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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 months ago

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 4 (Human!Alastor x reader)

Rated Adult Chapter Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence AN: Next week we will be moving updates from Wednesdays to Fridays. To accommodate this, readers can expect an update twice next week. Tag list is open and tags will be in the comments to accommodate a tumblr glitch resulting in only five mentions working at a time.

Audio fic by Nyx Productions, read by @nyx-umbrakinesis found here: Part 1, Part 2Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The radio in the living room sent smooth jazz through the first floor of the home. Music while you took care of housework or cooking was a rare luxury you allowed yourself. The little joys in your life were far and few between, but when you have the chance to cling to one, you did not hesitate to hold it close whenever it was safe to.

Laurence didn’t care for radio or jazz, much preferring orchestral music on the rare occasion where he allowed the silence to be broken. With him out of the house, you could indulge as you sat at the work desk in the kitchen, kneading bread one handedly as best as you could.

It would be much easier if you could put your weight into it or even just use both hands, but your shoulder screamed at you if you so much as made a move to try. You had a shawl tied into a makeshift sling, taking the weight off the joint and a sack of hot dry rice tucked into your top, tied against your shoulder, soothing the aching joint with the radiating heat.

The bottle of aspirin sat at the back of the table, an ever-present reminder of the constant pain you were in. You’d need to go to the pharmacy soon and pick up some more to refill the bottle. The last thing you wanted was to risk Laurence noticing the bottle was getting low and to get on you for taking too much.

Right now you were riding the slight fog that the tincture left in the pain’s wake. You didn’t dare take a full drop, only dabbing the tip if your tongue against the side of the glass dropper before putting the tincture back on Laurence’s side of the sink, spending minutes to line the bottom of the bottle up with the ring of discoloration it had left stained into the surface.

You didn’t know if he would notice if it wasn’t just so, but finding out wasn’t high on your list of priorities. Laurence could be particular about some of the strangest things. Often you wouldn’t find out what those things were until you had set him off.

You knew he didn’t want you taking the drops he took for his back pain. It was his opinion that the aftermath of neither his fists nor his affection did not leave enough pain behind for you to need them.

After setting the bread aside to rise, you turned to the stove. It was a beast of an appliance, but it was a modernization you were grateful for. Turning a knob to open the gas valve under a burner, you listened to the hiss of the gas as you reached for the matches. It took a few tries to light the large match, hand trembling as you ran the match head over the rough side of the stove each time before you lit the burner, then the oven.

Grabbing the heavy iron kettle off the counter, you braced it on your hip to help carry the large pot as if it was a small child. You set on the stove before shoving it over the burner to heat while you clumsily chopped the vegetables as evenly as you could.

That was a battle in itself. Between the way your hand shook and not having use of your other arm to brace the vegetables with, your knife cuts were a mess. Laurence would be angry if he saw the sloppy work or the mess of vegetables that fell to the ground, wasted.

Blinking back tears, you tried your best. There was no use crying over it. It was all you could do to do your best. It had to be good enough. Your best had to be enough.

Dinner had to be perfect, you reminded yourself as you spread flour over the workspace and prepared to roll the roast in it. Every step of preparing your home for a guest and preparing the dinner was challenging, and this was no different.

You needed to get the roast searing and take a few more pills for the pain, then you could face cleaning up the mess of the kitchen. You were ahead of the pain right now, but you had to stay ahead of it if you were going to get through this dinner without embarrassing Laurence.

You loathed to dirty yet another dish that you would have to wash tonight, but with one hand you couldn’t pick up the hunk of beef very well at all. Rolling the flour covered roast onto a plater, you braced it against your hip as you carried it to the stove.

It would all be so much easier if you would just use your other hand, but the shoulder was still so weak. It was better to keep the weight and stress off the joint as long as possible. There were a few more hours until Laurence would be back with the guest, one Mr. Moreau, who you were nervous to meet.

Having guests was uncommon, as Laurence preferred to meet business associates outside of the home. On the occasion when he would bring you, you were an accessory to be shown off, seen but not heard. Just as was your role during your frequent dinners and trips to the cinema.

As the pork fat bubbled in the kettle, you set the plater on an unused burner, saying a quick prayer that the iron wouldn’t be hot enough to shatter it. There was no graceful way to wrestle the meat up into your arm, wet flour and blood smearing against your day dress.

The meat fell into the pan with a thud. The sound of sizzling meat filled the kitchen as you gathered the dishes and dropped them into the waiting sink, full of sudsy water. Washing them was just another chore on your list of things to do. Mechanically, you slowly set to work cleaning your workspace one handedly.

The fog in your mind gave shape to a sharp face and warm eyes you found your mind returning to often enough. When you cleaned, that was when you let your mind run free, knowing that you were least likely to be disturbed.

It’s when you let yourself daydream. You let yourself think about the ways your life could have been different. It was when you let yourself be ungrateful for all the things Laurence had provided for you and how hard he worked to do so.

You thought about what it would have felt like to fall in love and if falling in love was even something that really happened outside of story books read to children. What sort of man would you have fallen in love with? Would he have a square face like Laurence, or would he be sharp and angular, like the man at the butcher shop? Would you have fallen in love with someone with kind eyes and fluffy hair?

Would you fall in love with a man like the man you kept getting glimpses of? What sort of man was he? He was tall; you remembered how he towered over you even as he leaned down to ensure you had a good grip on his arm as he walked you out of the butcher shop.

Was he as kind as he seemed? Was he as kind as he looked?

Or was it all a show? It was a show with Laurence. He had been so kind when you had first met, offering sweet smiles and sweeter promises. He courted you quickly, promising the world and while everything happened too fast to say you had fallen in love, you thought love was on the horizon as your parents accepted his proposal of marriage. The wedding followed shortly after.

What did it feel like to fall in love? The question and image of fluffy brown hair circled your mind as you dumped the vegetables into the kettle. It took multiple trips to the sink to cover the roast with water that would become the gravy.

With the music playing, you hadn’t heard Laurence’s car pull up in front of the house or the front door opening. What you heard was it slam shut.

You fussed with your hair in the large living room mirror and dabbed more cover-up over the redness that was quickly spreading on your face. Laurence hadn’t been less than impressed with your choice of meal and even less impressed with your arm in the makeshift sling.

He had accused you of playing up the pain, voice climbing into a roar as he stormed into the kitchen after turning off the music. Accusations of wanting to look battered and beaten to make him look bad bounced off the walls as he loomed closer.

There was only a moment for you to cringe back as he slapped you across the face, the force of the blow splitting your lip open. Laurence wouldn’t like the bright red lipstick you wore now as you stood waiting for the guest, but it was the only thing that could hide the cut. It wouldn’t do for him to see the evidence of how you angered Laurence. Sleeves and bangles obscured the rest of the fading, healing marks on your arms that told a story of your prior transgressions.

Mr. Moreau was coming to do business with Laurence. If you were lucky, he would hardly spare a glance at you to notice the hidden marks and you could eat while ignored. If he didn’t look too closely, you could hope he wouldn’t notice anything that would take away from the air of perfection.

Laurence didn’t tell you anything about the man that was coming, leaving you waiting for the unknown man to walk through your door with your husband.

The sound of the door opening startled you out of your thoughts. You flinched, causing pain to shoot through your shoulder. Swallowing the groan, just as you always tried to do when Laurence might hear, you tried to pull yourself together.

It took everything in you to spread the smile across your face and force your feet up off the ground with each step toward the door. Your black heels click clacked across the hardwood floor, reinforcing to you that been picking your feet up with each step, something you struggled to do naturally through the pain in your legs. Laurance hated when you would shuffle your feet, dragging your fingertips along the furniture for an added sense of security in the aftermath of his anger.

It wouldn’t stop you from falling if your knees gave out again, but you were not above pretending it would. There was no kind man here to help scoop you off the floor and put you back on your feet if that were to happen.

As Laurence stepped through the door, you tried to make your small steps look normal and elegant and not painfully cautious.

“Welcome home.” You pulled the smile tighter across your face, trying to force it into your eyes as your husband’s eyes made a quick pass over you before he turned to welcome the guest inside. Hopefully, he found your appearance acceptable.

A tall man stepped through the door, tanned hand reaching up to pluck the hat from his head, revealing a fluffy brown hair and a pointed nose. Laurence took his hat from him and hung it on the coat tree by the door.

Your breath caught in your lungs as his warm brown eyes locked with yours, a smile spreading wider across his face. Would he say anything? Would he mention your fall at the butcher’s shop? Would he comment at all on your prior meeting?

“My Darling,” Laurence held his hand out for you. You tried and failed to walk smoothly to him, knees knocking together as you tripped and stumbled slightly over your own two feet. Thankfully, his attention was on the guest shrugging out of his coat. “This is Mr. More-”

“Alastor Moreau,” the man interrupted Laurance, reaching out for your hand as soon as he hung his coat on the tree by the door. “A pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure indeed!”

“Oh,” you startled when he took your hand, far from used to such bold and forward actions from Laurence’s business partners. The bangles around your wrist clattered together as he pulled your hand up while leaning down at the waist, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. His eyes closed, long dark lashes fanning against his cheeks as you felt your face grow warm. “That’s not-”

His eyes fluttered open slowly. You watched helplessly as his eyes lingered on your wrist. Could he see the marks under the shiny metal and glittering beads? You hoped not, but feared he could. It felt like he could see everything.

When it felt like you couldn’t stand it anymore, his eyes moved again and he slowly stood tall, towering over you. It felt like his eyes were looking past everything and right into your soul. What did he see? What did he know?

Laurence’s hand wrapped around your waist as Alastor dropped your hand. You cringed at this touch, pain shooting through your shoulder when your husband pressed it into his side. His fingers dug into your hip possessively.

You flinched in pain; the smile faltering on your face as Laurence jostled you against him. He was saying something, but you lost the words in the sea of pain.

Brown eyes moved between you and your husband. His sharp eyebrow rose as he cocked his head to the side. What was he thinking? What was he seeing?

“This is my darling wife.” Your mind was finally catching up with the words being said.

“Mr. Moreau,” you started, only to get cut off again.

“Alastor, please. For the lovely lady of the house, it simply cannot be anything other than Alastor.”

“Alastor, then.” Laurence started only to be cut off by a sharp laugh. Was the only soft part of this strange man in his hair and eyes?

“I did not know you were the Lady of this house!”

Laurence stuttered, tripping over his words. Thankfully, his hand fell from around your waist as he gaped at Alastor, mouth opening and closing like a freshly caught fish.

You allowed yourself one shuffling step away from your husband now that you were out from under his touch. It was a little room to breathe. Not much, but better than nothing.

“Alastor,” you pulled your face into what you hoped was a warm and welcoming smile as you drew the guest’s attention from your husband’s reddening face. “I’m afraid dinner isn’t quite finished. It shouldn’t be long yet. Please, do make yourself at home.”

“Of course, my dear. And a lovely home you’ve got for me to make myself at home in!” Alastor’s smile was wide and warm and yet it felt sharp to you at that moment. It felt calculating, cutting, but you couldn’t understand why that would be the case.

“Yes, well,” Laurence cleared his throat, and you felt your shoulders slump. You were taking too much attention for yourself while you had attempted to buy your husband time to collect himself.

You hadn’t intended to. You were just trying to be a good hostess. You were just trying to be a good wife.

“Shall we get down to business?” Laurence held out his arm, directing Alastor to the stairs and away from you.

“Yes, yes- of course. The details must be worked out.” Alastor’s eyes lingered on you as he turned.

“Darling, we’ll be in my study. Be a dear and bring us up some drinks? Alastor and I-”

“Mr. Moreau for you. Unless there’s something I’m not aware of,” Alastor again corrected.

“Mr. Moreau and I will be talking business while you finish up preparing the meal.”

“Of course,” you bow your head for a moment before stepping away to get the ice for their drinks, willing each step to look more steady than they felt as Laurence leads the way through the living room toward the stairs.

You were so focused on your steps that you didn’t notice the eyes following you or the way Alastor lingered behind Laurence, letting the gap between the men grow larger than expected as he watched you. Though you tried, you couldn’t hide the way you reached out, steading yourself in the doorway. It was one of the many things Alastor saw that you were not aware of.

That bit of information was catalogued away in the mental file he was building on your household. Alastor was a sharp man, always noticing things. It had a tendency to get him in trouble in the past, but as a man, he found it rather useful.

Laurence was possessive of you. A little kiss to your hand had gotten under your husband’s skin, yet he was willing to offer you as collateral on a loan? The idea was almost enough to draw a laugh from Alastor as he began to climb the stairs after Laurence.

Was he that sure of his ability to be good for the money or just arrogant? And oh, how the man seethed at not getting the same privileges as his wife, forced to pay Alastor more respect than was required of you. It was backward from social norms, but that just made it even more amusing.

Perhaps the loan would be worth making after all. The entertainment could be worthwhile and oh, what a lovely game this could birth.

Next?Masterlist

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wolfjackle-creates · 2 years ago

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I'll Carry Your Heart with Me (Until I Find You Again): Part 2

This time we switch to Danny's POV. 2.4k words long.

There's been a bit of a time skip and their friendship has only grown with time.

First

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“Mr. Fenton!” and a smack on his desk caused Danny to jump. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring out the window.

“Sorry, Mr. Lancer. Did you ask something?”

“Your grades may have improved over these last few months, but that does not give you leave to daydream in my class. I expect you to pay attention. Now, why don’t you explain what the repetition of ‘Brutus in an honorable man’ in Marc Antony’s soliloquy at Caesar’s funeral means.”

Jason had done such a good job reading that speech that Danny actually thought he could repeat it from memory. “Oh, it’s done sarcastically. To indicate he’s anything but.”

“Hmm. Very good. I hope you can keep up this new studious attitude of yours.”

Danny’s leg bounced as the rest of the class seemed to pass so slowly. As soon as he got home, he wanted to visit Jason again. His friend’s tutelage had helped not only his grades but also his fights. Who knew formal training could have such an affect? Well, he needed to pay him back.

It took all of Danny’s focus to not let his eyes drift out the window again, but he barely heard a word Mr. Lancer said as class dragged on.

And finally the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

Danny shoved his binder in his backpack and rushed out the door without even waiting for Sam and Tucker.

He was moving as fast as possible without actually running in the halls to switch things out in his locker. It was there Sam and Tucker caught up to him.

“What’s got you in such a rush today?” asked Sam.

Danny flushed. “I’m meeting Jason today. Taking him to Ghost Writer’s lair. He’ll love the library and Ghost Writer said it’d be okay so long as I don’t so much as touch a single piece of paper or even breathe too hard on anything.”

“Dude, how’d you get him to agree to that? Ghost Writer hates you!”

Not wanting to admit how long he’d spent groveling, Danny shrugged. “I apologized to him and emphasized how much Jason loved books and writing.”

“Woah, the Danny Fenton apologized to someone? Is the world ending?”

“Shut up, Sam. I’m not that bad.”

“You kinda are, dude,” commented Tucker.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Sam flicked the back of both their heads.

“Now that pick-on-Danny time is over, I need to go!”

Tucker grinned and said, “We want all the details on your date soon as you get back!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Danny waved them off as he half-jogged out of the building. He pulled out his phone to text Jazz.

Danny: Did you get mom and dad out of the house? Jazz: Yep. Jazz: They’re coming to the school for a parent-teacher conference Danny: Thanks! Danny: You’re a life saver! Jazz: Have fun on your date Danny: How many times do I have to tell you! Danny: Not. A. Date.

Running was too slow. Danny ducked out of sight of the road and let the coolness of his transformation wash over him before flying home. So much faster.

And sure enough, when he reached home, the GAV was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh of relief, he phased through the walls right to the lab and through the portal. Even in the ever changing realms, Danny knew the path to Jason’s lair by heart; it’s location shone like a beacon in his awareness.

Something must have been on his side, because he was approaching the island within a few minutes of passing through the portal. From his core, he sent out a greeting. A moment later, he got a return pulse from Jason followed by the ghost himself.

“Jay!” Danny trilled a greeting.

“Hey there, human-boy. Ready to have your ass kicked?” Jason grinned and tossed an ectoblast his way.

Danny laughed and blocked it with ice. “I’ve got a different idea, actually. What would you say to me introducing you to another ghost? I got permission to take you to his lair and you’ll absolutely love it. He may be a bigger book nerd than you.”

Jason hesitated and looked over his shoulder at his lair.

But Danny had anticipated that. Jay was still a young ghost and obviously hesitant to leave his lair. He gave a loud whistle. “Don’t worry so much, a friend of mine will be able to look after your lair for you.”

Before Jason could even ask what he meant, excited barking just barely preceded Cujo jumping onto Danny’s chest and licking his face.

Laughing, Danny asked in baby-talk. “Who’s a good boy, who’s a good boy!” Cujo barked at him.

He’d never introduced Jay to Cujo before and Jay was watching them with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Not my dog, he chose me. But he can protect your lair. Right, Cujo? You’ll protect Jason’s lair? And come get us if something happens you can’t fight off?” Cujo barked and rolled over to show off his belly and Danny rubbed it roughly.

Jay laughed. “No offense, but how good a guard dog is he? He seems too friendly.”

Danny looked up and let his grin turn a bit sharper before moving a bit away from Cujo. “Oh, he’s the best. Cujo, big!” he ordered.

Cujo’s happy yaps turned to menacing growls as he grew to his large form, drool dripping from sharpened teeth.

Jason’s mouth fell open and he stared. “Wow. How common is it for ghosts to be able to change shape like that?”

“No idea. Queen Dora can transform into a dragon. And Bernard can take any shape he wants. Spectra goes from a black shadow to a human-looking middle aged woman. Each is a bit different.”

“Every time I think I get used to this place… Are you sure my lair will be safe with him?”

