#or better yet let fiver just go do it

[warlordfelwinter]

fiver after like 6 npcs tell him he needs the forum's permission to go to an island

[bimobuddy]

Safe at Last

TUA tickle fic

> Comfort Tickles <

Lee!Five - Ler!Klaus

Post Series

Might be a little ooc but it's fiiine

Summary: Five is finally being hit by everything, and what better way to help him out than to bring back something simple and familiar?

Five laid there on his bed (futon), just staring up at the ceiling. Processing. He had time traveled, gotten stuck in the post apocalyptic future for 43 years, leaving his family behind, killed people, came back as a child, barely survived three apocalyptic ends, so much more, and... it was finally catching up to him. He exhaled, long and slow.

Due to the deal Allison made with Reginald, they all were alive. Powerless, but alive. And Five was still in his child body, meaning no one believed him that he was 58, and he couldn't buy his own house yet, so he just bounced around from sibling to sibling, whoever would let him stay a few nights.

A few of his siblings had offered to let him just fully move in, and he had considered it, he really had, but he decided against it. He was an old man at heart and mind, he didn't want to feel like he was being taken care of -even if deep down he knew he probably needed it to some degree- so currently, he was staying with Klaus, in an apartment.

"Hey, Fivers.." Speak of the devil. Five didnt even move his head, he just flicked his eyes over to Klaus, who stood in the doorway. "Hm?"

"Hate to barge in like this, but I couldn't help but notice you looked so... sad?" Klaus sat on the futon next to his older-younger brother. Five snorted. "After everything we've been through, 'sad' is an understatement." Five said, looking back up at the ceiling.

Klaus nodded. "Yeah, that's... that's fair. That's really fair." Silence hung in the air for a moment, while Klaus looked down at Five. The poor kid guy looked exhausted, like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. In a way, he had. Three times.

Klaus leaned back against the couch part of the futon, in thought. Suddenly, he got an idea. "Hey, Five, if you'll trust me-" "I know I shouldn't, especially after you've said that, but go on." "-I think I know what may help."

Intrigued, Five propped himself up on his elbows. "I hope you don't mean dr-" "No, no, I'm clean now. But back when I was fighting in the war, there was something Dave used to do that would help me relax." Almost immediately, Five laid back down. "Klaus, I'm flattered and a little creeped out, but not interested." Klaus was tempted to bring up the fact that Five had actually made a joke, but he decided to do it later. "No, it wasn't anything like that, it was just a way to calm me down on real bad nights. If you'll trust me, I'd like to try it with you. You need it, buddy, trust me."

Five thought for a moment. "Fine. I doubt you could make it any wORSE-" As soon as the words left his lips, Klaus had pulled him into his lap. Five started to get up but Klaus gently held his shoulders. "No no, it's okay, this is part of it, you're fine! I'm not gonna mess with ya.. Well- Not much. Give me your hand." Five hesitantly laid back down and gave Klaus his hand.

Klaus started to very gently trace light circles against his palm. When Five snorted and closed his fist, pulling away, Klaus chuckled. "Oh right, I forgot your hands were bad. Let's try somewhere a little less sensitive." Before Five could question what he was doing, Klaus had pushed his shirt up to just under his ribs, starting to lightly trace and tap around his tummy.

Five felt his face and ears get red as he hid his face. He tried to blink away- right. No powers anymore. He decided to just keep his face covered as he giggled into his hands. "Fuck- Klahaus! Whyhy?" The Former-Seance just grinned. "It's hard to think about the bad things while you're getting tickled, isn't it?"

He was right. Five found it quite difficult to think about that while giggling, laying across his brother's lap. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Five was remembering a time when they were kids, this was a thing Klaus had done back then, too. He was always one to give cheer-up tickles to him and his siblings after a rough day. He felt a mix of comfort and nostalgia spread throughout his chest, coming out in the form of much lighter, more bubbly giggles. He hadn't even noticed.

Klaus grinned down at him. "Aw, look at you! You're actually giggling and staying in place, you haven't rolled away once!"

Oh, right.. His reputation.. He was supposed to not like this. Five raised an arm to cover his mouth as he turned his head away, but Klaus just upped the tickles and skittered up his ribs and toward his underarm. Five slammed his arm down as his giggles turned frantic. "Dohohon't!" "Don't what?" "Tihickl- I'M NAHAT THAT DUHUMB!" "Ah, I almost gotcha though."

Klaus fluttered his fingers around Five's ears and under his chin, which resulted in an adorable little snort, then found his way back to his tummy, getting bubbly giggles, then to his hips, which made Five buck and let out a real belly laugh. Yet he still hadn't really protested or tried to get away.

When Klaus squeezed his knee, Five shot up and grabbed his hand. "KLAHAUS!!" He paused to catch his breath, giggles still flooding out of his chest. Klaus smiled warmly. "Just gentle tickles? Calm?" Five just nodded and repeated, "Calm."

Five laid back down, covered his face, and giggled softly into the room, the way he used to before everything happened, back when he was still a somewhat normal 13 year old spending the night in his brother's room after a hard day. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt safe.

[dynmghts]

TRANSMISSION FROM @goresugars : 💌 - slides this and 5 dollars over TRANSMISSION ENDED / POSITIVITY TRAIN , ACCEPTING .

SALT SALT SALT SALT i am very glad u sent this in let's go ... but first take the fiver back, i would talk about u and ur blog without it

what i like about your blog: honestly, i love the simplicity you have for your entire blog, while still capturing that sort of spooky vibe that matches the majority of your muses. i think it's awesome that you don't need to do anything fancy for your icons, because simple is sometimes better (it's kinda funny every time i say this bc of what my icon psd looks like). and honestly, i can't pass up your url. it's iconic. if any other blogs pop up with "sugars" at the end like yours, i immediately assume it's you, because i think that it's just a part of your brand. for real, rock that brand!

what i like about your character(s): it'd be a bit of a missed opportunity not to mention your own explodey blond boy, deidara. now i have NOT watched much shippuden yet - being away from home has affected that - but the screentime i've seen from him has given me true insight into why you love him as a muse so much. you've talked me through what you've done differently to canon (which is apparently a common occurrence for naruto in general, and i already can see why LOL), showed me his little tics and habits, and i've even had katsuki briefly interact with him as a fellow explodey blond on the other side... i sometimes see posts from you set in the naruto universe with him, and i can't help but marvel at how you've captured his character in a way that does him more justice than kishi did!

and OF COURSE, we HAVE to talk about your ocs. akihiro and katsuki haven't officially interacted on our blogs yet, but we did briefly discuss it in discord, and how aki would just reaffirm katsuki to be as unapologetically himself as humanly possible. which katsuki was going to do anyway, but it helps to have someone in his corner about it LMAO. i love the idea of aki and his band backing up dynamight as a sponsor and supporter, which then leads to collaborative marketing, and from there, katsuki inadvertently becomes a leader in individuality. all through the vkei genre.

then there's the best boy daiki, which we have a whole au where he gets adopted into the bakugou family after he and katsuki got along and katsuki's parents decided to provide some stability... well, as much as you can get in the bakugou household. these two are the best of friends and best of brothers, even when they collide with each other, but that's what makes them so fun to talk about? i just love the entire dynamic we've built for them around that concept. and eventually, daiki is gonna have to drag his adoptive family to meet his extended family in europe, because it's going to be fun watching poor katsuki out of his ELEMENT the entire time.

what i like about you in general: salt, bestie, you are the life of the party. you rock up in my discord like "HEY LOOK" and i sit there bouncing off my walls like a feral cat because you thought about showing me, completely unprompted, and i fucking love it. we just have so many thoughts and so many ideas about katsuki with a bunch of your muses and when the ball's rolling, we're bouncing around like a pinball machine. i know i need to be a lil more consistent with messages but you've been patient with me too and thank you so much for that <3 here's to all the more shenanigans with katsuki and your muses!

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[ciggylungz]

Pray to me

word count. 4,077

Warnings-like probably the most risky smut i’ve ever written, church sex, wild stuff (sorry)

Pray to me:

(A random little smutty one shot relating to my bad boy harry series, it’s not going to affect the story line so just imagine this is another au for my au that’s an au. I just gave myself a stroke writing that.)

__

Detention.

A ‘punishment’ Harry Styles was used to getting by now, he was in his third year of Catholic high school and to say he has gotten his fair share of detention slips is a gross understatement. You’d think being surrounded by crosses would help subdue his cursing yet Harry didn’t seem to inherit the same fear his classmates did by the ‘word of god’ that was crammed down his throat every day. So, it wasn’t exactly tolerated when the boy strung a slew of curses together to describe the head Priest, or when he got caught smoking spliffs in the boys bathroom when he was supposed to be in math and well, those choices led him to where he is now. Slouched in a pew whilst the head nun was giving him a proper tongue lashing and explaining to him that he was to clean the chapel from top to bottom, smooth any creased pages in the 300 bibles that were stacked in the rows of pews, get any gum off the under side of them as well and wipe down the stain glass windows. The school had called his mum to tell her he would be home very late that day knowing the job would take a solid 4 or 5 hours to complete and that’s if he rushed it. To say he was pissed was putting it lightly, yet the biggest shock was yet to come when he heard the heavy wooden doors open and slam again as another person shuffled inside.

“Miss Yln, you’re here. Mister Styles here can tell you the duties you both must complete, here are the keys lock the doors when you both are finished. We’ll expect to meet with you before mass tomorrow to get a proper apology once the work if finished. Right-o, chop chop kids.”

The grouchy wrinkle faced nun thrust the keys into an anxious Y/n’s hands while she shuffled her way towards the exit, giving a careless slam of the 20 pound doors causing both Harry and Y/n to flinch. Harry was genuinely surprised to see Y/n there with him, he’s used to seeing her at mass or in line at confessional but detention? That was a new one for her. He took his time standing from his seat, cracking his back and neck whilst he settled onto his feet, casting a curious glance at the girl who stuck out like a sore thumb in the somber hostile environment. He knew Y/n well, he considers her a friend which is rare since he’s not the friendliest of people around town. Yet he liked Y/n, she was cute as button and what teenage boy doesn’t find an innocent girl wearing a catholic school uniform appealing?

“well well well miss sunshine, what did you do to get yourself this torment?” Harry gave her the quick once over, using his typical teasing nickname for the girl just to get her cheeks to blush a bit and help lighten the mood. Y/n blew out a breath out through her plump glossed lips, subconsciously stomping her foot a bit in annoyance which Harry thought was funny, and also cute. “I accidentally said a bad word in class! James tricked me into saying it and Sister Amy heard and gave me detention.” Her pout grew further when the boy chuckled at her attitude. “How did he trick yeh into saying somethin’?” Y/n grunted a bit, very peeved and mentally hexing James for what his actions caused her, “He said hold your tongue while you say apple…” Harry at this point was letting out a belly laugh, just imagining Y/n’s face when she realized she’d said asshole and finding humor in how ditzy she could be sometimes. “You fell for that? Did you not have a childhood? I thought everyone knew that trick, hon” Y/n simply smacked his arm and tossed the keys onto the nearest surface. “Shush Harry” her little finger pointed at him, trying to be serious but he found it comical. His hands moved out to poke her sides, knowing exactly how ticklish she was feeling content as Y/n squirmed and squealed. Adorable giggles falling from her lips and making the chapel seem a bit less creepy, her tiny hands trying to push his biceps back to free herself from his tickling fingers. “Ah! Harry!-“ she was trying to speak between her laughs, the boy one year her senior smiled, dimples sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, “Dunno what you expected, love. You thought you could tell me to shush?! no one tells me to do princess.” “Okay! Okay I’m sorry! I take it back!” after what seemed like an eternity to Y/n, but was only a few ticks over a minute Harry finally let go, smiling down at her while he ruffled her hair chuckling to himself while she tried to straighten her uniform back out. “That was not a fair fight Harry, you had an unfair weight AND height advantage!” y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, you started it bossy pants. You’re lucky I didn’t throw yeh over m’ shoulder and tossed yeh around. You got off easy this time missy.”

Harry wasn’t typically so playful and relaxed, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cold around Y/n. How could he? She’s sunshine personified, the real version of the rhyme ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’.  The girl was the only thing that kept him from dropping out. Y/n makes day to day bullshit tolerable for him…and well she also has given her inspiration more than once when he couldn’t sleep at night and resorted to a quick wank while mumbling of dirty phrases topped off with her name to send him off to dreamland.

 _______________________________

After some more shenanigans, the pair got to work on their scheduled tasks.  Y/n had started in the bibles in the first 6 pews on the right side of the chapel while Harry dug through a supply closet to get a ladder out to wipe the windows. He was contemplating if he should pretend to fall and collect an insurance claim instead of actually cleaning the 12-foot art pieces but he decided against it by the time he found what he was looking for. After setting the ladder up and grabbing the giant duster Harry decided to take his first break, he knew he was just procrastinating but who cares? He decided during his break he’d get Y/n to take one with him. “Hey love, wanna take a fiver?” Y/n looked up from the 12th bible she had fixed giving him a frantic nod, her mind numb from the task she was busy doing.

“what do yeh wanna do?” she left the choice up to the older boy, watching as he bit his lip lightly in thought, shrugging and scooting in next to her. “truth or dare?” he wiggled his eyebrows tempting her and being the compliant and very bored girl, she was, Y/n agreed.

“Okay you first Harry, truth or dare?” the boy pondered for a moment before shrugging, “Truth” he didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her skirt all excited for the game. “Ok, have you ever uhmmmm got drunk?” her innocence laced her tone, genuine curiosity. Her voice slightly lowered as if what she was asking was naughty which of course got Harry to chuckle, “Yes, pretty much every weekend. You’ve never drank? Not even once, love?” his left eyebrow raised and she timidly shrugged “Nope, I only had wine at communion but then it’s only a sip. Never been drunk before…Okay your turn!” he hummed slightly, “Truth or dare y/n?” “uhhh dare!” at this point she was squirming in her seat from her giddiness, and Harry took full opportunity over the chance he had. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Y/n wasn’t exactly expecting that one. She thought maybe he’d dare her to say another bad word or smoke one of his cigarettes, but he wanted her to kiss him…and she was confused on why she wanted to. She didn’t want to say no, she had the urge to follow through with it. The girl noticed the butterflies in her stomach she was used to getting when around her older friend, and a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Harry sat with an amused smirk, darting his tongue out to lick over his lips whilst tipping his head to the side slightly, “cat got your tongue, love? What are yeh waiting for?” a pointer finger was placed under her chin to get her to look at him, and y/n decided it was better to bite the bullet and pushed her thoughts out of the way while quickly leaning in to give him a peck.

Harry was surprised she actually did it, feeling her lips on his for a split second before she pulled away with a shy giggle yet he was having none of that. “uh uh, a real kiss” his natural dominance reared it’s head when he grabbed the girl and plopped her on his lap, holding her jaw and planting his lips on her’s yet again coaxing her to move with him. When she didn’t respond how he wanted he tugged her hair a bit, biting her bottom lip and dragging it down so her mouth was pried open, “Being a tease y/n, keep your mouth open wanna taste ya’”

y/n’s head was swimming, she’d never done anything like this but her body went weak under Harry’s rough hold and demanding voice and so she complied opening her mouth so his tongue could infiltrate. She wasn’t really skilled in the kissing department; she’d only kissed one person before and it was nothing like this. Harry didn’t mind her clumsy, clueless movements he found it even hotter that she didn’t know what she was doing and he was the one cracking away at her purity. His heart was pumping, his fingers tangled in her hair as he tugged her by it to get her to move where he wanted her, it was hot. So fucking hot.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss he observed her. Plump lips now a flushed red, swollen and slick with her lingering lip gloss and their mixed spit. She was breathing heavily, eyes staring into his darkening ones. She looked amazing. “God…pet you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuckin’ do that” his tongue darted out to lick over his own lips frowning when he got a heavy taste of sticky lip-gloss , “gotta get this off yeh, it’s too sticky” his sleeve was pulled down to cover his palm whilst he rubbed the remaining product off her delicious lips before shuffling it back up to bunch at his elbows. “There, look a little dazed petal. Yeh alright?” Y/n nodded quickly at the question, smiling a little bit before kissing his nose and each of his cheeks then going back to his lips mimicking how he’d kissed her prior. The boy could hardly contain himself, taking over the kiss and pulling her hands off his face holding both her wrists in one of his hands yanking them above her head so she was completely bound. “No no no, little love. I make the rules hon, you don’t. I didn’t say to kiss me again did i? I didn’t say you could touch me, hmm? Being a bit naughty aren’t yeh baby?”

