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spider-stark · 7 months ago

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LADY STRONG

Benjicot Blackwood x Velaryon/Strong!Reader

Summary - Stuck in the Riverland's on a marriage tour, you pretend to be Lady Strong when Benjicot Blackwood doesn't recognize you as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

Warnings - none except not edited!!

Word Count - 3.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As if the prospect of a marriage tour was not horrid enough, your first stop was proving to be positively dreadful.

You had imagined the lands surrounding the Trident to be beautiful. A lush, verdant landscape—filled with fragrant herbs and bright, blooming flowers, painting the Riverlands in rich, colorful hues. You pictured babbling streams and plush grass, stunning castles and, perhaps, some equally as stunning men.

What you hadn’t imagined, however, was the weather.

Even from within the confines of Riverrun—the ancestral castle of House Tully—you still feel the effects of the merciless heat beating down upon the sandstone walls.

Your handmaids had tried to dress you accordingly, stuffing you into your thinnest—and, consequently, your least regal—gown, in hopes that it might prevent sunstroke. Yet still, even as three of Lord Tully’s own servants try fanning you while you sulk in the dining hall, you feel as though every inch of your body is drenched in sticky sweat.

“This is miserable,” you groan to Ser Lorent, the Kingsguard who had been assigned to your tour. Flanking your right, you spare the knight a pitiful, sidelong glance. “I believe I would sooner die a spinster than be forced to live in this sweltering purgatory!”

The servants, haphazardly positioned around the table, remain utterly stone-faced, not letting on if they found your comment about their homelands to be humorous or offensive.

Ser Lorent merely laughs. “The Riverlands are known for their humid summers, princess.” With a wink, he adds, “If you ever bothered with your studies, you would know this.”

“I study!”

“With the blade, perhaps,” Ser Lorent muses, his teal eyes twinkling with lighthearted mockery. “But certainly not with books, princess.

Rolling your eyes, you slump further into your chair, your body practically melting into the upholstery. “Leave the geography lessons to Jace,” you tell him, waving an idle hand. “After all, he's the heir to the Iron Throne. I am merely the prized broodmare—” focusing on your plate, and the half-eaten lunch upon it, you try swallowing the bitter tang now filling your mouth—“a royal womb to be sold off to the highest bidder.”

And, at times, you aren’t even sure if that is considered an honest truth… You’ve certainly never felt royal.

Like your brothers, you were born extraordinarily plain-featured. With no silver hair or lilac eyes, you appear more like a common-born peasant than someone of prized Valyrian stock—and it didn’t help that, unlike your brothers, you had no dragon, either.

Ser Lorent watches as you absently push a piece of seared cod around your plate, sighing. “That isn’t true, my princess.” His words are tinged with sympathy. “You are being sold to no one. Your mother wishes for you to have a marriage born of love—not duty.”

“Ah, yes,” stabbing the fish with the prongs of your fork, you bring it to your lips, “which is why I’m being forced to spend my summer meeting with the haughty sons of fat country lords—for love.”

His tongue clicks with disapproval. “Your mother has given you a choice in selecting your own husband, princess; which is a luxury not granted to many women.”

Frowning, you pop the piece of fish into your mouth, turning his words over in your head.

Gods.

You hate it when he’s right.

“Fine,” you relent, still chewing. Turning sideways in your chair, you raise your fork to him in a mock threat, “But my earlier statement stands! If I must take a husband, then it certainly won’t be anyone from here—lest I become no more than a puddle of sweat.”

Ser Lorent cracks a smile at you. “Should you turn to a puddle, princess, then I vow to mop you from the floor.”

“How valiant of you, Ser Lorent,” you laugh. “I’m unsure of how I might ever repay you for such loyalty.”

“I’m not sure you have to worry about that, princess—I don’t believe that puddles are much concerned with matters of debt.”

Turning back to the table, another soft laugh spills from your lips. “I suppose you’re right, Ser.”

All too soon, however, your amusement begins to fade. A warm breeze blows in through the many open windows lining Riverrun’s dining hall, the stifling air only accentuating the stickiness of your skin.

Sucking in a deep, heavy breath, you ask, “How long do we have?”

Ser Lorent doesn’t ask for clarification, knowing almost at once what you were asking him. “We’re expected back in the Great Hall in a little under an hour, princess.”

You blow the breath out, groaning slightly.

An hour—that's all the time you had left before you would be forced back upon the dais, expected to once again smile and be cordial as men and boys from all across the Riverlands made their case for your hand.

How many of them could possibly be left? This morning alone you had met with dozens upon dozens of them, their voices all blurring into a monotonous hum as they spoke of the history of their Houses—if one can consider nonsensical legends from the ancient Age of Heroes as true history, that is.

Noticing the dreadful pall cast over you, Ser Lorent clamps a comforting hand on your shoulder. “How about a walk before we go back? It might help to clear your head,” he suggests. Then, with a wry grin, “Perhaps you might wish to think back on the men from this morning—see if any of them might make you change your tune about life in the Riverlands.”

You pin him with a playful scowl. “There’s not a man alive that could change that tune,” you vow. “But you’re right—a walk might be nice.”

Rising from your seat, the servants around you lower their fans, silently dismissing themselves.

“Will you be accepting my company on this walk?” Ser Lorent teases—though you know what he’s really asking is: will you be accepting my protection.

“After this morning, I believe I’ve had enough company for a lifetime.”

The knight’s brow draws tight, an apprehensive frown beginning to pull at the corners of his lips. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Ser Lorent. It gives you wrinkles,” you tease. Adjusting the slit running along one side of your dress, you reveal the dagger holstered on your thigh. “I assure you that if any of these Riverlanders dare lay a hand on me, they’ll lose some fingers.”

Ser Lorent snorts, head shaking. “It’s not you I worry about, princess,” he jokingly admits. “Just stay close by, understand? Your mother will have my head if anything happens to you.”

“Yes, yes—understood,” you dramatically gripe, already walking past him to the exit.

“Oh, and princess?” He calls out just as the guards pull the doors open for you to leave. You glance over your shoulder at him, brows lifted. “At least try not to injure anyone.”

With one last roll of your eyes, bright with mischief, you shout on your way out, “No promises, Ser Lorent!”

Wandering through the outer yards of Riverrun, the blistering sun beating down upon your skin, you find yourself overwhelmed by a sudden ache in your chest.

You miss home. Desperately.

You miss Dragonstone’s near-constant cover of clouds, forever shielding you from the heat. You miss the cool breeze rolling in off the Blackwater, the air peppering your cheeks with salty kisses.

But even as you dream of a reprieve from the muggy Riverlands, you can’t help but miss your family—your brothers—most of all.

Perhaps it is that feeling that led you here, to the training yard, guided by the familiar lull of splintering wood and steel slicing through the air, the sound offering a much-needed remedy to the homesickness twisting in your gut.

Smaller than the one at Dragonstone, Riverrun’s yard was no more than a cramped stretch of dusty-dirt, lined with old training dummies and archery targets. Mostly encircled by the towering sun-bleached stones of the castles, only a small part of the yard remained open to the sprawling gardens beyond, sectioned off by ornate iron fencing.

Striding over the open gate, your attention falls upon the lone boy standing in the yard's center.

As the sunlight beats down overhead, long shadows dance around his feet as he glides through a set of movements—each step calculated, every strike deliberate.

You step closer, keeping your steps light as you approach. With his back turned to you, you watch as sweat drips down his neck, glistening. It soaks into his tunic, the thin black material clinging to his lean, muscled back.

He’s talented—you think, studying his form.

Talent is something you're familiar with—intimately. You were raised around warriors—trained by the Rogue Prince himself. Yet never before had you found yourself so utterly bewitched by a fighter.

He didn’t move like other boys.

He wasted no time on the flowery style displayed by so many summer children—the ones who thought of battle as a performance rather than a matter of life or death.

Instead, he moved with the lethal prowess of an apex predator—his blade cutting through the air with a controlled ferocity that, while lacking the flourish of other warriors, was undeniably impressive.

Dirt flies as he throws himself into another set of movements—a series of strikes and parries, executing with unbelievable precision. With every twist and pivot, muscles tense and shift beneath his tunic, his body as powerful a weapon as his sword.

He lunges forward—and wood cracks! as he slashes his blade along the belly of one of the dummies, a move that would have disemboweled a living opponent.

Cutting through the sudden stillness, you bring your hands up to your chest, filling the yard with a slow clap. Back still turned to you, the boy's spine goes ramrod straight at the unexpected sound.

“Impressive,” you muse, taking another step towards him. Mere feet remain between the two of you, now. “You move well—better than most, I’d say.”

The boy spins around to face you, his once elegant movements now blundering as he nearly trips over his own feet. Biting your tongue, you try to hold in a laugh.

Big, storm-cloud eyes meet your gaze, pinning you in place as he blinks, visibly thrown-off by your presence. “Sorry-” he stammers, out of breath. “I didn’t think anyone else would be coming out here-”

You lift a hand, cutting him off with a smile. “Oh, no—don’t apologize on my account! I enjoyed the show,” you tell him. “Seems that you have a real talent for swordplay.”

His cheeks flush, his lightly sun-kissed skin turning a stark crimson. “Thanks.” His laugh is a nervous, awkward thing—endearing, too. He sticks a hand out towards you, the other still limply holding his sword. “Benjicot. Blackwood,” he introduces himself, fumbling over his words, “but you can call me Ben or Benji—or anything, really.”

You take his hand, biting your lip to mask your amusement. “Pleasure to meet you, Benji.”

A beat of silence passes before confusion finally tugs at his features, his hand falling back to his side. “Uhm—” another sweet, awkward laugh— “and you are…?”

Realization dawns on you, leaving your brows to shoot up to your hairline.

Seven Hells. He doesn't know, does he?

A sudden speechlessness grabs hold of your tongue.

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised—after all, you aren't what many expected of a Targaryen princess.

Plain-featured and dressed in thin, common clothes, you imagine you likely appear no different than the servants surrounding you at lunch, fanning you to keep the heat from going to your head.

Even so, it's rare that you met someone who doesn't know who you are. And, selfishly, after a morning filled with insincere compliments from haughty Lord’s, you like the idea of remaining nameless—titleless—for the first time in your life.

“Wow—sorry—that was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?” Tapping a finger to your temple, you laugh. “I’m Mylissa,” you lie, stealing the name of one of your handmaidens. “Mylissa Strong.”

“Strong?” He echoes, brow furrowing. “Strange—you don’t sound like you’re from the Riverlands. Your accent is—”

“Southern?”

Benji nods.

“Well, I’ve spent the better part of my life in the Crownlands, so I suppose I’ve picked up their accent,” you explain. “I’m here with the princess, actually—as her lady-in-waiting.”

The mention of the princess—you—turns his skin a pasty white.

Keeping a tight leash on your curiosity, you try not to sound too intrigued when you ask, “And what about you? Raventree Hall is a decent ride from here, is it not?” On horseback, the ancestral seat of House Blackwood was two days away from Riverrun, if not three. “Are you here to meet with the princess?”

Benji shifts his weight, leaning from one foot to the other. “Supposed to,” he begins, his words tumbling out, “but I don’t know—I’m not so sure that I’ll go through with it.”

Your expression falters, disappointment washing over you like a cold wave, combatting the intolerable warmth of the sun.

“Why not?”

He shrugs—a timid, shy gesture that feels so unlike the predator you had snuck up on. “There are over a hundred men in there,” he waves an arm to the castle, to the Great Hall within, “all waiting for an opportunity to impress the princess—meanwhile, I can hardly get out a single sentence without choking on my own spit.”

Your laughter bubbles up involuntarily, a few giggles spilling past your lips. The Blackwood boy shoots you a playful glare from beneath long, dark lashes.

“Well,” you begin, absentmindedly toeing the dirt between you, “perhaps the princess might find it endearing, don’t you think?”

Benji scoffs. “Doubtful. I mean, think about it!—she’s a princess!”

Your eyes widen, glimmering with mock-offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?” ��

Once again, that crimson tinge returns to his skin, crawling up his neck, this time.

“I meant no offense,” he defends himself, mistaking your expression for one of a Lady meaning to defend her princess. “But what could I possibly offer a princess?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think on his words. “Well, the Blackwoods do have a history of being valiant warriors, do they not? And you seem to be quite skilled yourself,” you say, daring to let your stare drift down to his arms, the short sleeves of his tunic revealing well-muscled, sweat-slick biceps.

He snorts. “I’m willing to guess that the princess would likely care naught for my skill with a sword.”

“Then you would guess wrong,” you retort, a faint, teasing smile on your lips. “Many say that the princess herself is quite skilled with a blade—I imagine she would quite like a boy that’s capable of challenging her.”

Benji’s eyes darken a shade, an unreadable expression crossing his features. “And what about you, Mylissa?”

The false name catches you off-guard, but you do your best to hide it.

“What of me?”

A bit nervous, he asks, “Would you like a boy that can challenge you?”

Your heart stutters in your chest—skipping several beats as his stare lowers, dipping past your waist and falling upon your thigh. On the dagger sheathed there, no doubt.

Heat begins to crawl up your neck, hotter even than the sun's blistering rays. “Oh—” You stutter, words lost upon you.

It’s true that you were used to the attention of men. After all, your morning has been filled with it, and soon enough the rest of your day will be, too.

But this was different.

Benji wasn’t giving you attention because you’re a princess, a mere royal womb to strengthen his House’s bloodline. Rather, he was doing it simply because he wanted to—a feeling that was utterly foreign to you.

Wiping a clammy hand on his sweaty tunic, Benji misreads your silence, taking a half-step back. “Apologies, my Lady—that was too forward and-”

You don’t let him finish his rambling. Taking a step forward, you close the gap he sought to create between you. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

You nod. “As you know, the princess will be in the Great Hall for the rest of the evening, holding court with the other Lord’s who’ve come for her hand. I'd like for you to meet with her.”

Benji cocks his head, confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I truly mean no disrespect to your princess, my Lady, but I was asking if you might be interested in–”

“I know what you’re asking, Benji.” You lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “And after you meet with the princess, if you still wish to inquire about my hand,” you say, placing a palm to your chest, “then I will happily hear you out.”

In the distance, a bell sounds out—signaling the time, you realize.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you start, already taking a few small half-steps backwards. “I’m expected inside.”

Letting his sword drop to the ground, Benji lunges forward to catch your wrist. “So you agree to meet with me after court, then?”

“If you’re still interested,” you muse, a tinge of anxiety laced through your tone, “then yes.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a bashful smile. “I give you my word that–”

You planned to interrupt him. To tell him not to make oaths he wasn’t certain he could keep, knowing that he may very well change his mind about you once he realizes who you are—that you’re not technically a Strong. But, before you can, another voice intervenes.

“Princess!” Ser Lorent calls out, exasperated, as he walks through the gate. “We must hurry, princess,” he continues, pausing only to give a wary glance at Benji’s hands wrapped around your wrist. “We’re late.”

Your pulse begins to pound, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins at being exposed as a liar by Ser Lorent.

Benji’s face goes blank—then his eyes go wide, big as saucers as you snag your wrist from his grip.

“Princess...” He utters, voice laden with disbelief. “Princess?!”

You can hardly bring yourself to do anything other than grin stupidly at him, nearly stumbling over yourself as you back-up to where Ser Lorent is waiting impatiently.

“It was lovely meeting you, Benji!”

You hope he can hear just how genuine your words are.

“I’ll see you in the Great Hall,” you call out over your shoulder, sparing him one last glance as Ser Lorent guides you to the gate, watching as he blinks in astonishment, still processing the revelation.

Walking back towards the inner-castle, Ser Lorent glances down at you with a knowing look. “You seem giddy.” There’s a teasing glint to his words that makes you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. “So,” he continues, his brisk pace never faltering, “does this mean that your statement from lunch no longer stands? That, perhaps, this sweltering purgatory may yet grow on you?”