Cujo transformed back into a puppy and ran to Jason barking, circling him once before licking his face, too.

“Here, I’ll prove it. Cujo! What do you do if someone comes close?”

Cujo’s barking got deep again as he grew in size.

“Good boy! And what do you do if someone attacks who you can’t fight off?”

Cujo shrunk down and ran to Jason and nipped at his clothing, trying to drag him towards the island.

Jason grinned. “You are a good boy, aren’t you? Keep it safe for me? We won’t be gone too long.” Though after saying that, he did look up at Danny as if to confirm.

“You’ll wish we were staying longer when you see the place. Jazz knows where I am and can distract my parents for tonight. But I do have to get back and sleep and show my face at some point.”

“Got it.” Jason turned his back to Danny to look over his lair. “Then I think I’m good to go. Should I bring anything?”

“Nah, you’re fine just as you are. Now, come on! We don’t want to waste any time!”

Jason turned back to face him and as he did, his outfit transformed once more into his Robin uniform. His flaming hair matched the uniform perfectly. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Danny smirked. “Let’s see how well you can keep up.” Without waiting an instant more, he flew off. Not at his top speed, but still quite fast. He laughed as Jason cursed him and did his best to keep up.

The Zone must have been in a good mood today because it didn’t take them long to get to Ghost Writer’s lair. Danny paused before crossing the border and flared his aura to announce his and Jason’s approach. Jason copied the gesture a moment later.

Around them, the very air seemed to grow heavy. It felt like someone was looking right through them and examining their very souls. Next to him, Danny could sense Jason tense as he crouched into a defensive stance.

“Calm down, Jay. He’s just checking us out before letting us into his lair.” By the time he’d finished speaking, the heaviness lifted and a sense of Welcome washed over them. The door to the library swung open.

Without waiting for Jay to ask what was going on, Danny grabbed his hand and pulled him into the building where Ghost Writer was waiting just past the doorway.

“So you must be the young Jason that Danny”—his lip curled just a bit as he said Danny’s name and Danny tried not to flinch—“told me so much about. Welcome. I am Ghost Writer.”

Danny looked over to Jason to see what he thought. Jason was staring past Ghost Writer with his mouth wide open. His clothing had transformed back into his civvies and his hair was a burning white inferno on top of his head. Something must have penetrated his brain because he gave himself a little shake. His eyes met Danny’s briefly and Danny had to stifle a laugh at how wide and shocked they look.

But then he fixed his attention on Ghost Writer. “This is your lair? It is amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it. How’d you get so many books?”

Danny’s once-enemy smiled at the boy. The expression looked out of place on his face. “Every book ever written ends up in my domain.”

Somehow, Jason’s mouth managed to fall open even further. “Every book? How is that possible?”

“Yes, every book. I’ll give you a tour and explain. But first, the rules for all who enter my domain. You will treat every book with care—”

“Of course!” interrupted Jason who had gone back to staring at the high ceilings and walls covered in bookshelves.

“—the instant you damage a book is the last time you will be allowed to visit,” continued Ghost Writer as if he’d never been interrupted. “You may not remove any books from my domain. Danny is not allowed to touch a book. Nor to look at any too closely nor to breathe too hard near them.”

That finally caught Jason’s attention. “What? Why not?”

“He damaged a book.”

Danny looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet Jason’s eyes. He wasn’t proud of his actions that day.

“What? Danny!” scolded Jason.

“Indeed. The only reason he is allowed back here is because he apologized profusely and begged for the chance to take you here. He indicated you have given him a new appreciation for literature which I wish to encourage to keep the rest of my collection safe. Now, follow me and I will show you how to find what you’re looking for.”

Danny tried to pay attention as Ghost Writer showed them around. He really did. But the tour took so long and they traveled through room after room after room. And these were only the books written in English!

Jason didn’t get bored, though. He continued to stare at the walls in wonder, every so often catching Danny’s eyes. Danny liked watching him. Far more interesting than learning which time period or geographical location the current shelves contained.

Finally, after what felt like ages to Danny, the returned to the first room.

“The two of you may stay for three hours. Depending on your behavior, future visits may be longer, shorter, or prohibited.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll definitely make the most of it. Your domain is beyond amazing.” Without wasting any more time on pleasantries, Jason grabbed Danny’s hand and pulled him out of the first room through a doorway.

Once they were out of sight, Jason stopped and stared at Danny. He opened and closed his mouth before swallowing as if unsure what to say. They were still holding hands.

Danny laughed self-consciously. “So, do you like it?”

Jason continued to stare at him. “I…” he started. He shook his head, but his eyes were still wide in wonder. Jason bit his lip and then lunged forward. The hand that wasn’t holding his cradled the back of his head as Jason pressed their mouths together hard.

His lips were hot, far hotter than a human’s, but before Danny could react even enough to close his eyes, Jason was pulling away. Danny tightened his grip on his hand to keep him from retreating entirely.

In fact, he took a step closer until scant inches separated them. Moving much more slowly than Jason had, he leaned forward and brushed their lips together softly. Jason twitched, but didn’t pull away, so Danny did it again. Only this time, he didn’t pull away.

Jason’s hand once more found their way to the back of his head. Danny closed his eyes as his lips parted slightly. Jay’s tongue probed, and Danny met it with his own. Deep in his chest, his core pulsed out a message affection, happiness.

Jason replied in kind. Thank you, amazing, disbelief, affection. Kissing a ghost was nothing like kissing a human. The waves of emotion made the connection so much deeper in one way. And even physically, Jason’s mouth was so much warmer than a human’s due to his fire core.

And they didn’t need to stop to breathe. That was fantastic.

However, there time here was limited, so with a pulse of disappointment, Danny pulled away. “We are definitely going to be doing that some more,” Danny said, though he sent out a non-verbal question of you want?, “But you’ve less than three hours here. Make the most of it.”

Jason’s responding pulse of yes, more made Danny grin. Verbally, he added, “Danny… This is… I… Thank you.”

“Of course.” Danny laughed as if it had been easy to set up. “Now go have fun, book nerd.”

Jason tweaked his nose, leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips, and rushed to the nearest bookshelf to see what he could find.

Danny crossed his legs and floated in a sitting position as he watched Jason take down two books and open them both as he examined what was written. “Danny! He has earlier drafts of Bleak House! This is so crazy. I wonder how much Dickens changed from his initial draft to the final printing?”

“Well, looks like now you can find out.”

“I can find out. Holy shit.” Jason sent out another wave of Thank you, affection.

The sentiment warmed Danny up just as much as their physical touch.

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Tag list:

@echoednonny, @britcision

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jason todd #ghost writer (dp)#dead on main #first kiss!#can you tell i wrote the beginning part to this segment around the ides of march?#these boys like each other a lot #and the fluff is so much fun to write #if i end it here we can pretend things will always be just great for them

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eviethedevil · 2 years ago

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Everlong Love (Peter Pan x Reader) pt 3

NEW FEELING

”I see we have a new guest”

I nodded, “mhm, he says his name is Thomas.”

”well, Thomas,” he said with a smirk, I could tell he was up to something, “I’m Peter Pan, your in Neverland.”

”Neverland?! Like from the fairy tale?” Thomas exclaimed with wide eyes.

“It’s more than just a fairy tale, Thomas, it’s a sanctuary” I had to bite my lip to stop myself from snorting when Pan said this. Granted Neverland was our, my, home, but it wasn’t the easiest of places to live in.

The kettle whistling brought me back to my senses. I quickly rushed over, taking it of the stovetop grill and onto the oak wood counter. It stopped making that high pitch screeching in seconds. The boys carried on the conversation about Neverland and how Thomas is lost and all that jazz. I pored some tea for Thomas and me, as I handed it over to him i asked pan “you want anything to drink?”

“You got any of that special tea? If not I’ll have whatever you’ve got.”

I nodded in response and grabbed a small glass jar full of my handmade tea bags off the top shelf and added one to pans mug. I made it for him a few years back to thank him for saving me from the mermaids again. For some reason he demanded he was the only one to use it, and he always used it.

I traced my finger over the engraving I made on it ‘dear Peter Pan, thank you for everything, y/n’, as I handed it to him, our hands touched and I felt my cheeks flush. I quickly turned away to hide it. Why was I feeling like this all of a sudden? Why where there butterfly’s swarming my stomach?

I silently walked over to the cooking pot and checked the rabbits, but still in a trance of why I was feeling like this about peter pan, I accidentally touched the burning hot metal. Cursing under my breath I sprinted to the tap and ran it under water. A deep red mark started to show.

Suddenly I felt a breath on the back of my neck. He reached out and caresses it gently and the intense sting slowly started to leave. His other hand made its way to my waist and rested lightly above my hip.

I just stood there for a minute, dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. But then the silence was broken when Thomas called out

”what happened? Are you ok?”

”I'm fine Thomas, it’s just a small burn.” I replied trying to hide the wobble in my voice. I'm not sure whether it was from Peter being to close or the pain on my wrist or maybe just a bit of both.

Out of nowhere a mock came at the door. Pan moved slowing me to go answer it. One again, as I was reaching for the handle, it burst open. Only this time it wasn’t Felix, it was one of the older boys, Martin, who walked straight up to pan and whispered something in his ear that I didn’t quite catch.

”y/n can you train the boys today? Make sure none leave the camp.” Pan requested, id only trained them alone a few times before but they listen to me most of the time. They didn’t in the first few weeks I was here but one day they just stopped going against anything I said.

“Yeah sure.”

Pan and Martin left and I finished up the boys breakfast with seconds to spare as I heard the boys starting to run around outside. I watched them from the window in a daze. The little ones stayed out the way of the older ones games, knowing they might get hurt if they get i know the way. Some of the older ones sat around the burnt wood remains where the campfire was last night chatting. Others where playing tag or roughhousing.

“Um, y/n, I finished my tea, it was delicious but could I have some food by chance?” Thomas said, making me remember he was there.

“Yeah of course.” I said and filled a bowl with rabbit soup and passed it to him.

“Thanks.” He said barely audible before gulping down the soup in seconds.

”whoa slow down hungry bugga, don’t want hiccups now so we?”

He chuckled a bit but sure enough, was interrupted by a loud hiccups. His face went a deep shade of red. I let out a quiet laugh as I handed a cup of water to him.

”It’s water, drink it slowly. I’ll be back later, don’t move out this room.” I instructed him before grabbing the large basket of bowls and the huge cooking but containing rabbit stew.

After setting it down outside most of the boys started lining up.

”Youngest at the front!” I yelled, they quickly rearranged themselves from youngest to oldest. I filled bowls up and handed it out. They boys scattered themselves out in there usual places, chatting with friends or just admiring the nature. A lot of boys have told me how much better the island has gotten since I arrived. A few say the island coordinates with pans feelings.

Once making sure all the boys had food and were comfy I went to pans hut as it had all the spare clothes in it.

#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine #ouat imagine #fanfic #once upon a time #ouat x reader

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killemwithkawaii · 2 years ago

Note

I’m like. Okay. I’m not selfshipping with Sal because I don’t need to be adding more selfships and I haven’t even done my mha s/i but. I’m definitely thinking about it.

Also this entire blog is just,,, concentrated mental illness /pos (like I’m no different, pot to the kettle and all, right here with you bestie but it’s shocking at first lmao)

Also if it’s cool can I be 🌌 anon?

>Do iiit.... DOOOOO IIIIITTTTT (you know you wanna... you probably wouldn't be hanging around my blog if you didnt...~) >:3c

>Collect ALL THE FICTIONAL DATEMATES and make ALL THE S/Is 🌌 anon YOU👏DESERVE 👏IT 👏

>A mha s/i sounds like a lot of effort bc you gotta decide on a quirk and how that quirk would effect your physical appearance and personality and choose a badass hero (or villain) name and all that jazz, but since everyone in Sally Face are more or less '''regular''' people, your SF s/i could easily just be You, but a little to the left... you with like... a nifty jacket, or an unnatural hair color, or something. OR, you could go my route and divvy up your personality traits, aesthetics, mental illnesses and genders between like 6+ s/is you can select from based on your current irl preference/dopamine chase. No wrong way to do it, as long as you're having fun! uwu 👌

>"this entire blog is just,,, concentrated mental illness /pos" I was offended for like 0.3 seconds after reading that, but then I started WHEEZING and could not stop for like 5 minutes because you are absolutely Not Wrong lmao 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 (that's why my trigger warning tag list is do damn long sdlfjkaf) I'm glad you guys can bare witness to my BS and be like ' woah lol (same tho)'

>Thankfully, I'm feeling much better mentally than I have been in the past... few months... years, maybe...? It feels really good to finally be on the right track and be taking steps to get the help I need! :D

>While we're on the subject, I'm also very happy to report that it's looking like I WONT be having a depressive episode during Valentine Month February like i did last year, which is fucking awesome bc i don't want to miss out on the lovecore and yan >:3 vibes again. I just got back from the grocery store and seeing all the heart-shaped stuff had me feeling so many goods feels...~ 🥺👉👈💌💘🍬

>You have officially been added to the Anon Signoff Claim List! Welcome to the club, 🌌 anon~ 💖

#k.e.w.k. answers #🌌 anon #tw mental illness #i am very much welcoming asks that are not requests/prompts rn #I have a hankering for chit chat and some good old fashioned gushes #talk to me guys whats up spill it to senpai uwu ☕

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yrrebulb · 2 years ago

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three bloody holidays — talks and noodles

“Order up!” The chefs yelled from behind the counter. The traditional style ramen shop was dimly lit and filled to the roof with mouth watering aromas. The sizzling of pork harmonized with the slurping of happy patrons. The clashing of pots and pans created a homey baseline to the jazz of shared cuisine. Sitting in the back corner, Blu waited at a table alone. Sunglasses looped into her hair, she etched quickly into a notebook while scrolling her phone. just as she flipped over her notebook, a warm bowl entered her view. Lightly colored broth with red chili oil floating amongst veggies and seafood, her favorite.

Looking up, her fist met Hoya’s with a joyous smile. He sat across from her, his messy peach mane pushed back under a zigzag headband. He always looked happiest in his element, surrounded by good food and good company. “What’s shakin, B?” He asked leaning into the table. Taking a small bowl from the end of the table, he spoon some of the broth into the smaller bowl before lifting noodles to his face. “I need your help figuring something out,” Blu sighed. Doing just as he did, they split the bowl of ramen. “Kei problems?” He questioned. Not meeting her eyes, the two could easily feel the uneasiness they both held. Hoya and Blu have been thick as thieves since the whole parts stealing incident. Even Souya, the trio have been unmatched in overflowing love for each other.

Anyone who met them could tell that they are true ride or dies. “Yea. Obvious, isn’t it?” Blu groaned, letting out a deep breathe. Pulling her sunglasses over her eyes, she slouched back into her chair. “Let’s make it fair and you help me with my girl problems,” he offered. Holding her hand out, he met it with a solid slap.

“Souya says I should tell him about what happened,” Blu informed.

“You should. He has a right to know why the girl sleeping and cooking in his house refuses to talk herself and goes ghost randomly,” he said between slurps.

“First off, fuck you. Second, way to call the kettle black, Mr. I’ll never love again”. Hoya’s expression dropped at her words. His eyes telling her just how petty that was.

“Look I know I should tell him but I don’t want him to look at me different. No one wants a car jacking, bike stealing, therapy mandated —“ she trailed off.

“Clearly, he does,” Hoya shrugged. “You’ve never hid your temper and he’s not appalled by your fighting habit”.

“Yea, but assault with a deadly weapon is different”.

“It was self defense and it’s not like he hasn’t seen worse. Your ex deserved it”.

“Even so, fighting and stabbing are different. I can’t even face him when he’s mad. If I black out and hurt him because of that bitch, I’m never gonna forgive myself,” Blu’s voice trembled as she thought about it. As she remembered the blow for blow fist fight that changed her life. The smell of blood and how mixed so well with the taste of sweat. The room around them roared as her sense dulled to the memories.

Putting his hand on hers, Hoya frowned. “Even more reason to tell him. He’ll understand. You want to trust him and all you can do is try,” the emotionally constipated chef did his best to settle her nerves. Pulling the bowl close to her, she eat in silence. “Nori wants me to ask her out,” Hoya speaks up. “I thought it was enough, my actions,” he revealed.

“Yea but you’re also the same person to flirt with women and tell her she’s free game when you see her do that same,” Blu stated.

“I know. I just. B”.

“I get it,” Blu sighed. “You’re scared of it happening again, of her suddenly not being okay with your reckless nature”.

“Shit changes when you add that title. She’s my girl, and I don’t want to lose her cause I can’t trust that she won’t won’t change”. The broad chested tattoo canvas slumped onto the table. Parting his head, Blu sympathized with his struggle. This fear that the people they want to be with will someday change for the worse. Turn into people they won’t be able to recognize.

“Take it from me, she’s not like her. She’s not gonna expect you to be anyone but yourself”.

“What if she does? What if she hopes that I’ll somehow become someone serious who doesn’t do stupid bike tricks on the highway or who doesn’t have a stupid story for every tattoo,” his voice growled as he thought about the things people have said to him. For him to grow up. To take life seriously. To put someone other than himself first. Hoya never meant to do anything that got anyone hurt. He just lived to have fun and enjoy his short existence.

“Then your answer is just as easy as mine. Tell her. You get jealous when she talks to and about other dudes. You guys look at each other like no one else is in the room. She’s kill you before cheating on you. You’ve got nothing to fear but yourself”.

“That’s a lot coming from you. You make triple what most of us do, and you’re afraid he’s gonna be turned away cause you bout your shit”. The pair laughed at each other. Lifting her sunglasses up, she couldn’t help the nostalgia that enveloped them.

“How about we bring them to the grind track and show them how we hang. Get them in our element, then talk it out. Plus, I think Souya needs to blow some steam,” Hoya held his hand out to make the deal.