To say she was overwhelmed and a tad confused was accurate, she had really no experience in any sort of sexual situations all she knew is she was going to listen to Harry. His gaze was enough to melt her into submission. “Words Y/n, did I tell you to do those things?” his grip on her wrist tightened a bit, “No….no you didn’t tell me to…” his eyes were staring into hers a subtle hum exiting his throat. “Good girl, now tell me your sorry.” “I’m sorry, Harry” an adorable pout decorated her lips, Harry was loving this.

He let go of her hands, both of them falling into her lap where she folded them, making sure to follow the new rule of not touching without permission, waiting for what was going to happen next. Only a moment later did Y/n feel Harry’s right thumb pressing into her bottom lip, eyes jumping to meet his, “open” she complied, letting him slip his thumb past her lips to rest on her tongue, “Close, now suck.”

Her confused gaze met his stern one while she started suckling on his digit. She didn’t really understand why he wanted her to suck his thumb, regardless she did it.

It was taking everything in Harry to not bend the girl over and shove himself inside her, god he fucking wanted to but he had something else in mind. Something more sinful than two teenagers having premarital sex in a chapel, no he wanted to give the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could to the school, and the ‘god’ he was forced to submit to. He knew if all the preaching’s were true, this idea was his first-class ticket straight to the devil’s doorstep.

“Listen princess, you’re going to do what I say, okay?” Y/n gave a quick nod of her head, Harry scooting her off his lap and removing his thumb from her mouth as he guided her up the steps to of the pulpit where the priest usually gave his sermons, a holy pedestal of sorts but today it would get a new use.

“on your knees.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Harry stood in the center of the pulpit, the religious art work surrounding them did little to stop his ‘sinful’ desires. Desires of the flesh were the only thing on his mind.

Y/n was on her knees before him, looking up at her friend who had a smug sultry look on his beautiful face. His hands fumbled with his belt whilst he looked down at her.

“you’re going to pray to me now, angel.”

Y/n couldn’t believe she was really in this situation, kneeling under the podium in the pulpit where she hears sermons 5 days a week for 3 hours with Harry pulling his cock out. when he finally managed to get himself free a loud groan echoed in the sanctuary, one that made Y/n feel a tingle between her legs and salivate slightly. A strange new sensation she couldn’t describe, but she knew she liked it.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

Y/n had never seen Harry’s eye’s look so dark, his tone so demanding and his breathing so heavy. His cock loomed over her face, bobbing slightly with every beat of his heart whilst something clear and sticky was leaking from the tiny slit in the top of it webbing onto the underside of his tip. She was nervous, but she did as she was told opening her sweet little mouth so the older boy could guide the crown of his cock into the warm cavern of her virgin mouth. The sensation was the closest thing to heavenly Harry had ever felt in this room, her mouth was warm and wet. Tongue slightly textured and slick with the nice, thick spit that comes from the back corners of your mouth. It’s better than any lube you can buy truly. He instructed her to suck his flesh, hollowing her cheeks and massaging his prick with the flesh of her mouth for the very first time in her life.

“Holy fucking shit, doll…you sure this is yeh first time? Good little cock sucker aren’t yeh? On your pretty knees, praying to me now huh?” Harry could see his cock pushing into the side of her cheek as she nodded, her mouth stuffed full of his leaking member, and because Harry was Harry and liked to really make a statement he decided if he was going to hell for this, he might as well make it worth it.

His fingers plucked one of the small wooden crosses off of the staircase on the pulpit, it was a decoration dedicated to Christ yet he had other plans for it.

The boy took a step back from Y/n, moaning slightly at the sight of her following after his cock when it started slipping from her lips. She wanted it, she liked it and god he fucking did too but he couldn’t wait any longer to execute the idea that just tumbled into his mind. Harry snapped his fingers in front of the drooly lipped girl, getting her attention on his eyes instead of the cock she wanted so desperately back in her mouth. “Up, don’t be greedy yeh can finish me off when I’m done with yeh..” Harry lifted the girl by her underarms up onto the flat part of the pedestal, where a bible was sat opened to a scripture that was suddenly smothered by the doe eyed girls round plump ass. Harry wishes he could dig his teeth into it but that’s for another time.

Y/n didn’t resist at all when he tipped her back a bit, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs. The only reaction she gave at first was a quick gasp when he ripped her school tights right at the crotch her white cotton panties now in his view. “cute” was mumbled under his breath as he toyed with the tiny pink bow stitched into the waistband of her panties, but soon they were gone as well pushed fully to the side to expose her cunt, a small smattering of light curls at the apex of her thighs. They looked soft, light and quite cute. He could tell they’d never been shaven off before by how soft they were, wasn’t a very course or thick section of hair. That was likely to come later in her life, but for now her cunt was the only thing he was willing to worship in the holy home of Christ.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…got a real nice little pussy, angel.” Y/n was past the point of being shy now, she was spread eagle perched on top of a open bible with her cunt on full display in front of her half naked friend. Modesty flew out the door a while ago. And so, she responded in a little whine and shimmy of her hips, feeling the cold air lapping at her hot center and cooling the slick that had collected between her folds that she didn’t even notice till now.

The boy thought he might have been in the midst of one of his wet dreams, the stereotypical catholic school girl splayed out in a chapel with his hungry eyes staring at her virgin cunt. He was trying his hardest to take a mental picture so he can relive this the next time he has a wank, but in this moment his plan was coming to fruition.

Harry held up the small wooden cross, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. The piece of religious art was about as wide around as a taper candle and maybe a good 4 inches from the base to where it met the divider of the cross. Much smaller than his cock, but a good size to fuck his classmate with.

“Open.” His voice doomed after the stretch of silence, Y/n letting her lips fall open again gurgling a bit as the wooden cross was thrust into her mouth. Harry was purposefully being rough, pushing her gag reflex intentionally, “Gag on it, get it nice and wet. Do as I say y/n, m’ getting’ yeh throat to slick it up. Could shove it in yeh dry be glad I’m lubing it up pet.” With a few more jabs at her uvula the boy was content with the amount of thick spit that dripped down the object.

Y/n couldn’t help but squirm and mewl, feeling Harry split her labia. An audible clicking sound fell on their ears from the wetness adhering the folds of skin together, the sound gave a boost to his already prominent smirk. Once her engorged clit came into view Harry made a point to give it a few strong strokes with his thumb before pressing the end of the cross into the girl’s virgin opening. The sight was nothing short of filthy, completely sinful. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floor caved in and they fell straight to hell as he finally managed to press through her thin hymen gaining entry to the untouched inners of the girl.

The stinging caused Y/n to hiss slightly, her legs quivering as he finally made it inside her. A small streak of her purity stood out against the white wood. Harry couldn’t help but snicker to himself, he thought of Virgin Mary in this moment. Ironic right? The first thought into his mind when seeing Y/n’s virginal blood striping a cross was how this was a strange twist on the story of the savior’s mother.

His movements sped up considerably after the flimsy membrane of resistance was punctured. The cross now being plunged in and out of the girl’s sacred spot in quick succession while she gripped the railing behind her in an effort not to tumble off the stand.

“Would yeh look at that, might be the first girl in this school to get fucked with a cross, baby. Always knew you were special huh?” Harry migrated his hand down to thumb at her clit, the foreign sensation of something inside of her and a massaging of her pleasure organ had the girl pigeon toed and panting. Harry swears he’s never seen anything hotter than what he was doing in this moment. His arm was getting tired but he didn’t dare fucking stop. No, he decided he was going to violate the artwork until Y/n had her first orgasm clamping onto the now not so holy figurine.

Y/n could barely form a thought, pleasure wracking through her body and a strange sensation building inside of her. Harry mumbling filth to her was the icing on the cake, her body tipping over the edge. Her body went stiff before breaking out into shakes, vocal cords strained from the moans and yelps escaping her throat. Her first ever orgasm was the most intense feeling she had ever felt, and Harry almost came just watching her suddenly remembering his abandoned cock.

Y/n was scrambling to regain control over her body, pushing Harry’s wrists away with a slick popping noise following as the cross was removed from her body. Harry leaned down to kiss the panting girl, dribbling spit into her open mouth while she gasped for air. “good girl, you’re such a good girl.” His ring clad fingers pet her cheek lightly, the other hand sitting her up and tugging her forward giving her a shove to get her back onto her knees.

“Now, time to finish your prayer, love” His hand pushed his cock back into the cavern of her mouth, she suckled hard on him. Tongue lapping at the underside of his cock, suction hard on the crown of him. The way she gave harsh spongy movements of her tongue and cheeks had his knees weak having to hold himself up on the podium. “Shit, Christ pet I’m gonna cum”.

Harry felt his climax rapidly approaching, taking both of his hands and putting them on the back of her head forcing the entirety of his cock down the girls sore throat. The muscles already tired from all the noise she made with it, but she only dug her fingers into his thighs as he spilled down her tight throat.

Harsh breathing along with Harry’s pleasured chuckle were the only noises filling the room as the pair removed themselves from each other. Harry getting his control back, putting his cock away before pulling Y/n to her feet giving her a few smacking kisses as he helped straighten her out tossing her ruined tights into the trashcan.

“Think we took more than a fiver babe, guess we gotta finish now huh?”

His smirk was wide while he put the cross right back in it’s place, cum still dripping off of it.

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Vagrancy Act

So they’re repealing the Vagrancy Act. Well, probably. It’s a very good thing, but it’s also ... kind of a problematic thing, because while we’re hearing, “The homeless will no longer be criminalised yay!” ... we’re not hearing how they’re doing it.

The ability to repeal the Vagrancy Act of 1824 (which effectively criminalises homelessness and begging, and also technically makes it illegal to ask for change of a fiver for a parking meter, but there you go) is enshrined in the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill. That’s the one that’s criminalising protest if it’s deemed ‘annoying’ or ‘disruptive’ (which is, of course, the point) Now, the Lords voted that one down, but still. It’s also criminalising Gypsy, Romani and Traveller encampments. Additionally, it increases the police’s powers of stop-and-search to basically enable them to stop and search anyone, any time, for any reason they dream up. So it’s basically adding a thing to the Police, Crime, Sentencing, and Courts Bill that lets the Tories go, “If you vote against this, you’re all for throwing homeless people in jail!”

Now, this amendment to repeal the Vagrancy Act was added in February this year, which means it was a Lords decision, not a Commons decision, so that probably wasn’t deliberate. But I can see Commons not fighting it at this stage, largely because ... well, that’s the other thing. By February, we could all see the writing on the wall. We knew the National Insurance increase was coming. We knew the £20 ‘uplift’ to Universal Credit was being withdrawn. We knew we were looking at an economic nightmare because of Brexit. And from all that, we knew that there was going to be a lot of homelessness as people lost the ability to keep up with the rent. And the government wasn’t going to provide more financial support for the poor - oh no, not while they’re taxing us unmercifully to spare the rich being slightly less rich. And let’s face it - we’d need a lot more prisons if we were going to throw every homeless person in jail for asking for change.

And let’s face it - because of how even the police state that the new stop and search free-for-all being granted to the police is going to most negatively impact Black people, they need the space in their jails for them. I know how disgusting that sounds, but frankly, it’s true; the Tories need to be “tough on crime” and appeal to a particularly unpleasant bigoted bunch of fuckheads because that is their voter base. Putting Black people in jail on trumped-up charges is better for them than jailing homeless people. While I know it sounds ungenerous to say that they’re probably thinking, “at least we won’t have to house or feed those homeless people if we stop throwing them in jail, and it’ll be scare all the people just barely holding on into working harder to keep their jobs if they see where they could end up ... at least before the weather or gang kids after some kicks kills the homeless” ... but honestly, with this government, I can see that being their exact thoughts. This is the same government who responds to refugees struggling across the Channel in tiny rubber boats with, “Let’s get a big wave machine and the fucking Navy and drive the immigrant scum back!”, and also believes in throwing employment rights out the window.

So basically we criminalise the homeless, abuse the poor, strip the rights from everyone who isn’t rich, white, old, and/or male (preferably all of the above but “rich” at least has to be in it) ... and yet we stand up saying that we’re “world-beating” at so many things we clearly aren’t. This country currently runs on hot air and braggadocio from Johnson and I am just ... so tired of it. Still, at least the homeless won’t have a criminal record to add to their troubles when it comes to finding a job or support services.

So I’mma ponder Saturday Shenanigans (I think I just about have enough spoons for this for once) and daydream about tomorrow’s seed-planting extravaganza! ...And try to forget that my excitement at planting my own garlic, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, courgettes, peas, beetroots and onion (all the seeds in my spiffy seed selection) is at least halfway down to desperately, desperately wanting to cut down on my grocery bill this coming summer, and actually be able to have fresh food instead of relying on the freezer section and hoping that they haven’t thrown half-rotted produce into the flash-freezer. ...Again.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Squeals and flails! Your writing is so good! Have been stopping myself from asking for continuations of pretty much every piece, especially the childhood, omega Lao Wen going into heat and possessive Ah Xu ones! Could you write a 5+1 fic with five times Ah Xu dotes on his Lao Wen, and one time Lao Wen is sweet to Ah Xu please? Was thinking that the first moment could be Wenzhou stargazing with Lao Wen falling asleep in Ah Xu’s arms and then Ah Xu hugging him closer? Thank you!

A/N: So this is going to be a 3 + 1 instead of a fiver because I’m sleepy and I want to finish this before bed haha... Sorry...

1. It’s a little too late in the season for them to be indulging in a spot of stargazing on the roof of the Manor, but Lao Wen had complained that they’d barely had any time alone (lies; they’ve stolen plenty of time alone because his ass sure as hell remembers those times alone) and had pulled out his trump card of telling Chengling to gather the kids for a spot of camping out in the plum forests as a form of cultivation exercise.

Zishu isn’t sure what sort of bribery Lao Wen had promised the brat, but he hopes Chengling bargained hard for it.

So, here they were. Up on the rooftop, wrapped up in their cloaks, passing a bottle of pear blossom wine between them as they watch the heavens twinkle down at them. In the distance, Zishu can clearly see the dull glow of the firelight and he feels assured that the kids haven’t gone too far.

“Ah Xu, pay attention to me,” Lao Wen harumphs, wriggling himself into his arms with a laugh. Zishu wraps his arms around him, burying his lips to the crown of his head and kissing him there with a smile. 

“I’m always paying attention to you,” He says.

It takes Lao Wen a beat to reply and when he does, it is a quiet but fond, “I know.”

Under the moonlight, they enjoy each other’s company; reminiscing of their first time stargazing together and all the hijinks that night had entailed. They talk about the progress of the disciples, about Chengling and his upcoming trip to Nanjiang to visit Luta, about the extension they will need to make for the new students that are coming next month.

It is about an hour into this when Zishu realises that Lao Wen has fallen silent. Worried that he may be struck by a bout of strange moods again, he looks down only to find that Lao Wen has fallen asleep in his arms. 

Smiling, he adjusts their cloaks so that they’re bundled up warm in the night chill. Curling a touch to Lao Wen’s cheek, Zishu settles in against him.

2. When Lao Wen sulks, he doesn’t do it in half measures.

Chengling winces at him in sympathy before backing away slowly like he is trying to escape a spooked tiger. In a way, Zishu thinks that this situation probably warrants a strategic retreat of some kind. 

Still. He glares at Chengling’s winning smile as he darts away to safety. That little traitor.

“So when were you planning on telling me that Lord Seventh,” Here Zishu notes that Lao Wen spits the syllables of Beiyuan’s title as if rolling something extremely distasteful in his mouth. “Was coming to visit?”

He mulls over what to say; well-versed as he is in taming Lao Wen when his darkest impulses flare to the fore, Zishu needs to weigh the next things that come out of his mouth before he digs this grave any deeper.

“Or were you not planning on telling me at all?”

The thread of hurt in those words strike true in twisting his heart. Looking up at where Lao Wen has his back to him makes it worse and he hurries across to him, pulling him into his arms and peppering kisses over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his brows, the plush heat of his lips, as he seats both of them on the divan. 

“I really was going to tell you, I promise,” Zishu says, brushing back his hair. Letting Lao Wen nuzzle against his throat, he sighs. “I know how you are when Beiyuan visits and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with him being here, but he’s one of the few people in the world who knows me as well as you do. He’s a friend and there are times when I just want to have my friend with me.”

“I don’t hate him...” Lao Wen mumbles softly.

Zishu has to laugh at the blatant lie. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that Lao Wen gets an eye twitch or two when Beiyuan and he exchange some inside joke or two that excludes him. It’s such a little thing; petty by the standards of others and Zishu knows that he isn’t actually jealous or trying to be controlling, but is instead curious and yet dreading all the secrets that Beiyuan may let slip about Zishu’s life before him and all the persons that came before.

Now, that he is jealous about.

He doesn’t say anything to the contrary, merely pull Lao Wen tightly against him. “Alright, alright, if you say so,” He says agreeably, peppering kisses to his husband’s cheek.

3. Absence, as those who claim to be wise, would say, makes the heart grow fonder.

What Zishu finds is that it makes him a fucking misery to be around.

