#raindrop cakes are good I should really find some around me. or try making them at home

[percy-draws]

I saw on Twitter that pikmin secrete a kind of agar substance, which makes me wonder if it can be harmlessly harvested or milked from these little buddies. If so, Louie finally gets a pikmin recipe, hooray!

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

End of His Rope

Prompts: Don't know if you're in the mood to write some Merthur but if you are, being the hurt/comfort royalty that you are, may I humbly request a little "shatter my soul" misunderstanding? If not that's fine too. - alittletoo-obsessed

So, I've been rereading some of your Merlin fics, and I was wondering if you could maybe write something where Merlin's experienced some sort of trauma before he came to Camelot, and so he's always avoiding things or reacting strangely, but Arthur assumes that's just his personality, but then something seemingly innocuous happens and he just breaks down completely in front of Arthur, & Arthur can't understand why. Cue Arthur trying to help him and Merlin eventually having to explain everything. - anon

Our BOYS i did miss them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: childhood trauma, flashbacks, drowning

Pairings: merthur, platonic or romantic don't care

Word Count: 3682

It’s always the water in his dreams.

Dark. Lapping at the stone walls. Bottomless.

The chain clanks heavily against the sides.

It’s so deep.

The rope is never long enough.

—————

Arthur has no idea why he had to get assigned the weirdest servant in Camelot.

Sure, it’s not like he asked for Merlin to be his servant—and he’ll kill you if you tell him this, but he’s not changing Merlin for the world—but come on, he could’ve at least gotten someone normal.

But no, he has to get this clumsy fool of a bumpkin that insists on tripping over his own feet, stumbling into walls, spending days at a time who knows where—he’s good friends with the tavern owner so he knows Merlin’s not there—and occasionally spouting great wisdom seemingly off the top of his head. And to top it all off, he’s endearing enough that Arthur panics whenever Merlin’s not right next to him.

It’s terribly annoying.

But that—well, most of that—he can forgive. Merlin’s a clumsy fool but he’s a good distraction. He’s a forgetful sod but he’s witty enough to make up for whatever time he’s lost with some sort of solution. He’s a disrespectful clot pole but it’s a welcome relief from all this ‘yes, sire,’ ‘no, sire,’ ‘would you prefer pork or poultry, sire?’ It gets a bit grating every now and then.

And alright, maybe Merlin’s not entirely to blame for how endearing Arthur finds him. Maybe.

But the whole thing about water Arthur will never understand.

The first time he asked Merlin to draw him a bath he thought the man was about to fall over. Merlin had gone pale and stammered out that yes, he would do that, how does he do that? He’d assumed it was because Merlin was shirking from his duties or whatnot but he hadn’t asked any of the other servants to help him, instead drawing the water for Arthur all by himself. Bemused, Arthur had told him he’s allowed to get help, only for Merlin to go on one of those impressive rants about how servants were people too, and interrupting their jobs seemed rude. Which, alright fair enough but it didn’t erase the pale and shaken expression from his face.

The first time he walked in on Merlin trying to clean the floor, he stopped and stared at the bucket sitting in the farthest corner of the room.

“You know it’s more efficient to keep the bucket with you, right?”

Merlin shrugs. “You have an issue with how I clean the floor, you are more than welcome to do it yourself.”

Arthur had scoffed and turned to leave but the tension in Merlin’s shoulders had stayed.

The first time he met Merlin in the courtyard and tries to walk past the well was the first time Merlin had strayed from his side.

“And of course, you’ll need to make sure all of my armor is…” Arthur trails off, looking around for Merlin, only to notice him a few paces away. “What the hell are you doing over there?”

“Walking.”

“Get back here,” Arthur barks, “I’m not done.”

“I can hear you perfectly fine over here.”

“Merlin—hey!”

“Sorry, sire!” A carriage blows right by them, Merlin reaching out to yank Arthur closer by his sleeve as it goes by. “Didn’t see you there!”

Arthur mutters a curse and brushes himself off.

“That’s why,” Merlin says, helping him dust himself off, “don’t want you to get run over by a wagon, now.”

Arthur cuffs him half-heartedly over the head and keeps walking.

He tries again a few times but Merlin studiously avoids the well with a grace that he scarcely applies to anything else.

It hits him when they’re out hunting once that Merlin might just hate getting wet.

So he pushes him into a pond.

Merlin splutters and curses at him and purposefully dumps all the arrows into the pond with him so they’re useless for hunting but he knows how to swim and if the way he slings his sodden neckerchief at Arthur is any indication, he’s not entirely opposed to the water.

And yes, the day was hot and maybe a water fight was the best way to cool off.

It only ever happens when they’re in Camelot. Sometimes Merlin will accidentally kick one of the buckets and it looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Arthur chuckles at him and calls him a delicate pansy but it’s only ever that loud noise. Not when the bells are going off—they really need to get better security for the dungeons—not when Merlin drops another tray, only the bucket.

And he still won’t go near the well.

Merlin must just not like it. That’s fine.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to get out of his chores, though.

He watches Merlin go about his day, watches him change the sheets, do up the rest of the room, get the laundry, but he never goes into the courtyard. He frowns when Merlin does ask someone else—Lilian, he thinks her name is—to go get a bucket of water for him, but there’s nothing quite like the way that Merlin lingers at the very edge of the courtyard, his gaze on a constant swivel, trying to see something that isn’t there.

It’s unnerving.

But it’s Merlin, and Merlin is strange, so Arthur just shrugs and moves on.

—————

Merlin wakes up in a cold sweat.

He wraps his arms around himself and scrambles to the floor. Dust cakes itself over his shins and forearms and he heaves a sob.

The hand on his shoulder that branded him so many years ago hums with the feeling of Arthur’s glove.

—————

“Leave it,” Arthur says, patting Merlin’s shoulder as he walks by, “we’ll get the next one.”

He steers Merlin away from the well toward the castle door, the dropped bucket rolling across the stones. Behind them, Lilian lowers another bucket into the well, the soft splash-thunk of the water and the creak of the handle. Arthur shakes his head.

“Why does it have to be so bloody hot?”

“It’s summer,” Merlin mumbles, clearly feeling the heat too by the sweat beaded on his brow, “it’s supposed to be hot.”

“Not this hot.” Arthur shakes his head, dismayed when his hair sticks to his forehead. “We should be inside.”

“You’re the one that dragged us out here, sire.”

“Enough. Come on. I’m sure there’s somewhere cooler we could be sitting.”

They make their way back into the castle, Merlin immediately going to draw the curtains to block out the hideous light of the sun as Arthur flops down onto his bed and scrubs his hands over his face.

“You’ll get your sheets all sweaty.”

“Everything in this castle is already sweaty,” Arthur mumbles, “what’s a few sheets?”

“Well, when you have to sleep on them tonight, that will be your problem.”

“Please. I’ve slept in worse.”

“Mm.” Merlin swats him with a pillow. “You’ve also complained about your room being too hot more times than I can count. Move.”

“You move,” he manages as he peels himself off the bed and onto the floor. “Why is it so hot, Merlin?”

“I told you, it’s summer.”

Arthur squints. “You’re wearing so many clothes.”

“It is polite to wear clothes, Arthur.”

“But you’re wearing a jacket and long sleeves and a scarf and long trousers! How are you not hot?”

Merlin shrugs. “I run cold.”

“C’mere then.” Arthur holds out his hand. “I’m too hot. Cool me off.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’d have better luck sticking your head in a casket of mead.”

“Merlin.”

“You would,” Merlin sings, “but then you’d be even stickier than you are now.”

“Fine.” His head falls back against the bed with a thud. “Maybe I’ll just jump in water next time.”

He’s too hot to notice the way that Merlin stiffens.

—————

Merlin pants and heaves and scrabbles at the floor. It’s real, he’s really dry, it’s safe, there’s nowhere to go down.

He shivers on the cold floor and reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself in it tightly and clutching the fabric to his face. It scratches horribly and he rubs his cheek into it.

Rough is safe. Dust is safe. Warm is safe.

There’s nowhere to go.

High above Camelot, dark clouds begin to swirl in the sky, carrying with them the promise of rain.

—————

Arthur sighs as he slumps under the edge of the stable. Really, a rainstorm? Right now? The air had a weight to it, hanging over the courtyard like a dirty rag, right up until the heavens burst open and decided to pour over the city. They’d barely made it to the safety of the stable in time before it looked like the storm was doing its best to wash the courtyard clean.

“Well, there goes the plan for the rest of the day.”

Merlin huddles against the stable, shying away from the gutter. “Are we going to try and make it back inside?”

“Unless you fancy a mad dash through the storm, I’d say we’re better off waiting it out.”

Merlin glares at the water like it’s personally insulted Gaius in front of him. Arthur follows his gaze to watch one of the horses finally drag its cart under an overhanging section of roof.

“Seems everyone wants to get out of this rain.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Arthur sighs before something hits him in the forehead. He glances up.

A raindrop hits him square in the eye.

Biting back a curse, he glances around and spies a bucket.

“Aha!”

“What’re you—Arthur?”

“This should show you,” he mutters, shoving the bucket under the leak, “there. Now try it.”

He looks up to reassure Merlin that he’s fine, he just got hit in the eye with a raindrop, only to see Merlin’s face.

“…Merlin?”

Merlin’s face is ash. His mouth hangs open, his lips dry despite the rain and his lower lip starts to wobble.

“Merlin!”

And Merlin is gone, tearing through the rain like a bat out of hell. Arthur mutters another curse and races after him, barely flinching at the deluge as he tries to keep his eyes on Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, as they dart into the castle and up the stairs.

“Merlin, where are you—slow down, you’re going to—Merlin!”

Merlin trips. He falls.

Arthur reaches out and wraps an arm around Merlin’s waist, just saving him from careening down a staircase.

“Merlin, shh,” he tries, only to have to grunt and struggle to keep a hold of the man as he claws at the air in front of him, “come on—Merlin!”

His room. They need to get to his room.

“Sorry, Merlin,” he mumbles, before swinging the man up—why is he so light?—and making a break for his chambers.

The door slams shut behind him and he lets Merlin go, his chest aching as he watches him fall to the floor, scrabbling madly at the stone until his fingers start to bleed.

“Merlin,” he cries again, dropping to his knees and taking Merlin’s hands in his, “Merlin, look at me!”

His…his eyes…

Arthur has never seen Merlin look like this. He’s never seen him in so much pain.

“Merlin,” he tries, softer this time, “Merlin, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m right here.”

Finally, finally, Merlin stills. Though still is almost worse, he looks frozen. He swallows.

“…’rthur?”

“Yes, Merlin, it’s me, I’m right here, it’s alright.” He gives Merlin’s hands a gentle squeeze. “What’s—oh!”

Merlin throws himself at him, all but knocking him over as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Arthur catches him with a huff, letting him bury his soaking wet face in his jerkin.

“Easy, Merlin, it’s alright,” he laughs nervously, “you’re—well, alright, you idiot, if you…if you need to…”

He says as if he’s not cuddling Merlin already.

Arthur sighs, the dampness of their clothes making it more than a little uncomfortable but not caring in the slightest when Merlin starts to sob into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, Merlin, it’s alright, I’m right here. You’ve got me, I’ve got you, we’re not going anywhere.” He rubs Merlin’s back firmly and presses his cheek to his wet hair. “I’ve got you.”

Poor Merlin is still shaking like a leaf. Arthur frowns, glaring at the storm with the intent to stare it down until it tells him why the hell it thinks it can hurt his Merlin like this.

“The rain can’t hurt you anymore,” he growls, “we’re inside. You’re safe. Everything’s alright.”

Merlin hiccups. “We’re—it’s—over?”

“The storm isn’t quite through yet, but we’re out of the rain, yes, Merlin, you’re safe.”

“Don’t—want—fall—“

“You can’t fall here, I’ve got you, we’re on the floor.”

“Rope—too short—won’t reach all the way—hurts—“

The roaring protectiveness in his gut starts to give way to confusion, what rope? Where is Merlin trying to go?

“Calm down, Merlin,” he says instead, rubbing his back, “it’s alright, there’s no rope—“

Merlin lets out a howl.

“No, no, no! That’s not—there is a rope,” Arthur tries desperately, “and it’s long enough, we can reach, it’s alright, everyone’s safe, you’re safe, shh, shh…”

The howl buries itself in some soft part of Arthur’s chest. His hands are itching for his sword, something, anything to fight what’s causing Merlin this much pain but he can’t, there’s nothing, so he wraps his arms tighter around Merlin and glares at the storm.

After a long, long time, when their tunics have done their best to meld with their skin, Merlin stills. There’s one more soft hiccup before a cold nose presses itself to Arthur’s neck.

“…Merlin?”

“‘Rthur? Arthur?”

“It’s me, Merlin, I’m right here.”

“Arthur…” Merlin tenses and before Arthur can protest, pulls away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Arthur says sharply, only for Merlin to flinch. He softens his voice and reaches for him. “Don’t pull away, don’t apologize. Are you hurt?”

Merlin lets him wrap an arm around him, thank god. “No. Not hurt.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes. Get dry. Yeah?”

The word ‘dry’ seems to unlock something, Merlin’s limbs flowing looser around his body. “Yeah…”

“Dry it is then,” Arthur says quietly, “come on, there are towels for us to dry off, we can get dry, we’ve got dry clothes here.”

Concern chases its tail around Arthur’s chest as he carefully tousles Merlin’s hair dry as Merlin peels himself out of his soaked clothes. They end up in a sodden heap in the corner, ready to be taken to the laundress’s as Arthur offers Merlin one of his nightshirts.

Merlin looks like a drowned puppy, blinking warily at the proffered shirt.

“Just put it on, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “it’s dry and warm.”

There’s the magic word again. Merlin tugs on the shirt and wraps his arms around himself. Arthur glances behind him at the bed and prods Merlin’s shoulder.

“Under the covers now,” he murmurs, smiling a little at Merlin’s confusion, “come on, I want to be warm too. And if you still run cold you’re going to need more than that to warm you up.”

Merlin lets him tug them both up to the other end of the bed, under the covers, pulling the sheets up to their chins. Arthur reaches out to take Merlin’s hands and examine them.

“You’re hurt,” he murmurs, “but it shouldn’t last very long. We can go to Gaius if you really need it.”

He glances up to see Merlin’s exhausted little face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tugging Merlin a little closer, “are you alright?”

“Tired, now,” Merlin mumbles, “and embarrassed.”

“It’s okay.” Arthur pulls him closer. “C’mere.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Warming you up.” And hugging you because you’re still looking like a drowned puppy.

“Oh.” Merlin is all elbows and knees and wet hair, scrunched up under Arthur’s chin, but he relaxes a little. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Arthur runs a hand over his back. “Want to talk about it?”

Merlin hums. “Not really.”

Arthur bites back a curse and takes his lip between his teeth. “Can I ask what it was that set it off? So it…doesn’t happen again?”

Something warm flares against his neck. “It’s stupid.”

“You just had a breakdown in my arms, Merlin, it’s not stupid.”

“They can both be stupid.”

“Well, they aren’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“It makes you upset,” Arthur says firmly, “it’s not stupid.”

Merlin is quiet for a few moments. Then: “you can ask.”

Good. “Was it the storm?”

“Not really.”

“Was it the rain?”

“Not really.”

Arthur frowns. Then what could it have been? Merlin had been glaring at the storm like he wanted it to go away.

But he was the one to suggest they make a run for it.

As a matter of fact, he’d been fine up until…

Up until Arthur had moved the bucket.

“…Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Was it the bucket?”

Merlin stiffens. Then he lets out a long sigh and tucks his face deeper into Arthur’s chest. “Yes.”

“…can I ask why?”

“Do you have to?”

Yes. “No, I don’t, I just…” Arthur takes a deep breath. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Merlin, it…you’re upset and I can’t help and I can’t do anything. It hurts.”

He holds Merlin a little tighter.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he confesses in a whisper, “I want to help.”

Merlin shudders in his arms. “Well that’s not fair,” he says hoarsely, “but…thanks.”

And the story comes spilling out of him.

There is a well on the outskirts of Ealdor. It is old, built before Merlin’s mother can remember, and it has one metal bucket on the end of a long, fraying rope. When there is a drought, the bucket has to be lowered further in order to reach the water.

One year, there was a very bad drought. The well was running dry. So the people of the village decided to build a new well closer to the river with a much longer rope. The old well was not used.

Merlin’s job used to be to fetch the water for the animals at the end of the day. So he would walk to the well. One night, he forgot that the old well wasn’t being used.

He found a pack of the village boys around the old well.

They were laughing and pointing at something inside.

Merlin wandered closer to figure out what was going on.

The bucket sat useless outside the well.

There was a boy inside the well.

Merlin couldn’t see him, it was too dark.

The splashing sounds were getting weaker.

The cries were getting quieter.

The other boys laughed at him when he threw his own bucket down and raced for the other one.

One of them grabbed his arm.

“Don’t, or we’ll throw you in too.”

Merlin had to watch.

The boys left when they couldn’t hear the cries anymore.

Merlin threw down the bucket.

The rope wasn’t long enough.

His mother found him the next morning, the metal bucket by his side long forgotten, his hands all but frozen to the old crank, still peering down into the water.

Arthur’s mouth runs dry as Merlin keeps talking. Unbidden, his arms tighten around the man mumbling into his chest.

He couldn’t have known.

He couldn’t have known.

How cruel those boys must have been, how awful it must be for Merlin to keep seeing that, over and over and over…

“I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled whisper when Merlin’s finished. “I’m so sorry.”

Merlin is quiet.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he continues, “it wasn’t, Merlin, it’s—it’s not your fault.”

“The rope wasn’t long enough,” comes the mumble, “I couldn’t save him.”

“Shh, shh, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself for the cruelty of others.” Arthur holds him tighter. “I’m sorry, Merlin, you don’t have to go near the well ever again, I promise, we can get someone else to do it.”

Merlin just curls further into his chest.

“You’re safe, you’re dry, everything’s alright, you’ll be fine—“ Arthur can’t stop blabbering on, trying to reassure the poor man in his arms— “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur too and holds tight. “Don’t have to go near the well?”

“No, no, Merlin, never.”

“Don’t have to use the buckets?”

“No. Only wooden buckets and only when you need to.”

“Don’t have to be wet?”

“You’re dry, I’ll keep you dry.”

“Is there still rope?”

“The ropes are long enough, they’re always long enough.”

“Good,” Merlin mumbles, the exhaustion finally bleeding into his voice, “good…good…”

When they wake up, they’ll have to talk about what else Merlin needs, how to deal with this. Arthur will have to grit his teeth and resist the urge to storm back to Ealdor and teach those boys a lesson. Merlin will curl his fingers into Arthur’s jacket every time they walk past the well.

But for now, Merlin will drift off to sleep in Arthur’s arms, Arthur will hold him, and they’ll stay safe and dry out of the rain where they don’t need a bucket to stop any leaks.

[yunkiwii]

messy room

Pairing: BF!Yunho x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff დ

Warnings: Language, anxiety

Word Count: 1.7K

DISCLAIMER: Please remember that mental disorders need professional treatment and having a s/o isn’t the solution for those problems. Yes, having someone to support you might help a lot but again, not the solution! If you’re in this situation please please try to get some help, and stay safe! ♡

A/N: reposted from my side blog lemonadewritings (which will be deleted)

I do not own this pic, credits to owner.

Summary: basically (y/n) is having an existencial crisis (same lol) because she just finished college and doesn’t know what to do next. Yunho is the amazing bf who showed up and is a cutie. (I don’t know a better way to put this without spoiling the whole thing).

⇘

“It’s the first Monday at home, with nothing to do since college is over. You graduated last friday, but since we're in the middle of a pandemic you couldn't even celebrate it. It was just over.

“Now go find a job” said your mom enthusiastically, who certainly was tired of being your money provider.

But it is not that simple, and you felt powerless just imagining how hard it would be. Even getting the internship to finish your last year was hard as fuck, imagine trying to get a paid job. You tried to get these thoughts out of your head so that you could get some more sleep.

Pointless. The moment you felt your eyes almost shutting another wild thought popped up.

“I can’t go back to my parents’ house. I cannot go back to that shitty hometown of mine. I won’t be able to handle all that stress and fuss about all aspects of my private life. I need to find a job here, and as soon as possible!!”. You let out a loud sigh and scream into your pillow. It was too frustrating, not knowing what to do next. No one prepared you for this. You were way too focused on graduating and never thought about what you would do next, now you have to deal with your existential crisis.

You turn around again in bed and try to sleep a bit more, once again. You don’t even know what time it is but you’re pretty sure you should be up already, assuming by the sunbeams that have been reflecting into your mirror and back to your face for a while now.

You don’t know how much more time you’ve slept until your doorbell started ringing furiously, but you felt like a truck ran over you and did reverse and ran again. You still got up, this time the frustrating feeling of before is gone. Now you just do not feel a thing. It’s like you’re not there but you’re aware of everything, it’s like someone had put you in automatic mode.

You finally got to the door, and the doorbell only stopped when you opened it. A small feeling of warmth ran over your body as soon as you saw that it was Yunho, your boyfriend. You’ve never seen that expression on his face though. It was a mixture of worry and relieve.

“(y/n) are you okay?? Did something happen? It’s already 2 pm and you haven’t texted me back nor answered the phone!” As he says this, with a bit of panic in his voice, he gives you the biggest hug ever. You reluctantly hug him back, resting your forehead in his shoulder.

“My phone must have died during the night.. I-I was sleeping..”, you stutter feeling a bit dizzy and out of yourself.

Yunho pulls away to look at your face and gives you a little smile. He shuts the door and walks with you to your bedroom, his hand on your lower back guiding you and giving the soft feeling of support. You still feel like you’re not there, so you don't even notice the face Yunho makes when he sees the mess your room is. He immediately realises that you are in fact not okay. Hell, he realised it as soon as you opened the door but the state of your bedroom and the fact you were sleeping until now, those were major indicators of an anxiety crisis attacking you.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” the tall boy holds your arm helping you onto the bed again, seeming even taller now, “You wanna talk?”

He sat next to you in your bed and held your hands, giving you a look of comprehension and empathy. You looked at him and in your mind your thoughts started running a 1000 miles per hour and you couldn’t focus on one. But you knew that externally you just looked blank. The panic going on inside your mind didn’t trespass to your skin and you were living it alone. You wanted to tell Yunho but you didn’t know how, so you just shook your head negatively and snuggled next to him.

You both stayed like that for a while. His left arm over your shoulder, your face buried in his chest and his right hand caressing your thigh softly. Yunho knew you well enough to not talk or do anything else until you were ready for it.

The smell of your boyfriend's freshly washed clothes mixed with his calm heartbeat helped you to calm your mind a bit, and a couple of minutes later you finally found the guts and the words to talk.

“I’m not feeling well Yunho.. but.. I.. I.. don’t know how to explain.. and…”, your thoughts started rambling again and you couldn’t finish your sentence.

“It’s okay (y/n)..”, Yunho held you tighter and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, resting his chin over your head while you let a tear slip and roll down to his light blue hoodie, your heart racing.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” you shook your head, still buried in his chest. “So I assume you didn’t take your meds either…?” once again, you don’t look at him, only shook your head no. You notice that he is clearly worried, and you know he is also a bit mad that you didn’t take your medicine. And yet he keeps talking to you in a calm tone, knowing too well that getting angry at you wouldn’t do any good.

He gets up holding your hand and the biggest smile he could pull off, indicating that he wants you to go with him. You groan, not wanting to leave the only place where you can feel comfort even when this big storm his happening inside you.

“Come on, (y/n)! Your room stinks, we need to open a window!” He chuckled and that actually made you smile for a second. Looking up to his adorable puppy eyed face you couldn’t just say no, so you stood up. “And you have to eat!”

Yunho led you all the way to the couch in your living room, way tidier than your bedroom which made you realise that you had been living in a big fat mess the past couple of days. Your boyfriend worked over the weekend and your roommate had moved out last week, leaving you all alone to your thoughts.

In the meantime, you asked Yunho to order pizza from your favourite place, and he made you promise you would take your meds and keep your phone alive for now on. You kissed his cheek as a way of sealing the deal and both of you smiled. Your heart was still racing and your mind a mess, but you decided that you would never want to leave your boyfriend this worried about you again, it wasn’t fair. So, you took your meds, ate pizza with him and fell asleep (again) while watching a random movie that was on at the time.

When you woke up, for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day, you were alone, the TV was pitch black and you had a warm cozy red blanket wrapped around you like a burrito. You felt so comfortable and calm, all your thoughts of before settled down. You were still a bit overwhelmed, but nothing compared to this morning. You concentrated to try and figure out any sound that would give away Yunho’s presence in your apartment. But nothing. All you could hear was the raindrops hitting the window.

