hit me right in the skull.” Shigaraki explained as you began giving him a scalp massage, causing him to move his head and close his eyes peacefully. Your touch always made him feel better, if not 100% happy again. 

“I just... needed to feel your touch. If I die, I know my last thought is going to be of you.” Shigaraki confessed, sitting up and looking at you, his lips parted. Here he was, pouring his feelings out, something that he never did. “I... I love you so much Y/n.” Shigaraki leaned in, sitting you on his lap and beginning to kiss you, intertwining four of his fingers with yours. “I love you too Baby.” 

Hun, I totally understand your thirst. Shiggy makes all my daddy issues come true in one microsecond. For a good month he was all that I could think about!! <333

[nitewrighter]

Hiya mun, sorry to ask for one, but could you please write a short ficlet of either any of the ow cast or your ow fankids spending time with their pets, if they have any?

I need to write more Spiderbyte Parent Content. And of course I should write more Smol Marti content.

Also Camille Saint-Saen’s “Aquarium” lives in my mind rent free.

-----

It was the sixth night in two weeks that Marti’s gasping had woken them up. Widowmaker had learned to tune her ears to Marti, and despite how quiet she was in daylight hours, Widowmaker had become aware of the small girl’s shuffling around the house. She felt Marti’s large, deep brown eyes on her, peeking out from around walls and doorways. Marti talked to Sombra in Spanish, but had shrunken back when McCree tried to speak to her, clutching close to Sombra’s legs. At six years old, the top of Marti’s head came up to about Sombra’s hip, but Widowmaker had to listen for her so she didn’t trip over her. Marti had spent the first week in their apartment curled up on a blow-up mattress in Sombra’s study--a space that was more or less rendered walk-in-closet size by Sombra’s multiple monitors and servers---while Symmetra and Torbjorn took out a wall of their apartment to expand into a new room for her. She slept in the pink glow of Sombra’s monitors as she worked, to the faint tapping of keyboards and clicking of a mouse and the warbling of screens projected by Sombra’s own augmentations. Widowmaker wanted to tell Marti how much she understood her, how much she understood the instinct to make yourself smaller, how much comfort lied simply in being in Sombra’s presence as she delved her digital rabbit holes.... but Marti was still wary with her, still distant. It was Sombra who had found Marti that bloody night. Sombra who held her hand and walked her to safety. Sombra who held her on the dropship ride back to Gibraltar, stroking her fingers over Marti’s black hair. Sombra who spoke gentle comforting words to her that she, as a crisis orphan, never got the chance to hear herself. Sombra the guardian. Sombra the godmother.

Widowmaker and Sombra had painted Marti’s room together, a pale orchid pink (Sombra had managed to get Marti to pick out the color swatch) and they had sat on the floor together, puzzling over the parts of a twin-sized captain’s bed and a small desk. Once furniture was all assembled and the scent of drying paint faded enough, Marti moved in, hesitantly, skeptically brushing her hand over the quilted magenta Official Meka bunny-printed comforter and pillowcase that D.Va had donated. Sombra tried to decorate the room with little mementos of Dorado--One wall had a short banner of purple papel picado etched out with floral, star, and sun designs, as well as one in the center of the banner that had Marti’s own name, ‘MARTINA’ in ornate letters hanging over Marti’s bed. The opposite wall had a mulberry-colored macrame wall hanging that Sombra had gotten in a Dorado marketplace. There was a small framed photo of Marti and Soledad on the bookshelf headboard of Marti’s bed. Overall, the room was a cozier, more toned-down adaptation of the hot-pink glitter-addled ‘princess’ rooms that Sombra and Widowmaker never had in their own childhoods--Sombra by virtue of being crammed into an orphanage, and Widowmaker by virtue of her own parents’ brutally avant-garde tastes. Finally, Marti sat on the bed, looking up between Sombra and Widowmaker.

“...Is it okay?” Sombra had asked.

Marti gave a short polite nod and Sombra smiled. Marti gently nudged Sombra’s arm, prompting Sombra to bend down so Marti could whisper in her ear. After a beat Sombra huffed, smiled, brushed a thumb over Marti’s cheek and said, “Para esto estamos,” softly before drawing herself back up to her height. “She said thank you,” Sombra said to Widowmaker.

“I gathered,” Widowmaker said, but felt the distance in the politeness.

And now Marti was waking them up again with her gasps--high pitched sounds with how small she was, creaking with sobs that were suppressed by hyperventilation. Pretty and brittle like thin tree branches whipping in an autumn wind. 

Sombra broke out from Widowmaker’s arms, stumbling, clumsy with sleepiness, and quickly paced into Marti’s room. Widowmaker propped up some pillows in their bed and sat up, resting her bare forearms on her sheet-covered knees as she waited. In the other room, Sombra was talking low and quick in Spanish to Marti, and Widowmaker made out the sound of Sombra demonstratively breathing slow and deep, trying to get Marti to sync her own breaths to her. Those high pitched breaths slowed. Widowmaker pressed her fingertips into the skin of her arm, her lean dancer’s muscles not yielding against her own grip. I should be in there, she thought, I should be helping her. One more person who lost everything to Talon. One more person who lost everything to a fight that had nothing to do with her. But I’m a stranger.

----

“...there has to be more we can do,” Widowmaker said the next morning as she gently eased a fried egg onto a slice of fresh baked baguette smeared with avocado.

“She’s got her first vid conference with that doctor that Ziegler looked up for us next Wednesday,” said Sombra, flicking through a few pink screens at the table, sipping her coffee,  “I checked her out. It’s solid.”

“Mm,” Widowmaker set a plate in front of Sombra.

“And I think we know better than anybody, stuff like this isn’t cut and dry,”  said Sombra, biting into the toast and pulling away quickly to avoid getting egg yolk on her chin as she , “She’s going to be dealing with this for a long time.”

Widowmaker was silent, easing her own fried egg onto her own avocado-smeared baguette slice. She listened to the slight warbles of Sombra’s screens as she cracked pepper over the sunny yellow yolk, then brought her chin up with some resolve. “So we make new memories,” she said.

“Mm?” Sombra glanced up from her screens.

“For me, it was looking up Gérard’s photos, it was... rebuilding, but for her... she’s stuck in a strange place with this--this fear bouncing around in her and so little experience in the world. So we make new memories. We let her see that, even though this thing happened to her, that this world is... is... bright. And... and good.” The words felt a little alien in Widowmaker’s throat and her shoulders were bunched up as she set the plate aside. Widowmaker had spent so long in such a dark place that all the defenses and instincts she had built up in that darkness were completely discombobulated by her own desire to let Marti know safety and happiness. She felt Sombra’s eyes on her, bright and studying.

“So... a day out?” said Sombra, opening up another screen.

A shuffling of bare feet on linoleum came from down the hall and both Sombra and Widowmaker glanced up as Marti entered the kitchen and clambered up into a chair that was just a little too big for her, but she was a little too big for a booster seat.

“How do you like your eggs?” said Widowmaker looking over her shoulder at Marti, “Um...” she gave an uncertain glance at Sombra and then pivoted, pointing at the frying pan with her spatula. “Huevos?”

“Fritos?” Sombra said to Marti, gesturing with her thumb at Widowmaker before pointing at her own plate.

Marti nodded.

“Same thing for her,” said Sombra, looking at Widowmaker.

Widowmaker quickly sliced off another bit of baguette, smeared some avocado over it, and cracked salt, pepper and little squeeze of lemon juice over the avocado, then quickly fried the egg to golden yolk and lacy-browned-edges perfection. Sombra was talking to Marti in Spanish as Widowmaker worked but Widowmaker only made out about 75% of it. Something about Sombra’s computers and... Luz nocturna... night light?

Marti gave a furious, stiff-lipped shake of her head and craned over to whisper something with an unusual amount of forcefulness into Sombra’s ear. Sombra’s shoulders slumped and she said something conceding in Spanish. Sombra gave a “welp” glance over to Widowmaker and Widowmaker understood immediately. Marti didn’t get her hyperventilating nightmares back when she was sleeping in the glow of Sombra’s computers in the study, but she had refused Sombra’s suggestion of a night light. It was all Widowmaker could do to bring Marti’s plate over and take a seat at the table with her own breakfast.

Marti bit into her avocado toast sullenly, not making eye contact with either of them, though her eyes widened as she chewed and she dug into her food with a reassuring eagerness. Widowmaker smiled a little. I’m good at that, at least, she thought, then cleared her throat awkwardly. “I... was thinking... we could all have a day out. Do something fun.”

Marti looked up from her plate, then over at Sombra. Sombra half-translated and Marti seemed thoughtful.

“We could...” Widowmaker gave a flailing, ‘help me’ glance over at Sombra, “We could...um...”

Sombra quickly flicked a pink screen into existence and rapidly scrolled down. “Go to the aquarium!” she blurted out.

“Yes,” Widowmaker latched onto that, “The aquarium.”

“Aquarium?” Marti repeated the word, the latin roots providing a stumbling middle ground for her.

“It’s... educational!” Sombra eked out the words hesitantly and gave a glance to Widowmaker. She smiled at Marti, “I think you should be able to see there’s more to Gibraltar than the watchpoint.”

Marti gave a bewildered glance between them. At that point there was a strange rapport that arced between the three of them, sharp and swift like lightning, all of them fumbling in the dark trying to figure out what it was that families did. Happy families. They had to do things, didn’t they? And aquariums existed, didn’t they? Sombra was looking at her screens. There were children in the promotional pictures--this was a thing kids did, right? Marti gave a hesitant nod and Sombra gave a grin to Widowmaker.

----

“Gibraltar’s artificial reef started as an initiative in 1973, sinking ships in the mediterranean sea to give wildlife structures to colonize and breed in,” a primly dressed tour guide was standing in front of a massive tank that featured fake pier beams and what appeared to be the ragged front half of a fishing boat covered in coral, barnacles, and seaweed. Some skates and fish lazily drifted about the tank, and a few finicky crabs were crawling around the wreck and the rocks. “Overwatch’s ‘Ecowatch’ division’s efforts to mitigate the environmental impacts of the Omnic Crisis, as well as new sunken wreckage from the conflict itself, resulted in an unprecedented explosion of biodiverse marine life!”

Marti was swaying a little where she held Sombra’s hand, not really listening to a tour guide whose words she only understood a little bit. Widowmaker gave an uncertain glance to her own bluish nailbeds. She had gotten a lot of color back in her recovery, but she was still wary, for both hers and Sombra’s sake. Getting here had been easy enough, just Sombra ‘borrowing’ the Watchpoint’s crappy old truck (pretty much anyone who might object was off on a mission), and a short drive from there, and of course Sombra had hacked them tickets, but now Widowmaker became acutely aware of just how strange the situation was now that Marti was in their lives. In any other situation, civilian life would be a mask--her presence here would be merely idling time away before or after a mission, but now she was coming to terms with the fact that people were here and this was their lives, this was their normal lives, and now, though her own life was still far from normal, this was her life too. She and Sombra were both dressed to blend in, of course, Sombra parting her hair and wearing a sleeveless turtleneck to cover up her neural implants, and Widowmaker wearing large coral-framed glasses to distract from the yellowness of her own eyes. Marti stood out more than either of them in a magenta and white sundress and chunky black velcro sandals. Widowmaker smiled a little. The looseness of the sundress and the thickness of the sandals’ straps against her feet seemed to emphasize Marti’s small size, and Marti had doggedly wrangled her thick, wavy black hair into two uneven pigtails that swayed about her bare brown shoulders every time she turned her head. It lent a certain wildness to her appearance that Widowmaker couldn’t help but admire. At the core of all that timidity was a furious, stubborn survival instinct, and it simultaneously filled Widowmaker’s heart with love and compassion, and broke it, for all her desire to have Marti look to her like she looked to Sombra.

But Marti wasn’t looking at either of them, now, those big brown doe eyes were nearly black with blue-white highlights by the light of the aquarium tanks as she stared into a tank of moon jellies, transfixed by the drifting, alien forms. Widowmaker wondered if she was reading too far into Marti’s apparent fascination with the cnidarians’ utter indifference to each other. Marti was still hesitant to interact with the other kids on the watchpoint, which was fair, considering her shakily growing grasp on English and the fact that she was two years older than Rei and four years older than the twins. They were able to watch holo-programs together, at least, but actually playing was a bit awkward. But then Widowmaker’s train of thought was interrupted as Marti lead Sombra along again and Widowmaker trailed along with them. Marti’s silence seemed at home here, the conversations of the crowd only a low murmur and most people resigned to just stare at the fish in the different tanks as they drifted by. Marti made an audible gasping noise as they entered the tropical fish section, yanking Sombra along to point at the more brightly colored fish. 

“...I like this,” Sombra said, as Marti squatted in front of a tank where several leafy sea dragons wove through a mass of seaweed and seagrass, “It’s so easy to forget sometimes, you know? That there’s a world outside the fight.”

“That there’s a world outside that ‘eye?’” Widowmaker glanced over at her and Sombra quickly tensed and looked around, scanning the crowd.

“Sorry--” Widowmaker started.

“No--it’s fine...” Sombra shook her head a little, her eyes fixing on Marti, “Now I have one more person it can target... as if there weren’t enough monsters in the dark already.”

The word ‘dark’ caught Widowmaker. “What you were saying to her earlier... she doesn’t want a night light?”

“She said they’re for babies,” Sombra huffed, putting her hands on her hips, “But if her own stubbornness is just going to keep her hyperventilating like that...”

“It’s awfully dark in here, non?” Widowmaker mused.

“Well, yeah, ‘flash photography bothers the fish’ and all, but most of the light comes from the tanks anyway---” Sombra started and then caught herself and then looked at Widowmaker, “...what web are you spinning now?” she said, a smile pulling at her lips, but Widowmaker just smiled in turn.

The afternoon trailed on in that strange suspension of time one only gets in aquariums, the tension between wanting to see everything, yet being able to stare into the blue forever and the minutes slipping by like so many bluefin tuna. Marti served as the major marker of how much time was passing, going from brisk little jogs, to a more steady pace matching Widow and Sombra’s, to tiredly trailing a couple of steps behind them. . They rested on a bench against the acrylic glass walls of the aquarium’s shark tunnel, watching as rays and a massive angelshark drifted overhead, the ribbons of water-refracted light shimmering across the floor. Marti first leaned against the glass, staring up between Sombra and widowmaker,  then slowly, ever so slowly, thick lashes drooped over her eyes and her head nodded down slightly. The glass of the tunnel squeaked under the bare skin of her shoulders as she drifted to the side, her cheek smooshing against Widowmaker’s shoulder as her weight slumped against her.

Widowmaker froze at the contact, glanced down at Marti with wide eyes, then her eyes flicked over to Sombra, whose face scrunched up with a stifled giggle. Widowmaker just gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Marti’s face. It wouldn’t be cut and dry--it wasn’t for her, and it wouldn’t be for Marti... but she could be here. She and Sombra would both be here.

-----

“So...? What do you think?” said Sombra as Marti’s eyes flicked between different fish tanks at the pet store. A few days had passed since the aquarium.

“Are you sure?” Marti looked over her shoulder at both Sombra and Widow, her words were halting, her accent thick in her consonants, but she was getting more confident, she wasn’t grabbing Sombra to whisper in her ear as often.

“It’s a big responsibility, but we can all help,” said Widowmaker, bending down to Marti’s level, “We’ll read all the books, and work together to make sure it’s very happy with us.”

Marti pressed her lips together tight and gave a short little nod with a very serious, “Hm!” and Widowmaker smiled at her determination. 

“So... which one?” said Sombra, as Marti turned back towards the fish tanks.

Marti surveyed each of the tanks very seriously, her brow furrowed. Several minutes of dead silence passed before Marti pointed to one nearly-black betta with purple-blue undertones and said, “I like this one.”

Both Widowmaker and Sombra stooped down next to Marty to look into the tank. The betta flared its fins at all three of their faces looking through the glass and Widowmaker softly snorted through her nostrils. 

“Why this one?” said Sombra.

“He’s pretty, and um--a little scary,” said Marti.

“Scary?” said Widowmaker.

“He’s a guard fish,” Marti said very firmly.

“Oh, a guard fish, of course,” said Widowmaker.

-----

Another two weeks had passed when Sombra stirred in Widowmaker’s arms in the middle of the night and she slipped out of bed.

“Sombra?” Widowmaker sat up in bed.

“I’ll just be right back,” Sombra whispered.

Curious, Widowmaker slid out of bed after her and trailed behind her down the hall. Sombra was at the frame of Marti’s door, peering in. Marti’s breaths were steady and barely audible amid the sound of a fish tank filter. Sometimes they could hear Marti talking to the fish, which she named Nochito, 

Nochito stood stark against the bright green plants in his tank on Marti’s desk. The faint blue-green glow of the fish tank itself made the pink of the room look more purple in the night. 

“...I keep waking up thinking she might...” Sombra trailed off and Widowmaker gently draped an arm around her shoulder.

“We’ll be here if it happens,” said Widowmaker, gently kissing Sombra on the corner of her jaw. 

“Yeah...” Sombra said, putting her hand over Widowmaker’s, “Yeah, we will, won’t we?”

They watched Marti sleep for another few minutes, her black hair splashed across her pillow in dark whorls. Sombra’s eyes flicked back to the faint light of the fish tank.

“Gotta say, guard fish is way cooler than night light,” said Sombra with a wry grin at Widowmaker. 

“It suits her,” Widowmaker said with a gentle smile.

“She’s a fighter, too,” said Sombra.

[plethora-of-imagines]

Tradition

AN: My Secret Santa fic is for the amazing FabulousPotatoSister! I hope you enjoy it! I tried to incorporate something that would be culturally significant (in a small way) and I am so, so sorry if I messed it up!!! 

Word Count: 1805

Description: The Doctor wants to celebrate Christmas with you. Christmas may already be passed but it doesn't mean that she can't have a small celebration with you and she has plans to try a tradition.

Secret Santa: @fabulouspotatosister

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

“I know that it technically isn’t Christmas anymore for you, but - well you know- time machine and all.”

The Doctor did a little flourish as she reminded you that she lived in a time machine. As if you would ever forget this fact after having traveled with her throughout time for years. You tried to hide your laughter behind your hand, she was so cute. All eager and attempting to convince you of something you hadn’t even said no to yet.

"I don't know Doctor," you played hard to get, "last time we really celebrated Christmas together you ate mistletoe and got sick..."