“You’re on. If he gets mad at me riding again, I’m running you over with the trailer”.

[ 3B — Nahoya, Souya, Bleaulynn ]

#🦋 read it and weep #I wrote this while in target #and I don’t like proof reading so pls bare with me

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years ago

Text

Alone at Midnight, Inside My Mind

@badthingshappenbingo

Ao3 Link

Bingo Card

using the prompt in a metaphorical sense, as opposed to the medical aid sense

Prompt: Crutches

Fandom: Yakuza/Ryu Ga Gotoku

Warnings: a lot of alcohol related issues, including addiction and withdrawal, some suicidal thoughts and body image issues, hurt/no comfort. set pre-Yakuza 2.

Wordcount: 5511

2pm. He could tell it was because his downstairs neighbour was home, attending to the array of plant pots she kept littered outside her door, and playing music on the radio that bled through the crack of the open window.

Daigo squinted in the afternoon light that managed to make its way through the blinds, groaning loudly.

“Fucking hell…”

Suppose now was as good a time as any to start the day. Especially when he felt his stomach rumble.

It took some effort to get to his feet, but soon he was dragging himself into the kitchen, yawning loudly. He needed something quick and tasty, now.

The fridge had nothing but convenience store sushi and days old leftover curry. The cupboards were also pretty bare, half a bag of rice and a ramen cup.

Daigo sighed heavily, setting his kettle to boil before grabbing the sushi. He stuffed a piece into his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of stale rice but ate another without any complaint.

Head to the store. Get some more food, he thought, holding the ramen cup in place as he lifted up the kettle.

The water splashed on the counter a little, narrowly missing burning his fingers, making him forcefully slam the kettle back down once the cup was filled.

Daigo gripped the sides of the counter, closing his eyes as he felt a pulse of nausea rush through his body. If he forced the tension against the surface hard enough, he could stop his hands shaking for just a moment.

Eat noodles. Have a shower. Go to the store.

Opening his eyes again, he ate another piece of sushi, absolutely no taste on his tongue as he chewed it into mush, before taking his ramen into the living room.

He slumped down on the couch, turning the TV on and forced the food down him. He still felt nauseous, but he knew he wouldn’t actually vomit. He already had last night. Doubled over in a bush outside the train station and puked his guts out, despite not having much solids in him. Even now his throat felt sore from it. Classy.

He wasn’t even hungry, really. He was eating out of obligation, feeling his stomach gurgle happily at finally being filled with some kind of food.

As he ate, he noticed his cell phone on the table in front of him, discarded amongst the empty bottles and candy wrappers. It was flashing.

Daigo frowned, reaching over and flipping it open.

Three new answer machine messages.

Who the hell had tried calling him?

Message one - 9:25am

“Daigo, it’s your mother. Pick up.”

Message two - 9:43am

“Me again. Please answer your phone.”

Message three - 10:08am

“Daigo...it’s Mom-“

Daigo groaned, snapping his phone shut to end the messages. Nope! He was not dealing with this today.

He discarded the empty ramen cup and chopsticks with the rest of the trash on the table, storming towards the bathroom.

Shower on, clothes off. He used the toilet as the water heated up, catching the reflection of his upper half in the mirror as he finished.

“Hrmph.”

He ran a hand down his front, resting it on the middle of his stomach and huffed again.

His weight had been up and down the last ten years, though it had obviously settled during his stint in prison, with its shit food and no alcohol. Now that he was out, with all the freedom to indulge in every last inch of hedonism he could find though, he had developed a bit of a gut. Just a bump, but it was…noticeable, it was there. It stuck out.

No surprise really. How much did he drink last night again?

Enough I puked in a bush.

Daigo shifted on his feet, standing up a bit straighter and sucking his stomach in. It didn’t make much difference. He suddenly wondered how visible it was under his t-shirt, glad he usually wore a thick coat to hide himself in.

“Great,” he growled, stepping into the shower. Another thing to feel insecure about.

He stood there, forehead pressed against the wall as he let the water run down the Fudo Myoo on his back.

His hand started shaking again.

“Give me a break,” he said, clasping it to his chest, “A few hours, a day.”

He dried himself off, going back to his bedroom for a clean shirt and pair of jeans – both black, of course.

He also grabbed a heavy hoodie to wear to the store, a way to feel a little more comfortable in himself in a public place.

Wallet, keys, phone. Go to store. Buy supplies.

Daigo pulled his hood up as he jogged down the stairs, immediately blocked from leaving by the downstairs neighbour still gardening.

“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it Dojima-san?” Ito cried, beaming at him. She was older, always so chipper. How did she manage?

As much as he wanted to ignore her, Daigo had been raised with far too proper manners. He still remained casual, grunting a little and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, suppose.”

“You came back late again last night,” she added, hands lifting a plant to move to another pot, “Ouma-san went off about it before going to work this morning.”

“Oh, did he now?”

Ouma was the guy around his age in the apartment next door. Always miserable, always bringing a new girl home every weekend that Daigo had to endure hearing fake horribly through his thin bedroom walls.

“I’ll try to be a bit quieter next time, Ito-san,” he mumbled. For her sake, not for that asshole Ouma.

“Or maybe you should stay in once in a while, hm?”

Daigo scowled, jerking his head and storming off toward the store. With any luck the old bag would have gone inside by the time he was back.

As he made his way down the street, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He went to answer but paused, clenching his fingers tight into his palm. Nope. He knew who it was, and what she wanted, and he didn’t care.

His supply run was basic. More noodles, packs of chips and cookies, some onigiri and bentos that could last a few days.

Whilst picking up a few bottles of Staminan and Tauriner, he stared blankly at the alcohol.

His hands still shook. There was such a quick fix to settle that.

He grabbed a six pack of beer and a bottle of scotch and vodka, unable to help a crooked little grin.

The cashier looked at him a little oddly as he set his basket down on the counter. And yeah, he’d admit he looked strange. Sweating and shaky from withdrawal, under his eyes dark and his brow pulled into a near permanent scowl, face otherwise obscured by the shadow of the hood.

“Get me some cigarettes too, huh?” he mumbled, taking out his wallet and avoiding eye contact.

He was a mess.

He stared at the glass case of baked goods, unable to resist the pull from his sweet tooth, and asked for two donuts as well.

He arrived back home rather pleased with his haul. He had enough in him to pack away most of it, before he stared down the booze he bought.

He could...not do this, actually. He could not drink. It was easy, in theory.

He wiped his damp brow, licked his dry lips. His head hurt, despite the slight gloom of the kitchen.

They could sit there as an ultimate temptation. He could ignore them. He could do all manner of things.

But he wanted to drink, that was the issue. That was the whole point. Drinking was the only thing he had that stayed consistent.

He grabbed the scotch and slugged back a long mouthful, feeling everything just melt away. He let out a relieved gasp, the taste strong on his tongue and warming his throat. Felt like a part of him was back. His mind became a little clearer, his mood a little more elevated. He took a shorter swig for luck, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Much better…”

He spent the rest of the afternoon lounging on the sofa, playing video games. There wasn’t much else for him to do during the day.

Evening was his time.

When seven rolled around, Daigo got ready. His jeans and t-shirt were fine already, so all he had to do was put on his usual cross necklace to complete the outfit. He spent a while staring down himself in the mirror as he applied a shaky dash of eyeliner around his lid.

Once upon a time he shied away from doing this publicly, but since leaving jail he stopped caring. Wore eyeliner and straightened his hair. Painted his nails black and picked at the polish when he was anxious. Who gave a shit? Anyone dumb enough to say anything soon regretted it.

Keys, wallet, phone. Same routine. He chose his white puffer jacket to wear instead of his hoodie, enjoying the barrier it gave him from the rest of the world.

One quick metro ride later, he was in Kamurocho, just as the town was coming alive in a burst of neon. Daigo lost himself in the crowds, thinking of which bar to hit up first.

He paused for a moment down Tenkaichi Street, staring at the sign for Serena. Place was closed, and had been for a little under a year now.

He knew what happened last year, of course. Heard about Rina through another barkeep. Not that he’d known her well, or spent much time at Serena, but something in his chest ached hearing she was gone in such circumstances.

He soon forgot about it with another glass.

With a weary huff, he decided the Champion District on the other side of town was the best place to start. The bar he chose was quiet, no other customers, and a barman who knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Perfect.

Instead of conversation, Daigo focused on the soft jazz music playing as he nursed his whiskey. He was into heavier tunes, but he needed a bit more of a buzz before going to his favourite rock bar.

He tapped his nails against the glass, tilting his head. Good idea, actually. They did cheap shots and a big array of imports.

He slammed some cash down on the counter before stumbling into the street, glad to feel the slight evening chill on his cheeks.

Down to Pink Street, and into the rock bar he enjoyed. Already feeling at home with the heavy guitar music blasting over the speakers, most of the other patrons dressed in a similar style to him. He’d missed out on a lot of stuff whilst locked away, the slight sways in fashion that happened in such a short amount of time, but he liked knowing he was still on trend within his scene, mostly.

He sat at the counter, giving a half-grin to the girl working there, and ordered himself five shots of vodka.

His earlier drinks had been a warmup, these were the first leg of the race. The second came in the form of a large scotch, some new brand they’d started selling.

Honestly, the start to a perfect night for him, until he heard a small gasp from behind him.

“Hey! Aniki!”

Daigo’s heart sank at the voice, glancing over his shoulder. Five of the guys he usually hung around with were there – or more accurately, they hung around him.

He rolled his eyes and groaned, turning in his seat and glaring them down. He should never had shown them this place.

“What do you want?” he muttered, already knowing the answer.

“We didn’t know you were out today!” Arita cried, leaning up next to him, with that sycophantic look he always had in his eyes. As if Daigo wasn’t out every night.

“Why don’t you join us aniki?” Kubo asked, which actually translated to wanna pay for all our drinks because we’re cheap scrounging bastards?

Daigo groaned again, knocking back his glass and waving the bartender over again.

“If you quit calling me aniki.”

They didn’t, of course. They gleefully accepted the drinks he bought them with more coos of thank you Dojima-aniki. Daigo rubbed the bridge of his nose and ordered himself two double scotches, slugging them back like they were water.

“I was thinkin’ we could go to Dazzle after this,” Arita said, having not left Daigo’s side. He always babbled and talked too much, like he felt he had to fill every silence with his own voice save people be left alone with their own thoughts.

“Why there?” Daigo asked, thinking of all the things he’d rather do more than go to a hostess club, including and not limited to slamming his face into a lit stovetop and drowning in a hot tub.

“I just think the girls there are really underrated, y’know? I like that they have some slightly older gals, I love a mature lady. How about you?”

Daigo shoved a shard of ice from his glass into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue. “Come on then.”

He was paying for two hours and that was that. At least he could get a bottle for himself and work through that, sitting at the edge whilst the others enjoyed the girls’ company.

Dazzle might have specialised in more mature women, but the decor was a nightmare like every other hostess club. Why’d they always insist on so many sparkles, it gave him a headache.

“Um...are you enjoying yourself?”

Daigo lowered his gaze to look at the girl. ‘Mature’ really meant ‘late twenties’, and she was running on the younger side of that.

“What do you think?” he said coldly, swirling his drink in its glass.

She seemed a little dazed at this, glancing back at her fellow hostesses, but kept going.

“M-my name is Nashi. Yours?”

“Daigo Dojima.”

He clicked his tongue, emptied his glass and went to refill it, his shoulders slouching slightly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so short, you’re only doing your job.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve had far worse responses.”

Daigo just gritted his teeth. Another reason he hated hostess clubs was he knew how other men treated these girls, saw it himself the times his father brought him along as a teen.

The least he could do was give this lady a nice conversation.

“Well, I’ll try to be a bit better than them,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the others, so loud and obnoxious.

Nashi smiled a little. “They’re not so bad. Your friends are just a bit...out there.”

He scoffed. “They’re not my friends. I don’t really...do friendship anymore.”

“Oh? How come?”

Shit. Of course, when you say something like that, people have questions. Daigo licked his lips in thought, considering how he should phrase this.

“You...don’t recognise my name, do you?”

Nashi blushed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, well, you do have a bit of notoriety around town, Dojima-san. I know girls in other clubs, and they always talk about you.”

Daigo did a slight double take at this. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re a rather…” She gestured at his coat and skinny jeans. “A striking figure, you know. A lot of girls like the edgy emo bad boy look. It’s popular right now.”

“Hm, figures.” A lot of men are also fans…

Daigo sat up a little straighter, gazing Nashi down. “Do you?”

“H-huh?”

“Find me attractive?”

It was a joke, said with a dry smirk, but she flustered, clearly uneasy. Daigo grimaced, sliding up a little closer and putting a hand to her knee.

“Hey, hey. I’m kidding.” He made his smirk a soft smile, broke down the facade for just a moment to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nashi’s eyes went wide, but nodded, brushing down the edges of her dress.

“A-anyway, I...I’ve heard you...were involved with the Tojo Clan. Is that why you don’t ‘do’ friends?”

“Mm. Essentially.”

Daigo gave up on the glass, swigging back from the bottle which got him a funny look from one of the other patrons across the way.

“My only friend murdered my father,” he said, so matter of fact. He hesitated a moment, letting out a short huff. “Well. He went to jail for the crime, at least. He was actually covering for someone else. Either way, I was left without his guidance for ten years, thinking he had betrayed me like that.”

He paused a second, swilling whiskey around his mouth, before continuing.

“I came back to town a few months ago and...he hasn’t bothered trying to find me. Which shows how little he cares.”

“Oh. That sounds...awful, Dojima-san.”

“It sure does, doesn’t it?”

Daigo shrugged, tilting the empty bottle back so he could savour just a few more drops as best he could. “That’s just how my life is now.”

He grumbled a little as he set the bottle down, belching into his cupped hand before draping himself back against the seat.

“Sometimes you gotta deal with the hand you're given,” he added, scratching lazily at his middle, “And unfortunately, I’ve had a poor deck from the start.”

He shut his eyes before letting out a laugh, forced and hollow. “Sorry. I’m not the best at keeping things light.”

How many hostesses had he paid to listen to him whine? Then he thought how they were probably all used to it, which made it even worse.

“Well, given your circumstances…”

Nashi glanced back at her co-workers, the barely hidden looks of disdain towards the rest of the crew and their boorish behaviour.

“I’d much rather talk to you though,” she said, reaching over to grab another one of the bottles along the table, gesturing toward his glass, “You’re nice.”

Daigo swallowed, nodding in approval as she filled it to the brim. His head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the music or the cravings.

“If you say so.”

The glass was empty in a flash, and filled just as quick.

“You’re good at this,” he purred.

The bottle was empty by the time the waiter came by. Daigo had just enough mental capacity to dig through his pockets and pay, giving Nashi a shaky smile and a pat on the knee.

“Thank you for tonight. You’re great.”

His friends, on the other hand, all started to whine as the waiter began to urge them into finishing their drinks.

“Aw, c’mon aniki, let’s hang around a bit longer!”

“If you want that, pay yourself, ya cheap fucks.”

Daigo stood up, a bit too quickly as he felt the room spin. He stumbled to the side slightly, wincing as he contained a belch that very much tasted of vomit. Nope! No puking tonight. Keep it all inside.

“I’m outta here,” he mumbled, resting a hand on any available solid surface to keep himself steady as he left.

He blanked out the cries of the others as he did. He’d wasted enough time with them tonight, and he was craving something else.

“Burger,” he mumbled, squinting as he glanced up and down the street, “Pffft...that way.”

This was always the worst part of the night. Trying to sober up enough so he could keep going, or at the very least get home in one piece. Stumbling through the streets and trying not to crack his skull open.

It wasn’t just food he craved though. He felt...itchy. That was the only way to really explain it. The desire to go wild, start a scuffle. Really earn that reputation he supposedly had.

To hell with staying in one piece.

But first, Smile Burger.

The fact that the poor worker even understood what he said through his slurred words was impressive and soon he was curled up against the window, feet pulled up on the chair beside him as he made his way through a burger that tasted like the finest wagyu steak right now.

All the while, he kept his eye out.

Yeah, it felt shitty to target people for a fight like this, but he made sure it was a fair fight. Usually a few guys, who looked like they could take a hit as well as throw one, maybe even have a chance if they weren’t facing someone running on adrenaline and too much booze.

He cocked his head as he focused on a table nearby. Four men, mid-twenties, definitely young yakuza from some family. He couldn’t see any lapel pin from where he was sat, but they were perfect.

Childishly, he picked up one of his fries and threw it in their direction. It hit the back of one guy’s head, and he looked around puzzled. Daigo just threw another, chuckling as it hit him again. A bit too obvious, as he was spotted this time.

“What the hell’s wrong with you dude?” one of the four cried.

“I dunno,” Daigo said, stuffing a bunch of fries in his mouth before flinging another their way, “Target practise.”

This one hit a guy in a striking red sports jacket right between the eyes, and Daigo could barely contain the full-on cackle he let out at the expression he pulled. It was almost too easy.

He grinned when one came over and jabbed him in the chest.

“Outside. Now.”

“My pleasure.”

He followed them into a nearby side street, hands in his pockets and head held high. He liked an audience sometimes, but a private fight was fine enough.

The biggest one of them threw the first punch. He was expecting it, crossing his arms over in front of his face to block it, before kicking out at the guy’s ankles.

The whole fight was messy. The little gang clearly had never been in a proper fight, had no form. They kept punching poorly, wincing with any that managed to hit as they stung their knuckles.

Not that Daigo was any better. He was still far too drunk, but that was half the fun. Stumbling about and getting in a rough hit that frightened these kids who’d never experienced this before. He just wanted the thrill, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Anything to feel something.