It was darker now, and you picked up your phone from the coffee table, now fully charged. You don’t remember putting it there nor charging it, so you assumed Yunho did it for you. The thought of him taking care of you made you blush and your heart skipped a beat, even though you have been dating for almost a year now. He simply had that much power over you, and every time you’re with him you still feel like it’s the first time, falling for him over and over again.

You texted your boyfriend thanking him for everything and apologising for your behaviour. You get embarrassed whenever this happens and you can’t get out of it for yourself. You never wanted to feel dependent on someone else and had always taken care of your problems alone, so having someone else to help you always makes you feel guilty, like you’re a burden to them.

Your phone lit up.

Yunho: YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN!

Yunho: Sorry for yelling at you.

Yunho: I love you (y/n)! I just came to the dorm to pick up some of my stuff. I’ll sleep at your place tonight ;)

Yunho: Oh, and I’ll cook dinner! Don’t do anything until I get there! See you soon babe xx

You smiled like a little kid and a bunch of butterflies battled each other inside you. “I love you, Yunho.”, you texted back.

You felt bad for him doing all this for you and wanted to give something back, so you headed to the kitchen to bake him his favourite dessert. You left the cake cooking in the oven and went to take a shower and clean your bedroom. When you got to your room you couldn’t believe your eyes. Your bed was neatly made with clean sheets, the bowl of old cereals was gone, your books were all organized as well as your desk. The clothes that were all scattered around the room before were also gone. It looked so clean and smelled like vanilla, your favourite scent. You were indeed really lucky.

You were about to call Yunho when you hear the front door open, he must have taken your keys. You ran to him and threw your arms around his neck kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He was caught of guard and stumbled back into the closed door, letting the bags in his hands fall onto the floor. You could feel him smile during the kiss and his hands wrapped around your waist pulling you even closer.

“I don’t deserve you Jeong Yunho.” You say as you pull back to look at the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. Both of you all smiles and giggles.

“Glad to know I have my girl back.”

It still amazes you how the simple presence of one person could make you feel this good, all your worries pushed aside for later.

♡MASTERLIST♡

net: @ateezlovenet

[bakugou-jpg]

Autumn leaves || K. Bokuto

Hello everyone ! Here is another Haikyuu HQ server collab :) Please let me know of you guys can see this, last time o uploaded it it bugged. Anyway hope you guys will enjoy this and here is the link to the masterlist.

September 20

The soft pattering of the raindrops on the window felt like a comforting lullaby that whispered into his ear. It kept him trapped into his slumber, the comforting irregular melody trapping him under its spell.

It wasn't the warmest day of the year, that could surely be said for the man unconsciously nuzzled his face deeper into the covers to get away from the chill that tickled his body. Then again, sleeping without a shirt on and only in a pair boxers wasn't exactly the best pick for a pyjama on a september day.

As he was slowly waking up bit by bit one of his hands slid over matras in search for the source of warmth he'd cuddle up to each morning before waking up, only to find nothing but an empty spot next to him a very light trace of warmth still there.

It was a sunday, so usually it meant that there were no plans for that day but to sleep in and enjoy each other's presence.

Slowly peeking open one eye, Bokuto glanced at the empty spot next to him while grumbling. You were supposed to be there next to him, like usual, but it seemed like you had already gotten out of bed. Not too long ago, for your warmth was still present on the spot you once were.

The blinds were closed, yet if he peeked through the small gap he could see the rain covered window and how the dark clouds overtook the once blue sky making him feel like it was in the late afternoon.

The man inhaled sharply before rolling over onto his back, his arm thrown over his face with the other still in the empty spot next to him before he sighed loudly and stretched his limbs. Bokuto for the love of god could never stretch like a normal person for he always let out this loud groan that sounded like a bear screaming out in pain.

But really, was just your 6 feet tall boyfriend waking up.

Slowly creeping one eye open, Bokuto let his eye get used to the light. Everything was still fuzzy and blurry, he felt like his eyes might of have been glued shut for how heavy and sticky they felt.

A sound coming from the hallway made him poke his head out of the covers to take a look at the door. The footsteps got more silent with every step closer to the door. When they halted, Bokuto could hear the door very softly creak open before catching a glimpse of your (h/c) hair poking through the door followed by your face.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him up, well still drowsy and it was clear that he was still tired and hadn't completely had a grasp on reality yet. "Ah, you're awake already? Weren't you tired from yesterday's practice?"

Bokuto pushed himself up, his hair falling in front of his eyes, and started rubbing his eyes trying to rub the sleepiness out of himself. A very inaudible raspy noise left his throat before a smile made its way onto his face. "Mm, s' yesterday. T' was cold" He said before pulling the big fluffy blankets closer to his body.

A chuckle left your mouth as you walked towards his side of the bed and sat down next to him, your hand settling on his cheek causing him to press his face further into you touch before grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward. Bokuto pressed his lips against your own and hummed softly, hand cupping your face lovingly and the other one snaking its way down to your thigh.

Kissing him was like taking the first bite out of a warm freshly made campfire s'more. The extremely sweet aroma immediately overwhelming your tastebuds and making you giddy and excited for the next bite to come. Yet, after a second or two the warm comforting feeling of the warm marshmallow warming up the inside of your warmth takes over and you can't help but melt into its touch sinking deeper and deeper into the addicting sweet warm taste.

With a sigh of content, Bokuto parts his way from you and looks into your eyes with a big grin on his face. Before you even get the chance to react, he already dipped down to place a quick peck on your lips to top of the kiss he had just given you before.

“Happy birthday, my love"

You whispered, cradling his face in your hands with your cheeks still warm from the aftermath of the kiss. Humming softly when Bokuto wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to cuddle you closely, you pressed your nose into his neck and left some feathery light kisses on it.

You earned a chuckle from the man that currently had you trapped into his arms and squealed when he quickly threw you next to him on the bed and hovered over you, attacking your face with smooches while his hands were digging into your sides and armpits. The laughter coming from you had his heart melting and it didn't take long before he connected his lips with yours again this time the kiss lasting a little less longer than the one before.

For a few seconds it was just Bokuto staring down at you with eyes in awe. I mean yes, he currently was sitting on top of you with you trapped between his legs and your hair a mess due the fact you had been trashing around to get free from his hold but god you were so fucking beautiful and he loved you so fucking much.

"Kotarou get off! Your ass is crushing meee I can't feel my legs" You whined with a giggle escaping your mouth that you were trying oh so hard to hide. "Your breakfast will get cold and I'm not making you a new one."

Once again Bokuto laughed but finally gave in at the mention of you having made breakfast for him. He climbed off of you and held out his hand for you to hoist you off the mattress with a quick tug on your arm he had you up on your feet with an arm slung around your shoulder. He swayed a bit at the beginning, for having gotten up too quickly for his own good and his head felt very light.

The wooden floor was cold especially after just having get out if bed and not having any clothes on but for a pair of boxers. Goosebumps rose on his skin and the man could be seen visibly cringing at the feeling of the new temperature hitting him. He would do nothing rather than stay in bed all day long, but it seemed like you weren't gonna let him stray from your side any time soon today. Especially with how you were excitingly guiding him towards the living room and showing off the big birthday breakfast you made for him that included all his favorite even from some of the countries he had visited.

The fact you had been able to remember warmed his heart, almost radiating enough heat to warm him but but not quite yet for he was still slightly shivering from the cold.

"It tastes wonderful, babe! S'good!" He said with his mouth stuffed with the contents of the plate. You loved Bokuto, you really did, but his eating habit were,,special. A small trial of grease from the bacon glistening underneath the kitchen lamp currently running down his chin and all the crumbs sticking to that said trial of grease made you cringe at the sight of it.

The fact he didn't even bother to wipe it off was..

Grabbing a napkin from the napkin holder that was placed on top of the kitchen counter, you crumbled it up before stepping towards Bokuto and turning his face your way. "I swear sometimes i feel like a mom having to take care of you, Kou your whole face is covered babe!" You laughed, wiping away the food stains on his face only to be wrapped up in a pair of strong arms immediately.

“That's cause i know you'll always be there to take care of me, even if you act like my mom." He said with a grin, eyes still half closed. It seemed like that man probably hadn't had enough sleep yet, after all you do recall him saying yesterday's practice was kinda intense and the fact he went out drinking with the boys afterwards wasn't necessarily s good addition to that.

Putting the napkin down, you took his face in your hands and squishes his cheeks together, just slightly. "Tell me the truth Kou, how tired are you my love?" You whispered, softly running your thumbs underneath his eyes to calm him down.

Even though his hair was already flat from yesterday's shower, you could easily see the man deflate at your question. Why exactly this had triggered his emo mode, you didn't know but atleast you knew what to do and say if it got bad.

The pout on his face and his eyes getting a little glassy made you frown yourself.

"I'm sorry for being such a useless boyfriend..you probably had all these things planned for today but i'm just a tired piece of no good. You should probably go out yourself and leave me be.." Bokuto said while pressing his face into your chest, the arms that were wrapped around your body getting tighter.

When Bokuto was tired, he'd always seem to go into his emo mode a little faster than usual. No matter how big or small the reason he'd always find atleast something to sulk about, but only if he was really tired and his emotions were spilling out of the grasp he had on his brain.

Smiling softly, you tangled your hand into his hair and used your other one to softly run over his back. "Today is your day Bokuto, its okay if you're tired. To be quite honest with you, i'm still a bit sleepy myself and could also use two hours of more sleep so..what if we got back into bed, took a long nap and afterwards we'll watch a movie on the couch with blankets and cake and tonight we'll take a warm bath together hm? Does that sound nice, Kou?" You whispered in his ear, your fingers gently running over his ear shell before you pressed a soft kiss on his temple.

“I love you”

Giggling while you grab his now empty plate and glass to put them in the dishwasher you smiled. “I know you do, i love you too very much Kou. I’m very glad to have been blessed with meeting you and loving you and be loved by you, so thank you for all these years and may there be many more to come.” You said while walking towards him, wrapping your arm around his arm and planting a soft kiss on his lips.

The way Bokuto’s face lit up almost made you believe his hair was about to go straight up by itself. It was the smile he gave you whenever he scored a point in volleyball with his very first instinct being looking for you sitting in the bleachers. The smile he gave you whenever you greeted him at the airport when you came to pick him up and he spotted you among the crowd holding a “welcome home” sign in whatever language of the country he traveled to. The smile when he first got to hold your hand,

The smile whenever he realized just how in love he was with you and how badly he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and only you by his side.

So holding you close in bed, with you nuzzled into his chest with his arm wrapped around you securely nose pressed into the top of your head and legs entangled, Bokuto wish he could be like this for the rest of his life. The two of you had never talked about marriage, but thinking about him being able to call himself your husband.. sounded like a sweet honey dripping down his ears.

“You okay? Thought you wanted to sleep?” You mumbled, very close to falling asleep yourself.

Bokuto smiled softly and hummed, pressing your head back down his chest.

“Never been better”

[emospritelet]

Desperation - chapter 13

22: “I just don’t know what to do”

Apparently all I can write at the moment are short fluffy chapters *shrug emoji*

[AO3]

x

Gold seemed to improve markedly over the next few days, although he still coughed at times and seemed to tire in the evenings. Belle soon got used to meeting him each morning in the kitchen, where he would have a pot of tea brewing as he kneaded dough or mixed pancake batter. He had offered to trade places with her and give her his bed, but she refused; the couch was very comfortable, and she didn’t feel right making him sleep there when he was used to his own bed.

Now that he was feeling better, Gold never seemed to be still for long. He was always cooking or cleaning, moving quickly around the small house to keep it clean and neat and free of clutter. Belle helped, folding laundry and offering to wash dishes after dinner while he mopped the floor.

“You guys make a good team,” said Bae, from the table, eating a banana. Gold eyed him.

“Having Belle here doesn’t mean you get out of chores, you know,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Belle hastily. “I’d rather keep busy.”

“I just meant having Belle here is a good thing,” said Bae. “I couldn’t have looked after you when you were sick. Not like she could. I can’t work the stove, so I couldn’t bake you carrot cake like she can.”

“You helped with that,” Belle reminded him. “I couldn’t have done it without you. We’re like a sugar-loaded tag-team.”

Bae giggled, and Gold sent Belle a grin, his eyes twinkling.

“I just meant I can’t take care of you on my own, Papa,” Bae went on. “I just don’t know what to do. Don’t get sick again until I’m maybe - twelve - or something.”

Gold chuckled, working the mop in between the chair legs.

“I’ll try not to.”

“Or tell Belle she can stay with us,” added Bae, and Gold’s eyes flicked across at Belle.

“I’m sure Belle’s looking forward to getting back to her own place and having a bit of peace,” he remarked.

“But I want her to meet the kittens!” said Bae. “How will they get to know her if she doesn’t come over?”

“Oh, of course I’ll come over!” Belle assured him. “Have you chosen names for the kittens yet?”

Bae wrinkled his nose.

“No. I think I want to hold them first, see what they feel like.”

“That makes sense.”

“We can make arrangements to pick them up from Mrs Nolan just as soon as lockdown ends,” said Gold, shoving the mop back into its bucket of water and swirling it around. “Speaking of, you’d better make sure you’re ready for class tomorrow. No mad panic at the last minute because you can’t find your books, okay?”

“We’re starting a project on dinosaurs!” announced Bae, and slipped from the table, putting his banana skin in the trash and hurrying upstairs with thundering feet.

x

The following morning Belle woke a little later than usual, and found Bae at the kitchen table furiously scribbling in advance of his first class of the day. She gave him some help where she could, although he turned out to be far better at identifying dinosaur species than she was. She listened attentively as he told her of the asteroid that had fallen, and the chaos that had followed. The reptile species that had disappeared, allowing mammals to thrive.

As Bae was finishing up, Belle went to put on the kettle for some tea. She wasn’t especially hungry, so she wandered out to the rear garden, where she found Gold on his knees in the vegetable patch, pulling out weeds with quick, practised tugs. He glanced up as she approached, shaking his hair back.

“Decided to work in the garden today, huh?” she observed, and he shrugged, glancing around. 

“If we want fresh vegetables this summer, I really need to keep this place tidy,” he said. “You and Bae were doing a good job with it, though, Far less to do than I expected.”

“He had to show me which plants were weeds,” confessed Belle. “I’d probably have pulled up all the onions, left to myself.”

Gold grinned.

“Yeah, it can take a little getting used to, but you learn to recognise what should be there and what should go,” he said, sitting back on his heels and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Where’s Bae? I thought I heard the two of you talking.”

“We were doing the homework he should have done last night,” said Belle, in a dry tone, and Gold shook his head with a grin.

“If he thinks he can pull the wool over Mary Margaret’s eyes, he’s mistaken,” he said. “She’ll know if he’s half-arsed the thing.”

“I gave him a hand,” she said. “I think he’ll pass muster, he seems to know his stuff. He’s really looking forward to the dinosaur project.”

“Good.” He tugged at some more weeds, plucking them out and tossing them aside. “I didn’t want to disturb you this morning. You looked to be very comfortable on the couch when I put my head around the door. I can make us some tea as soon as I’m done here.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it,” she said. “Can’t believe I slept in. If seven a.m. is sleeping in. I guess it is now. You must have been up with the dawn.”

“I’ve always been an early riser,” he said. “I like the early mornings. It’s quiet. Contemplative. At least until Bae gets up.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said. “I kind of like it in winter, when it’s still dark and maybe it’s raining, and you sit with a cup of tea waiting for the sun to rise, and it feels like you’re the only one who’s awake.”

“Little chance of that with an eight-year-old, but I know what you mean.”

“Oh, wait until he’s a teenager,” she said, waving a hand. “You won’t be able to get him out of bed then.”

Gold chuckled.

“I suspect you’re right about that,” he said. “Do you run your library classes for teenagers, too?”

“All ages,” she said. “Book clubs, study sessions, research… I’m looking forward to getting started when I can open the place up again.”

“Maybe I’ll get a library card,” he said. “Join one of your book clubs.”

“You’d be very welcome,” she said, and he smiled, turning back to the weeds. 

“I’d better get on with this, give Bae some breakfast before school starts,” he said. “I want to start getting those beans in today.”

Belle got on her knees beside him, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“It’ll go quicker with two,” she suggested, and he gave her a wide, warm grin.

x

Gold cooked that evening, a hearty stew of spicy sausage with lentils, tomatoes and onions, served up with mounds of fluffy mashed potato and steamed kale slick with butter. It was hot and savoury, but Belle found to her dismay that she had lost her appetite. Her head was throbbing a little, a dull, insistent pounding that made her feel a little nauseous, and she pushed a piece of sausage around her plate, watching the path it cut through the thick, russet-coloured liquid.

“Are you alright?”

Gold’s voice made her look up, meeting brown eyes filled with concern. She smiled.

“Not feeling all that great,” she admitted. “Maybe all those early starts are catching up with me.”

He eyed her for a moment, and nodded.

“Go and rest,” he said. “Bae and I will clean up, and I’ll bring you some tea later. Go on, lie down and take a nap.”

“Actually that sounds like a good idea.” Belle put down her fork, pushing back from the table. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“I hope you’re not sick,” said Bae worriedly, and she smiled, patting his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just tired. I’ll take a nap and be right as rain.”

She pushed up from the table, heading to the door on legs that wobbled a little and trying to shove away the fearful thoughts that were insisting that she was next, that she was sick. She squared her jaw, grasping the handle of the lounge door and pushing it open and heading for her bed on the couch. Rum and Bae had recovered. They were fine. She would be, too.

x

Something was clicking.

Belle was warm and comfortable, eyes closed and the now-familiar scents of wool and orange oil tickling her nose. The clicking noise was still there, a pattering sound which she had first mistaken for raindrops. She opened her eyes, to find the room gently bathed in the golden glow of the corner lamps, the curtains drawn against the night, and Gold in the squashy armchair across from her, knitting.

She watched, fascinated, as his nimble fingers wielded the needles, catching and winding wool to make the stitches, a long length of deep blue forming between his legs. He was concentrating on his task, and she let her eyes roam a little, following the line of his nose and sweeping along his cheekbones to where his hair was turning silver above his slightly pointed ears. Light made shadows in the collar of his shirt, and where his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his tanned forearms slender and sinewy.

“How are you feeling?”

His voice, though quiet, still made her start, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his.

“Uh…” How was she feeling? “Okay, I guess.”

Gold began counting his stitches with quick flicks of a thumbnail.

“Coughing?” he asked. “Any tightness in your chest?”

“No.” Belle pushed upright, swinging her legs around and letting the blanket drop as she ran her hands over her face. “I feel okay.”

“Headaches?”

“I had one earlier,” she admitted. “It seems to have gone. What time is it?”

“Almost nine-thirty,” he said. “I was going to make some tea.”

“Yes please.” She yawned. “Can’t believe I slept all that time.”

“Hmm.” He put down his knitting and sat forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees and giving her a firm look. “I want you to listen to me, okay? It’s highly possible that you’re about to become as sick as Bae and I have been. So I want you to take my bed tonight.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that…”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “You were kind enough to come here and take care of us, and I made you sick. I feel - I feel just awful about it, Belle, really.”

“I feel okay now!”

“But you might not tomorrow,” he said quietly, and his eyebrows raised upward, a desperate, pleading expression. “It’s the least I can do. Please, Belle. I put clean sheets on. It’s all ready for you.”

She sighed, giving him a weary, if fond look.

“You sure you’re ready to sleep on the couch?” she said, and he shrugged, a faint grin on his face. 

“It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Shaking her head in pretended exasperation, Belle pushed to her feet. She still felt a little unsteady, but perhaps more sleep was all she needed. There was no sign of any coughing, and she didn’t have a fever. 

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll have some tea, and I’ll sleep in your bed. But only to make you feel better, okay? And if I wake up tomorrow and I’m not sick, you get your bed back.”

Gold’s grin widened.

“Deal.”

[floraisann]

eighteen

➣ ateez 9th member au

➣ warnings: a couple of curse words because jinju + yeosang = chaos

➣ genre: honestly idk since yongju starts all in His Feels™  then because ateez it gradually dissolves into chaos sooooo maybe angstxcrack??? 🤠

➣ word count: 2,317 words (how did i even accomplish this 😳)

➣ summary: it’s yongju’s birthday!! though the question is... who’s gonna tell the others?

➣ main masterlist

➣ yongju’s masterlist 🐉

➣ author’s note: i’m aware that it’s approaching noon on the 29th in korea as i’m posting this, but where i am, it’s still the 28th, meaning it’s still a valid time to post this. so anyways, happy birthday to my firstborn mr. lim yongju 🥺😭 he is my BABIE and i can’t wait until i can actually develop his character further sdkfnvsijn

❅♩♬♩❅――

“I'm tired of the city, scream if you're with me If I'm gonna die, let's die somewhere pretty, ah”

It wasn’t that Yongju’s mindless singing was a rare, unwelcome occurrence in the dorms— in fact, the ATEEZ members had grown so accustomed to the sound of his voice that the halls felt empty in the few hours where both Jongho and their new maknae were silent. Rather the thing that was making the members uncomfortable was the lyrics leaving their youngest’s lips as well as his tone.

Homesickness. The cold, empty feeling in your chest as you long for a home that is no longer yours. That’s what it was. That’s what Yongju was feeling, singing as to distract from the sentiment.

A sigh leaves Yongju’s lips as he pauses the track halfway through the first verse, the raindrops against the window somehow only working to magnify the desolate misery in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the first birthday he’d spent away from his family (SM hadn’t exactly allowed him to travel back for the special occasion in those thirty months spent hoping for debut with his SMRookies friends), and of course, his relatives had all sent him countless birthday wishes earlier on in the day, but it was still the first birthday he’d spent completely away from any family.

Lim Jinju. His annoying twin sister who, as the title implied, shared birthdays with him. Every year prior to the present one, even if they couldn’t celebrate with their families, at least they had each other. Perhaps her absence was just what was making him feel so miserable. Yongju couldn’t call himself outgoing by any means— often disappearing from others’ eyes hours at a time in order to recharge his rapidly depleting social battery— but it was always in the presence of such… chaotic figures that he felt able to let go.

“Do the members even know my birthday…?” He whispers, his words disappearing within the confines of the dark, empty dorm room. Wooyoung and Yeosang along with several more of the members had left for the company building to get some additional practice hours in to prepare for some upcoming schedules. The only members that stayed with him at the dorms were Seonghwa and Jongho, both of whom were unfortunately injured.

Tired, Yongju let himself flop onto his side, the headboard loudly clicking against the wall before rocking to a stop. “What am I so tired for…?” He mumbles to himself, squinting at the sudden brightness of his phone as he unlocks it. “I haven’t even done anything today.” His thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button for a few seconds as he considers calling home. The thought soon leaves him once more as he groans, shifting onto his back.

“Ah, my head hurts.”

Sleep quickly finds the young boy, its grip firm against him as he’s forced to succumb to his drowsiness. It’s restless, but still, it’s much needed. For the first time in days, Yongju can stop thinking.

♩♪♫♬⇝

“I think he might like the vanilla cake.” Hongjoong softly mutters to San, who stands hunched over, carefully inspecting the contents of the store’s bakery counter to find the perfect treat for their later celebration.

San gently shakes his head, not tearing his eyes from the iced treats as he replies to his elder in a semi-hushed voice. “Vanilla? No that’s too basic even if he is kinda plain. I vote chocolate.”

“Vanilla is basic and chocolate isn’t?” Wooyoung scoffs. “Chocolate is probably the most basic cake flavor to ever come into existence.”

“Everyone shut up, let’s get him carrot cake.”

The members all turn to Mingi, incredulous looks on their faces as they question his words.

Wooyoung is the first to explode. “You absolute HEATHEN do you want him to think we hate him?”

“I was just making a suggestion!—”

“—Wait guys!” Yeosang’s call quickly breaks the chaos as his bandmates turn, not wanting to speak over him. “I have—” He stops himself to laugh into his sweater-covered palm. “—Guys, I got Jinju’s number. Should I ask what kind of cake he’d want?”

The expressions on his members’ faces quickly shift from incredulous to exasperated and Yeosang finds that he can only laugh, giggling as he scrolls to his phone contacts to find ‘Lim Jinju’

“Yeosang,” Yunho finally begins. “You’re telling me that this whole time we were arguing, including the entire car ride to this place—” He stops, closing his eyes as he presses his fingers against his temples. “You had contact with Jinju?”

The accused blonde simply flashes a toothy grin as he extends his arm to show off the newly added contact in his phone. “Okay—” He quickly retracts, looking down at the said contact. “I’m being completely honest here— I actually forgot I had her contact since I just got it last night and entirely by chance too!”

Wooyoung blinks. “Yeosang, what you mean, sir?”

Grinning, Yeosang quickly locks his phone, clapping his hand over the screen as he launches into his story. “Okay! So you know how Yongju always falls asleep while on his phone, right? Yeah! So last night after I showered, I came back to the room and he was asleep, probably on accident too, because the episode of ‘Free!’ he was watching was only half finished.”