For someone who spent so much time around humans, the Doctor managed to misunderstand traditions quite often. The fact that her eleventh body -or so she claimed, with how often she forgot her own age you almost doubted she knew how many bodies she had inhabited- had decided it was a good idea to consume all the mistletoe that you had used to decorate the TARDIS with was a clear sign of her ability to misunderstand tradition. They had gotten horribly sick and you had spent the whole holiday trying to keep the stubborn Time Lord in bed. You had never let him live it down, even when he had regenerated.

"That was two lifetimes ago. And I thought we promised never to mention it again!"

Okay, maybe after a lot of begging you had agreed to let them "live it down". 

You held her pouting face in your hands. A silent apology for bringing it up. Thumbs rubbing against her cheeks. You would feel bad about teasing her if it weren’t for the smile on her face the moment you touched her.

"What did you have in mind, Doctor?" You couldn’t help but inquire.

She leaned into the affection you were showing her like a touch-starved cat. Completely ignoring your question in favor of nuzzling into your palms. Eyes closed in bliss.

"Doctor?"

You hoped to catch her attention before you had to resort to drastic measures, like pulling your palms away from her face.

"I've been researching," she murmured. "I have a small idea, nothing big or impressive. We barely need to leave the TARDIS, which reduces the chance of trouble."

"Oh? So unlike your previous two selves, we will actually manage to do this unscathed? No sick from mistletoe boyish Time Lords? Or trouble seeking grumpy Scotsman Scrooges?"

You let yourself be just a bit dramatic about your somewhat sarcastic teasing. After the mistletoe disaster, her next regeneration refused to celebrate the holiday with you. It wouldn’t have been as disappointing as it was if he hadn’t tried to find an alien invasion to stop in order to avoid celebrating with you. It had been almost insulting. Which was why in the following years you had simply gone home for Christmas. The Doctor’s newest regeneration had a reestablished interest in celebrating the holiday with you that you didn’t quite trust yet. 

You kissed her nose before finally pulling your hands away from cradling her face, reveling in getting her to scrunch her nose in surprise. She stumbled after you for a moment before she caught herself and rushed around the TARDIS. Maneuvering around the console as she rushed to get you to your destination before you could consider denying her. Not that you would ever deny her.

“I didn’t agree to your plans yet Doctor!”

She ducked her head out around the center column. 

“Ah, but you didn’t say no yet either!”

Smiling incredulously, you shook your head, knowing that there would be no stopping her now.

“Can I know what the plan even is? Please, Doctor?”

You made your best puppy dog eyes at her. Doing your best to will her into giving away the plans she likely wanted to keep as a surprise.

“It’s a surprise! Besides, I’m sure that you will recognize what the plan is once we buy what we need for it.”

The TARDIS landed with a soft, teasing chime. The machine herself laughing at your sorry attempt at manipulation. The Doctor gave her a look that practically said, ‘please stop making fun of my human’.

Grabbing a scarf from the hexagon step’s railing, she did an awkward little jog over to you. Throwing the scarf around your head, pulling you in close before wrapping the one end around your neck. The other end had the majority of the excess. The tails were obviously lopsided. In a quick motion, the Doctor wrapped the other end around her own neck. Burying her chin in the fabric, hoping to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks.

“Sharing a scarf... it’s cute.”

You avoided her eyes, starting to feel just as embarrassed as she was. The two of you seemed to be back to the shy teen stage of your relationship after her regeneration this time. Everything seemed softer, every glance and touch full of yearning. 

“Well, you can’t wander off and get into trouble if we are attached,” the Doctor eventually found as an excuse for the action that could have been seen as either sweet or clingy.

“More like it’s a kiddy leash so a certain Time Lady can’t run off and get into trouble without me.”

You gently nudged her in the side as you playfully teased her.

“Hey!” She protested in faux outrage. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of dragging you into trouble without the help of my makeshift human danger-magnet leash.”

“Human danger-magnet leash!” 

Laughing you almost fell over, bringing the Doctor with you. Luckily you caught yourself in time before you could fall far.

“Shut up!” She was smiling. “Come on, trouble maker let’s go get the shopping done with before some aliens decide to invade the market I’ve chosen.”

Walking out of the TARDIS you almost expected the market to be- well, alien. Instead, it seemed to be a normal human market like the ones you would find back home. However the ordinary setting didn’t disappoint you, it served as reassurance that the small celebration that the Doctor wanted to have with you would actually manage to be peaceful.

Exploring side by side you tried to determine what it was that the Doctor was looking for. If you knew what you were searching for you could help to find it. All of your attempts to ask were met with a smile and gentle reassurance that you were smart and would figure it out. You had your suspicions when the Doctor stopped at a stall lit up with the traditional paper Christmas stars you would see at home during the holidays.

Those suspicions furthered as she gathered up bamboo poles and colored paper. Your excitement grew as she paid for the items. She had actually done some research, she hadn’t just said that to reassure you. As the shopkeeper handed her the bag filled with her purchases she turned to you.

“Back to the TARDIS before trouble can find us?”

You looked at her in adoration,” back to the TARDIS,” you agreed.

**************************

Sitting on the console room floor you helped the Doctor to organize the supplies as she started to nervously ramble.

“I watched a few videos so I should be okay at putting the star frame together for the parols. Is it pronounced parol? I honestly don’t know how to pronounce it, the videos I watched always just had the instructions typed out on the screen while calming music played. Did they pick calming music because putting these together is normally stressful? Or do you think it was just whatever the top royalty-free song happened to be? Either way, I think I can make the parol frames. Please tell me if I’m making a fool of myself and saying that wrong!”

“Your pronunciation is perfect Doctor,” you kissed her cheek to help stop her rambling.

As you continued to organize the paper by color the Doctor started to assemble the frames. Using her sonic as a method by which to secure the poles in place. You had no idea how it was working but you weren’t about to question it. She was making them in a variety of sizes, one was so big you weren't sure that you had enough paper to cover the frame. You thought about telling her that one was too big, but you didn’t want to ruin her fun.

Once the paper was organized you began to cover the completed frames. Starting with the smaller frames that would take up less paper. Gluing the paper onto the frames with care, not wanting to rip any of it. It was delicate work, but it was fun.

The Doctor watched your movements carefully when she was done putting all the frames together, watching with eager childlike interest. Slowly, after you had finished covering a few frames, she began to work on covering a few herself.

Her attempts were a bit childish. Small corners not covered or the paper bunched up in places. But you didn't mind at all. They had character, they spoke of being made by the Doctor.

The companionable silence as you worked ended when it was time to work together on covering the ambitiously large parol. The two of you joking together as you attempted to cover the large frame. You making fun of her for wanting to make one this huge. You managed to just barely cover the whole frame. It looked like the inside of a kaleidoscope with the random assortment of colors patched together.

The Doctor hung the parols throughout the console room, the natural glow of the pillars lighting them up. You felt as though you were in a sea of stars. The TARDIS pulsed lightly to bring your attention to the side of the room where two mugs of hot chocolate and a large fuzzy blanket were placed. Bringing them to the center of the room you settled onto the floor. Wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. When the Doctor finished hanging the last parol she turned to you for approval. Opening your arms to her you encouraged her to join you in the blanket for cuddles.

Immediately she rushed to clutch at you, snuggling into your arms with a content sigh.

"Do you like it?" She nervously asked.

"I love it, Doctor. Thank you."

You handed her the mug of hot chocolate and laughed as she eagerly drank it, leaving a milk mustache on her upper lip. Kissing her lips sweetly brought the sweet taste of chocolate to your own mouth. You picked up your own mug and took a sip while admiring the parols spread throughout the room. Maybe you could celebrate Christmas again with this incarnation of the Doctor without fear of trouble. You smiled, you'd have to see how next year went.

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 7

CW/TW: General Grief

The drawing room was quiet, far too quiet to be celebrating the birth of a child.

 Little Nikolay slept, swaddled in his blanket. Marya and Bourienne fussed quietly over him, remarking over his tiny hands, his little nose; anything and everything they could.

"Il est tres précieux! He will grow into a 'andsome young man, I am sure of it."

 While the two of them chattered on, Andrei and Y/N were much less involved.

 Andrei, while clearly enamored with his son, loved him in a more silent, personal way. He was never one to flaunt his affections. Whether that was due to his father, or simply his own nature, one couldn't be sure. But do not think that he resented his son. If anything, Lise had created such a sense in Andrei that he resolved to devote himself to raising his son, rather than giving his life as cannon fodder for some foolish war.

Andrei moved forward to take the child; his child, holding the small babe gently in his arms.

Y/N, on the other hand, could barely look at the child. She hadn't held him, in fact, she'd refused when asked.

She knew it wasn't his fault; he was a child, these things happened, Lise had already been at risk and she'd known exactly what it was she had been risking.

He looked so much like her. Too much for Y/N to bear. The curve of his petite nose, the cleft of his tiny chin, even his eyes. She had seen them open for a mere moment, it couldn't have been longer than a second, and yet, she couldn't bear it. The same soft, silky blue as his mother. As Andrei quietly soothed the now fussy child, Y/N's mind began to drift back to the week prior...

~

The very world seemed to mourn with the small procession; rain fell in torrents, turning the once-brittle earth into a thick, miserable muck. Armed with umbrellas, the attendees surrounded the twin caskets. The priest began to speak, prattling on about the tragedy that had befallen the family. First Lise in childbirth, then her father upon hearing the news. His heart finally gave out. This left Princess Y/N Zhudova as the sole heir to a considerable fortune.

Y/N stood nearest the caskets, arm hooked into Andrei's. Despite the Priest's speech, people continued to talk, muttering to each other. Y/N heard it all.

These things happen... poor thing was too young... it's a shame... I can't believe he left everything to his bastard...

With those words, the funeral, instead of honoring the dead, became about her. She was inheriting the entirety of the Zhudov estate. After observing the expected mourning period, she would have find a husband of similar, if not higher, rank.

 Already, she heard fathers and mothers telling their sons of the prospects such an influential woman would give them. All this power, this influence, were her's to wield. And wield them she would.

~

Y/N had left as soon as she could, desperate to get away from that tainted place. After saying her goodbyes, making them as brief as she possibly could, she'd all but fled the Bolkonsky Estate.

With the funeral and Nikolay's baptism out of the way, Y/N returned to the Zhudov household, not as a daughter, but as a matriarch.

Upon arriving to the house, she was greeted by the housekeeper, a woman she'd known her entire life.

"Madame, welcome back."

 "Thank you Yelena, I hope you've assembled the staff inside?" Y/N pulled her gloves off, adjusting her inky black traveling coat. Yelena nodded, thin lips pressed into a sad smile.

"Yes, Madame, they're in the foyer."

"Perfect, thank you." “Before you go inside, I have some concerns.”

“Oh?” Y/N stopped, allowing Yelena to lead her away from the driver. Her tight, lined face screwed up in an expression of concern and paranoia.

“Yes Madame… I fear that some of the staff may have complaints about you being the head of the household now. I’ve heard talk that some—I don’t know who—” she interjected before Y/N could ask, “Are being paid by young gentlemen’s families who wish for you to marry their sons. To my understanding, they each intend to ruin your reputation as a means to force you into a marriage with their sons to secure your fortune.”

“I see…” Y/N was silent for a minute; one could almost hear the gears in her head, turning as seamlessly as the gears of her father’s precious pocket watch.

 “... Madame, what-?”

“Yelena,” she turned back towards the matronly woman, eyes sharpened like the edge of an officer’s saber.

“Y-yes Madame?”

“I have a plan, but I will need your help in carrying it out, can I trust you?” Yelena, caught off guard, nodded vigorously. Y/N had known her since she was a little girl, ever since she’d moved to live with her father. “Good.”

 Y/N strode inside, scanning the small crowd of household staff, made up of about twenty individuals, each waiting.

"Good day, everyone. As I'm sure you're aware, I will be taking over for my father in heading the affairs of the household. As you know, there is a lot of work to be done. However," Y/N continued, "As unorthodox as it may be, I would like you all to take the rest of the week off. You'll return on Monday. If you have any questions, feel free to give them to Yelena, who can inform me if she sees fit."

There was silence for a few moments, then quiet whispers between the staff. Then, they began to disperse, talking amongst themselves. As they left, a few sent strange, questioning looks towards the new matriarch.

Y/N beckoned Yelena to follow her, leading her into her father's... her study. Y/N shut and locked the door behind her.

"I'm going to ask you to do one small thing for me."

"Yes, Madame, anything you need." Y/N paused for a second, before continuing.

"When the staff inevitably ask you why I've done this, I want you to give each of them a different reason. I need to see who is loyal to our household; to me. I don't care what it is as long as it can be easily disproved; give me a list of names with the lies so I can keep track. In a week's time, we shall know who I can trust. Once you've given them each their stories, you are free to go as well."

"I... yes, ma- I mean, yes Lady Y/N... I will do as you say." 

Yelena left, muttering under her breath. Once the door shut behind the retreating woman, Y/N sank in her chair, shaking violently. The tears began to prick at her eyes, exacerbated by the sharp, unrelenting pounding of her head.

How am I to do this? My god, I’ve barely taken the mantle and already people conspire against me… 

 She had hardly allowed herself the time to mourn at the Bolkonsky estate. With everyone bustling around, there hadn’t been the time for it. Not just Lise, but father as well. Her only remaining family had been destroyed in a matter of days. She still had the child, of course. Lise’s child. Her nephew; the one she could hardly bear to look at. Y/N nearly broke down there and then, but she managed to contain herself. Just until they leave, you can make it til then became her mantra, whispered ever increasingly under her breath. Before she knew it, the long case clock struck twelve, shocking her out of her obsessive reverie.

Looking up, she noticed a small piece of parchment, lined with Yelena's  meticulous script. She must've placed it there while Y/N was less than mentally present.

Skimming through the list, she noted a few familiar names; Alexandra, the young girl whose mother had been suffering from consumption. She was lucky enough to survive, but the disease had ravaged her body beyond repair. Anna, the maid whose sister had been ill and on her last weeks of her life, had passed some months prior while Y/N had been away. She recognized most of the names, able to link them with faces she'd seen around the house.

Standing from her chair, she walked out into the hallway, moving to her room. It was only when she felt warm rivulets of water travel down her neck did she become aware of the tears streaming down her face. Wiping them from her face, trying desperately to regain her vision, Y/N entered her room, all but ripping the heavy dress and stays from her skin. Now, dressed in just her chemise and stockings, her knees gave out. She fell. Hard. Knees smacking against the wooden floor. She was certain she'd bruised them, but she didn't care. 

 A wretched, choked scream escaped her lips, releasing all the grief she'd hidden for the past week. By the time she'd ran out of breath, her vision was spotty, her throat raw and painfully, desperately dry. It was on her fifth attempt to stand that she finally made it back on her feet, leaning heavily against the back of a nearby chair. Her breath came in great, gasping heaves, but she couldn't get enough. It was becoming harder and harder to see, her eyes wouldn't stay open. 

 She heard rapid footsteps, but she was sure all the staff had left. They were getting louder, more frantic with each second. Soon after, she heard her name. The door burst open, revealing the familiar figure of a young man, panting with exertion. Y/N, doubled over and leaning on the chair, couldn't make out his face.

 "Y/N? Y/N, what-" he rushed forward, catching her before she could fold to the floor again. "Are you hurt?"

No response.

"N/N please..." Finally, she looked up.

"P... Pierre..."

"Yes, that's good..." Pierre looked around; what should he do? She was clearly distressed and, at the rate she was breathing, she'd pass out, "Listen, N/N, please, you have to breathe, please..."

Her hand wound into the fabric of his coat, fingers trembling violently. "I.. I-I can't, I can't-" she gulped, gasping for breath.

"Alright, that's alright, you just need to try, please just-" Y/N's knees buckled again, slumping her against Pierre's chest. 

 He lowered her to the ground, leaning her back against the edge of the bed-frame. He placed his hands on her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"N/N breathe, you're alright, everything is going to be fine..."

Pierre wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hands grasp tightly at his back. Violent, heaving sobs shook her entire body. 

~

Neither of them were sure how long they'd sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, but, when they finally parted, it felt far too short. Y/N's face was splotched with red, tear-stained; she looked exhausted. Judging by the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn't slept in days.

"I... thank you, Pierre..."

"Y-yes, of course. I... I'm so sorry, N/N, about Lise, about your father... I'm so, so sorry..."

She smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"As am I..."

[propsandmayhems]

could you do prompt 28 with lucie and matthew (romantic or platonic)? i love your writing!!!!!

omg okay so i loved doing this way too much so i got a bit carried away!! this is mostly platonic but i think if u read into it there's some hints of romance ;)) also hints of blackdale i hope u enjoy anon!! <3

“How can you drink that stuff?”

Lucie Herondale & Matthew Fairchild 

Lucie was having a very very very awful night. She was exhausted, having been up until 5 A.M. that morning with Grace Blackthorn, combing through giant, dusty volumes of black magic in the absolutely wretched Chiswick House. Lucie did not know how Jesse even beared to haunt the place; let alone how Grace managed to live there before she was taken in by the Bridgestocks. From the shattered glass that littered the floor to the dried blood and ichor that still coated the walls, just spending a few hours there each night made Lucie’s skin crawl. 

It was particularly bad that night, as she and Grace had begun reading through the books about necromancy Tatiana had collected in the years since Jesse had died. Lucie had a theory that some of the books were simply binded in slime instead of cloth and Jesse had grumbled about the way it coated her hands when she latched onto him and requested he take her back to the Institute. “Really?” He questioned her, one dark eyebrow quirking upwards. “I have told you not to bother messing around with those awful books. Of course, you ignore me and instead come and cover me in slime.” 

Lucie rolled her eyes, “You are a ghost, Jesse. I couldn’t cover you in slime even if I wanted to. Which, the way you are acting, I really would love to. Now, Jesse Blackthorn, I command you to bring me home.” 

With a swoosh that knocked the breath from her lungs, she and Jesse landed in her room at the Institute. Immediately, Jesse stepped back from her grasp and with a single irate look in her direction, vanished. 

It was the same routine every night, she would summon Jesse to take her to Chiswick House to meet Grace and he would try to refuse, but Lucie would demand it and he was unable to defy her, due to her powers. Of course, she felt bad about demanding Jesse to do things that were against his wishes, but she couldn’t risk making Jessamine do it as the chance that she would slip and say something to Lucie’s family was too great. So, Lucie let Jesse be angry with her. She only hoped he would forgive her when she finally succeeded in bringing him back. 

Lucie had made for her bed and was just about to flop down onto the welcoming coverlet when she remembered that she was coated in a layer of slime and dust. With a groan, she let out a very unlady-like word. 