Daigo landed a punch on that guy in the sports jacket, right in the middle of his face. It sent him flat on his ass, skidding down the street slightly.

“Come on!” he groaned, “Grab him, idiots! We outnumber him!”

A moment of pause. Daigo tried to catch his breath, but ol’ sports jacket was right. He was outnumbered.

Two of them grabbed his coat and pushed him back against the wall, holding him there. The third punched at his gut, over and over. Daigo gritted his teeth, tensed his stomach for every punch.

He knew he could get out of this, easily. The guys holding him were hardly doing much, weren’t even gripping his actual arms, just the sleeves of his jacket. It wouldn’t take much to duck and slip down, then send them crying home to their mommies.

“Come on!” he hissed, baring his teeth.

But he wanted them to hit him.

“That all you got?”

He wanted them to hurt him.

Sports jacket guy had gotten back on his feet now, face already starting to bruise. His fist met the middle of Daigo’s face hard, harder than they’d been hitting before. It stung, a lot, which is exactly what he wanted.

Not that it solved anything.

It never did.

“Oi!” They all froze, turning toward the entrance of the street. Daigo, semi-dazed, managed to look too, and felt his stomach drop.

Kashiwagi's expression, initially a scowl, changed the moment he saw him, shaking his head and blinking a little. “Daigo?”

He sighed heavily, storming over and waving his hand at the little gang. “Shoo. Don’t let me catch you boys doing shit like this again, you hear?” “Y-yes Patriarch Kashiwagi.”

They scurried off further down the street, leaving Daigo to stand up straighter, rubbing his nose. He groaned a little as he saw the streaks of rusty red on the back of his hand, sniffling heavily. “Great.”

“Daigo…”

Kashiwagi sighed again, rubbing at his temple. “What are you doing?” “I’m just...I’m just out.” Daigo sniffed again, scrunching his nose. “Just finished dinner.”

“You know what I mean…”

Kashiwagi looked around, then grabbed Daigo by the shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s talk in the office.”

Daigo went to argue, but it only took one stern glare, the kind the older man had given him his whole life, for him to clench his jaw and follow.

Kashiwagi led the way toward the Millennium Tower, hand on Daigo’s shoulder the whole way. It felt so patronising, like that time he accidentally broke a window at the Dojima Family offices when he was ten, and Kashiwagi had done the exact same gesture, marching him to his mother.

“Nice upgrade,” he still said, gazing out the wide window of Kashiwagi’s office once they arrived, “From that little place on Tenkaichi.”

“Well, we make do. I’m second in command now.” Kashiwagi set down the plastic convenience store bag he’d been carrying on his desk, letting out a small, bemused exhale of air. “It’s not all bad. Now come on. Why were you fighting?”

Daigo clicked his tongue and shrugged, staring at the blinking lights below them.

“Daigo…” “I just was, okay?”

He gave a dismissive shrug, walking across the floor toward a cabinet, throwing the doors open. Kashiwagi watched him with tired eyes, slumping down in his chair. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”

“Your breath reeks of it, kid. Your whole body does.” He took out a bento and can of coffee from the plastic bag, raising a brow. “And I know what you’re like, especially lately. How’s being a free man by the way? Haven’t seen you since you were released.”

“It sucks ass.”

Daigo slammed the cabinet door shut, opening another and grinning as he saw half a bottle of whiskey there, as well as some crystal glasses. He heard Kashiwagi tut loudly as he slammed both down on top of the cabinet.

“What did you expect?” he scoffed, pouring a very large measure, “Mom told me the news the moment I got out. What Nishikiyama did. That it wasn’t Kiryu. He hasn’t even come to see me, to apologise for it.”

He knocked the glass back, the sensation warm and familiar down his throat. “Hardly feel free. Just not in jail anymore.”

“What happened to the boy I knew?” Kashiwagi asked, walking over and placing a hand on Daigo’s shoulder once more. This time it was gentle, kind, attempting to be comforting. Not Kashiwagi-san, one of his father’s men, but Uncle Osamu, his mother’s best friend.

Daigo scrunched his nose up, taking another slug of whiskey. “You say that like I’ve ever been cheery.”

“Well, okay, you’ve always been a serious young man, but…”

He just shook his head, moving his hand away. He grabbed the whiskey bottle in the process, making Daigo let out a pathetic little whine.

“I’m not going to enable you any more than I have,” he said firmly, before adding, “I mean it though. You don’t need to throw your life away like this.”

Daigo didn’t reply, because he didn’t like the real answer. There wasn’t much of a life to throw away. He was doing everyone a favour with this.

“You bring me up here just to lecture me old man?” he growled, narrowing his eyes.

Still looking for someone to fight. Kashiwagi would wipe the floor with him, he knew that, but he didn’t care. He also knew he wouldn’t get that kind of satisfaction.

Didn’t mean Kashiwagi wasn’t frustrated with his attitude. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists and let out a deep exhale from his nose. “I saw your mother today. She’s been trying to call you all morning.”

“I know.” The empty glass was set down heavily, with a grunt. Daigo dug around for his phone, holding it out so Kashiwagi could see the countless missed calls and texts from her on the home screen. “I know what today is.”

“...and is that why you’re-”

“You know I’m like this anyway.” He stared at the texts, all similar in tone - Daigo, please call me. Daigo, it’s important. Are you okay? He got them most days from his mother. She was trying so hard. He didn’t want her to. He would rather she forget about him. She deserved that much.

Kashiwagi wasn’t looking at him, staring up at the ceiling as he thought of what to say next.

“I understand that...none of us could have predicted the extent of what your father was like.”

Daigo did a double take, noticing Kashiwagi immediately cringe. At least he knew what he said was stupid.

“Sorry, that was-”

“Yeah. It was.” Daigo looked up, head cocked to his shoulder. “Anyone could have guessed, really. We just pretended otherwise, because somehow he seemed to be the only thing keeping the Tojo Clan from completely falling apart.”

He was up in Kashiwagi’s face now, feeling his chest clench tight. He was working himself up over nothing, over that bastard. He hated it, but thinking of what his father did to get himself killed, the kind of man he was, it made his skin crawl.

“He deserves to spend every birthday after what he did having the most miserable time in hell,” he said with a hiss, noticing his voice wobbling, “I know it. You know it. But Mom refuses to let go-”

The slap felt cathartic, for both of them. Daigo shut his eyes and nodded as his cheek stung. He deserved that. He was trying to provoke that kind of reaction and got exactly that.

“I take back what I said. That boy you were is still there. An insolent brat,” Kashiwagi said, walking back to his desk, “Daigo, one day, you’re going to have to grow up. You can’t keep doing this until you die.”

He threw a semi-sympathetic look over his shoulder, but Daigo mostly felt it was piteous. That’s what he was. A pitiful, useless mess.

“Go home, Daigo. Call your mother. And for everyone’s sake, don’t have anything else to drink tonight.”

Daigo sucked in through his teeth and nodded again as he walked toward the door.

“...good night, Kashiwagi-san.”

No response. Yup. I deserve this.

He made his way home in a daze, everything working in automatic. Kashiwagi’s words kept echoing in his head, over and over.

You can’t keep doing this until you die.

Because that’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? Die. Suicide by hedonism. He was born already holding the worst hand life could deal, and he was never going to get anything better. After his father was killed, the one tiny scrap of potential good he could have in his life was gone, even if that prospect was a life of crime.

So why not? Why should he grow up when there was nothing to grow up for?

The moment he was inside his apartment, he slid down the door, staring blankly ahead. He’d needed that talking to, he needed a few really, from people who were currently pretending like he didn’t exist. That’s what he really needed. For Kiryu to talk to him, apologise for ruining his life, try and talk some sense into him. He always knew what to do.

But it was like he didn’t exist. Kiryu didn’t care. Kashiwagi tried to care, but knew he was a lost cause. Who did care?

Daigo opened up his phone again, staring at the missed calls and sighed. That’s who cared. Mom.

He should talk to her. He knew he should. He was an awful son who loved his mother very much, which is why he knew she deserved better. She was trying despite knowing she’d made mistakes, but he just couldn’t let that go.

He hovered on her number, ready to press the button to call...but instead he tossed his phone to land on the couch, walked to the kitchen and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle still on the counter.

He licked his lips, swallowed heavily...but let go, pushing it away.

“You win this time old man,” he grumbled, picking up an energy drink and the donuts he’d bought earlier in the day instead. Kashiwagi could never be allowed to know that though.

He knew this self-control wouldn’t last long. Come morning, he’d be shaking again, a hangover banging in his skull, and he’d be dragging himself towards that bottle like it was the source of life.

The same thing every day.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He couldn’t have it any other way.

#dojima daigo #ryu ga gotoku #trope: crutches #badthingshappenbingo #undeadbthb #highly recommend reading the end notes on ao3 for the buckwild place the inspiration for this came from

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uraharashopslut · 4 years ago

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dreamland {hirako shinji fic}

- summary -

shinji had forgotten about the girl he grew up with in rukongai, until she waltzed right into his quarters with the last person he'd expect, his fukutaicho, aizen sosuke.

content warning: when life hands ya lemons, ya put 'em in ya story. this is gonna be a mature fic. not sure what the full extent of that will be, but there's definitely gonna be some crude language. yoruichi and urahara are swingers. it's gonna be a grand ol time.

{consider the Glass Animals album "Dreamland" the soundtrack for this book}

Chapter One

"Taicho," Aizen bowed as he entered his Captain's quarters.

"Always so formal, Sosuke-kun. What is it?" Shinji sat on his futon with his eyes closed, head against the wall, listening to the jazz from his Living World record player.

"I was wondering if I might have permission to move a guest into my quarters, sir," Aizen asked, kneeling in front of his captain.

Shinji opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. "Eh? Move someone in? From outside Seireitei?"

"Hai."

"Well, I'm gonna need more information than that if I'm to even consider granting such an odd request. Who is it?" Shinji asked. His lieutenant had always been incredibly private, to be fair, so had Shinji, but this was rather uncharacteristic of Aizen.

"My girlfriend."

---

"I can't believe he said yes, Sosuke-kun! How exciting. I'll grab my things immediately." Ayame began grabbing robes from her closet and shoving then in a bag.

Aizen reached out and grabbed her arm firmly. "Listen to me, Ayame. You must treat every person in Seireitei with the utmost respect. They are in a class above you and you must behave as such. Do you hear me?"

Ayame nodded, trying to loosen her boyfriend's grip. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"If you slip up even one time I will have no choice but to send you back here, are we clear?" His grip remained.

Ayame's eyes fixed on the floor. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"Good." He removed his hand. "Now finish packing, we leave in an hour." He flash-stepped away.

Ayame sighed and continued to pack. Is this really the best idea, she asked herself. She had been with Aizen for three years, but had never gotten used to his coldness. She looked around her room.

She was going to miss this place. Her floor was littered with buckets to catch the leaks when it rained, but it was still home. It was still the first place she could afford with money she earned, thanks to Aizen.

He was a dream, at first. They met when he was on a mission to the outer Rukongai district, where she was a makeshift house mother for a particularly rowdy group of boys. He helped her find a job and save enough money to move into her own house, although it was rather worn down. He's done so much for you, don't be ungrateful. You know how much his reputation means to him. Besides, do you want to live in this leaky shack forever? This is your chance to move up.

Ayame finished packing her belongings then locked up her house for the last time. She set the key on the ground in front for the landlord and headed towards the West Gate.

"Today the big day?" Sato, the old baker next door, asked.

Ayame turned to him with a smile. "Yes, Jii-san."

"Good luck to you! Oh, and if you see that Hirako rascal, give him hell for leaving you here alone, will ya?" he called.

"Seireitei is a large place, Jiisan. I doubt I'll run into him, and I doubt he'd remember me. That was two hundred years ago," Ayame said, her smile fading.

"Well, if you do."

"As you wish. Farewell, Sato-san! Thank you for all of your help." Ayame bowed before continuing to walk.

When she neared the gate, Aizen's reitsu began to overwhelm her senses.

"Boo."

Ayame turned around, less than startled. "Take this bag. I'm tired of carrying everything."

Aizen chuckled. "Hello to you, too." He grabbed the bag from her outstretched arm.

---

Ayame unrolled her futon and positioned it near Aizen's. She set her pillow and folded blanket on top.

"All moved in!" Aizen said, wrapping her in a hug from behind. "How does it feel?"

She took a deep breath, shifting the weight in her feet. This was her home now. "The energy is different from Rukongai."

"Better, right?" he asked with a cool tone.

Ayame turned to face her boyfriend and grabbed his hands. "Much better. I feel like I can breathe here."

Aizen's hardened expression softened as Ayame's green eyes looked up at him. He lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her gently.

"I'm glad you like it. Now that we're settled, I need to introduce you to the captain of my squad."

"The Blond Bastard, as you like to call him?" Ayame asked, stifling a smirk.

"Yeah, that's him," Aizen replied, sliding his door open.

"Does he have a real name?"

"Taicho. That's the only one that should matter to you," he said. He started walking to his Captain's quarters.

Ayame stepped out of the room and slid the door shut behind her before following after her boyfriend. They walked in silence.

"Ah, Aizen-kun. This must be the girlfriend your Captain was telling me about," a deep but friendly voice said.

The couple turned to face a man in a pink floral robe with a large straw hat. Aizen bowed.

"Kyoraku-taicho," he said. "This is Ayame."

Ayame bowed lightly, before smiling at the man.

"Very good to meet you. Always a pleasure to see another beautiful woman joining our ranks," Kyoraku grinned.

"Thank you, taicho," she replied, her cheeks flushing.

"You better hurry along and introduce her. You know how impatient he is," Kyoraku tipped his hat with a wink. "I'll be seeing you!"

"Taicho," Aizen said with a deep bow as the man walked away. He turned to face Ayame. "That was the captain of the eighth squad, Kyoraku Shunsui. We're almost at my Captain's quarters. His is the last door at the end of this hall."

The couple quickly made their way to the door. Jazz music could be heard from behind the wood.

"Taicho, may I enter?"

They heard a shuffle, something drop, and footsteps before the door slid open. Ayame could smell fragrant incense coming from the room as she bowed deeply.

"How many times do I have to tell ya, Sosuke-kun, ya can just call me Shinji," the blond captain said, scratching his head. "Oh! This must be yer girl-"

He stopped short and his eyes widened when he saw Ayame's face.

"Yes, this is my girlfriend, Aya-" Aizen started.

"I can't believe it," Ayame said, stepping closer to the door as she made eye contact with the blond captain. "Hirako?"

Shinji pushed past his lieutenant and grabbed the blue-haired girl's shoulders. "You?"

Ayame turned to her boyfriend. "You didn't tell me 'The Blond Bastard' was Shinji Hirako!"

Aizen glared at Ayame. "I didn't realize you knew each other."

Shinji shot a look that could kill at his lieutenant. "Back in the day, this 'blond bastard' lived in Rukongai."

"We grew up together," Ayame said bitterly.

"Come in, let me pour some tea," Shinji said, putting his hand on her back, guiding her into his room. Aizen trailed behind.

Shinji closed the door behind them and gestured to the futon. "Both of ya, make yerselves comfortable!"

Ayame sat down, cross-legged, and gestured for her boyfriend to do the same. Shinji picked up a candle that was on the ground, presumably the object that the couple heard fall, and turned down his record player.

Shinji filled a kettle with water and tea leaves and set it on the stove to boil. Ayame watched him in disbelief. He was a captain, just like he'd always dreamed of being. As children, they spent many hours in the woods fighting one another with sticks. Shinji talked ceaselessly about how he'd be the best captain in all of Seireitei, and here he was.

"You never told me you grew up with a Captain-class Shinigami," Aizen hissed in Ayame's ear.

"I never knew," she responded. "He left without a word."

"So, darlin', when'd ya dye yer hair blue? It's a nice touch, stands out more than the brown," Shinji asked, carrying three cups and the tea pot. He sat across from them on the floor. He reached and grabbed a strand in his hands. "I like the color. Very shiny."

"And you had brown hair?" Aizen asked, as he watched Shinji pouring the tea.

"Yes, I dyed it to set myself apart. I didn't like blending in with everyone in the district," Ayame shrugged, sipping the tea Shinji handed to her.

"I get the sentiment, but ya never blended in," Shinji laughed. "They were always scared of ya."

Aizen's brows furrowed. He took a sip.

"I was pretty rambunctious as a kid. Always beating up the bullies who'd pick on this blond bag of bones."

"Geez, first I'm a blond bastard and now I'm a bag of bones? Needa get better friends," Shinji whined, rubbing his shoulder.

"Or maybe you shouldn't abandon them," Ayame responded, crossing her arms.

"Darlin', it wasn't like that," Shinji said, his posture stiffening.

Aizen face remained unchanged at his Captain's use of the pet name.

"You could've come back, to see me, maybe when you finished the academy. But you didn't." Ayame stood and set her cup of tea on the desk next to the record player. "Sosuke-kun, let's go. I can't be here anymore."

"I agree." Aizen stood and opened the door, stepping out. "Thank you for tea, Taicho," he said with a bow."

Shinji stood and grabbed Ayame's wrist. "Ayame, wait."

Ayame turned to face him. "Yes?" she hissed.

"Come see me again, please. My door is always open to ya," Shinji said gently.

Ayame could see the sincerity and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe, Hirako." She tried to pull her wrist free from his grip. "Shinji?"

Shinji's eyes darkened and he spoke with a lowered tone. "If he doesn't treat ya well, he'll have hell to pay."

Ayame pulled her wrist free and nodded slightly. "Good bye, Shinji. Maybe I'll see you around."

fin

tell me what ya think in the comments below, dolls!