“Where are you going with this?” San interjects, Hongjoong quickly shushing him.

“Okay, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, when I was walking past him, I noticed his phone was on like, maybe two percent battery? So being a good roommate, I decided to charge it for him. So when I grabbed his phone, I had the sudden realization that since it was unlocked, the options available to me were endless! So in the end, I both charged his phone and saved Jinju’s number to my contacts for safekeeping.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at ending stories?” Wooyoung flatly questions. Yeosang is quick to glare through his blonde locks, eliciting a few laughs from the other members.

“Well either way, that safekeeping purpose ended up being fulfilled much earlier than expected, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be calling Miss Lim Jinju!”

Before anyone can react, Yeosang’s phone is unlocked, and the familiar ‘calling’ chime rings in their ears.

“Put her on speaker!” Hongjoong instructs, and Yeosang is quick to comply.

“Hello?” Jinju’s strong and clear voice reverberates around them after the third ring, and there’s a momentary bout of chaos as all six men present attempt to greet her at the same time.

“Happy birthday, Jinju!” Wooyoung hollers directly into the speaker.

“What are you all so loud for?” She whines. “I swear you just gave me hearing loss— anyways, I hope I’m not the first twin you’re screaming at because last time I checked, the other June twenty-eight born lad literally lives with you.”

“Well, that’s kinda why we called, you June twenty-eight born lass, you know?” Yunho weakly sings into the speaker, causing a few odd glances from the shop’s workers.

“What could you— Oh!” Yeosang flinches, pushing the phone further away from his face as Jinju yells. “Wait I know exactly why you called! Okay, so be very mindful of Yongju’s taste buds because they’re kinda fucked, and he hates chocolate cake.”

“See! I told you!” Mingi hollers, Wooyoung being quick to slap him across the back of his head as he quips a fast, “You didn’t tell us shit, mr. carrot cake!” back.

“Stop fighting!” Hongjoong scolds, lightly punching Mingi on the shoulder. “Anyways, Jinju, if he doesn’t like chocolate, what should we buy him?”

There’s a brief silence as the twin contemplates her answer, the six members present leaning close to the phone as they make their own guesses as to what Yongju would like. “I’m pretty sure the last time we had cake he really liked the red velvet.”

The members immediately disperse, different degrees of self-disappointment on their faces, save Yeosang, who had begun to softly sing the chorus of ‘Red Flavor’ by Red Velvet.

“Why is it that no one guessed red velvet, yet one of us idiots managed to come up with the idea that Yongju would want carrot cake?” Wooyoung finally asks.

“It’s because we’re all clowns,” San starts, turning away as Hongjoong goes to purchase the small red velvet cake. “And Yongju just so happens to be the circus director.”

❅♩♬♩❅――

“Yongju, wake up!” The boy in question blinks awake, disoriented, as Seonghwa gently shakes him conscious. “Sorry we couldn’t let you keep sleeping, but the managers want you, Jongho, and me over to the company for some last minute evaluation… thing,” He explains.

Yongju sleepily yawns into his hand, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he asks, “What time is it now?”

“It’s 3pm,” His elder quickly answers. “They want me there earlier so I’m heading off now, but the managers are gonna bring you and Jongho over in an hour or so.” He then smiles, lovingly pinching the youngest on the cheek. “Freshen yourself up before then, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

As Seonghwa leaves, Yongju forces himself into a sitting position, dazed, yet trying his hardest to force himself fully awake. Finally, he kicks his legs over the side of his bed, padding straight over to the bathroom to put on some makeup. He was an idol now. He had to at least try to look alive.

♩♪♫♬⇝

“Guys, hurry up! Jongho and Yongju are gonna be here any minute now!” San whines, rocking on his heels.

Seonghwa immediately stops his work in arranging streamers on the wall to glare at the younger boy, who in response, flashes him a wide grin. “If you’re so concerned about us not finishing in time, you could help, yeah?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m literally injured and I’m doing more than you.”

“I’m the supervisor!” He happily sings. “I’m here to make sure you guys are doing your work the right way!”

“What time is it anyways?” Hongjoong quietly mutters. “How much time do we got until they get here?”

“It is,” Yunho begins in a sing-song voice. “It is exactly 4pm at this moment.”

The boys all turn back to Seonghwa as a small choking noise leaves his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything? Jongho told me he’d get Yongju here by four o’clock sharp!”

“Yeah, and I have some news.” Yeosang announces, glancing down at his phone as he calls all the attention to himself. “Jongho just texted the old group chat saying they’re getting out of the car now.”

“I told you this would happen!” Seonghwa yells, all of the balloons they had purchased for the event in his hand as he runs to place them. “This is why I asked all of you to keep track of the time!”

♩♪♫♬⇝

“Do you know what we’re filming?” Yongju softly asks Jongho as they approach the practice room. “Are we filming a dance practice for ‘On’?”

Jongho lets a puff of air escape his lips as he shrugs at the question. “They probably wouldn’t have brought me or Seonghwa here if that were the case since we didn’t even dance in that stage.”

“Good point,” Yongju comments, nodding. “But is there anything else we could film? There was nothing in the schedule for today either.”

Jongho simply shakes his head once more. “I really don’t have the slightest clue.”

The pair stops as they reach the practice room, and for once Yongju notices the lack of light coming through the semi-transparent door.

“Are you sure this is the right room?” He asks his bandmate, frowning as he steps into the pitch black expanse. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the main practice area this dark…”

“Well, the managers told me—”

He’s cut off as the lights flash on and the other seven members’ faces are exposed.

“Happy birthday, maknae!” Wooyoung screams, his high tone easily slicing its way through the babble of the others as they begin singing him a happy birthday.

He can’t help but take a few steps back, his hands flying to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears of… happiness? surprise?

“Why are you running away?” Jongho asks, his hand still draped across the younger’s shoulder as he pushes him closer to the cake.

He smiles, standing somewhat awkwardly as Yeosang places the cake in his arms and he tries his best not to drop it, eyes lighting up as he notices the cake’s color.

They all applaud, urging him to quickly make a wish so he could blow out the candle and enjoy the treat.

Well, what did he want to wish for?

His life situation had taken a drastic turn in the last nine months. It wasn’t just that his thirty four month trainee period had finally drawn to a close. Finally, Yongju had friends, or rather eight brothers and countless fans who he was beginning to truly feel comfortable enough to be completely himself in front of without fear of judgement. And on top of that, he was able to get this far without giving up anything he loved.

He made it. For the first time in the nine months Yongju had spent with ATEEZ, he could finally feel the full effects of the word ‘success’.

He wants it to last.

The members all happily cheer as he blows out the candle, and he flinches away from San’s aggressive shows of affection. Despite the secondhand embarrassment he should be feeling first and foremost as the eight of them act— well— so wholeheartedly themselves, he’s distracted by the warmth he feels in his stomach as well as a sudden burst of energy as he finds he wants to mess around just as he would with Jinju back home.

Yongju debuted. Yongju had a family. Yongju had success.

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 21 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 6.7k

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

Maya is pouting.

She’s been waiting for tonight for over 48 hours. He’s been busy at the shop and she tells herself it’s probably better because if they spend all their time together, they’re going to fall back into their summer lust without any kind of real foundation for a relationship. 

So busy is good. She’s gotten to start work on another piece -- it’s a little darker, a bleak memory of lying tangled in her sheets in Manhattan unable to sleep because she’s been amped up on Adderall all day. It’s cathartic, though. Artistic release at long last.

She stares out her window in her paint shirt and now signature Daisy Dukes, head cocked, squinting out at the thunderstorm rolling in off the sea. She and Shawn were going to the food truck night in the next town over but the fat raindrops plunking on her weatherproofed deck are telling her to make other plans.

She lifts her phone to text him.

Maya: hi :) mother nature has no mercy. Want to come do movies and food at my place? We can watch the storm come in

Shawn: you mean you don’t want to eat street food in the pouring rain with me? :( 

Maya: you mean you don’t want to come snuggle and watch movies with me?

Shawn: i always want to do my two favorite things with you

Shawn: what’re u thinking for food?

Shawn: i can pick up

Maya: sushi pls! That place on great st. with the funny name? They have that mt. fuji roll

Shawn: mt. fuji, extra gyoza, and the fancy tuna sashimi 

Shawn: dessert?

Maya definitely does not even for a second think about texting him “me.”

Maya: I got bored yesterday and walked down to Russell’s Candy Shoppe on main and got cute vintage penny candy

Shawn: you’re sweet

Shawn: but im gonna need more than penny candy to have a proper dessert

Maya: then by all means grab some mochi while you’re there

Shawn: can i tell you a secret?

Maya: always

Shawn: i’m definitely gonna pick up one of those in-house ice cream cakes from the corner market  

Maya moans a little at reading his text.

Maya: omg bring it on, baby

Shawn: i’ll text u when im on my way, sugar

Maya feels better about their plans now. She thinks she likes these better. A crack of thunder sounds distantly as she climbs the stairs. The power flickers when she’s in the shower rinsing off and her heart throbs hard in her chest. Sometimes it occurs to her how alone she is in this house and it gets to her.

She changes into clingy leggings and a cozy-cute hoodie from the Roxy catalog and by the time she gets back downstairs to light some candles, not too many because she doesn’t want to set “a mood,” it’s absolutely pouring. She hurries to find her garage door opener so she can leave it open for him and he doesn’t have to get drenched walking into the house.

Because that would be just an excuse for him to take his clothes off. Which they don’t need right now.

Shawn manages to stay mostly dry on his venture for food and ice cream cake. He’s got his slicker on and an umbrella in the back, but he’s thankful to see Maya’s garage door open when he pulls into her driveway. 

He parks, shedding his raincoat before getting out of the Jeep. He navigates the food from the backseat, giving himself a free hand to knock on the door with. 

He’s still not sure where they stand on him using her spare keys and letting himself in. He thinks he likes it better this way, for now at least. He likes the anticipation. He thinks it makes their time together that much sweeter. 

Maya has her fingers wrapped around a wide-bowled glass of red and it’s halfway to her lips when she hears him knock. She smiles and puts her glass down next to his, already poured, hurrying on her toes to reach him.

“Hey you,” she murmurs, holding the door open for him to walk through. She takes one of the bags of food he’s hauling in. She expects he’ll want to take off his jacket and shoes but she doesn’t want to wait to kiss him just once before they should probably try to keep their hands and lips mostly to themselves.

She leans in and goes for a peck on his lips but when she gets there, she lingers slightly longer than planned. She missed him. 

He almost drops the sushi when Maya kisses him. He’s not expecting it— they’ve been sticking with kisses on the cheek for greetings. It’s safer that way. 

But then he melts. Maya’s lips linger long enough for him to sigh happily against her mouth. His fingers tighten around the plastic bag handles as they begin to slip, and he only pushes back so he can catch the bottom of the bag with his hand. 

He looks from the sushi to Maya, a bit flustered as he catches his breath. 

“Hi,” he says, a grin pulling across his lips. 

“I, uh,” He chuckles to himself, shakes his head. “I missed you.” 

Maya doesn’t mean to knock him off balance but she’s a little pleased that she did. She smiles, giggling under her breath watching him scrabble to catch the sushi before he drops it. He secures his hand under the bag and smiles down at her. 

“I missed you too. I guess that’s obvious by my pouncing on you when you walked in.”

She’s not really shy about it. She wants him to know she’s been thinking about him and that she wanted him to know that as soon as he got here. He deserves to know how badly she wants him.

Shawn grins, shrugging as he brings the sushi to the kitchen counter. 

“Lucky for you, I like being pounced on,” he coos, untying the plastic knot keeping the bag closed.

She scoops up the bag with the ice cream cake and hurries it to her freezer. Despite the storm, it’s still hot out and she doesn’t want it to melt. The broad, long windows on the side of her house show the storm clouds rolling in, dark and threatening. She’s got plates and wine already set up for them and HBO up on the TV.

She looks over at him while they unpack the sushi. “Did you get a lot done at the shop?”

Maya let’s the freezer door bang shut, then helps him unload the wide variety of sushi he couldn’t help but order. He puts away enough himself, and he knows Maya always eats more sushi than she says she will. 

Shawn hums, lifting a shoulder. “I finished a couple orders, but I still haven’t started on that new bass yet. It’s so fuckin’ delicate. I want to have a day I can dedicate to it.” 

Maya nods. She knows the instrument he means, he told her about it while she was sketching him the other day. It sounds like an intricate job. She understands his desire to be as detail-oriented as possible, it’s a quality they share. She smiles a bit sheepishly.

“I guess I can share you with your shop for another day if you need me to.”

Balance is good. Slow is good. 

She smirks at the insane quantity of sushi he ordered, knowing they’ll probably end up eating it all anyway. She piles some segments from a few different rolls on a plate and points to his wine glass with a wink while strolling barefoot toward her couch to eat.

“That’s for you, hun.”

Shawn looks up at the sound of her voice, sees her pointed finger and follows it to the full glass of wine she poured when he didn’t notice. He smiles and lifts his sushi-filled plate in one hand, reaching for the wine with the other. 

“You know how to treat a guy right, don’t you?” 

He follows her to the couch, toeing off his shoes so her can settle in as comfortably as Maya does. He leans back, kicks his legs up onto the coffee table. 

“So,” he asks through a mouthful of rice, “What are we watching?” 

Shawn plops himself down next to her in a way that says her house feels at least a little like his home, too. She adjusts her position next to him, swinging her legs up to fold beside her, leaning in up against his arm while she drops a sashimi piece in her mouth. She purrs at the taste of the fresh fish.

“I narrowed it down to,” she begins, swallowing her own bite, “‘We’re the Millers’ or ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ Food picker-upper’s choice.”

It was an old tradition of theirs -- whoever brought over food could pick the movie. They almost always agreed on stuff to watch, though.

Like a snake, Shawn unhinges his jaw around a plump piece of sushi, nodding and humming as he considers the options she gives him. He hasn’t seen the former, and he’s seen the later more times than he should probably admit. 

He looks at Maya, watches the way her cheeks bulge as she pops pieces of sushi into her mouth. His lips twitch. She looks like a chipmunk, a little, her nose twitching as she chews. 

Maya glances out the windows when another loud crack sounds closer to the house. The rain pounds harder against the windows.

“Gonna have good waves tomorrow,” she murmurs, handing him the remote, reaching for another bite of sushi.

He takes the remote, deciding he’s in the mood for something new and selects We’re the Millers. Presses play and sips his wine.

“Wanna have a beach day? Or well. Half day? I should go into the shop but I can hang out in the morning.” 

Maya watches Jason Sudeikis start to round up his band of misfits, enjoying the light comedy amidst the raging storm outside. She pops another bite of sushi in her mouth and follows it with a sip of wine.

“I’d love that,” she says, eyeing him from the side, “But if you have to spend the day at the studio, I can deal.”

She smiles supportively despite how badly she wants to take him up on the offer.

Shawn nods as he chews on a piece of tuna. He knows they’re both trying to navigate between wanting to be together all the time and giving each other space. 

But they haven’t gone to the beach together since starting this take-it-slow dating thing, so he thinks a half day wouldn’t be too much. 

“I can spare a half day to have some fun in the sun with you,” he says with a grin, reaching over with his chopsticks to steal a piece of gyoza from her plate, since he forgot to take some for himself. 

Maya smacks at his chopsticks to sabotage him when he steals from her plate but the dumpling is in his mouth before she can protest.

“Rude,” she mumbles, elbowing him teasingly and scooting just a touch closer.

He’s warm and firm and smells a little woody. She doesn’t make a show of snuggling up to him, but she does unfold her legs and cross them next to his noticeably.

Shawn feels Maya shift closer, so he settles back into the couch and angles himself towards her. Luckily, she sits to his left, so he can casually drape his arm along the back of the couch, behind her shoulders, while still pinching sushi between his soy sauce-stained chopsticks. 

Maya snorts a little at the TV and covers her mouth. This movie is so fucking funny -- she forgot how funny. It’s nice just to laugh with him and feel no pressure at all. The storm rages on around them. She absently hopes her studio isn’t leaking from the roof again, but she covered her pieces with dropcloths just in case.

“Jennifer Aniston is so hot,” Maya comments through a mouthful of salmon.

Shawn pauses, mid-pinch. He looks at Maya, watches her stare at Jennifer Aniston. He grins. 

“I’ve always had the worst crush on her. Did I ever tell you that?” 

He thinks he used to pretend not to have celebrity crushes because it made him lame or something. Or because he didn’t want Maya thinking he was a gross jerk, or something. Or probably because he didn’t want to say anything to make Maya think he wasn’t completely gone for her. 

Probably a combo of all three. The reasons feel silly now. 

Maya chuckles and leans into his arm a little, welcoming him to stay close to her. She shakes her head and daubs some wasabi on a firecracker roll for an extra punch. She shrugs.

“No, but it doesn’t shock me. All straight guys are obsessed with her. Understandably.”

Now that she’s thinking about it, she doesn’t really know who his celebrity crushes are. They never used to talk about that stuff, like they were afraid to acknowledge that they’d ever found anyone else attractive.

She angles herself toward him and quirks an eyebrow. “Who else, then? Spill the tea. Or whatever kids say now.”

Shawn’s got a mouthful of tuna and feeling cornered by the question. He chews and swallows and looks down at his plate as his shoulders lift in a small shrug. 

“I dunno,” he laughs. He actually hasn’t thought about a celebrity crush in years. He’s been focused on work, and the only woman he ever thought about was Maya, when he was feeling self-indulgent enough to let himself. 

He chews through a piece of salmon, glancing at her.

“Okay, actually. I do know,” he sighs, shaking his head and looking back to the TV. He smiles. “Amy Adams. Especially as Lois Lane.”

Maya laughs, delighted. “Of course! She’s totally got that wholesome-hot thing going on. That makes a lot of sense for you, actually.”

Maya glances out the window, considering it. She doesn’t, naturally, love the vision of Shawn and Amy Adams but she can see they’d look good together. Of course they would.

She hums low in her throat and bites down on her last piece of sushi, a slice of perfect toro sashimi.

“Amy Adams is gorgeous,” she admits. She’s gorgeous in a very different way than Maya is. She knows that. She thinks given the choice, Shawn would probably still choose Maya. That makes her smile.

“I think my number one celebrity crush is Mila Kunis, which is the most frat-bro answer ever.”

Shawn laughs. Everyone loves Mila Kunis, so he’s not surprised, just like she wasn’t surprised about Aniston. 

He picks up another piece of sushi, swishing it around in the soy sauce on his plate. He shrugs, “Yeah, probably, but the frat-bros aren’t wrong when it comes to her. So it’s okay.” 

He pops the whole piece in his mouth, chewing greedily as he tries not to think about Maya and Mila Kunis making out. He doesn’t need to go there, not if they’re gonna keep this night PG-13.

She knew Shawn would agree about Mila. Every straight man in North America agrees about Mila. She likes that they’re talking about this kind of stuff now and not hiding it away because they’re worried about getting uncomfortable. She doesn’t even mind that they share celebrity crushes. Crushes are fun.

“Can I tell you something, though?” 

She puts her plate back on the coffee table and leans back against the warmth of his arm around the back of her couch.

She smiles up at him. “Always.”

Shawn follows Maya’s lead, lifting his plate from his lap to set it on the table. He wipes his sticky fingers on his napkin and tosses it onto the plates with the rest of their debris. When they’re both settled again, his arm casually on the back of the sofa once more, Shawn finds the words for his admission. 

“I always, like, had celebrity crushes, I guess, but. I don’t know. I never crushed on anyone as hard as I crushed on you. I only really went to that art show in college because I knew you were going to be showing pieces and I wanted to see them, and see if I could catch a glimpse of you, too.” 

He’s never admitted that to her. He always felt weird about it, before. Now it feels silly. He was a boy with a crush, not some creep. Well, he hopes Maya sees it that way, at least. He glances at her, lips pressed together as his heart rattles in a cage. 

What a reckless thing to admit. Oh, well. He wanted her to know. He thinks she deserves the truth. 

Maya doesn’t mean to laugh, exactly. She’s not laughing at him. She’s laughing because she’d never guess that hearing something like this from him now would have her quite so smitten and bashful. It’s 15 years ago, this night he’s talking about. And he makes it sound like it was last week.

“God, I love that. I… thank you for telling me that. That’s…”

She trails off, going very pink and giggly. She’s acting more juvenile now than she did that night she met him when they were both just kids. She remembers how sweet and vulnerable he seemed then, hands in his pockets, gazing up at her pieces that she kind of hated like they were worth a fortune to him.

He doesn’t expect her to laugh. He partly expected her to be weirded out, partly expected her to maybe find it sweet. He didn’t think what he said was very funny, though. 

Shawn raises his brows. 

“You, ah, you’re welcome,” he replies, corner of his lips twitching with the urge to smile, because her laughter is infectious.

Her laughter peters out, and then she looks at him in a way he feels like she hasn’t before. Well, maybe since college. It’s a look that sears him from the inside out, had his breath catching in his throat.

She swallows. It was so long ago. But when she looks up at him now, he looks just the same, sweet and vulnerable as ever, undeterred by being unlucky in love.

She thinks his luck is changing. 

Slowly, carefully so he can stop her if he wants, she tucks a hand around the back of his neck and guides his lips to hers for a deep, perfect kiss.

Shawn goes easily when Maya pulls him close, her lips moulding to his in a way that has his heart hammering. He groans, reaching around to cup her face, tilting her head back to sweeten the kiss. 

Maya’s trying not to think about the fact that this kiss is maybe the longest they’ve shared since they rebooted their relationship. She doesn’t want to get clammy and anxious, she doesn’t want to overthink this. She wants to relax. 

Maya murmurs gently into his mouth when he holds her cheek. She lets her weight settle back, necessitating the need for him to come forward to meet her. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s going to get to keep him like this. She gently swipes her tongue into his mouth, tickling her fingers up the nape of his neck to twist and pluck at the tiny curls there that she’s missed. 

Shawn aches from the tenderness of the kiss, from the way she melts into the couch and coaxes him with her. He leans on to his hip, falling after her, his arm slipping down around her shoulders. 

Her fingers in his hair sends shivers down his spine, and he accepts her tongue eagerly with a gentle hum.

Shawn slides his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers weaving through her dark, silken curls. He breaks the kiss only to dive in again, this time sucking lazily at her lip, though lightly enough to stay away from anything too tempting.

God, he feels so fucking good. 

He purrs into her mouth and it’s gorgeous. It eggs her on. When he parts from her to suck at her lip, she whimpers and pulls her other hand up to his chest to feel him breathe. 

He feels so sturdy and stable. She wants to just hang on him by her fingers in his hair until their limbs fall asleep. She moves her hand up a little higher to massage the back of his neck as he leans over her. 

The thunder remains loud. In fact, if Maya were paying attention, she’d notice it’s the loudest it’s been. But she’s not. She’s consumed by him. 

Shawn doesn’t think they’ve ever kissed like this before. He keeps thinking that lately, that all the kisses they’ve shared in the last couple weeks are different. This is the closest to making out they’ve gotten, and it’s nothing like how they would make out in the beginning of the summer. Or when they were in college. 

She’s tender but eager, pliable but steady. She kisses him like maybe she really could fall in love with him again, and not like she’s just throwing caution to the wind for nostalgia’s sake. She’s making his stomach twist with fucking butterflies. 

She hums into his mouth this time, pulling away just slightly, “This is ok, right? This is fine?”

His lips fall to her jaw when she pulls back without warning. His eyes open, brows raising as he leans away to get a proper look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from his ministrations, but he notes a worried gleam in her eye like she thinks he really might say it’s not okay. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, maybe too eagerly, “Yes. It-- I mean, it’s totally okay with me, if it’s okay with you. Is it? Okay with you? Cause we can do something else. Anything you want.” 

Maya smiles, her eyes drifting shut. She lifts her hand from his chest to cup his cheek and exhales a little chuckle.

“Yeah. I’m-- Yeah. I missed this. I just don’t want to move too fast. I just…”

She pecks her lips to his quickly, as if to tide her over. “I don’t know how fast is too fast and how slow is too slow.”

She swallows and looks up into his beautiful brown eyes. She brushes her nose against his and continues her fingers’ calming motion through his hair.

It feels impossibly cheesy to think, but Shawn’s sure he could look into Maya’s eyes. Especially when she looks at him like that. He’s lost in that look, and in the rhythmic stroking of her fingers in his hair like he loves so much. 

His hand finds her cheek once more. He shakes his head.

“I don’t either, sugar,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across her round, pink cheek, “It’s not— well, this isn’t something I’m used to navigating. But what I do know is, I really, really enjoy kissing you.” 

He smiles, his lips brushing against hers as her does. 