Lucie decided she must have the worst luck in the entire world, as her father was up unusually early that morning. He was passing by her bedroom on the way to his office just in time to hear her shout the expletive. “Lulu?” Her father’s concerned voice rang out from the other side of her door. “Is, uh, everything okay?”

Lucie was frozen in place. If her father came in and saw her in her filthy dress, he would have an abundance of questions she did not wish to answer. “Yes, Papa. I just… hit my toe on the bed frame.” 

“Do you need an iratze? Should I call Uncle Jem?”

“No! No, it’s really okay, Papa. I am going to go back to sleep now,” Lucie called back through the door. 

“Alright, bach. I will see you at breakfast.” Her father replied, his tone still uncertain. She was unable to hear his retreating footsteps through the thick, wooden door, so she remained unmoving another three or so minutes, when she finally let out her breath and began undressing. 

Now, Lucie was slumped into a rich leather chair in the games room and her corset was poking her ribs uncomfortably. She was diligently avoiding the crowd that was assembled in the library for the weekly Enclave meeting, so she decided to hide in the games room down the hall from the ballroom as there was little chance of anyone finding her sulking here. 

She had attempted to sit at her desk and work on The Beautiful Cordelia, but all she could think about while in her room was Jesse’s face before he had disappeared that morning. When she normally had writer’s block, Lucie would head to the library and try to lose herself amongst the pages of a book, but her beloved library was currently otherwise occupied. She also considered holing up in the training room, but somehow she found herself staring at the chessboard in the games room instead.

“Well, this is rather awkward,” a familiar voice drawled from the doorway. Without looking up she knew it belonged to Matthew. Undeterred by her not turning to look at him, he continued, “it was my plan to hide in here until the Enclave meeting was over.”

My wonderful luck strikes again, Lucie thought sourly to herself. Tilting her head to meet his eyes, Lucie regarded him for a moment. As always, Matthew was dressed impeccably. His shoes were unscuffed and shined. His trousers, which were a dark gray with a black pinstripe, were tailored perfectly. He seemed to have disregarded his jacket somewhere already and his waistcoat, made of an opulent spring green silk and embroidered with small yellow and purple flowers, shone against the white of his shirt. On anyone else, the waistcoat would’ve been gaudy, but Matthew made it look dashing - as he made everything look dashing.  

The room was dim, as Lucie hadn’t bothered to turn on all of the witchlights other than the lamp that resided on the accent table beside her. Still, it projected enough light that she could see the flush that spread across his cheeks. That, combined with the way he was smiling lazily in her direction, Lucie knew he was drunk. 

“I suppose you can join me, if you’d like,” she replied, gesturing to the chair adjacent to her. Wordlessly, he moved to flop down into the leather seat, identical to the one she was perched in. 

“Why are you all the way down here?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “I would’ve guessed that you would be using the bit of free time to write.” 

She shrugged, “writer’s block.” 

He nodded, and moved to pull his flask from the pocket of his waistcoat. Lucie watched him silently as he deftly unscrewed the top and took a swig. He was just about to replace the top when the words tumbled from her mouth, “could I have a sip?”

Matthew’s hands immediately stilled and his green eyes widened in surprise. Quickly regaining his composure, the green of his eyes turned stormy, “No! Absolutely not! If your brother or father found out I was supplying you with drink they would have my head.” 

Lucie threw up her hands. “I am my own person, thank you very much!” 

Matthew’s expression softened and he looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. The witchlight from the lamp between them caught his blonde locks and turned them into wisps of gold. Finally, he held the silver flask out to her. “Oh, alright. Go ahead, then.” 

With a smile Lucie took the flask from his hands and eagerly gulped down some of the alcohol. Immediately, she regretted her choice. Just as quickly as she accepted it, she thrusted the flask away from herself as if it was on fire. “How can you drink that stuff?” She choked out, feeling as if her whole throat was burning. 

Matthew laughed and removed the flask from her hand. Tipping his head back, he drank down more of the alcohol while Lucie watched in horror. When he was finished, he replaced the cap and slipped it back into its place in his waistcoat. “You get used to it,” he finally replied, with a shrug. After a moment of silence, his expression turned very serious, green eyes narrowing in her direction. “Lu, I want you to know I am always here to help you.” 

It was a simple statement, but Lucie still felt a tension in her shoulders she didn’t even realize was there melting away at his words. Of course, there was no way she could tell him about Jesse or her late night work with Grace. Still, in that moment she felt recognized. 

Lucie hated the fact it was so easy for her to sneak out to Chiswick House all night, nearly every night. She thought of all she could tell him; confessions about her work with Grace and problems with Jesse. 

Instead, “thank you, Matthew,” was all she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. But perhaps the evening wasn’t completely awful after all.

[hunnybunnyerza]

Dianakko Week Day 4: Moving In/Living Together

Hi. This is probably one of my most hurt/comforty one I’ve written. (The most one is for Adulthood but that ones like an angst fest too.) This one’s very fluffy too, so yeah, please enjoy!

@dianakko-week

Also on AO3

Akko and Diana had considered themselves a couple for much of their school life, and attempted to stay together after graduating from Luna Nova. Although they both had very different goals in life, they were very appreciative of the fact that they could achieve this.

Now, they were overjoyed that they could finally move in together.

All of the boxes filled with their things were stacked on top of one another, creating one large pile in the center of what was soon to be their living room. The fantasy of living together slipped away, as the realization hit that they would need to unpack everything.

“How are we possibly going to get through all of that?!�� Akko exclaimed, letting out an excessively long, over dramatic sigh. “I didn’t think moving out could be so… so difficult!”

“You’re just overreacting,” Diana replied, her voice holding that typical nonchalant tone. “Anyways, I was planning on unpacking everything using magic, like levitation spells and such. Then we could get this done all while practicing as well.”

“Levitation? Diana, you know I can’t do that!” Akko said immediately, before going quiet for a bit and actually thinking about this idea.

“And, isn’t that spell really hard to do? And it’d be way to much for you to use it so much at once.”

“That’s nonsense! I’ll be fine,” Diana replied, completely dismissing the idea, refusing to admit even to Akko that it could be too much for her to handle. She quickly whipped out her wand and began to rip the tape off of a box, using magic to do so.

Diana unpacked about four boxes without showing any signs of tiredness or distress. Akko knew she should help, but instead opted to simply watch her girlfriend do it, telling herself that she could improve her magic skills a bit if she watched Diana do the spell time and time again.

Diana was able to unpack nearly all of the boxes without showing any signs of fatigue. She was even able to reassemble things like furniture all by using magic. Akko was impressed in the beginning, but as Diana grew more and more lethargic, Akko only grew more and more worried.

Diana was up to the last box, she would have to unpack and assemble their bed. Akko could assume she saved this task for last so she wouldn’t be tempted by the comfort of the bed.

But now, she was gasping for breath, her chest heaving, and Akko could only beg for her to stop. However she insisted on continuing. There was only one box left, she reasoned, and she could rest on the bed once it was done.

So Akko watched anxiously as Diana slowly, much slower than usual, put the bed together. It took a while, but soon the bed frame was completed and all that remained was to place the mattress on top of it.

Diana hovered the mattress over the bed, but it fell down onto the bed with a loud thud, in time with her wand falling out of her hand and dropping to the floor. Her hand was trembling too much to keep hold of it, and soon her entire body was shaking uncontrollably, her breathing terribly labored as well.

“Diana! Are you okay?” Akko called out, rushing towards her girlfriend’s side and placing a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly in an attempt to get her attention. “Diana, please say something!”

“Ah… k… ko,” Diana was just barely able to mutter before she collapsed into Akko’s arms, falling limp in her grasp. Akko was tense for a bit, undoubtedly scared, but she regained her bearings quickly. Diana needed her, after all!

She quickly picked her up and walked over to the newly made bed, placing her girlfriend on top of the bare mattress. Akko hesitantly rested her head on top of Diana’s chest, feeling the hard pounding of her heart. She kept her head there for a while, in fear that if she didn’t, Diana’s heart would beat out of her chest entirely.

After a few long minutes, which each felt like their own eternity for Akko, Diana began to stir. She regained consciousness fairly soon after that, and Akko lifted her head off her chest in time to watch Diana’s eyelashes flutter open, her eyes remaining half lidded once they did.

“Diana! You’re awake!” Akko cheered, a wide smile spreading across her face. “How do you feel?”

“I am fine. Just… tired,” Diana murmured incoherently. If Akko hadn’t memorized Diana’s regular speech pattern she probably wouldn’t have been able to understand it, if not just barely.

“It’s ‘cause you overexerted yourself way too much, Diana! And, for a pointless reason, too!” Akko scolded, although the worried expression on her face never faltered. Diana sighed, she was usually the one who chastises Akko about things, and wasn’t quite used to being at the other end of it.

There was a silence that dragged on between the two for a while. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but calling it a calming one wouldn’t be quite right either. Soon enough though, Akko broke the silence, in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit as well.

“Hey, how’s the new bed? Comfy?” Akko asked, giggling slightly once she did.

“Yes, but it would be considerably better if I weren’t the only one in it,” Diana replied, smirking lightly up at her now slightly flustered girlfriend.

But then, almost on cue with Diana’s words, Akko flopped down on the bed beside her before draping an arm over her girlfriends’ waist. Diana pulled her closer, burrowing her face into Akko’s shoulder.

“Better?” Akko asked, a wide grin plastered on her lips.

“Mm,” Diana affirmed, too exhausted to form a full sentence. Her breathing soon slowed and she was asleep in Akko’s arms. Akko pulled her in closer, ever so gently stroking her fingers through Diana’s shimmering emerald hair as to not wake her. She kissed her cheek softly, still unable to prevent the light smile that tugged at her lips.

“Sleep well, Diana.”

[mythriteshah]

What Could Have Been

Tresses of ebon black.  Eyes of emerald and aquamarine.  A face, aloof like his, but calm and sporting flawless features.  Twirling in garments of deep violet, and adorned in earrings of only the purest Agate, she gazed into her mirror, and beheld her transformation.  Though the lehenga she had received in the past was of considerably high quality and befitting for a queen of her stature, this robe was made for her.  A garment as rich and as powerful as the heritage she so proudly upholds from her seat of power in the Deep Sagolii.

From afar, he beheld her.  Thiji Higuri, the rising fashion mogul, witnessing the fruits of his latest project take form.  Her already grand majesty had become even grander as she donned his newest creation.  This was the Gemini Gown known as Death’s Coronation, straight from the Lucavi Assembly, and the first of such to wear and own it was none other than his old friend and former rival, Chichibi Chibi, Grand Magus of the Order of Mhach, and Merchant Queen of the Deep Sagolii.  The shining star of Thanalan, whose beauty rivals even that of Sultana Nanamo ul Namo. Brushing aside a few stray locks of her hair, she caught Thiji staring intently at her reflection, and met his gaze from the mirror.  She watched him in anxious silence, wondering what the Mythrite Sultan would say… “This robe was meant for you, Your Grace,” complimented Thiji.  “How honored I am to bear witness to your evolution after so many winters…” “Evolution…?” the Merchant Queen asked with a graceful turn of her heel.  “Into what, my old friend?” “… Into a goddess,” he replied after a short pause.  “I’ve been graced by the presence of my fair share of Lalafellin maidens in my time, but none can begin to compare to you, Queen Chichibi.  You are the quintessence of Lalafellin beauty, and when your subjects next lay their eyes on you they will know that Mhach lives and breathes through you; they will know that you are their goddess, and they will kneel before you in supplication… and those who refuse to bask in your beauty will regret it in the afterlife.” His words made her grin.  She was perhaps pleased by his monologue, and even more so by having the honor to be the first among eleven others to don clothing from his latest project.  She simply gave a curt bow of her head in response before turning back around to inspect herself in the mirror. “And you are certain payment is unneeded?” she asked. “For you, Your Grace, it is not,” he answered.  “Helping bring my dream to fruition is payment enough.” “Truly, My Sultan,” Chichibi started, “Eorzea would be lost in his drabness and dreariness without your fashion acumen.” “Indeed…” the Mythrite Sultan said softly, turning around as if to leave.  After a long moment of silence, another voice was made apparent… “My Sultan?  Are you well?” Its tone was feather-soft, almost like a whisper, and all too familiar to him.  The Mythrite Sultan opened his eyes and found himself in the basement of his Aldenard Branch Headquarters, the main center for the distribution of the Regalia’s wares.  From the corner of his eye he saw the Viera known as Isja, his Angel and official model of the Regalia.  She sat on the edge of one of the heart-shaped beds in which his Angels retire with legs crossed.  He turned over to her and nodded.

“Yes.  I was… simply reminiscing,” Thiji said. “Ever and always does your mind seem to wander, my lord,” Isja commented.  “This must only attest to the source of your genius.  But I feel… this is different.  You seem to exhibit feelings of… longing.” “Queen Chichibi,” he immediately stated.  “I was thinking of her, and… what could have been.”  The Veena tilted her head in confusion, clueless as to what he meant.  “I’m not sure how much you know of her from your past interactions with her emissary, but she rules the deepest reaches of the Sagolii Desert as Queen, spanning as far as Cape Deadwind.  She and her line have brought the numerous tribes under her banner and now hold a place of power within the ocean of sand.  A magnificent master of the Black, and a Mhachi prodigy akin to our great Shatotto…”

Isja pondered.  The amount of emotion he poured into praising her only spoke of how highly he held the Merchant Queen.  But what did he mean by “what could have been”?  Seeking more clues, she pressed the subject forward.

“She sounds very beautiful, and the dress you chose for her to model do her great justice,” spoke the Viera.  “Perhaps… and if I may be so bold… she could be your Sul-?” Isja caught herself when she saw her master’s eyes shut.  She knew just as much as her fellow Angels that such a subject was highly sensitive for the Mythrite Sultan.  After a moment of silence, she bowed her head in apology.  Thiji, however, paced toward the center of the room, his gaze fixed on the rotating diamond chandeliers which dotted the ceiling.

“Isja…” he sighed, “We went from rivals, to friends, to business associates, to confidants.  All this and so much more she has become to me.  And when I gazed upon one of Mhach’s proudest and greatest descendants in the Regalia’s finest garb, I surrendered myself to my mind… visions of what could have been if fate took different paths…”

Isja straightened her posture, giving Thiji her full, undivided attention.  “The Knight I could have been.  The Sorceress I could have served; the love that would have bloomed; the heirs we would have sired; the imbeciles we could have crushed; the ideal world we would mold together.  All of this did I see, wishing it were thus… Such beauty and refinement this piteous realm would never hope to see… A dream that would not come to pass.” She was moved by his lamentations so that she wanted to speak, but she knew he had more to say, and for her lord, Isja would gladly lend him her ears.  “I can do all I can to hide my emotions, yet the empty space beside me speaks softly, yet voluminously.  My brother after me was the fortunate one, yet I am consigned to witness every sunset in solitude, looking over my shoulder, wishing to share the moment with the Sultana for whom I dared dream…”

His gaze lowered, he turned now towards the large fountain to his left, watching the waters fall into the pool which bore the holy symbol of Llymlaen, the Navigator.  “I said to her that when she would next meet her subjects – when they would see their jewel shine once more in the Sagolii Deep, they will gaze in awe at the cold yet welcoming shadow, and kneel before her majesty – whether through their own will, or through hers.  Those who would yet defy her would find the shadow of Mhach as their last sight before they would join the hundreds of broken bodies on the battlefield, scattered before the wake of her calm yet fierce beauty.  I pray she did not look back towards the lonely sultan whose heart is as ice.  The Spinner has other fates in store for us, as is Her wont.”

Now she knew what he meant.  If he and Chichibi were together, they would be one of, if not, the greatest power couple in all of Eorzea and beyond.  With their power and wealth combined they would bring even the Syndicate low.  Isja would shed but a single tear for her lord before rising to her feet. “What if she did look back, My Sultan?” Isja questioned as she placed a hand to her heart.  “What if… she wanted you to speak your heart to her?  Why consign yourself to such a fate?”

“She is Mhach, and Mhach lives and breathes in her,” he replied.  “She must shine in the skies of Thanalan alone.  'Power in Beauty' is more than just a motto, Miss Isja.  'Tis a way of life that my family has embraced for many generations.  My father knew this.  My mother knew this.  My brother and Lady Umimi know this.  And I - as the new head of the Higuri Dynasty - must uphold it.  I cannot truly be sad so long as I know my dream lives in those who embrace high fashion.  Especially you, who has so quickly adapted to and embraced the refinement and grace our empire brings - coupled by your own unique traits as a Viera.” "Thank you, My Sultan, for your praise," Isja said with a slight bow of her head.  "But I speak for everyone when I say that I feel none in this realm is more deserving of a Sultana than yourself.  When I heard of the Regalia and of the man behind it all, I found purpose in my life, and it would be serving under you and my fellow Angels.  But after hearing your tale I cannot help but feel even more resolved to carry out your wishes.  For you, and for the Sultana I adamantly believe you will find someday, I will do all I can to show this realm true Power in Beauty.  You have my word."

Thiji bowed his head in gratitude.  Isja then turned and slowly made her way out, shutting the sliding partition behind her.  Now by himself, he went into his private chambers where he gazed upon an ornately framed portrait on the wall, showing him and Queen Chichibi in their regal splendor.  As he focused on the picture, the words slowly echoed in his mind:

"Walk with Halone..." The Mythrite Sultan shuts his eyes, thinking back to all the grand memories they had shared.  Perhaps more will be made should they meet again, as unlikely as that may seem given both are retired adventurers.  But hope has always been prevalent in the hearts and minds of the sons and daughters of man.

"Always," he quietly said to the portrait, as if the visage of the Desert Queen spoke to him directly.  "Another and another may take your place... but none will ever replace you." For now, it was time to rest, and time to plan.  The realm still needed some more enlightenment. (This short story is dedicated to the in-game character Chichibi Chibi.  Thanks for all the awesome and fun times we've had over the years, and the bonds we had formed along the way.  We have withstood the test of time not just in FFXIV, but in other games as well.  I pray that we keep bumping into each other - whether we expect it or not - and that our future adventures take us to new heights.  Eternal glory to you and your efforts!)

A Love that Could have Been - commissioned by https://artistsnclients.com/people/Charmedwheat

[taexual]

HOLIC - 4 | jb x reader

Strangers, united by their big dreams, try to learn to live together and lift each other up to reach their goals without losing themselves or their relationship on the way to the top.

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: strong language

words: 1.9k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

          prev / next

You were beyond outraged that Jaebum was enough of a child about this to actually break your bed just so he’d win the bet. You truly considered breaking his neck in revenge – especially after he dared to ask for your help – but instead of that, you glared at him and walked back to your room, deciding that the best kind of revenge would be to somehow fix the damage he’s done and win the bet despite his attempts to sabotage your hard work.