#shinji hirako #dreamland fic #shinji x oc #aizen x oc #kisuke x Yoruichi #urahara x Yoruichi #urahara x shinji x Yoruichi #bleach fanfiction #hirako shinji #shinji bleach

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rachel1987 · 4 years ago

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GWCFT Part 4

Hold onto your hats! June has arrived in town and Hare might faint if she does just one more white glove test. Hatter tries to hold things together during the tea party and the Tweedles are up to something...

xposted on ao3 and FF.net

Part 4:

Hatter made his way to his Hat house quickly, getting all the kettles on the burners in his kitchen before emptying the pink boxes of desserts he had purchased. He had loaded up his arms and made his way through the OUT door when someone made their way through the IN door.

"Mr Hatter? Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh, Alice!" Hatter heaved, seeing her follow him through the OUT door. "Yes, grab some of the sandwiches from the kitchen and bring them out! I'm not used to setting up tea parties without the Hare's help."

Alice nodded and went back through the IN door, leaving the Hatter to empty his arms out onto the table. He tried his best to make the setting look as nice as possible, knowing June would inspect every little thing to make sure it was in order. He was filling the sugar bowls with little cubes in the shapes of carrots when Alice appeared next to him.

"What is Mr Hare's mother like?" Alice asked as she placed little finger sandwiches on pink and purple platters. She looked in surprise as the Dormouse peeked out from around a teacup, eyeing the food she was putting out. Wordlessly, she handed him a cucumber sandwich and he zoomed back to his teapot.

"She looks just like the Hare," Hatter shivered. "Only in a dress."

"No," Alice laughed. "I mean, is she nice? What did she say when you met her?"

"Oh…" Hatter shrugged. "I suppose so." He was more focused on setting the table up right, not too overcrowded but not too empty either. He kept switching teacups and saucers around, ignoring the sounds of the kettles whistling from inside, as well as Alice's inquiries. He also kept swatting the Dormouse away from the food. It seemed the little guy wanted to horde away everything they were setting out.

"Mr Hatter…" Alice looked at him with a confused expression. "Is everything alright? You seem tense."

Hatter shook his head and leaned his lip on the table. "Oh, Alice… Hare's got me all worried about his mother. We have to make sure everything goes well tonight. She expects perfection from him and he's worried about what she'll think. And I can't show him that I'm nervous too because it'll make him more upset."

"Oh, I see…" Alice nodded. "Sometimes my Mom expects things out of me like that too. All you can do is your best. I'm sure she'll love you, everyone does."

"Thank you, Alice," Hatter sighed, tearing himself away to rush into the house, returning with two kettles and filling up the numerous tea pots scattered around the long table. Alice followed along, helping out here and there where she could.

It wasn't long before the other guests started arriving at the party.

First the Tweedles came through the gate, Dum holding a camera and Dee a pad and pencil, both in their editor hats.

"We're covering the party for the Wonderland Bee!" Dum announced. "It's going to be on our front page for tomorrow."

"We already have our headline," Dee nodded. "Meet the Harent! Hare's mother visit's Wonderland!"

Hatter considered this for a few moments, before deciding he'd allow it. "Well… alright. Just make sure you only get my good side," he said, turning to the right, a finger on his chin, and giving them a smarmy smile. The Tweedles looked at each other and blinked, before Dum snapped a photo.

"Who's taking photographs that aren't of me?" came a billowing voice from the gate. The three men turned to see the Queen gracing everyone with her presence, Rabbit following behind holding a bouquet of red roses.

"For the Hare's mother," Rabbit offered, handing the vase to Alice, who put them in a place of prominence on the tea table. The Dormouse had his head out of his teapot, nibbling on a slice of cheese from one of the sandwiches, and gave the flowers a sniff.

"That's very kind of Her Majesty," Hatter commended, a tilt of his cap.

The Queen beamed at the attention and waved her hand in a sense of false modesty, rings sparkling in the sunlight. "Oh, it was nothing," she laughed.

"Literally," Rabbit muttered to Alice. "I'm the one who had to root through the garden to pick them."

The Queen shot him a look and he gave her a nervous smile, fiddling his fingers at his bow tie as he led her to her chair at the table.

"Who else still needs to get here?" Alice asked the Hatter, who kept glancing at the gate for the Hare and his mother. He was getting nervous again, but he was doing his best to hide it.

"Is everyone waiting for me?" the Caterpillar droned as he, somehow, moved his way through the opening in the gate. His legs were working hard, moving his impressive size slowly to the table.

"I think they're waiting for both of usss," came the Cheshire Cat's voice from the tea table. The Cat was pursuing the buffet, eyeing all the snacks, trying to decide which one he was going to eat first.

"Nooo," Hatter furrowed his brow, watching everyone get settled at their places. "We're waiting for the Hare and his mother, thank you very much."

Hatter let everyone get settled, watching as they helped themselves to tea and crumpets. He kept glancing at his pocket watch, then back at the fence, then back at his watch again. The conversation was growing a little, so Hatter took the moment to speak to all his friends before the guests of honor appeared.

Clinking a spoon on a purple tea cup, he called everyone to attention.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming to this special dinner tea party that the Hare and I are throwing," Hatter started, using his most professional voice. "Before the Hare and his mother show up I'd like to say a couple words."

"Can we start eeeating or do we have to wait for the Harrrrre to come?" came a disembodied voice. Cheshire Cat kept fading in and out so much none of them were sure he had actually stayed or had left for the night.

"Do what you want, Cat," Hatter sighed, not even bothering to look for the source of the voice. "You have no master."

"Darn right!" the Cat said, letting out a cackle before a number of pastries poofed from the platters and into obscurity.

"What is it, Hatter? My tea is getting cold!"

"Sorry your Majesty," the Hatter tapped the brim of his hat nervously, taking a sip from his tea to wet his whistle before continuing. He was already considering opening one of the bottles of wine to calm his nerves and also to get the Queen to take it easy. "The Hare's mother is expecting everything to be very orderly at this party, so we need to keep things under control. So this is going to be different from my usual shindigs. We need to keep things jovial, but not too jovial, not too crazy and certainly not mad. Am I making myself clear?"

"No, actually," the Rabbit shook his head, his ears flopping. "You're telling us to behave ourselves when you're the one who-"

"That's beside the point, Rabbit, hush!" He put a finger out and held it in front of Rabbit's face to shush him. He got to his feet and took a step onto the tabletop, looking down at everyone. "Point is, no throwing china.." he said as he picked up a cup and saucer, "or food at this party" he added, picking up a pastry from a platter. "And certainly no getting up on the table." As he finished, he tossed the cup, saucer and pastry over his shoulder, hearing them clamor as they hit the ground. "You know, table manners are very important things to remember while at a dinner tea party!"

Suddenly, and without warning, the Hatter started tapping his toe on the table and a cane was thrown to him from somewhere stage left. All the Wonderlandians looked at each other and picked up their tea cups, scooting back a little from the table, giving the Hatter room to move. Alice passed both the Dormouse's teapot and the vase of roses to the Caterpillar for safekeeping while the Hatter performed.

Crooning jazz music started and the Hatter flailed his legs around in what might have been an attempt at a tap dancing routine, swinging the cane around wildly and singing about the importance of good table manners. The cups and saucers clanked around as the table shook, though none of them fell to the ground somehow. He walked up and down the lengthy table, dodging platters of food and sweets with nimble feet, none of them being disturbed. He swayed and stumbled around on his toes, causing some of his friends to reach out in fear to try to help him, but he never fell or managed to move a single setting on the tabletop. And, as suddenly as it started (about a minute later), the music stopped, leaving Hatter standing where the roses had originally been, tossing the cane over his shoulder and onto the roof of his Hat house.

There was a cough from the gate and Hare stood there, a look of absolute horror on his mug. Beside him was his mother, dolled up in her best tea dress and gloves, looking at the Hatter with a confused expression. There was a sudden flash from a camera, followed by the chuckles of both Dee and Dum.

"Hare! June!" the Hatter greeted them, taking a bounding leap from the table and striding to the gate, holding it open for his special guests. Alice moved when he bounced off the table, replacing the roses and the Dormouse's teapot in their original positions. "So nice of you both to join us. Welcome to my home!"

"Hatter, what are you doing?" Hare hissed, eyes darting around in anger. "Were you singing and dancing about the importance of table manners again?"

"And doing it while on that table?" June added, giving him a once over again as if her first inspection of him had yielded incorrect results.

"Oh, well…" the Hatter laughed nervously, tapping his top hat as he thought to himself. "Just a party trick, nothing to worry about," was all he managed before Alice swooped in to rescue him.

"Hello, Mrs Hare! My name is Alice, it's lovely to meet you!" she said, giving her best curtsy. Everyone awed and even the Queen was impressed, telling everyone how she had taught her that.

June was, of course, very pleased by Alice's manners and had gotten completely sidetracked. "How kind of you, Alice!" she squealed, balling her hands up together. The girl lead June to the tea table, leaving the Hare to give Hatter a warning glance, muttering about how they hadn't done a song and dance number this whole way through and how it was rude of him to do one without him, before following them to start introductions. They made their way to Hare's usual spot, pulling the chair next to it out for his mother to take a seat. He then took the place on her right, Alice taking the spot on her left.

"Well, now that that's out of the way…" Hatter chuckled nervously, clearing his throat a little as he picked up the kettle to his left. "Who would like a top up?"

Tea was served and the food was passed around the table, everyone filling their plates at least twice. Hare introduced his mother to everyone and she seemed quite taken by all of them. There was a slight glimmer in her eye as she reached a lace glove out to Rabbit, nobody seemed to notice it but him. He gulped and snickered nervously after kissing her hand, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth off in her presence. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the thought of Hare in a dress out of his mind when he looked at her.

After everyone had eaten a little and the kettles had been taken into the kitchen to be refilled, they decided to open the wine and conversation started.

"Hi, Mrs Hare," Dee said as he shook June's hand, squeezing between her and Hare. "I"m Dee and this is my brother Dum and we're from the Wonderland Bee."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions for the paper," Dum added, after taking a photo of her at the table.

June was completely delighted and looked at her son with eyes that swelled with pride. "How exciting! Of course! Ask me anything you'd like!"

"Great!" Dee smiled, taking out his pad of paper and a pencil, licking the tip as he looked at the Hare while he spoke. "First question: what pet names did you have for the Hare while he was growing up?"

Hare furrowed his brow and he shot the Tweedles an angry glare, while the Hatter leaned in to hear June's answer.

"He had so many! I was always coming up with names for my little Marchie. Let's see..." June's eyes scrunched up as she gazed off, trying to remember. "When he was a baby I called him Bubba Boy, because he'd always laugh when he made bubbles in the bath. Then there was Angel Voice, when he started singing. Have you heard my boy's voice? He always got the solos at the church recitals. And Baby Face because of his pinchable little round cheeks…"

Dee and Dum snickered as they wrote notes down, shooting glances at Hare every so often to see his face getting a deeper shade of red.

He sat through a few more questions, feeling sick to his stomach that his mother was actually answering them. She covered his weird Liberace obsession with when he was six, the time he locked himself in two separate closets in the same day and the time he got lost in the shopping mall and security had to lock the whole place down in order to find him.

"And they found him asleep face down in a planter under a purple fountain grass plant, his little bum in the air," June beamed, looking at her son with complete adoration. Hatter was listening to all of his, his elbow leaning on the table and his chin resting on his hand.

"One more question, June," Dum said, scribbling on his pad. "If you had to make a guess about what the Hare's most embarrassing moment in his life was, what would it be?"

"And if you can't think of just one, you can give us a couple," Dee added quickly, waiting excitedly for the answer, pencil at the ready.

Hare's jaw dropped and his fingers flexed, reaching out to stop his mother from answering. Alice stepped in before he could do anything too embarrassing.

"What was Mr Hare like when he was young, Mrs Hare?" Alice asked politely before taking a bite from a fluffy cream filled pastry.

"Yes, do tell…" Rabbit asked with a snicker. He had already finished his first glass of wine and was more than halfway through his second, so he was looking a little tipsy.

"He was an absolute delight," June grinned, taking a sip from her tea. "You wouldn't want to see pictures, would you?"

"Oh, yes please!" Alice clapped her hands and sat up, excited.

"Oh, Mom, you don't have-" Hare tried, only to be cut off by the Hatter.

"I'd love to see them too!"

Hare covered his eyes as June reached into her purse and took out a small album packed full of photos of a very young Hare. Every yearbook picture, birthday and occasion was documented inside. June removed a number of snapshots and passed them around the group, making Hare cringe. If he could, he would have crawled into the Dormouse's teapot and not come out.

"This one is cute," Hatter remarked, showing Hare a photo of himself with a very round face and glasses that were far too large for him. He had a crooked grin and was sitting in a sandbox next to what must have been a mud pie and had pink bandaids on his knees. He also had a rubber chicken wearing a party hat sitting in the sand next to him. "You were a fan of chickens even then."

"Oh, I love this one!" Hare's mother grinned. "Hare's first bath!"

"Ooh!" Dee reached out, taking the photo from June. "This would be great for the front page! Don't you think so, Dum?"

Dum snorted as the brothers looked at the photo, trying to hide their laughter behind their hands.

"I have an excellent idea!" Hare squealed out at the top of his lungs, nose twitching as he ran around the table and grabbed the photos out of everyone's hand. "Let's change the subject!" Dee held his photo out above his head, making Hare jump for it. He had to climb on the table in order to reach it.

"Your Majesty," Hatter offered as a distraction. "Why don't you tell us all about the, uh… plans for your next fashion show! I'm sure June probably caught your last one on television."

"Oh, yes! Well, ha ha… I didn't plan on doing another fashion line after that last one," the Queen admitted, swirling her wine around in her glass as she spoke. She had been growing tired of all the Hare talk and was desperate to get the attention back to herself. "But once the fashion bug bites you, it's hard not to create."

"I've always disliked bugs," June admitted. "Especially mosquitoes."

"It isn't really a bug, Mrs Hare," Alice explained. "That's just a saying."

"Oh… right," June replied, blushing a little at her ignorance, helping herself to some more tea. "So, your Majesty, has my son been a dutiful subject? Has he been helpful in making the kingdom a more pleasant place?"

"Helpful?" The Queen questioned, giggling a little as she gazed across the table at June. "Oh, he's been a help alright. A helpful pain in my-"

June grinned and looked at her son, reaching out and giving his arm a squeeze before turning back to the Queen. "You know, when I heard that you had saved him from that quicksand, I couldn't stand idly by and let him not fulfill our family duty. I insisted that he stand by your side until he could do a good deed for you as repayment. And it was lucky, because you nearly were swallowed up by quicksand as well. So, in a way, I saved your life that day too."

The Queen stared back at June with a look of total confusion. Maybe the wine was going to her head, but she really didn't know what to say in response to such an outrageous statement.

"And I was thinking," June said, adding a cube of sugar to her tea and stirring it. "For everything that Hare did for you that day, I feel that he should have gotten more recognition. Maybe a plaque or an award or something. Or a proclamation at the very least."

The Queen's eyes looked like they were going to bust from their sockets. The Hare chuckled nervously. "No, your Majesty… Mom, there isn't any need for any of that. It's enough to do a good deed, that's all. I don't need any recognition for it."

"And our Queen thanked you," Rabbit butted in, putting a hand on the Queen's arm to distract her, refilling her glass of wine to the top. "I believe we all sang a song about it, if I remember correctly…"

"All the same, Hare, you did a very noble thing that day and I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom…" Hare blushed a little, waving her away. "But it was really nothing. Really."

The tea party continued and the food was gobbled up. After a while, the attendants slowly made their way home. Alice left because she had to get back before her parents noticed she was missing, Caterpillar had to leave because it would take him so long to journey all the way home and Rabbit practically had to carry the Queen away because of all the wine she'd ingested. Dee and Dum were kind enough to offer to help them back to the palace. Nobody knew when the Cat left the party, but he was long gone as well and the sound of snoring could be heard from deep within the purple teapot on the table.

"Well, that was nice," June said from her seat, a smile on her face. The sun had gone down and the courtyard was lit up with little round string lights and lanterns that filled the area with atmosphere. The energy of the night had slowed down and you could hear the sound of the evening off in the distance.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" Hatter said, very proud that the party had gone over so well. Everyone had had a good time and nobody had done anything that had caused Hare to pass out from embarrassment.

Hare returned from the Hat house, holding a pot of coffee and two mugs. He had managed to sneak away and brew a pot without the Hatter noticing. "Here you go, Mom," he said absently, pouring the brown liquid into a mug with pink flowers on it. He added cream and sugar to it, just the way she liked it, leaving it a caramel color before passing it to her.

"Thank you, son," she smiled, blowing on it before taking a sip. The travel and excitement of the day was starting to show on her and she was looking a little tired.

Hare turned and offered some of the coffee to Hatter, who declined with the wave of a hand, not to much surprise. He was still working on his last kettle of warm tea and wasn't much of a fan of coffee anyway. Hare took a seat between the two of them, pouring himself half a mug of coffee, feeling Hatter's eyes on him the entire time. He was looking a little more calm now, though that might have been because he was getting sleepy from all the stress of the day.

"So, June, we didn't get much of a chance to talk at the train station. Or the tea party for that matter…" Hatter said with a chuckle and soft smile. "How was your trip?"

"It was relaxing," she nodded, ears bouncing a little. "I don't get to travel much, so a lot of it was new to me. Very exciting."

"And what did you think of the party?" Hater asked, looking at her over the rim of his cup as he drank. Hare could see that Hatter was really putting on the charm and it made him smile a little. He wanted to reach a hand out and touch him but decided against it, with his mother right beside them.

"It was lovely. Thank you for going through all the trouble, it was really marvelous. The food, the tea and the company," June kept her posture straight and upright, like she had spent hours of her life on a church bench. She was rather prim and proper, but Hatter couldn't help noticing a little bit of a goofy streak that he saw in Hare often. Or maybe it was because they just reminded him so much of each other. "I can't remember the last time I had this much fun."