You bite your cheek, a permanent grin still etched onto your face.

“Let’s just say that I’ve decided it’s best to keep my options open, Ser Lorent.”

a/n - you may ask yourself: lainie, why would you refer to him as mostly BEN in the last fic and BENJI in this one??

and the answer? I have not ONE clue. my brain is rotting and benji is cute.

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one! feel like I got to explore more of his personality here. additionally, I need HBO to know that if this boy ends up not being benjicot blackwood then I'm gonna fucking riot

benjicot blackwood tag list - @a-song-for-ages @ghostinvenus

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sundew199 · 3 months ago

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Commander, please

a/n: don't look at me if this ooc, 🫣 (also he has both arms in this cause I said so)

tags: erwin smith x f!reader, edging, orgasm denial, oral f!recieving, fingering

kinktober day seven: edging/orgasm denial for @alt-er-love-requiem

!!minors, dni!!

"Ironic that you're resorting to begging, this was your idea after all."

A thump from your head falling back on the desk mingled with the man's deep laughter above you. His comically large hand caressing between your legs, tapping his middle finger at your entrance while pressing the heel of his palm in your clit. Granted yes, this was your idea, but it wasn't suppose to go on for this long. You were shaking, looking possessed on top of the Survey Corps commander's desk as he took his sweet, sweet time teasing and ultimately robbing you of an orgasm.

"Yes but - I want to cum." Lifting your head back up and pleading with him with face and voice, realizing that he was enjoying this far too much for it to end now.

"I'm sure you do, but tell me soldier, where is the fun in that?" Remarking with a curl of his lips, a single thick digit pushing its way back into your soaked cunt, unmoving once it was inside you entirely. You clenched and raised your hips to try and gain a sliver of friction, needing something more than the tiny stretch around him.

Not liking your reaction, Erwin used his other hand to hold you down at the hip, leaning over your partially naked body with his fully clothed one, the glint of dominance and mischief flashing across the icy irises looking down at you. He hummed low in his throat, wetting his bottom lip and brushing them along yours. It couldn't be helped the way your body shuttered or resisted against the strong hand holding you down, you were desperate for release, loosing track of time for how long this had been going on.

"Be good for me and I'll let you reap the rewards of your subordiance." Letting the breath from his lungs fan over your face, tilting his head to meet your lips in a distracting kiss as he slipped in a second finger. You whined, raising your arms in the air, tempted to pull at the manicured hair on his head, but jolting off the desk a little when he curled the two fingers upwards and scissored them.

All of your moans, whines and whimpers were being swallowed by the suffocating kiss, doing your best to not try and gain anymore than you were given. Luckily, it seemed he was giving some leeway with his motions, starting to drag them in and out of your tight overstimulated pussy instead of just resting them there. He was killing you slowly it felt, and all because you sauntered into his office with a devilish idea and unaware of the lengths this man would go to fulfill your desire and more.

It was too the point now that Erwin knew right when you were going to cum, even before you did, ripping his fingers out and standing up straight again. Your chest heaved, squeezing your eyes shut at the lack of him inside you, knowing if you continued to be good, he would give you what you want.

"Open." Came the low gravelly voice, popping open one eye to see the two fingers once inside you centimeters from your lips, glistening with arousal, shining in the sun peaking through the window directly behind the desk.

Slowly parting your lips, struggling to keep your lust heavy lids open, you took the fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean. Erwin gave a half smile, letting a groan barely escape his throat at the sight of you being so dutiful. Whether it be you were so out of it or on purpose, the slick smeared around your mouth and of course your commander was quick to clean it off with a kiss.

"Now," Taking his hand away and moving your feet to rest on the edge of his desk, bent at the knee and spreading yourself open for him. "Allow me to enjoy myself for a bit, alright darling."

Crouched down until he was face level with your cunt, looking up at you with an amused arch brow, hearing the airy laugh fan over your cunt that was crying for attention. Propping yourself up on your elbows to watch, even if that might've been the wrong move, you chewed on your bottom lip seeing the prominent nose inch closer and closer.

A pretty sigh filled the room once his mouth brushed across your slit, another tease from him and doing more to drive you insane. Erwin was enjoying himself too much, both of you knew that, but yet nothing kept you from stopping him. If you asked, he would, drop the little act he had going and hold the side of your face and ask how he could make it up to you. But instead you were back to moaning and crying out once he ran his tongue up from you entrance to your clit, carefully pulling at it with his teeth and soothing it with a kiss. Your chest was raised into the air, sucking down deep breaths between the whines of his name and the curling of your hands on the edge of the desk closest to you.

"Erwin, oh god Erwin."

Like symphony to his ear the way you moaned his name, how it sounded so perfect and natural rolling off your tongue, everything about you was perfect. Letting a purposeful hum vibrate on the flesh he buried himself in, Erwin ran his hands up your inner thighs, spreading them apart farther and smirking at the near pornographic view he was met with. Your poor swollen clit throbbed before him, begging for anything and he wasn't an evil man.

Sucking your clit into his mouth while still keeping his hold on your legs, Erwin flicked and swirled his tongue behind closed lips to drive you up the wall even more, if that were possible at this point. You cried out, shook in his palms and finally gave in to tangling your hand into the thick blonde hair, trying not to push his face into you. He grunted at the slight sting that came with you pulling on his roots, working his tongue faster over your clit and pushing you further and further into an orgasm, toying with weather or not he should actually let you cum this time or not.

"I'm close, please I don't know if I can-" Stumbling over your words seeing as he wasn't pulling away and you had not will or strength to hold back on an orgasm after being teased and edge for as long as you had.

Coming off with a filthy pop, Erwin moved to hover over you, shoving the same two fingers back inside you and fluttering them furiously. Your mouth fell agape and a hand gripped onto his bicep, digging your nails through his shirt and choking on the cries from the abrupt entrance into your cunt.

"Should I let you?" Asking with an almost stern look, lips pulled into a tight then line as his eyes flitted between his hand and your face.

"Yes please! Please! Please-" Sputtering through the sobs of overstimulation and hoping it were enough to end this maddening but pleasing indulgence. You couldn't think of any reason why he wouldn't let you, all you've done was submit to him like you were asked and let him have his fun.

"Please what?" Planting his feet firmer into the floor, scissoring and fluttering his fingers so fast the squelching of your juices were nearly enough to drown out the croak of an answer you were trying to give.

"Commander, please." Letting out such a sultry response it had the air catching in Erwin's throat, making him stiffen all over his body and give in to what you wanted.

Using the last of his drive to get you over the edge, he crouched back down between your legs and latched onto your clit. With both his mouth and fingers working between your legs, you barely managed to hold yourself up as the beginnings of your orgasm washed over you. All over you convulsed and twitched, quivering whines and moans replacing the empty sound in his office.

Ensuring to help you through the entirety of your orgasm, Erwin gradually slowed his fingers, pulled away from your clit and eventually removed his fingers from your aching entrance. He gave both you and himself a moment to come down from the adrenaline, pushing back the loose strands of hair that had fallen free and looked at you with a charming smile.

Little to no energy remained inside you, partially limp on his desk, shaking a little still but satisfied with that you think was the most intense, mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

Holding the side of your face, Erwin leaned in for a soft kiss, stealing the air from your lungs and keeping his mouth locked on yours. You managed to bring yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss back, chuckling into the kisses and pecking a few more small ones as he pulled away.

Helping you off of his desk and with your clothes, Erwin tried to return to being professional and not as if he had you begging on top of his desk moments ago. You came to stand beside him, pulling his face to kiss his cheek and laugh softly.

"Maybe if the commander has time to spare this evening, I can return the favor." Already walking away towards the door, looking over your shoulder with a familiar mischief in your expression. You didn't wait for an answer, his stiff and taken aback look was all you need to know what he was thinking and that he might indeed be paying you a visit once the day was over.

#erwin smith #erwin x reader #erwin x you #commander erwin #attack on titan smut #aot erwin #erwin smut #aot smut #snk erwin #snk smut #kinktober

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not-wholly-unheroic · 4 months ago

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I really love reading through your blog and came across the quote from Barrie about “No little children love me.”

And then I remembered from “Return to a Neverland” (Hook talking to Smee after catching Peter Pan): Look Smee. He’s nothing but a child. And I loathe children!

Then that got me thinking, yeah, Hook clearly isn’t fond of children. . . Until Jake comes along! TBH I haven’t actually seen the show but I’ve seen some stuff and omg it’s adorable; so I’m not sure how Jake got onto the island. Not really sure how Hook, or any other adult in the JatNP even got to the island either. I don’t even think Peter Pan really understands how Neverland works, so it’s always fun to guess.

Clearly, Peter brings lost children to Neverland (perhaps even before The Darling Children + the time they come from can vary as Neverland is just weird).

And as usual, an act that the crew are exhausted to their wits end, Hook practically follows a one track minded goal to capture Peter Pan and kill him to where, chances are, he won’t take notice of anything else. It isn’t until the crew gets back on the ship when someone goes “Hey! Where’d he come from?!”

Cue Jake, with a big smile as he’s happy to be onboard with his eyes fixated on Captain Hook. The child isn’t even scared as he steps forward to politely ask: Are you a pirate? I mean a really real pirate? You know, like BlackBeard and Mary Read and Calico Jack and all of the rest!

Jake goes on to talk about the stories he’s read about pirates and is curious if Hook really is a real pirate like them or just someone pretending to be pirate. Heh, might as well humor the twerp, Hook confirms that he is a really real pirate with plenty of proof from the Golden Age of Piracy. Now that’s when Jake gets really excited that he is meeting a genuine Golden Age pirate! And cue the never-ending gosh darn questions that leave Hook, Smee, and the entire crew mentally exhausted after seven hours (Jake is to Hook as Tim is to Dr. Alan Grant). It’s right on that spot that Jake decides he doesn’t want to be a Lost Boy! He wants to be a pirate! A really real pirate just like Captain Hook!

Hook: Ugh lousy little pest.

Also Hook: I've only had Jake for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

What Hook wasn’t expecting is that Jake was actually serious! Now it’s not just Peter Pan to deal with, it’s Jake and his friends who call themselves “The Neverland Pirates” that put Hook’s own crew to shame since these toddlers are really good at piracy! And yet, Hook also finds this to be entertaining. . . Oh fine, what’s the harm in playing along? Besides, someone’s gotta teach the lad on how to be a professional pirate.

Little did James know of how much of an impact he would leave in Jake’s future.

Do you have head canons about Captain Hook and Jake?

Oh, man if you are a fan of Disney Hook, I HIGHLY recommend watching the entire show if you can. Yes, it’s sometimes a little overly silly because of the age group it’s geared toward and yes there are a few things I think they should have done differently (most notably how the show ended…) but AS A WHOLE it’s precious and I love it because Hook gets a lot more character development than you’d expect. He’s still a grump and a thief (He IS a pirate after all…) but we get to see him outside of his relationship with Peter, and that means we see a lot more facets of his personality. We see his insecurities, his friendships, and his more heroic moments and it’s SO GOOD.

We see how he reacts when he’s in love—which is just…so cute and exactly how I imagined it. He’s only charming and suave when he’s trying to manipulate people. He TRIES to be with Red Jessica but ends up getting tongue-tied and stumbling over his words and just…being super awkward and adorable.

We see that he CAN be selfless when people he genuinely cares about are in danger. He turns on the Legion of Pirate Villains when he realizes their plans would ultimately cause harm to people like his mother and Red Jessica. He also is willing to step aside (albeit rather heartbroken) when he is under the impression that she’s in love with someone else.

We see that although he doesn’t always treat Smee well, he DOES actually care about him as a friend when it comes down to it. And Smee tries SO HARD to cheer him up when he’s struggling, going so far as to get the kids’ help in hiding a treasure specifically for Hook to find. And the kids DO IT. Like these kids are actually NICE to Hook and go out of their way to HELP HIM on more than one occasion.

We see his relationship with his mom, which is…a little complicated. He loves her, that much is clear. And she loves him. But she can also be a bit…overbearing? And it seems like he’s always a bit concerned he isn’t living up to her standards.

The whole thing is just…so good at showing how complex he is, and it makes me incredibly happy that the creators of the show recognized that.

As to your point about Hook actually being rather fond of Jake and asking about my personal headcanons regarding the show made me think about another post awhile back…

#captain hook #captain hook disney #disney peter pan #disney #disney villains #peter pan #jake and the neverland pirates #asks #headcanons

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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Three Musketeers + Lemon head + Eddie

Love, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Exes-to-lovers/Mom!Reader/Eddie Munson

My birthday gift to you, my love. Thank you for being my best friend, my soulmate, my other half. I can't believe we haven't even known each other for a full year. I love you more than Max loves Steve's chest hair.

Warnings: marital strife and separation (it ends well, I promise!)

WC: 840

Divider credit to @saradika

Your fingers hover tentatively over the phone’s number pad, the receiver heavy in your palm.

Do it for Harmony, you silently will yourself; as if on cue, your six-year-old daughter tugs on your sleeve impatiently.

“Mommy, just call him!” she huffs, hands on her hips in a display of attitude. Six going on sixteen, you think. “I want him to see my costume!” She gives a little twirl as her tulle skirt fans out around her.

“Okay, Cinderella,” you relent with a laugh dialing the seven numbers that you hated to commit to memory. Because it means that Eddie is still living there, and not here.

Here is the home you’d bought together, pooling all your savings together to afford a two-bedroom house just outside of Hawkins. There is the apartment he’d been renting since you two had agreed on a trial separation four months ago.

It’s not that you didn’t love him; besides Harmony, you loved him more than anything in the world. But there had been too many evenings where he came home far later than promised, too many date nights canceled in favor of last-minute gigs at the Hideout, too many mornings that he’d scrambled to work without even offering you a kiss goodbye. At some point, your spark had fizzled out, and you didn’t have the energy to rekindle it.

He picks up on the second ring with a soft, “Hello?”

“Hey, ba—Eddie, it’s me.” You catch yourself just before you can utter the pet name.

“Is Harmony okay? Are you okay?” There’s an urgency in his voice that tugs at your heartstrings.

“We’re fine,” you hurriedly assure him, hearing a sigh of relief from his end of the line. “She just picked out her costume and wants to show you, if you’re free.”

His eager promise to be right over forms a pit in your stomach. You know he’ll show; he wouldn’t get his daughter’s hopes up for nothing. The problem is you: seeing him makes you miss him more, and you don’t want to want him. Not if the feeling isn’t mutual.

Sure enough, he’s at the house in fifteen minutes flat, leaning up against the frame when you open the door. “Hi.” One breathy word from his mouth already leaves you in shambles. His brown eyes flick from your lips upwards.

“Hi.” You stand, motionless, for a beat too long. “Oh, um, come in.” It’s strange and sad to have to grant him permission to enter, and while you appreciate him respecting that boundary, you almost wish he didn’t.

Harmony eases the tension, flinging herself into her father’s arms with an excited, “Daddy! I’m Cinderella!” She giggles as he peppers her face with kisses and hugs her tight. “Can you be Prince Charming? No, wait,” she scrunches her nose, “if you’re Prince Charming, then Mommy has to be Cinderella.”

You clear your throat, eager to change the subject. “Okay, Princess, go change into your pajamas and get ready for bed.”

She pouts but obeys, turning towards the staircase before swiveling around again. “Can we watch a movie?” Her hopeful eyes shine bright. “Like we used to do before Daddy moved away?”

Your heart tears in two, and you look over at Eddie. He gives an approving smile, but the time on the microwave clock requires an altered plan. “How about one episode of The PowerPuff Girls?” you suggest.

That satisfies her, and she flounces upstairs to her room.

Eddie sighs, walking over to you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Whatever happens with us, we made the cutest kid in the world.” He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it before any words can escape.

Curiosity tugs at you, urging you to ask him what’s on his mind, but you shove it down and press on. “We really did,” you manage, biting your lower lip. “Are…when can we talk about what’s happening with us? What the next steps are?”