Maya’s lips spark as his skim across hers. She inhales and lets herself have him, just a little more of him. She lifts her hand up higher in his hair and secures it, fingers vined in his curls, wrapping the other arm around his shoulders. 

“Then let’s keep doing that.”

“Yeah, let’s keep--”

Maya’s lips are on Shawn’s before he can finish his eager agreement. She pulls him in with small palms against broad shoulders, has him sinking further until he’s nearly pressed on top of her. 

She’s not sure where to put her hands so she keeps them confined mostly to his neck and shoulders. She gets just a little daring when she seeks out the hot skin just under the collar of his T-shirt with her sneaky fingertips. She feels under control, though. And it’s not even a little boring. 

He behaves himself, keeps an arm curled safely around her shoulders while his hand rests on her hip, high enough to remain innocent. He finds himself sucking on her lip once more, flicking it gently with his tongue before getting it between his teeth. He’s delicate with all of it, less insistent or voraciously desperate than he was only a few weeks ago. 

He finds, really, that he enjoys this much better. This is how they should’ve been kissing all along. 

Maya’s fingers find his skin and send a shiver down his spine, have his fingers curling into her hip. She leaves soft, subtle strokes along the base of his neck that shouldn’t send him reeling nearly as much as they are. He groans into her mouth, then moves his hand on her shoulder to the back of her head. He cradles her carefully while he rolls off of his hip, sitting back and pulling Maya with him. 

He goes until he’s lying on the couch, Maya relaxed on top of him as they continue to kiss lazily, as if they’ve suddenly got all the time they never had before.

Maya thinks this feels more like exploration than anything they’ve ever done together, maybe even dating back to when they first got together in college. Even then, everything was frantic, hurried, desperate. This is different.

As he teases her lips and tugs her on top of him when he lies down, Maya starts to wonder if they’ve ever just… made out. I mean, of course they have, but have they ever made out just to make out, and not because they didn’t have time to have sex? If they have, Maya doesn’t remember. Maybe they’ve always been a little bit desperate.

Maya shifts on top of him, getting comfortable. She props herself up on her forearm and lets one of her legs slot between his without getting too suggestive. She pulls up from the depth of the kiss a little, brushing the tip of her nose against his. She pecks little soft kisses on his top lip, then the bottom one, then his nose.

“This is nice,” she whispers, kissing his cheeks next.

Maya eases into him so well. She practically melts on top of him, sighing into his mouth as his hands glide up the length of her back until he reaches her shoulder blades.

Shawn smiles as she drops quick kisses to his lips. He tries to catch her with a kiss of his own, but she moves to his nose, then his cheek. 

He smirks into the soft angle of her jaw, his nose brushing against her cheek as he nods. 

“This is really nice, Lu,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the soft skin just beneath her ear. He trails to her jaw, where he idles, humming at presses kiss after gentle kiss to her skin.

His lips trail off after hers do. They make her smile and shiver a little. She hugs him closer, lifting her fingers through his hair like she used to when he couldn’t fall asleep. She closes her eyes and lets herself wonder if it’ll be like this for them for a while. Or forever.

Maya hears her throat clear. She doesn’t study whether or not asking him this while they’re in this position might be a bit tactless. She just wants to feel like she can always ask him anything.

She pulls up, disconnecting, rather reluctantly, his lips from her smooth jaw. She swallows and cups his cheek, brushing her thumb along the underside of his beautifully defined cheekbone.

He’s distracted with the sweet taste of her skin when she pulls away from him. He blinks his eyes open, smiling slightly as she strokes his cheek.

“I have to ask,” she says, voice wavering, “With Leah… when you married her, did you think it was going to be forever?”

Shawn’s brows raise. That’s not anything he was expecting her to ask. 

He’s not sure how to answer. 

“Ah—“ he wets his lips, looking down between them. He takes a breath in, looks back up at her. “I wanted it to be. I told myself I would make it last. But, uh, I don’t—“ he smiles, closes his eyes and shakes his head, “I don’t think I ever really felt it in my gut.” 

Maya nods thoughtfully and looks down at her fingers brushing against the freckles on his neck. 

“I guess I was hoping you’d say that,” she confesses, “Not because… I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, but if you were happy with her you wouldn’t be here, so…”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She’s getting tangled up. She blinks a few times and starts again. 

“I just mean that everyone always says you just... know. And I’ve never understood it. I don’t think you can understand unless you feel it. If you say you didn’t truly feel like it was forever, I think maybe that gives me some weird hope that the knowing thing, it’s real.”

She hopes it’s ok she’s blabbering about this. She feels like it’s a touchy subject to bring up, not just because of Leah, but because they’re supposed to be taking it slow. 

Shawn can’t control the adoring smile that splits his lips as Maya babbles. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her ramble like this, like she’s nervous to be honest with him. Even when she told him she’d been lying about New York, she was clear and concise. 

He doesn’t mind when she gets flustered. He likes thinking that maybe he makes her as nervous as she makes him. 

The way he smiles at her assures her she wasn’t out of line, she wasn’t even really ruining the mood. He smiles like he knows something she doesn’t. It’s not infuriating the way that it was at work when the guys on her team thought they were smarter than she was. He smiles like he’s been there and he wants to help her through it.

Carefully, Shawn slides his hand from her shoulder blade to the back of her head, fingers curling in her hair. He nudges her nose with his, dropping a soft kiss to her lips as her babbling dies down. 

“The knowing thing is definitely real. I promise.” 

Maya’s breath hitches. As he pulls back to speak, her lips follow his. She bites down on her lower lip to keep herself from muffling his words in her mouth.

He’s not sure he’s allowed to say, Because I know with you, yet. They’re trying to go slow not only physically, but emotionally too. He can’t help his gut, though. She’s always had a hold on his heart in a way no one else has ever managed. He couldn’t change it even if he wanted to. 

(He knows. He tried. It ended in divorce.) 

Her stomach completely flips. On some level, she knew. She knows he loves her. He’s always been the one that was sure. Even now, after everything, he still knows. It makes her want to squeal and throw herself into him and never let him leave, not that he wants to.

As she looks down at him, she feels safe. That much is certain. She doesn’t feel a rush to get to where he is now. She’ll know when she knows. She believes him.

Shawn’s answer seems to placate Maya, who bites her lip and looks down at him like she couldn’t be happier with what he’s said. He tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing gently over the shell.

She dips her head and kisses him again, settling back into his body as the storm starts to pass. The rain is getting lighter, the thunder quieter. Soon it’ll just be silent around them.

Then, she kisses him. It’s firm, but sweet, and feels like she’s trying to tell him she’s gonna love him back one day, just as much as he loves her. He hums into her mouth, his fingertips still toying lightly with her ear and massaging her scalp. 

He lets her kiss him for a few seconds and she thinks maybe he’s going to let her stay there lavishing him with kisses as long as her heart desires. Needless to say, they’d end up being there a while.

His gentleness is so comforting she feels like she could fall asleep just lying here, kissing him. She doesn’t want to.

He pulls away after a moment, not because he wants to, but because now he’s got a question for her, and he’s not sure he’ll find a better time to bring it up. 

He kisses her cheek, then the angle of her jaw. 

“Can I ask you something now?” he murmurs, nosing her temple softly.

He shifts back and it’s probably for the best because her eyelids are fluttering and she’s so lost in him she almost can’t find her way back.

She nods at his prompt, tracing her fingertips along the contours of his throat.

Her fingers find his neck, and Shawn’s eyes fall shut. He lets himself revel in it for a moment, in the way she touches him so lovingly. His heart hammers, stomach twisting, and now he’s all the more nervous to ask his question. 

He takes his time asking and she can’t pretend it doesn’t make her more anxious. It’s good, she has to remind herself, the openness feels hard right now but it’s just because you’re not good at it yet.

He wets his lips, finally blinking to look at her again. 

Shawn smiles, brings his palm to her cheek. 

He swallows, takes a breath. “Is it okay that I know because of you?” 

He figures she already knows. But there’s a difference between an unspoken truth and a spoken one. He wants to be sure she knows what he means. He feels like he’s been transparent with the way he feels about her, too much so in the months before now. But he wants her to know it wasn’t all just nostalgia and longing for a comfort he once knew. 

Maya stares down at him in wonder. He’s saying what he thinks she’s saying. He’s not dancing around it, he’s not being coy, he’s telling her he loves her and he’s going to forever. Her breath comes short in her chest. She closes her eyes and exhales through her nose nice and slow.

“God, yes. That’s… more than ok. That’s amazing.”

Amazing. 

Amazing is his new favorite word. It’s amazing, she thinks, that he’s in love with her. She thinks the way he feels about her is amazing. 

He thinks she’s amazing. 

She kisses him again, just quickly, because she’s not done yammering.

“Because if you know that means I’ll know, too. When… it’s time.”

Now she is being somewhat coy, but she knows he knows what she means.

He smiles into her kiss, too busy thinking about the way she purred when she said amazing. 

As always, however, Maya manages to grab his attention. He lifts his brows, taking a slow, calming breath through his nose. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. 

“You-- ah-- You mean because of me, right? I mean, I guess that’s what you probably mean but I just wanna--, you know, for the, uh, the sake of clarity, eh?” 

Maya’s nose twitches as she tries to tamp down a ridiculous smile. She feels a little more empowered now to skip right past coy. She pecks his lips again, pulling up to press her forehead to his.

“For the sake of clarity,” she begins teasingly, “I mean that if you really know that this is it for you, that you want me forever, then I trust your judgment. And I believe I can get to a place where I know, completely certainly, that this is it for me.”

It’s the best she can do for now. It’s honest. It’s not overreaching or underselling. It’s exactly how she feels. And it feels good to be that candid. 

Shawn swallows, arms dropping to her waist when she gets close, murmuring low. 

She gives him the closest thing to I love you he can think of. Closer than he ever thought he’d get so soon after— well, after screwing up and fighting and rebooting the entire thing. 

But it’s not a total reboot, because there’s history between them. They’re just not so afraid of it, anymore. 

He smiles, then catches her lips in a gentle kiss, because she’s there, and one day she’s gonna be in love with him again. 

Small victories, right?

“Just, take your time, okay? We have so much time. I’m really— I’m looking forward to it. To the journey, or whatever,” his voice rasps and he rolls his eyes at himself at the end, but he means it. 

He thinks, maybe, he’s ready for the real kind of relationship he never was before. 

Maya tips her forehead back against his when he rolls his eyes. She closes hers and strokes the pad of her thumb down his throat.

She doesn’t think she’ll need much time. Falling in love with him again seems a foregone conclusion. She appreciates more than she can say that he’s being so patient with her. It’s one thing to hold off on having sex for a while but to give her the space to come to her own conclusions about their relationship, it takes a lot of strength, maturity and confidence.

So how could she not be in love with him?

The truth is, it’s not about him, the reason she can’t fall into this with him now. Maya has been a shell for 12 years, by choice. She feels like she’s still learning to live again and not just exist. Letting Shawn in all at once will fill the holes in her that she hasn’t spackled yet, but she won’t be whole. She has to spend time with herself, learn to be and love herself again before she can love him the way he deserves to be loved.

After a few pleasantly, comfortably silent moments, Maya tilts her head and drops her lips onto his once more. She sweeps falling hair up behind her ear and leans into it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs sincerely into his mouth.

He kisses the thanks from her lips, humming softly as he cups the back of her head and strokes his fingers lovingly through her hair. He pulls back after a minute, when he feels his stomach growl to remind him of the ice cream cake in the freezer. 

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers finding her chin so he can tilt her head back, “You know how you can really thank me, Lemon?”

He smiles, then sinks his teeth into his lower lip to feign coy innocence as he tilts his head at her, as if his request is something she’ll need convincing to do. 

Maya’s heart reaches up into her throat. She squirms on top of him slightly. His fingers feel almost too hot on her skin. Watching him bite into his lip has her almost panting on top of him.

“What…. Uhm, how?” she stutters.

A slow, cheshire cat grin splits Shawn’s lips. He reaches for the disobedient strand of hair that keeps falling in Maya’s face, tucks it behind her ear while his thumb grazes her jaw. 

“You can help me eat the ice cream cake in the freezer that’s calling my name.” 

He raises his brows, eyes crinkling at the corners as if to ‘Gotchya!’ 

Maya’s face goes a little red and she rolls her eyes, burying her bashful face into his neck while she laughs.

“You’re such an idiot,” she groans, kissing along his throat while she hauls herself up on her hands over him. Reluctantly, she peels off the warmth of his body and helps him off the couch, keeping their fingers tangled on the way to the freezer. She swings his arms around her waist and hobbles them both over.

They sit at her bar with pieces of cake. They talk about nothing and everything. They don’t go back to the couch. She walks him out a couple hours later when they’re both nearly half asleep. She kisses him goodnight. He calls her ‘sugar.’ She’s so happy.

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft​ @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @yslsaint​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove​ @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven​ @desire-to-live​ @jillian-nd​ @shawnwyr​ @curlsofshawn​ @graysonmendes​ @tnhmblive​ @meltingicequeen​

[jarienn972]

Weathering the Storm - Part Two

When I posted Part 1 of this story several weeks ago, I hadn’t planned on spending nearly a month in a depression-induced haze. I finally managed to convince my head that writing could be good therapy and delved back into the angsty lives of fictional characters. 

When we left off, Killian had passed out in pain on Zelena's sofa. In this chapter, I gave a little background into what Emma was up to before jumping back to the present. The forecast is still very stormy... You can catch back up by reading Part 1 here or you can find both chapters on AO3 and FF.net.

"C'mon, kid!" Emma shouted while holding open the front door to the Sheriff's station with her foot as she clung to her pretty much useless umbrella with both hands. She and Henry had gotten caught by the downpour while walking back from the clothing shop several blocks down Main Street from the station. They'd remembered to bring umbrellas with them as heavy rain was forecast but the strong accompanying wind rendered the accessories worthless. Mother and son were both drenched and he hadn't kept up. "Hurry up! Let's get out of this rain and try to dry off."

"I'm coming…," he mumbled as he picked up his pace, hurrying past his mother into the darkened station. Emma followed, waving her hand to magically switch on the squad room lights as she tugged the door closed behind them. "You know, you could have just poofed us over here from the shop so we wouldn't have gotten soaked…" Henry teased.

"Where's the fun in that?" Emma laughed as she closed her wet umbrella and tossed it onto the tile floor to the right of the door, somewhat surprised that Killian hadn't returned from Zelena's place yet.

"Fun?" he scowled as he shook the excess rainwater off his own umbrella before folding it up. He then shed his waterlogged jacket, hanging it on the back of an empty chair to dry out. "Can I go grab a snack from your office?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Dinner will probably be a little late tonight anyway."

"Okay, thanks. You want anything?"

"A cup of coffee to warm my insides," she mused as she shrugged off her saturated crimson leather jacket, draping it on over the back of another unoccupied squad room chair. "And I need to figure out where Killian might be… I can't imagine he's still out at Zelena's place. He left here almost two hours ago."

"That was before this rain started," Henry reminded her. "Maybe he decided to wait out the storm?"

"What? With Zelena? I don't know about that…" Emma leaned over the nearest desk and picked up the handset of the outdated telephone. She pressed a button on the console to open a line but frowned when she heard no dial tone. "Well, phone's out. We really need to work on upgrading the ancient lines around here…. Let's see if I can get a cell signal…" Withdrawing her iPhone from her jeans pocket, she tried Killian's phone first, then Zelena's number, getting a message that both mobile numbers were out of range. "We also clearly need to add another cell tower."

"Is there a way to magically boost the range?" Henry wondered as he returned to the squad room after raiding Emma's snack drawer, crunching a peanut butter granola bar.

"I wish I could. I mean, I suppose I could magically conjure up another cell tower, but there's no guarantee that their phones would even connect to it. It is something that Regina and I do need to discuss. The infrastructure of this town certainly needs some upgrades but magic isn't always the answer. You should know that considering you just spent hours trying on different suits, shirts and shoes when you easily could have had either of your mothers whip up the perfect outfit in a second."

"Point taken," he replied with a shrug. "I suppose that means you aren't going to magically upgrade our router at the house then?"

"Probably not." She shook her head and then chuckled at the sight of the almost sarcastic frown crossing his face. Still grinning, she strolled past her son into the station's break room, pressing the red button atop the coffee maker to get a fresh pot brewing before returning to her office to see if perhaps Killian had left a message on the station's antiquated answering machine. It was yet another on the long list of items in need of replacement. This thing wasn't even digital and no one sold the stupid little cassette tapes anymore. It needed to go to the dumpster as soon as she could find a digital one but for the time being, she'd have to make due. She unfortunately discovered that the machine wasn't flashing any indicator for new messages.

Henry noticed his mother's furrowed brow as she stepped out of her office then paused just outside of the doorframe as a rumble of thunder rattled the windows. Her plan to fetch coffee was momentarily forgotten as she stared blankly at the raindrops pelting the glass.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Henry queried, hoping his blunt question wouldn't be too upsetting.

"A little, I guess," she admitted with a reluctant shrug. "Hopefully, he's somewhere safe or he's at least taking his time driving back to town in these conditions. He's only had his license for a few months and we had a pretty dry summer…"

"If he's still in the car, you could try reaching him on the radio, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose I could...Why didn't I think of that?" she scolded herself as she ducked back into the office and snatched the microphone from one of the station's other ancient relics - the old citizens band radio. Pressing the button on the side of the microphone, she brought it closer to her mouth. "Killian, are you there? Over." She'd taught her husband some basic radio etiquette in the event that they needed to contact other emergency services but they tended to be a bit more casual when using Storybrooke's local bandwidth. She allowed a few seconds of static awaiting a response before repeating the message but each time, there was nothing but crackling coming through the speaker.

"Guess he isn't in the car," Henry stated.

"Doesn't seem like it." She was trying very hard to remain upbeat for Henry's sake, but her gut was telling her something might not be right. Maybe Killian was driving like the old man he was and chose not to respond to the radio while he was concentrating on the road. Maybe Zelena had offered for him to wait out the storm at the farmhouse, at least until the worst had passed. Cell service at that old house was practically nonexistent…

Mother and son both hopped in surprise as a brilliant flash of lighting and the accompanying thunder clap startled them just as the power blinked off.

"Well, so much for the WiFi," Henry grumbled.

"The generator should kick on in a minute with emergency lights," Emma reminded him. "Let me go check on it…" She was actually happy to see a couple of the overhead spotlights immediately flickering on, indicating that the backup generator was functioning as it should. "Well, there you go."

"Still no WiFi though," the teen lamented. "I'm going to go sit in the break room and try texting Violet…"

"That's fine. Let me fill my coffee mug and I'll get out of your way." She picked up the stainless steel travel mug from her desk, absentmindedly filling it to the brim while her mind wandered elsewhere. There was little more she could do until the weather let up. She entertained the thought of poofing herself to Killian's location but she dismissed the idea, fearful that she'd startle her husband too much and likely cause him to wreck the cruiser.

She knew Killian was smart. He was a seasoned mariner who had centuries of experience weathering storms and he wouldn't do anything reckless. Why was she so worried?

**********

As much as she tried not to stare, Zelena's gaze kept drifting over to the injured, unplanned houseguest sleeping on her sofa. He wasn't exactly resting easily, his limbs twitching, trembling and even shivering as he fought through intermittent waves of pain. Her drafty living room wasn't helping matters much either, especially after a particularly fierce gust of wind had nearly blown the tarp from the broken window. The covering had remained intact but it was starting to droop, billowing even more as it was pummeled by the storm. If it failed, it was going to be quite difficult to keep the house warm.

Aside from the wind whistling around the tarp and the crackle of the fire, she was grateful for a brief moment of peace. Robin had finally settled while her mother rocked her, her tearful tantrums fading as she gave in to sleep in mere minutes. Zelena dragged the play yard from the kitchen into the warmer living room and lowered the drowsy toddler into it before she collapsed onto her worn velour upholstered wingback chair. She'd hopefully have about an hour of quiet as her child snoozed, thunderstorm temporarily and blissfully forgotten.

She didn't sit still for long though. She soon found herself needing something to busy herself so she decided it was time to take the stained towels and Jones' mud-caked jeans into the bath to try to soak the blood and muck out of them. She dropped the stopper into the drain of her claw foot tub and turned on the faucet before tossing the towels into the basin.

As she watched the water instantly take on a pinkish tint, she found herself oddly transfixed by the crimson swirls. She'd been no stranger to violent outbursts. She'd never denied that she'd killed many in her quest for vengeance against her sister and anyone else she'd felt had wronged her, but then, she'd always had magic to fix her problems for her. She'd been able to wave away whatever impeded her. Not anymore. Now, for some strange reason, the sight of blood filling her bathtub came as a somber, unexpected reminder of all she'd given up and all of the promises that she'd made to her daughter.

She'd always be wicked but she wasn't going to allow darkness to taint her heart any longer. She'd promised Robin that she'd do the right thing - to just be Zelena Mills, not the Wicked Witch anymore. Staring at the blood staining her tub was proof that she was making small but deliberate strides towards righting many wrongs.

She shook off the sting of the memories before adding Jones' blue jeans to the nearly full bathtub, making sure to remove his wallet from his pocket. She was tempted to take a peek inside to see what the pirate was carrying but she resisted the urge, instead shoving the garment beneath the water's surface. Chunks of dirt and gravel sunk to the bottom as she turned off the tap. It was going to take a lot of scrubbing to get the porcelain tub clean again. Maybe she could convince someone with magic to help her with this mess too?

No matter, she thought to herself as she left everything to soak, turning her attention to the sink so she could wash away the lingering blood stains and mud from her hands. After patting them dry, she returned to the living room, checking on her sleeping daughter while her ears perked up at the sound of an anguished moan. A quick glance over to the sofa revealed that her guest was seemingly regaining consciousness. She noticed that his facial features were contorted in obvious discomfort as he pressed his arm tightly into his wounded side. She didn't witness him actually opening his eyes but she definitely heard him gulp down an uneasy breath before yelping in pain as he made a futile attempt to sit up.

"Easy...," she warned, crossing the room swiftly to press his shoulders back down into the pillow. "You don't want to be doing that just yet…"

A weary, disoriented Killian Jones eyed the blurry face that hovered above him with a mix of confusion and suspicion. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear and for recognition to set in but as he regained his coherency, the tension in his limbs relaxed and he sunk back into the cushions.

"Where am I?" he mumbled, eyes blankly scanning the room in search of familiar surroundings. Only the former witch's face was recognizable but he didn't have the foggiest idea why he was looking at her.

"My place," Zelena replied softly. "You showed up at my door over an hour ago, soaking wet with a bloody hole in your side." She gave the briefest synopsis she could to fill in some of the blanks in his memory.

"Is that what that is?" he grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed. "Hurts like the bloody dickens…"

"I'm sure it does. I don't have much here that I can get you to help with the pain either. Everything I have on hand is definitely geared toward toddlers."

"'Could use a fifth of rum…" Killian grumbled as he tried to shift his weight to a less painful position.

"Not hardly," she scoffed. "Let me see what I can muster up... Maybe some children's ibuprofen?" She hurried out of his sight for a moment, returning to the bathroom and throwing open her medicine cabinet. Inside, amongst cosmetics and assorted personal items, she located the bottle of pinkish liquid she'd last used when Robin was cutting a new tooth a few weeks back. She squinted trying to read the dosage instructions in the dim light. It was all determined by a child's age and weight. "Let's see...math was never really my strongest subject… How many teaspoons would make up an adult dose if it's one teaspoon for children twenty to thirty pounds? Oh, bloody hell - here! Just open up and take a swig..."

She grasped his bottom jaw and eased his mouth open, bringing the bottle to his lips. In too much pain to argue, Killian raised his head enough to swallow the sickeningly sweet medicine as she poured it onto his tongue. It took nearly all of his strength not to retch it right back up.

"What the devil is that awful concoction?!"

"It's called bubble gum. I really haven't the faintest idea what it's supposed to be but Robin seems to tolerate it."

"Bloody poison, that's what it is," he sputtered, cringing and hissing as his movements aggravated his wound. "Damn, that hurts…"

"Sorry. It's the best I can do until I can reach your wife."

"Emma doesn't know?"

"Not yet," she reminded him. "These nasty thunderstorms took out the power and the phones. I'll keep trying though."

"She'll be worried…"

"I'm sure she'll be looking for you if she doesn't hear from us soon. For now, just try to rest, especially while the little one's asleep."

"Thank you…"

Those two words were ones that Zelena still wasn't accustomed to hearing. She almost didn't know how to reply. "You're welcome…," she stammered after a moment of awkward silence that Killian didn't even register. "Rest up now."

[shsl-corn]

My part of

@danganhalloween-exchange for @magioftheseas

Some Kaede/ Naga!Miu, hope you like it.

[[MORE]]

“Apple slices cut into bunnies, just as you requested.” Kirumi Tojo announced, handing off the Tupperware container to Kaede.