"Well, that's nice," he replied, filling his cup up with the last of the tea from the pot. "And it really wasn't any bother. It was a pleasure being able to throw this party in your honor."

Hare slid a little jar in the Hatter's direction as he took a sip from his coffee. "Honey?" he offered.

"What is it, Darling?" Hatter asked, who was clearly looking down into his tea cup and not paying attention to the Hare's actions.

There was a clatter and a groan and Hare was brushing coffee off his shirt, June tisking. "I meant for your tea, Hatter…" he grumbled through clenched teeth.

"Baking soda will get that out, dear," June said, hiding her smile behind her coffee cup.

"I know, Mom…" he muttered. "I'll be right back."

He left the two of them alone, the soft snoring of the Dormouse filling the vacant space.

"So, Hatter, tell me about yourself…" June said with an interested smile.

His nerves crept up a little, but he managed not to show it at all. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time, knowing he'd eventually meet Hare's mother and be left alone with her, and it really wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. Maybe it was the comfortable atmosphere or the wine he'd had earlier in the evening, but he felt quite relaxed.

"Well, I'm a hatter, a tailor, an inventor," Hatter started. "I also part time as a professor, painter, chef, candy maker, amateur dancer, party planner, diagnostician, cave explorer, ghost hunter, private eye, and I work for the department of missing royalty... among other things. I'm multi-talented and like to keep myself busy." He paused and took a sip from his cup before adding, "I think next week I'm going to try being a cowboy."

"My my, you do seem to like to keep busy," June said, not being able to hide her amusement. "Does Hare do all of these things with you or do you work separately?"

"Oh, no, Hare is always helping me with what I do. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him around to assist me," Hatter said with a chuckle. "We're always working together on projects and jobs and things. I don't think there's a single job that I've done since I met the Hare that he hasn't played some role in. We just can't keep our hands off each other."

There was a clatter as the OUT door bumped against the Hare, who stood at the doorway with a shocked expression on his face. He was wearing a white button down shirt now, his yellow one in his hand, covered in baking soda. The three looked at one another for a moment, Hare with a look of panic on his face and June and Hatter one of slight confusion. Apparently Hare had only caught Hatter's last sentence.

"Is something wrong, son?" June asked. "Did the stain come out alright?"

"Uh…" the Hare looked at them and blinked. "What were you talking about?"

"Work," Hatter said with a shrug. "I think we're going to be cowboys next week, by the way. Think you can pencil that in?"

Hare furrowed his brow and took his pocket calendar out, glancing over their plans. "Should I move working on the time machine till the next week?"

"Oh, no!" Hatter said, aghast. "I'll want to work on the time machine so I can go back to today and live it over again. Better pencil it in for the week after then."

Hare nodded and June took another sip from her coffee cup.

"So, Hatter, what is your family like?" June asked as Hare returned to his seat, tucking his calendar away in his jacket. "Do you speak to your mother often?"

"I do," Hatter replied quickly. "I speak to my mother every second and fourth Wednesday of the month. I don't see my extended family often, but I write to them. And my no-good cousin drops by from time to time."

June looked at Hatter in surprise, her mouth gaping a little, before turning to Hare. "I thought you said that you liked his cousin and that she was very nice to you!"

Hare thought for a moment, blinking, before shaking his head. "No no, Ma. That's his other cousin, Hedda. She's the one who beat all of us at the triathlon. He's talking about his second cousin thrice removed, the Glad Hatter."

"Or as we call him, the Copy Catter Hatter," Hatter said with a little bit of a glare and a sneer, just the remembrance of his cousin and his evil deeds ruffing his feathers.

"Oh, I see," June relaxed a little, though a little nervous hearing about the dubious side of the Hatter family. "And your parents support you and the work that you do?"

Hatter raised his eyebrows and nodded, sipping from his tea lazily. "Yes, they do. They have always supported me in my many fascinations while I was growing up and gave me room to grow and find my way. I really couldn't have asked for anyone better. I think it's important to give them their freedom to find their own way in life and really express themselves in their own way, don't you?"

She smiled and nodded, leaning back into her chair a little. "Yes, that is important. That reminds me of a time when Hare wanted me to paint all the walls in his bedroom the most awful shade of orange I had ever seen. But he insisted and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise." They could see her remembering the story, little lines squinting under her eyes as she laughed to herself about it. "Or when I'd have to sleep with earplugs in because Hare would practice his tuba late into the evening. Sometimes you just have to let them find their own way."

Hatter looked at Hare and saw that he was getting uncomfortable with the line of questioning. Hatter didn't see why, but he supposed it was because he was afraid she'd say something embarrassing about him.

"Well, that kind of parenting really brought up a great guy," Hatter said with a smile. "I'm really quite fond of him." Hare felt a foot touch him under the table from Hatter's direction, making him hop out of his seat from the surprise. In an attempt to cover his blushing face, he started to clear the table. This was unusual behavior, it wasn't uncommon for them to leave the dishes out until the next rainstorm would wash them, but it didn't take Hatter long to get the hint.

"Oh!" he overreacted, waving his hands around and jumping to his feet to help pack the dishes and food up. The Hatter raised his arm to shove the table clean of its settings on impulse, only to stop suddenly and make eye contact with Hare, who looked at him with a "you'd better not" look, face still a little pink. Hatter sighed enthusiastically and calmly started to clear the table, stacking the dirty dishes neatly and placing them in bins to be cleaned. "This would be much quicker if I did this on my own…" he grumped to himself.

Seeing that things were being wrapped up, June got to her feet and started straightening up as well.

"Oh, June, thank you but you really don't have to…" Hatter remarked while Hare also made a move to stop her. "Just take a seat, we have this under control."

"Oh, nonsense. I don't mind helping," June said with a wave of her hand as she started gathering plates and silverware. "You know what they say: Many hands make light work." She loaded up her arms like she had been a waitress in a past life and followed Hare into the Hat house to the kitchen.

The Hatter stood by the table, watching the pair walk away, before glancing over at the Tea Fountain on the other side of the fence. "But… we usually… do the dishes there…" Furrowing his brow a little, he picked up the bin and strode into the house and to the overly crowded kitchen. The small sink was already overloaded and dishes were piling up on the counter and on the kitchen table.

"Hare, why don't we leave-" he started, only to get The Look from Hare. He was standing at the sink, his jacket already off and hung up carefully on a hook, gloves and apron on with his mother beside him turning on the faucet. "Okay…" he stopped. Putting the bin down on the table, he retreated outside to gather up more dishes.

An hour or so later, all the dishes were clean and dry, sitting out on the countertops and table in neat stacks. June looked very pleased with how nicely everything looked and Hare had a similar proudness about him. Hatter looked like he wanted to push both the bunnies out of his house and lock the doors for making him clean everything tonight.

"Much better," June said, removing her rubber gloves from her hands and setting them over the sink to dry.

"Yes, thank you both so much for your help," Hatter grumbled. He had taken off his jacket and had an apron wrapped around his middle, soap suds splattering him from his stomach down.

"I can't help but notice that some of these are chipped…" June frowned, picking up one and examining it meticulously. It was obviously one from Hatter's collection that got thrown in among the gifted ones Hare had supplied.

Hare grimaced and gave Hatter a worried look, waiting for the inevitable.

"Oh, yes…" Hatter nodded, sitting up and reaching out for the chipped piece of china. "You know, you have parties all the time and accidents happen. Nothing to worry about. This one should be retired to storage."

June's eyes narrowed a little as she gave him the cup. It had seemed that she had accepted his explanation.

"Would you like a tour of the house, Mom?" Hare offered, removing his own apron and putting his blazer back on. "I don't know if you'll have time tomorrow, with the talent show and everything."

"Talent show?" June's eyes brightened, ears perking a little.

"Oh, did I not tell you about that?" Hare asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Hatter put together a talent show for you tomorrow night."

"Everyone in Wonderland will be performing for you, June. It's sure to excite and delight," Hatter explained, coming up behind Hare. "Even Hare put together an act for you."

"You did!?" she squealed, reaching out and grabbing her son by the arm, giving him a squeeze. "Oh, I'm so excited!" Hare looked at Hatter with a pained smile on his face, wordless asking him to help.

"Uh, it'll be tomorrow night, so you both can spend the day together and then you'll come here after," Hatter said, stealing in and taking June by the arm to lead her further into the house. "But, for now, let me show you around."

They toured the house from top to bottom and Hare's mother seemed rather impressed. Hare was relieved to see that she didn't make any mention of anything being out of place and was rather enchanted with how eclectic the Hatter's style was. Everywhere was something new or interesting for her to see and she loved it. She also ogled over all the photos that were scattered around the house of the two of them. She found one at the foot of the stairs and put her hand on it, squinting to get a better look.

"I like that one," Hatter said with a smile, taking it down off the wall and handing it to June so she could get a better look. It was of the two of them and one of their inventions, posing with it as if they had invented air conditioning and not a consonant/vowel separator.

"You know…" June said in a hushed voice, so Hare couldn't overhear as he fussed about behind them. "He looks just like his father in this."

Hatter blinked and looked at the photo and then back at June. They still looked like mirror images of one another.

"You don't say…" Hatter grinned.

June pursed her lips and nodded slowly, handing it back to Hatter.

"Would you like a copy?" Hatter offered, only to be cut off by Hare.

"What are you looking at?" he asked suddenly, making them both jump a little, brow furrowing as he looked over his mother's shoulder.

"The Consonant/Vowel separator," Hatter replied. "She was asking how it worked."

"Oh, well not very well," Hare shook his head. "We didn't win a prize at the fair or anything for it."

"But we did get some scrummy funnel cake," Hatter added, making Hare nod in agreement.

"And fried twinkies."

They made their way up the stairs and to the attic, where June stood and just gazed at the array of items that it contained.

"Oh my…" she muttered to herself, gazing at boxes of holiday decorations, hats of various sizes and styles, chipped teapots and broken umbrellas, stopping at the Hatter's worktable to take a gander. There was also a mannequin in the corner that made her feel uncomfortable.

"This is where most of my work happens," Hatter said proudly, patting the battered wooden surface with a gloved hand. "The old workbench."

"It's a wonder you can work up here with all the clutter…" June managed, eyes wide behind her glasses as she browsed. She had her hands balled under her chin, a finger under her lip, and Hatter smiled as he recognized it as something Hare did often. She looked like she was afraid to touch anything for fear that it would bite her.

Hare started to panic a little. The area was clean of dust, sure, but possibly not as organized as it could have been. Hatter had noticed a tear in one of his best gloves earlier that morning and stole away up here to fix it without telling him about it, leaving a small mess at the table by accident.

"Hatter uses a lot of these things in his inventions, Mom," Hare tried to explain, reaching for a helmet with a lamp attached to its top. "He pieces things together to make them new again. He really is a genius."

Hatter blushed and shrugged his shoulders a little. "I think genius might be a strong word…"

"Do all your inventions involve headgear?" June asked, reaching out and adjusting the lamp that was attached to the helmet Hare was holding.

"No, not all of them," Hatter shook his head. "Just the reliable ones."

"Are the others… here?" June asked, looking about the clutter.

"We have a pretzel machine around here somewhere, but it doesn't turn off once it's on," Hare said. "And there's a house key homing device that's supposed to help you not lose your keys, but we can't find it."

"What happened to the invention in the photo downstairs?" June asked curiously. "The Consonant/Vowel separator?"

"We sold it," Hatter shrugged.

"To whom?"

"A man for spare parts," Hare said, shrugging his shoulders a little as he put the lamp helmet back in its home. "We needed the bus money home from the fair."

"We got too many funnel cakes," Hatter explained, patting his stomach. "And fried twinkies."

June's features softened and she smiled, reaching a hand out and patting her son on the shoulder. "All these inventions look amazing, son. You both worked so hard on them, I can tell. And, while they might not look like much, or work all the time, at least you're making the world better with them."

Hatter swore that he might have seen a tear come to the Hare's eye as his chest puffed up with pride at his mother's accolades. And he couldn't wipe the grin off his own face if he tried.

"Thanks, Mom," was all the Hare managed, a shy smile on his face.

"Let's get out of here," Hatter said a little after the moment had passed. "It's a little stuffy in this attic. How about one more mug of tea for the road?"

The trio made their way down the staircase, congregating in the living room at the sofa. Hatter made one last pot of tea and split it up between the three of them. They were all three tired and the tea was putting them in a relaxed mood. It didn't take long for the Hares to decide it was time to head home.

"I think I'll powder my nose before we head home," June whispered to her son.

"Sure, Mom," Hare said, getting to his feet. "First door on your right down the hall. It has a yellow teacup on it."

June nodded and followed his directions, leaving the Hatter and Hare alone for a moment. They stood by the front door, Hare adjusting his jacket, looking like he didn't want to leave.

"Will you need help setting up the stage?" Hare worried, biting his thumb a little, only for Hatter to take his hands in his and give them a squeeze.

"Don't worry about it," Hatter tried to ease his mind. "The Tweedles are coming early to help set up the stage and Alice will spend all day here helping me. Just enjoy your time with your Mother."

"I don't know if I can do that…" Hare wheezed. "I'm still too afraid that she's going to find something wrong."

Hatter tisked and shook his head. "Bunny, you worry too much," he muttered, before stealing a kiss.

Hare blushed and wanted to say more, but his Mother appeared over the Hatter's shoulder. He gave his hand one more squeeze, before letting go. "You ready to go home, Mom?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Is it chilly out?"

It was never chilly in Wonderland, but Hare looked at Hatter and sighed, taking his jacket off and draping it over his mother's shoulders. It engulfed her, but she pulled it closed around her front and smiled.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, June," Hatter said with a grin. "Have a safe trip home."

June lead the way out the front and Hatter tugged Hare back for a second, giving him one last kiss and pat on the bum before pushing him out the door.

#fanfic #adventures in wonderland #aiw #guess who's coming for tea #gwcft

3 notes · View notes

irwintry · 6 years ago

Text

What Happens in Paris

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: STAYs in paris!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway sorry i’m so Bad at writing anything good

also request for part two k bc i have ideas but like, i didnt want this to be so long

Word Count: 5k

part two

“It’s like, ten bucks, mate.”

Luke snorted. “For a fuckin’ scam, yeah.”

“Ya aren’t curious?”

“Y’know me,” he said. “I have a pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes in my closet that I’ve never worn. If I was curious, I’d be sittin’ in there with my head in my hands like an eager kid. Not doin’ it.”

Calum rolled his eyes. “Don’t you wanna know if you and that chic are gonna get back together? Just ten bucks.”

Luke sighed and glanced over at the pink neon “Psychic” sign that illuminated the stairs before them. The night had been rough–– breaking up and binge drinking followed by a muzzy stroll in back neighborhoods he had never visited before. The vibrant letters swirled and eddied around, and before Luke could catch himself, he began walking down the steps.

Calum let out a laugh. “All right, here we fuckin’ go.”

There was an overwhelming musty scent that filled Luke’s nostrils as stepped into the small apartment. He imagined it hardly smelled of anything at all, but his imagination was so strong, and the toxins in his blood were too intense. The couches and chairs were covered in large silk sheets and tapestries, and soft jazz music was playing from an Anker speak on the coffee table.

“Celebrities,” a low female voice said from a kitchen. She stepped out, tea kettle in hand and a smirk on her face. “That’s not a first.”

She was younger than what Luke expected, but a few laugh lines decorated the corners by her eyes. However, she spoke like a middle-aged smoker from Brooklyn. Her hair was in thick, red curls, and he imagined the difficulty of taming it–– he had trouble taming his own curls on the occasion.

“Take a seat,” she said, setting down the kettle on a doily in the center of a table. “You need it.”

Luke was unsure of the woman, but Calum was more eager to have his life spelled out for him. He nearly kicked the chair out from under him as he sat on the wicker beside a big, dusty fern.

“Tea?”

“Yes––

“No,” said Luke, his eyes narrowing in on his friend next to him.

The woman chuckled and began pouring hot water into two teacups. “Earl gray for you,” she said to Calum, and then she looked at Luke. “And rose for you.”

There was a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and it grew larger as the teacup slid in his direction. The woman, who Luke would later know as Gina, sat across from the two of them and smiled. She spoke with her hands, and he found himself focusing in on the fluidity of the motions.

“I like the energy in this room,” she said. “It’s–– it’s light and positive. But there are some... interruptions. Like the positive is interacting with a negative, and it’s creating this ugly––aaughh––amalgamation.” Her eyes fell to Luke. “You. You haven’t been a good person.”

“What?” he asked, his voice reaching a high register while his friend laughed beside him.

The woman grinned. He didn’t like her grin. “Don’t act so surprised. Y-you have good qualities, eh, y’know? You love people and you always have. But you feel a lot of power. And, look at ya, honey. Money is a big part of that. You live in a constant cycle of excitement and stress, and the people that come and go in your life are greatly affected by you. But ya haven’t been good to them!”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” said Luke as he stood. “I don’t need this.”

“And you’re sad!”

“What?”

“But you’re too sad to realize you’re sad,” she continued. “There is a person in your life who is conflictin’ you. I’m sensing that they don’t mean much to you righ’ now, but the more you are around them, the more you will question who you are. Drink your fuckin’ tea.”

Luke huffed and returned to his seat. “What the fuck is happening,” he muttered, but it wasn’t a question. Calum was still stifling a laugh.

“They don’t like you right now,” the woman continued. “It is radiating off of you like fuckin’ UV rays, honey. They will mess with your feelings as you struggle to figure out your own. And–– “

“What is this shit?” Luke asked. “Like, what are you even telling me? Why is this person important to me?”

The woman chuckled darkly. “You’re going to fall in love with them, honey.”

“Who the fuck invited you?”