However, the side board he had broken was hanging off its hinges and it only took you a moment to conclude that you couldn’t actually fix this unless you had proper industrial glue. Upon closer inspection, however, you realized that not even the strongest adhesive would have helped you fix this properly – Jaebum had even managed to break a piece of the wood off, so the sideboard was now about five centimeters shorter than it should have been and, thus, you could no longer attach it to the baseboard.

Gritting your teeth together, you understood that you’d have to pay money to replace it and there was nothing that you wanted more than to rip the broken board off and just hit Jaebum right on the—okay, violence wasn’t the answer. He’d acted like a child but that didn’t mean that you had to act like one, too.

And yet you couldn’t help but be petty as you purposefully turned off all the lights in the apartment – Jaebum kept tripping whenever he walked out to get himself a glass of water – and, after grabbing your laptop, sat down in the kitchen. Every time Jaebum walked past you, you refused to look up at him and, he had to admit, the way your laptop screen illuminated your face really made you look vicious. He almost regretted breaking your bed.

Then, four hours later, he strolled into the kitchen again, yawning and stretching – this time you refused to admire the way his body looked – as he stopped next to the kitchen island, watching you for a moment.

“Guess I won the bet then,” he announced, not mentioning that it literally took him five hours to finish assembling his bed and it was now two in the morning. “Are you going to ignore me? What are you doing?”

“Looking up knives.”

Jaebum opened his mouth to speak but he wasn’t sure if you were serious or just annoyed with him. He admitted that it could’ve also been both.

His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by you, though.

“You stink,” you spoke again, even though you couldn’t really smell him. You just needed to express your pent-up aggression with words. “Go take a shower.”

Jaebum grinned. “Alright. I’ll go do that. And then I’ll get a fantastic night’s sleep on my brand new bed.”

You told him to fuck off under your breath but the echo of his laughter as he walked towards the bathroom let you know that he still heard you.

Suddenly frustrated again, you leaned back in your chair and glanced into his room through the gap he had left in the door. His bed had indeed been built. He even put the mattress on and had the sheets ready.

An idea hit you then.

Jaebum had literally broken your bed because he was childish like that. You may not have wanted to drop to his level, but sometimes, certain sacrifices had to be made.

Taking your phone and your laptop with you, – just to be sure he wouldn’t break your other valuable stuff while you were doing this, – you sneaked into his room, your bravery fueled by the sound of the shower running in the bathroom; you knew he wasn’t going to catch you. Then, you placed your electronics under the blanket, crawled under it as well, and spread out in the very middle of his bed.

This was your bed now. Jaebum could sleep on the mattress – or on the broken bed frame – in your room. Call it revenge.

Naturally, when Jaebum returned to his room thirty minutes later, he had no idea you were there since you were lying flat against the mattress. He calmly changed into new clothes – all while you stayed with your head under the blanket so you wouldn’t have to watch – and, after tossing the blanket aside, he took a leap back, yelping in shock as his back hit the wall.

“Jesus—fuck! Shit!” swear words spilled from his lips as you continued to lay peacefully in the middle of the bed, trying to act as if you were completely unbothered even though his reaction certainly made you want to giggle. You perservered, though. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I’m sleeping,” you shot back in a purposefully quiet tone. “This is my bed.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jaebum replied matter-of-factly. “I built this.”

“Technically, you broke the bed frame that I built,” you responded. “It’s only fair I take this one. You can sleep on the mattress in my room.”

“That’s now how this works!” he insisted, although, a small part in his mind recognized that you were right. He would have done the exact same thing had your roles been switched.

“It is now,” you countered. “I’m sleeping here.”

“No—what the fuck?” he continued to protest even though, at this point, it was clear that you weren’t going to budge. “You can’t just sleep in my room.”

He made this too easy for you as you countered, without missing a beat, “you can’t just break people’s beds.”

“Really?” Jaebum retorted. “This is how we’re going to do this? What are we, twelve?”

“You tell me,” you said, snuggling your face into the pillow to tease him further. “You’re the one who broke—”

“Alright, I got it!” he shouted defeatedly, and you heard footsteps which had to mean that he was walking closer to the door. You were so close to winning. “Just for the record, I’m not giving up. You might sleep here tonight but it’s a one-time thing.”

“I’m staying here until you fix my bed,” you said. “If it takes you one night, then I’ll gladly leave tomorrow.”

Groaning instead of replying, Jaebum slammed the door of his bedroom shut and headed to your room. You could hear the floor tiles creak as he walked around, probably trying to decide what to do with the broken bed frame that occupied half of the room, and the mattress that occupied the other half.

Smiling a little to yourself, you opened your eyes and took in Jaebum’s room, even though you couldn’t see anything due to the darkness. You didn’t really want to see anything specific, you just glanced at the few details that differentiated Jaebum’s room from yours – like the soft light on his wireless router blinking on the floor in the corner of the room – simply to prove to yourself that you had just defeated him in however petty of an argument the two of you had had.

You may have technically lost the bet, but taking over Jaebum’s bed was certainly a winning move.

You had a free day on Monday because the gallery you worked in wasn’t open today, so, after falling asleep at three last night, you expected to stay in bed until midday at the very least. That was not what happened at all, however, and less than five hours after you had fallen asleep, you were woken up by a jarring noise coming from the kitchen.

At first, you tried to ignore it, flipping to your other side and even covering your head with the blanket, but the sound didn’t seem to stop and the more you anticipated its ending, the louder it seemed to get. It was starting to feel as if someone was drilling a hole inside of your brain.

Groaning, you tossed the blanket off of yourself and got out of the bed, throwing the door of the room open.

Right as you glanced at the source of the noise – both of the blenders you had were whirring loudly on the counter in the kitchen – you also noticed Jaebum’s wide smile.

“Morning!” he called out, his smile widening when he saw your sour features.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you yelled, your voice rough with irritation.

“I’m off for a run. I always run before work on Monday mornings,” he said, stepping around the kitchen island to reveal the athletic attire he was wearing. Actually, it was the same outfit he had slept with since he couldn’t exactly change into anything else, but he was still gloating. “I need a smoothie before I go.”

“Why the two blenders, then?” you asked even though you knew very well why he was using two blenders. This was clearly his payback for you kicking him out of his bed last night.

“I didn’t know which one was mine,” he explained, an expression of exactly zero remorse decorating his face. “We have identical ones, you see, so I just figured I’d turn them both on at the same time and check if I can tell them apart.”

“You fucking asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still smiling. “Did it wake you up?”

“Fuck you, Jaebum.”

You could hear his laughter as you turned around and you had to talk yourself out of hurling the first thing you saw at him. Powering through it, you walked back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Grumpy and irritated, you sat down on the bed. You listened to him keep the blenders going for another few minutes – no doubt wanting to ensure you didn’t go back to sleep – and then prepared to wait until he got out of the apartment so you could leave the room. However, it was the door of this room that Jaebum opened in a few minutes instead.

“I came for my sneakers,” he explained and then headed for one of the boxes at the far end of the room. You debated throwing the contents of it out of the window when he left. “You can go back to sleep, I won’t disturb you anymore.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” you shot back, swear words becoming your sword and your shield of armor whenever you were angry.

Jaebum didn’t feel offended by your words in the slightest, though. If anything, he found your comments endearing.

“Alright,” he said, sneakers in hand. “I’m going now. I should be back in about forty-five minutes unless it’s impossible to jog here with all the puddles from yesterday’s rain.”

“I hope you fall into the biggest one,” you said, your ill-humored wish amusing him further. “Hopefully you know how to swim.”

“Don’t worry if I don’t. I’ll be sure to give you a call so you can come save me,” he teased, giving you a wink. “A little lifeguard roleplay, hmm?”

His wink had already made you livid but the last comment is what got you to stand up from the bed and glare at him.

“Get out before I start throwing things,” you threatened, meaning every word.

Your whole overreaction entertained him to no end – that, and the fact that there weren’t many heavy things you could have thrown – and he laughed one more time before finally leaving the room.

A few minutes later, you finally heard the apartment door close; Jaebum had left.

He was truly testing your patience today but he had started a war by waking you up this morning and there was no way you were going to go down easy now. Childish or not, this was a game that two could play.

             chapter directory

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 13

Author’s Note:  This is the first chapter written by my new co-author, @ritualistic-raven, AKA The Real Tyche.  Initially, this was a fanfiction she wrote from Tyche’s perspective, but as soon as I found out, I had to read it.  The idea of everything was just too good not to include!  Obviously, this chapter is dedicated, first and foremost to her: For being my biggest fan, my staunchest supporter, and with everything going on in our lives right now, making everything as easy as possible on us both.

She would like to dedicate this chapter to Dante, God Rest His Soul.

Please: Read, Review, Reblog.

“Where were you when it happened?”

I sighed deeply as I placed my mug on the table. “Antoine, why would you ask this?” As I said his name, his grip on my hand tightened reassuringly.

Sophia raised an eyebrow at his gesture. “You have been avoiding it. You haven’t even told me and I’m your sister. Between you and my old therapist, I know first-hand that talking helps. You know what I’m talking about.” She gently pet the purring puddle of fur on her lap, pausing only when it stretched, showcasing claws and fangs.

In my heart, I knew she was right. There was a complication though: my memory never had been reliable. “More holes than a sponge and nowhere as absorbent,” is how I had always described it. I could summarize ten years in three sentences. These survivors wanted a story, not the bullet points.

“I haven’t undergone repair yet. I know Noah can fix me. My memory. I’m just not sure I want that. Soph, you know how bad my life was back home. Antione, darling, I’ve briefed you on a few parts. Conor, Arantxa, you will likely find out soon. I don’t hide my past, but I also don’t simply offer it,” I sighed again, the last few words feeling tight in my throat. “What I mean is… I only remember pieces. I can share those, but a lot is missing. Most was either repetitive or I just don’t remember.”

All eyes were on me, even the bright green eyes of the fur-puddle.

“Tyche?” Antoine spoke softly, but his voice shook ever-so-slightly.

The hand that wasn’t on mine reached for my other wrist, the one I hadn’t realized was held in a fist next to my shoulder. He pulled back to show blood on his fingertips, only, it wasn’t his.

My sister stood up casually and announced our meeting was over for tonight. “Tyche will be okay. I’ve got this. If everyone could just leave, without touching her, I’ll get her cleaned up. It’s PTSD, and she just told us she hasn’t let the Miys treat her. Tyche will be okay. I’ve got her.”

Our friends placed their dinnerware on the counter and each said goodnight, concern in every word. After the doors to my quarters closed, Sophia sat beside me, where Antoine had been, and sat our now-shared cat on the table in front of me. “Can you see ‘now’ or are you seeing the past?” she asked quietly.

Being able to act in the present while my mind showed me only the past was an unfortunate skill of mine. No one could really explain how I could do this, but it was classed as a form of shellshock. With so many on the ship with moderate to severe levels of PTSD, the Miys had found my particular form of shellshock fascinating.

“Now,” I barely whispered. My right hand found the cat while my left was clenched tight. Blood dripped slowly toward my elbow.

“Good start,” Sophia said, still quiet, with a ridiculous level of calm that I knew was her own self-defense mechanism. “Your hand is bleeding. I’m guessing you flashed back to something really awful. I’m so sorry, Tyche.” She calmly uncurled my fingers to look at the cuts. My fingernails had dug into my palm pretty deeply, somehow without registering pain.

A voice came over the intercom that rang with panic and anger. “She’s bleeding! Why would you let her hurt herself, Soph?! How was bringing up the beginning of the End a good idea?!”

My chair fell back a few feet when I erupted from it. “Don’t you dare blame her for this!” I thrust my hand poignantly toward the camera module, emphasizing my last word. “Don’t you dare blame any of them, Simon!”

“Tyche, you need to calm down. Raising your—”

“Oh, fuck off. I have PTSD, as do all of us – except you, might I add? I am traumatized and I refused treatment.”

“That’s—”

An absolutely primal scream roared from my tiny frame because I could not stand Simon. He was truly terrible at handling any of my PTSD episodes, had been since the moment I first woke up on Ark.

“Tyche—”

I audibly growled before I spoke again. “What are you even watching me for? You swore you wouldn’t when you stepped down from the Council! What the hell do you want?”

He cleared his throat from his location elsewhere on the ship. “You have a meeting in two hours. Your quarter doors were set to Do Not Disturb and due to your illness history, there was concern for your safety. Apparently with good reason.”

“Simon,” my sister began as she set my chair upright, still unnaturally calm but clearly scolding him with that one word. “You know to check entry logs first. Then you would have seen I had an official appointment with our Assistant Director of Administration. Go back to work.”

“With all due respect, ma’am—”

“The concern is appreciated. She is my sister, though. I am one of the few people in any universe she trusts. Please, just – go away. Tyche would probably like privacy now.” She shifted her gaze to me.

I nodded almost imperceptibly. As I turned around to walk to my bed, the intercom clicked off. The Miys, with their not-very-good understanding of privacy, slipped words into my mind. “There is an infirmary approximately two-hundred and fifty yards from your quarters. Would you like to be escorted?”

The telepathic hive-mind alien ‘spoke’ in a tone of genuine concern. I don’t think it had witnessed a physical result from PTSD before.

“No, I have not. Your recollection is – fragmented, but very strong. How can the human psyche withstand such emotions of such strength?”

I brought the knuckles of my wounded hand to my forehead. “It can’t. The psyche breaks. Otherwise, post-traumatic stress disorder wouldn’t exist. If our psyche could handle it, our brains wouldn’t…” I waved my hand to signal I was trying to find a word. “Our brains wouldn’t glitch, or malfunction, or however you best understand the damage done to my brain by my traumatic experiences.”  Sophia opened the door and reminded me about the infirmary.  Apparently, our host had included her in the conversation.

“Right. Thanks. I’ve managed to keep my hand pretty since before the End. Let’s not break that streak now.”

The alien body in the infirmary was just as tall the all the others. Not really a surprise, given the months I had been on this ship, but I had hoped for some distinguishing feature from time to time. My sister, however, could tell them apart. How she did that remained a mystery to me.

I strolled over to the Miys body assigned here and carefully held out my wounded hand. With one pair of hands, it placed my arm on an exam bench adjusted to my shoulder height. It did know I was on my way, after all. This was also not my first visit. The Miys vessel moved a CD sized scanner over the wound, no doubt checking the severity of the injury.

“So, Tyche,” my sister said with a note of curiosity. “Who is this Antoine guy? You two seemed awfully chummy.”

I looked at her and blinked, trying to register what she asked. The Miys still had little understanding of dissociation, but Sophia understood perfectly and showed patience. She knew what post-panic numbness felt like.

“He’s, um… What do you mean? Chummy? In what sense?” My brain was catching up and my tone reflected playfully.

She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “I saw Antione’s hand on yours. We both know you’re generally a prickly person,” she laughed. “You were practically cuddling with him, if someone knew what to look for.”

“Oh! That. He’s basically my assigned comfort-human. Ever since I told our hosts about touch-starvation, they’ve been trying to encourage me to bond with someone. Y’know. For my health.” A cold serum was injected into my palm. “Ah! You could have warned me!”

The serum was designed to heal our wounds almost instantly. It worked, mostly. As long as the injury wasn’t what human consider severe – the Miys considered everything severe – the serum could stimulate rapid cell growth. You could actually watch the injury heal within minutes. The only side-effect was a few days of the site tingling.

“Anyway,” I said as I watched the cuts on my palm heal, “Antoine was one of the ‘candidates’ to ‘facilitate’ catching me up on lost touch or whatever. He’s good at snuggling, will bring me meals when I’m not well, and fully respects that I am asexual. I ended up telling Them, well, It, since there’s only one mind… Ugh… I still feel awkward about the pronouns… Our Host that it really is best for me if I receive that touch from someone I can get to know. That sounds creepy, I know, but I digress. I guess Antoine is like an arranged boyfriend? He knows the deal. Aroace. He asked what it means and I explained. He said that actually makes things less awkward if we end up not getting along and have to end our ‘arrangement.’”

We both laughed as we left the infirmary. I told her it was much easier to get the cuisine I was accustomed to thanks to Antoine and some of the things he had told me about himself.

The pendant on her necklace chimed, signaling that my that my councilmember sister had another official meeting. Our three hours had come to an end.

“Same time next week?” She asked, casually brushing her fingertips over the pendant to silence it.

I looked down as I smirked. “I can take a sedative just to make sure things don’t turn out like this week. So yeah, same time next week.”

We parted ways and I couldn’t help but think of how badly I had reacted to a simple question. He didn’t mean anything by it. At some point, we all shared our stories with a crowd. Some days, the assemblies felt like Addicts Anonymous. The attending members were almost always awkward, fumbling through their histories on Earth.  Given that my position on the ship dealt with so many people, I knew that sharing my story would help them see me less as a bureaucrat. Seeing me as a person they can relate to would make my job easier when learning where to place them for jobs.

Looked like it was time for me to get the hard part over with, damn the emotions and full speed ahead.

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[coffee-for-himchan]

you’re so annoying | jongup

Word count: 2.7 k+

Genre/warnings: fluff with bits of angst

Summary: It was you versus your work that you had to be done with as soon as possible.. Versus Jongup who was just trying to get you to be in a good mood, but somehow ended up doing the opposite. Good thing he always somehow knew how to fix it all up.

"You're in the way."

"I don't exactly agree with that," Jongup mumbled while still in a sleep-riddled state, clumsily flopping down on the couch beside you and trying to wiggle himself into some sort of comfortable position, "Maybe the keyboard is in the way, not me."

"Weren't you sleeping?"

The yawn that escaped his mouth spoke for itself, and no further questions were needed. His back hit the couch, and his head found it's way to your lap where you immediately failed to resist the urge to fix some loose strands of his bedhead hair. His head was in your lap way too often, on the most different of occasions - when he was tired or upset, or when he was trying to relax and so on - and you'd learned not to mind him by now... Mostly.

Having him around always set you at peace, but he was also a major distraction.

"I was sleeping, but then I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep, and voila, now I'm here," he mumbled a quick re-cap of the last hour and carelessly tugged a blanket over his frame, less for warmth purposes and more because it just seemed like a self-explanatory thing to do, "And besides, the real question is why aren't you sleeping yet? It's past 2 AM already."

Of course he would ask, but by the way he'd made himself comfortable, it didn't look like he was about to tug you to bed anytime soon. It rather seemed like he'd just asked because of genuine curiosity.