Chengling had long since given up in trying to coax him into some sort of reasonable mood a good week ago and had taken off in the night, leaving a note to say that he will rendezvous with him in another week. That disciple of his is getting better at picking up the subtle things that people are telling him without saying a single word.

He downs another cup of wine. 

It has been horrible to travel this far without Lao Wen. He’d had to contend with constantly looking over his shoulder for a smiling face and the quick-fire wit of his beloved. He has had to draw upon every self-control he had in him not to scream at the Sect Leader they were visiting to further their alliance.

Zishu fumes and drinks two more cups in quick succession.

If Chengling isn’t back in time and if he has to delay his trip back to the Manor just to wait for his silly disciple, he will absolutely without a shadow of a doubt, leave the idiot behind to fend for himself.

He’s done his best to equip the kid for surviving in the wild. No one can fault him for wanting to run back home with the stash of wines he had found on his travels. Zishu had bought them to share with his Lao Wen of course; there were some well-loved flavours and then some others that could be considered rare enough that a former Lord of the Ghost Valley would definitely find delight in the taste of.

Zishu finds himself calming somewhat at the thought of laying out his gifts for Lao Wen; of how those beautiful eyes would widen at the sight of all the wines, of how his lips would curl in a smile as he tastes each and every one of them, savouring them in the only way a connoisseur can; the sounds he would make in his enjoyment that could only come from a place so deep in pleasure--

No, no, no. Zishu is not going there tonight. He downs three cups and sighs. He’s already rubbed himself raw from missing Lao Wen this entire trip. If he does anymore, he’ll probably...

Yeah. Best to just save it til he gets home to his beloved.

+1

Lao Wen likes to think that he is an attentive husband. Certainly, Ah Xu has never wanted for anything when he was with him. Be it in bed or outside of it, he loves to cater to his beloved’s needs. 

As such, when it comes to his birthday, Lao Wen will die before he admits that he doesn’t know what to get him.

In the end, the answer comes simply. 

After the birthday dinner with the members of the Manor, he steals Ah Xu away for a bout of kisses that leave them both weak-kneed and aching jawed. “Get into bed. I’ll bring you your gift,” He says, hands on Ah Xu’s slender waist. Smiling, he swallows down his moan, licking the taste of wine and good food off Ah Xu’s tongue. “You’ll love it.”

He watches his husband stumble back, eyes a deep desire dark.

He cannot wait to see how his Ah Xu unravels when they put into play the little gift he had custom made for him; an exquisite jade that sits on a bed of silk in a lacquer box, hidden in the folds of his second-best robe. The same jade he may or may not have spent a small fortune in carving into the shape of his own cock. 

If he was being honest, this was an entirely selfish gift to be giving someone else on their birthday, but what does he care? This is something Ah Xu and himself can utilise over and over again, and this was something that could be the first of many to come. 

Absently and with glee, he thinks of the day he gets to help Ah Xu model for a jade phallus of his own. 

Oh, Lao Wen is going to have so much fun tonight.

[marmolady]

Homecoming: Part Two

Continued from PART ONE

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister, Variego

Summary: Endless Ending. Back on La Huerta for the first time since the world's resurrection, there are some heart-to-hearts with old friends in order.

Word Count: 4680

Chronology: After 'The New Taylor' and 'A Ride to Remember', sort of midway through 'Inheritance'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic​

Thanks for reading!

“Howdy there, pilot. Have you thought of a name for her yet?” Taylor asked as she stepped into the cockpit, squinting as she adjusted to the bright light that shone through the large windows as they soared over the Caribbean.

“You comin’ in here to annoy me is just part and parcel of my La Huerta jobs now, ain’t it?”

“Oh, Top Gun, so sentimental,” she teased-- but really, like she could talk.

Jake rested his hands behind his head and looked out over a familiar green spot in the blue expanse, now fast approaching. “Well, she’s no ‘Delilah’, that’s for sure. If something comes to me, it comes to me. But like I say, it ain’t the same. It’s not as if you people are about to let me hide from the world with this baby as my only friend.”

“Damn straight.”

“Thought as much. Well, everything’s reading as normal; think we might make it, sans freaky storms this time.” Jake turned to his visitor with a smirk. “I’m still gonna want you to get your ass in a seat. A landing’s a landing.”

Safely in her seat-- Estela by her side, and little Fenix in a pet carrier tucked against the seat in the next aisle-- Taylor felt her stomach doing violent flip-flops as the green spot in the ocean came closer, beginning to take on detail. Rivers she’d bathed in snaking out to the sea, Atropo looming, and the now-abandoned Celestial-- still standing by all appearances unchanged-- in its shadow.

Estela was calm and quiet, contemplative as the small plane descended. So much about this journey was familiar, and yet, everything had changed. This time, marching towards her destiny wasn’t a lonely trail to a foregone violent conclusion; this time, the future was all a big unknown other than the fact that it would be anything but lonely. She wove her fingers with Taylor’s, feeling nerves flowing through, and gently squeezed.

“Almost there, querida.”

With a gentle bump, the plane was on the ground, and Taylor gave a small sigh of relief. She didn’t want to be rude about Jake’s flying ability, but until that point, she’d finished every ride with him in either a crash, a near crash… or plummeting into the sea. That she was something of a nervous flyer was, she thought, pretty damn reasonable.

In no time at all, the cabin door had been swung open, and the warm Caribbean air welcomed the small group home.

“And here I was worried I’d need to replace another plane. It seems the pilot can fly one of these things after all; that’s a fiver I owe you, Grace.”

“He of little faith,” Grace laughed, though it was quite clear she was at least somewhat giddy with relief. “Jake knows what he’s doing.”

No sooner had Taylor set her feet on La Huerta soil than a familiar figure was running towards her, streaking out of the cover of the foliage at the side of the runway.

“Diego! Ohmygod!”

Diego flung his arms around his friend and held her tight. Last he’d seen her, she’d only just clawed herself back from death’s door; Taylor was going to get hugged, and she was going to get hugged hard.

Estela set out into the humid air, immediately aware of the sounds of the jungle; insects and birds, rustling of leaves. Even the smell of the soil was distinctly La Huerta. She hadn’t expected to feel like this, but… she was home.

_____________________________

An almost comically deep miaow made Estela jump. Engrossed in what she’d been writing-- and the frustrated doodles she’d been swirling on a separate piece of paper-- she hadn’t noticed Taylor’s cat, Madam, joining her on the wooden bench outside their home.

“I must be making myself crazy, hey Mierdita? I guess you’re here to make sure my senses stay sharp… or you’ve come to complain to me about Nixie.”

“Mow.”

Estela giggled and scooped the little cat, presently bright orange in colour, though that was subject to change, and hugged her to her chest. It was nice to have the company. Taylor was down on the beach, catching up with Diego for the first time in far too long. And what Estela was doing… for the most part, she needed to be left in her own space to do it. The little cat might have been a distraction, but from the number of doodles Estela had scribbled, it looked as though her productivity had already peaked for the time being.

“You’ll just have to learn to forgive Taylor. You know she likes to surround herself with lots of friends.”

Madam nimbly climbed her way up onto Estela’s shoulder, and enthusiastically rubbed against her face.

“I’m glad I can make you feel better. I guess I wasn’t getting anywhere with writing this anyway….”

With a little sigh, she tucked the unfinished letter in her hoodie. She’d written so many letters to her mother-- one for every week she’d been working here on the island-- but to find the words to say goodbye, to get some kind of closure, did not come easy. Maybe with a little more time to think….

“Hello?”

Estela looked up to see Varyyn outside the front of the house. “Haalta, Varyyn. I’m round the side.”

With a low growl, Madam ducked down into Estela’s hood and pressed herself against her neck. She eyed their visitor with great suspicion from her perch.

“It looks like your little friend is happy to have you back,” Varyyn said as he approached, “--and less pleased to see me.”

“Don’t worry; she has a lot to say, but it’s all talk. She won’t bite.”

Varyyn, rather daringly in Estela’s view-- though he did regularly hang around with a hulking smilodon, so maybe he was just good with cats-- reached and tickled Madam under her chin.

“I have been wanting to find you,” he said. “Diego had told me you were preparing a memorial for your mother.”

‘’S a long time coming,” Estela grunted. “And maybe it’ll be a long time still; I don’t want to do anything extravagant, but it’s got to be right.”

“That is fair. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No, no. I don’t mind,” she said, gentler. “So long as it’s in progress. Finally. I couldn’t exactly get any kind of closure until I’d dealt with Rourke, and then… I needed to go home. I dunno… maybe it was easier to feel it as anger, because the sadness was too much to bear if I let it take its place. When I let myself really feel it….” A tear rolled down her face, and she brushed it away. “I don’t know if I can say I’m at peace with it all… I don’t think I ever really can be. But I’m better. I brought over the letters Mom sent me when she was here on the island, to bury. And I then thought of writing again… to say goodbye. All I’ve gotta do now is find the words. Anyway,” she finished hurriedly, “you wanted me for something?”

Varyyn nodded sagely. It wasn’t lost on him the intimacy of what was being shared. Perhaps the violent death of his own mother had given Estela a sense of tragic kinship with him?

“Seraxa and I talked at great length. It had… troubled me that there had been no acknowledgement of your mother’s sacrifice. She must have felt very alone standing against the Hydra, but we will not see that bravery forgotten now.”

He reached into his satchel, and brought out a neatly folded set of clothes.

“To wear the traditional uniform of our warriors is the greatest of honours. We wish to pay tribute to your mother as a hero to the Vaanti, if you will accept this gift.”

Estela’s eyes grew wide, and her bottom lip wobbled. “I--- um, thank you.” That’s the best you can manage? “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you.” In Varyyn’s nod of understanding, the look in his eyes, it was plain to see he felt the depth of her gratitude.

A gentle smile came to Varyyn’s face, as though he was relieved. “It is your choice whether you would like to wear this in her honour, or simply keep it as part of your memorial.”

Her cheeks flushed, Estela hugged the folded uniform to her chest. There were just… no words to adequately say what the gesture meant. For Estela’s own protection, any trace of Olivia Montoya’s connection to Everett Rourke had been wiped from record; and with it, all evidence of the courageous last stand taken. But here she was remembered.

“I don’t think I’ve told you…,” Estela choked out after a little while. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m the best conversationalist… I don’t know what to say to people half the time.” She shook her head. “But, anyway, I always found you impressive. When your mother died… it was sudden, and brutal, and somehow you had the strength to honour her by taking up her mantle. Immediately. And you always seemed so together, however much you were crumbling on the inside. You had to be.”

“I had good friends to lean on. And I had Diego.” Varyyn chucked darkly. “It is terrible, but when you all came back through the gate, as much I was very sad for you all, and for Diego, that everything you knew and loved was gone… there was a very selfish part of me….” He stalled.

“Fair enough,” Estela said, not about to force him to finish a clearly uncomfortable sentence. “It had only been a couple of days. How’s anyone supposed to bear that much loss? While carrying the expectations and fears of your people? Diego gave you comfort when you needed it most. And… then you gave him the same.”

“Yes.”

Having that shoulder; it made all the difference. It made living through the worst of horrors bearable, and then, somehow… it made the act of living on, in hope, possible. Varyyn had Diego. She, Estela, had her Taylor. And they all had one another.

“We’re lucky we found the right people.”

___________________________

As she slogged through the soft white sand, Taylor wasn’t sure what was going to give out first, her legs or her lungs. Using her best friend’s hand as an anchor, she kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Hey, Taylor, you know, it might be easier to have a real conversation if we sat down for a bit.”

Diego was polite and tactful, but what he meant was clearly; ‘You are an absolute wreck; sit down before you put yourself in an early grave’.

Taking the hint, Taylor flopped down heavily, squinting against the bright sun as she tried to get herself comfortable. While she struggled to get her breath back, Diego sat himself down close by, patiently letting her recover.

“I swear the beaches in San Trobida aren’t so much of a work-out,” Taylor said apologetically. “Not as soft. I have actually gotten a lot fitter, if you can believe it.”

Diego put a hand on her shoulder. “I can actually. You did a pretty good job of covering up how much you were struggling those last few days you were here, but I really don’t think you were fooling anyone. You do look better. Last time I saw you, it was hard not to get the impression that one stiff wind could have you over.”

Taylor snorted with laughter. “Damn, and I thought I put up a good front.”

“Not remotely. You are incredible, my friend, but a talented actor you are not.”

This was wonderful. The warmth of the sun of her body, and the easiest of company. Taylor reclined back, her arms propping her up in the sand from behind.

“Well, now that I’m not having to focus on not falling over… how’ve you really been?”

Diego stared wistfully out to sea, all the while playing with a little lock of his hair that Varyyn had braided for him. “’How have I really been’ as in not the brush-off, ‘oh, I’m good’ answer?”

“Yep. And I promise I’ll keep my own bullshit in check as fair trade.”

“Okay. If that’s how we’re doing this.” Diego fiddled with his hair for a little while longer as he contemplated his answer… and where to start. “I’m good.” As Taylor rolled her eyes, he added quickly; “ I am good.”

“Yeah?”

“Going back home was the best thing I could have done; it made me realise just how much I actually belong here. I’ve found my people. And Varyyn. I don’t have to tell you how cut up I was to be away from him; you could see it. Heck, even Grandma Bhandarkar saw it-- I have never been force-fed so much in my life, and I grew up with my abuela!”

Taylor chuckled. She was eternally grateful that the extended Catalyst family had been there for Diego when she couldn’t be, through one of the most pivotal periods in his life. “Did you… did you manage to talk to your parents at all?” she ventured gently.

With a sad smile, Diego shook his head. “I called from Raj’s place. I did speak to my dad, and honestly it was better than I expected. But he said Mom’s not ready.”

“Oh, Diego….”

“No, I knew she wouldn’t be ready.” He gave a little sigh. “That big, scary conversation’s done now, though, and I feel kind of… lighter. Like… I can start to accept how things are. If Mom and Dad were ever going to accept who I am, you’d think the year and a half I’d disappeared off the face of the earth would have done the trick.”

Taylor put an arm around Diego as he sniffed. “You know it’s all them, yeah? None of this is on you.”

“Yeah… I know. I came back here and… Varyyn just looked at me like I was the most beautiful person in the world. I could not have felt more loved. So, yeah-- I’m good.”

“So,” Taylor said gently, “what happens next? Do you still want to come back to Hartfeld with us in September?”

Diego huffed out a long exhale. Now, that was a question.

“The only really honest answer I can give you is… I don’t know. Could not be more conflicted.”

“That’s… that’s fair.”

“I keep thinking about that vision we saw when I took my action figures from Vaanu.  I didn’t think it was possible for me to be that comfortable in my own skin, but it wasn’t like I was just seeing it-- I could feel it.”

“Yeah. It was kind of, just… radiating off you. You were just one-hundred percent genuine Diego, no holes barred… and everyone just loved you for it.”

“Look, I know that whole thing was just Vaanu trying to manipulate you into sacrificing youself--”

“Diego--”

“No, it’s okay. Because even if that’s all it was, it doesn’t matter. The more time I’m here with Varyyn… and people are respecting me as me-- you should see the queues of kids that form when I re-tell the original Star Wars trilogy….”

Taylor chuckled fondly.

“...The more I realise that, actually, that could be me. If I wanted it.”

“That really could be you. Without a shadow of a doubt. It would just mean…”

“Leaving Varyyn? Shattering both our hearts into a million pieces? Yeah, that’s the sticking point.”

Putting her head on Diego’s shoulder, Taylor offered what support she could. “What… what does he think?”

“He really loves me, so he’s unhelpfully understanding about the whole thing. It would be so much easier to know what I should do if he’d just say he’d rather I stay here!”

“So inconsiderate.”

“But, well, he said how much I light up when I talk about what I saw in that vision. And he lights up when he talks about that,” Diego said with a resigned laugh. “He says if I stay here, I shouldn’t be giving up every part of me.”

“He’s right,” Taylor said. “It’s you he fell in love with, and it’s you the hordes of Vaanti children seek out whenever they need smiles put on their faces. One way or another, I think you should always feed the real you. ‘Cause that guy’s pretty great.”

Diego glanced away, bashful, but unable to hide his smile. Again, he started playing with his hair.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, Taylor. How about it’s your turn. Do you have a plan? I guess Vaanu didn’t bother showing you what a future on Earth could look like, hey?”

Taylor gave a soft humph. “No, they certainly did not. That’s something I’m just going to have to figure out myself.” She frowned. “They just showed me enough to put the pressure of ensuring the happiness of everyone I love on my shoulders,” she said bitterly.

Catching her tone, Diego raised an eyebrow. “That’s really getting to you.”

“Yeah,” she heaved. For a moment, she considered what she wanted to share. “Look, I haven’t exactly talked about this before…. All those visions I saw, just about all of them showed you guys rocking your dream careers. Except for, well….” She trailed off, sadly.