“I the fuck invited me,” you replied, hands folded across your chest as you brushed by the tall blond. “I’m here to see Cal, ya dipshit. I’m getting his house key.”

Luke let out a huff and pushed the front door shut behind him. The night before tour was a night full of traditions, and nearly all of his close friends participated in the so-called rituals. You, however, were not his friend. You were Ashton and Michael’s, and especially Calum’s, but you were not, under any circumstance, Luke’s friend. So, of all nights for you to drop by unexpectedly, it had to be the night of pre-tour traditions.

“Still didn’t fucking invite you,” he called after you, but you had already made your way into the kitchen where the group gathered. “Jesus fuckin’–– “

A loud chorus of “aye”’s and “hey”’s filled the room as you entered. He ambled in after you, his shoulders tight while he watched you go around and hug the people he was closest to. They all loved you, he knew that. And, he hated that.

“Ya didn’t tell me you invited Y/N,” said Ashton. He nudged his friend teasingly before adding in a wink. “When d’ya get the hots for her?”

Luke glared at him. “I’d run onto the 405 naked before I would ever consider even hugging her.”

“Damn, ‘kay then.” Ashton chuckled. He walked back towards the kitchen island where their mates were eating.

The traditions were light. They were simple, relaxing things that the band never had the chance to do, like movie nights and large orders of Uber Eats. Most nights, they went out and experienced life like typical chumps would do. But pre-tour traditions meant R&R, and you were not R&R.

To Luke, it seemed as though the rest of his friends enjoyed your company. His blood boiled at the thought of his night being ruined by you. His friends would tell him to avoid you and not let you spoil his fun, but he simply could avoid the frustration building while you laughed at stupid jokes. He would be laughing to had he actually cared for your company. If he kicked you out, it would ruin the night for his friends. Because of you, Luke really could not win.

And then, you said, “well, I gotta bounce. Am I dropping by your place at around nine tomorrow, Cal?”

To this, Luke nearly beamed.

“Nine on the dot,” responded Calum as he tilted his drink towards you.

“Cool beans.”

Another friend interjected the conversation. “C’mon, you can stay for a bit, can’t you? Maybe Luke will finally be the one to win the tattoo draw. Bet you’d pay to see that.”

Luke could feel perspiration under his arms at the thought of you staying and being touched by a needle.

“Tattoo draw?” you asked, dangling the key to Calum’s house between your fingers.

“Tattoo draw,” Michael affirmed. “Whoever won, well, lost the draw last time picks a tattoo for the next person who’s drawn. They’re small tattoos, but they’re often fuckin’ shit. I have a tattoo of Cal’s response to his dick pick on the back of my thigh.”

“That was so long ago,” someone piped.

You chortled. “No offense, but these pre-tour traditions are kinda–– “

“Oh, they’re lame,” interrupted Michael, “we know. But they’re fucking funny when you’re high out of your mind.”

You glanced over to Luke, who felt as though he was sweating like a pig, then back at the group of friends before you. “I’m in.”

Luke had contributed $200 to the pool. Throughout the past few years, the total money in the pot increased as the band’s fame continued moving up. And still, even after all of this time, he had been fortunate to not have his name drawn. The only bonus was the cash prize–– and you were also inked for the rest of your life.

But it wasn’t all that bad. It would be a memory, and Luke was fond of memories.

The anger that followed your presence had begun to fade as the night went on. Thoughts were foggy, words were garbled, and laughter filled the concrete walls and penetrated the thick, cloudy rooms. Plenty of crap foods had been consumed, plus two bottles of whiskey, by the time names were drawn.

You were right, Luke thought. Everything about the traditions were lame, and they were only routine because of their old teenage minds. The hazier he felt, the more he became lost in his own brain.

And then your name was drawn.

He had to keep himself from bursting into screeching laughter. It was easy to read the pure terror written all over your features from your wide eyes to your deep frown. Ashton, who had been last tour’s tattoo winner, nudged you playfully.

“’s all right, babe,” he said. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna. Someone will be glad to do it for ya, I’m sure.”

You stared at the money pool on the coffee table before you. “I get all of that?”

Ashton nodded.

“You promise the tattoo’ll be small?

“Microscopic.”

You sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Luke kept quiet for the next half hour as the group waited for the arrival of the tattoo artist. He watched your face, how it contorted and how it relaxed. He was hyper-focused on every little line and detail of your skin, and it was all because of how your demeanor changed. You appeared vulnerable now, a stark contrast to what Luke had known for nearly a year. You were witty. You were always ready to tear someone down with words when necessary. But now, you were nervous. You weren’t the same.

It bothered him tremendously.

Things only went downhill from there. Ashton, being the cocky bloke he occasionally could be, had a brilliant idea.

“I know how much you love Luke,” he said, an odd smirk toying on his lips as he exchanged glances between the two of you. “I want you to get his name tattooed.”

Luke choked on his glass of whiskey.

You snorted. “Nope. That’s a funny one, Irwin.”

“No money for ya then.”

“I don’t even know how much is in there,” you said. Meanwhile, the artist looked less than pleased to be here, and Luke didn’t blame him.

Calum winced and said, “’bout four thousand, babe. It’s a pretty big one this year.”

You gaped, mouth falling wide as you glared at Luke, who, truth be told, had no say in the situation. As much as he didn’t want his name on your body, it would have been kind of funny otherwise.

“I’ll shoot you a proposition,” said Ashton, his foot landing on the chair beside your thigh so he could lean over you. “Instead of his full name, just get his initials. L-R-H.”

Luke hated this.

“That’s–– “ You looked at Luke again, almost as if you were waiting for his approval. He didn’t speak. ‘That’s not so bad.”

Ashton grinned.

“Where would I get it?”

“Under-boob!” a voice called out from behind Luke.

A few groans washed through the group, and even Luke felt upset with the suggestion. He hated you, but he didn’t hate you that much.

“You shut your fuckin’ face, Stevens,” you responded, and that caused Luke to smile. There was the old you.

Ashton shrugged. “Anywhere you want it.”

And then, after looking Luke dead in the eyes for the thousandth time that night, you smirked. Finally, a rush of confidence flooded over you, and it chilled him to his very core. He didn’t understand why it cut right through his chest, and then you said, “under-boob it is.”

Luke decided he would no longer hold anything back. He hated you through and through.

Luke kept his mouth shut when his friends mentioned you. He kept it shut when they called you and talked about inside jokes. He kept it shut when they drunkenly stated they missed you. But when the Paris tour date came around and you were seated at their brunch table, he couldn’t keep himself from saying, “why the fuck are you here?”

And his friends were quick to defend, just like Luke expected. At that moment, it finally hit him that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t be himself around you. It didn’t matter that he was the only one uncomfortable with your presence. It didn’t matter, because Luke finally realized he had no reason to feel this way. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Maybe he didn’t hate you. Maybe his blood just boiled because everyone loved you, and he didn’t love you. Maybe he found frustration in every one of your actions because he was the only one who couldn’t enjoy himself when you were there. Maybe he just had to take two seconds to get over himself and let others be happy.

Luke sunk in his seat, eyes glued on the condensation on the side of his mimosa glass while his friends chatted and laughed. He thumbed his napkin, powdered sugar coating his fingers once more. For the first time since knowing you, Luke felt guilty for treating you the way he did.

He didn’t speak for the next hour and a half. And, when he did speak, it was a word or two at a time, gaze cast to the roads once painted in the blood of the French Revolution. He wasn’t much up for going out on the town when night fell–– it was better he preserved his voice for the concert tomorrow anyway. Instead, he remained in his tiny hotel room, sweaty feet kicked up on the thousand-thread duvet while a French dubbed Iron Man 2 played on his television. At one point, he ordered himself room service, and the apple cobbler plus a sparkling bottle of white wine were too big for him to finish alone.

And somehow, as if it were fate, there was a soft knock on his door.

Luke stumbled over, slightly buzzed already as he looked through the dirty peephole to see you. He swung the door open.

“Why’re you here?” he asked, surprisingly without a swear. “Thought you were with the rest.”

You glanced behind him. “I smelled apple cobbler,” you said. A shrug and a smirk later, you made your way past him.

Luke rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him. “Didn’t invite you in.”

You were already sat on the opposite twin bed, hand reaching for the fancy bottle on the nightstand before taking a long swig of the bubbly drink.

“Why’re you here?” he repeated.

“I–– “ You let out a satisfied sigh and set the bottle down. “I got tired. Got in an Uber pool with this gorgeous dude who kept using the words très belle, and then I remembered you were home.”

Luke sat on his bed and quirked an eyebrow at you. “You got tired and came here? What, are you on crack?”

You laughed, and he kind of did, too.

“Y’hate me,” he said. “You’re not here without reason.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “Kay,” you said, “ya got me. I wanna make out with you. Have a lil bang-bang-bang action.”

Luke had to keep himself from chuckling again. “Shut the fuck up.”

You grinned; your eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them around him. The two of you were both a little tipsy, and he chose to blame that for him not being totally upset with you invading his quiet night.

Things fell silent for a moment, and he let himself get lost in the foreign dialogue of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

“Why do you hate me?”

Luke’s head snapped over to you. You were relaxed, legs spread on the leg before you with your back against the headboard, and you were still facing the television. The bottle of wine was now in between your thighs.

“I wanted to be your friend so badly,” you said. “When I got your number, I put a little heart next to your name. And then, you never answered me when I tried to text you. You started rolling your eyes at everything I said, even when I was just walkin’ up to greet you. I thought my occasional teasing was just harmless. Is that–– is that why you hate me?”

Luke frowned. He had no idea what to say, especially since he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and you couldn’t even look at him.

“I-I guess I just need you to tell me that my efforts are pointless,” you mumbled, hands reaching out to pick up the bottle from between your legs. “I feel stupid even bein’ around ya now.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.”

Finally, you looked his way. “Let’s get drunk.”

The night muddled through, and to Luke’s surprise, he hadn’t had simple fun like that in ages. In your beautiful drunken stupor, you spoke your best French, although it came out as slurred gibberish while you danced around to the soundtrack from the movie Mannequin. His stomach ached from laughter, and at one point, he even joined you. He didn’t think twice about his hands lazily resting on your hips while the two of you passed the second bottle of wine around. The phone rang at about one in the morning; it was a lovely call from the front desk about a noise complaint.

Luke giggled around you. Colors and shapes swirled around him a little more than usual, and your touch burned his already-hot skin. By the time endorphins calmed and the night slowed to a stop, deep conversations met pillow talk. He was hesitant to speak on behalf of his feelings, but you were keen on sharing your entire life story and traumas with him. You cried, and he let it be on his shoulder. He chose to talk about himself for once, to get the pressure off of you. Cuddling became tickling, and soon enough, the two of you were shouting lyrics to “Beat Patrol” with uncontrollable laughter once again. When you said goodnight, your arms tossed themselves around his waist as you pecked his flushed cheeks. And then you were gone, and he decided he didn’t like the absence.

He didn’t forget about it the next day. You were quiet, and you kept your distance, so he did the same. But something had changed, that he knew. It pricked at his stomach, and when you hopped aboard a flight the next day after that, he realized he missed you. It was funny how a mere few hours could change a mind.

“Do you think Y/N was the one that psychic talked about?”

“What?”

Calum had been silently chewing on a cold slice of pizza when the question hit his brain. Luke, on the other hand, was washing down his midnight meal with a bottle of beer. The tour had been over for about a week, and they had all been sleeping for days straight. Well, all except for Luke, who found himself unable to close his eyes while he tried not to think about that one night with you. It was one fucking night. By this point, nearly all of the events had vanished from his mind, but he couldn’t shake the honest happiness he felt while singing along to cheesy songs from the 1980s. He couldn’t get over your impromptu stand-up comedy show and your terrible John Mulaney impression.

“The psychic, Gina,” said Calum. “You remember that, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied, a little wary of where the conversation was headed.

Calum straightened his posture and slapped the pizza back down onto the greasy cardboard box. “D’ya think Y/N is who she was talking about?”

“I–– “ Luke thought for a moment as he racked his brain. He hadn’t mentioned that night with you to anyone, but they all knew his prior distaste for you. Now, he couldn’t help but think of the accuracy of the psychic’s testament. You didn’t like him, he didn’t like you, but now he kind of did like you. “No,” he said, “not a chance. It’s Y/N. Fuckin’ hate her.”

Calum nodded. A frown pulled at his lips. “She’s great, mate. Y’oughta give her a chance.”

Luke had given you a chance, and it worked all too well.

“Maybe you’ll fall in love with her.”

The blond snorted. “I can’t even be in the same room as her, Cal. Don’t see romantic escapades in our future. No–– no drunken late-nights with comedy impressions and Starship dance-offs.”

“’s oddly specific, but okay,” said Calum. He shut the pizza box a moment later and slid it back into the fridge, and meanwhile, Luke felt a pit growing in his stomach. “You’re too stubborn,” his friend continued. “And ugly. Like, too damn ugly for her anyway.”

Luke smirked, tilting his beer in Calum’s direction. “Cheers to that, mate.”

Through the dying laughter, Luke’s smile fell into a frown, and he couldn’t quite grasp the reason why. It was possible that the idea of falling for someone like you didn’t seem so terrible after all.

A few dozen people had gathered in the backyard by the time you arrived. Luke spent the first hour of the party cradling a beer, keeping himself out of sight on the porch but in view of the pool. His shirt had already become unbuttoned, and his curls had loosened and stuck flat against his skin due to the humidity in the hot air. And you... you looked marvelous.

Luke had been so focused on trying not to think about you, he ended up thinking about you every hour of every day. He caught himself scrolling through your Instagram page after failing to fall asleep, and he thought about what would have happened had you stayed in his hotel room a little longer. When your face popped into his brain, his heart hurt. He had started to idealize the two of you together–– exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

So, he isolated himself in the kitchen after your arrival, a series of nonconsecutive thoughts whirling through his head while he chipped away at the sticker on his warm beer. The party was outside, and he was in there, wondering how on earth he let himself start falling for the person he never wanted to know.

“I told Calum to queue up some Starship.”

Your voice was confident as you slid the back door closed behind you. Luke focused on your footsteps, but he refused to turn around as you approached him.

“If I can’t jam to some “Beat Patrol”, then honestly, what’s the point of being here?” you continued with a light laugh. You were grinning from ear to ear when you placed yourself in front of Luke, the close proximity causing him to hold in a gasp.

He cracked a smile. “Who invited you?”

“I invited myself,” you replied, “thank you very much.” You tilted your drink in his direction before taking a quick sip and setting it beside Luke’s on the counter. “The question is: why are you in here alone, bud? Lookin’ so glum n’ all.”

Luke’s heartbeat had begun to pick up, and humidity from the outside had seeped its way into the kitchen. He placed his palms on his pants to dry them off.

You frowned–– he had taken too long to answer. “You okay?”

He nearly jumped at the feeling of your hand brushing against his arm, and then he noticed that you had moved slightly closer. “I–– “ Luke coughed. “’m fine.” The weight on his arm never left.

“C-can I ask you something?” you spoke up again after a few moments of silence. You didn’t wait for his answer. “Do you hate me?”

His eyes met yours, despite the pain settling in his chest because of the contact. “You’ve asked me that before,” he said and smirked.

“I know,” you said quickly. “But, do you?”

Luke shook his head. “No. I could–– I could never.”

You nodded.

He nearly leaned in a little. The heavy tension and spike in energy tilted his body and its weight on the balls of his feet, but he held back in fear. All he wanted to do was see how you felt beneath his touch.

“Okay,” you then mumbled. Your voice was hushed, and you refused to look at him again. Somehow, the distance between the two of you shrunk once again.

Luke swallowed. His fingers played with the neck of his half-empty bottle; they spun it around and around while his brain told him what to do and what not to do.

And then, the hand that had been grazing his arm moved up to rest on his chest, and Luke restrained himself from completely losing himself in you. It was as if the music from the world outside had been sucked into a vacuum, and the air around him was dense with heat and sexual tension, but he could only notice your breath ghosting his lips. There was something about the nudging of noses and fluttering of eyelids that pushed him over the edge. So, when your lips finally met in a soft, velvety kiss, he couldn’t hold back the desire that had been building up for months.

While your hands plaited through his hair, Luke’s were firm on your waist. He had pulled you into him, all previous thoughts out the door while your lips slotted against his. It was wet yet warm, and a familiar sensation tightened in his abdomen. His cheeks were hot and pink–– that he knew for sure.

But you pulled away quickly, gasps falling as you sputtered out apologies. “I shouldn’t–– that was–– weird, right?”

Luke wanted to shake his head no, but instead, all he could do was nod.

“We–– we hate ea–– I’m sorry,” you said, grabbing your beer quickly and making a b-line for the sliding glass door.

Underneath Luke’s eyes, the skin burned, but he quickly shook it off. He wasn’t going to cry because you walked out on him. He was, however, disheartened tremendously.

The rest of the night, he spent his time avoiding you. Truth be told, he spent his time avoiding everyone. He loitered around his practice room, used the bathroom for twenty minutes, and locked himself in his room until the crowd outside died down. No one bothered to check up on him, not even you. It was when he had come to terms with his isolation that you knocked on his door and stumbled in. Immediately, he knew you had a few too many drinks.

Neither of you said a word as you ambled over, giggles leaving your lips before you flopped onto his bed beside him. Pillows flew and the duvet slipped to the floor, but Luke didn’t care. In the beginning, he never wanted to picture you in his bed–– it made him sick to think about. But then he purposefully avoided the thought, for he simply knew he’d find himself wanting to picture it more and more. So now, he had to keep his stomach from knotting. He had to keep himself from looking over and spilling out a word-vomit of feelings that he didn’t even want to have.

And then, you started touching his face.