It would be nice to just take a break and talk to him. He definitely had a lot to tell about today, and you were ready to listen to it all... Just cuddled up on the couch.. Running your fingers through his soft, freshly dyed hair.. God, his hair always looked so good, and felt so pleasant to the touch. You could never decide which hair color suited him best, as every time he re-dyed it, you said it was your favorite, until the next change, and then the next one, and then...

See? This is exactly what you were afraid of. He would distract you by just innocently being there, because no matter what you were doing, your thoughts always subconsciously drifted to him anyways.

"This is why I can't get anything done when you're home," you mumbled, looking back at the keyboard ahead of you. His chuckle made you less grudgy, simply because it was adorable, and so did the way in which he nuzzled his face into your sweatshirt and let out a sigh.

"I won't intervene, I'll just silently lay here, promised," he reassured, and though you knew that he probably would indeed just lie like a log, you also knew that your glance would way too often travel from the black and white keys over to inspecting his picture perfect features. But it was an urge you could try to fight. It's not like you had the heart to shoo him away anyways.

"You better," you mumbled, to which he chuckled again and fluttered his eyes shut. His face was pressed against your sweater and his only movements were from his light breathing. Up close he was even more beautiful, not that you didn't know already, you just got to silently appreciate again. For a moment at least, after which you reminded yourself to get back to working.

With another quiet huff, you went back to looking at the sheet music in front of you. Music could be both - extremely easy and extremely hard to write. Sometimes it came about on it's own, without you having to try and force it out of yourself, just having to scribble it down on paper while you still remembered all of these things that had rather randomly assembled themselves in your mind and imagination. But sometimes, especially when there were deadlines.. Sometimes it turned out like this. A total mess of lines, chords and melodies that refused to stick together. A bunch of.. Something, but not exactly something you were proud of. Rather something that you just wanted to scrap and start all over.

But you had to get it done soon. And you were extremely mad at yourself for not being able to do anything about the fact that you were extremely tired and extremely uninspired. It would be a miracle not to start crying, but you just took another deep breath and quietly mumbled for yourself to calm down. You could do it. You've always done it. This time wasn't any different. You just needed to calm down a whole bit and keep going on.

Time kept passing, and the page slowly started filling with more sheet music. Most "du-ba-du-bas" were starting to get replaced by lyrics that you finally started inserting in all the right places, though the atmosphere of writing made you rather scoff at the lines than be happy with them. Something didn't click. Something sounded too generic. There was still so much room for improvement, too much for you to feel proud about your work. And it was late already.. So damn late. You couldn't help but keep yawning endlessly.

Jongup being curled up on the couch with his head in your lap was the only source of comfort right now.

You glanced down at him quietly, humming a melody you knew you had to still work tons on to yourself. He really didn't intervene, as promised. What an honest man.

Another ten minutes later you were done with another section of the song, finally feeling like something came about. But even this little victory couldn't help the sour feeling in your chest. You could feel anxiety levels drifting up again.

You glanced down at Jongup, wondering if he was asleep or not. Before you could fall asleep yourself, you quietly sung that section again, and silently asked.

"How is this?"

One of his eyes creaked open, his lips curling into a little sideways smirk. You felt him shifting a little, and could sense that his response wouldn't be one to be taken seriously.

"Didn't you want me to stay quiet and not intervene?~" he asked mischievously, rising his brow.

Sure, he was trying to lighten the mood, and any other day of the week you would've found the innocent way he voiced it in cute. But you were really in need for an opinion, and this wasn't helping you much. You scoffed a little and turned away form him.

"You know, this is always the problem with you.. You're not exactly helping me with anything when I need it a lot."

The hum he let out in response showed his disagreement regarding your accusation. You yourself knew that this definitely wasn't the case, but oh well, maybe it would bring him to show some compassion.

"That's not true."

Your lack of reply seemed inevitable to him, and he simply continued to look up at your face, his eyes trying to find yours. You could feel his stare - it's warmth and comfort. The adoration he could never express in his words, not because he was bad with words but because he didn't think there was an appropriate way to describe what he felt. You knew that if you'd look back at him, you'd probably give in and melt. But you had to get your work done here, and he wasn't helping. Hence why you decided ignoring him for a bit would be more efficient.

"I bring you takeout when you're busy in the studio and make sure you get lunch~"

Left without reply again, he didn't really expect go get one in return right away anyways. The small smile from before stayed present on his lips.

"I'm your source of big comfy hoodies and sweaters~"

"Yeah, food and clothes.. Two things I could get on my own if I really needed them," you mumbled back at him, though your tone didn't quite match the sentence. He knew you didn't really mean it. By the tired look on your face, he also knew why you were so easily irritable.

Why he decided to poke your cheek, he didn't know - maybe just to gain back your attention. But the sudden and unexpected contact made you jump a little.

"You're so annoying," you swatted his hand away immediately, but at least he'd accomplished what he wanted, because for a second you glanced down at him to give him a disapproving glance. He got an idea just then and there.

“It's so annoying, don't interfere, just leave me alone~"

His use of his own song was quite clever and witty, but even that couldn't put a smile on your face. Your stare landed back on the sheet music and you exhaled loudly. You couldn't even take a joke anymore. This was rock bottom, it couldn't get any worse.

"Sometimes I feel like I subconsciously wrote this song about you," he quietly chuckled, and as he looked back up to your face, he hoped to see at least the smallest bit of joy or amusement sparkling in your eyes.

What he saw instead was your eyes getting watery.

"Hey, (Y/N).."

You felt him moving again and sitting up rather quickly, and your first instinct was to turn away from him. Yeah, as if that would hide anything at this point. There was a reason why he was suddenly jumping up like this, that reason probably being the fact that he saw the tears that threatened to make their way out of your eyes.

"Did I really upset you that much?" he asked quietly, trying to look at you, which you still weren't really allowing him to do, giving him no reply either. His hand quietly placed itself on your arm, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze before it traveled all the way up to your cheek and stayed there.

"I didn't mean to, you know that.."

"I'm just tired, that's it," you tried to reassure him, though heard how quiet and drained your own voice sounded, "And I can't get anything done, as you may have noticed.. And I’m so damn tired. Tired of having a blank mind and tired of just constantly being tired."

The stress was too much. It had been for a while already, but you always told yourself that crying yourself to sleep and putting yourself down was normal. You would simply try to live through it, although it seemed to be harder and harder to do so every day. There were so many responsibilities and only so much time. You weren't capable of doing it all on your own, not like this.

But Jongup's silent strokes against your cheek were reassuring, his silence that gave you time and space and at the same time didn't request you to explain yourself to him being comforting. He understood how it was getting no rest and feeling like you were failing, even if you weren't. You hated yourself a little bit more for being salty to him previously. He was just trying to make you smile and what did you do? Throw snarky replies. And now you were bothering him with being irrelevantly upset.

"Jongup, I-"

"Shh," before you could object, he simply silenced you, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace and letting your face bury in his shoulder while his own pressed against your hair tightly, "It's okay. Take a breath."

Being tucked under his chin like this felt safe. He wouldn't judge you. He wouldn't feel disappointed by you if you didn't deliver high enough results. He understood that sometimes you just wanted to chill, not meet up everybody's expectations and such. He knew how being overworked felt, and that made you hold onto him tightly and take some time to just breathe in his scent. He's been there too. He knew it all too well.

"You're more than you give yourself credit for, do you know that?" he quietly asked you, pressing a kiss onto your hair as he rocked the two of you from side to side ever so lightly, "It's alright. You don't have to do everything on your own, you don't have to race to every deadline to make it there on time. It's alright to be tired. It's not alright to push yourself even further down that path though."

"Yah, don't make me feel guilty now," through you still had a mild knot in your throat, you managed to chuckle and ever so lightly smack his shoulder. You could hear his own little chuckle right next to your ear, followed by a small kiss pressed against your temple.

"My goal isn't to make you feel guilty," he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, his thumb tracing under your eye to wipe away any access tears that might've slipped, "It is to make you respect yourself as much as you respect others. To give yourself breaks when you need them, to not worry so much. The pre-chorus was amazing, I would fiddle around on the verses a little more. Who cares when the deadline is? We'll work on it tomorrow, together, and I'll try to pick up wherever you feel like you're completely lost. If someone in the company tries to hurry you, I'll call them out for it. You're human too. You need time to sleep and breathe, and be happy."

You giggled a little at the idea of Jongup trying to fiercely give a piece of his mind to somebody, simply because it was so unlikely. You rather imagined him awkwardly standing there and talking in a calm voice.. But his words would matter, not the tone or fashion he said them in. Something told you that he would get it sorted for you, even if he himself felt uncomfortable in the situation.

"And you should also realize that you shouldn't get upset about me calling you out for stuff~ Like the fact that you're so wrong when you're trying to tell me you could do just fine without me~"

"Yah, Moon Jongup," you called out and poked him, seeking how that made him chuckle. His nose scrunched up, his eyes became little crescents.. It was a typical Jongup laugh, one of those that made you fall in love with him.

"I mean, you could do without me," he admitted in a serious tone, "But you don't have to. I don't want you to."

The previous feelings long forgotten, you sat in silence and simply looked at each other. This is why you loved him. Everyone always made him out to be the silent guy, the bundle of awkwardness with lack of conversation-holding skills and tons of good looks and talents. But he was also a sincere, charming sweetheart who knew how to motivate and how to calm down. He was so much more than most people saw, and you were glad that you were someone who got to see him how he was.

"Are we just going to sit here in silence now?"

"It's your turn to speak," he reminded you of how the previous conversation had went, his eyes slowly trailing down to your lips, "Or can we end this conversation, agree that I'm right this time around and head to bed right after I kiss you?"

Sneakily played. You wrapped an arm around his neck and tugged him closer. Another fact that not many may knew about him was that he was a great kisser.. But maybe it was better for this knowledge to stay solely with you.

"We can definitely arrange that."

You chuckled as he accidentally pressed a few keys on the keyboard when moving, and quietly smiled at his lips found yours and locked with them effortlessly. The feeling was sweet and bubbly, and addictive to say the least. His arms scooped you up to his lap and you gladly moved there, light huffs and chuckles slipping back and forth through parted lips. His lap was your favorite place to be too, and you wrapped your arms around his neck gladly, letting the moment drag out for longer than first anticipated, just because why not? There was nothing inevitably stressful about the situation anymore, and maybe if there was, you tried not to think of it. For a short moment you could just allow yourself to taste his lips and once again be reminded of the fact that you weren’t alone in your troubles. There was exactly one person who would always hang around and make sure you weren’t going entirely insane.

"I mean, how can you live without that~"

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you roll your eyes at him. For proof, he went in for another quick kiss.

"I was taking about this, if you wondered~"

"You're so annoying," you repeated the phrase from before, putting a finger to his lips before he could make another singing reference to his song. The gesture made his eyes widen in surprise a little, making you look at him with a content smile gracing your lips.

"And I get it, you wrote the song of the century.. I'm proud of you too, my adorable fool."

He only smiled, and tried to withstand you squeaking and squirming as he lifted you off of the couch, leaving everything else behind as he carried you into the direction of the bedroom. Finally heading to get some well-deserved rest.

[itscaptainyoulittlemaggot]

Professor Rogers’ Office (Part Five)

You and Steve arrive at Bucky and Natasha’s cabin in the woods for a filthy weekend getaway. 

Notes: Professor!Steve x Reader; College AU; STRICTLY 18+; Smut, shower sex, all that good stuff. Wanda Maximoff and Carol Danvers are girlfriends, Bucky and Nat are a kinky af married couple. All that jazz. Two updates in one day, I’m on a roll, enjoy it while it lasts.

Professor Rogers’ Office Masterlist

You stood at the edge of your bed. An open duffel bag containing no less than three pairs of shoes, four pairs of jeans, six shirts, enough underwear to last you a lifetime, and a good dress, sat right in the middle. You folded your arms and massaged your chin, thinking of what else you could possibly pack for a weekend away.

Bucky and Natasha owned a cabin. Four hours away. Natasha had the bright idea that some time away from studying might do you some good. Unfortunately for you, Steve agreed. And even though she seemed genuinely concerned about you, the thought of spending an entire weekend in the company of two strangers you had only properly met once filled you with a special kind of dread reserved only for trips back to your parents’ or heading back home to Wanda after staying out just a little bit too late. 

“You all set?” 

Wanda stood in the doorway to your room, leaning against the frame. 

“I think so. What else do I need?”

“Got your toothbrush? You know you always forget the little things.”

Your eyes widened as you delved a hand into the recesses of your bag. “Fuck.”

“Hey, Carol,” Wanda called into the hallway, “can you get her toothbrush please?”

“I’m on it!” Wanda’s girlfriend replied, her footsteps ringing through the apartment. 

“Make up, perfume, all that kind of stuff?” Wanda continued. 

“Got it all.”

Carol slipped past Wanda and handed you your toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. “You know what would be funny?”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“What if they’re all swingers?” she chuckled.

“Carol, don’t. She’s nervous enough. Leave her alone,” Wanda scolded, coming fully into your bedroom. 

“You don’t think that would be hilarious? What about a Satanic sex cult?” Carol quipped.

Wanda took your face in her hands, a concerned look on her face. “You’re gonna be fine, you hear me? You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just one weekend.”

“Yeah but what if they’re just tolerating me because of Steve?”

“I think you’re good,” Carol piped up. 

Wanda turned to look at her. 

“I mean if they’re friends with a loser like Professor Rogers, then they’re gonna love you,” she shrugged. 

“Not. Helping,” Wanda said.

You raised your hand slightly, directing Wanda’s attention back to you. “Actually, yeah, that does help… kind of. Thanks, Carol.”

The three of you stood silently for a moment before the intercom buzzed. 

“That’ll be your boyfriend now,” Carol said, trudging out of the room. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said quietly. 

“Well, sugar daddy or whatever you straight people call them.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello. Uh huh. Yep. She’s here. You’re carrying her bags, right? Good. Come on up.” She put down the receiver. “Your academic booty call is here.”

You tugged the zip on your bag closed and turned to Wanda. She was still standing there wearing that worried look. 

“Are you sure you’re gonna be ok?”

“I think so.”

She pulled you into a bone crushing hug. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you text me and we’ll come pick you up, ok? That’s not a problem.”

“I will. Promise.” 

You opened your eyes to find Steve hovering in the doorway. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything!”

Carol stood behind him, glaring up at him, mocking that last statement. “Dream on.”

“Professor Rogers!” Wanda smiled, picking up your bag and bringing it over to him. “You take care of my friend ok?”

“Don’t you worry Miss Maximoff, I plan to,” he said with a wink. 

“And could you maybe bump my last essay grade up by a couple per cent, please?” she asked sweetly.

“Now you know I can’t do that,” Steve said reasonably. 

“Not if you don’t sleep with him,” Carol remarked. 

“Danvers! How’s your old man?” Steve grinned. “Love the new haircut.”

“Yeah, you know damn well we don’t talk, Rogers.”

“That’s a shame. Such a good guy.”

“Whoa! Is that the time? We should probably get going!” you said, grabbing Steve’s arm so tight that he winced. 

“Yeah, get outta here Rogers!” Carol said. “And don’t be joining any Satanic sex cults, I’m warning you!”

Steve turned to leave the apartment with you still on his arm. You cast a look back at Wanda who was simply beaming, shooing you on until you closed the door behind you. 

“What was all that about?” you asked, trying to keep up with Steve as he descended the stairs. 

“I know that girl’s dad. Great guy, used to work with Bucky down at the Pen. Played a couple rounds of golf with him. Your roommate’s girlfriend, on the other hand is a bit of a brat.”

“Is it because she’s gay?”

“No! No, no, absolutely not,” Steve began, leaving the building. “It’s because she’s a brat, like I said. Refuses to get a job, takes all of his money, refuses to get along with guys. She’s difficult, you know. And if you ask me, Maximoff should stay away from that one.”

“She never was a great judge of character.”

“Well, she picked a doozie,” he remarked as you walked side by side through the parking lot. “I’m parked just over here.”

Steve popped open the trunk of the car and put your bag in there alongside his while you got inside. “You don’t half pack light,” he quipped.

“I didn’t know what kind of a trip this was gonna be.”

Steve got in beside you and closed the door.

“I mean, was it gonna be some outdoor adventure type of deal, or was it gonna be an r and r thing?” you continued. 

Steve turned the engine over. “Well I’m sure you’ve packed for every plausible occasion.”

“I hope so.”

“You excited?” he asked. “I mean, it’s ok if you’re not. They can be a bit much.”

“Well you’re a broken soul and I’m a prude, maybe we need a little loosening up, right?” you said, not so convincingly.

“I thought I was good at loosening you up?”

You turned to look at him, drawing a finger underneath the collar of Steve’s shirt. Pale blue. Chambray. “New shirt?”

“Yeah, you like it? It’s made of boyfriend material,” he said, drawing his hand over his chest. 

“It’s a little yacht club, don’t you think?” 

Steve turned the radio on and turned it up. “Nope.”

The journey was supposed to take four hours. Steve drove like a maniac though. He effortlessly halved that. A hundred all the way. 

Your breakfast was threatening to make an appearance and Steve had just about exhausted every song in existence that predated you by at least a decade. Or at least that’s how it felt. You were quiet up until thick rows of trees lined the road. 

“Almost there?”

Steve placed a reassuring hand on your leg, “almost there.”

It was rare for you to leave the city these days and you couldn’t remember the last time you were this far removed from any kind of hustle and bustle. You drank in the sight of the open road and the trees and the midday sun as it burned down from right above. “This place is beautiful,” you said quietly. 

“When I’m old, I could see myself living out here.”

“Me too. Nobody could get to me out here.”

“Maybe someday, right?”

“Us in our little cabin, surrounded by your research papers and me with my legion of cats,” you dreamed aloud. 

Steve glanced over at you. “Cats?”

“The best pets.”

“You mean dogs, don’t you?”

“Nope. Definitely mean ca-“

“We’re here!” Steve announced, swerving the car along a dirt road to your right. 

It was dark, the trees whose branches lashed against the windows of the car afforded you no glimmer of daylight. But there, at the end, was a clearing. With a small log cabin right in the centre. The only signs of life there was the red SUV parked beside the cabin, and the smoke that belched from the chimney on the roof. It was beautiful. 

Once the car came to a halt, Steve got out and slung both of your bags over his shoulder. You climbed up the wooden steps together to the door. He knocked three times.

“This place is so pretty,” you whispered to him. 

A set of footsteps shuffled towards the door on the other side, getting louder and louder until it opened. Bucky stood in front of you looking flushed and dishevelled, clad in just a towel. 

“Hey! We weren’t expecting you for another two hours!”