“It all depends on what you want, babe.” The nickname slips out unintended, but he doesn’t take it back. “I just know that I miss you, miss us…” He rakes his fingers through his hair, fighting the desire to wrap you in a hug. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was a shitty husband, and I promise I’ll do better if I can get one more chance.”

Your voice is small when you ask, “do you still love me?”

He doesn’t reply with words initially; his lips crash onto yours hungrily while his hand presses against the small of your back. “I love you more than I can ever explain.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out his wedding ring. “I, um, brought this…in case you want me to wear it again?” It’s a question, an inflection at the end.

You nod, taking it from him and sliding it on his fourth finger, just as you did on your wedding day. “I do,” you laugh. “Are you ready to honeymoon with Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup?”

“I couldn’t dream of anything better.”

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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katyspersonal · 9 months ago

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If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog!

Oh, nice chain! Alright, let's see!

1) I work at the post office! With customers, not as a postman! I am a little snarky but competent and super serious. Many customers that want to get into my window specifically. o_o" This is kind of time-consuming and not very rewarding, but it is really hard to find a better job in where I live. You know, the whole thing where companies only pretend to be hiring people and every interview is by default declined because they're content overworking their 2 workers doing work of 10 people? xD Fun thing: this is the THIRD time I am back at this workplace! Because they also keep trying to lessen their staff number to save money on salaries, but every time their business starts collapsing and they end up hiring again. They NEVER learn :/

(Lmao ffs I should just make this goddamn image my blog banner if this is the only punchline I know of 💀💀💀)

2) I bought PS4 specifically to be able to play Bloodb0rne! As good as I've gotten with lore and headcanons despite only "experiencing" the game via wikias and playthroughs, I NEEDED to lay my hands on it because asking all three of my friends for this or that screenshot became bothersome!

Bought it for half-price from a gamer that got PS5 and no longer needed PS4. Well.. Back then I could not have had an idea I'd end up getting into entire series, so now I know DeS is not accessible for me. Not sure if I can repeat this maneuver; not only PS5 costs more than I do myself, but also saving became impossible in where I live since then!

3) I've learned English 80% thanks to ask-blogging and RPing online! In fact, because of how much I am using English, at this point I am thinking on English more often than on my native language. I was pretty great in school English classes (best, actually), but the real turning point was having to go to English-speaking spaces for fandomry and RPing. I've just never found my place in Russian speaking fandoms, being a raging autist obsessed with every single canon detail is not common in them and makes people look at you like a looser that doesn't have """real""" life or """real""" hobbies if they act like this. :p So, when as a teen (16) I saw how much fun English-speaking fans had with fandoms here on Tumblr, I just HAD to try and level my English to be able to interact.

Granted, it is debatable whether local fandoms actually were never great, or it was my OWN bad luck of running into boring superfical level fans.. but I am glad that I've put my activity as a fan in this cursed hellsite, and ended up speaking English so fluently that many people are surprised it isn't my native one. xD

#ask replies #personal #shitposting #sorry for the memes it will happen again

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bg12sofia · 2 months ago

Text

Day 30: Free Choice Day

Since today is the Free Choice Day and From Zero release day, I'd like to go off the rules here and leave a few words, 30 days of challenge, one Linkin Park show and one listening party later:

This is our second chance.

Linkin Park has been all about second chances for a while now, even if not directly initially. It's not the first time I mention Hybrid Theory the Portuguese tribute and it probably it won't be the last. They changed my life, got me a community, a family even among their fans. They were my second chance. A second chance to hear Linkin Park music on a concert setting, at a time when the OG band wasn't playing. Also, as someone who barely made and kept friends for the previous almost twenty years, they were my second chance to learn how to make them again, as an insecure thirty-something.

I know Hybrid Theory also represented a second chance for other people. For the members themselves, I'm pretty sure it was a second chance for making a living in music, after a few failed attempts. Also for other HT fans. The band gave a few forty-somethings or fifty-somethings a chance to go out, to have fun at shows, meet people, be young again. For two friends of mine, a married couple, the band gave them opportunities to do more stuff together as a couple, after the birth of their son. And I know of at least one couple that met through Hybrid Theory.

And now Linkin Park themselves are getting their second chance. A chance to create and put out music, to play shows, to be a band again. Emily is getting a second go at music, a second band, at 38. Many fans who didn't get to see Linkin Park live before Chester died, but now the band is back on the road and those fans have new chances. And I'm getting a second chance to see my favorite band being a band again – when there were times over the last seven years where I thought it would never happen again. No wonder Mike hasn't stopped grinning for the last two months.

Not that I've fully moved on from Chester. I'll never forget him, no one will, and it still hurts that he isn't there. In fact, he's the only one who didn't get his second chance and it's not fair. However, Linkin Park is his legacy and it lives on. I know he's happy for Mike and the rest of the band, I know he's proud of us and of how much Linkin Park does for all of us.

Ever since Linkin Park came back, fans have been talking about feeling like teenagers again, when they first met the band and Linkin Park was their entire world. I'd be lying if I said I haven't felt eighteen, twenty-two, twenty-three again. But those versions of me hadn't lost as much as I have. They hadn't seen Mike barely keeping it together during a tribute concert for his best friend. They hadn't cried themselves to sleep thinking how Chester and Mike wouldn't share a stage again. They hadn't been to a Hybrid Theory show and felt terribly guilty for enjoying live Linkin Park music sans Linkin Park, wondering if Mike and the others knew how Linkin Park music still brought people together, even if they weren't playing it themselves. Hell, those versions of me hadn't really understood properly half of Linkin Park lyrics.

Present me has been through it all, though. Present me knows how much she owes Linkin Park. She knows how bless she is to have her favorite band back and she won't ever take Linkin Park for granted again. And, if everything goes well, we get to keep them for the rest of our lives (even if they take a few years off here and there).

Thank you for this challenge, this was a lot of fun. Happy From Zero release day! I'll leave you with Two Faced because I can't get over how dorky these guys are on this video. Here's to Linkin Park!

youtube

30 Days of Linkin Park Challenge

In light of my favorite band's epic reunion, I’d like to start a challenge. 1 day = 1 post.

Inspired by this music challenge

I would love to see other LP fans joining! Let's fill the tag with something wholesome as we are waiting for the new album Nov 15.

Day 1: A song that was your introduction to Linkin Park

Day 2: A favorite Linkin Park song that needs to be played LOUD

Day 3: A song that feels overlooked/underrated by Linkin Park fans

Day 4: A favorite Linkin Park music video

Day 5: A Linkin Park song that hasn’t got a music video but you wish it had

Day 6: A Linkin Park song that makes you happy

Day 7: A Linkin Park song that makes you sad

Day 8: A Linkin Park song that makes you want to dance

Day 9: A Linkin Park song you know all the lyrics to

Day 10: A Linkin Park song that you think everybody should listen to, even if they're not into rock

Day 11: A Linkin Park song that you never get tired of

Day 12: A Linkin Park song that you’ve listened to lots of times recently

Day 13: A favorite cover of a Linkin Park song

Day 14: A favorite live performance of a Linkin Park song

Day 15: A favorite heavy Linkin Park song

Day 16: A favorite Linkin Park song with rapping

Day 17: A favorite ballad or/and acoustic version of a Linkin Park song

Day 18: A favorite remix from Reanimation

Day 19: A favorite song with Chester singing

Day 20: A favorite song with Mike singing

Day 21: A favorite song with Emily singing

Day 22: A favorite Linkin Park song that isn't part of the main discography

Day 23: A favorite Linkin Park song with a featured musician/vocalist

Day 24: A favorite Linkin Park song from a soundtrack

Day 25: A Linkin Park song with the most beautiful/poetic lyrics

Day 26: A Linkin Park song with the most powerful message

Day 27: A Linkin Park song that reminds you of yourself

Day 28: A Linkin Park song that reminds you of a loved one

Day 29: A Linkin Park song that you love, but rarely listen to

Day 30: Free Choice Day

#30 days of linkin park #linkin park #day 30 #two faced #yeah I kinda poured my heart here #Youtube #Happy From Zero release day!

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 3 years ago

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Okay please tell me about this animorphs stuff because it seems like a WILD ride

Animorphs is an extremely moody and morose series of serialized mid-grade novels from the late 1990s (opinions vary on whether or not it's moody and morose enough to count as grimdark). They were everywhere when I was a little kid; you'd walk into an elementary school classroom at the beginning of the school year and there'd be six or seven Animorphs books already lying around, as if they'd spawned from the walls and floor or something. Unfortunately, they were produced in a very disposable, one-and-done way, and they're now out of print and semi-difficult to find as hard copies; for that reason, the author, K.A. Applegate, has explicitly advised fans to just pirate them. I've been finding a lot of them at public libraries instead, though, because I greatly prefer hard-copy reading when at all possible.

Applegate was a Midwestern housewife who co-developed and co-wrote the bulk of the series with her husband, Michael Grant. In addition to Grant, the later half of the series employed a bunch of other ghostwriters as well, although Applegate retained creative control and regularly vetoed what the ghostwriters were doing.

The premise of the books is that a group of five ordinary-ish teenagers stumble upon a crashed alien ("Andalite") spaceship and are given the ability to "morph" into different animals, subject to a two-hour time limit. They use this power to fight a guerrilla war against another alien species, the Yeerks, who are little grey slug-like creatures who take up residence in the brains of larger species and override their free will. For the bulk of the series none of them is sure who in their own families is and isn't a Yeerk; they know for a fact that at least two of their loved ones are. There's an atmosphere of paranoia that leads to increasingly toxic codependency as the Animorphs slowly lose the ability to trust, take any interest in, or care about non-Animorphs, although they do keep fighting for humanity as a whole.

The Animorphs are:

Jake. The leader of the group. "A dumb jock trying to play General Eisenhower." Likes basketball and the Offspring (which he just refers to as "Offspring" for some reason). From a secular Jewish family, although not completely secular since they light Sabbath candles. His brother, Tom, is known to be a Yeerk.

Rachel. Jake's cousin. A skinny blonde shopaholic and semi-serious hobbyist gymnast who develops worse and worse rage issues as the series goes on. Is she a brave soldier for humanity, or a violent maniac who gloms on to a good cause so she can avoid confronting the darkness within her? Neither; she's explicitly, textually both! She's my favorite.

Marco. Jake's best friend. A typical "funny" late 90s/early 2000s teenage boy with all the tastes and interests we generally associate with that--video games, South Park, Howard Stern. All that's missing is Family Guy. Of ambiguous sexuality and appears to be in love with Jake. Able to suddenly get incredibly serious, even ruthless, when he has to. His mother, Eva, is not only a Yeerk but an incredibly important and high-ranking one. Eva is Mexican Catholic but Marco doesn't appear to be religious.

Cassie. Rachel's best friend and Jake's love interest. From a middle-class black family that lives in a big farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Both of her parents are vets; her dad runs a wildlife rescue clinic and her mom works at a shitty for-profit zoo. The idealistic pacifist of the group, although she's a "kill 'em and then cry over 'em" pacifist and gets regularly dragged for this in-universe. Appears to be Catholic and at least semi-serious about it.

Tobias. Rachel's love interest. A mopey bully magnet with an unbelievably toxic and chaotic home life who accidentally-on-purpose gets stuck in morph as a red-tailed hawk in the first book and retains that as his default body for the rest of the series even once he regains morphing ability thirteen books in. A dreamer who's able to use his own ambivalent identity to build bridges between all sorts of different groups, but also has almost as much of a killer instinct as his girlfriend and occasionally makes calls that are even more coldhearted than Marco's.

A few books in they're joined by Aximili, an Andalite cadet trapped on Earth whose storylines alternate between goofy fish-out-of-water comedy and dark military psychodrama. For this reason, it's difficult for both the other characters and the reader to understand how they're expected to react or respond to Ax. Ax is technically Tobias's uncle since we find out Tobias's missing dad was an Andalite who became stuck in morph as a human.

As the books go on the morality is complicated significantly; the Animorphs resort to more and more repugnant tactics, and we find out that although the Yeerks' government and military brass are pure evil, a lot of individual Yeerks are just folks who've been dealt a crummy hand by evolution and have fallen for propaganda that they're justified in overriding other species' free will to "solve" this. There are Yeerks who believe it's wrong to take unwilling hosts, and Yeerks who wish they could find a middle way between being conquering slavemasters and "slugs beneath the Andalite hooves". Unfortunately, not many plotlines focus on them.

So that's Animorphs.

#animorphs #lilaccatholic

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imagine-that-one-thing · 3 years ago

Text

Tour and a Melody.

The long-distance calls and facetime at ungodly hours are the new consistency while Harry is again on the road. It's painful. The bedsheets are cold and bare; the coffee doesn't taste the same without him drinking it beside you every morning, and you're not used to sleeping alone. But, on the other hand, two years of having him to yourself have spoiled you. You got used to the morning coffees, having him home every day to lock the doors at night. You got used to not having to share him with the world as you had for most of your relationship with him.

Now, with him being back on the road, you're back to sharing him with the world and his fans. It is bittersweet having to share him, you love the fact he gets to do what he cherishes, but you despise not being there with him for it all. So, for the first few weeks, you have watched the concerts on live streams, you have eagerly waited for the outfit choices. Finally, you have resorted to being a fangirl, anxiously waiting for the live streams while curled up in bed, surrounded by pillows in an attempt not to miss the warmth of his presence.

You haul your suitcase behind you along the warm concrete, a heavy bag strapped over your shoulder, your other arm bouncing your seven-month-old on your hip, who is five minutes from throwing a tantrum for not being able to crawl around and explore. You didn't have time to stop by the hotel, determined to make it to the concert before Harry was to go on stage. "Jus' a little further," you whisper, the venue insight as you weave in and out of tour buses, security walking their way to you as you struggle. "I'm meeting Jeff," You instantly inform them. You have been down this road with security so many times. You're the wife that always ends up having to prove her identity because she never gets a backstage pass beforehand. It is hard to get a backstage pass when you show up without warning to surprise your husband. "If you call Jeff, he will confirm who I am. My hands are full, and my phone is somewhere in one of my bags."

"Ma'am," the man looks you up and down, frowning as he thinks for a moment.

"I don't think a fan trying to get backstage would be holding a baby and a suitcase," You smile, gesturing towards your daughter. "I am Harry's wife. I am just trying to find Jeff."

The security guard again scans you up and down before shaking his head, leaning towards his radio, "I have another girl claiming to be Harry's wife. Someone come and claim her. This one has a baby."

You chuckle to yourself and shake your head. When you made your comments, you had no idea Someone had tried to use you as a way to get backstage. "I've got her; she's with me," Jeff calls out as the heavy steel door closes behind him, "Don't arrest this one. This one is his wife," Jeff continues as he hurries closer.

You blink at Jeff, confused as to what the hell you have missed on this tour. "I don't think I even want to know," You mutter to yourself as Jeff takes your suitcase and the duffle bag hanging over your shoulder. "Thank you," you breathe a sigh of relief, grateful the weight of the bag is lifted off of you.

Jeff leads you into the arena, wandering in and out of complex passages, the crowd echoing through the walls' with every step you take. It's getting closer and closer to the time he has to stroll on stage, to the time where he gives the crowd his full attention for the next hour and a half, singing and dancing until his heart's content.

The moment you reach backstage, the vibration of the crowd gets louder, and you sigh. "I'm sorry, we tried to stall as long as we could," one of the members from Harry's team informs you.

You grant him a meagre smile and nod your head, disappointed as you bounce your little girl on your hip, exhausted from the flights. "You can watch from the floor. It's safe," the member gestures towards the narrow path that'll lead to the floor where the stage is.