At first, Luke wanted to laugh. You were cute albeit clumsy, yet the silence and evident tension settled in his shoulders, and every graze of your fingers on his flushed skin sent shivers up his spine. Fingers running over cheeks and closed eyelids, your touch so gentle he could barely feel it, but he did. You brushed the ridge of his brows, the curve of his nose, and finally, the dip of his cupid’s bow. He couldn’t breathe as you lightly traced the soft skin of his lips.

His lips felt cold once your fingers left, but they soon skimmed the hollowing of his cheeks back down to where his lips parted in a silent gasp. You pressed one finger against the separation of skin, and he kissed it gently. Then, you placed another finger there, and he continued.

Luke wanted to shoo your hand away. He blinked up at the ceiling while your hand traveled down his Adam’s Apple and onto his collarbones. Your touch was so light, so beautiful–– he was completely enamored at this moment. He had to clench his jaw while your hand traced the hairs on his chest.

The weight in his bed shifted, and suddenly your body was wedged up against his, your nose nudging his chest as you peppered kisses up and down it. Luke’s heart rate decided to make a break for it.

“No, no, no,” he breathed out, reaching over and pushing you away from him. He rose instantly while his hands fumbled to button up his shirt. It would be obvious to anyone as to how utterly flustered he was. “No, you can’t–– you can’t do that to me.”

You grinned. “Why not? Yer so pretty! Like a fuckin’ angel that fell from heaven. You glow.”

“I-I don’t–– no, what?” Luke sputtered, nerves rising to his throat as he finally got a good look at you in your drunken state. He already knew what you were like drunk, but he never saw you like this while sober.

“Ya deserves to be kissed,” you said.

Luke wanted to smile; except he couldn’t have things end up this way. He felt so much, maybe too much, and he wanted it to be good. You had hardly blinked.

“Um,” Luke whispered, “thanks. I–– I should–– I should check on the party.”

“Oh, yeah!” you squeaked. “Go, go, go!”

He nodded, excusing himself quickly and then shutting the door behind him. But he couldn’t walk any farther than that. With a sigh, he pressed his back against the door and looked down to his feet. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed while his brain went black. Luke didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure he would ever know how to admit how he felt. However, he did know that needed to pay a certain psychic a visit.

part two

417 notes · View notes

vegetacide · 5 years ago

Text

Whump●tober - Embracing Recovery

Veg-notables: Well it was a month in coming but i have finally drawn this whole thing to a close. It’s been quite the trip and the learning experience to boot. Somehow it all wrapped up in a nice tidy package encompassing several story lines into one world completely by accident by there you have it. Something just happen that way.

Many thanks to all those that jumped on this month long whump ride with me and many, many thanks to @gumnut-logic for putting up with me none stop pretty much for the whole duration. Your guidance and support has been very, very much appreciated.. And the mountain loads of candied ammo that was lobbed in my direction. I think I might have a cavity now…

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Revelations, hurt, comfort and a resolution of sorts.

Characters: Virgil, Scott, with a dash of Kayo, Gordon and Alan. V/K

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Part 1 Unconscious | Part 2 Shaky Hands | Part 3 Stitches | Part 4 “Don’t move”

30. Recovery & 31. Embrace

Enjoy…

oOo

The moment Virgil stepped foot into the lounge he could feel Scott’s eyes on him and he resisted the urge to roll his own.

“I’m fine, Scott.” He said on reflex as he crossed the space on his way to the stairs. He needed coffee stat and nothing was going to distract him from his goal.

Scott came around the desk, eyes narrowing on Virgil’s face as he headed towards him.

Virgil was well aware of what he looked like and how he felt, thank you very much. He was fresh from a shower, clean shaven and feeling for the first time in a while, well rested. The fact he required coffee to function on any given morning was nothing new and something that decidedly didn’t warranted the frown that was brewing on his brother’s face.

“You’re squinting.”

Now he did roll his eyes and he didn’t care if Scott saw it or not. Turning he trotted down the stairs, Scott hot on his heels.

“Scott, I’m okay. Stop worrying.” Virgil b-lined it for the coffee pot, one though in mind. Most obtain caffeine…

His brother’s hand landed on his shoulder, preventing him from reaching his target just feet from his destination.

“This is really getting a bit much, Scott.” He grumbled and cursed at himself internally for not taking the elevator all the way down the kitchen. Why oh why had he thought that stopping at the lounge on the way was a good idea? Hind sight and all that jazz was bullshit.

“Are you sure?” His brother’s voice sounded worried.

“Yes, it’s just the usual aftermath. Nothing new there, I am always a bit light sensitive for a few days after a migraine, you know this.” Virgil slipped out from under his brother’s grasp, stepped past him and snagged his favourite mug out of the cupboard.

“Any double vision? Blurriness?” Came the expected rapid fire questions as he stalked after him to the coffee pot.

Virgil sighed and didn’t answer right away and concentrated on pouring the aromatic brew. Let his brother stew for a moment, served him right for the mother hen and interrogation routine.

After their lovely discussion the previous morning, Virgil had retreated to his room again, only venturing out around sunset in order to obtain some much needed sustenance and to watch Kayo do her ninja thing on the pool deck.

Thankfully he’d managed to avoid Scott as he had been called away from the island and he’d only had to deal with his very perceptive Grandmother.

That had been an interesting exchange and not one he wished to repeat any time soon. He needed time to wrap his head around things, sort out his emotions and if that meant doing everything in his power to be on the opposite side of the island from everyone else.. So be it.

Except there was his very real need for coffee and due to that vice he had risked the trip down from his room. It was apparently evident that Lady Luck was so not in his corner this fine morning.

Satisfied that his cup had reached its maximum capacity, he lifted it to his lips and took his first sip of the day.

Scolding, hot and deliciously rich, the flavour flowed over his taste buds and sung the song of the caffeine addicted. A thrum of ecstasy fired up his neurons and the pleasure centre of his brain lit up like a Christmas tree. Oh sweet Baby Jeebus, he bit back on the joyful moan as his need was finally sated.

Then his brother’s tapping foot finally registered.

Drawing in a breathe to anchor is growing antipathy, he finally graced his overly anxious sibling with an answer. “No double vision or blurriness. Like I said, I’m fine. Let it go, Scott.”

His brother’s arms crossed over his chest, eyes still inspecting. Searching for any sign of deceit in his answer.

The trust they shared had been rocked and Virgil was well aware that this was the price of his actions. Something he was going to have to learn to deal with but right now… there was coffee..

Sipping away quietly for a few minutes, he let his brother continue staring at him, assessing the minutia of his movements and facial expression with a bored air of one well used to an over protective big brother filling in the very large shoes of their Father.

His patience lasted a lot longer than he thought it would.

“You look tired still, you get enough sleep? “

That did it, patience quota reached. Completely maxed out.

“Jesus… Scott. Stop it. I’m fine.” Putting his mug down with a little more force than he intended he marked off points on his fingers. “I have slept, done pretty much nothing but since I crashed out in Two. I have eaten enough food to satiate a small army. I am more hydrated than even the Fish right now and that is saying something considering he basically lives in the pool. There is no pain and my vision is fine. “

His brother looked like he was about to say something but Virgil put up a hand to stop him.

“No.” He sighed, hands on his hips as his head dropped down. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten to reign in his ire.

“Look, Scott…” He started, stalled out. Gave his doubt the middle finger and plowed on. “Globalmax was over a year ago and you can stop hovering now, I’m not going to break. Sure I get the odd migraine but that’s it. Pack it in, let it go

Scott’s face shifted, darkened. Eyes narrowed, he poked a finger into Virgil’s face. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What…?” Confused all to hell at the change in his brother, Virgil’s brow furrowed.

“Kind of the pot calling the kettle black isn’t it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Scott’s temper flared and it had Virgil adjusting his stance to square off against the gale force that had surged into the kitchen. “You telling me to let it go when you can’t do the same. You act like I haven’t clued into what you’ve been doing the last few weeks ever since I put Gordon back on active duty.”

Virgil’s face blanched, his defenses suddenly evaporating in the face of Scott’s accusation and he stood dumbfounded.

“I…”

“You what?” Scott stepped up to him, all righteous anger and indignation but Virgil didn’t know how to respond. Caught off guard by his brother’s fury and being found out so easily, words completely abandoned him.

Scott seemed to catch himself and forced himself to step off, to back up. Temper radiated out of him in waves but he clamped his control down hard on it and closed off as he reeled himself in.

“Ya, just like I thought. You can preach to me about letting things go but I sent you in to that plant. I was the one that put you in harm’s way and we came damn close to losing you. Almost did had it not been for a fleet of stubborn ass doctors set on keeping your heart going.”

His voice hitched at the end and he had to put some physical distance between them, long legs taking him across the kitchen around the table and back again.

He paced a few more steps and stopped, the counter between them. “Just like you did sending Gordon in after Braman at the Calypso crash site.

The words hung like a stinking carcass in the air and Virgil’s chest heaved, breathing in the hot, foul stench of it.

Pulse kicking he tried to come up with excuses, tried to think around what Scott had tossed to callously in front of him but he couldn’t see a way around it. There was no avoiding it when it was strung up with flashing lights right in front of your face like some damn garish marquee sign at a theatre.

“You..you don’t understand.”

"Try it, make me understand.” Scott’s voice grew soft though his posture still screamed unrestrained agitation.

Virgil drew in a breath, thought a moment, blew back out again as his mind tossed out and rejected several responses. Finally he settled on one. “He’s my co-pilot.” As if that should be answer enough.

Like those three words could explain the whole of it. That Gordon was more than a passenger along for a ride in Two. He was his partner on missions, his back up when he was unable to take the controls himself, his goofy baby brother, his responsibility…

Virgil had been well aware of the dangers out here, all those feet below the ocean surface under all that atmospheric pressure of millions and millions of gallons of water but he’d still let him go. Even with the nagging feeling in the back of his head that something didn’t feel right but they were International Rescue so they did what their Father’s legacy dictated.

Even if just for a machine, an automaton that had been broadcasting on all their frequencies for hours on end. He let his baby brother go, and he’d nearly ended up dead.

Left to die at the bottom of the ocean, crushed beneath a mountain of a crumbled volcanic stack like his life meant nothing. Like he was just an irritant that needed to be swatted away and was done so carelessly and with such disregard for everything their family stood for. Everything they had spent the better part of their adult lives striving to achieve.

Hovering above the ocean waiting for some news, seeing the broken body sprawled unmoving across a med-bay gurney had torn a hole through Virgil that he hadn’t been able to fill in all the time since. An aching pit of guilt and despair that he had thought he could handle, hide away in some dark corner of his mind.

It had only grown and festered, like an untreated wound. Kept him up at night with visions of alternate outcomes. Of vaguely remember funerals, caskets draped in white flowers and the somber words.

Kayo had clicked into the fact that something was wrong months ago maybe Scott had too. The concerned etched on his face now mirrored her own every time he looked at her but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to burden them with this. So to throw Kayo off the trail he’d tossed something else at her feet. Hoping that it would be enough to waylay her.

The message from Bramen about their Father being alive. He hadn’t lied to her about his feelings but he hadn’t supplied her with the whole of it. The omission hadn’t been easy and the guilt of that had compounded all the rest, but he had stood firm in visage even though he was crumbling just like that stack on the inside.

As for Scott, he’d just closed himself off. Withdrawn and buried himself in work and good intentions

The stim-tabs had come in handy and as he looked down at his trembling hand he knew, he’d gone way too far with it. All Scott had to do was look back through all of Two’s records to see how far he’d fallen.

Scott had a right to be concerned and Kayo had a right to her tears.

Clenching his fist, he forced himself to answer no matter how painful it was. “He should never have been down there on his own. I should have gone with him.”

“So you could do what exactly?” Scott moved, settled on a stool at the counter, in for the long haul if that was what it was going to take. “Gordon knows what he’s doing better than any of us. He was WASP. He has more qualification for underwater rescue than all of us combined. He is always aware of the dangers every time he heads out there but he accepts it.

Scoot looked to the counter, his fingers playing through the cooling puddle of coffee left there by Virgil’s careless handling. “You can’t stop him from going out there, Virg... “ His words stopped short as the sounds of voices and stomping feet came thundering down the stairs.

Inane chatter about some video game or another bounced around the lofty ceiling and abruptly came to a halt when the aquanaut in question came up short at the end of the flight, Alan nearly running into the back of him.

“The fuck, Gordon? Why’d you sto….?” Alan’s inquiry drifted off as he took in the open air kitchen and instantly picked up on the heaviness that clogged the space.

“What’s up?” Gordon asked as two pair of serious eyes turned his way. One carrying more worry and guilt then it appeared Gordon cared for and the other, frustration at whatever was going on being interrupted. His own gaze darted back and forth between his older siblings with some trepidation. “Who died?”

Virgil turned away, walked over to the large, open patio and leaned his bulk against the thick clear blast door where it nested by its stationary counterpart.

Scott sighed, and Virgil pictured him standing with his hands braced on his hips and his head shaking back and forth is annoyance"Gordon.."

"What?"He asked completely oblivious to what his words had invoked.

Virgil listened to the exchange behind him with only half an ear and watched the play of light across the rippling water of the pool.

Gordon's oblivion question had been more poignant they he knew his brother had meant. It had struck the chord of the conversation and the image of his still, unresponsive body in Two echoed through his mind with a clarity that made Virgil shudder.

It was early in the day still so the oppressive heat this time of year usually drummed up hadn't yet settled over the island yet.

There was a breeze whispering through the fronds of the palms and rustling the long strands of ornamental grasses that boarded the patio in quaint little arrangements that Virgil knew his Father had installed as homage to the woman who so loved to garden when they were little.

The cadence of the conversation behind changed and his pushed his focus back inside to the room as Gordon's voice rose.

"Oh well..it looks like the adults are talking so we better run off and play like good little boys."

"Gordon,. That's not what I meant.".

"Than what did you mean?" He demanded facing off with Scott glare for glare.

When Scott failed to answer, the currently land bound human-fish bristled and turned his sights on Virgil.

Virgil’s mouth gaped a moment as he floundered but he didn't get a chance to respond as Kayo appeared at his elbow, her hand resting a moment on the base of his spine in a gesture of support before she slipped around him and over to Gordon.

Her voice was pitched in such a way that they could all hear her words. "I just got word that Lady P in inbound. Should be here soon."

Gordon’s attention was instantaneously redirected. “Penny’s coming here?”

Kay nodded, “About ten minutes out. Sad something about a reef project she is working on.”

“Ya, she mentioned that to me last week. I didn’t think they would move so fast on it..”

The distraction work and in short order Gordon was back up the stairs and out of the room.

Alan remained behind, gaze ping ponging between all those gathered in the familiar space. A little lost as to what to do and where to go now that Gordon was off chasing after her Ladyship. “Sooooooo…?” He ventured.

Kayo took pity on him, grabbed a bag of oatmeal cookies from the pantry and gave the pair of them a look, her eyes lingering on Virgil as she turned and walked back over to Alan. “Hey, why don’t you show me that new Zombie game you’ve been going on about?”

Alan blinked, shifted awkwardly on his feet as he absorbed the rising tension in the room again and was unsure what to do about it. It was obvious from his pinched expression that he was well aware that things were far from alright between his two biggest brothers.

“Everything okay?” He asked instead as Kayo came up to him.

She glanced back at Virgil as if she was interested in the answer to the question as well.

Virgil’s large chest expanded on an inhalation before he took the reins. “It’s cool, Alan. Don’t worry about it.”

Alan didn’t look convinced and neither did Kayo but she nodded in return.

There would be words later, Virgil knew but for now she would back off and leave them to sort themselves out.

“If you say so…” And the pair of them disappeared up the stairs.

The kitchen grew quiet with their absence, the only sound that of the wind through the palms and a few wild birds that called the island home.

“Listen,” Scott was the first to break the stillness and Virgil peered back over his shoulder so Scott knew he was doing just that. “All I am saying is that I understand where you are coming from. I’ve been there. Am there, every day. Every time a call comes in and I have to send one of you out there to do the impossible because it seems like no one else can, I’m right there where you are now. I have to live with that. Remind myself that not only did I pick this life but you all did too. You know the risks, just trust that they know the risks too and remember that you are not alone.

He came up to Virgil bumped his shoulder against his companionably. “And if things ever get too hard, too much there are those on this island that are more than willing to help and if not here,” His head inclined towards the ocean, towards the world at large, “There are plenty of people out there that owe us a few things and would jump at the chance to return the favour.“

Virgil absorbed what was being offered and finally for the first time in days, months really the weight on his shoulders lifted.

He chuckled slightly as a thought came to mind and just like that the tension was gone, the animosity and outrage and all the negative crap that went along with it up and left.

“What?” Scott asked a quizzical look popping his brow up in confusion,

“How in the hell do you put up with all of this? All of us?”

Scott grinned back, the devil in his smile. “Dad’s private stash of Scotch… lots of Scotch.”

The sun was shifting outside as it made its way across the sky and a spear of light bounced off the pool which made Virgil blink, that fact that nothing speared into his brain with the flash of light didn’t go unnoticed by him. Time took care of all things and it seemed the worst of everything had come to pass.

The band-aid holding everything back had been torn off, the wound free to breathe and hopefully to heal now that all those party to it existence had lanced it of the festering poison that was rotting away at its core.

The disinfectant that family supplied, was to be applied liberally and eventually all that would be left was a fading scar and life would go on.

His smile widened and grew broader as the future finally started to look brighter and he slung an arm over Scott’s shoulder, pulling him in for an unexpected hug which his brother reciprocated wholeheartedly.

“It might be early but somewhere in the world it’s not. Let’s go find that scotch.”

oOo

The End.

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #no.30 #no.31 #Recovery #Embrace #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Kayo Kyrano #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #virgil/kayo #the end is here #on to #fluffember

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