Kaede smiled, she hated having to ask Kirumi for favours. But trying to slice these apples herself was proving less than successful given by the bandage on her finger. Give her a piano and some sheet music and she could play any song flawlessly and with the utmost confidence. Give her an apple, a knife and ask her to make bunny apples? Not worth losing a finger and her career over.

“Thank you, Kirumi,” she said, taking the container.

“It is no problem, if you need anything else please don’t hesitate to ask.”

After thanking Kirumi a second time and watching her walk off and disappear into the busy streets, leaving her surrounded by a sea of strangers. Kaede took a moment to look at the container, now just noticing the vast amount of apple slices stuffed into the clear container. Just how many apples did Kirumi end up cutting? She did tend to go overboard whenever it came to food, the times she and Shuichi had tea with her proved so. But she could always tell Kirumi she didn’t need to go to such lengths to-

“Yoink!”

It took Kaede a moment to register that the container of bunny apples was no longer in her hands.

“Huh? What the...”

Luckily the thief didn’t go too far and disappear into the crowded streets. In fact, he was standing in front of her with his usual cheeky grin.

“Oh! What are these?” Kokichi asked, opening up the container. “Bunny apples?”

“Kokichi, those aren’t for you,” she said sternly through gritting teeth.

“Who are these for? You got a boyfriend or girlfriend now?” he gave an overdramatic sad pout. “Does that mean you’re gonna forget all about me?”

Having known Kokichi for a long time, Kaede wasn’t fooled one bit by his act.

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

Kokichi’s pout instantly turned into a big grin. “Yup, it’s definitely a lie!” he announced. “Man, you’re getting good. I might have to think of harder lies.” Kokichi fished an apple slice out of the container and took a big bite of one. “I don’t mind, I loooove a challenge,” he said while crunching the apple in his mouth.

“Can I please have them back?” Kaede requested, arms crossed with a frown plastered on her face.

“Maaaaaybe.” Kokichi teased and popped the remaining bunny apple in his mouth. “Tell me who there for first. You know I’m nosy,” he demanded and fished a second slice out and noisily chewed.

“There for a friend,” Kaede said, managing to quickly snatch the container away from him.

“Really?” Kokichi looked unimpressed. “THAT’S the best lie you can come up with?” he frowned. “I expected better from you, Kaede. Well, whatever. I’m bored, I’m gonna find something fun to do.”

Kaede let out a sigh of relief as she watched Kokichi disappear into the crowd. She returned her sights to the bunny apples, even with a Kokichi snacking on a few there were still more than enough. She took a look at her watch, making sure she wouldn’t be late for her bus.

....

Three buses, a long walk and brief hike in the crisp autumn woods, Kaede stood before the cave. It was dark, without any light to guide the way.

“Miu?” Kaede called, waiting for a response but nothing. She let out an annoyed sigh. “Miu, I bought you something,” she called again, giving the container a shake.

Sure enough, the sound of something stirring in the deepest depths of the cave could be heard. Normally this would scare anyone, but not Kaede. She had done this once a week so far for at least a year, she knew what to expect.

Eventually the sound grew closer and closer, and sure enough, there was Miu. At first glance, she looked like an everyday woman, at least until she was fully out of her cave. She had a pale complexion with a head of flowing blond hair, but once you got a closer look at the upper half of her body, her vibrate blue eyes had black slits for pupils and two pearly white sharp fangs protruded from her upper lip. And that was just the upper half of her body. From below the waist in place of where a pair of legs should have been, was an incredibly long and scaly dark green tail.

She first met Miu last fall, during a costume party with a few of her friends. They decided to take a quick walk with all the sugary energy they had gotten from snacking on the cakes, cookies and other desserts Kirumi made. They stumbled across this cave and first caught sight of Miu. Her friends screamed and ran away, but Kaede did not. Being ever so curious she found herself staring in awe at such a creature and even more so when she learned she was a real naga as opposed to some elaborate decoration or costume.

Miu grinned and immediately swiped the container greedily away from Kaede. “No fucking way! You actually remembered with that pea-sized brain of yours!”

Kaede pouted. “A thank you would be nice.”

Miu wasn’t listening, she was too wrapped up in opening up the container and inspecting an apple slice. “Don’t get how these are supposed to look like bunnies.”

“It’s the way the skin is cut, it’s supposed to look like bunny ears,” she explained.

“Hmmm, I still don’t see it.” Miu shrugged and popped the slice in her mouth. “Meh, real rabbit tastes better too. But I’ll give you points for bringing these to show me.”

“Thanks, I think?” she blinked, guessing that was Miu’s weird little way of thanking her.

“Oh! Did you bring the other thing too?” Miu asked, stuffing another apple slice in her mouth.

“Of course I did.” Kaede reached into her bag and fished out a portable DVD player.

Miu’s eyes sparkled as she slithered closer to her. “Oh thank fuck, I was worried you forgotten!”

“I bring it every time I visit,” Kaede said, setting the DVD player on a tree stump.

It surprised Kaede that a naga of all things liked children’s tv shows, but she wasn’t going to complain. She had a bunch of DVDs from her childhood her parents took to keep her boredom at bay whenever she had to endure a long car drive or flight. Miu was lucky she forgot to get around to donating the portable DVD player and all the movies and cartoons she had along with it.

“Well, hurry up and put it on!” Miu urged, slithering closer to the device eagerly.

“Impatient as always...” Kaede muttered, extending a digit to push the button and turn on the DVD player.

“Hey, what happened to your finger?” Miu asked, gesturing to the tiny little bandage wrapped around her digit.

“Oh, this? I accidentally cut my finger while trying to cut those apples,” she explained. “After that, I figured I should just get someone else to cut them for me.”

“Thought you avoided anything that could hurt your fingers?”

“Well yes, but you said you wanted to see bunny apples so I’ve made an attempt. Luckily it’s just a small cut and should heal up quickly.”

“Wow, you seriously risked chopping off your finger and ruining your whole pianist career for a few cruddy apple slices? Damn, no wonder I’m the smart one!” she crackled.

Kaede huffed, tempted to point out Miu had eaten nearly half of the apples at this point. But she decided against it, for now, she just focused on starting up the film for Miu.

They were halfway through the movie when Kaede felt it. It was a few harmless raindrops, but within seconds it escalated into a heavy downpour.

“Ah, of all the times I don’t check the weather!” Kaede quickly swiped up the portable DVD player and stashed it in her bag, hoping there wasn’t any damage from its brief time out in the rain.

She glanced at the cave, clutching her bag Kaede made a dash to the cave’s entrance... or at least that was the plan.

“Oof!” she grunted as she fell face-first into the wet and grassy ground. Kaede groaned and carefully lifted her face off the ground, just now realizing Miu had part of her tail wrapped around her ankle. “What was that for?!” she demanded and tried to shake her ankle free from Miu’s grasp.

“You can’t in my cave!”

“Why not?”

“Ge-genius inventor reasons... someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

“Miu, it’s down pouring, just let me stay until the rain stops.”

“I-I can’t!” she shook her head.

She lifted Kaede into the air, leaving her dangling by her ankles and making her very thankful she wore pants today.

“Miu!” Kaede hissed.

“I-I gotta go!” she loosen her grip on Kaede, letting her fall to the ground before slithering off into her cave.

Kaede huffed and peeled her face off of the ground yet again. The already present frown on her face grew as she got up, not pleased she was soaking wet at this point.

She stared at the cave’s entrance, no way was she going to sit around and make the journey back home in this weather. Regardless of what Miu said, she was determined to enter the cave. She stood up and made her way over, taking the first step inside. It was dark, so Kaede took out her phone and used it as a light to see her way through the cave’s darkness.

The cave was dark and deep, much deeper than she originally guessed it was. It just made her all the more thankful she charged her phone prior to coming here, she was doubtful a low phone battery was going to be enough to get her in and out of this cave.

After what felt like forever walking deeper into the depths of the cave, a wave of relief washed over Kaede as she caught sight of dim orange light at the end of the tunnel. She shut her phone off and made her way towards the light source.

At the end of the cave’s long and dark tunnel was a fire. The light helped her get a better view of what exactly was at the end.

The end of the tunnel was filled with lots of little knickknacks, some Kaede could easily identify as being stuff she bought Miu from past visits. As well as a workbench that was littered with little tools. And there were a few posters hung on the cave’s wall, another gift Kaede had gotten Miu despite never being in her cave. At least until now...

But out of every item there, the thing that piqued her curiosity the most was something large and covered with a dull grey sheet. Kaede took a step closer, reaching out for it. But for the third time today, she found herself falling face first and for the second time, there was Miu’s green scaly tail wrapped around her ankles.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miu hissed at her.

Kaede gulped nervously, but rather than back down she made the choice to stand her ground.

“It’s down-pouring outside, it’s a long trip here and back. I’m not waiting out in the rain when you have more than enough space in this cave,” she stated firmly.

“B-but...you can’t!” she stuttered, her tail loosening around Kaede’s ankle.

“Why not?”

“You just can’t!”

Kaede huffed and stood up, taking a moment to brush the dirt off herself.

“And what’s this?”

She made her way over to whatever the sheet was keeping hidden. Without any hesitation, she grabbed hold of the cloth.

“No, wait!”

But Miu’s pleas fell on deaf ears, and before the naga had a chance to react or stop Kaede, the pianist yanked the sheet, revealing what it was hiding.

Underneath the sheet was a piano, a very dull pink one with pearly white keys. Kaede could only stare in awe, before taking a moment to blink and look at Miu.

“A piano?”

“Duh, of course, it is!” Miu snarled. “You’re a goddamn pianist, you should know what a piano looks like!”

“That’s not what I mean.” Kaede huff, taking a moment to brush some stray locks of her blond hair out of her face. “What I want to know was this the reason you didn’t want me in your cave?”

Miu’s cheeks flush pink as she glanced away, anxiously twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Yeah... a-all you talk about is the damn piano so I figured...” she cleared her throat and regain her composure. “If you were too damn lazy to bring a piano-“

“Miu, how many times do I have to tell you...” she took a deep breath and pressed her hands against each other before pointing them at Miu. “It’s impossible for me to haul a piano up here!”

“Not with that attitude.” Miu scoffed. “God, are all human so pathetic? If you just bought one I wouldn’t have had to make one myself.”

Kaede rolled her eyes. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Uh... I... well you go on and on about pianos and shit, and well...” Miu shifted in her spot. “And I wanted to hear it, you’re either actually really good or stupidly cocky!”

“If you wanted to hear me play, you could have just asked. I have recordings of my performances.”

“It’s not the same, how do I know it’s not edited to shit or something?” Miu crosses her arms. “Or what if the piano is self-playing?”

Kaede didn’t buy that for a second, having known Miu for so long she knew better than to believe that. It was easy to piece together what her real motive was. Miu simply desired to hear her play in person but was too nervous to ask. It was tempting to call her out, but Kaede felt she would get a better outcome if she played along. Plus Kaede could never say no to playing a song or two.

“Fine, I’ll play and prove it to you,” she spoke, making her way over to the piano. “Do you have a stool?”

“Gee, are all humans lazy too?” Miu huffed. “Here,” she slithered over. “just sit your lazy ass on me.” she gestured to the lower half of her body.

Kaede rolled her eyes but decided to just do as Miu suggested and gently sat on part of her scaly tail and began to play. Considering it was fall and they were still well into October, she settled on playing a few Halloween songs on the piano, ranging from themes to classic horror movies to more upbeat and cheerful Halloween melodies.

She lost track of time, but by the time she played the last song she knew by heart, her fingers were begging for a break. Kaede lifted her gaze from the keys and glanced at Miu, who remained staring in an amazed trance before she eventually snapped out of it.

“That was....” Miu blinked before clearing her throat. “Alright, I guess. I mean, I did make that piano so naturally, it would make you sound amazing!” she boasted.

Kaede let out a loud sigh, of course. She shouldn’t have expected anything less coming from Miu, she knew the truth about how Miu really felt and exactly what to say.

“Well if you don’t like it, I guess I don’t have to play it again.”

“I-I’ve never said that!” she stuttered.

She couldn’t help but laugh, that was Miu for you. “I’ll bring some sheet music next time, would you like that?”

“And those bunny apples?”

Kaede fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course.”

[rosemaidenvixen]

Both Sides of the Sky

II. In which things get worse

Ao3

Claire eyed the dark clouds on the eastern edge of the sky, willing them to hold back until her walk was done and they were all safely back at home. Getting rained on was the last thing she needed today. On the opposite side of the carriage her parents were also looking up at the sky and fretting. 

Ophelia twisted her hands in her lap “Maybe we should turn around…”

“No!” Claire said, much louder than she intended “I mean...there’s no need, we should be finished with our walk well before the rain comes,”

The weather was something beyond anyone’s ability to control, but that didn’t mean Lord Strickler wouldn’t be angry all over again if they had to cancel.

The carriage pulled to a stop at the same trailhead as last week, only this time Lord Strickler and James had arrived first.

Claire and her parents descended the carriage and walked over to greet them, Javier glancing up and wincing not so discreetly. The sky above was not promising. Clouds loomed closer, dark and ominous, thunder rumbling in the distance. 

Lord Strickler���s smile when he addressed them was tense “Thank you again for this opportunity, shall we send these two on their way before the weather makes a turn for the worse?”

Ophelia gave a brusque nod of agreement “That sounds like a lovely idea,”

In no time at all Claire and Jim were propped side by side at the start of the path, their parents prepared to follow and serve as chaperones this time around.

Claire took a deep breath, regardless of what happened and how she felt about all this, she really needed to try this time. 

As the two of them took their first steps down the path, parents following shortly after, Claire willed herself to not look up to see how thick the clouds were and focus on James. 

“So….” she began “It looks as though we’ll get at least one final storm before summer is through,”

James briefly glanced at her without meeting her eyes “Oh, uh ...yes, it does,” 

She waited for him to say more but he didn’t.

Claire bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, it looked as though their roles were reversed this time around. 

So this was what compupance felt like.

As they made their way further down into the woods towards the river, Claire tried to think of another way to try to make conversation with James. She had just been considering asking if he had been to the botanical gardens when she felt a raindrop on her forehead.

Both of them were out here against their wills, James was even more stiff and reserved than he was last week, and now it was starting to rain. 

Lovely, just lovely.

Forcing dismal thoughts aside, Claire tried again “I’ve heard that your father is an explorer, you must have seen some amazing things with him,”

James’s arm squirmed beneath her hand “He never...brings me...on his trips,”

He fell silent, the only sound the dull roar of the river and the increasing patter of raindrops on the ground. 

Biting back a slew of very unladylike words, Claire silently begged the rain to slow or cease. It was to no avail, the sky was getting darker, the rain was getting thicker, and neither showed any sign of easing up in the near future.

It was when Claire glanced back and saw Lord Strickler exchanging hushed whispers with her parents that she made up her mind. If the three of them were considering alternate plans then she and James would hardly be penalized for doing the same.

Claire slowed to a stop on top of an embankment and gave James a weak smile “The weather appears to be taking a turn for the worse, what do you say we forgo the walk and ask our parents if we can do something else?” 

“Oh ...very well,” James pulled his arm away and Claire’s hand fell to her side.

They stood in uncomfortable silence, waiting for their parents to catch up so they could discuss other, drier options for getting acquainted. Claire absentmindedly gazed down the steep hill towards the river, wild and frothing from the storm. The weather may have bought her some time, but she and James were still going to have to make nice at some point today if she wanted Lord Strickler to stay happy. Claire was still trying to think of a way to salvage the situation when she felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

She had only seconds to remember how very old and worn this path, and by extension the embankment, was. 

Old enough to be done in by a heavy storm.

The earth slid out from under her. With a screech Claire grabbed at James’s arm in a frenzied attempt to steady herself, but only succeeded in pulling him down after her. She caught a brief glimpse of their parents charging towards them, expressions desperate, then she was falling.

The world was a whirl of bumps and stones, rain and dirt, all spinning before her too fast to get a grip on, Claire flailed in a futile attempt to gain a handhold, a foothold, anything to stop or slow down.

And then she hit the river.

The blur of chaos was quenched in a crash of dark, icy cold water. In a flash of foresight Claire held in her breath as she went under. If she took in water now she was as good as dead. Instantly the current hooked her and dragged Claire down the river, dashing her against rocks and debris as it went. Claire floundered in the churning water, desperate to right herself, but the pull of the river was too strong, everytime she tried to move one way the river jerked her in another, lashing her with waves sharp as knives, Claire didn’t even know which way was up anymore. 

Her lungs ached, she needed air but couldn’t find it. Despite being piercingly aware that she was surrounded by black water, the pressure was becoming too great. Unable to hold back any longer, Claire sucked in a mouthful of inky water, setting her chest ablaze and causing stars to flare in her vision. 

Claire could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she struggled even more desperately against the raging river. 

she was going to die here

She floundered in the churning water, jerking, twisting, trashing her arms and legs, anything to try and get closer to the surface. But Claire couldn’t see anything, save for muddy water and the burning spots in her eyes, let alone swim in any one direction. Her chest heaved as her body tried to pull in air that simply wasn’t there, lungs filling with even more mud and murk. Claire fought against the river with all her might, but she was growing weaker, vision fading, stark terror being slowly replaced with warm numbness. Despite how hard she struggled Claire was powerless against the uncaring river, mercilessly dragging her further and deeper and--

Something tugged her in a new direction. A bright burst of light, and then Claire could see gray skies above her head and feel cold wind on her cheeks.  

Cool relief washed over her for a brief instant as she realized that she was going to live. 

Then her ribs tightened like a vise. 

Claire pitched to the side, her body constricting against her will, forcing out the river water she’d inhaled and replacing it with needle sharp air, racking her entire frame with massive, powerful spasms. The pressure was so great that it forced her to vomit as well. Ripping out the contents of her belly even as more air tore its way in. Tears trickled down her cheeks, ground glass in her chest and acid on her tongue. Coking and gasping all the while.

As the last of the water was cleared out and the pain slowly started to recede, harsh barks replaced with softer coughs, Claire came back to herself, and the world around her came back into focus. Breath coming in short, sharp pants, Claire raised a soggy sleeve with a trembling hand to wipe the traces of mud and vomit off her face, glancing around to regain her bearings. Dark clouds and tree branches above her head, sand beneath her legs, and water at her feet. 

She was sitting on the river bank, the fine dress she had donned only a few hours previous was now a heavy, wet thing that clung to her skin like a leech, hair pulled from its pins and spun into wild tangles and curls stuck to her neck and forehead, breathing in huge lungfuls of cold, stinging, wonderful air. Somehow miraculously spared a death by drowning.

This was good, Claire was out of the river and out of danger of drowning. But how had she gotten out? Claire eyed the churning black water, gut twisting as she recalled how it had nearly claimed her life moments ago. From the looks of it there was no way the river would have surrendered her willingly, so then how on earth had she--

At twig snapped behind her.

Claire whirled around, heartbeat thrumming in her throat, coming face to face with messy black hair and wide blue eyes. It was James, kneeling in the muck just a foot behind her, looking equally wet and bedraggled.

The memory of grabbing his arm to try and stop her initial fall flickered behind her eyes. That was right, James had fallen in the river with her.

“Are you--” Claire coughed, voice weak and raspy from her near drowning “Are you alright?”

He blinked and remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly caught off guard by the question, before murmuring out a reply “Yes...I am well,” 

For a moment the two of them just sat there staring at each other, soaked to the bone and caked in mud, the only sounds the roaring of the current and the pounding of the rain. Claire slowly turned away from James back to the still raging river. 

Had he...dragged her out? 

It was the only possible explanation, but Claire had barely been able to tell which way was up, much less swim. 

How had James managed not only to keep himself afloat, but pull her to shore as well?

A boom of thunder, far too close for comfort, caused them both to jump and Claire to let out an undignified squeak. Inquiries could come later, for now they had to focus on getting back to civilization. Forcing the multitude of questions she had down, Claire glanced around, noting the thick untamed trees surrounding them. A far cry from the carefully groomed greenery surrounding the town. 

It looked as though the river had carried them quite a ways indeed.

If she remembered right, the river ran past town, through virgin forest, and curved back up to where it met the main road and went beneath the bridge. Claire got to her feet, cold dirty skirt clinging to badly trembling legs. No reason to panic or become hysterical, all they had to do was follow the river out of the forest and up to the main road. And with any luck they would both be back home, warm and dry, before nightfall.

Claire glanced back over to James, he hadn’t moved from his prone position, eyes nervously flickering from side to side. She might not like or even know James, but they were out here together, and she was going to make sure both of them made it back home. 

And seeing how James appeared content to huddle on his knees in the riverbank, it was up to Claire to take charge.

“Ok, here’s what we’re going to do, follow the river until we reach the bridge on the main road, then we should be able to find our parents no problem,” she extended a hand in James’s direction “Can you stand?”

For a moment she wasn’t sure that he heard her, then James slowly lifted up a hand, looking at her uncertainly. Claire reached out and grasped the extended hand, pulling him to his feet. Rain continued to fall around them in sheets, the earth slick and treacherous beneath their feet.  

Well it certainly wasn’t getting any drier out here, time to head out “Let’s go,” Claire turned and headed in the downstream direction, hand still clasped to James’s. 

They slopped through the muddy forest in silence, all of their focus on putting one foot in front of another. They had to go a ways into the trees to find ground to walk on that wasn’t pure mud and slime, but Claire was very careful to always keep the river within sight. These woods ran wild and deep, and if Claire lost their only point of navigation they may never find it again.

How much time passed was impossible to say, the unchanging slate gray sky made discerning the hour impossible. Her soaking, muddy dress weighed on her, making an already unpleasant trek even more miserable. Claire forced herself to ignore these things and concentrate all her energy on continuing to carve a path through the woods, occasionally checking to make sure that her grip on James’s hand was still firm. 

It was when a particularly marshy area of the riverbank forced them deeper into the woods than Claire would have preferred that she noticed it. A dark shape, nestled deep within the trees. She paused to get a better look, squinting into the distance. If she wasn’t mistaken it was a man-made building of some kind. But what was it doing out here in the middle of a virgin forest? 

James came to a stop right beside her “What’s wrong Miss Nuñez?”

Claire kept her eyes locked on the mystery structure in the distance “I think I see some kind of building, we should go check it out,” if there was a building out here that meant people, and people could help them get home.

James followed her gaze, when his eyes found what had grabbed her attention he paled by two shades “I....I don’t think that we should,”

Well then it was a very good thing that Claire didn’t need his permission now wasn’t it “If there’s a building out here then there might be people that can help us. Stay here if you want, but I’m going to investigate,”

With that Claire released James’s hand, turned, and headed off deeper into the woods. She had gone about ten paces when she heard James’s frantic footsteps behind her in pursuit. Ignoring his presence, Claire pressed on, keeping an ear trained on the river. She didn’t have to necessarily see the river to navigate, just be able to hear its roar. In case the mystery building turned out to be nothing. 

Even as she got closer to the shape, it became no more distinct, veiled in rain and leaves. It took longer to reach than Claire anticipated, but at long last she burst through the trees and saw it directly.

It was a massive stone arch, much larger than she originally thought, which would explain why she had seen it from such a distance, standing before her at the center of an almost perfectly circular clearing.

No, not an arch, Claire realized as she stepped closer, a bridge. A towering bridge over nothing and leading nowhere. She approached it, fascinated, running her fingers across the dark stone. Even through the rain Claire could see that this bridge was decades old at the very least, centuries most likely. The land beneath the bridge was perfectly flat all around. Perhaps long ago there had been a river or a stream that this bridge had spanned? But for enough time to have passed to leave no trace of any ancient waterway, this bridge must be truly old indeed, an ancient, pagan thing no doubt.

She ducked underneath the bridge’s arch, letting out a sigh of pleasure at relief from the unrelenting rain. Based on its age the people who had originally built this bridge were long gone, certainly unavailable to help her or James get back to town, but her skin was prickling with excitement at finding such an interesting, unusual thing.

James held back, halfway between the bridge and the tree line, clearly reluctant to step closer, face ashen “Miss Nuñez, we need to leave this place, now,”

Claire rolled her eyes, she’d never figured James for the easily nervous, superstitious type, but here he was, afraid of a lump of stone and mortar just because it was old and crumbly looking “There’s nothing to worry about, it's just an old bridge,” she rapped its underside with her knuckles “Sturdy to,”

James was not reassured by her words “Please...,” he said in a thin, frightened voice.

Were all aristocrats this spineless or was it just James? Well if he wanted to stay out in the rain that was his business, but Claire was going to enjoy her shelter for a little while longer. Ignoring James’s pleading, Claire examined the bridge with her eyes and fingers. It was rough hewn stone from base to tip, covered in moss and pitted with age--

No, not pitted, carved.