“Except for Estela and Aleister, right? Now you mention it, that does kinda say a lot about the impact Rourke had.”

“Exactly. It makes me so… so angry,” she said, than added with a dry laugh, “I don’t have the energy to be angry. Seeing you all die in my dreams doesn’t help either; all I can think is that he did all that. ”

“So, you’ve put it out there now. Maybe that’ll help you move past it?”

“I sure hope so. Letting that fester isn’t going to be healthy for me, and it sure as hell won’t do Estela any favours. She’s been amazing. There’s been so much she’s had to move through. I think I’ve been so focused on her that it only just recently sank in how much I’m simmering in hate for that bastard. And I don’t want to let it out and feed into her own feelings. Does… that make sense?”

“That sounds pretty natural,” Diego assured. “Being protective of your family is pretty much wired into you; kinda makes sense that it would get you all fired up-- and that you want to shield Estela from even more hurt and anger. I’m here, you know. If ever you need a best friend to off-load on; I’m your man.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said softly, and boy, did she mean it. A little smile came to her face at the sound of Furball yipping as he chased a euphoric Fenix up and down the shoreline. Bad feelings passed quickly, for there was just too much beauty in the world she had fought for and won.  “All things considered, I’m doing really well. Since I ramped up the self-care, I’m getting less nightmares-- I know they’re not proper nightmares, it’s just my brain replaying memories that aren’t even all mine. But they’ve gotten better.”

Diego shook his head, incredulous. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed to sleep with that going on at all.”

“With great difficulty is how,” Taylor laughed. “Poor Estela is now pretty used to me waking her up, screaming and crying.” She smiled softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her; she has this magic way of just… chasing away all the horrors. I guess it’s because I feel safe when she’s holding me.”

“N’aww!” Diego’s eye twinkled. “I really am the best wingman around. I’ll happily accept tips for match-making services given.”

Taylor snorted. “I feel like we can take some of the credit, but fine, thanks for the help. I’ve seen hundreds of different versions of me and Estela falling in love… and it’s surprising how many times it was you who gave me the push.”

“So, you really do owe me one.”

“I really do.”

Fenix ran over, panting heavily, and flopped down into Taylor’s lap. A little way behind, Furball trotted after.

“Hey, Diego?”

“You’re missing your buff wife?”

“That, and I’m absolutely starving. You wanna head back to Catalyst Village?”

Diego looked out at the darkening sky. This day had flown. No doubt, the days to come would fly too, and in no time at all he’d be faced with leaving Varyyn… again. Then his stomach growled loudly.

“Apparently, you’re not the only one. Come on-- d’you need a piggy-back?”

Indignant, Taylor plopped Fenix down in the sand and got to her feet. “I certainly do not.”

“Okay… reframing that. Would you like a piggy-back?”

Ooh, that smirk. “Oh, all right,” she relented. “In the time it would’ve taken me to walk back, I’d have already died of hunger.”

So, they made their way back up the beach; Diego giving a more-weary-than-she’d-care-to-let-on Taylor… and their two furry companions leading the charge, drawn home by the scent on the wind of food being cooked over an open fire.

___________________________

“A toast!” Aleister pronounced loudly, holding aloft a glass of Breath of the Moon. As his friends and family around the fire raised their matching cocktails, he thrust his own glass ever-higher with slightly-tipsy gusto. “To new beginnings! To reuniting with comrades! To bringing about justice!”

Estela leaned over and whispered in Taylor’s ear. “You see why I thought you should only take a little sip of this stuff?”

Taylor sniggered. “I’d make a toast to the fact that we have a whole house to ourselves again.It’s gonna be a lot easier to get our sex on when your brother and sister-in-law aren’t in the next room.”

Giving her wife an exaggerated wink, Estela huddled closer, delighting in the giggle she stirred. Somehow, everything felt easier here. It was is if just to be in this place brought her back to the best of herself, to the sense of peace within herself that had once felt like an impossibility. Now, with Taylor, in their home and surrounded by people they loved, it was an inevitability. This time would refresh her-- it would them both-- and ready them for the greater steps that lay ahead.

It seemed the feeling was catching,for everyone was relaxed and laughing as they cooked skewers over the crackling fire and sipped their cocktails. In the firelight, Varyyn’s face seemed to glow with affection for his beloved husband beside him-- who himself was bubbling over with the simple pleasure of being surrounded by friends. Estela wondered about the two of them… what the future might hold. A year could go by so quickly-- she learned that the had way when she’d been counting down to Taylor’s self-sacrifice-- but away from the one you loved, time would stretch agonisingly. She did not envy the choice Diego was faced with; that they were now with him to offer support though that… that mattered.

Opposite them, Jake was back to ribbing Aleister, something even more fun now that the target was a little sozzled. No amount of back-and-forth teasing could hide the genuine --rather unlikely-- friendship that had formed; Aleister, blessed with both wealth and contacts in high places, had made himself a pivotal force in the fight to clear Jake’s name. The more Estela had gotten to know her unexpected sibling, the more it became obvious to her that at his heart, Aleister was driven by the same protectiveness of those dear to him that powered her. It was something, she’d come to realise, that Rourke had cemented into them both-- not through any passing of genes, but by fierce resistance to the poison he’d inflicted. It had taken time… and it had been painful, but in their budding kinship, Estela had found undeniable comfort.

Taylor took Estela’s hand, and laid a weary head on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Estela laughed softly. She could feel the smile on Taylor’s face; so open and radiant, full of tenderness for the people surrounding her, and it spoke wonders.

With her free hand, Taylor gently chinked her glass to Estela’s.

“Cheers. To being home.”

“To being home.”

[syrupness]

Hurt/Comfort Ex 2022 Letter

Thank you so much for making a gift for me!

I would prefer close to canon-compliant characterisation, especially for the Watership Down requests. As for those pesky plot-idea additional tags, well I have chosen to be very open and let you choose a path you are happy with.  

Super Special Number 1 likes:

Banter

Tenderness/Gentle moments

Definitely Do Not Wants:

Alzheimer’s/Dementia

Emetophilia/Vomit

Daddy Kink

An additional thing that isn’t really a DNW, because it is okay if handled carefully, but is not one of my favourites: victims being comforted by their abusers.  Of course some of my requests can certainly lean in that direction, but I would prefer if you don’t make that point the centre of the fic. 

Fandom Specifics:

Fandom: Watership Down #1

Relationship(s): Fiver & Hazel (hurt Fiver), Bigwig & Pipkin (hurt either), Hazel/Hyzenthlay (hurt Hazel), El-ahrairah & Frith (hurt El-ahrairah)

😭

Going to be honest here, if you choose either Watership Down request you will have already aced the hurt part of Hurt/Comfort for me. Feel free to use the vocabulary of the book and the Lapine names of the characters (In case you don’t know what I am talking about). 

Because I want the characters to be rabbits as per canon representation many of the additional tags would need adapting -like ‘Collapsing on character's doorstep’ can be changed to ‘Collapsing into character’s den’-  but don’t feel you have to find inspiration in the tagset for this. Let your mind run wild.

I have all the soundtracks so if you want you can indicate when to start playing certain songs -or I’ll probably just have Bright Eyes on repeat as I read and weep.

If you art for this request please no gore. Some blood is okay but no viscera or fatal wounds.

Do Not Wants: Major Character Death Gore Species Change, including Anthro beyond canon levels (Keep them bunnies bunnies!)

Fandom: Watership Down #2

Relationship(s): Black Rabbit of Inle & Pipkin (hurt Pipkin), Black Rabbit of Inle & Campion (hurt Campion)

😭😭

I like the idea of The Black Rabbit coming to relieve them of their pain and reward them for a full life, though you could also go for the Black Rabbit being a hallucination or the Black Rabbit leading another character to come and help Campion or Pipkin, but really anything you write will have me crying so bad. 

If you art for this request I would love if you capture some of Pipkin or Campion’s personality. Prepare yourself for incoherent rambling comments typed blindly.

Do Not Wants: Species Change, including Anthro beyond canon levels (Keep them bunnies bunnies!)

Fandom: Split

Relationship(s): Casey Cooke & Luke (hurt Casey), The Beast/Casey Cooke (hurt either), Casey Cooke/Kevin Wendel Crumb (hurt Casey), Casey Cooke/Dennis (hurt Dennis), Casey Cooke & The Horde (hurt Casey)Casey Cooke & Kevin Wendell Crumb (both hurt), Casey Cooke & Hedwig (hurt Hedwig)

I am really open to anything except my DNWs for this fandom. I would love to read any additional tag from the tagset or anything that pops into your head as well as feel free to explore any AU you want. Canon is quite dark (yet weirdly amusing) so I'm happy if you want to drop these character into another scenario/AU that works better for what you like to write about.

Tender!Beast is always appreciated, even if he just cameos in a fic for another relationship.

Do Not Wants: Underage or dubcon/noncon for shipfics (referencing canon events is fine) Alzheimer's/Dementia

Fandom: Он – дракон | I Am Dragon

Relationship(s): Arman/Miroslava (hurt either or both)

I put a bunch of optional tags for this request so you could have some ideas (I realise I may have been unhelpful by not giving any guidance with my other requests, oops!) but don’t feel you have to do one of these. 

Arman spends part of his life as a Dragon, so feel free to use Arman the human or the dragon in your fic. You can set the fic at the beginning of their story where Mira starts to care for Arman and fears the Dragon, or you can set it at a point where Mira and the Dragon respect each other, or you can make up an in-between scene where it is a bit of both....or you know, completely ignore the dragon all together. 

Do Not Wants: Noncon/violent rape Major Character Death

Fandom: The Endless

Relationship(s): Hal/Tim (hurt Hal), Justin/Hal (both hurt), Aaron/Justin (hurt Justin), Aaron/Anna (hurt Anna), Aaron & Justin (hurt Aaron), Aaron & Hal (hurt Aaron)

The canon is so fascinating it would be amazing if you could keep it close to canon. Time loops that end in death give lots of opportunities for fatal injuries and mercy kills that then reset and everyone is alive again. Traumatised but alive.

Obviously, darkfic is a-okay for this request but you don’t have to be killing characters for the hurt. The canon is very understated but there is lots of emotional and psychological pain that must be going on. There is probably all sorts of kinky and weird stuff going on behind closed doors and in the bushes of Camp Arcadia!

Do Not Wants: Noncon/violent rape Alzheimer's/Dementia Emetophilia/Vomit Mommy/Daddy Kink

[celosiaa]

avoidance

From a wonderful prompt I received! “A cold going around the season 1 archival staff and them just actively avoiding Jon because they don't want him to get sick because they know it'll be worst for him with his asthma. What they don't know is Jon's already caught it and is getting the wrong idea and just thinks he's being avoided because they don't want to catch it from him.”

Hope you enjoy this short little sickfic! Featuring hard of hearing Tim, especially for @haunted-by-catholic-guilt :)

“Oh, there he comes, Sash.”

“How does he look?” she replies, being sure to speak louder while Tim has his face turned away.

“Can’t tell yet.”

Tim cranes his neck and squints to better catch a glimpse of Martin, who walks toward their office from the lift, bundled up against the unseasonably cold weather in a knit scarf and hat.

“God, I need to get new prescriptions,” he says, rubbing his eyes against the blurriness.  “He’s got a hat and scarf on, though.”

“Ooh, things are looking promising!”

Turning back to her, jaw hanging open in mock-indigence, Tim places a shocked hand against his chest.

“Miss James, I’m horrified!  You would wish illness on our poor poet, Martin Blackwood, Esquire?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she says, sniffling a bit as she punches lightly at his arm.

“Morning, everyone,” Martin croaks as he steps in—though it must sound rather congested, judging by Sasha’s satisfied smirk, and she holds out her outstretched palm to him.

“Morning, Martin,” Tim replies at once, not willing to hand over his fiver just yet.  “How are you today?  Just peachy, I’ll bet?”

Throwing him a glare from where he’s sat down at his desk, Martin’s face suddenly goes hazy, his eyes unfocused as he pulls his scarf quickly over his nose—before sneezing thrice, harsh and miserable, breaking off into painful coughs to finish.

“Aw, Martin, I’m sorry,” Sasha coos in sympathy, patting his back with one hand while reaching out to accept Tim’s begrudging fiver with the other.

“Don’t you apologize, Sasha,” Martin croaks after he recovers himself, rubbing a tissue against his dreadfully pink nose.  “We all know this is Tim’s fault.”

“Excuse me???” Tim bursts, throwing his arms wide in a gesture of disbelief.

“Shut it, you know it’s true,” Sasha concurs, unwrapping a spare tissue box to donate to Martin’s desk.  “You’re the one who fraternized with Research, knowing they’ve had this bug going around for weeks.”

“Why are you both attacking me?” Tim shouts, breaking off to cough for a moment, his own illness not yet entirely abated.  “This is homophobic.”

“Not if we’re all queer, you arse!”

He returns to clutching at his chest, taking a dramatic inhale.

“Martin, she’s slinging me with the cruelest of insults!  Are you really going to sit there and do nothing?”

“Basically, yeah,” Martin replies, voice whittled down to a hoarse whisper—he makes sure to speak slowly, such that Tim can read his lips.  “Because she’s right, and you deserve it.”

“I’ll have you know, sir—“

Tim’s scolding is interrupted by the opening of the heavy door to document storage, from which Jon emerges—looking unkempt as ever, carrying a stack of files tucked beneath his left arm.  Nodding briefly at them in greeting, he hastens across the room to his office, and Tim just barely manages a glimpse of him pulling his inhaler out of his pocket before the door shuts. 

“Is he coughing?” Tim asks, turning to gauge their reactions.

“Yeah.  God, he sounds absolutely horrendous,” Martin croaks, wincing at the dreadful wheezing coughs, ineffectively muffled behind the door.

“It’s his own fault,” Tim mutters, earning him looks from both Martin and Sasha.  “What?  He could ask one of us to root through the dusty shelves for him,  you know, like a normal boss.  But he won’t, because he’s too damn stubborn.”

Knowing he’s at least a little bit right, Sasha and Martin say nothing, only continuing to listen with concern as Jon pulls twice from his inhaler, before finally seeming to get his breath back.

“We should all try to keep our distance from him,” Martin says at last, giving them both a significant look.  “I don’t want him to get this—not when he’s coughing like that.  Don’t want to put him at risk.”

Grin dropping from his face, Tim nods solemnly back at Martin, and Sasha follows suit.

“You’re right, mate.  We’ll do our best.”

“Yeah, it’s a deal, Martin.”

“Thanks,” Martin replies, flashing them a sunny, if not stuffed-up, smile.  “Right then, anything specific to work on today?”

—

For what feels like the hundredth time that day, Jon slams the pause button on the tape recorder, snatching up a tissue as fast as he can—near-silently stifling two into it.  It makes his head pound every time, tears at his already-battered throat, but he’d rather not spread whatever miserable illness he’s managed to catch all around the office.

Though it seems that they’d all been avoiding him well enough as it is.

He’s not a fool—he knows he’s got a fever, knows that he’s contagious and really ought to be avoided—but when Martin had neglected to bring him his afternoon tea that day, well…he was more than happy to blame the lump in his throat on the fever.  For all he tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he ought to take care of himself, it does nothing to settle the ache in his chest.  The one that his inhaler can no longer take the edge off.

Sighing in frustration, Jon does his best to turn his focus back to his work—rising unsteadily to his feet to search for the next file.

What was the number again?

God, I’m dizzy.

He stretches out a hand to brace himself against the filing cabinet, blinking away the stars sparkling across his vision as he adjusts to standing.

Right.  01319…0…8?  9?

Wait, did I—did I finish the last statement?

He muffles a cough into his elbow, bracing even heavier on the cabinet.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll just get this one anyway.

Won’t need to get up again, at least.

“Looking for something, boss?”

Tim calls from his office door, which he’s propped open—perhaps in the subconscious effort to tempt Martin into bringing him tea. 

Pathetic.

“Jon?  You alright?”

“Oh—err, of course,” he says at once, lifting his head toward him.  “Can I help you?”

“I was the one asking,” Tim chuckles, stepping forward into his office—before immediately retreating again.

Oh.

“Sorry, I would help you, it’s just—you know, with this cold going around, better not.”

“R-right.”

Jon buries his hurt as quickly as possible, refusing to let it show on his face.

“Right, of course.  Then, err, just—carry on then, I suppose, Tim.”

Turning back to the cabinets, Jon tries to leave the conversation there, feeling his chest beginning to tighten with every passing moment.  He doesn’t want to get Tim ill, not when they’re all so clearly worried about catching it—

“Jon?  You’re—you look shaky, are you alright?”

Don’t cough don’t cough don’t cough

“Fine,” he croaks, even as he brings a hand up to press against his fluttering chest.