You shake your head, "I have Melody," you gesture towards your daughter as you bounce her, attempting to resist her urge of aspiring to crawl across the floor. "I can't take her out there. She's already fussy, it's loud, and I don't know how she'll handle it, even if we put earmuffs on her." You respond, glimpsing towards the bag Jeff took off your shoulder as it rests on a chair. "It's not the end of the world. I'll see him in a little bit," you continue, aspiring to discover the positive in the slight hiccup.

Three and a half weeks, that is how long it has been since you have seen him in person. That is a long time not to be able to hug or kiss your husband. And an even longer time for him not to hold his pride and joy in his arms, melody. You take a blanket out of the bag and place it down on the floor before placing Melody down, enabling her the floor time she has been fussing over.

***

The curtain backstage moves, and you gaze up to notice Harry, appearing in a hurry, but he stops the moment he recognises you, "Baby, hey!" He greets, bustling towards you with a broad smile and bright eyes, sweat pouring down his face.

"Hey, aren't you meant to be on stage?" You question, your eyes glancing to your watch.

Harry hums, taking Melody from your arms and holding her in front of him, "Hi, my darling, oh I have missed you," he coos, planting a sweet kiss to her lips before bringing her to rest on his hip. "Bathroom break."

You chuckle and shake your head, "You're worse than me."

"Ay, I have to keep drinking; it's bloody hot on stage," Harry responds, "Gonna let me kiss you or are you going to banter with me?" Harry grins, leaning forward and kissing you sweetly.

"Mmm, I have missed you," you breathe out, grinning against his lips.

"I have missed you both."

"You have to get back on stage," you flick your head towards the curtain that leads to the walkway to the stage. "I'll try to keep her awake for you," You assure Harry, regarding the way he's holding his little girl with no desire to hand her back.

You can tell that he has missed his cuddles with her and lulling her to sleep. He misses the nights of softly singing to her and giving her a bottle. Although he doesn't necessarily miss not sleeping, he misses his family more than anything. This is the part of touring he despises, the distance.

Harry sighs and nods his head, "Daddy will be back for his cuddles." Harry whispers, handing Melody back to you and kissing your forehead, "I love you," he presses before he's being hurried back to his stage to perform.

"Ah, I'm sorry about that bathroom break," Harry announces to his fans, "My wife and little girl surprised me, and I couldn't help myself but sneak in a cuddle when I saw them. But, I promise for the next forty-five minutes, you'll get my undivided attention."

***

You had attempted your best to wait backstage for him, so he could run off the stage and wrap his arms around his little girl and shower her with kisses, but you couldn't stay back there. It was getting loud and chaotic, to the point even you were getting anxious.

You stand outside near the tour buses, doing everything possible to keep Melody calm, you have tried milk, you have attempted bouncing her, you have tried using her toys, nothing is working, nothing will lull her to sleep for more than a minute. Perhaps it's the new scenery and the travelling that has launched her over the edge, or maybe it's the fact that she's tired of only your company. You're unsure of which one it is, but you're at your wits ends yourself.

The last few weeks haven't been easy at all. They have been chaos.

"Geez, can hear her cries from inside," Harry's voice distracts you as the steel door closes behind him and shuffles closer to you with two guards behind him. He's clothed in a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt, a loose curl falling down his forehead from the lack of hairspray, and he's wearing his adoring smile. "What's the matter? Come 'ere sweet angel," Harry coos, taking her from your arm, commencing to sway with her from side to side, "Louder than my fans, you are," Harry jokes, attempting to wipe away her tears. "Was worried when I didn't see you backstage." Harry gazes towards you.

"Been trying to calm her down. I thought coming out here would help soothe her." You sigh, overwhelmed and disheartened with everything.

Harry pouts as he stares at his little girl, "Being fussy is only cute when it's you're Daddy," Harry jokes, striving to make you laugh. "Relax, Y/N, it's all okay," Harry gives you a petite smile. "You're stressed. What's going through your mind?"

You shake your head, too exhausted even to release your thoughts and emotions. "Darling," Harry presses, leaning forward and kissing your forehead; before stepping back, he places his finger inside Melody's mouth, benevolently massaging her gums. "I'd say we have a few minutes before this remedy stops working."

You nod your head, "Her teething is going to be the death of me."… "It has been a struggle," you confess, watching as Harry's eyes soften on yours.

You don't want to make him feel guilty or to end his tour by any means. You love the fact he's doing his job, but you can't hide the fact it has been torturous doing life without him. But, of course, it's a lot harder to do this when you have a baby than when you're married.

Before Harry can respond, you're both interrupted by security, "You need to get on the bus, we are getting ready to leave, and fans are starting to spot the three of you," the man gestures towards the few fans standing at the fence.

"Do you have everything?" Harry challenges, "Where are your bags?"

"Jeff took the suitcase, and this is all I have," you gesture towards the duffle bag at your feet, clutching the strap with your hand and drawing it over your shoulder.

Harry nods his head towards the bus, and you both walk towards it, waving graciously to the few fans before security opens the door. "Please dim the lights," Harry reasonably requests as you climb the few steps and walk into the bus, Harry right behind you.

The bus hasn't changed much. It's coarse-featured and adorned with candles and pillows, the only new edition being the fact Harry belatedly put in a television. For years you urged him for a television on the bus. He never really felt the need for it. The man could survive without television and his phone. He's so detached that it isn't funny. Although, to be honest, if it weren't for his concern for you and his family in Cheshire, he wouldn't carry his phone with him. He has no need for it besides being able to contact a few people.

He settles down on the closest part of the large couch, ensuring not to disturb his daughter, who has quietened down for the first time in the last hour. "You alright?" You question, noticing his discomfort.

"I am not that you two are here."

"No, seriously, are you okay?" You press, aware that he attempts to conceal things just like you do. He doesn't like people to worry or fuss about him.

Harry nods his head, "Jus' a bit tired and sore."

"Sore? Did your clumsy self fall again?" You try to suppress the grin on your face, "I've been telling you to get a cordless mic."

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, "You're funny. My back has been bothering me for a few nights, I went for a run like I usually do the other morning, and it has been downhill from there."

"Getting old, Styles?"

Harry nods his head, "I am," he agrees, his eyes flicking towards the bus doors as they open.

Jeff unobtrusively walks in and leans on the doorframe as you take a seat opposite Harry. "We're about to start moving. We have a nine-hour drive, so get comfy. We're on the bus for three days, but when we do reach a hotel, I have made sure it's baby-friendly, you'll have all that you need for Melody," Jeff informs the two of you, glancing down at his phone. "Unless there's anything I need to know, I'll leave you two alone."

"Uh, I have a strange request," Harry grabs Jeff's attention, stopping him from walking out.

"And so the diva requests begin," Jeff laughs, undividedly kidding. It is sporadic for Harry to ask for anything. He is very low maintenance. His outfits may be over the top and high maintenance, but he is not. "What is it?"

"We're going to need to stop by a grocery store."

"A grocery store?" Jeff raises a brow, "We have everything you like to eat stocked on the bus." Jeff motions towards the back of the tour bus with a fully stocked mini-fridge and cabinets with all sorts of healthy snacks, with a few sweets, stashed away.

Harry nods his head, "Yes, I am very thankful. But we have about fifteen minutes before she starts screaming bloody murder again. We need to stop so we can get her some stuff to soothe her. My finger and a wet cloth will only last so long," Harry informs Jeff, "It'll take me two minutes to run in and buy a teething ring and some fruits and veggies for her to chew on." Harry continues, gesturing towards his little girl.

"They wouldn't let me keep her teething ring at the airport, made me throw it out," you inform Jeff, "They were pricks at the airport."

"I'll tell the driver," Jeff agrees, "Anything else?"

Harry shakes his head, "No, thank you," Harry responds, and Jeff steps off the bus. Harry stares down at his price and joy, his grin widening and his eyes softening. "No more fussing, baby," Harry whispers, still massaging her gums, allowing her to chew on his finger, "I see you getting sleepy; it's okay to close your eyes. Daddy's not going anywhere," Harry whispers, leaning down and kissing the top of her head, unable to stop himself from smiling as he looks down at her.

Harry takes in a sharp breath and swallows hard, refusing to take his eyes off his little girl, "Harry," you sigh, getting up and sitting beside him.

"I'm fine," he's swift to assure you, "She's my priority; poor baby has to be feeling terrible."

"Mhm," you hum, "And what about you?" You question, caressing your hand to his back, beginning to rub it in soothing circles.

"Did you know—"

"I don't want to hear a fact about the state we are in," you cut him off, aware that he's going to divert the conversation, equally aware he's full of random facts he chooses to tell his fans during his shows. It is his new thing.

"Ouch, tough crowd," Harry chuckles, "Jus' a bit of pain, nothing I haven't felt before."

"Your pain tolerance is remarkable," You comment, "It would make me feel better if you took it easy."

"Ah, but taking it easy doesn't pay the bills."

You nod your head, "Indeed, but I think your daughter would like to see you walking when she's old enough to walk, so take care of yourself," You respond, laying down beside him, your eyes casted on his back.

He could sit in his position for hours if it meant his little girl would be comfortable. By the way he is leaning forward slightly, you can tell that he is far from comfortable, but he is too selfless to move. "Ye' spoiling her," you sigh, your eyes moving to look up at the ceiling of the bus.

"I'd never," Harry chuckles, well aware that he spoils his little girl and would do anything for her. She has had him wrapped around her finger from the moment he found out you were pregnant with her. "Y/N?"

"Mhm?" you hum, sitting up and pressing your hand to his back before leaning closer and kissing his cheek.

Harry clears his throat, "I hate to ask, but would you-" Harry begins. Before he can finish his sentence, you begin to rub his back in soothing circles. "Think I'm the spoilt one."

You chuckle, "Such a spoilt popstar."

"Not a pop star," Harry shakes his head, "Jus' a husband and a Dad."

"And a bloody good one," You assure him, "So what's this about you having multiple wives?"

"Excuse me?"

"You have multiple wives that security has to send away," You inform him, remembering the earlier incident with security.

Harry laughs and shakes his head, "Someone said that they were you, and when I went to get you, I immediately noticed that the woman in front of me was not my wife."

"That's your story, and you're sticking to it, huh?" You gently tease him, continuing to rub his back.

"I can barely keep up with the wife I have. I couldn't handle two," Harry responds, his eyes flicking down at Melody, her whimpers beginning to start, "Oh... No crying," Harry stands to his feet, starting to rock her in his arms while standing. "Shh, I know, I know," Harry whispers, beginning to wander up and down the aisle of the tour bus in an attempt to keep her calm.

Harry paces for thirty minutes, humming, singing, dancing, doing everything possible to help soothe her and keep her peaceful, but the more he tries, the louder her cries get. Finally, Harry sighs and makes his way to the driver, aware that the man can hear his daughter wailing. "I am so sorry," Harry begins, "I hate to be that person, but I need to stop at the closest store." Harry once again asks, apologising profoundly to the driver who has heard the crying.

Harry steps towards you, "I have no clue how you did this on your own."

You lift your shoulders into a shrug, "I drink wine once she is soothed and asleep," you respond, giving Harry Melody's blanket for him to wrap her up in. "Spraying your cologne used to help get her to sleep for the first week," You admit, watching him smile at the idea of you spraying his cologne. "Take your shirt off and try skin to skin. It might give us a few more minutes until we can get a teething ring," you suggest, gingerly placing your hands to lift her from him. Harry nods his head and takes his t-shirt off, taking Melody back into his arms and holding her against his chest, placing her blanket over her.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #imagine harry styles #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #Imagine harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences #1d imagine

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sevsssnape · 3 years ago

Note

Mauruaders stans are the oddest fuckers put there. They straight up want to have code names like the mauruaders. And for what reason? Half of your gang doesn't live up to 22, those who do survive literally have 0 charecter development and quite literally only sound like gym teachers talking how they were the shit back in highschool (then again you can only talk about your past because your life deadass stops) .

Also they had like the unhealthiest dynamic of all time and that lack of communication led to their downfall. 90 % of mauruader content is fanon.

The reality is that they grew up with little to no pretense of a possible war and were sheltered by magic youth l guess. When they graduated, they had to choose sides because for some unknown reason there were little no no adults and they literally died (lmao).

But yeah tell me how being called ' insert colour and your fav plant', and kinning a dead charecter with 0 development, can literally help you cope with apparent continuous indie highschool musical lifestyle. (choices were made, certainly questionable ones)

Literally snape fans should be only trusted in granting development to jkr plot devices (the mauruaders) in a 'everybody lives/nobody dies au'. And I stand by that.

SORRY I TOTALLY FORGOT TO ACTUALLY RESPOND AND NOT IN MY HEAD

Half of your gang doesn't live up to 22, those who do survive literally have 0 charecter development and quite literally only sound like gym teachers talking how they were the shit back in highschool

this 💀💀

also in case of pettigrew the dude become a fucking death eater, brought back V O L D E M O R T to life. dude.

Also they had like the unhealthiest dynamic of all time

EXACTLY. like sirius accused lupin of joining voldy, lupin didn't bat a fucking eye when sirius was accused of MASS MURDER like it was totally believable for him that he'd do such thing. i mean? what tf does that say about these characters?

also pettigrew had SUCH low trust in them that literally went begging to voldy.

and that lack of communication led to their downfall

honestly i don't believe even communicating would've saved them at that point. they'd known each other for seven fucking years and how they'd gotten to know each other directly chose their decisions for them.

sirius thought lupin was a werewolf and since he'd been this loyal to dumbledore bc he gave him a chance and supported him through hogwarts, why wouldn't he go to voldy now, that was extra powerful and that would ACTUALLY support lupin bc of his dark heritage and stuff?

lupin had witnessed sirius giving zero shit about shit and attempting M U R D E R for FUN!! back when he was like sixteen, so why wouldn't it make sense that he'd actually go on and kill people when he's drunk on fury and grief?

and pettigrew, pettigrew knew them. knew they weren't men of war, just oversized spoiled pricks that would endanger anyone and anything for... literally nothing. for fucking fun. and this one wasn't just from when they were back in hogwarts,

porker and sirius went harassing people even when they were in the middle of war!!! and in HIDING!!

i mean now that i'm thinking pettigrew was the most sensible of them all. wow.

90 % of mauruader content is fanon

lol literally😭😭

When they graduated, they had to choose sides because for some unknown reason there were little no no adults and they literally died (lmao)

exactly :))

actually, this is either another plot hole on the terf bitch's side, or dumbledore had lost so much of his popularity throughout the years since the war with grindelwald, bc eg we know orion black, abraxas malfoy and so many others indirectly supported voldemort, and all their children from any age; lucius being in his late twenties, bellatrix in her fucking thirties, same for rodolphus, and so many more that were actual adults, then there were regulus, barty crouch and many other ones that had just graduated hogwarts. yet dumbledore only had a bunch of little gryffindorks. and contrary to the elders of the black family, malfoy family, lestranges and so many others, those like fleamont potter weren't even indirectly supporting the order.

literally the ONLY reason dumbledick won the war was bc of severus, and HOW i wish he hadn't changed sides. i can't believe him.

omg this💀💀💀💀

i really don't get why. like. why. wtf. how i hate stupid people.

granting development to jkr plot devices (the mauruaders) in a 'everybody lives/nobody dies au'

wjgkeflkwjhurgefkadwefad

#well put bestie well put #severus snape #Pro Snape #anti marauders #anti marauders stans

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features.

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…”

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still…

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it.

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.”

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.”

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone… No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh.

What a day.

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets.

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level.

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to.

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day.

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them.

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.”

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out.

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend.

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.”

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment.

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I really appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance.

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click.

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #naomasa tsukauchi

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labrador-beefcake · 3 years ago

Text

Alright, I think it's about time to get something off my chest.

I'm not alone in my head.