Claire leaned in closer and traced the damp etchings, mesmerized. The rock was engraved with the likeness of countless figures. Some of them looked like people, others decidedly did not, many fell somewhere in between. She stepped back out into the rain to get a better look of the bridge as a whole. 

The carvings spanned its entirety, and if Claire wasn’t mistaken, they were all part of a single continuous mural. She placed her hand on the nearest carving, some manner of beast with horns and a tail brandishing a jagged sword, and followed its line of sight with her own eyes.

All the figures on the bridge were brandishing weapons of some kind, be it blades, clubs, or even their own claws. All pointing in the direction of the keystone set in the top of the arch. The keystone itself was bare save for a single carving, a solitary blazing eye, gazing out past the bridge and into the forest beyond.

Claire looked at the baleful eye for a few moments longer before glancing back towards the carving beneath her hand only to freeze. While the figure’s blade was still pointed towards the keystone, its eyes were fixed on her. 

Hadn’t it been looking towards the keystone just a moment ago?

She willed the rapid thumping of her heart to slow. This was ridiculous, she was probably just mistaken about where she had originally seen it looking. And besides, the figure was a picture carved into rock, it wasn’t looking at her, it couldn’t look at anything. 

Claire turned toward the other carvings to assuage her doubts only to have her heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just the one beneath her hand, all the figures etched into the bridge were gazing in her direction, if not directly at her. Despite herself Claire’s hands started to shake. 

She had to be imagining this ...right?

Slowly and with an ever increasing sense of dread, Claire lifted her gaze back up to the keystone. Her blood ran cold as she saw that the eye of the bridge was fixed on her, staring down with all the authority of fate itself.

She knew it hadn’t been like that moments ago, she had just been remarking to herself how the eye seemed to stare off into the forest.

Claire jerked her hand away from the bridge as if it had been burned, a chill crept over her that had nothing to do with the rain. 

It was impossible for a stone eye to move or see. But it had done the former, and Claire could feel in her bones that it was doing the later as well.

Shaking, she slowly backed away. Superstition or not James was right, they should leave, now. Claire forced herself to turn away from the bridge and all its baleful eyes and step towards James, who was still huddled in the clearing midway between the trees and the bridge, ready to join him in heading back to the river and civilization beyond. 

She had only gone three steps in his direction when it hit her.

Claire couldn’t hear the river anymore. 

The bleak realization stopped her in her tracks, heart plummeting like a stone down into the pit of her stomach. This couldn’t be happening, she’d still been able to hear the river when they’d first stepped into the clearing. Or maybe Claire had only been hearing the rain and had convinced herself it was the river.

or maybe she had heard exactly what the bridge wanted her to hear.

Claire whirled back and forth frantically, raking the perimeter of the clearing with her eyes, desperate to find a sign of hers and James’s passing, or a path, or a landmark, or something!

It was no use, the trees ringed the clearing in a seamless circle, a sinister island in a vast green ocean. Leaving no trace of where they’d entered or what direction the river was in.

Claire stepped closer to James, not even bothering to conceal how badly she was trembling, keenly aware that the two of them were the only people around for miles.

Throughout the day Claire had been dropped, waterlogged, and nearly drowned, but it was only now, with the trees pressing in and the bridge’s malevolent eyes on her, that she felt truly afraid.

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guildwars Love Story

This story is dedicated to my wife.

Chapter 1

So many of my comrades had perished at the paws of those savage beasts! He had mused to himself.   "Father, I'm here.  Are you okay?" The old man looked at his son with a somewhat surprised look then handed him the lantern.   "I'm fine.  It's nothin'.  Just help me get these fence posts back in their notches so we can tie 'em off."   Kaleb swung the lantern around searching for one of the fallen fence railings. Once he had located the post both he and his father worked in unison to get them reset. "Have you checked to see if Gerty decided to make a bolt for it?"  Kaleb asked.   His father laughed. "That ole' girl wouldn't move if she were being attacked by an army of ettins.  She's right where she's always been... face firmly planted in the feeding trough." In spite of the misery of the cold rain, both father and son managed to mend the damaged fence well before sunrise.  After their tasked had been completed, they promptly headed towards the back kitchen door. "Not one step further you two." Shirley Grimwald, or "Mamma" Shirley as her husband liked to call her, raised her hand in a gesture for both men to stop.  She pointed towards the floor as a signal to remind them to take off their wet boots and parkas before entering the house.   "Yes ma'am.  I guess the rain chased me in and I lost my head for a bit," the elder Grimwald chuckled.   "It's okay, dear. The next time, I'll chase you out sans overcoat and muddy boots." She smiled in return.

"Once the two of you are dried - I left some fresh towels at the edge of the table right next to the door - you can have some hot coffee and cakes." Mamma Grimwald was slight in build but strong in her faith.  As a devoted follower of the Six, she piously offered prayers whenever a situation demanded them.  With the serving of food came the traditional supplication to their god, Dwayna, for blessings upon their family.   Kaleb tried his best to dry out the locks of his dark shoulder-length hair.  But even with his judicious efforts, his head still looked like a frazzled soppy wet mess.  The chair he sat on felt small and rickety under the weight of his broad, six-foot, four-inch frame.  Being mindful of the damp towel, he discreetly folded it into a compact square then placed it upon his lap.  

"Thank you, boys, for fixing that fence.  It seems every time there's a puff of wind, that thing keeps getting blown down," Shirley said as she poured both men some coffee.   "Are the girls still asleep?  That thunder makes enough racket to wake the dead." Kaleb looked at his father and said with a laugh.  "C'mon, father.  Katie can sleep through a volcano eruption.  And Rachel is probably hiding under the pillow crying like a newborn with her butt stuck in the air." "Liar!" Came a shout from the other side of the door adjoining the kitchen and hallway.  Rachel leaned out from the door frame just enough so her green eyes and auburn hair was visible.

"And miss snoop gets foiled again.  Yer way too predictable, sis.  Now go to bed!" "Why should I?  I can't even sleep and Katie snores like a cave troll." "If the big bad thunderstorm is too much for you, then you can always sleep in my closet." "Oh, just shut up Kal!   I hope you catch pneumonia and die so then I can have the best room in the house." "Rachel Grimwald!  I will hear no further talk like that from you young lady. Since you can't seem sleep during foul weather or be nice to anyone... I guess you'll just have to sleep in our room... on the floor!" Rachel said nothing as Kaleb gave her a wide-eared grin. "Fine! I'm going back to bed... in my room!" Rachel said as she stomped off making every attempt to make her footsteps as loud as possible. Kaleb then turned to his parents and commented.  "Yanno.  I would sure feel sorry for the unlucky soul who has dubious honor of wanting to marry her."

"She's just going through that phase, son.  Girls eventually get over it and blossom into beautiful women," Daniel said while taking an extra sip of his coffee. "Speaking of marriage.  How are things going between you and Trish?  You haven't talked about her much for awhile."  Mrs. Grimwald asked her son.   Kaleb averted his gaze for a moment before responding.  "She's been really busy trying to earn some brownie points with the nobles and such.  We really don't get to see each other that much anymore." "She would make a fine wife for you, son.  I know her family is well connected.  Shoot, if you ever had to serve on a battlefront, I'm sure her folks would find a way of having you stationed in a place that far from any fighting," his mother said with a smile. "Shirley.  That's not how the Seraph operates.  Only the spoiled rich brats get to serve far from the front lines.  Us common folks, on the other hand, aren't as lucky."   The elder Grimwald then looked at his son and asked, "speaking of the Seraph, when are you supposed to report for duty?" "I'm to report in within three days.  According to my commanding officer, I am to be stationed not too far from Claypool." Father Grimwald poured himself another cup of coffee then began arranging the pieces of silverware in a triangle pattern.  

"So, after your stint in the army, what are your plans then?" Kaleb knew where the conversation was going.  "Honestly, I'm not really sure.  Maybe I'll go to Divinity's Reach and join the carnival.  I heard they are always having openings.  I think part of that comes from the fact that some of the performers wind up getting eaten by the ferocious animals they train." "You're like the pot that keeps callin' the kettle black, son.  You are much worse than your sister as far as that smart mouth of yers goes and if I were a woman I would have smacked ya upside the head, silly," Daniel said tersely.   "Then I guess I'm lucky in that there's no woman who's got a witty mouth quite like mine.  Not that I'm thinking too highly of myself or anything, mind you... just stating the obvious, that's all."

His father stood up from the kitchen table then spoke to Kaleb in a passive-aggressive tone.  "Well, sooner or later you will have to face the facts.  As the elder son of this family, the burden will fall to you when the time comes to take over the business.  If I had my way, I would rather you remain here than be sent off to fight in some godsforsaken far off piece of Tyria." "Hey. I'm not keen on dying either, father.  But since the treaty, Kryta is no longer under threat and even your outfit, the Ebonguard, has had to pull back from charr-held lands.  And who knows?  If I'm lucky, I may even get into the hobby of mounting centaur heads in my trophy room,"  Kaleb said with a half-smile. His mother also rose up from the table to give her son a hug.  "Well, I for one am proud that you are serving in the queen's army.  Your father had a distinguished career as a soldier and I have no doubt that you will as well.  Of course I'll be worried sick about you, but at least you are making yourself part of a noble cause." "Ha! Mamma, there's one skill you've taught me that I can utilize while being a soldier - and that is being an excellent cook.  After all, an army moves on its stomach and whenever I'm around I'll make sure my comrades enjoy feasts that are worthy of norn legends." Daniel shook his head.  "War is nothing to get excited over.  Anyway, do you honestly believe this treaty will even hold?  The ink is not even dry yet and our people are already fighting along side those brutes."   "It doesn't matter.  Besides, the chances of me encountering a charr are about as likely as someone being killed by a ghost," Kaleb quipped as he helped his parents clean off the table.  "Speaking of non-human peoples... I still gotta say my farewells to Ulfgar.  That old norn would never let me hear the end of it if I just up and left without saying goodbye." "Dodging the question again, son?  No matter.  Sooner or later you will have to come to a decision on whether or not you want to take over the family business.  I'm getting too old to be lifting things I shouldn't be lifting and managing things I should no longer be managing; at some point that responsibility will have to fall upon someone else.  Namely, my son." His father angled his reply just as he started heading towards the hallway.  

"Love ya, father.  Try not to let the coffee keep you and ma up too long."

Shirley gave her son another hug before heading out of the kitchen and to her bedroom.  As she passed her husband, his father turned back towards Kaleb and commented.  "No worries, son.  Coffee is more like a sedative to me anymore."

"Oh. And one other thing..." Kaleb looked up waiting for his father to finish his response. "I have seen people killed by ghosts back when I fought in Ascalon."

[girlinthepictureframe]

The Briefest Kiss Part 19

“I’m truly disappointed! I thought we were friends, yet this is how you treat me? It’s just not acceptable. I’m considering breaking up with the two of you.”

Miles opened his eyes reluctantly, trying to make sense of that blaring voice that so rudely disturbed his peaceful slumber. Memories of last night slowly made their way back to the forefront of his consciousness. Memories of him and Alex, ceaselessly kissing and never tiring of it. Memories of him agreeing to go on a date with him. Memories of a drunk couple having sex in the pool right in front of them and memories of him and Alex having the time of their lives commentating on every single one of their moves until they had succumbed to laughter and the couple had succumbed to embarrassment.

Somewhere, between more making out and more laughing, they had fallen asleep. Alex was still snoring into Miles’ neck as he opened his eyes, finding the harsh summer sun and Matt Helders staring at him at the same time. “What the hell?”

“That’s what I thought when I realized you two have slept out here. Could have told me. I’d have gladly taken that big bedroom off your hands! I had to share a bathroom with three other people. Two of ‘em can’t stomach some simple vodka shots.”

Miles groaned as he placed his arm across his eyes. “Matt, it’s early. Too early. What do you want?”

“Airport shuttle will be here in ten. Rise and shine, lover boys. Time to say goodbye.” Matt slapped Miles’ shoulder with a chuckle, then walked away.

Another groan. Miles rolled Alex on his back and came to rest on top of him. He gently brushed some the tangled strands of hair from his forehead. “Wake up, babe!”

A sleepy Alex blinked, cursed, and refused to wake up.

Miles placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Alex, come on. Wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, fumbling to slip his hand underneath Miles’ shirt. The contact made him shiver. “Then I’m all yours to fuck. Just five more minutes, please.”

Miles let out a whiny noise and sunk his face into the curve of Alex’s shoulder. “I don’t have time for sex. I don’t even have five more minutes.” He placed a deep kiss to his pulse. “Gotta go now.”

Alex’s eyes flew open. “What? Now? Fuck, that sun is bright!” He closed his eyes again.

Miles agreed with nod. “Gotta change and grab my bag. Airport shuttle will be here any minute. I’ll see you on Tuesday, babe.”

As Miles struggled to climb off the lounger, Alex moved with him, curled his arm around him and when Miles stood in front of the lounger, Alex stood on top of it, grabbing Miles’ head and leaning down to kiss him. His tongue ventured deep into his mouth, taking his sweet time to lick and tease.

A grumbled noise of protest slipped from Miles’ throat as he pulled away from Alex. “Don’t kiss me like that when I have to leave!”

Alex’s still sleepy face brightened with a grin. “Forget it. Have to make sure you’ll return to me.”

Miles reached for Alex’s head, grabbed it and kissed him hard. “Always!” Another groan and another kiss. “I really have to go.”

“Then go,” said Alex and didn’t let go.

Miles smiled. Happiness was a feisty drug. It had you hooked immediately. And it was even more addictive when you saw its effects on somebody else’s face. “One more kiss!”

“Okay.” Another kiss.

Then Miles stepped away. “Hey, when you say dinner, are we talking fancy dinner or burgers?”

“Why?”

“I have to bring the right outfit,” said Miles. Wasn’t that obvious? “Suit or jeans?”

“Don’t care,” smirked Alex. “But…” He hopped off the lounger and took slow, deliberate steps towards Miles, “wear that white shirt. The one with the tiny buttons. That tight one.”

Miles’ smile got cocky. “Like that one, huh?”

Alex nodded mischievously. “And a tie.”

“Kinky, Turner.” Miles reached out, placed yet another searing kiss on his lips, and let go. “Bye, love.”

“Bye, baby.”

-

Miles was leaning back on his chair, one leg swung over the other one, holding the fork with one hand and using it to move a few slices of carrot from left to right on his plate. His appetite had left long ago, along with his excitement to be on a date with Alex and, generally, his good mood. He watched Alex from the corner of his eyes as he massacred his steak, carving it into little pieces one by one. He had yet to eat a single bite.

He winced inwardly when he saw the waiter approaching. Poor guy!

“Everything to your liking? May I offer some more wine?” He spoke English, but his French accent was thick.

“How about a word with your cook. This steak is awful. I asked for medium and this feels like rubber.” Alex placed fork and knife away, letting them clink on the porcelain. “And our glasses are full, so there’s truly no need to offer any more, is there? You do see that, right?”

Miles looked at the waiter and when the guy met his eyes, looking positively frightened, Miles offered what he could only hope translated into a veryapologetic smile. “Just leave,” he suggested warmly, “we’re fine.”

The waiter nodded as he made a quick exit. Alex, on the other hand, glared harshly at him. “Fine?”

“Rubber, Alex?” Miles tried to keep his voice low. “How would you know? How about you taste it, first?”

Instead of answering, Alex merely snorted. Which, in return, made Miles bite his tongue. He was so very tempted to walk out for a smoke and a tall glass of something way stronger than wine. But they were on their date. And he did not want to be the one to walk out first. So, he endured. Taking his wine glass, he held it up across the table, attempting to turn things around. “Should we toast to something?”

“To what? Dry meat and bad service?” Alex didn’t toast, just grabbed his glass and swallowed the expensive wine in one large gulp. “I’ve had better.”

Miles shook his head. “Should have ordered better, then.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, you should have ordered better, then. You picked that wine.”

“If you don’t like the wine I ordered, you could have said something!”

“That’s not–” He swallowed his frustration. “You know what, forget it.” Miles finished his own glass of wine and placed it back on the table. “Would you like to order something else? A new steak? An entirely different meal? Or just dessert?”

“And waste any more time at this godforsaken place?” Alex grimaced. “No thank you.”

“Alright.” Miles waved for the check. The waiter didn’t take long to arrive, placed the small booklet with the bill in front of Miles and visibly flinched when Alex reached for it. Miles put his hand on it first, gave Alex a warning look and watched him sternly as his fingers retreated.  

“Uh…Monsieur Kane, I’m a huge fan of your music. And your style. And the Fred Perry thing that you do! And yours as well, Monsieur Turner. But I’ve only ever been to one of your concerts, Monsieur Kane. It was a fantastic show.” The waiter leaned towards Miles. “May I ask for a huge favor and follow you out for a picture?”

Alex ignored him entirely, his eyes shooting daggers at Miles instead. “Iasked youout. I should be doing that!” Then he glanced at the waiter sideways. “Wouldn’t you consider your question a bit impertinent?”

“Alex!” Miles hissed, then smiled at the waiter. “He’s joking. No problem. We’ll be outside, waiting for a cab. Just come find us.” He placed a few Euro notes into the booklet, underneath the bill, and handed it back to the waiter. “Thank you.” When he was gone, Miles pinned Alex down with a fiery glare. “Are you crazy?”

“Am I crazy?” Alex looked at him in utter disbelief. “You tipped him fifty Euros? Are you bloody nuts? I’ve gotten better service at Burger King!”

“Alex, the guy was bloody terrified of you! What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?”

“Nothing,” stated Alex and got up, not bothering to wait for Miles as he headed for the exit. Miles followed wordlessly. On his way out he spotted a chocolate cake on some other guest’s table. Suddenly he felt overcome by a fierce desire to take the cake and toss it straight into Alex’s face. Just for fun. But before he could take that desire and turn it into an actual plan, his date got impatient.

“Miles,” bellowed Alex from the door, startling not just him but also other guests in earshot.

“Yes, dear?” Knowing how much he hated that term, since his mother used it on him regularly, Miles smiled smugly and crossed his arms as he slowed down. Alex’s eyes got small and his lips pressed into a thin line. Miles was sure he saw smoke coming out of his nostrils! He chuckled at the idea, which in return pissed Alex off even more.

“Come on, Miles. Can you walk any slower?”

“I don’t know. Can I?”

Alex spun around, walked through the exit and Miles sputtered a laugh when he was hit by an onslaught of rain. By the time Miles caught up to him, he looked like a drenched poodle. He reached out and wiped a few raindrops from his nose. Teasing him. “Aren’t you adorable!”

“Say that again and I’ll bite,” snapped Alex. “Where are all the fucking cabs?”

“Busy,” assumed Miles tiredly, giving up on this night entirely. He felt the rain seeping into his suit and sighed. “It’s raining hard. Parisians don’t like getting their outfits wet.”

“Fucking amazing,” grumbled Alex as he headed down the sidewalk. “Let’s just walk. It’s not that far.”

“It’s two kilometers,” complained Miles. He could endure a lot. But walking two kilometers in the pouring rain while wearing his favorite suit and those damned boots that looked great but were painfully uncomfortable? That’s where Miles drew the line! “Let me just phone a cab company and order one!”

Alex was halfway down the block already. With clenched fists Miles sprinted to catch up with him. “Bloody idiot!” One day he’d make him pay for that! “Shit! Damnit!”

When Miles stopped out of nowhere, cursing, Alex stopped as well. “What’s wrong?”

“We forgot to take that picture with the waiter!”

“For fuck’s sake, Miles!” Alex resumed walking. “Get over the waiter!”

‘Deep breaths,’ Miles told himself. Repeatedly. ‘Just take deep breaths and don’t shove him into a ditch!’

-

“You forgot your house key?” Miles shook his head in incredulity. He looked at the sky, felt the pouring rain hit his face and began laughing. Not because it was amusing. Oh no! It was ridiculous. It was ludicrous. It was bloody fucking unbelievable! “Are you kidding me right now?” Wiping his wet face resignedly, he met Alex’s eyes. “You know what? Just take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

Alex’s eyes snapped from the locked front door to Miles. “No!”

“No what?” asked Miles as he took in their surroundings. He spotted a big rock and was tempted to throw it through a window. Anything to go to sleep and end this day. “No, you’re not kidding?”

“No,” elaborated Alex, harshly, as he stepped into Miles’ field of vision. “You’re not sleeping on the fucking couch.” Miles blinked in surprise as Alex took another step towards him, trying to lecture him. “This is the one time we’re actually supposed to sleep in the same bed and I won’t have you spend your night on my bloody couch! Hold this!” Alex shoved his leather jacket into Miles’ startled hands and walked past him towards the tall fence behind thick shrubbery. “I left the patio door unlocked. Help me jump the fence!”

Miles snorted. “You’ve lost it, haven’t you? The fence is two meters tall! Alex,” warned Miles as he followed him into the bushes. “You’ll hurt yourself! Don’t do it!”

“It’s not the first time I’ve jumped it,” said Alex. “Get here, Miles. Come on, help me up! If walking two kilometers in the pouring rain won’t hurt me, jumping my own fence won’t, either!”

“I offered to call us a cab,” muttered Miles as he tossed Alex’s leather jacket to the muddy ground in anger. “There’s a world of difference between those two things, by the way! You could die!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” snapped Alex. “Besides, if I die, I won’t have to see you flirt with that waiter again!”

Miles ground his teeth. “I wasn’t fucking flirting with him! I was just being polite!”

“Polite is saying ‘thank you’ after paying the bill. You tipped him outrageously and gave him that fucking coy smile!”

“I tipped him ‘cause I felt sorry for him. He had to serve you tonight!”

Alex fisted both hands. “I did nothing wrong!”

“You complained about the place right in front of him,” pointed Miles out, rolling his eyes as hard as he could. “You refused to answer his question and called him impertinent when he asked for a picture with us!”

“That’s because I was on a date with you,” bit Alex back. “And I don’t like being interrupted in my private time for some fucking pictures!”

Miles bit back the words he wanted to say, took a few deep breaths, then linked his hands together, offering them to Alex. “Here. Climb up.”

Alex put his hand on Miles’ shoulders, about to place his foot into Miles’ hands when he stopped. He tossed him a dirty glare. “Changed your mind about wanting me dead, huh?”

“You have three seconds to accept my help. Take it or leave it.”

He took it. Alex placed his foot into Miles’ linked hands, used it to get his legs up and managed to reach the top of the fence. Then he swung himself over it and Miles heard the loud thud of a soaking wet Alex Turner hitting the soggy ground on the other side. “Still alive?” He asked in a mixture of genuine concern and dry mockery.

“I am,” he called out. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Miles rolled his eyes again. He glanced around and noticed the tree a few feet away from him, along with its sturdy branch. Could work, he thought, and climbed up, held onto the branch to reach the top of the fence and hopped over it as well. He landed on top of a bushy boxtree, probably scoring a few scratches as well but he bit back from wincing in pain. Not when Alex was staring at him like that. “What?”

“Could have hurt yourself,” derided Alex.

“You know,” marveled Miles, “in all the years that we’ve known each other, I’ve never been this tempted to punch you. Bloody nose and all that.”

“Hell of a first date, huh?” Alex grunted as he looked around the drenched dirt of his yard. “Where’s my leather jacket?”

“On the ground.” Miles pointed towards the fence. “Other side.” As he ignored Alex’s cursing fit, he shrugged out of his jacket and realized it was ruined for good. The pocket had a big hole in it and the best cleaner in the world wouldn’t be able to get rid of those mud stains. He made his way out of the flower bed and onto the grassy patch where he brushed the thick black dirt from his trousers. He took in his shirt and sighed. The whole damn suit was beyond saving.

Alex walked up to him, mirrored his actions and bent down to inspect his shoes when something shiny slipped from his pocket. Miles reached over, picked it up. He was about to hand it back to Alex when he saw what it was that he was holding. “A tube of lube?” Miles laughed hard. “Why’d you bring that one?”

Snatching it out of Miles’ hand, Alex gritted his teeth. “At some point, before this evening turned into a huge shit show, I actually thought I might get lucky. So I came prepared! But then you decided to show up late a—”

“I didn’t decide to show up late,” roared Miles, right back to being pissed off. “It’s not my fault the bloody train ran late! You’re the one who refused to cancel the dinner and made us hurry!”

“And I told you,” snapped Alex, “that I won’t let public transport decide when I go out on a date! If I had known you had so little interest in going out with me, believe me, I would have cancelled!” He spun around, but Miles grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Hey!” Miles was furious. He had to endure Alex’s snarky comments the entire evening and had enough of it. “You want to blame this night on one of us, blame it on yourself! You were bitching at everything before I even got here!”

“Are you really surprised? The damn painters ruined one of my guitars, had to paint the wall twice after using the wrong color, and messed up my new carpet. The new bed still isn’t here. Neither is the dresser, which means you traveled here for nothing, and I couldn’t even enjoy that overpriced steak ‘cause the fucking waiter had a hard on for you!”