“Well, we were that excited that we hurried,” Steve said, “looks like you’ve been having a good time without us.”

“It’s not a party until my puny best pal and his young, hot girlfriend show up,” he said, stepping aside, “come on in!”

The living room was stifling; the log fire in the corner raged away making you break into a sweat upon entering. But it was cosy. Minimal but opulent, housing three large chesterfields, assembled around a solid oak coffee table atop a red tartan rug. There was no television, just a drinks cabinet, loaded with every poison you could dream of, and a stag’s head suspended above it. The place looked like heaven. 

Natasha sauntered in, wearing a fuzzy white robe, stabbing a mixing rod into a highball glass of muddled mint and lime. “You guys are early,” she said. 

“I just said that,” Bucky agreed. 

Her normally serious expression broke into a smile as she approached you with open arms. “How you doing, sweetie?”

“A little travel sick, but I’m good,” you replied. 

“He drives like an idiot too?” she asked, pulling away from you.

You nodded. 

“It’s the same with James,” she said, pointing to Bucky, “must be a guy thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you two check out your room, dump your bags. Chill out for a little while and then we can get some serious drinks going?” She suggested, pointing to the short hallway to your left. “It’s the one at the end.”

You looked up at Steve.

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said, picking up your bags again. “See you later.”

Your room was equally as sparse and extravagant in all the right ways. A plush bed that dwarfed a king size, thick fluffy pillows and a mountain of blankets. Aside from that, there wasn’t much in there, aside from two nightstands, a wardrobe and a window looking out on to the clearing. There was an ensuite too. You wandered through while Steve unpacked. 

The bathroom exuded style. Grey and silver furnishings and fixtures set it apart from the rest of the cabin. Bucky and Natasha hadn’t missed a trick with a basket brimming with lotions and potions, and thick, crisp white towels draped over heated rails. Even the most upmarket spas in the city would be pressed to compete with this. Without thinking, you began shedding your clothes. “Steve, I’m just gonna take a shower, ok?”

“Ok! Don’t take too long. I’m gonna need to pee soon.”

He could wait.

You rifled through the goods in the basket of treats. Shower creams, bath milks and body conditioners in every scent imaginable. You opened and sniffed them all. Cinnamon, rose, cherry, mango, lemon, vanilla, lavender… You settled on a simple violet soap in the end and stepped into the cubby in the far left of the room.

Your turned the dial and water came pouring out. Not too cool, not too warm. In fact, this was probably the first time in your life you hadn’t needed to duck out of the line of freezing cold fire. Your shoulders loosened under the steady pressure of the water, and you revelled in the scent of the lather you were working into your skin. You needed a shower like this back home. 

You closed your eyes, debating for just a second whether to call on Steve to join you, allowing your hands to wander over your body more freely. Ultimately, you decided against it for now. You could get by on your own. You turned, leaning against the wall, as your hand wandered down between your thighs, your fingers delving gently into your folds. Every drop of water felt like a tiny lightning bolt as it collided with you skin. You sighed quietly, tilting your head back. Bliss.

You could almost feel Steve’s presence looming over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, painting the picture that had taunted you all week. Bent over his desk, exposed and at his mercy. You had failed a test or something - that wasn’t important. He was looming, belt in hand, a stern look on his face. Your sense of dread and excitement mounting as you waited for that first crack against your cold bare skin. Every muscle in your body coiled tightly. 

In one fell swoop he brought the strap down. Jolting you forward, making you weak at the knees. You were sure his name escaped your lips a bit too loudly. Someone might have heard. 

“You called?”

Your eyes sprung open. 

Steve came closer. Now he really was looming over you. “Can I join you?” he whispered, pressing light, delicate kisses along your jaw. “Or is this a private party?”

You couldn’t get a response out before his lips were on your’s; his fingers replacing yours, dancing over your sensitive, swollen clit. His other hand was tangled in your hair, grasping it, pulling you into him. You would have taken the real thing over any fantasy you could conjure up in your head. You were glad he showed up when he did.

You broke the kiss to look him in the eye. Those baby blues of his were dark and deep set, his pupils swimming in a sea of lust. “How long have you been here,” you asked, your voice shaking as Steve’s fingertips continued to tease you. 

He nibbled at your ear, stubble grazing at your neck. “Long enough for your to get me this riled up,” he whispered, taking his fingers away from your pussy and wrapping his hand around his cock, slipping it between your lips. 

You pulled at his hair, wanting him to look at you again. “You gonna fuck me, Professor Rogers?” you asked, grinding your hips against him. 

Steve continued to tease you with long, languid strokes, looking down at you intently. “That depends if you ask nicely princess.”

You turned around to face the wall, bending at the waist to meet Steve’s cock. Playfully swaying your hips from side to side you tried to convince him, “please Professor Rogers, I really need that big, hard cock of yours. Please. I mean how could you possibly resist this? Really?” You couldn’t help but giggle, as those ridiculous words tumbled from your mouth.

Steve saw the funny side too, but not for too long. He grabbed your hips for you to stay still, your skin paling under his grip. That was your cue. It was game on. You reached between your thighs and took his cock in your hand, pressing just the tip against your entrance. 

You shivered while he slowly sank into you, clenching at his girth. You could feel Steve exhale as he filled you. 

He paused, relishing how tight you were around him, how good you felt, even like this. A little bit lost, even. 

Eager for more, you rocked against him, fucking yourself on his cock. “Are you just going to stand there enjoying the view, Professor Rogers, or are you going to fuck me?”

Steve began to move his hips with yours as soon as he heard you speak. He hunched over you slightly, his chest pressed to your back and an arm around your waist, his free hand planted on the wall. He quickened his pace, thrusting into you with an increasing urgency, knocking the air from your lungs. “You like that?” he growled in your ear. 

“Yes, Professor Rogers,” you gasped, writhing clumsily beneath him. 

Steve grabbed the shower head and trailed the warm jet of water up your thigh, making you squirm even more against his grasp. He made sure to bypass where you really needed it most. Frustrating you. You whined, becoming needy as he fucked you senseless, while denying you of what you wanted. Just that one thing to tip you over the edge. 

“Please,” you begged trying to grab the shower head from Steve.

“Please? Please what?” he taunted. 

“Please make me come!”

Steve’s thrusts turned to long, devilishly slow strokes as he trained the shower head between your legs. It took your breath away, more and more of your weight resting against Steve’s arm around your waist. “How’s that for you, Princess?” he asked breathlessly, holding on to you.

You were incoherent. Legs shaking, chest heaving, skin flushed. You closed your eyes and let the first wave hit you, crashing through your body until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. 

Steve wasn’t far behind you. When you came back to your senses, Steve had dropped the shower head and was holding you with both hands, his teeth pressing into your shoulder, growling, telling you just how amazing you felt, shooting ropes of his seed inside you. 

You both collapsed to the floor, leaning against the wall. You were still wrapped in Steve’s arms, cheek pressed to his chest. You must have stayed there for another twenty minutes, out of breath and definitely in need of another shower, until the water ran cold. 

You and Steve had forgotten all about Bucky and Natasha and their plans for the weekend in the cabin. Maybe this trip wasn’t going to be so bad after all. 

[archive-of-fics]

Feverish Dream - Juuzou Suzuya

A blissful smile spread over your face as you came to stop in front the CCG headquarters. Even though you had the day off, you'd made up your mind to stop by and pay one of your co-workers, Juuzou to be exact, a visit. Earlier that day, you'd baked a strawberry cheesecake and knowing that the stitched male has a sweet tooth, you'd decided on brightening up his day with some home-made baked goods. And so you'd packed the raven-haired investigator a 'desert lunch-box' and made your way to your workplace. “Good afternoon, everybody!” You greeted your colleges in a cheerful tone as soon as you entered the office department you and Juuzou work at and gave them a small wave with your free hand while making your way over to the ruby-eyed man's desk. You took a quick glance at the neatly wrapped box you were carrying and couldn't but break into a wide grin as you started to imagine Juuzou's reaction to your small present. Totally absorbed in your daydreams, you didn't watch where you were going and promptly bumped into another person as you turned the next corner. You staggered a few steps back but managed to keep your balance and quickly regained your composure, instantly apologising for your carelessness. “I'm sorry! I didn't watch wher-” “No, no. It's my fault. I should have watched my steps more carefully.” “Huh?” Recognizing the voice, you looked up and locked eyes with Hanbee, who gaped in surprise as he noticed that you were the person he had bumped into. “Oh! Associate Special Class Investigator (l/n)! Good afternoon!” You let out a small giggle upon hearing Hanbee's formal greeting. You'd told the male several times to just drop the 'Associate Special Class Investigator' part and call you simply by your last name, since he totally refused to call you by your first name, but the investigator still continued to address you with your whole 'title'. Just as opened your mouth, about to reply, you were interrupted by Hanbee's unusual serious voice and looked up to see that his expression had turned from a surprised  into a worried one. “You have the day off, don't you? Is everything alright? Did something happen? I-” Hearing Hanbee's worries, you let out a few chuckles. The black-haired investigator had been fretting over the smallest things ever since he'd joined the CCG and even though you'd already told him to calm down several times, he nonetheless kept getting worried about anything and everything. Quickly shaking your head in disagreement, you reassured him that you were totally fine. “No, no. Don't worry about me, everything's fine. I didn't come because something happened, I actually just want to visit Juuzou.” The tall male breathed a deep sigh of relief upon hearing your words and nodded understandingly. “So you came to see the Boss?” You gave the man in front of you a quick nod in agreement and flashed him a bright smile as you hold up the box you'd packed for Juuzou. “Yeah. Today I made a strawberry cheesecake and figured that he'd like to have some, so I brought him a dessert lunch-box.” Standing up on your tiptoes, you peered over the tall ghoul-investigator's shoulder, so that you could look at Juuzou's office desk. Upon seeing that the stitched male wasn't there, you asked Hanbee with raised eyebrows about his boss's whereabouts. “Do you know where Juuzou is?” The dark-haired bowed his head before answering your question. “Yes. The Boss is still in the meeting room, we've just finished discussing our next case. I'll bring you to him.” “Thanks.” You gave the First Rank investigator a bright smile in response before starting to follow him to the assembly room Juuzou was sitting in. It didn't take you long to reach your destination and as you arrived in front of the meeting room, Abara knocked twice at its door before opening it a little bit, so that he could inform his superior about your visit. “Boss? Associate Special Class Investigator (l/n) came to see you.” Juuzou, who was sitting with his back to Hanbee and you, turned sluggishly around upon hearing his assistant's voice. “Mhh?” Spotting your head poking out behind Abara's back, the stitched man's lips curled up into a faint smile. “Oh. Hello, (f/n)-chan.” Your grin widened upon hearing Juuzou's sleepy voice. He sounded as if he'd had just woken up and you figured that he must had fallen asleep after the meeting. You smiled widely as this thought crossed your mind and you really had to give your best to hold back another fit of giggles. Some things just won't change, huh? Stepping forward, you walked over to Juuzou and hold up the boxed strawberry cheesecake as soon as you came to stop right beside him. “Hey there, Juuzou. I've just made a strawberry cheesecake and thought you'd like to have some. So I made you a dessert lunch-box.” The raven-haired man looked up at you and met your eyes, only to avert your gaze the very next moment by glancing to the side. His voice lacked its usual cheerfulness as he answered you quietly, nearly whispering. “Ah, is that so? I'm not that hungry, though...” "What?!" Both, Hanbee and you, exclaimed in unison upon hearing Juuzou's latest statement. Astonishment was written all over your face as you questioned the ruby-eyed male a second time, checking whether you'd heard him right. "Uh...did you just say that you don't want any sweets?" Juuzou merely shrugged with his shoulders as he repeated himself in a low voice and it seemed as if he had trouble not to drift off back to sleep, seeing as he struggled with keeping his eyes open. "I really don't feel like eating anything right now." A worried expression formed on Hanbee's face as he walked over to the stitched investigator. "That isn't like you, Boss..." You quickly agreed with the First Rank investigator and knit your eyebrows in concern. "Yeah, that doesn't sound at all like you, Juuzou. Are you feeling alright?” Bending a little bit down, you cautiously peered into your raven-haired co-worker's face, noticing the haziness his eyes were holding. Carefully lifting up your free hand, you slowly reached it out into Juuzou's direction before laying it on his forehead, checking his temperature. You instantly gasped as you felt how hot he was. "Oh my gosh, Juuzou! You're burning up!" "Ahh, really? Maybe that's why I've been feeling kinda dizzy since this morning..." The ruby-eyed man sounded genuinely surprised about your statement and gaped in astonishment at how warm he actually was as he led his own hand to his forehead to feel his temperature, just as you'd done it seconds ago. You were perplexed at how calm Juuzou was acting as your own mouth fell agape. "You didn't even notice that you're having a fever?!" The stitched man just wagged his head. “I've never been sick before...” "Boss, you should go home and lie down. You aren't in the condition to work right now.” Hanbee chipped in as he approach his superior with a very worried expression on his face. Nodding your head in approval, you backed up Hanbee's suggestion. "Hanbee is right. I'll take you home." Hearing your words, Abara instantly turned his head into your direction. You could see by the way he looked at both, Juuzou and you, that he was feeling terribly guilty for not noticing his boss's poor health earlier. "I couldn't possibly let you do that, Associate Special Cla-” "It's okay, really.” You quickly cut Hanbee off mid-sentence and stopped him from speaking on with a swift wave of your hand. “You're still at work, after all, right? It would be a problem if you just left like that. I'll take Juuzou home and you call him in sick, okay?" "Alright.” You flashed Hanbee a small smile upon hearing him (more or less) reluctantly agree to your suggestion and turned then your attention back to Juuzou. "Now come on, Juuzou. I'll bring you home, okay?" The raven-haired ghoul investigator gave you a weak nod in response before slowly standing up from his seat and starting to exit together with you the meeting room, so that the two of you could head towards his apartment. ***** "There we are." Once you'd arrived at Juuzou's place, you quickly took a spare key out of your pocket (which you'd got from Hanbee before leaving the CCG) and opened the door to the ruby-eyed man's apartment. Juuzou instantly took a step forward, leaning for a brief moment against the door-frame before plopping down on a chair that was standing right next to the entrance. "Thanks, (f/n)-chan..." You gave the stitched man a small smile. "You don't have to thank me for bringing you home, Juuzou. You're sick, after all." You entered the apartment and closed the door behind you before walking over to Juuzou's kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator, where you called out to him in a loud voice. "Just wait a second, I'll put the cake inside the fridge and prepare a cool pad for you. I'll be right back, so don't move, okay?" The young man, however, either didn't hear you or totally ignored your command as he pushed himself off of his seat, starting to wobble rather unsteadily into the direction of his bedroom while muttering under his breath. "I think I'll lay down for a bit." "Huh?” Thinking that you'd heard some noises, you stopped dead in your tracks and peered around the corner of the kitchen's door. “Did you say some- Juuzou?!” Just as you were about to ask the ghoul-investigator whether he'd said something, you saw how Juuzou staggered around as he tried to walk to the bedroom, about to trip over his own feet. "Ahhh, watch out!" You instantly cried out and ran up to the raven-haired male, catching him just in time before he could stumble and fall down on the floor. "Geez, you're having a fever. You can't just run off on your own in the condition you're in. I'll put you to bed.” Letting out a small sigh, you took one of his arms and placed it around your shoulder, supporting him as the both of you started to walk together to Juuzou's bed-chamber. Once you'd reached the stitched male's bedroom, Juuzou instantly broke free from your supporting grip and started (or better said: tried) to walk – again – on his own to his much longed-for bed. You immediately reached out for him and grabbed his arm, wanting to prevent him from stumbling de novo, but the raven-haired male just kept leaning forward with the full weigh of his body what eventually caused you to stumble yourself and in the end you landed with your back on the bed and Juuzou tumbled on top of you. “Eeeek!” You let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly regained your composure and looked up at Juuzou, a worried expression on your face. You were totally focused on the young man's health as you checked up on him, shutting out everything else around you. "Are you alright, Juuzou? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?” However, the raven-haired male didn't answer your question. Instead, he just started to draw closer and closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "(f/n)-chan..." "Huh?" You blinked a few times in confusion as a light blush started to form on your cheeks. You had been so focused on the stitched male's well-being that you hadn't even realised in what kind of position you were in...at least not until now. Juuzou was pinning you down on the bed, with his hands and legs practically caging your body. You were totally taken aback by the ghoul-investigator's sudden closeness and just as you were about to ask him what exactly he was doing, the raven-haired male had already buried his head into your neck, his hot breathing tickling your skin. Surprised about the young man's actions, you let out a loud yelp and exclaimed his name in irritation. "J-juuzou?!" Juuzou just grinned against your skin as he continued to bury his face even deeper into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent with deep breaths. "Mhh, you smell so good, (f/n)-chan~" His voice sounded unusually husky as he purred this compliment into your ear. "Ehh?" You were at a loss for words and blushed to the roots of your hair. You'd already figured that his uncharacteristic behaviour must had been a result of the fever he was running, but even so you couldn't but start to feel all giddy about it. And to make it even worse, Juuzou didn't stop, but continued to whisper sweetly against your ear. "Like strawberry cheesecake. Makes me want to eat you up!" Your eyes instantly widened. Hell, they went so wide that you feared that you wouldn't be able to close them ever again. A feverish Juuzou surely wasn't good for your heart, he just caused your mind to be all jumbled up. "W-what are you talking ab- Ahh!~" But before you could even finish your sentence, Juuzou had smashed his lips against your skin and begun to suck lightly at it. Not only his face, but also his lips felt hot against your soft skin as they massaged your sensitive spot and before you knew it, you'd already let out a small moan. You promptly covered your mouth with one of your hands after realising what you'd just done and tried to hide your embarrassment by glancing to the side. Juuzou pushed himself slightly off of you, blinking sleepily a few times at your blushing form before breaking out into a wide grin. "Mhh, I like that sound you're making, (f/n)-chan~" You immediately snapped back upon hearing Juuzou's latest remark and felt your face getting even hotter and redder as you sensed a strange mixture of both, shock and excitement, starting to stir up inside of your body. "Juuzou?! H-hold on! Y-you can't just-" This was too much. You surely didn't know how to handle this situation anymore. Trying to get out of this awkward situation, you started to push Juuzou (more or less gently) off of you, but failed miserably. His body just wouldn't move a single inch and so you kept being pinned down by Juuzou. How could he be still so strong, didn't he run a fever?! Not knowing any other way to escape this embarrassing moment, you tightly shut your eyes and turned your head to the side, awaiting for whatever would come next...which was a dull thud as you felt Juuzou's whole body fall rather harshly down on your own. "Huh?" Opening your eyes again, you tilted your head up and looked at the stitched male's face, which was now merely a few inches away from your own, only to see his closed eyes and hear some soft snoring coming from him. "No way...he fell asleep?" You mumbled under your breath before letting out a heavy sigh. There was no way you were getting out of this bed anytime soon. It seemed like you just had to deal with that fact. Peering once again into Juuzou's face, you slowly reached out to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face, careful not to wake him up. You then cautiously leaned a little bit up and pressed a light kiss against his forehead before lying back and closing your own eyes, whispering in a quiet voice. "Good night, Juuzou. Sleep tight and get well." ***** "(f/n)-chan! (f/n)-chan! Do you still have that strawberry cheesecake?" "Hmm?” A loud and chipper voice woke you up from your deep slumber, but you tried to ignore it and rolled over to the other side of the bed, wrapping yourself up in the warm blanket and drifting back to sleep. It wasn't until you felt someone shake you that you slowly started to open your eyes, rubbing tiredly the sleep out of them. Upon spotting Juuzou, who was kneeling in front of the bed with a wide smile on his face, you let out a good yawn as you stretched yourself before sitting up and asking the stitched male about his fever. "Do you feel better, Juuzou?" "Yup! The fever's all gone.~" The raven-haired investigator eagerly nodded his head in agreement before standing up, throwing his arms into the air and jumping up and down, proofing his healthy condition. "Now, do you still have that cake you were talking about earlier?" You blinked a few times, still not fully awake and glanced at the clock on the night table, seeing that it was only a few minutes after midnight before answering Juuzou's question in the affirmative. “Uhh, sure. I put it in the fridge to keep it fresh." "Great! I could totally go for a midnight-snack!" Juuzou instantly jumped for joy upon hearing your affirmation and quickly turned around, heading straight to the kitchen. You giggled lightly upon seeing the raven-haired male's reaction. Eating some strawberry cheesecake at midnight, barely after getting well again – that was just something Juuzou would do. You doubted that he even remembered what had happened hours ago, but you were just glad that he was feeling better now. Stretching yourself a last time, you finally got out of the bed and started heading to the kitchen as well. Once you'd arrived there, you walked over to the water kettle and turned it on while suggesting Juuzou, who had already taken the baked goods out of the fridge, to have the cake with some tea. "Will you wait a bit, Juuzou? The cake goes well with a nice cup of tea, I'll quickly make us some.” "Alright!~" The ruby-eyed man hummed in approval and put the strawberry cheesecake on the dining table before walking over to the kitchen cupboard and taking out some plates for the both of you. Just as he was about to walk back to the dinner table, to place down the dishes on it, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face you, a bright smile on his face. "Oh, (f/n)?" “Mhh?” You uttered an affirming sound, signifying that you were listening to him as you poured some hot water into two cups. However, what came next was something you'd never have imagined to hear, especially not from Juuzou, and it seemed like a wonder that you didn't drop the water kettle upon hearing the raven-haired man's ensuing statement. "You don't only smell, but also taste great as well~”