I don't know what happened a decade ago to bring out the first one, but there are other personalities, characters, people, spirits, whatever you want to call them, that cohabitate my brain. They have all found ways to interact with the world, and lately have been a lot more active. Right now, there are seven of us in total, and if you're interested in meeting them, here's a brief introduction:

BAILEY (she/they)

The host. Bailey is always around, able to grant or restrict access to the front. They are the one most of you have been interacting with this time. Generally a wholesome person with big cinnamon bun energy.

ANNE (she/her)

Anne was the first split. She is very confident and charismatic, but it can often be a facade to cover her sensitivity. She is a leader, a smooth-talker, and a bit of a scoundrel, but she does try to do what is best for those she loves.

BRYNJA (she/they)

Brynja is the fighter, the best at handling physical pain, and at pushing through uncomfortable situations. She is passionate in everything she does and is not shy about having feelings.

DOMINIC (he/him)

Dominic is a gentle soul, but devoutly protective. He has a strict code of honor, and is often seen as the "dad friend". He's good at manual labor and a splendid listener. He is also a much better orator than the others.

NAV (she/her)

Look, don't ask me how Gideon ended up in my brain. I'm aware it cannot be canonical, that it's technically a different Gideon, but she tend to be very active, especially when flirting or creative insults are required.

ADRIEN (he/him)

Adrien is the softest of souls, though he tries to be strong for those he loves. A big fan of oversized sweaters, working out, and strong female characters, he enjoys being bubbly and happy.

SIN (they/she)

Short for Róisin, they are still getting to know all of us, but I'm pretty sure they split off from both Brynja and Gideon. Half hick, half jock, they like to be the one to fix things, to provide for their chosen family, and to protect them at all costs. They are also the "doer" in our system, able to just...do a task without getting distracted. It's not fair xD

Anyway, I know plenty of people are going to assume it's just for clout. I don't know how it works, just that I hear them and I can sort of swap between them when I need to. Most of them pushed to be made into larp characters so they would be able to front, even for a while, but now with no larp events, I had to find ways to keep them engaged in other ways. Love you guys.

#cw mental health #confession time

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tsukkiboii · 4 years ago

Note

hi bby! i said i was gonna leave an ask and i meant that. can i ask for a tsukki, kenma or kuroo? maybe they about an argument and then they make-up? maybe they fought about fans flirting with them or video games or whatever! ill let you decide! love you ❤❤❤❤❤

my first request sjhjshshsj🥺🥺

bea bb thank you i love n appreciate you so much <3 i decided to go with kenma and arguing over a video game bc i vibed with it the most hehe, i hope you like it!! this fic is so much longer than i had intended it to be im sorry-

and i apologize that this took so long :( life has been really messy and all over the place :((

fights, tears, and make-ups

pairing: kenma kozume x reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: angst (but i honestly can’t tell if it’s super ansty-), fluff, hurt/comfort

synopsis: kenma shouldn’t have taken you for granted, but he did.

“Kenma, you need to eat dinner.”

“In a sec,” you heard the blond-haired boy reply from his gaming room, undoubtedly with his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Kenma. You haven’t eaten all day. You need to eat.”

Seconds pass with no response. With a sigh, you grabbed the bowl beside you and walked towards his room. Sliding open his door, you find him completely focused on the game. He’s pale, dark circles under his eyes drooping and anyone walking in would see he’s exhausted, needing rest, but he can’t. The only thing on his mind is that he has to pass this level.

Walking over gently, you place the bowl onto his table. Kenma jumps at the noise, not having known you were there, the motion making his screen character go a little too far left and being crushed by a falling rock.

He throws his console onto the desk and gives you a stare burning through your skin. “I was about to pass that level. I’ve been stuck on it for a day and you just had to enter right then.”

“Kenma, you haven’t eaten a single thing today-”

“Oh, shut up.”

You tense up under his harsh words, about to speak when you’re cut off by more of his rambling.

“Kenma this, Kenma that. It’s annoying. Quit acting like I can’t take care of myself. Things were so much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

His tone is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thought it was too much of a bother to talk to you. Taken aback by his words, you take a moment to fully absorb what he had said, every word cutting a slash into your heart.

“I hope your life goes back to calm and quiet” were the last words you left him before you left the apartment with tears streaming down your face.

Kenma’s eyes linger on you for a moment before going back onto his screen. He instantly regrets what he said, but doesn’t go after you. Instead, he restarts his game and his character dies again, at the exact same place.

The bowl of food on his table goes cold.

The first day with you gone passes fine for Kenma. As usual, he goes to sleep at way too late and gets up at noon-ish and scrambles together some food to prepare for his stream. His viewers tell him he doesn’t seem as energetic, and isn’t smiling as much. He says that he’s a little tired and didn’t sleep too well last night, which was only half the truth. He feels a little empty, mind often tracing back to your smile and then immediately to your tear-stained face. He eats two bites of bread for dinner and decides to go to sleep.

“I’ll be fine,” he thinks, “I don’t need y/n to live.”

The days only spiral downhill from there. Snack wrappers thrown all over the apartment and laundry piled up into stacks. He hasn’t eaten something actually cooked in days. Having no energy to do anything, he calls off streams for a whole week. Most of his time is spent lying on the sofa with his face towards the ceiling, replaying his last conversation with you in his head over and over and over again.

“Things were much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

I’m sorry. Please come back.

He contemplates so many times on whether or not to call you, to text you, to try and get in touch with you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was the one who hurt you, told you you were annoying when he didn’t realize how much you matter to him.

Kuroo checks in on Kenma every single day. By the fourth day, he’s determined to make him talk to you.

“Kenma, you can’t keep living like this.”

Tired eyes glued to his screen, the pudding-head boy grumbles in response, Not enough energy in him to do anything else.

Sighing, Kuroo unplugs his entire monitor and forces his chair to spin towards him so that he’s staring Kenma right in the eyes.

“Kenma, I’m serious. You need to talk to her.”

“And then what?”

Kuroo staggers a little, taken aback from the question.

“And then what, Kuroo? I hurt her. She deserves so much better anyways.”

The rooster-haired boy takes his phone and throws it onto his lap.

“You need to call her sooner or later. I don’t know when, but you need to.”

Kenma gently holds his phone with two hands with his thumbs hovering over the screen, constantly switching between the keyboard and the delete button. He debates himself for fifteen seconds before giving up and pressing the call button.

The phone has rung seven times and you have yet to pick up. He’s certain that you won’t pick up at all. Yet on the eighth ring, you pick up.

“Kenma?” He hears from the other side.

His voice hitches in his throat. A thousand thoughts are crossing his mind and his breath is suddenly stggered. He tries to say “I’m sorry”, “Where are you”, and “Please come back” at the same time, but none of them seem to be coming out.

“Kenma, you there?”

“Yn.”

His voice is so empty, dull, tiring and you almost drop your phone out of shock.

“Where are you?”

Coming back to reality, you swallow and reply, “Friend’s house. Why?”

“Can we, uhm, can we talk?”

Your side of the line goes silent for three whole seconds before you take a deep breath and reply, “Sure. Give me a time and place.”

“If you don’t mind, can you just come home?”

HIs voice quivered at the word home, like it wasn’t really home to him anymore. Not without you. You couldn’t help but tell him you’ll be back in a bit.

As you reach closer to your building, the more your heart threatens to jump out of your throat. There’s a knot in your stomach that you just can’t get rid of, and even though you know this was all his fault, your mind can’t stop racing. None of this was your fault, was it?

Before realizing, your hand was on the door handle and without thinking too much, you push the door open.

To say you were shocked from the state of the apartment is an understatement. Yes, Kenma wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but you knew he’d never let the apartment get this messy. The moment you walked in you knew he would be in a bad state too, which confused you. But he didn’t want you here, did he?

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming towards you. Frozen in place, you wonder if this was a bad idea. If you should just leave and tell him you couldn’t make it, but it’s too late. By the time your head has gotten back into reality, he was standing in front of you, eyes full of guilt and regret.

“Hey,” you try to say, which turns out to be nothing more than a whisper.

Hesitating for a second, he stumbles towards you and falls into your arms, leaning into your touch, burying his face into your neck and mumbling “I’m sorry” and “please forgive me” again and again.

“I was stupid. It’s all my fault. I was frustrated and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Everything is so much better with you and I was being dumb. I’m so sorry please don’t leave.” His eyes were brimmed with tears, threatening to spill out any second. He’s rambling, words that he had meant to say to you over the past days all spilling out. He can’t seem to be able to stop. You’ve never seen him so scared, so vulerable.

Holding him tight, you take a deep breath, swallowing the many things you wanted to say to him, to blame him, to yell at him, to tell him it’s all his fault.

Instead, you hold him tight against you.

“Shh, Kenma. I’m here now. I won’t leave, okay? I’ve got you, we can talk this out.”

He grabs onto you even tighter. “Thank you. Thank you thank you.”

You were going to have a lot to talk about, you both knew that for sure. And maybe things aren’t going to go back to how they were for a long time. But right now he was in your arms and you were in his, and he was never more determined to fix what he broke.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma fluff #kenma angst #haikyuu headcannons #taru writes

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daveeddiggsit · 4 years ago

Text

The Plan

WIDEOUT MASTERLIST

Series: WIDEOUT (chpt viii)

Note: Thank you @braidedchallah for proofreading. Reminder — before you kill me — there is one chapter left (and an epilogue). Keep that in mind. Enjoy. Feel free to yell at me afterwards. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry for what you’re about to experience.

Word Count: 12.2k

Pairing: Football Player!Thomas Jefferson x Tutor!Reader

Warnings: angst. possible breakup. perhaps some crying. implied sex (more than once). thom being a perfect boyfriend. thom looking fine af in denim (i’m trash).

Summary: Goodbyes are hard.

Tags: @coololdsoulpoetlove @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @lilangeldevil006 @pana-ce-a @merrahonthawall @katierpblogg @thespianbooks @a-hopeless-fan @uniquelystarchildthedragon @wcreech @sabbrriiinnaa @imperial-martian @harpersmariano @icanneverbesatisfied @underthewillowtreerycb @i-know-i-can @astralaffairs @braidedchallah (if i forgot anyone i apologize, just lemme know for next time)

As one of the smartest kids in your graduating class, you have a certain reputation to uphold. Maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA isn’t easy, which means that you have to choose all the right answers and make all the right decisions.

As it turns out, you seem to be pretty good at that. Being right about a lot of things, academic or not, seems to come naturally to you. Especially when it comes to a certain curly-haired athlete who also happens to be your boyfriend of over a year.

You had been right when you told him that he would recover from his ankle injury on the night it happened. Well, you can’t be entirely sure of that yet since he’s still not clear to engage in full-action sports, but it’s incredibly clear that he’s well on his way to recovering fully.

Almost exactly seven weeks after the incident, he’d gotten his cast removed and replaced with a boot so that he could put weight on his ankle again. Since then, he’s been in physical therapy almost daily in order to make sure that he’s healing the right way. According to him, he’s progressing well every week and is slowly regaining his mobility, strength, and speed. Just two weeks ago he ditched the boot so that he could finally put on a pair of shoes; you remember the grin on his face when he gave you a little dance to show off the new kicks he’d gotten as celebration.

He’s not 100% healthy yet, and he certainly won’t be back on the field (or track) for another couple months until he’s clear to practice, but you’re proud that he’s been able to recover as much as he has in relatively so little time.

On the night of his injury, you’d also been right about another thing: the fact that Thomas would receive college offers.

And that’s what you’re celebrating today.

After weeks and weeks of advocating for himself and sending his player reel and personal letters to the head coaches of schools he wanted to attend, he finally got an offer from one of his top college choices: the University of Virginia.

While their football team isn’t the most notable in the nation, their program is one of the best in the state of Virginia at a Division I level, and that’s pretty much all Thomas wants. After he recovers fully, Thomas will make an excellent asset to the team since one of their starting wide receivers is entering the NFL Draft after this year.

At UVA, Thomas would get the play time he needs to shine and show his true colors and talent as a wide receiver all while having a coaching staff there to support him and his every need. Their academic program for liberal arts is also something Thomas has been looking at in a school since he plans on majoring in English.

With all of that said, the Jefferson household decides to host a special dinner for their son in celebration of the wonderful news.

And while under normal circumstances, you would feel happy and excited for your boyfriend and his amazing accomplishment, instead you have a voice that lingers in the back of your mind reminding you of the similar news you had received just a week prior.

Thomas isn’t the only one with a huge scholarship offer.

After applying to many different schools with somewhat notable engineering programs in-state (because let’s be real, out-of-state tuition is absurdly expensive), you’ve received only a few grants from NYU and Syracuse University, but it isn’t enough to cover all of tuition.

But when you’d received an email last week from the one out-of-state school you had applied to last minute, your heart had just about dropped from your chest.

UCLA is offering you a full-ride.

You should be happy that you have an incredible offer. You should be elated for Thomas with his scholarship offer, too. However, you can’t help but feel a looming sense of stress every time you think about telling him.

That’s why you haven’t told him yet; it’s been nine days.

“Y/N?”

Thomas’ voice snaps you out of your thoughts and suddenly you are brought back to reality. You’re dressed up and sitting at the dinner table with Thomas across from his parents. The menu of the night consists of a couple different French dishes that his mother had learned to make a few years back when they visited Paris for an entire summer. His mother’s rendition of the food is nothing short of amazing.

Your eyes meet the warm brown ones that belong to your boyfriend as you turn your head to glance at him next to you. “Hmm?”

”You didn’t hear anythin’ I said, did you?” Thomas chuckles, biting his lip as he watches you put on a guilty simper.

“No, sorry.” You breathe out a small laugh in order to cover up your underlying nervousness. “I zoned out for a minute there. What were you saying?”

“Well, I’m arguin’ a case here. Technically, a hot dog — a piece of meat held together by two pieces of bread - is a sandwich, right? In simple terms and by definition this should be true, so don’t overthink it. My dad keeps saying it’s not, but please, Y/N, you gotta side with me this time.”

You take a breath in and click your tongue. “I don’t know, Peter, I think I gotta go with Thom on this one.”

“Yes!” Thomas celebrates, throwing his arms up dramatically. “I told you!”

Mr. Jefferson’s mouth drops at your response. “How dare you take his side. Did all those other times teaming up at dinner and making fun of him mean nothing to you?”

If it hadn’t been evident prior to this moment where Thomas gets his overdramatics from, then it’s certainly clear now.

“Case closed.” Thomas smirks, crossing his arms, proud of himself.

“What are you talking about? The case is far from closed.” His father retorts, splaying his arms out, causing Thomas’ mom to speak out.

“Hey, calm down, you two. You’re gonna make a mess if you keep on bangin’ the table like that.” She chastises them. They both mutter their apologies before Thomas’ father continues on defending himself.

“Y/N, why’d you choose his side? You know I’m right. Don’t let that boy guilt trip you; he’s still gonna love you if you disagree with him.”

“Sorry, Peter.” You shrug, sneaking a glance at Thomas who’s watching you with a glint in his eyes. “As much as I don’t want to agree with your son on this one, I unfortunately do.”

Thomas pauses to narrow his eyes as you in puzzled manor. “‘Unfortunately?’ Your words wound me, sweetheart, really.” He says in a teasing tone before his smile turns smug as he directs his attention towards his father. “But you see, Dad? It’s 2 against 1. ‘M sorry to say, but your opinion is overruled.”

Mr. Jefferson waves his son off dismissively. “That’s horseshit; your mother hasn’t sided with anyone yet. We still have one more vote to count.”

“Language, Peter.” The woman in question warns, giving him a look that’s only half serious.

“Well, honey? You agree with me, don’t you?” Peter asks his wife with pleading eyes, causing her to roll hers.

“Sure, sweetie.”

You shake your head and smile, leaning back in your chair to watch the antics unfold.

“What? Ma, why you takin’ his side?” Thomas jumps in. “I’m supposed to be your favorite, you know.”

“Of course you’re my favorite; you’re my only child, Thomas.” His mother deadpans, causing Thomas to frown.