Ignoring most of Alex’s ramblings, Miles took offense at one part, though. “I came for nothing? I thought I was here for a date.”

Alex groaned. “You know what I mean, Miles.”

“No, I honestly don’t.” Most of the time he gave Alex a pass for his piss poor selection of words when he was angry, but not tonight. “Try again!”

“Fuck, Miles! Of course, you’re here for a date! I don’t give a shit if you help me with the dresser or not!” Alex kicked a pile of dirt on the ground and rumbled angrily. “FUCK!” He drove one hand through his wet hair. “I had the whole evening planned out in my head, you know? It was supposed to be memorable!”

“Oh,” scoffed Miles, “trust me, I won’t forget any of this!”

“Just great,” drawled Alex, full of sarcasm. “You’ll remember this fucking mess forever and never go out on a date with me again! Why don’t we just break up right here and right now? You’ll take the guest room, I’ll take the couch and come tomorrow morning, we’ll never have to see each other again!” He turned around again. “With any luck, the waiter is still available!”

Once more, Miles grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Would you fucking stop that?” He motioned between them. “You and I are the middle of a fight, which means you don’t get to bloody walk away right now!” He got into Alex’s face. “Hear what I’m saying, Alex Turner: I don’t care about that fucking waiter! I wasn’t flirting with him!”

“But he was flirting with you!” yelled Alex. “While I was sitting right there! As your date!”

“You hardly spoke to me all evening,” pointed Miles out. “Nobody would have guessed we were on a date! And if you think this night will deter me from going out with you again, think again! I’ve known you long enough. I can handle your hissy fits.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. “Hissy fit?” He scoffed hard. “Oh, watch it, Kane!”

“Last names, now?” Miles sneered. “Fuck you, Turner! I’m going to bed!”

Now it was Alex’s turn to hold him back. “Apologize first!”

Miles gaped? “For what?”

“You want to know why I was pissed off from the beginning? You didn’t kiss me when you got here! There you have it! Not even a peck on the cheek. You’ve been more affection on stage when we toured! Hell, you’ve been more affectionate on stage, when we toured, whileyou were busy being pissed off at me. Even then you found a way to let me know you cared!”

Miles was struck. How could Alex possibly think he didn’t care? Just because he didn’t kiss him? “When I got here, the painters were still there. I didn’t know how you felt if I just kissed you in front of strangers,” he admitted. Deflated.

“’cause we’ve just gotten together?” wondered Alex.

Miles rolled his eyes. “’cause I’m a guy and you’re a guy and we didn’t have that discussion yet!”

“What discussion?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Alex was visibly confused. “You think I’m worried about being gay?” He frowned. “Are you?”

“No,” stated Miles. “But nobody will be surprised to find me kissing a guy. I wear cheetah print shirts and onesies, Alex. I have a pair of silver boots! Everyone assumes I’m bi anyway. But you—”

“I got a cheetah print shirt,” he pointed out.

“You’re a fucking rock star! What if your fans turn on you, huh?”

Alex wordlessly grabbed Miles’ head and pulled him in for a blazing kiss that left them both panting for air. “I. Don’t. Care.” He curled his arm around Miles’ neck and kissed him again, harder, deeper. “I love you. I want to be with you. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can drop dead for all I care!” Another kiss. “Next time, bloody kiss me, okay?! Don’t think. Just do it. ‘cause I’m yours and that’s what you’re supposed to do!”

Miles couldn’t fight his own smile as he placed his forehead against Alex’s. All of the earlier agitation and frustration had suddenly vanished away. “Mine?” He leaned closer, touching their noses together. “Are you?”

“Start singing that song,” warned Alex, teasingly, and no longer angry, “And I’ll reconsider this dating thing!”

Miles grinned as he captured Alex’s lips in a wet and wild kiss that left both struggling for air. The temperature was still insanely hot, the rain did nothing to cool down the air, and as the raindrops mingled with the sweat on his forehead, Miles felt himself melting into Alex’s arms. This was what they should have been doing all night. Kissing. So much kissing. And more. “Let’s go inside,” he whispered hoarsely, overcome by that sweet lust that always came side by side with Alex’s kisses. He trailed one hand from Alex’s neck to his hand to lead him in.

But Alex pulled away slightly. He had a salacious grin on his face as he let go of Miles’ hand and reached for his belt instead. His eyes dropped lower. “Did I ever tell you about that rain fantasy of mine?”

Miles gulped as he watched Alex undo his belt and pull it out of its loops. Then he undid the button of his trousers. And lowered the zipper.

“I want you,” rasped Alex, leaning in to nibble on Miles’ earlobe. “Right here.” One hand fisted Miles’ tie. “On the muddy grass. In the rain.” His other hand slipped into the back of Miles’ pants, into his briefs, and he let his finger trace the crack of his ass. He slipped it between the cheeks and Miles gasped against the warm and wet skin of Alex’s neck. When he slipped one finger inside of him, Miles sunk his teeth into Alex’s skin, leaving a mark for the world to see. He dug his hands into his back and moaned as Alex began to move his finger in and out, slow and steady.

“I want you covered in dirt,” husked Alex as he bit down on Miles’ earlobe, pulling harder on his tie. “I want you screaming out my name when I come deep inside of you.” He ventured from the ear along the jawbone towards the lips. “I want you panting and writhing, and I want you to remember this for the rest of your life.” Their lips met and mashed.

Alex’s finger slipped away from where Miles was truly enjoying it and his hands took hold of Miles’ no longer pristinely white buttoned shirt. He fisted the lapels and slowly ripped the buttons apart, popping them in unison with Miles’ loudly thudding heart.

Pop.

Pop.

Miles watched in utter fascination as Alex licked his lips hungrily. To be on the receiving end of his blistering desire was a feeling beyond imagination. The lids of his eyes grew heavier with each heartbeat. His pulse was hammering away. His skin was burning. When Alex had the shirt torn asunder, Miles couldn’t handle it anymore. He stripped off what remained of his shirt and tore off Alex’s, then growled in appetite. He lowered himself to his knees, licked the raindrops as they traveled down the chest of his lover, and felt himself drowning in lust. He’d never needed anyone so much. He’d known want, but it was Alex who had introduced him to need. With Alex, feelings ceased to be small and simple. With Alex, life was absolute. It was breathtaking, it was all-consuming and their lust for one another? That was unmatched and uncontrollable. Miles pushed Alex’s pants and briefs down greedily. “Mine,” he spoke, meeting Alex’s pitch black eyes, and swallowing him whole. Alex’s entire body shook violently as Miles’ lips slid down the length of his cock. He went all the way to the base and as Alex fisted his hands in Miles’ hair, Miles wondered when he began enjoying this so much. He’d only ever done it once, before, with Alex. Last fall. And then it had been new and a bit of a learning experience. Now, however, it felt like a brand-new passion. He yearned for his friend’s erection, craved for it, loved feeling it as his tongue slid against the skin. He strived to be better, to be exceptional, to be unforgettable to Alex. He wanted to make him feel unparalleled. When he began humming, Alex moaned in sound appreciation.

“Stop,” he pleaded breathlessly. “Please, stop.”

“Really?” smirked Miles, sucking harder.

Alex pulled Miles’ hair, made him let go of him with a pop. Placing both hands on Miles’ shoulder, Alex shoved him backwards, made him land with his back on the grass and watched for a moment as his body was hit with an onslaught of pouring rain. He gave his cock a few strokes, then smiled as he lowered himself between Miles’ legs. “My turn.” Pulling pants and briefs down, Alex purred rapturously. Taking a possessive hold of Miles’ dick, he placed a feathery kiss on its tip and watched Miles watching him. Then he took him all the way into his mouth, deep-throating him. Miles was no longer capable of speaking. Garbled noises and syllables left his breathless lips as Alex made fantastic use of his own.

Alex slipped his hand back underneath Miles’ rear, wedged his finger into his tight hole and dipped in an out as his mouth sunk up and down his throbbing erection. When, suddenly, all movements stopped, Miles leaned up, startled.

He found Alex fumbling with the lube. Miles turned around on his stomach, spread his legs wide and crossed his arms beneath his head. He heard Alex’s faint chuckling as he got on top of his back, trailing languid kisses down the line of his spine. “Can’t wait, huh?”

“Been waiting too long,” said Miles. Alex leaned up, strained to reach his lips with his own, and managed to kiss him so deeply that Miles was sure it had left a burn mark right on his soul.

And then Alex slipped inside. Slowly. Carefully. Almost hesitantly. But Miles was needy and desperate and aching for him in ways much more painful. Wiggling his butt against Alex’s hard cock, Miles encouraged him to take him already. “I won’t break!” His voice was thick and gruff. “Take me, babe! Do it, please!”

Alex did. He slid deeper and deeper into Miles and the harsh sounds of a beginning thunderstorm were drowned out entirely by Miles and Alex as their heavy breathing mixed with the noise of wet skin slapping against wet skin.

Faint calls of “Fuck me!” were bracketed by hushed admittances of love and endearing terms like “baby”.

Dripping wet, covered in dirt and grass, Alex spun Miles around, spread his legs and lifted them above his shoulders. He sunk back into his heat, and Miles squirmed endlessly beneath him. His eyes feasted on Alex’s body as his muscular arms held on to his legs and his strong chest moved rapidly with each stroke. Miles’ body was covered in dirt, and Alex rubbed his hand over his abdomen, clearly enjoying it. Every now and then he took hold of the tie still around Miles’ neck and pulled, making him lean up and kiss him hard. It was the single most erotic experience of Miles’ life. He sat up, wrapped his arms around Alex and kissed him desperately. Wet chests rubbed against one another as Miles straddled him. Tongues dueled for power. Miles lost himself wholly in the pleasure of it all. “Harder,” he begged and Alex obliged, rolling them over once more and taking him and their pleasure to unknown heights. The movements became frantic. The steady rhythm became frenzied. Miles felt Alex throbbing deep inside of him, felt him spilling his cum as he came. All of it brought forth his own orgasm and he came against Alex’s stomach.

Harsh curses filled the air as they rode out their release together, until Alex collapsed on top of Miles, spent and panting. Miles laid beneath him, arms stretched out wide, a silly and perfectly happy grin on his face. “That was fucking insane,” he croaked, on the verge of losing his voice entirely.

Alex nodded against his chest. He chuckled. He tried to lift his head but failed. Miles focused all of his remaining strength and managed to curl one arm around him. “This date,” he said, still out of breath, “would have gone much better if we had fucked first and eaten later.”

Laughter bubbled from Alex’s lips. “Let’s make that a rule. Always fuck first before we leave the house.”

“Always,” agreed Miles.

[winterromanov]

she’s the sunset (in the west) - thasmin fic (2/?)

Yaz doesn’t make promises lightly. It’s one of her things. A promise should be taken seriously, carried out. If she’s promised to bake a cake for the school summer fair even though she can’t bake for shit, she’s still going to do it, layering the burnt bits in slightly sloppy buttercream. If she’s promised to take her parents to the airport at 3am on a school day, she’ll set an alarm and turn up to work the next morning on with a coffee stapled to her hands.

If she’s promised to find Poppy Smith some friends, she’s one hundred percent going to do that too. She remembers the warmth in Joanna’s eyes at the thought of it—this feels important, like she could actually change something. It might not work. It might be that in less than a year’s time Poppy will move up into year one and nothing will have changed, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try.

She brainstorms ideas at her tiny kitchen table as soon as she comes through the door. Ryan’s not home yet so she violently clatters all his dirty crockery into the empty sink, dragging her flipchart paper down the stairs (which she saves only for special occasions). An hour later, her whole kitchen wall is covered in bright pink post-it notes, like she’s attempting some spontaneous redecorating.

“What the—“

Yaz almost jumps out of her skin, black marker sliding out of her fingers and onto the floor. She’d been so absorbed in her new project she’d never heard the front door creak open—and that’s quite a feat considering Ryan’s just come in from football practice, the studs of his boots usually clicking on the laminate like a herd of women in stiletto heels.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaims, heartrate slowly easing back to normal. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“I literally didn’t, but okay,” he huffs, refusing to look away from the chaos she’s created. He squints as he expertly manoeuvres his dirty kit from his bag to the washing machine—if only he could do that with the socks he leaves stranded in the hallway, she muses. “What the fuck is duck-duck-goose?”

“You’ve never heard of duck-duck-goose?” Yaz asks, open mouthed. Ryan bemusedly shakes his head. “Did you even go to primary school?”

Ryan shrugs. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Not if I could help it, no. Mum was a pushover but Nan never believed me when I told her I had the Japanese flu or whatever.”

“I bet she didn’t,” Yaz hums, because Grace never took any of Ryan’s shit. Not even at the end.

The two of them stand in silence for a moment, like every time Ryan mentions the lost women of his family. Yaz has never felt the pain he has. She can see it in his eyes, sometimes, how it lingers like fog. Dense and dirty but fading, eventually. Slowly.

But it’s okay, he has her. He’s always got her.

(It makes her think of Joanna Smith, again. About the dad that’s not around.)

Ryan snaps out of wistful reverie first, grabbing a beer out the fridge and snapping the lid on the kitchen table. Yaz throws him a look. He knows she hates that, which is probably why he does it. “What’s all this for anyway? Because if you’ve volunteered to lead another year six team-building weekend I’m going to be seriously questioning your sanity. Especially after last time.”

“No,” Yaz tuts, as if she’s going to make that same mistake twice, “There’s this kid in my class who is finding it hard to make friends. I’m trying to…think of something to solve that.”

Ryan takes a long sip of beer, studying more of her responses. “So you think a trip to the aquarium will fix it?”

Yaz shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? Nothing gets five-year-olds talking more than jellyfish. That, and what they’re going to get at the gift shop on the way out.”

“I guess,” Ryan offers, but he doesn’t look too convinced. “Just… some kids don’t want to make friends, Yaz. As long as they don’t seem too unhappy, what’s the harm in it?”

“This kid is four, Ryan. It’s a very important stage in her social growth. If she doesn’t start developing those skills now when she’s little it could be a really big problem later on.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Ryan says, “All I’m saying…this is a lot of effort for just one kid. As far as you’re concerned, as long as they can count to ten and know most of the alphabet you’ve done your job. And don’t, uh, stick their fingers into plug sockets or something.”

Yaz just about resists the temptation to go off on just how wrong that is and just how Ryan could possibly understand anything about her job, how it’s never just one kid. Yes, she needs to teach them how to read and write and count. But she also needs to teach teamwork, conflict resolution, gratification. How you can’t hit someone with a building block or steal somebody’s sausage rolls at lunchtime. How you must listen to the people around you and acknowledge that sometimes you can’t win, whether that’s the star of the week accolade or someone’s forgiveness, straightaway. How you must be kind, always, forever.

The day she sees a kid in her class that’s struggling to fit in and she thinks it’s just one kid is the day she’ll walk away from teaching and never look back.

“Are you hungry?” Ryan asks, after a moment, “I haven’t eaten yet. Pizza?”

Yaz’s hand relaxes, flexing from a fist to loose. On an outtake of breath she runs a hand through her hair, before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Ryan already has his phone out, scrolling through the options on Dominoes. “Hey, Yaz, if you went through this much effort for a bloke maybe you’d finally get laid.”

It’s meant as a joke but—ha. Yeah. Maybe.

-x-

As it happens, it doesn’t matter how many neatly written post-it notes and mind maps you make. Children will always be ridiculously unpredictable, like they’re wired completely different to every single other person aged eighteen or over. She tries class games, seating plans, even outdoor learning in the summerhouse on the grassy quad near the upper school playground—but nothing will encourage Poppy Smith to talk to the other children, or the other children to talk to her.

Instead, Poppy becomes incredibly attached to Yaz. And that is really, honestly, the last thing she wanted.

“You know, it’s really sunny outside today, Poppy,” Yaz says, as in a new turn of events, Poppy refuses to follow the other children out onto the playground during lunch break. Instead, the little girl stays in her seat, taking her dark blue starry-patterned pack lunch box out of her draw and unpacking it onto the table. “I think some of the other girls were thinking about playing with the new skipping ropes. Wouldn’t you like to play with the skipping ropes?”

Poppy shakes her head decidedly. Silently, she removes a small peanut-butter and banana sandwich from her box and places it in front of her. Yaz watches as she nibbles round the corners first before eating the filling.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go outside?” Yaz asks, somewhat weakly, because she has a feeling Poppy won’t give in to her hints easily. “It’s so dark in here and I have to mark your handwriting worksheets!”

“I want to stay with you, Miss Khan.”

When two little eyes blink innocently back at her, Yaz finds it very hard to resist. Technically, as long as she’s not on her own, it’s not breaking any rules. It’s just—this is not in the plan. It’s not good to let a kid become too attached. It goes against every instinct she has as a teacher, but she knows if she forces Poppy outside she’ll go back to silently stalking the edge of the playground with her book about space, lost in a world of her own.

If she’s in here—just for today—at least she’s in her company. Talking to someone.

“Okay,” Yaz smiles tightly, “As long as you promise to go outside tomorrow, yeah?”

Poppy nods happily and returns to her sandwich.

-x-

Quite by chance, today just so happens to be the day that Joanna is late. As one-by-one the kids spot their parents or guardians in the playground and head off back home, rain splattering off bright red wellies and raincoats, Poppy stands on her tip-toes and peers into the murky outside. The weather has turned somewhat since lunchtime.

Yaz looks at her watch. Quarter to four. The playground is mostly empty, other than a group of mums nattering by the gates, restless kids hanging off their arms or in pushchairs.

It’s the second time she’s been left waiting for Joanna Smith, Yaz ponders, and wonders if it’ll be the last time. She sighs, looking at the back of Poppy’s head, watching as the little girl’s eyes lock on to everything and everyone walking past the school.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Poppy,” Yaz says, gently smoothing Poppy’s hair. Poppy looks back up at her, eyes wide and concerned.

“What if she’s gone to the moon without me?” Poppy asks quietly. Yaz shakes her head with a smile, crouching down so their faces are level.

“Your mum wouldn’t do that, I promise,” Yaz says, “She’d always wait for you. I’m sure of that.”

Poppy frowns. “My daddy didn’t.”

Oh. Oh. Yaz freezes for a second, like she always does when a kid says something like that. You know—something unbearably sad, something hanging and poignant, one of those things that just slips out because kids don’t hide anything. Kids have sad stories too. They carry tragedies in their reading folders, hidden under exercise books and friendship bracelets and constellations of gold star stickers.

Yaz takes one of Poppy’s tiny hands in her own. Notices the stars she’s etched on her palms in blue biro pen. “Look at me, Poppy. Your mummy isn’t going to leave you behind. Ever.”

(It’s a big, big promise. She doesn’t realise it at the time, but it’s the biggest one she’s ever made—because sometimes, sometimes people don’t come back. Or you don’t go back to them. Maybe it’s the first promise she’s made that she won’t be able to keep. Sometime.)

Poppy’s disgruntled expression shifts into a smile, and Yaz can’t help but grin back. When she stands, still clutching onto Poppy’s hand, she can see through the raindrops on the window a shaky, grey figure running towards the door. Against her better judgement, she can feel her heart do something she doesn’t want to put a name to.

The glass door opens and Joanna emerges from the cold, her anorak dripping rain onto the floor in mad, abstract patterns. She pulls down her hood and her blonde hair is a chaotic mess of drenched natural waves—it reminds Yaz of tides and sea-salt and white-sand beaches, somewhere cluttered and rugged like the Northern coast. The kind of water that leaves you freezing but dazzlingly awake, shivering in clean, white towels with piles of seashells in your pockets.

Joanna blinks and catches eyes with Yaz. Grins. “I’m making a habit of this, aren’t I?”

Poppy replies first, dashing towards her mother excitedly. She grabs Joanna’s legs in a hug and Joanna laughs, ruffling her hair.

“Oh, baby, you’ll get all wet,” Joanna murmurs, before clearly deciding that Poppy is going to get wet going outside anyway. She scoops her up into her arms and kisses Poppy’s cheek messily, Poppy’s hands looping round her neck.

“You didn’t go to the moon without me,” Poppy says matter-of-factly.

“Of course I didn’t,” Joanna answers, before looking confusedly back at Yaz, forehead scrunching. “I would never leave you behind. Never ever.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Yaz reassures, “Your mummy was just late, Poppy. Nothing to worry about.”

Joanna grimaces, shifting to bring Poppy further up her hip. “Yeah—I’m so sorry about that, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yaz responds, smiling comfortingly. Joanna seems to take it, smiling back. “No harm done, eh?”

“No, I suppose not,” Joanna’s eyes seem focussed on Yaz’s face for a second or two, and her heart is doing that thing again, that ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum that she’s only ever really felt when Harry Styles winked at her during a One Direction concert fucking years ago.

(Was it really that long ago, huh? Have men really been that disappointing since?)

“Well,” Joanna says, breaking the silence, “I think you deserve a treat, ay, Pop? Ice cream?”

Poppy looks excited but Yaz laughs, glancing at the deluge outside. “You’ve certainly picked the perfect weather for it.”

“Mummy,” Poppy says pointedly, playing with Joanna’s wet hair, “Can Miss Khan come for ice cream with us?”

“Oh, uh—“ Joanna looks at Yaz expectantly, “I mean, of course she can, if you’re allowed…?”

Yaz pauses, because this is not a situation she’s encountered before, and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do. It’s probably important to keep a professional distance from the kids in her class and their families. She knows she can’t show favouritism, but… this isn’t that, is it? This is just going for ice cream with a woman that she can’t help but want to get to know better. There’s a magnetic quality in Joanna. A one that makes all her wiring stutter and restart.

“You know what,” Yaz answers, after a moment, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

(Oh, and this is when she discovers that she’ll do anything for a smile from either of the Smith women.)

[theaggresivepacifist]

and you, my oldest friend

For the lovely @thegoldensoundtwice, based on this amazing post.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Since I moved home from college in May, I’ve kind of lost contact with a lot of good friends and colleagues, and your amazing blog has been a little bit like having a friend to chat with – especially about the wonderful world of Redwall. Even though we don’t really know each other, your kindness, sense of humor, and incredible eloquence (I will NEVER be over the fic you wrote for me!!!) has been such a gift, and so instead of studying for the GRE I wanted to write you this tale as an early Christmas present and a heartfelt thank-you. Surprise!!!

It is un-beta’d, massive af (I think almost 7K words, so let me know if you’d like a .pdf!), and a tad bit angstier than I was going for at first, but hopefully still an entertaining yarn.

Cheers!!!

It was a glorious midsummer’s evening when she saw Redwall Abbey for the first time.

Her grandfather, a silver-furred old badger named Buckthorn, had told her stories about it, of course, promising to take her there the next time they held one of their fabled feastdays. He was a good storyteller, perhaps the best in Mossflower. But even he couldn’t do it justice.

The Abbey stood tall and proud and majestic at the border of the woodlands, battlements and belltower of ruddy sandstone soaring to the sky. The setting sun gilded the myriad ivy leaves that crept across the stone, turned the climbing roses to an incandescent shade of ruby red. The broad main gates stood open to all comers, and inside she could see colored lanterns glowing in the branches of the trees, reflecting in swirls of red and yellow on the surface of a tranquil pond.

Constance had never before seen anything quite so beautiful.

  A motely group of squirrels, mice, hedgehogs, otters and moles welcomed them to table at once, as if they were old friends, and loaded their plates with the most delicious-looking foods a creature could imagine: breads and cheeses, salads and pasties, puddings and berries and flans. All of them were talking at the same time.

“Welcome, both of you! You look famished! Here, this plum cake goes perfect with clotted cream.”

“How about some of this hotroot soup?”

“Don’t be shy, take a few more of these nunnymolers.”

They were given places of honor at a table of Abbey Brothers and Sisters, pleasant mice in cowled brown robes.  Being  rather solitary by nature, Constance spoke with them only when spoken to, preferring to let her grandfather hold the conversation. She devoted the rest of her attention to eating serving after serving of the scrumptious food and watching the other jolly creatures with interest.

As supper was winding down, with everyone sipping their favorite drinks and nibbling at their favorite sweets, some of the woodland guests, the two badgers included, took it upon themselves to provide entertainment for their kindly hosts. A troupe of voles played reels and jigs on a battered bodhran and sweet-toned reed flutes; a family of harvest mice performed several comedic skits. But Constance and Buckthorn’s act was the most anticipated of the evening. Many Redwallers had never even seen a badger in the fur before, as old Mara, Redwall’s last badger mother, had gone to her rest many seasons ago. The pair of them performed feats of marksmanship with yew longbows, and Constance obligingly wrestled stout waterhogs and burly otter champions, shaking them off like raindrops as the Redwallers shouted words of advice and encouragement.

“That’s the stuff, missie!”