“What was that?” Tim asks, stepping just a bit closer, tilting his head to better read Jon’s lips.

Don’t don’t don’t

He can’t hold it back anymore.

At once, Jon doubles over with coughing, shallow wheezing accented by the rumbling of congestion deep within his lungs—all of it nearly sending him to the ground with the force of it.

“Jesus, Jon—just sit down, alright?  Christ,” Tim urges, at last entering the room to grab him by the shoulders, lowering him to sitting with his back against the filing cabinet.

Every thought of hiding or sparing Tim from contagion flies from his head, replaced only with the gasping need for air, his body screaming at him to breathe—

“What’s going on?” Martin asks from the door, scanning across the scene quickly, alarm rising at once.

“Get his inhaler,” Tim orders, tipping Jon’s head forward between his knees.

“Oh god.  Right—right, h-here, I’ve got it—Jon?”

He taps gently on Jon’s upper arm as he crouches.

“I’ve got it here, can you look up?”

It takes every shred of focus he has left to his power, but he does—reaching out to cover Martin’s hands with his own as he guides the inhaler to his lips, pressing down on the button and drawing as deeply as he can from it.

“Good, good, that’s—that’s good, Jon,” Martin stammers, still holding the inhaler within his reach.

“Take another,” Tim demands, voice leaving no room for argument.  “When you can.”

After a few more labored breaths, Jon complies—chest expanding a little more now, though he can still feel the crackling wetness at the edges of it.

“Here, Jon, I’ve got you some water,” Sasha says as she enters the room, undoubtedly having heard the commotion from outside.  “You alright?”

“Shouldn’t be here,” Jon rasps, seeing Martin’s hands in his periphery, reaching up to sign for Tim’s understanding.

“I know—we didn’t want to get you ill, Jon, but—“ Tim cuts off momentarily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  “I mean, it sort of seemed like you needed help, right?”

Wait.

“You didn’t…you didn’t want…to get me ill?” Jon asks through panting breaths, finally feeling steady enough to lift his head.

“Well, no, we—“ Martin suddenly breaks off, scooting a little ways back from Jon as he realizes their proximity.  “Of course we didn’t want you to get ill, your asthma’s been so terrible the past few days.”

Jon shakes his head in confusion, brows furrowing as he glances between the three of them.

“I...I don’t—“

Oh.

Oh.

“You didn’t…know I was ill?” he asks, and Tim’s eyebrows shoot into his hair, turning back to share a glance with both Sasha and Martin.

“Oh no, Jon, I’m so sorry,” Martin laments at last, sniffling a bit into his sleeve.  “We didn’t—we thought that, well…we thought we were protecting you from getting it.”

The relief Jon feels at this is astonishing—certainly inordinate for the situation, but…he finds he does not care much altogether.  Even if just a bit, the knot in his chest seems to loosen—his breathing made easier just for a moment.

“Woah—you alright?” Tim asks with renewed concern, the cause uncertain to him, before—

He feels a tear beginning to slip down his face.

“Oh,” he says, hurriedly scrubbing it away.  “Oh, I—I’m sorry, I—I-I’m fine, it’s alright, I don’t know why—“

“It’s alright, Jon,” Sasha says from above him, leaning down to press a warm hand on his shoulder.  “Look, if you feel like you can stand, I’ll drive you home, okay?  You need to rest.  I’m serious.”

The look she gives him now, that they all give him—it’s nearly enough to bring a smile to his face, his mouth barely quirking up at one corner. 

“Y-yes, I—thank you, Sasha,” he says, allowing Tim and Martin to lift him slowly to his feet, leaning against them momentarily as he sways just a bit.

“You’re calling your doctor on the way,” Sasha continues, leading them out of his office and toward the lift.  “I’m not leaving you alone until you do.”

“R-right,” he pants against the exertion of their slow-paced walking.  “I—thank you.  I suppose.”

“Don’t mention it Jon,” Martin says softly as they bundle him into the lift.  “Just get well, okay?”

Something warm and lovely floods through Jon’s chest at this, and he cannot help but nod—a half-smile flickering across his face as the lift doors close.

[rpf-bat]

Underground, Getting Down

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 14. Prompt: “Symphony”. 

You’re a flutist, playing in the New York subway for tips. Gerard watches one of your performances, and decides that his next single, needs a mad flute solo. 

Beneath the streets of New York, the subway station bustled, filled with people. Some moved up the stairs, towards the streets, and others down the steps, towards the trains. Everyone in the crowd was rushing on to their next destination. At the base of the staircase, you stood, playing your flute. 

Your flute case sat propped open on the tiles in front of you. A few bills already lined the inside. A young woman dropped another fiver in, as you played Bach’s ‘Flute Sonata in A Minor’. 

You lifted your face from the instrument for a moment, to call out, “Thank you!” 

The woman had already turned away from you, rushing down the corridor to catch the E train. You shrugged, returning your lips to the flute’s embouchure hole. Even the best buskers, rarely made someone stop in their tracks. The song ended. 

I think I’ll mix it up, you decided, do something more pop for the next song. 

You picked the Bach sheet music up off your stand, placing it back in your bag. Then, you pulled out the sheet music for Jethro Tull’s ‘No Lullaby’.  This one was usually more impressive-sounding, when you had your friend, who played guitar, with you to do the intro. But, he was busy today, at his day job at Starbucks. You would just have to launch right into your solo. 

Your fingers danced over the keys, as the music echoed off the walls of the tunnel. You found your mind wandering, as you played. 

I really thought, when I graduated, that I was gonna play for the New York Philharmonic, you recalled wistfully. But, the auditions for first chair ended up being competitive as hell. Instead of playing high society symphonies, I just play out here, for the commuters and hobos. 

It wasn’t what you had dreamed of - but it was a living. 

As you continued your song, you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You glanced up from your songbook, and realized that a man was sitting, eerily still, on the steps. Hurried people were practically tripping over him, but he didn’t move, to get out of their way.  He stayed exactly where he was. He didn’t look homeless, you considered. His face was hidden by thick aviator sunglasses, but his clothes suggested wealth. He was staring at you, with rapt attention, as if your flute, was the only sound in the world. 

You found yourself blushing under his steady gaze, as the song concluded. You lowered your flute-holding arm to your side, and looked at the stranger again, curiously. 

“Bravo!” he cried, clapping, and jumping up. “You were amazing!” 

He walked over, and dropped a handful of bills, into your case. 

Wait, what? All of those are hundreds!, you realized, eyes widening. Who the hell is this guy?

He pulled the sunglasses off his face, shaking his long, dark hair out of his eyes as he did so. Your jaw dropped, when you realized you recognized him. 

“Hi,” he said casually, “my name’s Gerard Way.” 

“I….I know who you are,” you stammered, scarcely believing this was real. Your inner emo kid was screaming. “What are you doing in New York?” 

“Visiting family,” Gerard shrugged. “Well, technically, they live on the Jersey side of the river. But, I always have to stop by Forbidden Planet, when I’m in town.” 

“Oh, you mean the comic shop, on Broadway?” you nodded. “Yeah, they’re pretty cool. I….I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Gerard grinned. “I really enjoyed that song, that you just did.” 

“I….uh, really enjoy your music, too,” you said awkwardly. You didn’t want to sound like a fangirl.

“I’m actually working on some new music right now,” Gerard revealed. 

“What?” you blinked. “Really? Wasn’t your last album in like…..2014?” 

“Yeah, Hesitant Alien was four years ago, already!” Gerard chuckled. “I think I’m definitely overdue for something new!” 

“Oh, wow,” your heart hammered excitedly. “I can’t wait to hear the new record, when it comes out!”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna do a whole second album,” Gerard confessed. “I think I’m just gonna put a couple singles out, and see how it goes.”

“I….I see,” you mumbled. This was crazy. Why was he telling all this, to a random busker, that he just met? 

“I wanted to thank you,  Y/N,” Gerard went on. “There’s this song I’ve been working on, for a couple months now. it’s just not sounding right to me, quite yet. You helped me realize what it’s missing.”

“And, what is that?” you wondered, still feeling bewildered. 

“A flute solo,” Gerard grinned. 

“Huh?” you gasped. “Who uses flute music, in a rock n roll song? I mean, besides Jethro Tull?” 

“I love Jethro Tull,” Gerard laughed. “But, for real, it’s not that weird. Billy Corgan had some flutes on ‘Drum + Fife’, on the album Monuments To An Elegy.”

“Oh, true,” you remembered. “Didn’t that drop in 2014, too?” 

“Yeah, I actually got to open for him, on that tour!” Gerard said excitedly. “That was when I decided that I wanted to bring a flute into one of my own songs, someday.” 

“Wow,” you realized, “You’re serious about this.” 

“I am,” Gerard said, looking you in the eyes. “But….can we talk about this somewhere else? I’m worried if I stay in one place much longer, somebody is gonna spot me, and start asking for pictures.” 

“Oh, uh, sure!” you nodded. 

“I think if we go up to the street level, there’s a coffee shop, like, right outside,” Gerard suggested. 

“You’re…..asking me to get a cup of coffee with you?” you grasped. Was this a date?

“Yeah,” Gerard said, turning red, as he awkwardly combed his fingers through his hair. “Is, uh, is that okay with you?”

“......Absolutely,” you smiled. “Just let me put my flute away!”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Gerard had insisted on carrying your flute case for you, despite the short walk. He was such a gentleman. You did not, however, allow him to buy your cup of coffee for you. He’d already given you that absurd tip, when he first strolled over to your busking spot. 

You stared at him across the table, as he sipped his latte. This still felt entirely unreal. 

“So, the song I’m working on,” Gerard explained, “It’s called ‘Getting Down The Germs.’”

“...Germs?” you repeated, confused. 

“The lyrics are still a work in progress,” Gerard admitted. He dug into the pocket of his green coat, and pulled out a small, tattered-looking notebook. He opened it to a page near the back, and pushed it towards you. “This is what I have so far.”

You took the book gingerly, feeling as if you’d been handed a holy text. The words on the page, were written in a surprisingly untidy scrawl:

It's never the same and the nights always glow

There's nothing to see and nowhere to go

It's easy to say you're happier when you're disturbed

The green lights in your head

Getting down the germs

I'm lazy and tame and the chimes always blow

A glimmering sound on the breeze when you go

It's never a shame and I've learned to live with the worms

Underground

Getting down the germs

“That sounds really good so far,” you complimented. “I’m guessing that’s supposed to be the chorus?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. “I usually write the choruses first. The verses, I’m still figuring out.” 

“Makes sense,” you replied, as you sipped your drink. “What about the melody?” 

“Oh, the melody’s pretty much completely done,” Gerard clarified. “But….I don’t know. There’s this bridge that comes before the second verse. I originally planned for that to be a guitar solo, but it just doesn’t sound right.”

“You think the solo would sound better, played on a flute?” you surmised. 

“Yeah, exactly!” Gerard said enthusiastically. You wondered if the caffeine was getting to him. 

“....Do you even know how to play the flute?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “But, you do.”

“....What are you saying?” you blinked. 

“That’s why I asked you to come up here with me,” Gerard explained. “Y/N…..would you be willing to go into the studio with me, and record a flute solo, for the track?” 

You choked on your drink. 

“Wh….What?” you wheezed, coughing from the coffee that had gone down the wrong way. “A-Are you serious?” 

“....Can you breathe?” Gerard asked, putting a concerned hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, I can breathe,” you managed, trying not to hyperventilate even more.  

“Good,” Gerard smiled, “because I am serious, Y/N. Your flute playing really impressed me. I won’t drag you all the way out to LA, of course. But, if I find a studio space, here in New York, will you work with me?”

“Yes!” you cried. “Oh my god, yes!” 

This wasn’t what you had dreamed of - it was more. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

A few days later, you found yourself in a recording studio, in Lower Manhattan. You’d never seen so much professional equipment like this before. You’d always just performed for live audiences.

Can I really do this?, you asked yourself, hit with a wave of uncertainty. 

“Y/N, thank you so much for coming out here, and joining us today,” Gerard greeted you. His smile, somehow instantly put you at ease. 

“This is Doug McKean,” he introduced, indicating a man in the corner. “He’s my producer.” 

“Nice to meet you, Doug,” you said politely, shaking hands. 

“And this is Ian Fowles,” Gerard said, indicating a second guy, with longer hair. “He was my touring guitarist, when I went on the road with Hesitant Alien.” 

“Oh, I remember seeing him, when you guys played Irving Plaza,” you recalled. 

“You were at that little gig we did, in Union Square?” Ian smiled. 

“Yeah, of course I bought a ticket!” you smiled back. “You guys were amazing!” 

“Aw, you really think so?” Gerard reddened, looking flattered. 

“I really do,” you replied. My Chemical Romance had been your favorite band, since your teens. When they had broken up, five years ago, you had been heartbroken. But, you’d found Gerard’s solo work, to be equally amazing - just in a different way. 

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Ian said quietly. “Has Gerard explained to you, what we’re going to be doing today?” 

“Yeah, he said he wants me to do a flute solo for you guys,” you said, almost not believing your own words. 

“Let’s start from the beginning of the song,” Doug directed. “Ian, can you take us from the top, please? I know we got a great take of your part yesterday, but I feel like we can still do better.” 

“Definitely,” Ian agreed. He shrugged his guitar strap over his head, and stepped into the recording booth. You listened intently, as he played the opening notes. The tune was definitely different from anything MCR had done. But, it didn’t sound quite like Hesitant Alien, either. You were intrigued by the new musical direction that Gerard seemed to be heading in. 

“Alright, cut,” Doug called, pressing a button, to stop recording. “Ian, that was good. Gerard, it’s your turn to get in there. I want to hear that verse you were working on the other day.”

“Alright,” Gerard nodded. You watched him put his headphones over his ears, and timidly approach the microphone. A blush crept into his cheeks. Did it make him nervous, to have you, as an audience? 

“The answer’s always no,” Gerard sang, “to questions of a private nature…...the lights are always low, in settings of a conversation…..” 

He seemed to grow more confident, as the song continued. By the time he got to the chorus, he was belting it out. He sounded incredible. 

“....How was that?” he asked finally. 

“Amazing,” you breathed. 

Gerard’s cheeks reddened at your compliment. He stayed quiet, as he watched Doug take the vocal track, and mix it with Ian’s guitar playing. He played back the clip, of the two spliced together. The parts formed an even more impressive whole. 

“Alright, Y/N, it’s your turn,” Doug commanded. “Show us what you can do.” 

You gulped. You weren’t sure that you could do anything, that was on the same level, as what you just heard. 

“You can do it,” Gerard encouraged. “You played an amazing solo, in front of a whole station worth of people yesterday. Playing for three dudes like us, should be nothing.” 

That’s different, you thought to yourself. I don’t have a huge crush on everyone in the station.

“Here’s the sheet music,” Ian said, handing you a piece of paper. “I really like what Gerard’s composed here. But, I think he’s right. It’s going to sound better on your instrument, than mine.”

You took the sheet, and grabbed the flute case, out of your backpack. Taking a deep breath, you walked into the booth. Your fingers trembled on the middle joint of the flute. You glanced up at Gerard, who was sitting on the other side, of the pane of glass. 

He gave you a friendly smile, and a dorky-looking thumbs-up. You chuckled, your nerves dissipating. 

Alright, you told yourself. I got this. You brought your lips to the head joint, and began to play. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“I don’t know,” you said, as you stepped back out of the booth. “Do you think that was okay?”

“That was incredible,” Gerard gushed, pulling you into an impulsive hug. His arms were so soft and warm. 

“Like, wow, what are you?” Ian gaped. “The secret lovechild of Ian Anderson, or something?” 

“Ha, I wish,” you laughed. “I’m just your average band kid.” 

“I wouldn’t call that average,” Gerard insisted, staring into your eyes, as he still held you close. “I was right….the flute just fits perfectly in with the song. And you’re the perfect person to play it.”

“Y/N, I can show you what the guitar and the flute will sound like together,” Doug offered, “If you could, uh, let go of her for a moment, Gee.”

“O-oh, right,” Gerard stammered, releasing you quickly. You blushed, and turned away. 

Doug began to play the edited-together track for you. You couldn’t believe it - your flute, Ian’s guitar, and Gerard’s vocals, blended together, into something incredibly beautiful. 

“I wasn’t sure if the flute was going to go well, with your style of music,” you confessed. “My background is the symphony orchestra. Most of the time, you only really see the flute, used in classical music, like that. I wasn’t sure if you could make it sound rock n’ roll. But...it works! Somehow.” 

“It does,” Gerard agreed. “Y/N…..I’m so, so glad that I met you.”

His eyes sparkled as he looked at you. It made your heart pound, for reasons you couldn’t articulate. 

“Y/N,” Doug said, bringing you back to reality, “that first take was great, but I’d like you to try it again for me, please.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. “I’ll give it as many takes as it needs.” 