It’s Peter’s turn now to smirk at Thomas and you. “See? Now we’re tied. Opinion very much not overruled, thank you.”

“Wait, what was your side of the argument again?” Mrs. Jefferson asks her husband. “You said a hot dog is a sandwich, right?”

“No, that’s what I said.” Thomas interjects.

“Oh, well then I agree with Thomas.”

“Ha!” Your boyfriend exclaims, pointing at his dad. “I told you! Your opinion is not valid. Hot dogs are sandwiches. End of story.”

“They are not sandwiches! They are a different entity. How can you compare a ham and cheese to a weiner between two buns? Well I’ll tell you. You can’t!”

“For the last time, Dad. It’s a piece of meat in between two pieces of bread. That is classified as what? A sandwich!”

“With that logic, you’d say that a burger is a sandwich, too?”

“Yup.”

“There is somethin’ wrong with y’all.” Peter shakes his head, picking at the leftover food on his plate. “I thought I raised you better, T. Y/N, I expected you to take my side on this one.”

“Sorry, Mr. J.” You shrug. “Tommy’s right. A piece of meat in between two pieces of bread does indeed technically classify it as a sandwich.”

“Y’all got me thinkin’ that I’m the crazy one now.” Peter sighs defeatedly.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that nonsense.” Thomas’ mother chuckles, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “Thomas, honey, your father and I are very proud of you and are excited for your opportunity at UVA.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Thomas grins. “I’m excited, too.”

Under the table, Thomas’ hand finds yours and laces your fingers together. Its warmth is comforting and the small moment makes you forget about everything for just a moment. A small silence stretches on for a bit before Peter speaks up.

“So, Y/N, how are your college applications going? Have you gotten any scholarships yet? I feel like you’re too smart to not get anything.”

Your stomach drops at the question. You really hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this, and while it is a simple question that you should be able to answer quickly… you don’t. You hesitate and Thomas notices.

You want to tell the truth, you really do, but you can’t. This is Thomas’ night to celebrate and the last thing you want to do is mess it up with news that you’d be going to school across the country. Tonight is supposed to be about him, not you.

So you lie.

“Oh, um, no, not yet.” You chuckle nervously. The hand holding Thomas’ fidgets slightly and he squeezes lightly to try and help calm your nerves. “I mean, I’ve gotten into NYU and Syracuse so far. Still waiting to hear from Columbia. I haven’t heard much as far as scholarships, though, unfortunately. I’ve received a few grants here and there, but nothing too big.”

“Columbia, wow. What’s their acceptance rate? 10%?” Mrs. Jefferson asks, seemingly interested.

“6%.” Thomas jumps in to answer before glancing at you with a small smile. “I don’t think Y/N will have any trouble getting in, though.”

You send him the biggest smile you can muster, though you feel like it sort of comes out as a grimace. “Thanks, T.” You say softly.

Beat.

“What time is it? I think it’s past my bedtime.” Peter yawns, checking his watch. “10 o’clock? Where did the time go? Y/N, are you going to be okay driving home this late?”

“It’s not that late, Mr. Jefferson. I should be fine.” You’ve definitely driven home from Thomas’ place past 10pm before (multiple times), but you’re not telling him that. “I do think I should probably leave soon, though.”

“You wanna go get your things upstairs, then I can walk you out?” Thomas asks you with a mischievous look in his eye. Knowing him, he probably just wants to get you alone for a bit before you leave. Even through your nervousness to tell him the truth, you can’t deny his charm.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Tommy.”

Then, both you and Thomas excuse yourselves from the table. You make sure to thank Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson for dinner and the invite. You’re always honored to be included in their family events even if it’s something as small as dinner on a Friday night.

When you make it up to Thomas’ room, he doesn’t waste another moment before he kisses you softly, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek after he gently shuts the door.

“Been waitin’ to do that all night.” He grins afterwards, softly brushing over the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

You smile as you bring your hands up to his shoulders, wordlessly leaning forward to sweetly press your lips to his again.

“Missed you.” He mumbles as he pulls away to lean his forehead against yours. “Feel like we haven’t been seeing a lot of each other lately.”

He’s right. With both of you not having any classes together this year, you both worried about college applications, Thomas not in football season anymore and in and out of PT almost constantly, you two haven’t been seeing each other as much as you’d like. Another reason why you haven’t been able to tell Thomas about UCLA (aside from the fact that you simply don’t have the guts to do it).

“I know.” You sigh, looking off to the side for a second. “I’m sorry.”

“‘S not your fault. We’ve both been busy.”

“Yeah, but still.” You say softly. “Feels bad. I miss you.”

He chuckles. “Well, I’m right here, baby. Don’t need to go far.”

You smile haphazardly and roll your eyes as you bring your hand up to the back of his neck and pull him into another kiss. Who knows how many more of these you’ll get before you both graduate and have to go your separate ways.

Before it can go too far, you pull away again.

“T?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m so proud of you.” You say genuinely because you really want him to know. You feel like you don’t tell him enough (even though that’s not the case). “Really, I am. You deserve that scholarship and so much more.”

“Thanks, love.” He murmurs while a soft smile adorns his face. “Hey, if none of these in-state schools give you anything, I think you’d have a good chance at getting something at UVA. They have an honors college that gives up a ton of grants and shit, you should look into it. I’m not sure if the applications are still open, but worth a try.”

You purse your lips before you give him your response. “Maybe, we’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’ll get something anyway, but just wanted to bring that up and let you know.”

“Appreciate the thought, Thom.”

Thomas grins, giving you one last peck on the lips before finally turning away to remove his overcoat. He double takes when he sees your face drop slightly. His eyebrows furrow as he notices your mood shift. “Hey, what’s wrong? Somethin’ botherin’ you? Not gonna lie, you’ve been a little off all night, sweetheart...”

You hesitate, not able to look him in the eye, the guilt eating you alive. The pressure of holding everything in is building up and while Thomas is normally your rock, the one you can go to for anything, you can’t this time, and you can feel it wearing you down.

You take in a shaky deep breath before you go to sit down on his bed, eyes cast towards the ground. “I’m okay, T, I’m just… stressed. With school.” You say, finally willing yourself to look up into his caring gaze. It hurts to lie to him, but you keep telling yourself that it’s his night.

“You sure?” He asks, taking a seat next to you to gently grab your hand in his. “Seriously, baby, I know when somethin’s up. What’s on that brilliant mind of yours, huh?” He lightly bumps his shoulder against yours in a teasing gesture, causing you to let out a half-hearted chuckle. He always knows how to get a laugh out of you, doesn’t he? “I know you’re worried about more than that stats test you have next week. Tell me what’s really botherin’ you.” He says softly, catching your gaze again.

Sighing once more, you tear your eyes away from his pleading ones. “I um…” You trail off after trying and failing to come up with another lie or excuse.

Thomas always draws your worries and frustrations out of you; he knows you so well to the point where he knows exactly what to say to convince you to tell him something. Honesty has never been a problem in your relationship, and the last thing you want is to push it to a point of no return. You already feel terrible for withholding the truth; you want to be free from this secret you’ve been holding.

And suddenly seven words echo in your head:

“Tell him. He’ll understand. He loves you.”

Your eyes flit back up to meet his concerned gaze. Here it goes.

“I did get a scholarship. All tuition and expenses paid. I got the email a week and a half ago and I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen at the confession, taken aback by how big the news is.

“Holy shit, Y/N, that’s… that’s amazing, baby. I’m so proud of you. Not surprised, but proud nonetheless.” He says genuinely, a smile evident on his face before it drops slightly. “Why didn’t you wanna tell me?” There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again. “Wait, why’d you lie at dinner when my dad asked?”

You give him a sad smile before you look away again, fidgeting with your fingers on the hand that Thomas isn’t holding. “I didn’t want to take over your night, T. And I didn’t tell you when I found out because… the school’s in Cali.” You say, releasing a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He cocks his head to the side slightly, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you only applied to schools in-state.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips before you respond. “That’s what I had planned originally, but my advisor pushed me to apply for this scholarship program at UCLA and… well, I got in.”

Thomas goes silent for a few moments as he looks off to the side, breathing deeply. It’s hard to tell what he’s feeling. Then, he lets out a low whistle. “Full-ride to UCLA, huh?” He says softly before he turns to look at you.

“Thomas…” You start, your voice soft and full of worry, but he continues to talk.

“Are you going to accept it?” He asks and you nod slowly.

Ideally, you have no other real choice; by going to UCLA you’d graduate with zero debt. And with UCLA’s engineering program and opportunities that other schools can’t fulfill, it fills all the boxes you want in a university.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Really. I’m glad they recognize how amazing you are.” The tone in Thomas’ voice is fond and he’s absolutely sure of the words he’s saying. “It’s far away, I know, but we can make it work.”

The emotions in his eyes are conflicting, but they still hold unrelenting love and support in them. When you hesitate to respond, his eyes search yours, trying to find some sort of answer in them, but before he can decipher anything, you tear your gaze from his.

“Right?” He asks as his grip on your palm loosens until your hand falls back into your lap, the warmth from Thomas’ fingers completely vanished. “Baby, talk to me. Please.”

“Thom, I… I want to think that but I’m not sure.” You admit quietly, and having said that, you can see something in Thomas’ composure crumble.

He shakes his head. “Nah, don’t you say that. We can make this work, Y/N.” His voice wavers slightly as he stands up and runs a hand over his curls, smoothing them back and away from his face. “I haven’t accepted the offer at UVA. I can decline and apply to UCLA—”

“T, I’m not going to ask you to do that—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to ask me, love. I’m willing to do this all on my own. Like I said, we can make this work. I’ll improvise. My parents can afford it, then I can just join the football team as a walk-on. I’m confident I’ll make it. Since they didn’t give me an offer I’ll prove them wrong and be the best damn walk-on they ever had.”

“Thomas, don’t—”

“I can also have my dad send the head coach a letter. I didn’t wanna pull that for any other schools because I wanted to earn all my offers — and because of the whole nepotism thing — but I’ll make an exception for—”

“Thomas, please!” You raise your voice and when he finally stops, you immediately regret it. You’ve never raised your voice like that with him before and doing so right now feels terrible.

“Please, T, just stop. I don’t want you to do any of that for me. How long have you been waiting for UVA to give you a chance? How many letters have you personally written to Coach Michaels, begging him to consider you for one of their open receiver positions?”

Thomas is silent as you speak, knowing full well that you have a point. You continue.

“You’ve been set on UVA as your top school for a couple months now. Don’t forget how hyped you were when you finally got the offer this morning. And now you want to just throw that away? No. I’m sorry, Thom, but I am not going to be the one to take it away from you.”

“You’re not.” He says earnestly. “Taking it away from me, I mean. I want to do this for you. For us. UCLA has a good football program, too, all I have to do is pull some strings if you’ll let me.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay, well I’m not letting you do that. Thomas, it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem. Think about this, okay? Think about yourself and your football career and all the opportunities that you’ll have for yourself down in Virginia. Don’t let me get in the way of that! I don’t want each of us to be an obstacle in each other’s successes.”

Thomas gives you an incredulous look and stills himself. “Are you serious? Is that what you consider our relationship? An obstacle?”

You look away, sighing. “No, T, I… I didn’t mean it like that, you know that.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t know that.” He looks at you with a distressed gaze, all traces of comfort and playfulness gone and replaced with hurt… caused by you — something you never would have thought you’d see in his eyes.

“Look, I don’t wanna talk about this right now. Today’s supposed to be your day.”

“Let me get one thing straight, Y/N. Our relationship is not an obstacle… it never has been and it never will be.” Thomas says coldly and you cringe when he calls you by your full name in a tone that’s less than friendly.

“I just don’t want our love for each other to get in the way of…” You trail off, but decide against speaking mid-sentence. “You know what, nevermind.”

“Get in the way of what?”

“Thomas,” you start, making eye contact with him once again. “I don’t want to get in the way of your football career. It’s unfair; I can’t do that to you, T. You deserve to make the most of your career in college so that you can make it to the NFL. That’s your dream, right? To play in the NFL for the New York Giants like your father did. Am I right?”

His jaw clenches slightly as he nods, and you continue.

“The coach at UVA believes in you — even through your injury. Why are you going to throw that away? In order to be with your high school girlfriend? Do you see how childish that sounds?” A beat of silence passes before you continue in a softer tone.

“I just… I don’t want you to do that, Thomas, it’s too big of a risk. You have a solid spot at UVA to prove yourself on the field. If you drop that for a walk-on position at UCLA, it’ll be a mistake. Instead of proving yourself to NFL recruiters, you’ll be set on proving yourself to college coaches just to get a chance on the field. I want you to have the best chances at making it to the NFL.” Now it’s your turn to stand up. You pace away from him as you continue to speak.

“Let’s say you do follow me to UCLA and join the football program. What if… what if something happens while we’re in college and we’re not together anymore? What will happen? You’d have potentially messed up your career for me and I don’t want that to happen, T. I’m sorry but I won’t let that happen.”

Thomas holds a hand up to stop you from your ramblings. He speaks his next words slowly. “Wait, wait, hold on now. You think we’re going to break up in college?”

You roll your eyes in frustration, crossing your arms defensively. “That’s not what I said—”

“No, no that’s exactly what you said.” He responds coldly, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’m starting to question our intentions in this relationship, Y/N. Did you ever plan on us being long term?”

“See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell you. I didn’t want this to happen.” You say, annoyed that it’s gotten to this point of you two having an argument.

“You just gonna ignore my question?”

“Before applying to schools, T, I wasn’t even thinking about the future. I was taking things day by day. We were both pent up in our little perfect world, but right now we need to face reality.”

“Okay, so then why’d you keep this a secret from me? Were you plannin’ on keepin’ this to yourself until graduation? I don’t know if you knew this, sweetheart, but a relationship is a two-way street and involves a little somethin’ called communication.” His snarky tone fills the room and has you rolling your eyes again. “Girlfriends aren’t supposed to lie to their boyfriends and then get mad at him for reacting a certain way when she finally decides to tell him huge news.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” You say, breathing out another sigh and softening up at his last sentence. He’s right; you shouldn’t have kept it a secret. “I wanted to tell you, I just, I don’t know what’s gonna happen after we graduate, okay? And I’m scared.”

“You don’t think we can work through that together? As a team?” Thomas’ eyes are begging you to reason with him. “I’m scared, too, but we’ll figure something out. Right?”

The look in your eyes is distant as you cast them down to the ground. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we could do a long distance thing. I’ve seen other couples do it.”

You fiddle with a loose thread on your sweater. “I don’t know, T. We’ll see if we can come up with something.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs out a hot-tempered laugh. “Okay.” He says shortly.

“What?”

“So you don’t want me to drop everything and go to UCLA with you, which is fine. I understand that. But now you’re telling me that you don’t wanna do long distance?”

“I didn’t say that, I just— we need to be realistic, Thom.”

“What does that even mean?!” He yells, and it’s the first time he’s ever raised his voice at you. You hate it.

“We have to keep the future in mind!”

“I want you in my future! Don’t you want me in your future?”

“We both have different ideas of what we want. Different dreams, okay? You can’t have your dream of making it to the NFL and also have me when I plan on going to an engineering program across the country!”

You’re deflecting and he knows it.

“Answer the damn question, Y/N.” He says lowly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Of course I want you in my future, Thomas!” You say exasperatedly, looking at the ceiling. “What kind of question is that?”

“Forgive me if I’m strugglin’ to believe that when you’re actin’ like this.” He says, his voice taking a more neutral tone, but he sounds exhausted. “You’re going to school across the country and you were hesitant to tell me - fine. I fucking get it. But you can’t just say that we’ll probably break up in college and think that that is fucking okay. It’s not! And you can’t say ‘I don’t know’ about dating long distance when that’s literally the only other option we have.”

“That’s the thing, Thomas. I don’t know if that’s the only other option we have.”