[je-suis-clarisse]

  From shadowy corners, she watched. It was a day she had never thought she’d see, but it was a repeat of emotions felt on that blustery January day only months earlier when they’d beheaded the King, Louis XVI. Or, as he was known to many Citoyen Louis Capet. Clarisse was glad of the clouds above, that blocked the sun’s rays; it allowed her some measure of movement. This was history. Cruel, unwarranted, horrid...but history regardless. The crowds were baying for blood. The word had gone out as soon as the verdict had been announced at four that morning. Clarisse had heard it being yelled all through the streets. Of course they'd find the Queen guilty. They'd hated her for years. It was a foregone conclusion. It was not something Clarisse was celebrating. She remembered meeting Her Majesty when she was a young child, walking the gardens at Versailles. If only the famille royale had been allowed to escape. She sighed as she accepted that this was her mission now; to bear witness. She also swore that if possible, she would find out about the children and see if she could assist in their being set free. The dauphin was seven? Madame Royale, his sister, was not much older. Perhaps ten or eleven? Clarisse didn't remember. As to Madame Élisabeth, the King's sister, she hoped they'd allow that pious lady to join a convent. However, as traditional religions had been banned in favor of the state...she rolled her eyes. That would be a thought for another day.  Adjusting her hat, she made certain to keep her face hidden as best she could. Standing amongst the people was an experience...some knew her, others did not. The poor wouldn't know her well, given that she was a popular actress in a venue they could never even afford to attend. The wealthy..well, she preferred they not see her. To be seen here today would evoke the wrath of Robespierre, but she felt that she owed it to the Queen--she’d sooner incinerate herself before calling her the Widow Capet or Citoyen Capet--to be there. It was even why she'd adorned a dark wig, to throw them off. Vendors were out and about selling cockades and other revolutionary trinkets, She cringed seeing the guillotine earbobs being sold again, not to mention miniature models of the guillotine, complete with figures to behead, Some were selling food, others were...treating this as the social event. There was almost a jovial energy to the crowd. Clarisse did her best to keep her disdain hidden, She knew she was failing, however. A few others seemed to feel the same, but they pretended to feel jubliant that the Queen was meeting her end. Their thoughts were loud and the vampire did her best to block them out. She could sense a few other immortals within the gathered crowd, but she did not seek them out, nor did she make herself known to them. She adjusted the cockade she had pinned to her dress, and waited. She could hear the tumbril coming before she could see it. Once it came more into view, the crowd went wild with jeers and insults. The National Assembly had deployed 30,000 soldiers, however, to keep them from going after Marie Antoinette, and to keep her from possibly escaping.   Clarisse gasped seeing the once glamourous Queen on the rickety cart, her hands bound behind her and she was pale; so pale that it seemed as though she were a spectre. The cobblestoned streets of the city bounced the cart ungracefully and how she, along with the executioner and his aide were managing to stay in place, she was rather impressed. Sympathy coursed throughout her frame and she wanted so much to jump from where she stood and to do something. But she could not. Her eyes followed along, the former reigning Queen was in a white dress--the color of mourning--and her hair had been shorn. She was a shadow of her former self, yet Clarisse could not help but think she looked as royal as ever, given her posture and composure. The crowd was abusive, she wouldn’t even dare to repeat what was being yelled. She held back her tears watching the guards help the Queen down and moved her towards the steps of the scaffolding where the guillotine stood. Below stood a group with handkerchiefs, ready to dip them in the blood. It was a repulsive and vulgar display that turned Clarisse’s stomach.  A hush fell over the crowd as the ill-fated Queen made her way up the steps, stumbling into the executioner, who held her for a moment until she regained her balance. Whatever words she spoke were for him and him alone. From there, she was strapped onto the board and slid into position. Clarisse murmured a prayer for her, sighing as the cheers commenced and down came the blade. The sound of the blade wass one that she was certain she would never forget; she had heard it so frequently that it was impossible to forget. Not to mention, it was metal cutting through flesh, muscle and bone. They said it was merciful, given how accurate it was. Looking to the crowd again, and how they clamored and cheered for the death, she felt repulsion for her countrymen. On the scaffold, they raised Marie Antoinette's severed head and Clarisse finally closed her eyes, turning away from the sight.  Making her way back to her apartments as quickly as she could, unable to bear it no longer. Heading inside, she leaned back against her doors, appreciating the silence. The vampire was pleased to see that her curtains were drawn and she made her way to her bed. "Mademoiselle," Genevieve, her maid spoke and Clarisse looked to her sadly. There were no words that needed to be said. They felt the same. She was a kind woman, older than Clarisse, who had two children to support and she'd been glad for the work. She understood that she kept strange hours, given her work at the theatre, and obliged, maintaining the place for company and also for her comfort. Clarisse paid her well and often bestowed gifts upon her for her children. Last had been a visit with her seamstress to have some clothes made for autumn and winter. She missed her own son, who was two years dead now. Pushing him from her mind, she allowed Genevieve to help her slide the dress off, leaving her in her chemise, and the wig from her head. "I am glad you were here," she told the woman kindly. "Please be careful getting home. Ask Louis to bring you. I'll not abide you being out with the chattel. They're still lusting for blood, I'm sure."  The conversation was at an end as Clarisse climbed into bed. She was exhausted. Not just physically but emotionally. Genevieve closed the heavy damask curtains surrounding the bed, enveloping her in total darkness. Sleep did not easily come, but eventually, it overtook her. Her dreams were haunted by the sound of the crowds. How could they be so cruel? So very anxious to see more death? They were surrounded by it. There were still poor peasants dying in the streets and there were countless people meeting their ends daily in the Place de la Révolution. The logic of it all escaped Clarisse. She moved about fitfully, rising when it was dusk. Genevieve was gone, but she had laid out a black dress for her and after cleaning herself up, Clarisse dressed. Settling on her seat before her mirror, she tended to her hair, leaving it to hang down as she did not intend on going out that evening. Not with the rabble who was still high on the death of the Queen. She was lost in her thoughts, and did not hear the door open nor the arrival of Robespierre. She had actually forgotten she was supposed to attend a bals à la victime with him that evening. An event that turned her stomach whenever she did attend. Her own fame as an actress bought him friends, his power kept her safe. But she was tiring of the charade. Some joked that the fate of France rested beneath her skirts, but this was untrue. He was engaged to someone. Their relationship was one built on need, rather than lust. He needed friends. She didn't particularly need him, but his friends filled the seats of the theatre and so, it continued. There wasn't a sexual aspect. He was simply not interested and she was still enduring the aftermath of her disastrous marriage--that had resulted in her siring. It was what led her here, strangely. Such is the vampire's life; one of intrigue and mystery; curious paths.  "You dare to mourn for L’Autrichienne ?" He demanded as he entered the room. Clarisse's eyes met his and she scowled, "She was our Queen, Maximillien, and now she is gone. You got what you wanted. Do not speak ill of the dead," she retorted, rising up and lighting candles around the apartment. "Please. And I shall not be attending the ball with you this evening. I have no inclination to attend the celebration of someone's death. Did you even allow for her to be buried properly?" "She was thrown with the traitors," he answered curtly. "Now, enough with your supersticious poppycock," he countered, pouring himself some wine. He was high on his victory, high on life. He seemed not to care that she had no intention of going out. Instead, he regaled her with his recounting of her trial. She didn't care to hear it and her expression must have given her away. "You are such a foolish child at times. You hold a memory of the bitch being kind to you and you refuse to believe that she was a poison to our grand republic." "I speak kindly of her because she was my Queen and I respected her. The English had a revolution, did they not? Where they beheaded their king?" Clarisse continued. "That came back upon them and their monarchy was reinstalled. Your desires for 'change' are never going to happen," she continued on, "And this will come back to haunt you. Mark my words, Max, and I say this as someone who cares for you--" "You care not a whit for me, nor my lifeswork! Do not forget yourself, Mademoiselle, and who I am!" Robespierre snarled at her suddenly. His voice raised, it sounded as though he was about to give her one of his famed orations, but she was having none of it. She felt something within her snap and it took every inch of her decorum not to kill him where he stood. He reached out, gripping her arm and for a moment, it appeared he might strike her. He did not, however. But he also didn't let go of her arm. She was surprised by his strength, but were she of a mind to display her own, he'd be a broken little sod of a man. "People know of your association with me and I expect you to obey me!" Glaring back at him, she found her voice.  "I am Clarisse du Volde. I am not your wife, nor your mistress. I am not your property. I belong to no man. I belong only to myself." She snapped, pulling her arm from his grip, her eyes alight with anger. "And you'd do well to remember WHAT I am and what I can do to YOU." Clarisse knew that this could be a stupid move on her part; he could very well toss her in the Bastille. He could have her thrown into a prison somewhere in the countryside where they'd forget she existed. There'd be no protection from the sun and she would be gone. Their inital meeting had been when some other vampire had made an attempt upon him. Clarisse had not thought it wise and had distracted them from their task; she often found herself rethinking that moment. "Madame Guillotine has a taste for blood, Monsieur. But so do I. I could kill you where you stand or I could take my time with you and make you suffer. The people of this country are suffering. You are no better than those whom you condemn! Did you even think of her children?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest. Robespierre's laughter caught her off guard. "I do. I think of the reeducation they'll recieve if they survive. It has been marvelous to hear that the boy is unwell--" "Get out." "Wha--" "Before I do something we both regret, get out." She stepped back and motioned towards the door. "You will leave," she spoke coldly. "And be kind enough to not return. But mark my words, Monsieur. You will rue this. Everything you've sought to create will turn its back upon you. I say within the year, you will face the guillotine as well. And I pray to God, or whaever diety that is listening, that you suffer. It's what you deserve. You have no heart, Maximillien. Power has corrupted your every orifice. When you can think of an orphaned child and laugh about his being unwell and close to death, you deserve every rotten thing this world has to offer. Now, get out and if you even try to have me arrested, I will kill every person you hold in high regard. I will not be quick. They will suffer. And so will you." It was rare to see him speechless. But Clarisse enjoyed the look on his features as he stammered out something intelligible. She raised a glass of wine to her lips, sipping it slowly as he left. There were few things in life that she could enjoy now; thankfully a glass of French chardonnay was one of them. She plopped down in her chair and began to think. There had to be an end to this madness...this, how did the papers put it? Ah. This règne de terreur. 

[afternoonteawithme]

The carpet around Yuuri was littered with an assortment of screws, tools, and fragments of what would eventually become – according to the instructions – a crib.

Yuuri wasn’t sure he believed anything the instructions said anymore.

The box had said the thing could be ‘easily’ assembled in fifteen minutes, but he’d already been struggling with it for almost two hours. Of course, the box had also called for two sets of hands, but Yuuri adamantly refused to believe that that was the reason he’d been having so much trouble.

He half crouched on the floor of the bedroom in the center of the scattered mess, one arm awkwardly bracing the far side of the crib’s frame as he tried to slip the angled hex key into the tiny slot at the bottom that should – according to those damned instructions – hold everything together long enough for him to get the rest of the screws in place.

As he fought with the crib, he found his mind, once again, wandering in the direction of his absent husband. Where was Victor? They were due at the lawyer’s office in - he spared a quick look up at the clock beside the bed – less than an hour.

When Victor had left him early that morning with a quick kiss and an airy ‘be back soon’, Yuuri had still been mostly unconscious, too groggy to ask any questions. Instead, he’d curled up under the covers and gone back to sleep.

When he’d woken a few hours later, he’d been happy to have the rest of the morning to himself. He’d taken his time over coffee, a large, not-entirely-healthy breakfast, a second cup of coffee. He’d spent more time debating a third cup before deciding it wouldn’t make enough of an additional dent in his fatigue to be worth the extra jitters.

He wasn’t sure what was worse these days, the nerves or the exhaustion.

Yakov didn’t seem to know which was worse either, but he’d been doing a lot more yelling at Yuuri during training lately.

Yuuri was starting to wonder if he should just take the season off, after all. He and Victor had decided to keep competing, even with the baby coming. They both knew how hard it was to come back after a break, and it wasn’t as if they didn’t have an abundance of willing and eager babysitters ready to help out. Axel, Lutz, and Loop had already had to be talked out of moving into one of their spare bedrooms - they were somehow far more excited about this baby than the twin brothers their mother had given birth to earlier in the year.

Since neither of them wanted this part of their career to be over, they’d decided to continue competing. But there was so much to do, even before the baby arrived. Especially before the baby arrived.

So they’d compromised, sort of. They carried on training as hard as they’d ever done during the day, and spent their nights working on the house. Which was reason enough for Yuuri’s exhaustion, but had nothing to do with the nervous energy that made everything so much worse.

And Yuuri couldn’t pretend he was performing at anywhere near professional competitive level. It had gotten so bad lately that even in practice he could barely land a double, and Yakov had threatened to ban him from quads and triples until he could stop messing up so badly.

As far as Yuuri could see, Victor was still performing beautifully, despite being on the exact same schedule. It might have irritated him except somehow Victor was getting yelled at by Yakov almost as much as he was.

Possibly more.

Whatever the reason, Yakov had insisted that Yuuri and Victor both take the weekend off from any practice, of any kind, which was why the two of them had stayed up until the early hours of the morning the night before, finishing off the final layers of paint on all the downstairs rooms.

Yuuri was pretty sure that hadn’t been what Yakov had intended, but it had been necessary.  

They’d known the house would need a great deal of work when they bought it, but they’d both liked the idea of putting their own stamp on their first home together. Besides, not only had it been the first home they’d both agreed on – though, to Yuuri, it was almost ridiculously oversized, and yet far smaller than the near palaces Victor had first picked out – but they’d also both fallen in love with it at first sight.

Buying the house had been one of the requirements of the adoption agency they’d carefully selected, but they’d thought they’d have years to play with it before bringing home a baby.

They had four months left. Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d survive them.

He felt the little tool in his hand finally slip into place, and jerked his mind back to the task at hand. Holding his breath, he cautiously turned the wrench until it wouldn’t move anymore.

Still not breathing, he let go and slowly eased away, as surprised as he was gratified when all sides of the crib frame stayed where they were. Not giving anything a chance to change its mind, he grabbed the next packet of screws and got to work slipping them into place.

It wasn’t until he was tightening the very last one that he realized he’d attached the delicately carved panels at the front and back of the crib on backwards.  He squinted, trying to decide if anyone would be able to tell.

Maybe not. But he’d know.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Yuuri started to undo the screws.

When his phone buzzed, he dropped the wrench and almost threw himself onto the bed, where he’d thrown his phone the last time he’d tried and failed to reach Victor.

“Hello? Victor?”

“Yuuri! I can’t wait to show you everything I’ve found!” Victor’s voice, all excitement, was almost drowned out by loud, tinny music and the chatter of high pitched, female voices.

“Where are you? We need to head to the lawyers office soon.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there. But first, I found the perfect fireplace to go in the nursery, but I can’t remember how wide the doorway is. Could you measure it for me?”

“What?”    

“Oh, Yuuri, it’s marvelous. Magical. It’s electric so it’s perfectly safe, and we can make the flames any color we want. It can be a heater and an air conditioner. And it’s energy efficient!”

“We don’t need a fireplace for the nursery.”

“But you said you wanted a nightlight?”

Yuuri heard one of the female voices ask ‘Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’ if he preferred silver or gold accents. “A fireplace isn’t a nightlight.”

“Well, yes, but it can be both!”

“Victor, I meant just a little plug in thing. Something so we can see without turning on the lights.”

“Exactly! And this will keep the room warm, too.”

“We have central heating. No fireplace, Victor.”

Victor sighed, long and deeply. “I think it would be amazing.”