“I feel like we could all use some coffee first, though,” Ian decided. “Doug? You want to run down the street with  me, to get it?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s our turn, since Gerard ran and got the last round,” Doug agreed. “Y/N - what can we get you?”

“Oh, just a vanilla latte, I guess,” you decided. 

“Coming right up,” Ian smiled. “We’ll be right back.” 

The guitarist and producer got up and left. Your pulse quickened again, as you realized, that you were now alone in the room with Gerard. It felt different, than it had at the station, or the coffeeshop. Both of those times, there were plenty of other people around. But now…..?

“It’s just you and me,” Gerard said softly. He was still staring at you. 

“Y-Yeah,” you said nervously. “I guess we got quite a day ahead of us, huh?”

“Yup,” Gerard said awkwardly. “Doug’s not gonna let you leave, until you get your part just right.” 

“.....Gerard,” you asked, “why did you pick me for this job? You could have gotten anyone to play flute for you. I’m nobody.” 

“I told you, your performance got my attention,” Gerard reminded you. “I was just passing through the station, minding my own business. But, when I heard the sound of your flute…..I stopped still. I was like, oh my god, this is the sound that I’ve been looking for.” 

“Was it really that great?” you asked, feeling unsure of yourself. 

“Yes!” Gerard insisted. “Y/N, I swear to god, it was like I was hypnotized. By that incredible sound….and by the beauty, of the person making it……” 

“Beauty?” you repeated, your face going hot. Did he mean…..?

“I won’t lie to you,” Gerard said softly. “The moment I laid eyes on you, in that subway tunnel, I was so attracted to you.” 

“You think I’m attractive?” you realized, eyes going wide. 

“Yes,” Gerard whispered, looking you up and down, with evident desire. “I’m sorry…..you probably think I’m just a creepy, older dude….” 

“You’re not creepy!” you shook your head. “Gerard, I’ve always thought that you were extremely good-looking.” 

“You’re…..attracted to me, too?” Gerard put two and two together. 

You weren’t sure which of you took a step towards the other first, but, before you knew it, you were in his arms. He kissed you gently, but your body quickly responded to him, and the kiss rapidly turned more passionate.

He pressed you against the studio wall, his hands trailing down your body, as the kiss continued. 

“.....G-Gerard,” you gasped. “The others could walk back in, at any minute.” 

“If they interrupt us,” Gerard said, his voice husky, “we could always continue this, at my hotel, after the recording session is over.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Gerard panted, as your lips found his neck. “Oh, fuck, yeah…..I got a room at a five star hotel in Times Square, that I would love to show you.”

“When do you have to go back to LA?” you asked, gasping for breath, as he kissed you again. 

“I’m supposed to go home on Saturday,” Gerard confessed. “But, if you keep kissing me like that….I might just miss the flight.” 

[rideboldlyride]

Day 2 of Zutara Week - Counterpart

So now this work has an official name! 

Seal My Heart and Break My Pride <-- That’s the AO3 link

Here’s day 2- I’ll link the days together at the bottom.

***

“It’s- It’s Zuko.” A hesitant hand shot out. 

For a moment, he watched her study his hand, and he felt his stomach plummet. There had been a hope that maybe his stupidity from earlier had been forgiven, but her hesitance seemed to prove otherwise. Seemingly making up her mind, she met his hand with her own. 

“Nice to put a name to a face. Now you can easily tell what’s my equipment.”

A hand rubbed at the base of his neck.

“Listen, I’m sorry--”

“Stop apologizing. I was messing with you.”

Despite knowing that it would have no effect on the youngest woman, he still rose a brow after his old friend across the table from him. 

“Well, I see that Toph found the right kind of people to be around, then.”

Sokka snorted. “Now if only we could get her to stop with the nicknames, it’d be great.”

“Just cause you hate yours, Snoozles, doesn't mean the rest do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s an adorable nickname, Sokka.” Suki tried to placate.

“You’re just saying that!”

“I don’t know, ‘Sugar Queen’ feels a little more degrading.” Zuko’s fellow gym-goer seemed to lament.

“Don’t forget ‘Sweetness’.” A voice rounded them and a slight young man moved to join them, his characteristic orange hoodie pulled up. “But they’re all better than mine.”

“Aang, buddy!” Sokka cried and rounded the table to envelope him in a brotherly hug. “You made it!”

“Yeah, I managed to get out of my last shift at the office. Boss took pity on me.”

Katara felt a soft smile grace her face. “I’m glad you were able to come.” 

“Katara! It’s been so long!” He moved to wrap her into a friendly hug, his grin growing. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Zuko’s curiosity was still peaked, so he asked the blind woman quietly. “What is his nickname?”

A wicked grin split her face. “Twinkletoes.” 

Zuko snorted. Knowing Toph, there was a glorious story behind each of the nicknames. He knew that his did. 

Katara seemed to think similarly, and turned a raised brow towards him. "Wait- you're one of her old friends. Do you have a nickname?"

"Yeah."

"Sparky." Toph smirked. 

Zuko leveled a finger at her threateningly. "Not a word, Toph. Not. A. Word."

Toph’s snicker turned the rest of the group’s curious gazes towards him. Before she could say anything, however, he shook his head. “Don’t you dare, Toph. You torment me enough.”

“There’s a story here, I can feel it.” The brother of Katara leaned forward conspiratorially. “I will find it out eventually.”

Zuko raised a brow. “We’ll see.”

The newcomer turned to the most recent addition to the group, extending a hand. “Name’s Zuko. You?”

An enthusiastic grin lit up the younger man’s face. “Aang. Toph and I went to high school together.”

“Excuse me for saying it, but you don’t look like you're from the Earth Kingdom.”

Aang laughed, something that seemed to come easily to him. “I’m not. Transfer student.” 

“Ah.”

“Nice try at evasion, music boy.” Sokka narrowed his eyes at Zuko. “But you’re not getting out of a story that quickly.”

With a raised hand, Katara dismissed her brother. “You’re impossible, Sokka.”

“I wanna hear it!” 

“Ugh, and I just want a drink.”

Zuko interrupted, an eager look in his eye. “Yes, please. Listen, I owe you still.”

He turned an amber eye to the young woman, as it caught the dim light of the club, and Katara found her heart rate starting to rise. 

“Drink’s on me?” A soft lilt to his voice tugged at her, and she bit the corner of her lip. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

“Perfect!” Suki suddenly jumped in. “We have bets to make!”

Rounding, Katara turned exasperated eyes to her friends. “No, c’mon guys!”

Suki raised a finger to stop her. “You know this is the deal.”

“I thought we all grew out of this - when we graduated! You know, became adults.”

Sokka scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”

“Guys…” 

“Do I want to know?” Zuko found himself lost in the storm of familiar old friends.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Katara and Suki spoke spontaneously. The former sighed. 

“Let’s just go get that drink before I strangle my friends.”

“Yes, go!” Toph yelled after them. “Otherwise you might throw the bet!”

Blue eyes rolled hard.

 ***

“So how long do you think it’ll take for her to connect that he’s the singer for the band that was just playing some of her favorite music?”

“Not long enough.”

“End of his next set? I put 5 down.”

“End of her drink. I’ll match you.”

***

Leaving the crew to their own devices, the two fellow gym-goers made their way to the bar. As much as Zuko enjoyed playing, this crowd was not his scene. Maybe during his college years, a tight pack of skin, liquor and innuendo would have been thrilling to him, but the past few years had been filled with a milder crowd, with less press of flesh and more healthful imbibing. However, that drink sounded amazing, and the company… well, it wasn’t something to scoff at either. His mind wandered back to her, as she trailed in the wake he left through the crowd. 

There was a definite difference between the stormy-eyed woman at the gym and the pleasant woman with a gentle laugh at the corner of her lips, that Toph introduced him to. He wondered what would be closer to the truth about her. While he would have been willing to talk with her as they made their way through, the loud bass of the music and the press of people drowned out any conversation on the path towards the bar. It would have to wait till they arrived.

But as soon as Katara stepped up to the bar, the bartender made his way over, a massive smile lighting up his face.

“Katara!” he exclaimed.

“Teo! I didn’t realize you were still here!” Leaning off of his crutches, the young man pulled her into a familiar hug. “Don’t tell me Jin is here still, too?”

“Sure is! If we left, I think the whole place would fall apart.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. How have you been?”

The two began to chat amicably, and Zuko leaned back, feeling no desire to invade. Instead, he took the moment to consider the young woman before him. Dressed practically, there was a flow about her - she moved like the sea, in and out, never really stopping. Her laugh, as it reached his ears, was clear and bright, like the sun off the water at midday. There was an edge though-- he could see it in the unpredictable moments, like the eddies of currents under the waves. Curiosity whispered in his ear- how was she in a storm? He had a sensation he knew. Slowly, he returned to the conversation as Teo threw an apologetic look her way. 

“... seems to like terrorizing our Thursday nights only, so far.”

“I’m amazed he’s out.”

“He swears he’s changed, but I don’t know, man.”

“Well, if you see him, please let me know so I can leave immediately.”

Teo put two fingers to his forehead in mock salute.

“So what can I get you two?”

Katara turned, her brow raising in question. A smirk pulled at his own lips. 

“Whiskey for me, and whatever she’s having. Put it on my tab.”

“Same as always?” Teo asked after Zuko. He nodded, but Teo was stopped short by a gesture by Katara.

She leaned towards Zuko. “Ya know, you can find out a lot about a person by the whiskey they drink.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” Her brow rose, seemingly curious to see if he would take the bait. He did.

“Mind if I take a guess about you?”

She shrugged, turning away from him to stare out into the crowd. He thought there was a flash of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Why not.”

***

Molten eyes caught in the dim light, and Katara caught herself getting lost in them. Taking a deep breath, she turned away, eyes trying to focus on nothing and everything that wasn’t him. Spirits, she thought, I haven’t even had a drink yet… the words that slipped out were forcibly casual. 

“Why not.”

What was it about this borderline narcissist that attracted her? Musician- Toph had mentioned that he was a musician. Vaguely, she wondered if his set was coming up soon. She was curious to hear what he played. But, no. That wasn’t what it was. Her eyes slowly rebelled so that, when he moved to give their order quietly to Teo, they tracked his motion. Giving herself the rebellion, she sunk into it willingly for the moment. Handsome? Of course. It had almost excused his assumption back at the gym hours prior, but not quite. The scar had added a level of mysteriousness to his features, but again, it didn’t ring true.

 Maybe- maybe it had to do with his reaction. She had jumped, getting angry, tempestuous, but instead of getting roped in like a boat on the sea, he had… taken the hit. Waited for the storm to pass, like the sun behind storm clouds. Apologized, tried to make the wrong right. She couldn’t help but remember the small smile he had offered her when she invited him to continue using her equipment. It was such a small thing, those little moments, but she had a sneaking sensation that was merely an indication of his overall personality. Had it been Jet…

 Katara shook away the meanderings of her mind and eyes, in time to feel him bump gently at her elbow. He had appeared with two caramel colored glasses in his hands. With a determined look, he handed her the darker of the two.

***

“When is the first kiss?”

“Fiver on tonight.”

“Fiver on first real date.”

“You think it’ll get that far?”

“You think it won’t?”

***

“So you think you know me?” she pried playfully, holding the rich caramel liquid up to the light.

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

A glint in her eye, and she offered the side of her glass, and he tapped it with his own. He watched her with his periphery, gauging her response as he raised his own glass to his lips. As the liquid reached her tongue, she drew her lips into a tight line, but her eyes fluttered close. She exhaled as soon as the swallow slid past her tongue. 

He had chosen a rye whiskey- it’s profile more peppery, a bit more biting. It was an older year, so the cloying bitterness was mostly gone, leaving a pleasurable warmth, he knew. His was not; he'd chosen a bourbon for the night - a much smoother, sweeter profile. He had enough fiery things in his life, his whiskey didn’t need to be another one. The thought paused him for a moment. Maybe she was right about whiskey being a good read on personality.

A bated breath sat at his lips, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Well?”

Finally, a bright eye turned to him. “This is the good stuff. You know your whiskey. Rye?”

The dark headed man nodded, his lips pulling gently up. 

“What do you have-- no wait,” she stopped herself, putting her free hand on his elbow, “let me guess.”

Her eyes roamed him freely, and it took all of his willpower not to blush furiously at her methodical and intense observation of him. 

“Something with a sweeter profile. Bourbon?”

“Got it in one.” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he leaned in towards her. “So what does that tell you?” 

“Well, bourbon is sweeter, smoother. A good drink for soothing the soul. I’m sure this seems like a pot-shot, but…” her hand gestured obscurely towards his face, “I think somebody who’s drinking bourbon by choice has had some pretty recent excitement in their lives. Bourbon is good for smoothing the rough edges.”

He couldn’t prevent the twist at his lips. If only she knew just how true that was…

“What do you think of me, to get me a rye?”

A small buzz started behind his lips. While this drink might have been her first of the night, he had been slowly imbibing as he had played. Putting down the bourbon, he swallowed hard, trying to clear the fog trying to settle over his brain- there was still at least one more set to be done. But in that moment, as sea-blue eyes sat too close in the dun of the bar lights. His thoughts were scattered and it took some time to gather them. Her gaze didn’t waiver as she waited for his response.

“Feisty. You are willing to stand up for what you want or what you think is right. You’ve got spirit- you take up a stranger on an offer just to try something different.”

“You got all that from our short interaction at the gym?”

“And how you respond to people- you’re- well, you’re interesting to watch.”

Her laugh bounced in his mind. “Phrasing, Zuko!” 

A blush started to rise at his throat and he forcibly swallowed it down.

“That’s not what I meant!”

The laugh only grew stronger. A hand pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m not that- I’m- That’s not-” He stammered and for the second time in 24 hours, he found himself at a loss to respond. Ironically enough, he didn’t dislike it when Katara was involved. 

“You need to stop taking things so seriously, Zuko!” Her words were laced with a laugh. Eyes glinting mischievously, she nudged him with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you never pulled a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.”

“Erm…”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well…” 

“Where did you grow up? With Toph’s parents?” She paused for a moment, her head cocked and the overhead lights caught her lines in a pleasing way. It allowed his mind to wander to other, less than wholesome things, and Zuko glared at the glass of bourbon that now sat half-empty. When did that happen? “No, If you were anywhere with Toph, you’d curse like a sailor.”

“Truth.” A smile pulled at his lips, and he opened them to begin, even as he was interrupted.

A goateed young man had stepped up to him, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Set’s about to start.”

“Right.” Zuko nodded to the darker skinned woman. “Listen, I’ve got to go. But, uh…after?”

Her smile was troublesome, and he knew it. But it was the kind of trouble that he found himself being drawn to, like a sailor to a siren. 

“I’d like that.”

**

@zutaraweek

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

[izzy-b-hands]

Eventuality Eventually

My first bit of Smile fic! Roger has bought a new van for himself/for the band! And it is...something. But of course, this is less about the van and more about the three goof balls that plan to ride around in it. Set in a loose-ish AU? If only because I’m doing real general research rn, so I might fumble things about the timeline as I go, if I write more after this one (which I would like to do!) Some Brian/Roger here as well, which I didn’t actually intend, but then I got going and suddenly here it is lol. 

A quick note too that Freddie is mentioned in this, but only in that this part of the timeline he was friends with them, and at this point was still using his old last name of Bulsara; just noting it so seeing that name isn’t a surprise!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“But does it run?” 

Roger looked horribly offended, his arms falling from their stretched out motion of presentation. “Of course it fucking runs! Wouldn’t have bought it, if it didn’t.” 

“I know,” Tim said. “It’s just that you like projects-” 

Roger shot him a dangerous look.

“And that’s a good thing! It shows preservation, and a willingness to put in hard work,” Tim continued. “We don’t want to be stranded again, is the thing.” 

“Was embarrassing, having your mum come pick us up,” Brian added. “She was so upset...” 

“It was awfully late,” Tim noted. “Can’t blame her; we did wake her up.” 

Roger frowned. “So you hate this van, is what you’re saying?” 

“We didn’t say that,” Brian said, but he didn’t unfold his arms or take a step closer towards the simultaneously rusting and rust-colored vehicle. 

“Safety comes to mind,” Tim said, trying to be diplomatic. “But I’m sure it’s better on the inside, isn’t it?” 

Roger smiled at that, and yanked open the side door of the van. It let out a shrill shriek of metal on metal, but Tim motioned for Brian to not say a word about it. 

“See?” Roger crouched inside and dropped into the passenger seat, pointing for them to take the two rows of seats behind the passenger and driver section. “Much better on the inside. You could sleep comfortably in this, if you wanted!” 

“There is a spring that nearly went up my ass,” Brian hissed to Tim, leaning awkwardly forward on his seat. 