His face looks puzzled as he looks at you for a few seconds before realization finally settles in. Thomas narrows his eyes at you once again, his gaze cold, making your heart drop in your chest. “You wanna break up, don’t you?”

“No.” You state, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t want to. But we have to think about—”

“Our future, yeah. I get it.” Thomas snaps, cutting you off. “You know what? You want to talk about the future? Fine. Maybe we should.” He says simply, crossing his arms. “If you think we’re just going to break up in college anyway, maybe we should just speed up the process and get it over with.”

You shake your head at him. “Thomas, don’t do this. That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s not.”

“I find that extremely hard to believe.”

“I’m done arguing with you, Jefferson.” You breathe out tiredly, running a hand through your hair.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks completely drained as he speaks again, his voice now calm. “What are we doing here, Y/N?”

A small silence fills the air before you answer quietly. “I don’t know, T.”

What are you both doing? Arguing about whether or not your relationship should continue after high school? Maybe you are being a little irrational about it, implying that you should break up before college and all. Thomas’ reaction to it all is understandable because he doesn’t want to lose you. However, he needs to be truthful to himself. Is this relationship going to work when the two of you are seeking entirely different career paths on opposite coasts?

What a fucking mess.

You hate that it’s gotten to this point. Your fear about telling Thomas and it going downhill has come true, and knowing that makes you even more emotional.

“Tommy… I…” You say sotto voce, on the edge of tears as you slowly reach for him, but he puts a hand up stopping you from moving any further. He turns his face so you can’t see his expression.

“Don’t, Y/N.” Thomas’ voice is firm, but it breaks slightly when he says your name. “Just don’t.” He whispers.

You watch him and he struggles to keep himself together. You hate that you’ve done this to him, that you’re making him feel this way… you hate that you’ve caused this.

“I’m gonna go…” You voice (barely above a whisper) after a long silent pause, not trusting your normal voice due to the shaky deep breaths that begin to rack your body. You’re on the verge of breaking down.

Thomas nods. “I think you should.”

And that breaks your heart.

You feel weird leaving like this, gross even. You don’t want to leave things off like they are. You don’t want to leave things unresolved and you don’t want to leave with Thomas still angry at you. Still, though, you grab all your things and head to the doorway of his room.

Pausing to look back at him, you open your mouth to say something, but hesitate. Deciding against it, you turn to open the door and leave without another word.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You call Maria as soon as you get to your car. She helps you keep your composure as you drive to her house, keeping you company via phone. You make sure to send your family a quick text of your whereabouts and that you plan to spend the night at Maria’s place.

As soon as you arrive in her bedroom and drop your bag to the ground, you break down and begin to sob, crashing into the welcoming arms of your best friend. You cry until you can’t anymore, and Maria is there for you the entire time hugging you and easing you through it.

She stays there, quiet and still, allowing you to let out all of your emotions. You don’t tell her the details about what happened until after you have no tears left to cry.

“Don’t be mad at T, please, none of this is his fault.” You sniffle, wiping at your nose with a tissue Maria gave you. “It’s all mine.”

“Y/N, don’t blame yourself for all this. You just want what’s best for the both of you in the long run. If he doesn’t understand that, then he’s just not seeing the whole picture.”

“I just hate arguing with him, Maria.” You say weakly, wiping at your face to dry your tears. “This is our first fight and I hate how I feel right now. I don’t want things to end on bad terms. How am I supposed to get over this feeling once we… if we break up before college?”

“You don’t have to end things on bad terms, Y/N.” Maria says softly. “You both need to be on the same page about this. If you both make a plan and sort things out, then maybe you can leave things on a positive note. Not as a goodbye, but as a see you later, you know? And if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. You’ll meet again one day and you can pick up where you left off. But if it’s not, then at least you guys can cherish what you had when you were just two kids in high school who didn’t know any better and made the most of their teenage years.”

You nod slowly. She does have a point, and this is all what you were thinking when you had even brought up the thought of breaking up after graduation.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“It’s my best friend superpower. I can’t help it.” She shrugs, making you laugh, even if it was only a half-hearted one. “Seriously, though. You two need to have an honest conversation with one another.”

You sigh, wiping the rest of your drying tears away with the tissue. “I think we both could use some space right now, though. I’m going to wait until Monday.”

Maria nods. “Monday. But you have to talk to him. You can’t chicken out. I know you, Y/N.”

“Sometimes a little too well…”

“All for the best.” She grins.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

After a long and lonely weekend, Monday finally comes and you make sure to wake up earlier than usual in order to make it to school in time for when Thomas comes out of his physical therapy session with his track trainer.

You haven’t called, texted, or seen each other since Friday night and the guilt and heaviness from what happened still weighs on your chest despite the reassuring words from Maria.

Patiently and nervously, you wait outside the boys’ locker room like you have countless times before, only this time, things feel much different. The anticipation lingers in the air surrounding you and you feel the stress push at your shoulders until the door finally opens and Thomas walks out.

After over a year of dating, you still get butterflies at the sight of him even though he’s just wearing simple black jeans and a t-shirt.

As he shrugs on his jean jacket and backpack, he glances up through a few stray curls that fall down in front of his eyes. His eyes flicker to you as he walks in your direction before he rips them away quickly.

“T, hey how was…?” You try to speak to him, but he just continues to walk past you.

You watch him as he goes on like nothing, completely disregarding your presence.

“You’re still mad…” You trail off, falling into step with him and his pace doesn’t falter.

He doesn’t say a word.

“Listen, I know you probably don’t wanna see me right now, but please hear me out.”

Still nothing.

You know he’s still upset; he only gets quiet when he has a lot on his mind or he’s going through something. Taking in a deep breath, you speed up so that you can get in front of him.

“Thomas, hey, stop.” You say, putting a hand on his chest. You know that if he really wants to charge past you he can, but instead he stays there, halted by your touch. He looks down at you, his face nearing yours, and your eyes plead with his. “Please.” You whisper, your fingers curling into his black shirt to hold him there (or maybe it’s more of a way to ground yourself).

Thomas’ detached gaze lingers on your face and as your eyes search his, you note just how devoid of energy he looks.

“I just want to talk. I…” You watch him as he breaks your gaze to look at the ground. “I know I fucked up; I said some things I shouldn’t have. Just please let me make it up to you. I need you, T. I want to fix this while we still can.”

You sneak a glance around you to see that you’ve attracted some attention from your fellow classmates who are unapologetically staring. Do they know about you and Thomas’ fight? How could they possibly know? You two are hardly making a scene, but then again… people are vultures who will perk up at even the slightest bit of drama.

“Can we go somewhere private? Please? Just the two of us.”

Thomas licks his lips as he looks around, then back at you lazily. “Can this wait? We have class in six minutes, you know.”

“Let’s skip.” You say, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “This is more important than class today, okay? How about we go to that diner down the street?”

“It’s a little too early for a milkshake and fries, isn’t it?”

“They have eggs and waffles, too.” You say, your eyes pleading him to accept your offer. “Please? I know you love breakfast.”

He’s quiet for a few more minutes and you wait in anticipation for his answer. Just when you get your hopes down and think he’s going to reject you, he speaks up.

“Okay.” He responds finally. “But only because I really don’t want to watch boring presentations about the social cognitive theory in my Psych class…”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “That’s good enough for me, T.”

“Bribin’ me with breakfast. You know that shit’s my weakness…” He mutters under his breath as he shakes his head. You’re not sure if he’d meant for you to hear that, but either way it makes a hint of a grin form on your lips.

“Come on, I’ll drive.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When you get to the diner, it’s fairly empty except for an elderly couple at a booth and a man at the counter drinking a cup of coffee. The smell of eggs and bacon wafts through the air and enters your nostrils as you breathe in.

A waitress greets you when you two slide into a booth, sitting across from each other. She hands you both menus and gets your drink orders before she’s off.

Silence fills the air between you as you both look over your menus. Thomas doesn’t say anything and it feels weird, suddenly reminding you of why you’re here in the first place. While from an outside perspective it may look like a normal outing between you two, you can feel the lingering tension in the air that’s leftover from Friday night. Unspoken feelings and unresolved problems still remain.

You sneak a glance at him over your menu only to find him already staring back at you. As soon as your eyes meet, he looks away.

“I feel really bad about Friday.” You finally break the silence, your voice small. Wanting nothing more than to let him know how you feel, you try to catch his gaze. When his brown eyes finally meet yours, you continue. “I hate the way we left things…”

“Me too.” He finally says softly. You two stare at each other for a few more seconds and Thomas opens his mouth to continue. “I…”

Then, the waitress comes back with a couple water cups and two black coffees, interrupting whatever it was that Thomas was about to say. You and Thomas direct your attention to her with fake smiles as she asks for your orders.

After she takes your menus and leaves, you let out a sigh as you look down at your fidgeting hands.

“Listen, T…” You begin, regret and guilt evident in your voice. You make sure to look up and meet his gaze one more time before you continue. “I'm sorry for lying to you and your family — I should have told you the day I found out, but I was too afraid of losing what we have. And I'm sorry for fucking up your day when we were supposed to be celebrating instead.”

You stop to take in a shaky deep breath, looking down at your hands once again. “I’m so sorry if I made it seem like I was doubting our relationship or… or if I made you feel like I didn’t… like you weren’t…” Struggling to find the right way to express how sorry you are, your tone gets more and more emotional as you stumble over your words.

Thomas saves you from your struggle, however, as his hand reaches across the table to cover yours, causing you to look up at him with surprise. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“What?” You voice breathlessly. “I… I thought you were still mad. It shouldn’t be that easy. Why are you…?”

He shrugs slowly. “Because you’re not entirely at fault… and as much as I want to stay angry, I can’t stand seein’ you in distress like this.”

You purse your lips and squeeze his hand in yours. “I’m still really sorry, T. I want you to know that. I said some things I regret and…”

“I know you are. Especially after seeing you try to fix things today by not takin’ no for an answer earlier. We both said some things we regret and it’s okay, Y/N. Really.” His voice is soft as he responds. “I’m sorry for yellin’ and not fully listenin’ to what you were sayin’. And for bein’ kind of a dick to you earlier when I ignored you. I was in denial. I just felt like you were givin’ up on us too quickly and I… I don’t wanna mess up what we have. I really don’t.”

Your eyes soften at his words. “I know. Me neither.”

You both are quiet for a few seconds as you both struggle to find a way to address the elephant in the room.

Luckily, you both get interrupted by the waitress again who comes back with your orders. You let go of each other’s hand when your plates are placed in front of you. Your mouth waters at the sight of your food, and you thank your waitress before she leaves again, telling you to let her know if you need anything else.

A comfortable silence falls in the space between you and Thomas, and though you feel that the tension from Friday night has now dissipated, the stress of the upcoming conversation still sits on your shoulders.

Surprisingly, Thomas is the one who initiates it.

“So…” He starts after chasing a mouthful of pancakes with a sip of water. “I’m guessin’ you won’t be comin’ back to town on holiday breaks?”

You cringe at the bluntness of the question. “What made you assume that?”

He shrugs, chewing his food before swallowing. “Just the way you were so helpless with your options. Thinking back to it, I figure that you probably wouldn’t have jumped to the possibility of breaking up unless you’d already thought things through somewhat.”

Very observant of him.

You nod before letting out a small sigh. “Yeah. My family’s planning on moving to Miami once I move out. Apparently they’re tired of the cold weather and wanted to wait to move until I graduated high school. They let me know when I told them the news.”

“Erik, too?”

“He’s staying in Philly until he graduates next Spring.”

“Well, that sucks.” He says, picking at the leftovers on his plate.

“Yeah.” You reply softly. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Thomas. I thought the answer was clear, but now I’m not so sure.”

He sighs, putting his fork down before looking up at you. “I think I do.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you tilt your head in confusion.

Thom sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Well, for starters, you’re always right, let me just put that out there.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Well, for this instance, at least.” He says simply before he continues. “As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think we’ve got options here.”

“Yes we do, you said it yourself, T.”

“We don’t, Y/N, you were right. I didn’t wanna believe it before but now, I don’t think I have a choice.” He says, holding your gaze firmly. “The two of us going to the same school is out of the picture. Especially with application deadlines already being passed - I checked and I don’t know what I was thinking on Friday. And with us not going to be able to see each other even on holiday breaks… I don’t think that leaves anythin’ else on the table.”

“Thomas, really, you don’t have to do this. Don’t let me pressure you into something you don’t wanna do. Like you said, a relationship’s a two way street. We can work something out. I don’t know what, but we’ll try something else.”

“You’re not pressuring me, Y/N. What would that ‘something else’ be? Long distance? The chances of us visiting each other are slim, especially since I’ll be stuck at UVA for the majority of summer break for training camp. Especially since you’ll be in California and especially since you have no incentive to come back to town after you graduate.”

“You’re my incentive, T.”

He licks his lips and lets out a small laugh. “Baby, don’t fight me on this; you wanted this. Why the shift?”

“I don’t wanna lose you.” You say, voice quiet and close to tears.

Thomas reaches out across the table for your hand again. You lace your fingers with his and hold tightly. “I know. I don’t want to lose you either, but you were right, sweetheart. Seeing each other once a year isn’t good enough, let’s be real. I think we’d be hurting more than we'd be happy.”

You let out a long, deep sigh, squeezing his hand. He’s absolutely right and you knew this when you started this conversation on Friday — doesn’t mean that you don’t want to avoid it, though.

“We… we should…” He hesitates to continue the sentence. “We— God, why is this so hard?”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, T.”

He takes a deep breath before the words finally come out. “We should break up. This summer.”

It sounds foreign coming out of his mouth and his change in viewpoint surprises you still, even after talking it through with him.

“I don’t wanna be your shackle, Y/N.” He says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. “I want you to do great things without worryin’ about me. Just like you were sayin’ on Friday. And I don’t wanna risk getting to a point where we grow too distant we lose all hope.”

Your eyes tear up a little bit and you reach up to wipe at your eyes with your free hand.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you off easy, missy.” Thomas looks at you pointedly, his voice wavering slightly. He lets out a small bittersweet laugh before he continues. “I’m gonna consider this more of a ‘see you later’ than a ‘goodbye forever’ kinda thing. At some point, I don’t know or care when, we’ll continue where we left off. Mark my words.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. You’ve definitely heard those words before. “Have you been talking to Maria lately?”

He gives you a confused look. “No, not since we went on that double date with her and Ellie like two weeks ago, why?”

“She said a similar thing to me when I vented to her this weekend.”

“Really? Oh. I thought I was clever for that one.”

“You were.” You smile, rubbing small circles on the top of his hand.

A comfortable silence settles. The waitress comes back with the check and you give her your card against Thomas’ protests. It’s not long before she comes back and wishes that you both have a good rest of your day.

“This is gonna fucking suck.” Thomas suddenly says bluntly.

“Yeah, it is.” You sigh. “But you know what? We’re gonna make the most of the next three months. We’ll laugh together, we’ll cry together, we’ll enjoy the good times, and when the time comes… we won’t look back. Then, maybe one day, when I’m an engineer and you’re in the NFL… we’ll meet again.”

He sends you a watery smile, giving your hand a small squeeze. “I’m countin’ on it, sweetheart.”

You reciprocate his smile as a small silence stretches in between you two.

Thomas’ eyes fall onto his untouched (and probably now cold) coffee and with his free hand he reaches for the cream. You take that as a sign to let his hand go to let him tend to his glorified bean water, but as you try to withdraw your fingers from his, he just holds on tighter.

“Um, excuse me? What do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, glancing at you like you just committed a sin.

“Don’t you need to pour creamer?” You raise an eyebrow, wondering what the big deal is. “I don’t want you to spill it.”

“Girl, I can pour creamer with one hand, thank you very much.” And there’s the Thomas you know and love, not that he was ever absent in the first place, but it’s good to see him messing around again. “Let me hold your hand in peace because God knows how many more times I’ll get to do it. I gotta savor it.”