Yuuri found himself grinning up at the ceiling, even as he threw an arm over his eyes. “I’m sure it would be.”

“Well, then-”

“No fireplace, Victor.”

Victor sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll just pay for the rest then.”

“The rest?” Losing the grin, Yuuri sat bolt upright. “What are you buying, Victor?”

“A few things. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

“Victor?”

But Victor had already hung up. With a sigh, Yuuri dropped back down onto the blankets and tried not to worry about what else Victor was bringing home. They still had so much unpacking left to do – they’d mainly moved the stacks of boxes from room to room as they painted around them – and most of the boxes were Victor’s.

He heard the creak of the door, soft padding on the carpet. A second later the bed dipped as Makkachin hopped up onto it.

The dog sniffed at Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri reached up to stroke his soft head. When Makkachin plopped down beside him, Yuuri let out another long sigh. “I hope he didn’t buy anything too big.”

Makkachin snorted.

--

When Victor walked in just over a quarter of an hour later, Yuuri was waiting downstairs, dressed and ready and anxiously studying the two giant plastic bags Victor carried in.

“What did you buy, Victor?”

Victor dropped a kiss on Yuuri's forehead as he brushed past him towards the staircase.

"A few things. I'll get changed. I like your tie today."

Blinking, Yuuri glanced down at his chest. "You should. You bought it for me."

"I did, didn't I?" With a soft laugh, Victor started up the stairs. “You should wear what I buy you more often.”  

“I have to, all my old stuff keeps disappearing.” Finally realizing Victor had successfully distracted him, Yuuri followed him up the stairs. “Victor, you didn’t buy anything especially extravagant, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes, Yuuri followed the sound of Victor’s voice to the bedroom and found Victor studying the partly built crib as he pulled off his shirt.

“You started on the crib.”

“Ah, I messed up. These things are on backwards.” Yuuri ran his fingers across the shallow carvings that should have faced inwards.

“I see.” Victor turned away and dropped the shirt he’d been wearing in the laundry hamper. He started to unbutton his jeans. “Didn’t the box say that it needed two people to build?”

Yuuri snorted. “Uh-huh. Evidently they meant it too.”

“I thought we’d planned to do it together?” Victor’s voice was utterly neutral.

“Well, yeah.” Yuuri shrugged, suddenly feeling, somehow, as if he’d made more of a misstep than simply putting a few pieces on backwards. “I just thought I’d start on my own.”

But as sure as Yuuri was that he’d somehow upset Victor, he could read nothing unusual in Victor’s expression when Victor turned back to face him. He started to relax shoulder muscles he hadn’t realized had been tightening, only to tense again as Victor walked over to study the incomplete crib more closely.  

“I’ll fix it. I just ran out of time.”

“No. I like it.” Victor gently brushed his hand over the side of the crib. “It’s entirely one-of-a-kind.”

“Oh.” Yuuri looked down, trying to see what Victor was looking at. “I see.”

“Yes. Absolutely no one else will have one like ours.”

“I guess not.”

“No one.”

Finally getting Victor’s point, Yuuri scowled up at him. “Victor. Is that meant to be a dig.”

With a slow, wicked grin, Victor turned back to the closet. “We’ll finish the rest, together, when we get back from the lawyer's office.”

[bgtea]

Cellular Memory - Interlude

Undecided if I should lump this in the last chapter or if I should just post it as a separate chapter. Either way, here’s a brief interlude between Chapters 5 and 6. 

XIV. The Calm Before the Storm

They decide to set sail to the Arctic in the upcoming summer, which gives them a good amount of time to prepare and to recover.  

“In the meantime, I want you to take care of yourself,” Ford warned after they have decided on their travel date. “Especially if you’re experiencing pain from recovering more memories. Let me know.”

“Yeesh, talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” Stanley scoffed. He wasn’t the one who had come out of that deathbot escapade all black and blue. “I’ll be fine, my memories haven’t been giving me too much grief aside from the slight headaches. I think they’re starting to slow down.”

Stanley likes to think that for the most part, he’s pieced together a near full picture of Stan Pines’ life, whether it includes the good, the bad, or the ugly. This may explain why he hasn’t gotten any new major flashbacks in a while, what with the well about to run dry. Hell, aside for remembering his love for old men gold chains, which has the hilarious effect of mildly horrifying Ford, things have been quiet. Blissfully so.

He’s not complaining at all especially when it means he’s being left alone to enjoy his days in relative peace. Peace and quiet are rare things in Gravity Falls that should be coveted. His time spent with his brother and the children has more than taught him that.

(There’s a part of him that can’t shake off the fear that there are only a small handful of memories left for him to discover, and with those exposed, Stan Pines will become whole again.)

(He has no idea what will happen to Stanley with Stan Pines back at the helm. Maybe he’ll simply…cease to exist in a blink of an eye. One second, he’s Stanley and the next, he’s not. Or maybe, he’ll fade away bit by bit into the background until he’s gone, sort of like an old photograph that’s slowly being bleached by the sun.)

(However he dies, he hopes it’ll be painless.)

“Just one more push, Stanley,” he utters to himself one night when his dark thoughts are threatening to choke the air from his lungs. He just needs to focus on pushing through the next hour, day, week, month, however long this will last.

Because if he knows his days are numbered, then he might as well make it his personal mission to squeeze out every last bit of living he has left. It’ll be his last defiant stance against the shit cards life has dealt him. It’ll be Stanley Pines’ version of waving two middle fingers in the air.

He has a feeling that Stan Pines can get behind that.

He breathes. “Just one more push. Everything is going to be okay.”

His days are spent keeping the shack in running order, making sure their sailing preparations are on schedule, and, most importantly, keeping tabs on what his brother is doing in the lab. That last task is a new add-on but Stanley feels it’s warranted given Ford’s injury, which he refuses to go to the doctors for, and Ford’s tendency to straddle the line between brilliant genius and mad scientist when it comes to his inventions.

Also, his brother does not do bed rest well. At all.

“Screwdriver please, Stanley.”

Stanley sighs and obediently reaches into the tool kit on the ground beside his chair, snags the required tool, and hands it to Ford. Despite Ford’s promise to take things easy, Stanley walked into the lab earlier that day to his brother at his desk, elbows deep in what looks like an unfinished miniature replica of the murderbot, except sans claws.

Stanley promptly threw a shit fit. As one does, really.  

“Why are you building another one?! Are you a glutton for punishment or something?”

Ford jolted from his desk and whipped his head towards the entrance. “Stanley,” he said, his hands out in a placating motion. “I know what this looks like, but I think I know where I went wrong with my last design.”  

“The whole design is wrong. It’s a robot that murders people via laser beam.” Stanley crossed his arms with a scowl and leaned against the door frame. “And what happened to taking it easy? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am taking it easy,” grumbled Ford. “I’m sitting down, aren’t I? And for the record, I did not design it with laser beams. Or for murder.”

Stanley scoffed. Semantics. “And how many hours have you been working on that thing straight? Five hours? Six?”

“I do take the occasional breaks.” Ford sighed in exasperation at Stanley’s raised brow and judging silence. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you can pull up a seat and help me with this. Besides, the sooner I’m done, the sooner I can get back to bed. How does that sound?”

Which brings Stanley to the present, slouching in his chair by the work station beside his brother and bored to tears. So far, his duties entail handing random things to Ford so that he doesn’t have to get up and jostle his injuries, and reigning Ford back from trekking into mad scientist territory.  

Stanley yawns and scratches his stomach. “I still don’t know why you’re so eager to make that robot work. What’s so great about it?”

“It has a lot of potential to be useful for our travels,” Ford mutters from his desk without turning around. The components of the robot are splayed before him in an explosion of nuts, bolts and other doodads, and Ford is seemingly plucking random bits to screw back into the machine. “I originally designed it to collect data on the water sprites for us so that we don’t have to be there to do it ourselves, but I redesigned it as a scouter instead. Spanner, please.”  

Stanley blinks as he fishes out the spanner. “Wait. You mean, we didn’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn when this thing could’ve done all the data collecting for us? Why the heck didn’t you invent this sooner?”

“I only thought it necessary when you drove the boat like a madman.” Ford snorts and grabs the spanner. “But yes, it could’ve done the work for us and then some. The original design was also waterproof, heatproof, shockproof and it ran on solar power. Self-sufficient and nigh indestructible!”

He pauses and breathes a little “huh” in revelation. “In hindsight, I see how the AI is a bad idea,” he says, a touch contrite. “Ah well, you live and learn!”

With that, he sets the robot upright, pulls a set of exposed wires from its back and hooks them up to the large battery beside it with a level of gusto that Stanley will never understand.

The metal egg starts vibrating violently. Stanley scoots back with a perfectly manly yelp as the dotted light bulbs lining its circumference begin to flare to life. One by one, the spindly legs twitch, initially slow, almost lethargic little movements that grow more rapid and violent with every passing second.

“It’s alive!” Ford all but gushes like a proud father. The robot has barely managed to lift itself to standing with the way its legs are shaking like a newborn fawn. Stanley leans a little closer and is torn between being impressed at Ford for making his design work so quickly, feeling horribly curious at what the robot can do, and feeling marginally terrified at what the robot can do.

“See?” his brother laughs. “Nothing to be afraid of at all! What the – ”

The robot shudders violently with an electric crackle and all at once, its lights wink out with several faint popping noises. The legs immediately turn motionless, buckling under the egg’s weight, and the whole thing collapses on the table with a thump that rattles the remaining bolts and nuts on the desk. A stream of dark smoke starts pouring out from the machine.  

Ford’s face turns crestfallen. “I don’t understand! What happened?”

“Don’t know and you’re not about to find out either.” Stanley bats Ford’s hands away from his pet project while breathing a mental sigh of relief. “That’s enough freaky science for today. You can finish this tomorrow after you’ve rested. Come on, it’s bed time.”

Tomorrow becomes the day after that, then one week, then two. Although the initial problem with the robot is resolved quickly, fresh ones keep cropping up with every new feature added to the machine’s design.

Stanley is a bit surprised that Ford, now fully healed and as energetic as ever, keeps asking him to join in on every single robot-building session.

He’s accepted every time despite having no idea why Ford even bothers. It’s not like Stanley contributes anything meaningful to the project, even when he’s helping to assemble bits and pieces of the bot.

Still, he’s glad to be included in one of his brother’s nerdy projects. Working on the robot is growing on him along with the realization that lab time with Ford is becoming another activity they do together, like D, D, & More D, or their nightly Airing of Grievances, where they get to spend time side-by-side, cracking jokes and ribbing on each other.

Something small ricochets off the back of his head and hits the ground with a soft clinging sound. “Oy, knucklehead! Have you finished screwing everything together yet? You’ve been hogging the screwdriver for the last hour.”

Stanley glances up from his portion of the robot and rolls his eyes at a smirking Ford who’s standing a few paces away from his workstation.

“No, your Highness.” Stanley drops the screwdriver and idly rubs the spot where he’s been hit probably with a stray nut or something. “Putting these bits together doesn’t magically happen in a blink of an eye. Although we could’ve built this deathbot faster if we just duck-taped everything together like how I wanted, but some people vetoed that idea and called it, ‘utterly ridiculous.’”

“You keep your uncouth ways away from my robots,” Ford sniffs with such an air of faux offence that Stanley can’t help grinning his shit-eating grin. Ford doesn’t last for more than a second before his composure breaks and he chuckles. He strides next to Stanley and claps his brother on the shoulders. “It’s coming along nicely though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How long do you think we’ll need before we test this baby out in the wild?”

“Maybe a few more days, we’ll see.” Ford fishes something out of his pocket and places it on the table. “I got you a snack in case you’re hungry. There’s more upstairs if you want.”

The bag of toffee peanuts stares back at Stanley.

A wave of vertigo hits Stanley like a freight train and his mind spins and his stomach lurches - Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!

This was no accident, Stan; you did this!

You ignoramus! Your brother was gonna be our ticket out of this dump! All you ever do is lie and cheat right on your brother's coattails. Well this time you cost our family potential millions!

He jerks himself back with a sharp inhale of breath as awareness swims back into focus. He can feel the pinpricks of sweat dotting his forehead, and the wild hammering of his heart, like he had just run a marathon.

The bag remains sitting there, untouched and unblemished.

What in the holy hell was that?

“Stanley? Is everything alright?” he hears Ford ask, and it grounds him to the present like a rock.  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he winces at the croakiness of his voice and clears his throat. “Just got a bit dizzy from sitting too long. No big deal.” Stanley pushes the packet away from him, making sure not to look at it this time. Whatever that was, he most certainly does not want to deal with it with Ford nearby. “I’m good with the snack, thanks. I think I’ll take a breather upstairs instead. Do you want to come up with me?”  

Ford shrugs and thank goodness, it looks like he buys Stanley’s explanation. “Sure, I’ll join you. I could use a break myself.”

As they make their way to the elevator, Ford adds quietly, almost shyly, “I’m glad we’re working on this together. We haven’t done a project like this since the Stan O’ War.”

Stanley nudges his brother with an answering quiet grin of his own. The sappy dork. “Me too, Pointdexter. Me too.”

(The persistent nagging feeling that something is missing follows Stanley all the way up their elevator ride like an ill omen. Stanley shivers.)

“Hey Ford.” Stanley says once they’ve settled in for their nightly chats in Ford’s parlour. A pot of mint tea sits on the low coffee table in front of them and its warm, spicy scent fills the small, cozy room. “You said the murderbot is the second project we worked on together. Did we ever finish our first project?”

Ford pauses, and something like apprehension flits through his eyes. “No, Stanley, we never finished the Stan O’ War.”

“Huh. That’s a shame. Why’s that?”

“Well, we didn’t get to the finishing touches because of the fight.”

“The fight?” It takes a few seconds before it clicks. “Oh, you mean the one where we went our separate ways afterwards?”

(Once upon a time, Ford had explained to Stanley why they parted ways: “We had a fight shortly before high school ended. There was an incident that exacerbated everything.” His brother had looked away at that point and cleared his throat. “I…got mad, but Pops got even angrier. He took matters into his own hand, and well, you ended up striking out on your own. I went to college. We lost contact for a while.”)

(It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Stan had gotten kicked out of his home for screwing up. Just what did he do to warrant said kicking out, well, he’d rather not know.)

(He was happy with leaving some memories buried under the sands of time.)

“That’s the one,” Ford hums in agreement. A longer pause fills the room this time. “Stanley,” Ford starts with more hesitation, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you want to hear about what happened in detail?”

Stanley chuckles nervously. “Eh, I think what you told me is enough.”

Unlike Ford, he’s not a glutton for punishment.

He dreams of an abandoned beach under a desolate sky of grey-blue. A set of old swings sits on the sand yards away from the churning ocean water, its metal frame twisted, bent and rusted, ravaged by age and the elements. One of the two wooden seats is broken in half with a part of it lost to decay while the other piece hangs perilously from the frame by fraying, rotting rope. The other seat is intact but the wood is warped and stained dark from dirt and mildew. The swings sway quietly in the wind off-tandem, one always lagging behind the other.  

He wakes up in the morning, eyes wet and with a heavy heart. From his bed, he takes a deep breath and exhales. He repeats this a few times.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he says out loud to the seven little holes in the wooden beam above his head. The Big Dipper mark stares back at him.

They don’t.

In fact, after three mini flashbacks – At least you'll have one son here in New Jersey forever. I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country. This is all your fault, ya dumb machine! –  Stanley is ready to concede that things are getting worse.

The only saving grace is that those flashbacks weren’t anything of substance, each of them darting through his mind before dissipating into the nether. They aren’t strong enough to knock him out, but they do give Stanley a pounding, excruciating migraine that has him curling into his bed with his covers thrown over his head and the blinds to his room drawn tightly shut to plunge everything into soothing, blessed darkness.

He jolts awake when he feels something warm on his forehead. “Hmm. Ford?”

“Hey, sorry for waking you up. I wanted to see how you’re doing,” a blurry Ford-shaped creature whispers back. Stanley’s mind helpfully reminds him that he isn’t wearing his glasses.

“Surviving,” he croaks out, squinting up at the blob that’s probably his brother. “What time is it?”

“Noon. I haven’t heard from you all morning so I thought I’d come up and check on you. I miss seeing you at the lab.”

“Crap, sorry.” Stanley winces. “I missed our robot building session.”

He moves to get up, but is gently pushed back down by Ford. “Don’t worry about it, you need your rest. From the looks of it, it’s pretty bad, huh?”

A fresh, throbbing pain floods through his head. Stanley squeezes his eyes shut and grunts.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I can bring you some chamomile.”

Another grunt.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

He manages to crack open his eyes and catch the sight of his brother’s retreating back and –

They were sitting by the swings on the beach. It was a calm evening, the clear sky above them bleached a mix of orange and yellow from the setting sun. From their seats, they have a perfect view of the gentle lapping waves of the ocean as they slosh lazily against the golden sands of the shore.

Stan was younger then, barely at the cusp of manhood at seventeen years old but excited to see both his and his brother’s future opening up before them, at the possibilities of taking the world by storm as the dynamic duo.

After all, it was them against the world. It has always been that way. No stupid college from across the country was going to change that.

“Hey. Joke’s on them if they think you wanna go to some stuffy college on the other side of the country,” Stan said. “Once we get the Stan O' War complete, it's gonna be beaches, babes, and international treasure hunting for us.”

There was no way his brother would give up their dream, not when they worked so hard on it.

His brother sighed and looked wistfully at the school pamphlet in his hand. Stan hated that pamphlet already. “Look, Stan, I can't pass up a chance like this. This school has cutting edge programs and multi-dimensional paradigm theory.”

He hasn’t seen Ford’s eyes glow like that since they first discovered the remains of the ship as children. Hasn’t seen Ford look that genuinely excited about anything in a long while in fact. Instead, he has gotten used to Ford looking like he was…

Like he was…

Bored. Resigned. Tired even.

Stan swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Beep boop. I am a nerd robot. That's you. That's what you sound like,” he said irritably.

There was no way Ford would leave Stanley behind.

Right?

Ford gave a good-natured laugh. “Ah, well, if the college board isn't impressed with my experiment tomorrow, then okay, I'll do the treasure-hunting thing.”

“And if they are?”

Ford punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Well then, I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country.” With a last little chuckle, Ford got up, brushed the sand off his pants, and walked away.

Stan made sure to keep smiling until his brother’s retreating back was out of sight even when his cheeks hurt.  

Stanley slams back to the present as awareness floods his senses. He gulps in a few breaths, and takes in the darkness of his room, the weight of his blankets over his body, and the lumpy feel of his worn mattress against his back.

“Shit,” he utters with feeling.