“Nice material,” Tim said, running a hand over the worn and cracked leather. “Vintage!” 

Roger’s eyes were starry with happiness. “Exactly! That’s what I thought when I saw it. And good condition, considering the price.” 

“How much did you pay for this?” Brian asked. 

“It was a steal,” Roger replied with a grin as he leaned back in his seat, tossing his feet up on the dashboard, watching them with the cracked rearview mirror. 

“That’s not a number,” Brian said. “How much, in an amount with numbers, did you pay for this?” 

Roger looked wounded again, and internally, Tim sighed. They could go from being the best of friends to stabbing at each other in a heartbeat, these two. It made him think of fencers: neither stabbed to kill, but occasionally they landed a hit that bruised and then looked to him as some sort of ref, as if he should have somehow ripped the saber from the other’s hand before the blow could land. 

“I don’t know if it matters much, if Roger isn’t asking for us to give him any towards it,” Tim said. “Are you, Rog?” 

Roger shook his head. “Just toss me money for upkeep and fuel every now and again, or buy me dinner.” 

“Like your girlfriends then,” Brian snorted, and Tim reached an arm back to slap at his leg. 

“Yeah, but you don’t get what they get out of it,” Roger said as he stuck his tongue out at the mirror, his reflection sending it to Brian in the backseat. 

“A warm sweaty number of nights in the back of a rusty van?” Brian mused sarcastically. “Isn’t that basically what we have every time we drive back from a show?” 

“Those are notably less...” Roger paused. “Well. They’re fun, but not the type of fun-” 

“I think we get the picture,” Tim interrupted quickly.

“Oh, but I could paint a better one,” Roger grinned mischievously. “C’mon Tim. Let me use my brush and make that one blush.” 

But Brian was already blushing, and looking more frustrated by the minute. 

If he didn’t do something, the sabers would be tossed away, and they’d be fighting with fists, at least metaphorically. 

“Why don’t we finish the tour of the van, and then go for lunch?” Tim offered. “My treat?” 

It was a blessing that, as low on money as they could be on occasion, they were often food-motivated creatures. Tim included himself in that, and the promise of food, even if he had to buy it for himself, was what kept him going now. 

“Not much more to see,” Roger sighed, clearly still nursing some hurt. “There’s enough space back there for our gear, behind the coat rack they’ve apparently included on the second row of seats-” 

“Hey!” Brian shouted. “You ought to talk, you...” 

He fumbled, blushing somehow redder still, and Tim felt for him. It was obvious to him that both Brian and Roger were stumbling around feelings for each other, but neither of them made it easy. Truthfully, he was hoping they’d just finally confess to each other about it, or fuck, or both. 

He did have a bet riding with Freddie Bulsara on the fucking though, and a fiver to win if he was right and they did it within the next six months. 

Brian was still stuck as Tim tumbled out from his thoughts, and he gave him a gentle poke to the knee. 

“Are you going to say something rude to him, or not?” Tim asked. “Just wondering if we can go get lunch now, or if we ought to wait you out.” 

Brian gave him a look, then sighed. “No. I’ll make up for it later. Let’s go.” 

“That’s so sweet of you,” Roger laughed as he moved to the driver’s seat, keys jingling as he forced them out of his tight trouser pocket. “You’ll really give it to me later, huh? Make me cry?” 

Tim nearly blushed himself. Surely, Roger could hear himself, and knew how he sounded...

But then, he almost definitely did know, and that had to be supplying the shit-eating smile Roger was wearing as he glanced at them in the rearview mirror again. 

“I don’t ever want to make you cry,” Brian said, but Tim could not for the life of him tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine or if this was Brian trying to flirt. 

“Yet you did drop that amp on my foot,” Roger said as he started the van, that made an odd belching sound as it woke up. “And then I did cry and swear for two minutes.” 

“That was an accident,” Brian said. “Your foot was fine.” 

“You never did say sorry.” 

“I did so!” Brian protested, and tapped Tim on the shoulder. “You heard me; I did!” 

“You did, but you did say it while blaming him for your dropping your end of it,” Tim said. 

“He did make me drop it!” 

“I did not!” Roger shouted back, eyes half on the road and half glaring at Brian in the rearview mirror. 

Before Tim could beg Roger to keep his gaze more on the road, Roger hit the brakes hard enough to toss him out of his seat as he pulled them to a barely big enough street parking space. 

“Get out of my van!” 

“This is a band vehicle; I don’t have to go anywhere!” Brian’s usually soft voice was harsh now, and he was yelling more in Tim’s ear than anything else as Tim scrabbled off the floor and back onto his seat. 

“I’ll make you get out!” 

“Good, make me!” 

“I will!” 

“I’d like to see you fucking-” 

“Will the two of you kiss, or fuck, or whatever you need to do to make this stop?!” Tim shouted, and they fell silent.

He had planned to say that in his head, and it dawned on him after another beat of silence that he had said it aloud instead. 

They were both blushing, bright red, eyes wide. 

Roger swallowed hard. “That obvious, is it?” 

“You’re both so bad at hiding it,” Tim said weakly. “I mean that kindly, as much as I can.” 

Brian nodded. “Well?” 

“Well what?” Roger asked softly.

“Are you going to make me get out of the van?” 

Roger gave Tim a nervous glance, then slipped out of the driver’s seat and moved past him to Brian. 

He stayed long enough to see the kiss, then slipped out of the van quietly as Brian pulled Roger down with him onto the seat. It was a blessing that the back of the van didn’t have windows except for one at the far back door. 

He pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them before he left, his destination the nearest shop that had food that would qualify as lunch and be fairly cheap. 

With one detour, to the nearest phone box. 

“Bulsara? Yeah, just wanted to give you an update. A kiss, and they might be fucking in the back of our new van. If you’d like to come down and have lunch with us, you could give me that fiver right away...” 

[mytwitterisdogtoast1]

Yugi’s decks and some other odd stuff that just makes sense.

This is a weird double kind of post where I focus on many things because of a little project I’ve been working on. So as anyone who has ever grown up and has been into Yu-Gi-Oh knows you just can’t not like the anime. From the ridiculous duels and cards to the ridiculous hair on every single character and I’m not talking about the newer shows so much as just the original show because that’s probably the “best” one to most people (partial to GX myself even though I know it’s not the best and Konami kinda messed up on it at the end of the series in USA). See if you watch the show a simple easy thing that anyone who gets it would like would be to get the decks of a character. Heck even if it was Weevil people would be a little excited but not as excited as if they got one of the main characters. Which was great because even though it’s old news I was very excited to buy the legendary decks for Yugi. See that is an amazing product idea that can bring in everyone who likes Yu-Gi-Oh. You bring in the casuals by giving them his decks, you bring in the collectors for cards that don’t exist yet here in the west or even those who have missed out on older cards, and you bring in the more serious crowd for cards that are in archetypes that might be harder to find maybe (probably not because the game has evolved to such a degree that even mirror force isn’t good anymore.) but still 2/3 ain’t bad. Let’s be honest though. This is Konami so they’re gonna find a way to fuck it up and I’m a decent guy so I usually try to have some faith in things. Even things like Konami who ruin most of their IPs in general but hey, I keep that faith. This was a simple thing to do but in the end they messed it up with really easy to do things. Now let’s just be really honest about this. if this product interested you. You would buy it if it hit the sweet spot of cost = product. I know I would and I’m sure many others would as well. Let’s assume Konami does its best in that it not only releases every single card Yugi has ever used before but also makes each card that doesn’t exist, to exist. They would have to make a handful of cards yes, but people would probably go and buy that product cause every deck he’s run is in it in their entirety. We can assume they would use his actual deck lists and make his actual decks. Yeah, his decks are not good but let’s face it fan, cosplayers, kids, adults and everyone and their grandma would buy this product. Nostalgia is a huge thing nowadays and even if we can’t play it in a tournament and hope to win we could just roll up, throw down a fiver and just play that sweet sweet celtic guardian. Now let’s be a little more realistic. Let’s assume we take the middle road which is absolutely the best idea. Heck we’ll take both sides of that road and give two middle road ideas that are the best idea. Make his actual decks and only use cards printed while printing about 5 cards that haven’t been made. That electromagnetic turtle is pretty dope not gonna lie. Point is even then we would still get a 4 card deck from each main part of the journey. 120 cards, 5 promos, the art cards for duelist kingdom, the god cards (playable or not even) would not set anyone back hard in printing since they’re all stuff already made in real life and would even bring cards like torike and horn imp into the west which haven’t even come here. Heck don’t even make decks. Throw in every card from every single season he has ever used. We don’t need to have 2 giant soldier of stones. (yes he uses two at one point) It would however be nice if we just got the cards the way he has them in looks and what he has. Call it Yugis legendary collection and it is the same exact thing. The worst thing you could do is just make his deck and just add in random shit like 3 dark magician girls. Which is what they did. Like This is a simple thing to make man how could you mess up by adding cards he didn’t use in decks when they didn’t exist then? Even detonate which is a card Kaiba uses. Look man it’s not the biggest of deals but the fact that the next set was stuff “based on their main cards” and Yugi had exodia? HE USED IT IN ONE DUEL. Make a dark magician deck. Sure it would reprint some of the same stuff but lets face it. THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE WOULD WANT. We don’t want something LIKE it. We want that thing.  Why does this matter? Honestly besides how sad the product was it really made me want the thing I didn’t get and it is near impossible ( at least I assume) to get torike and horn imp in the west when I believe it has had one printing in the east only and the only way to buy the cards are to go buy Orica stuff. Which in their own way is nice too. Support artists. So I took it upon myself to make those exact decks and to in general just make it a small side project in my life. Duelist kingdom deck was mostly easy to do and I am missing just 3 cards so I can buy 2 of them no problem and the others are torike and horn imp. Cards we never got (fuck you Konami). That’s when I started to see the other seasons which are not cannon in comics but are technically cannon in the show. Filler is a very iffy thing to use but I’m super casual and actually like filler in things I like. Hell DBZ has some of the better filler in the side stuff it puts in because it never really changes much. However sometimes you can have too much filler or filler that changes the series totally (stares at bleach, Naruto, and one piece. You all know what you did).  Now why does this also matter? Because it raises a ton of questions about the series in general when you look at a characters decks. Did you know that as iconic as Gaia the fierce knight is he doesn’t show up past duelist kingdom? Even in the manga he only has it in duelist kingdom. This raises a ton of questions. Like Gaia the dragon champion is really good in the anime. Because let’s face it. If you are going to use chimera in your duels than why not have Gaia in there as well to make a stronger monster? It’s one of his boss monsters. I mean he still uses curse of dragon in every deck except waking the dragons which again I know it’s not fully cannon but that shouldn’t stop them from using him. Unless there was a decent enough reason. I think that reason is you don’t need the monster itself in duelist kingdom to make the fusion. Which I can actually make an argument for. Yugi has 2 monsters in his deck. First is Black skull dragon and Dragon master knight. I know one is filler but it would fit the same argument regardless because even if we take from the anime it might be a little different in the manga and comic for battle city but that is indeed cannon. So the point I’m making is it’s a little strange Yugi would have either of those mosnters in his deck. He never knew he was going to work with Joey or Kaiba ever so why would he just have them? Trade doesn’t really work that way in the show cause we never see it and I know that dude isn’t carrying around cards because let’s face it. He didn’t bring anything but his cards and a glove. He didn’t have replacement cards. Which makes you wonder where the time wizard was from when he gave it to joey. He isn’t carrying extra cards cause the world doesn’t have packs the same way and cards would be more diverse or shittier and packs are like 5 cards per pack. So having such a rare and powerful card like that and it just “being around” makes 0 sense. Which makes you believe that it came from his deck. So time wizard was an original card. We have to remember that the reason he never played it is he never drew it in his duels and then gave it to Joey. Which makes the most sense. So if we go by that logic it would be understandable that since time wizard doesn’t fuse into baby dragon that you don’t even need thousand dragon in the extra deck. That also means dark sage isn’t even in Yugis deck because if it was meant to pair with time wizard he’d have taken it out or he just simply never ran into it or was a jerk and threw it in to counter Joey. So by that logic the reason Gaia never made a return is he never had the fusion in the first place. This makes me assume many things about the decks written are kind of misleading. Firstly the fact that Yugi has the same deck kind of but changes it every season. It makes 0 sense that he would in a world where cards are not a common supply even though it is the most common thing in his world to have that he would just always remake his deck mostly alike and then in general change 10 cards out only to put them back in to only take them out again. So when mysical elf is in his deck in virtual world but he doesn’t put 2 giant soldiers of stone in makes me question if he actually even doesn’t have mystical elf in his deck normally but sure as heck has feral imp. I came to the conclusion that in every season Yugi is just running the same deck with no differences. If there are differences it would be he added them in later on because he got the card and the only reason we never see it is that the man has over 80 cards in his deck. No it’s not 40 no matter how many times he says it because anime rules. It makes even less sense to change the deck not just for every season but every duel that he would have life shaver in against Kaiba only and then never play it in a duel ever again or something along those lines. Why does this matter? If I am going to make his decks I want to be as “accurate” as possible and am going to make his decks but it’s not like anyone wants to just make 7 decks for the dude. Especially when you take the Pharaoh into account as well. And who even wants to actually just make a Yugi themed deck? It’s not the same as having his decks themselves. It is much cooler in the end to actually have his deck. Even if it is 4000 cards large.

[jckelly]

dear mum

[ jack kelly’s eulogy for his mother ] 

“I was supposed to say this shit at your funeral. I wrote it all out on a torn out page of my exercise book, on the flight over, when George was asleep and Claire was busy pretending to fuss. I think she gets a kick out of coddling me, stroking my hair, pretending I’m a baby again as if she can turn back the clock if she pretends enough, send me right back to toddler years so she can be the proud mum at the school gates acting like she gave birth to me. You’d fucking cackle if you saw it. You never liked babying me.

I was supposed to say this in the church, in front of the people who showed up - bit of a pathetic turn out, if I’m being honest, it was me, the vicar guy, Claire and George, and the latest social worker. Carole or summat. She stank of dog hair when she hugged me, I could feel Claire wanting to put my clothes in the wash straight away. She’s such a fucking clean freak, is Claire, all we have to be careful, it makes me want to jump in a swamp just to see what she’d say. She didn’t really talk to anyone, just George, so the crowd was pathetic and antisocial. You would’ve taken the piss out of it. But when I got into the church, I just couldn’t do it. I felt like my chest was tightening, I swear I couldn’t breathe for a moment and I thought I was gonna fucking pass out right there in front of the stupid alter. Claire squeezed my hand - Jesus Christ she’s one for hand holding - and was all you don’t have to do this and I bottled it. Gave up and let the vicar mumble some shite about ashes to ashes. He probably says the same thing for everyone. We played The Masterplan by Oasis - you would’ve liked that, I insisted on it and it was fucking epic in the church, Liam Gallagher fucking ringing out across the stupid place. Claire hated it, she was all wouldn’t a classical piece be better, I was like it is a classic, fuck off. And then it was over and we all went back to the hotel and I hadn’t even eaten yet and it was only eleven and it felt so fucking wrong that my day was barely starting and I’d already said goodbye to my mum and I didn’t even say a single stupid thing.

So I’m saying it now, in my bedroom with the door locked, smoking out the window - this joint’s for you, okay. Claire’s downstairs probably doing some late night googling - is my son depressed? How do you comfort your adopted son after his junkie mum dies? - and George is probably resisting the urge to come confiscate the weed because he can definitely smell it from there and I know Claire’s probably the only thing stopping him. So it’s just us, because to be honest, I don’t think you’re any more likely to be in a church than right here. We never went to church anyway, I don’t think I was baptised. I don’t really know anymore.

Mummy. You liked when I called you that, something about me sounding like a toddler made you feel younger. Not that you needed to sound any younger, you were well fucking young as it was. Fifteen when you had me, I remember being eight, nine, and the parents  at the school gate thought you were my sister. Sometimes you played along, I thought it was a funny game and I’m only just starting to realise it was out of shame, you never liked to admit what was really going on, but then again I never realised what was going on then. I thought all the kids got left for days on end while their mums went off to find ways to make ends meet, pasta in the cupboard and a step by the stove so I could stand on it to reach to turn the gas on and boil the water. I went back to that flat the other day, we had to pick up the last pieces of shit you’d left. It stank of mouldy vomit and piss, I swear the blanket you were sleeping on had fucking fleas and there was next to nowt in the entire place - they said you’d sold it all in the end, paying for your drugs with your bed and your clothes - but the step was still by the stove, as if you thought I was gonna come back and I might need to reach the cupboard.

I had a massive fucking panic attack right there by the step. You would have been ashamed. I couldn’t breathe and I think Claire was torn between calling a doctor and trying to comfort me, she didn’t know what was happening because it was just a step but it was never just a step or a flat or a room. It was your room, your step, your flat. It was what you did for me because you knew I was gonna come back and I’m so sorry I was too late, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it in time to save you. It’s my fault. It usually is.