“Stoppp.” You whine, drawing the word out. “This is how you’re gonna act until graduation, isn’t it?”

“You complainin’, sweetheart?” He fake pouts as he carefully pours the cream in his coffee and stirs with a spoon. “I thought you loved me.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I love your dramatic ass.”

“Mhm. In more ways than one.” Thomas hums before he takes a sip of his coffee. He cringes when he realizes it’s cold and you laugh at his reaction.

“Ready to go yet?” You ask, amused.

He nods. “We’re not going back to class, though, are we? Because if that’s the case, then no.”

“What? Hell no. Who do you think I am?” You say as you both mutually let go of each other’s hand to get up from the booth.

“A goody-two-shoes, that’s what you are. Really, baby, I didn’t expect you to mention skipping class. That’s like… blasphemy for you.”

You shrug as he holds the front door open for you. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

Thomas gives you a suggestive look and that causes you to smack his arm. “God, Thomas, not like that. Jesus.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh as you approach your car and he grabs you by the waist as he leans back against the driver’s door. He presses a kiss to your forehead, hugging you close to him. “Just messin’.”

You roll your eyes before you pull back to look him up and down.

“When’d you get this jacket? Haven’t seen you in it before.” You muse, bringing your hands up to grab the denim on each side of his collar.

“A week ago? Maybe two? This is my first time wearing it, though.” He answers before he smirks. “Why? You like it?”

“Yeah, you look good in denim.”

“Do I, now?” He cocks his head slightly, amused as your face drifts closer.

“Mhm. The jacket really suits you.” You hum, releasing the material with one of your hands to slide it up to his jaw. You give him a soft kiss on his lips before you pull back. “Might look better on the floor, though. I don’t know. We’ll have to try and find out.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise; he hadn’t expected you to turn the suggestive talk around on him. A smirk forms on his lips as he presses them to yours one more time.

“Your parents home?” He mumbles against you.

You pull away slightly to think about it for a second. “No, actually.”

“Well, then I guess we’re about to find out.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Over the next few months, you and Thomas keep the promise you gave to each other at the diner. You’ve stayed positive and lived in the moment and, to be honest, those three months have probably been the best three months of your life.

You and Thom are both making the most of your time, making sure to spend almost every weekend together.

You study together even though you don’t share any classes. Most of the time is spent doing homework in silence, but you still enjoy each other’s presence.

For spring break, you go on a trip to the beach with Thomas, Maria, Ellie, James, Aaron, and a few more mutual friends. The week is full of banter and lots of fun-filled memories that you’ll remember for many years to come. It’s definitely one of the many highlights of senior year.

Thomas, being his over-the-top self, asks you to prom by spelling ‘Prom?’ out with bouquets of roses on your front lawn. And as if that isn’t enough, you wake to the sound of a live orchestral quartet playing your favorite song. You groggily walk over to your window to see where the sound is coming from and you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend grinning up at you with his arms gesturing around him proudly.

Of course you say yes.

You would have said yes even if he had asked you casually — but what can you say… you’re a sucker for flowers and he knows it.

Prom night is an absolute blast. You feel like a stunner in your dress and Thomas looks unbelievably handsome in his fitted tux. You stay together the entire night, dancing, singing, laughing, and joking around with both your and his friends.

You almost lose track of the amount of date nights you have with Thomas. You have movie nights, some nights you go rollerskating, concerts, restaurants, hell, you even go paintballing together, which is something that neither of you had ever thought you’d get into.

But as June grows closer and closer, you can’t help but feel that heaviness settle back into your chest. You’d be lying if you said that you haven’t thought about backing out of this agreement the two of you have. In fact, you’ve spent countless nights lying wide awake (sometimes right next to Thomas), trying to figure out how things would go if you decide to stay together.

With your parents deciding to move down to Miami a week after you graduate, it pushes the day you move out to LA earlier than you had originally intended, which makes the idea of staying together seem next to impossible. Your mother says that it’ll be a good opportunity for you to get to know the LA area before classes start in August.

This causes you and Thomas to have a more in-depth conversation about the plan and it ends with you two deciding to break it off a week before your big move. Both of you are in agreement that it would be best for the both of you, so that you have some time to recover. You figure it will be easier that way.

So, when the time comes to start packing your things for your move to California (and your parents’ move to Florida), you get stressed out. You notice that Thomas’ and your enthusiasm/positivity starts to fade as the date of graduation creeps closer and closer.

Which brings you to the present.

On the day of graduation, reality finally hits you. Because not only are you recognizing the fact that you’re leaving the love of your life in eight days to go to school in Cali, you’re also leaving Maria who has been a constant in your life since elementary school.

Maria plans to stay in town and go to community college to knock out all her general education classes before she transfers to a four-year university. Luckily, her girlfriend Ellie has the same idea, so they’ll be taking the same path after high school.

At least they will be together.

Unlike you and Thom, who are currently posing for a photo together for his and your parents who stand behind their phones grinning and teary eyed. You both give your best smiles to the cameras, trying to preserve the memory as best as possible without breaking.

Surprisingly, you and Thomas have stayed strong despite the impending suspension of your relationship that lingers in the atmosphere between you. Although teary eyed because you are saying goodbye to a lot of friends and faculty you’ve gotten to know over the years, you and Thomas don’t cry on graduation day. You don’t cry during the ceremony, you don’t cry during the many pictures you take that day, and you don’t cry at the large family dinner the Jefferson household holds for both you and Thomas.

You’ve both toughed it out both privately and in public. But graduation day eventually comes to its inevitable end, and the day after begins, marking your last day with Thomas Jefferson as your boyfriend.

The two of you make your last day special and have a day-long picnic in a nearby park. You wake up early and spend the entire day together, laughing, kissing, talking, and having as much fun as you can with the inevitable future looming over your heads. You both make the best of your time together, and that’s really all you can ask for.

As the day goes by, your time together begins to run out. And both of your composures begin to fade as each second passes.

While your curfew to be back home is 10pm, you and Thomas decide to hold onto each other a bit longer, so he drives you home and you sneak him into your room when your parents are too busy packing in the basement. They know that this is your last day with Thomas, so when you’re distracting them while Thomas makes his way up the stairs, you tell them that you’re going to sleep early. They comfort you for a few minutes but leave you to your own grief, knowing to respect your wish of ‘sleeping the night off.’

Little do they know, you and Thomas decide to have one more special night together.

When you finally make your way up to your bedroom, Thomas is sitting on your bed, glancing at the half-empty boxes in the corner of your room that need to be filled. Half of your room is packed up, but you’ve put off packing lately to spend time with Thom before you physically can’t anymore.

You let out a sniffle and you don’t realize that you are on the verge of crying until you see Thomas begin to break, too.

“Come here.” He murmurs, standing up from your bed to pull you into a tight hug.

You both cry into each other’s shoulders, fully letting yourselves go emotionally as you let out your pent up sadness. You’re getting each other’s clothing wet with tears, but neither of you care as you cling onto each other, not wanting to let go.

You don’t know how long you stay there or how long it takes until both of you calm down enough so that your tears fall silently.

“I told you this was gonna fucking suck.” Thomas mumbles against you, causing you to let out a laugh and sob at the same time.

You don’t respond, but after a few seconds, you pull away from his shoulder to look at him. Silence stretches between you before you whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He echoes without hesitation before he leans his forehead against yours. You both bask in each other’s presence for a few more beats until Thomas speaks again, his words shaking. “Football won’t be the same without you, Y/N. I won’t be the same without you.”

“You played football for years before I became a part of your life. You’ll be fine, T.” You say quietly, though you are absolutely sure of your words. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek and wipe some of his tears away. “You’re gonna move on and be great and show people what you’re capable of.”

Silence stretches between the two of you before you take a step away from him as you remember something. Thomas frowns at your sudden withdrawal, but you explain yourself as you both wipe at your faces to dry them as best as each of you can.

“That reminds me…” You say, digging into one of the open boxes in the corner of your room until you feel a familiar piece of fabric. You pull out Thomas’ purple hoodie — the one he gave to you the night you officially became a couple. Damn, it feels so long ago now, but it hasn’t even been two years. “Here. You should probably take this back.”

He lets out a small laugh and takes the purple fabric from you to examine it. He seems lost in thought, but after a few moments, he shakes his head and hands it back to you. “Nah. Keep it.”

When you don’t take it, his hand reaches out to one of yours and he wraps your fingers around the fabric. You try to protest, but he continues.

“Don’t want you forgettin’ about me, now, do we?” He chuckles dryly.

“I won’t forget you, Thomas.” Your voice sounds so sure of your words that Thomas has no choice but to believe you.

He swallows and looks down for a second before he glances back into your eyes. “I know.”

“You’re gonna forget about me, though.”

Thomas shakes his head and his eyebrows scrunch together and he looks like he’s about to break again before he reaches out to pull you close.

“Never.” He mumbles into your hair before he pulls back. “Hey, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I will never forget you, Y/N Y/L/N. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

He brings his hands up to cup both sides of your face. His thumbs brush some fresh tears away before he continues to talk. “These eyes? Unforgettable. This beautiful face? Ingrained in my brain forever, sweetheart, I promise you that.” One of his thumbs lightly brushes over your lips. “Don’t even get me started on these lips. I’ll miss them for sure.”

Thomas pauses for a second before his beautiful brown eyes gaze into yours, letting you know that he truly means his next words. “I’m never going to forget any part of you, Y/N.”

You stay there, gazing at one another with nothing but pure love and admiration. Without breaking eye contact, you gingerly put Thomas’ hoodie (which is apparently yours now) back in the box you removed it from. You reach up to pull Thomas’ lips down to yours passionately.

Thomas responds, instantly reciprocating the kiss with the same amount of emotion that you pour into it. He moves his hands from your cheeks to pull your body closer to him. Your hand digs into the material of his shirt and suddenly, you can’t get enough of each other. You both need more — to be closer — but neither of you rush anything. You take it slow and try to take in every little detail about each other.

As layer after layer of clothing comes off, you two savor the feeling of each other’s lips, bodies, and touch. Every soft moan, every sigh, every gasp, every kiss… each and every moment that you spend with each other is savored in one final heat-filled act of love.

Afterwards, you both lie in your bed under the blankets, Thomas’ arm around your naked body and your head on his bare chest. You cherish each other’s presence for one final time, basking in silence until Thomas finally breaks it, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You still sure about this, sweetheart?”

You are quiet for a few seconds before you answer, sotto voce. “Yeah, T.” You listen to his steady heartbeat as you bring your hand up to rest on his torso. “You?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

A few seconds pass and you subconsciously trace little circles on his abdomen with your thumb. Thomas’ arm tightens around your waist as he pulls your closer.

“I’m sorry things have to end this way.” He mumbles against you, his deep voice reverberating throughout his chest.

“Don’t be.” You murmur, exhausted from the emotional toll this day has taken on you. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world — unless there’s a way where it doesn’t end with you and Thomas going your separate ways.

You shake your head at yourself for thinking so negatively. You promised each other something back at that diner.

“It’s not the end, T.” You speak out loud, shifting so that your head rests on the pillow and you’re face to face with Thomas. “You said it yourself before and now it’s my turn to say it: this is a ‘see you later,’ alright? So I better fucking see you later, or else.”

He laughs (oh, you’re gonna miss that laugh) and his hand slides up the curve of your hip to pull himself closer to you. “Back at ya, princess.”

You both sniffle, but you know that your time together, for the time being, at least, has come to an end — especially as both of you begin to drift off no matter how hard you try to stay awake.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” You whisper in Thomas’ warm embrace.

Thomas responds after he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to.”

So neither of you do.

And you both fall asleep, bodies entangled with one another, content to be in each other’s embrace one last time before you move away.

The next morning, Thomas wakes up before you do and he slowly untangles himself from you as he wills himself to stay strong. He dresses himself as quietly as he can before he presses one last kiss to your temple.

Then, he takes one last look at your sleeping form before he leaves, keeping his word to you and not giving either of you a chance to say your goodbyes.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A week later, your heart beats frantically as you drop a box of things you plan on leaving behind against the wall outside of your room.

It’s minutes before you’re supposed to leave for the airport — you want to leave early in case something goes wrong and you get delayed. Sighing, you walk back into your empty room to check for any last things you may have missed packing into the many boxes that are already stashed into your parents’ car.

“Y/N?” You hear your brother call out from downstairs. “I think there’s someone waiting for you outside.”

Who could it be? You’ve already said your goodbyes to Maria earlier that day when she’d helped you finish packing.

Erik gives you a sad smile as you pass by and you give him a confused look.

“What? Who is it?” You ask, eyebrows raised. “You know we have to leave in a few, right?”

“You’ll see.” Erik says, causing you to sigh.

After determining that your final sweep (even though you’ve done it three times now) is done, you make your way past Erik and open the front door. When you make it onto your driveway, you’re shocked to see Thomas Jefferson standing there with a sheepish grin and his hands in his pockets, looking as handsome as ever.

“Thomas…” You trail off, surprised to see him after your last day together the week prior. “What are you doing here?”

Your boyfriend (well… ex now, technically) walks closer and takes his hands out of his pockets. You can see him fidgeting with his fingers as he speaks. “I uh…” He breathes out a nervous laugh before one of his hands reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

You watch him from a few feet away as he struggles to get his words out.

“Well, I… as your… not-boyfriend wanted to say goodbye.” He says softly, shifting his eyes to the ground briefly before looking back up to gaze into yours. “I changed my mind. Leaving without saying goodbye just gutted me and made me feel like we had unfinished business. I had to see you one more time, Y/N. I-I’m sorry.” Thomas’ voice is unstable as he apologizes and you feel tears well up in your eyes as he continues. “I know this breaks our agreement and everything, but I couldn’t just let you leave before—”

You cut him off by stalking forward to wrap him into a crushing hug — a hug the two of you desperately need at the moment. Thomas doesn’t waste a second before his arms encircle your waist to hold you just as tightly to him.

Even though you had spent the entire day with each other just a week prior, the need to see each other — to feel each other — one last time has consumed you both. You agree that waking up to an empty bed without saying a proper goodbye (even though it’s what you had initially wanted) had crushed you, and it had caused you to be an emotional wreck to the following two days.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, sniffling before letting out a bittersweet laugh. “I just made this so much more fucking difficult for us.”

“It’s okay.” You reciprocate his laugh as tears stream down your face. “It’s so worth it, T.”

A few minutes pass by as you hold each other close.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m really gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, T.” You say quietly. “So much.”

You’ve lost track of time and your mother is the one to finally bring you and Thomas back to reality.

“Y/N, we gotta go, honey…” Your mom speaks as softly as possible from her position at the front door, and you can see the guilt on her face as she watches her daughter’s heart break. “You’re gonna be late for your flight.”

You turn back to Thomas and give him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You gave me the best year and eight months I could ever ask for… so thank you.”

You look up at him for a second before you sob and crash into his chest. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.” He replies softly before he steels himself. “But you have a flight to catch. Which means you need to go.”

You give him one last kiss, it’s watery from both of your tears but neither of you care.

“Go be great.” He says when you pull back. “You deserve the world, Y/N.”

He holds your hand until the grip slips when you take a step towards the car.

“See you later, Thomas.”

He smiles through his tears before he replies. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You get in the car and a few seconds later, your mother pulls out of the driveway (apparently Erik and your father are going to drive separately). As the car drives away, Thomas waves from your driveway until you can’t see him anymore. You know that’s the last you’ll see of him for a while.

And maybe, just maybe, you regret leaving him behind.

But a voice lingers in the back of your mind that gives you some sort of relief:

If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.

#thomas jefferson x reader #daveed diggs x reader #jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson imagine #daveed diggs imagine #high school au #hamilton fanfic #thomas jefferson fanfic #wideout #feel free to yell at me #but on the bright side #GET READY TO MEET NFL!THOM #what a man

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

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The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

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

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#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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