You would’ve known what to say. You usually did. Noel, stop being a fucking dumbass, and somehow that would have sorted me right out as if nothing ever happened. (It was always Noel, never Jack, you always said you meant it that way - Noel Jackson Kelly, not Jackson Noel Kelly, you messed up when you went to register me because you didn’t have anyone to help.) Those were your words on my first day of school, slightly abridged, Noel, stop being stupid. And then you put that ring of your mum’s in my pocket, the one you never took off, just to make me feel like you were there with me.

I lied about that ring to some kid at school. I said I buried it with you. I didn’t want to admit you sold it years ago, just to pay for your heroin habit. There used to be a little mark on your finger whenever you took it off because you wore it so much, I guess that translated well into the marks on your arms. When the ring money wore out, you came to my high school - do you remember? I was fourteen and you were rattling the school gates, Jack honey do you have a fiver? A tenner? I’ll pay you back, I swear. And the fucking kids were muttering, going is that Jack Kelly’s mum? Nobody mistook you for my sister anymore then, the needles and the alcohol and the lifestyle had folded your skin, pushed premature wrinkles in. I couldn’t deny it when they asked, we looked too much alike, thanks for the freckles by the way, really fucking attractive. I didn’t really want to deny it. I didn’t care much if they said shit, I could beat most of them up even if I was shorter. They didn’t know fuck all about you. Nobody does. Claire wanted a restraining order after that, fuck her. You’re my mum. Not her.

Everyone always wants to see the fucking bad side. It’s morbid. I learned a word the other day in class: schadenfreude, means taking pleasure in other’s pain. That’s what everyone’s like, deep down. They like imagining you as some sort of monster because it makes them feel better, when they tuck their kids into bed in their nice houses in the nice areas of town, no sirens going off, to think that you’re completely different to them. That no matter what they do they’ll never end up like you. That’s not how it works. You could’ve been one of them, you could’ve had the nice place and the husband, if maybe you’d been born in a different place to different people and you hadn’t met whoever gave you your first high. Sometimes I imagine that. You in a nice dress in a nice house, there’s a man making dinner when I come back from school, maybe you have a degree or even you just finished secondary school. You have a nice job as a receptionist or a secretary or something normal. You’re smiling. I haven’t seen you smile properly in years.

Point is, I’m tired of them trying to make you sound like you don’t deserve to be loved just because you were sick. You had an illness, it’s the same like some people’s mums get fucking cancer. You didn’t want to be sick, fuck knows you tried to beat it, spent half your fucking life on methadone. They make it sound like you were never a mum. You’re my mum. You know more about me than anyone. Claire doesn’t even know what my favourite band is, as if I’m not named after fucking Noel Gallagher. Claire thinks she can buy motherhood with fake worry and acting like she cares. She doesn’t realise it’s not for sale because I had a fucking mother already and I don’t care if she’s in the ground. You’re always gonna be my mum. Doesn’t change.

I see you when I look in the mirror. Your nose, your eyes, your hair, your crooked smile and crooked teeth, neither of us ever bothered to get them sorted out and I’m glad. I’m half him, I know that, the elephant in the room, the man who stuck his dick in you to give you me, another inconvenience in a life full of mistakes. I’ve spent eighteen years without knowing him though, and I can spend seventy more because he gave you fuck all. I guess that makes me like him, in a way - all I got you was trouble, problems with the law because they thought you shouldn’t be leaving me then, visits from social workers who found your stash. All I did was mess your life up even more and then I let myself leave and I lie awake at night replaying all of the conversations me and Claire and you ever had about that and wondering why, why did I let it happen because I just know you would never have been so careless if you knew I was coming over next week or next month. You wouldn’t have done that to me. I know that. They don’t, but I do, and since when did it matter what George or Claire or any of the fucking social workers thought?

I miss you when I play Oasis. I miss you when I hear some stupid kid messing around on a guitar because I remember that one you had once upon a time before it got added to the list of shit you sold off. I miss you when I catch a reflection of myself smiling in a window or a shiny car, your smile again. One day I’ll stop remembering the way that smile looked, it’s been such a long time, and then your eyes will start to leave my mind, your thin lips, your hair. I need you still. I’m not ready to be by myself yet. The law says I’m an adult but I feel like a kid still, sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I’m being hurt and all I want is you to tell me I’m being stupid again, but you can’t do that. Not ever again. I’m not ready to accept that. Sometimes I catch myself imagining what I’m going to do when I come back home over the summer, I’m gonna clean up your flat again like I always do, make you dinner, clean up your arms. When I realise I can’t do those things again it’s like someone tipped ice water down my back.

I’m going to graduate in June. I know your mum and dad never did, even though what you said about them was next to nothing. I know you didn’t, because I arrived to fuck your life up. But I think you’ll be proud, somewhere, that a Kelly made it to finish secondary school. Maybe we’re not so cursed after all. Or maybe I’m the curse, and it’s just everyone around me who’ll get fucked up because of me, I’ll be the only one unscathed. I’m sorry I did that to you. I’m sorry I let this happen. I wish I could swap places. All I can say is I loved you, I love you, and I’m sorry.

Noel”

[mxsmwndr]

In My Life, I Loved You More

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Summary: High school AU! Newt has always hated math class, and when he finally confesses that he needs a tutor, you jump at the chance to help. When Newt passes the test, he wants to repay you for helping him. But how?

Terms: (Y/n) is Your Name, (f/s) if favorite sport--if you don't have one, replace it with a hobby or something, (f/b/n) is favorite band name, (f/ic/f) is favorite ice cream flavor

Warnings: None? Fluff

A/N: Requested by @newtslittleinfinity, using prompt 4 (highschool au). Just wanted to add that I'm so pumped to write this!! I also may release another Modern!AU later this week!! Thanks for the request though!

Disclaimer: All characters from TMR belong to James Dashner, and you belong to yourself! Also, Michael's and Scoops are not my ideas, they're actual places I've been to.

You walked over to your friends, who conversed animatedly with eachother. Thomas was behind you, and found a seat next to Minho, while you sat besides Newt.

"So have you found a tutor yet?" Thomas asked, setting his tray down just before he was seated.

"Not yet." Newt groaned. "And if I don't find one soon, my parents'll bloody kill me. 'One more F'..." Newt trailed off.

You perked up, Since when did Newt need a tutor? He was one of the smartest kids in your health class....

"Relax, man. I'm sure you'll find someone." Minho said, sparing you a glance. You blushed. Minho knew you liked Newt, and he'd always try to tell you that Newt also liked you, but you never believed him.

Thomas noticed your silent exchange, and took that as an opportunity to speak up. "(Y/n)'s smart, why don't you ask them?"

Minho raised a milk carton to his lip, and snorted. He pushed the carton away, and wiped his mouth. "Sure," he said sarcastically. "Right after they make out."

You glared at Minho, who glared back, challenging you. But out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn Newt was blushing.

Must be my imagination.

"I'm serious!" Thomas said.

This time, Ben spoke. "Okay say (Y/n) agrees. How will you that work with their schedules? I mean, (Y/n)'s always playing (f/s), and Newt's practicing with his band--"

"I can do it." You said. Suddenly, everyone became silent, turning towards you. You studied your friend's faces worriedly. Ben's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, Minho was smirking, and Thomas was smiling slightly. But you were really only worried about how Newt would react. Well, and if Minho would make a snarky comment in return, but for now he stayed quiet. You looked to Newt, who broke into a grin.

"Really?! Bloody hell, thanks, (Y/n)!" He said, turning his attention back to his food after giving you a quick hug.

"Yeah," you mumbled, also going back to lunch.

What the shuck? You thought, noticing your lunch was gone. Immeaditely, you looked to Minho, who was digging around--probably for something sweet. He looked up to you and smirked, handing you back your lunch. But not before taking a cookie. Then, he drew a heart in the air, causing you to roll your eyes in return.

Don't get me started on Sonya. You mouthed back. Minho's face turned red, and you huffed in satisfaction.

--

"Really, it's not nearly as difficult as you think." You said to Newt, pointing to the paper that sat in front of him. "Just think about it. First, you want to get the variable by itself, so what do you do?"

"Um... subtract?"

"Nope. That'd only work with positives. These are negative numbers."

Newt groaned, "I don't know."

You raised an eyebrow, "I highly doubt that."

He turned to face you, a confused look sprout on his face.

"You're a lot smarter than you know. But you just need to realize it." Newt looked even more confused, so you added: "Don't be so hard on yourself, either. It's only school."

"Seems to be a lot more than 'only school'." He mumbled.

You leaned over, slightly nudging Newt with your shoulder. "It's really not. But believe me, I unsderstand where you're coming from." You said, leaning back into your chair. "Just let yourself go. Relax a little. Relax your shoulders, soften your forehead, unclench your jaw." You instructed. Newt did as told, obviously looking more relaxed. "You're too tense."

Newt rolled his eyes, "That's 'cause I got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

"Well uh... homework, tests, girls, cars, my parents, Minho's constant nagging, my band... I dunno. Why do you ask?" Newt said, watching you.

Girls? You shrugged, "Sometimes talking about stuff helps. Anyway, we should get back to work."

Newt nodded his head, leaning over the paper.

"So like I was saying, all you have to do is do the opposite of that number. If you're getting rid of a negative number, you add that number. If it's positive, you subtract it. Make sense at all?"

"Um... sort of."

You laughed, "Yeah. I'll give you an example." You said, scribbling a quick problem into your notebook. You showed Newt how to solve the problem, and then had him do the next one himself, occasionally stopping him from messing up. After a few problems, you made Newt do one for himself.

He pushed the notebook towards you, and you scanned the problem.

Smiling, you looked back to him. "You did it!" You said.

Newt's eyes widened, "Really?! I mean--" he took the notebook for himself, making sure you didn't miss anything.

"Yeah! Try this next one."

And so Newt did. Once again, he had the right answer.

"Are you comfortable with finishing the homework?" You asked him. Slowly, Newt nodded. "Okay. I'll be working on my science, but let me know if you get stuck."

Newt pressed his lips together, and nodded once again. This time, more sure of himself.

--

"(Y/n)!" Newt said, weaving past students to get to you. He had a wide smile on his face--one of pure happiness. "I passed!" He cheered once he got to you. He shoved a packet of papers in your hands, labeled 'chapter 8 test'. You looked at the score, 27/32.

"That's 84%." You mumbled.

"I know! C+!" Newt shouted. "No summer school for me!"

You giggled, happy for Newt. But he's this happy about a C+? "I'm really proud of you, Newt. Good job." You said, deciding not to crush his spirits by telling him 84% isn't great.

Newt's grin spread, "Thanks!" He said.

He was silent after that, and the only sound that was left was the hum of students trying to get out of school. That was, until Newt spoke up again. "Do you want to go get ice cream?" He asked you.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Now?"

"Um, yeah. Unless you have (f/s) practice, because I can--"

"No, it's fine! I just don't have any money."

Newt waved his hand, as if making the dilemma dissapear. "My treat." He said.

"No, no. I can just--"

"(Y/n), let me do this. You helped me pass the test, so this is the least I can do."

"Okay." You whispered.

Newt smiled, and waited for you to finish packing your backpack. When you did, he led you to his car, opening the door for you.

You thanked him, and got in the car. "Watch your feet." Newt said, closing the door, and limping to the other side. He opened the door for himself, and got in, throwing his satchel (instead of a backpack) into the back.

"So I was thinking Michael's? We can go to Scoops instead if you'd like--" Newt rambled, while he plugged the AUX chord into his phone.

"Michael's is fine." You said.

Newt glanced at you, grinned, and then pulled out of the parking lot. On the way to Michael's, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the radio making faint background noise. However, you still recognized the (f/b/n) song that was fading. Next, came on your favorite song. You smiled slightly. Car rides are much better when you listen to good music.

Newt noticed your smile, "You still like this song?"

You blushed and nodded.

"It's been like, three months though." He said, turning the volume up anyways.

"Shut up." You teased.

Newt laughed loudly, still watching the road. "But you listen to it on repeat..." he said.

"I said shut up, slinthead! What's your favorite song, anyways?"

"Um... I don't know, there are so many--"

"It's not still Wherever I go, is it?!"

Newt's face tinted red, causing you to exitedly jump in your seat. "You see!?! I'm not the only one who listens to the same music!"

"But I also like Put Your Records On!" He protested. You smiled, you liked that song too. Who didn't? Well, the real reason Newt liked it was because it reminded him of you, but he'd never admit that.

He sighed, pulling into the Michael's parking lot, "Wait here." He mumbled, getting out of the car. You smiled, knowing what he was about to do.

He's such a gentleman. You thought, thanking Newt as he opened the door for you to get out.

"Yeah." He said, leading you into Michael's. The retro design immeaditely made you feel like you arrived in the 60's. It was comforting. Especially since the jukebox was actually playing music today.

"Hello! It it just the two of you today?" The cashier asked. You and Newt nodded. The cashier grinned, "What can I get you?" Coming to Michael's wasn't an every day thing, but the cashier seemed to start recognizing you. The only thing is that you and Newt normally came with the rest of the gang, hence her smirk.

"You want (f/ic/f), right?" Newt whispered to you.

Surprised, you whispered back a quick "Yeah.".

He memorized your order. You smiled.

"One (f/ic/f) and one vanilla please." He said, digging in his pocket and taking out his wallet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes (Y/n)." Newt said. "Remember, this is my way of thanking you." You nodded reluctantly, still feeling a tiny bit guilty about Newt having to pay.

"Okay. That'll be $4.89." The cashier said. Newt took out his wallet, and gave them a fiver.

"Keep the change." He mumbled, gesturing to the can set out on the counter for charity. The cashier smiled, and set the money in it. Newt took your hand, and led you to a booth.

While you waited for you ice cream, you and Newt talked about school--from the latest gossip to your homework.

"Did you know we're getting a greenie this month?" He asked you, thanking the cashier when she brought your ice cream to you.

You took a bite, "No. What's their name?"

"I think there's two... Brenda and Jorge. Dunno... Tommy was telling me 'bout it."

You nodded your head. "Hey, did you have gym today?"

"Yeah," Newt said, also taking a bite of his ice cream.

"What'd you do? I have it tomorrow..."

"Soccer drills. Why?"

"Just curious."

Newt nodded. The song on the jukebox changed, and a slower one came on. You mentally groaned, This music is not helping.

Newt must have picked up on your nervousness, because he spoke up. "You alright, luv?"

"What? Uh... yeah. Why?"

"You seem restless."

"Oh... nah. Just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

You. "School...?" You fibbed.

Newt's expression alomst dropped for a millisecond, but quickly turned into a look of concern. "You sure every things alright?"

"Yeah." You said, your voice higher than usual. It was a bad habit you had when you lied. Especially to him.

Newt raised an eyebrow, "You're lying." He accused.

You shook your head sharply, "No. I'm not."

"Yes, you are, (Y/n). I know you, your voice gets higher, and your feet shift slightly apart when you lie. Plus, you avoid eye contact when you are hiding something." He said.

Damn. You sighed, "It's stupid, really..." you trailed off.

"Doubtful, but continue." Newt urged.

You sighed, "Well you know homecoming's in a few weeks, and everyone seems to have a date..."

"Except us." Newt said, taking a bite of ice cream. You nodded slowly.

"Yeah. And I was just wondering if you wanted to go together...?" You said. Newt looked taken aback, so you quickly added in: "Unless you have a secret girlfriend or something... or you swing the other way." You whispered the later part.

Newt chuckled, "No, luv. You're fine." He said. "And I'd love to go with you. Unless you have a secret boyfriend or something." He mocked. You smiled,

"Hey! Maybe you do!"

"Yeah, sure." Newt said. You smiled, redirecting your attention to In My Life, which played softly from the jukebox.

How cliche, You thought.

Newt jumped up, "You know that Johnny Cash originally wrote this song?"

"Yeah." You said. "Why?"

"Tommy and I were arguing about it earlier." He said. You chuckled at the idea.

"But Thomas doesn't know much about music. He only likes it for the sound."

"Doesn't everyone?" Newt asked you, causing you to laugh.

"Yeah, but some people like more than just the sound. Like me, I like the lyrics as well."

"When your happy you like the tune, when your sad you like the lyrics." Newt recited.

You nodded your head, "Exactly. Ready to go?" You asked, gesturing your eyes to Newt's finished ice cream.

"Yep." He said, sliding out of the booth with you on his heels.

Silence followed, but Newt interrupted. "So... I'll pick you up at 7:00 for homecoming? Unless you wanna go to dinner with Tommy and Teresa."

"Nah, they'll be makin' eyes at each other. 7:00 sounds perfect."

"Great." Newt said.