“Hohoho, ole Skip’ll be sore for a full season!”

“Hurr, moind the choild don’t toss ’im into yon pudden!”

She enjoyed the competition, the adrenaline, the feeling of her own strength. The attention was slightly overwhelming. Having humored her hosts, she left her grandfather deep in conversation with old Abbot Cedric and slunk off to the orchards with a pawful of mushroom and leek turnovers, throwing herself down on the cool grass to eat. The night air was velvety-soft, sweet with the perfume of rose and blackberry and late blossoms, and she snuffed appreciatively at it between bites of savory pastry.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” said a quiet voice, surprisingly close at paw.

Constance bristled slightly, but then relaxed when she spotted the creature, resting against the trunk of a neighboring plum tree. He was just a young mouse, dusky brown, wearing the sandals and sage-green habit of a novice. His eyes were wise and kind.

“I always like to come here in the evenings,” he continued. “It’s nice to sit and watch the sun set over the Abbey. And it’s especially nice to be surrounded by all these good creatures, and hear them laughing and enjoying the feast.”

“I live with my grandfather in Mossflower. I’ve never seen so many creatures all at once,” Constance said. It was unlike her to admit something like that to a strangebeast, but the mouse’s gentle manner somehow put her at ease.

“Do you have many friends in Mossflower?”

“Not really.”

“Well, now you’ve got lots of them here.”

Constance had to smile at that. She extended a broad black paw and gave his a gingerly shake.

“I’m Constance. Pleased to make your acquaintance, friend.”

The mouse made a grave gesture in return, bowing his head over his own folded paws.

“My name is Mortimer,” he said.

  By the end of the feast Mortimer and Constance were inseparable; the one’s serious nature perfectly complemented the other’s slight shyness. When she and her grandfather returned for the autumn harvest he showed her around the interior of the Abbey: the dizzying height of the belltower, the best places to sit in Great Hall, the labyrinthine aisles of the cellars where their resident Cellarhog kept special firkins of mulled wine and flowery mead.

Of course, they were both still young creatures, so these sights were soon followed by a tour of the spookiest corners of the attic, the hallways with the best curtains to shelter behind during games of hide-and-seek, and the kitchen larders that held the best snacks. They played in the crisp autumn leaves and dared each other to step paw in the icy pond. He also introduced her to Martin the Warrior, explaining the legend to her as she gazed, transfixed, at the richly embroidered tapestry.

“A mouse fighting a wildcat,” she marveled aloud. “I can’t wait to tell my granddad about this.”

“I thought you’d like to know about Martin,” said Mortimer. “He was brave and strong like you.”

“And then a mouse of peace, like you,” she replied thoughtfully.

  Buckthorn was growing too old to make the journey to Redwall as often as Constance would have liked, and so in the springtide she argued and pleaded with him until, finally, he gave her permission to make the trip on her own. She woke well before dawn, packed a generous haversack of supplies, and set out through the woodlands at a steady pace, already full of excitement for the day she had planned. The miles passed swiftly. She arrived at the Abbey by midmorning, just as the Redwallers were finishing their breakfast, and stealthily motioned for Mortimer to leave Great Hall and join her in the orchard. He was thrilled by the surprise, but also full of questions.

“Why are you being so secretive? Where’s your grandfather? How in the name of seasons did you get here so early?”

“I’m here to take you on an adventure,” she told him in a stage whisper. “Think you can sneak out to Mossflower for the day?”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” said Mortimer. “I have to help with the washing for the dormitories and –”

“Come on! I’ve been to Redwall lots of times, now you should see where I live. Just tell them you can’t do it! Make something up!”

“I’ll try. Wait here.”

He disappeared for several minutes, leaving Constance to sample some of the early gooseberries. Finally he returned with a subdued expression and a heavy green travelling cloak draped over his Redwall habit.

“I told Brother Oswin I was gathering herbs for the infirmary,” he said, already self-reproachful.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be a fib. We can find some on the way back.”

He cheered up as soon as they set paw in the emerald forest, where new leaves were budding and a kaleidoscope of varicolored wildflowers were blooming. He had never been so far into Mossflower Wood before. Constance named the many birds for him by their plumage and their dulcet voices, and Mortimer paused often to admire fuzzy bumblebees and jewel-toned dragonflies, or flitting butterflies with wings like stained glass.

After a few hours’ march they sat down on the riverbank to rest, shaded by the boughs of an ancient willow. Mortimer said a simple grace over their midday meal. Constance watched the way his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxed, his paws steepled.

“What is it like, being in the Order?” she asked him, around a mouthful of strawberry preserves.

“Well, there’s a lot of book learning.” He brushed oatcake crumbs from his lap and cut a wedge of yellow cheese studded with hazelnuts, whiskers twitching thoughtfully. “Lots of history. We learn about the founders of Redwall and where they came from, and about the rules and vows that all Abbeymice live by. But our most important duty is to provide help and healing and charity to any creature in need of our assistance. Just a few days ago there was a poor weasel with a racking cough –”

“You mean you let vermin into the Abbey?” Constance interrupted.

“He was an honest creature. Sister Teazle and I made him a draught of strong herbs. He was as good as new by the next morning, and gave us some beautiful mussel shells in token of his thanks.”

“He probably came by those while he was off pirating at sea,” she replied dryly. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can’t trust just anyone. There are a lot of dishonest creatures who would try to take advantage, even here in Mossflower. We’ve had quite a few brushes with robber foxes and ferrets.”

“Trust them or not, my duty is to help them if they require it,” Mortimer said patiently. “But I suppose it’s safer living at Redwall than out here in the forest.”

“I don’t know. It’s not so bad.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean it that way at all, truly. Mossflower is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I think I could stay here by the riverside forever.”

“Well, I think Redwall’s got to be the best place I’ve ever seen,” said Constance, pleased by her friend’s compliment.

“Who knows! Maybe you could come and live there someday.”

  After luncheon they crossed the stream, picking a careful path over the slippery stones, and made their way at last to at the badgers’ cottage. It was a snug little house of smooth clay, built back against a rock shelf so that the soft-mossed surface served as the fourth and largest wall. Trailing nasturtiums wove over the doorway and windowsills, their flowers like bright medallions of orange and sun gold. Inside were tables and chairs of Buckthorn’s making, carved out of honey-colored wood, and little trinkets from his many travels: pressed mountain flowers, many-colored stones, bits of seaglass worn smooth as silk.

“It reminds me of our Cavern Hole at Redwall,” said Mortimer, his eyes aglow.

“A neighbor helped me to build this place, a clever old beaver, when I first came to this part of the woods.” Buckthorn straightened from stoking up the hearthfire. “That were when young Constance here was but a tiny badgermaid. Her gran was still with us then.”

“She must have planted that wonderful herb garden of yours.”

“Aye, that’s right. She was a healer like you are, y’know. There’s some rare plants growing there that might interest you.”

The old badger and the young mouse were kindred spirits. Over the course of the afternoon Buckthorn swapped stories with Mortimer and shared with him some of the badger lore that Constance had known since she was a cub, the workings of the tide and the secret phases of the moon, the way to sense the first changings of the season – even old fireside tales, like that of the great snow badger who brought deep winter to Mossflower Wood. Constance was just about to remind them that they needed to get back to the Abbey before nightfall when a sudden spring rain began to lash through the trees, obscuring the woodlands with a heavy sheet of silver.

“Not travelin’ weather, I’m afraid, young ’un,” said Buckthorn, shaking his grizzled head. “You’ll have to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, no,” Mortimer groaned. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble when I get home.”

“Don’t worry. We can leave as soon as the sun rises,” said Constance, secretly ecstatic that the elements had intervened. “Let’s have a cup of tea, and then I’ll show you how to make a seafaring dish my granddad taught me. Skilly and duff!”

In the morning, as promised, they set out at a run with the first rays of dawn, slipping and squelching on the muddy road. Though they made it to the Abbey in record time, Mortimer’s prediction was soon proved correct. Brother Oswin was waiting for them at the gate with a face like yesterday’s thunder. Without hesitation he took hold of Mortimer’s habit sleeve and began lecturing the young mouse severely.

“We were up all night worrying about you. Abbot Cedric was about to send out a search party! And where in the fur is the sanicle and valerian you were supposed to be gathering?”

Constance blushed at the Brother’s righteous fury, beginning to feel sorry for the part she had played in the whole affair. But Mortimer, recalling the sleepless night they had spent telling tales and playing games while the rain drummed on the cottage roof, could only smile.

  For many happy seasons they visited back and forth in this way, growing up and growing ever closer, Constance trekking to the Abbey for feastdays and bringing Mortimer back to the cottage to enjoy languid spring and summer evenings by the riverside. She eventually taught him how to find his way through the woodlands unaccompanied by reading the signs of moss and leaves, and after much effort prevailed upon him to carry a stout ash staff with him on the road (“Someday I won’t be there, and you might have to defend yourself!”), though only because he decided he could use it as a walking stick.

Mortimer made his way to the den often in the winter days when Buckthorn’s health began to fail him, brewing soothing teas and medicines, keeping him company while Constance slept. When the old badger went to his final rest it was Mortimer who said the funeral service, tenderly placing a bundle of early quince on the grave Constance had hacked from frozen ground.

Several days had passed since then, and the two of them sat at table together, sharing a jug of blackcurrant wine to drive off the icy chill. Constance was red-eyed but composed.

“I was thinking of taking some time to myself. Travelling someplace new, like my granddad liked to do.”

“Outside of Mossflower?”

“Perhaps.” She drained the last dregs of her cup, set it carefully back down on the tabletop. “He told me a lot of stories about Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard, where his father and brothers ruled. Maybe it’s time for me to pay a visit there.”

“But surely not until the springtide, friend.”

“No. No, I’ll wait until the snow melts.”  Seeking to reassure him, she gave Mortimer a tired smile. He had taken his final vows and now wore the wide-sleeved brown robe of an Abbey Brother, which made him look, if possible, more solemn than ever. “But the sooner the better. I don’t think I’m meant to spend the rest of my life as a farmer. You’ve already found your path, you old fogey, and I’m glad for you. I don’t have that yet.”

For a moment silence fell. It was an end and a beginning. They always had known it might come to this, but hoped it never would. 

“You’ll come back to us, won’t you?” Mortimer asked her.

“Of course I will.”

  ***

  It had been a long struggle across shifting sands, chilled and buffeted by the wind. Her mouth was full of grit and her paws stinging from the many tiny cuts left by jagged rocks and sharp blades of spiky sea grass. She was hungry and thirsty and weary to the bone.

But at last, after weeks of travel, the great mountain was in her sights.

A military hare in a buff-colored coat was waiting her at its base; curiously, he seemed to have been expecting her for some time. He swept off his jaunty feathered hat and made a low bow, to which she responded in kind.

“Is this Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard?”

“The very place! And surely you must be the charming Lady Constance, daughter of Iris and Birchstripe, grand-niece to Lord Oakpaw the Valiant, eh wot! By the left! My pater’s pater served under your great uncle!”

“Just Constance, thank you,” she replied firmly, shaking his paw with a grip that made him wince.

“Just Constance, what an odd moniker! Right-o, I’ll give you the full tour. Please to jolly well follow me, madam!”

He led her upwards through a warren of stone corridors, grey and bleak, but fresh with bracing sea air and the tangy smell of salt and seaweed. He was chattering all the way.

“This, dear gel, is the ancestral home of badgers such as your good self, although it’s a few seasons since our valiant Lord went off questing after some wicked corsairs to the south—vile creatures, nasty tatty rats, all of ’em, need a lesson in cold steel. And so but a few of us gallant and handsome hares, such as myself, the humble Corporal Merriwether, remain here, guardin’ his domicile while he’s away, keep the home fires lit, so to speak. I’ll show you the common areas, dormitories and kitchens of course, the forge room, the terrace gardens, perchance even the entrance to the sacred jolly hall of badgers itself…but here’s the ticket, just the place to start. The mess hall!”

As they approached Constance could hear a commotion – at first what she thought was the sound of several creatures shouting, but then recognized as one creature doing three or four different voices, as the mood suited him. Corporal Merriwether sighed.

“That’ll be one of our new recruits. My apologies for the disturbance, marm.”

They rounded the corner and found themselves abruptly in the Salamandastron dining hall: brightly lit by westward-facing windows, with a crackling fire along one wall and long wooden tables and benches arranged in the center of the room. A slightly bucktoothed grey hare in regimental red was leaping and bounding from table to table, his long ears flopping comically about as he berated his lunching comrades, each of whom ignored him steadfastly. Constance had never in her life seen a creature behaving in such an outrageous manner.

“Cowards! Bounders! Fiends! Yah boo, ya rotters, I can outscoff any three of you with my paws behind me back, so there!”

“Steady in the ranks there! What’s all this about, you young terror?” barked the Corporal. The mad hare came smartly to attention and threw him a swift salute.

“Sah! Was simply interested in a little pie-scoffin’ competition, sah! First beast to finish their pie jolly well wins, sah!”

“You ’orrible animal, what on earth for?”

“Simply a spirit-raisin’ game, sah, fun for the troops, good for the morale, eh wot!”

“I could eat,” said Constance mildly, to general surprise. Several of the Long Patrol hares instinctively stood upon seeing the badger in their midst, and the red-coated hare made an elegant leg.

“By Jove! Honored to have such a worthy opponent, I’m sure! May we commence with the challenge, sah?”

The Corporal looked doubtful, but turned on his heel to shout in the direction of the kitchens.

“Oh, dash it all, if the badger Lady wants to humor the lower orders…Cook! A mushroom ’n’ tater pie for the young badgermiss, wot!”

Constance took a seat on a comfortable bench across from her challenger, who sat poised with wooden fork and knife hovering over a massive golden-crusted pie. In a twinkling a stout hare came hurrying over to place before her a pie of similar size, tugging respectfully at one of his ears.

“With the compliments of me goodself, Cook an’ Colonel Puffscut, marm. Rules for a Long Patrol scoffin’ competition are simple: on the count of three, start eatin’. First beast to finish their plate’s the winnah. One…two…three!”

Without further ado the hare across the table began shoveling down forkfuls of pie, gravy dripping from the corners of his mouth. All eyes were on Constance, who in turn was watching her challenger with great amusement. She waited until he had almost finished his portion before locking eyes with him, opening her massive jaws, and wedging the entire pie into her mouth. After three leisurely chews and a draught of nettle beer she swallowed and shrugged at him, wiping her paws fastidiously on a napkin.

“What was that you were saying about outscoffing three creatures at once?”

There was a smattering of applause from the Long Patrol hares, most of whom were glad to see their eccentric comrade taken down a peg.

“Good show, marm!” the strange creature cried sportingly, still covered in mushroom gravy, as he extended a paw for her to shake. “The name’s Basil Stag Hare, doncha know. I think we two fellow faminechops would make awfully good pals!”

“I certainly ’ope not,” the Corporal remarked despairingly to the Colonel. Constance had to hide a sudden grin.

  She soon fit in at the mountain fortress: she was a badger in her prime. The hares kitted her up with a runner’s pack and sling, and she took to galloping alongside the patrols in daylight, telling jokes and gulping nutbrown ale by firesides at night. She spent hours in the forge room, smashing metal into arrowheads and sword blades, although she still preferred a simple javelin or the strength of her own limbs above all else. Basil, the renowned, if ridiculous, fur ’n’ foot fighter, taught her to box, a pursuit in which she excelled. A single right cross from one of her massive paws was enough to lay low a ferret or stoat (or once, by accident, an unprepared Lieutenant Swiftscut) for half a season.

A few of her most impressive feats became the stuff of legends in later days, such as the time when Basil convinced her to skip kitchen duty for an unauthorized day of leisure on the shore. It was a baking-hot summer’s morn, and they had unbelted their weapons so that they could swim in the cool green sea. They then sat wolfing down purloined fruit salad and honeyed damson tartlets, using a massive chunk of driftwood – perhaps the wreckage of a lost corsair ship – as a table. It was the badger who heard the approaching pawsteps first, and turned to see two weasels and a fox trying to sneak towards them, toying with their bladehilts.

“I say, chaps,” Basil said, feigning indignance. “This is a private party, d’you mind?”

“Shaddup, rabbit!” snarled the fox. “Don’t try to go fer yer weapons, they’re too far. Wot kind of vittles have ye got there?”

“Oh, a smidgen of this, a smidgen of that. ’Fraid there’s not enough left to share.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Hand ’em over, or I’ll gut ye!”

With eye-blurring speed the fox drew his rusted cutlass and slashed at the air a hairsbreadth in front of Basil. The hare sidestepped and moved swiftly to stop him, but Constance was faster. With a mighty heave and a sky-shattering roar she levered their picnic table out of the sand, sending food flying and swinging the heavy spar in one fluid motion in the direction of their assailants.

“Blood ’n’ vinegarrrrr!”

CRACK!

All three vermin were knocked poleaxed to the ground, stricken completely senseless. Constance tossed the spar aside with a snort of satisfaction, only to see Basil dancing about on the sand about like a madbeast.

“What’s the matter? Are you wounded?” she demanded, but the hare was merely overcome with awe.

“Absoballylutely spiffin’, wot! Strewth, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Well, I thought I heard him ask you to pass the damson tartlet,” she said modestly.

  Then there was another incident that aroused much mess-hall gossip later, not all of it friendly. Corporal Merriwether, driven half mad after several seasons’ of Basil and the badger’s endless capacity for trouble, had allowed the pair of them out on a weeklong patrol, accompanied by two companions. They were a few days’ journey from Salamandastron, in the last hours of their assigned mission, when a runner named Gurdee spotted a shabby lean-to built precariously against the cliffs. A mangy grey and white rat was crouched outside at a feeble fire. He did not appear to be armed, but Gurdee’s fellow runner, a hare named Bayberry, was taking no chances.

“Paws where we can see ’em, laddie buck! Just what d’ye think you’re doing on these shores?”

“Tryin’ to keep warm,” the rat said dully.

“Wouldn’t happen to be one of Zivka Bluesnout’s scummy corsairs, would you?”

“A deserter, probably,” Basil suggested, in a voice that seemed to propose moderation, but the rat made no reply, and Bayberry ground his teeth together at the slight. With a nod to Gurdee the pair of them drew their rapiers, perhaps seeking to intimidate him into an answer. Bayberry cut the ropes holding together the rat’s dilapidated tent, and Gurdee stirred up the seacoal with the point of his sword, extinguishing the last frail sparks of the fire.

“Stay mum if you wish, but we can’t have questionable characters campin’ out on our Badgerlord’s territory. You’ll need to clear out by nightfall.”

The rat had not made one move to stop this destruction, but instead sat watching listlessly from the sand, one grubby paw splayed protectively over a deep wound in his foreleg. When she saw it Constance barked out a sharp order, her voice echoing off of the cliff walls like a thunderclap.

“Hares, leave that creature alone!”

Obediently they froze, but there was surprise and perhaps even slight resentment in their eyes. Constance ignored them and turned her attention back to the rat.

“How did you injure your leg?”

“Slipped,” he said hollowly. “On the sea rocks, foragin’ the tide pools.”

“When?”

“Few days ago.”

Constance tugged her haversack from her shoulders and began rummaging through it, coming up with a clean strip of bandage and pawful of pungent leaves and mosses.  

“Clean the wound in sea water, and then bind it with these herbs. It may sting, but it’ll heal. In the meantime, you’ll want to stay off it as much as you can. Do you have enough food here to last you a day or two?”

The rat shook his head. Constance dug through the haversack again and then set the last of her field rations, a strong wheat loaf and some good mountain cheese, atop the empty cask that served him as a table.

“Take these and move once when you’ve had time to rest. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

Then without waiting for a word of thanks she turned on her heel and marched away from the scene, accompanied swiftly by Basil. Gurdee and Bayberry sheathed their blades with a last warning look at the rat before jogging to the badger’s side. They disapproved and did not try to disguise it.

“Not entirely sure I understand you, marm, givin’ away healing medsuns like that to a rat, of all creatures.”

“Rather, wot! An’ beggin’ your pardon, but it sticks in my gizzard to see proper gentlebeasts’ tucker wasted on a villain like that!”

Basil, seeing the strange look in her eyes, was the only one who remained silent. Constance continued to stride ahead at a purposeful double-march.

  On the journey back to Salamandastron she seemed somehow a changed creature, moody and withdrawn. She no longer hungered after battle and danger the way the young hares did. Even the ballads and marching songs, rousing tales of glory and peril and heroism, had lost their charm. She trusted only Basil for counsel, sitting up to talk with him late into the night.

She missed the new green of oak leaves in the woodlands, the ruddy rose of sandstone in the setting sun, the stillness and sweet fragrance of the Abbey orchards. She missed a gentle, kindly mouse in the habit of his Order, cooling his footpaws with her on the banks of the River Moss.

One morning she left the mountain behind and went home to Mossflower Country.

  ***

  She could hear the ringing of the Joseph Bell even from a distance, clear and strong and exultant, and almost in spite of herself began to run, paws churning up the pathsoil. Through the lacework of budding beech and elm leaves she soon saw flashes of pink stone, and then she found herself before the gate. She had to pause for a moment to catch her breath and calm her emotions. She had dreamed of this moment every evening of her journey back; perhaps she would wake up to find that this too had been nothing but her imagination.

Then she stepped forward and rapped at the door.

After a few moments a chubby little dormouse heaved the doors open, peeking cautiously around the corner. At the sight of her his mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped his bunch of gatekeys in surprise.

“May a weary traveler enter?”

“Heavens above!” the dormouse said breathlessly. “You must be that badger our Abbot talks about so much! Come inside, come inside and rest yourself. My name is Brother Abel. I think I remember you from a midsummer’s feast.”

No sooner had the gatekeeper let her into the Abbey grounds than another mouse materialized as if from thin air. Before she could say a word he flung his paws around her, laughing and weeping all at once.

“Constance! Constance!”

“Mortimer!”

“Constance, my dear, dear friend!”

Mortimer was a young mouse still, but his fur was already taking on a tinge of silvery grey. His face was alight with joy. He stepped back to get a better look at her, awed by her obvious strength and size.

“You’re as tall as an oak! Where have you been all these long seasons?”

“You’re the same height as you always were. I’ve been traveling, like I said I would.”

“You must tell me all about it! Let’s go for a walk in the cloister gardens. Thank you, Brother Abel, you can close the gate.”

Brother Abel made a respectful bow, a gesture which surprised Constance. But she soon forgot about it as she related to Mortimer the story of her travels. For what felt like hours she told him of the mountain and the great gray-green sea, the hares she had befriended and the dangers she had faced. With every step they took through the familiar gardens, every time Mortimer laughed at a funny story or gasped at a tale of a narrow victory over vicious foebeasts, her heart felt a little lighter.  

“Well, that’s about it,” she finished at last, wanting to hear about what he’d been doing all this time.  “I’ve had plenty of adventure, like I wanted to. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“So does this mean you’re here to stay?” he asked hopefully. Constance let out a sigh.

“Oh, I don’t know. Does Abbot Cedric have a use for a large, grouchy badger like me?”

“Good old Abbot Cedric. I’m sure he would have, but he went to his rest two seasons ago, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry, Mortimer. I know you were close to him.”

“He was a wise and compassionate soul. I hope I am serving well in his stead.”

“What do you mean?” asked Constance. Then, suddenly, she understood Brother Abel’s bow. Mortimer seemed to draw himself up a little, a creature fulfilled and fully at peace.

“Just before Abbot Cedric passed on, he told me that he’d decided to leave Redwall Abbey and all its creatures in my care. I am Abbot Mortimer now.”

  Constance was still grappling with this news when she felt somebeast step on her footpaw. A mousebabe and a small squirrel, both clad in the linen smocks of Abbey young ones, had attached themselves to the hem of her tunic, tugging and pushing. They were addressing her in what they imagined was their best imitation of a badgers’ voice, trying to make themselves sound gruff and fearsome.

“I’mma bigga strong badger, make you falla down!”

“We’re not scareded of anybeast!”

Constance was not used to little ones, but she felt her heart soften. With a wink to Mortimer she scooped the pair of them up single-pawed, tumbling dramatically into a patch of clover and coming to rest with a bump.

“Phew, what fierce warriors! You’ve slain me, you little rogues!”

“Yee hee! Again! Again again again!”

“These little scallawags are Holly and Jessamine, two of our most ferocious Dibbuns,” Mortimer said, smiling. Constance looked aghast.

“Dibbuns? What in the world is that?”

“It’s what we call the young ones here at Redwall.”

“Nonsense. I’ve never heard something so ridiculous.”

“Again again again!” interrupted the squirrelbabe Jessamine, trying to clamber up onto Constance’s head. Constance struggled to her feet in mock exhaustion and bent to take each of them by the paw.

“How about you two ruffians show me and Mor – the Father Abbot to the kitchens first? I’m famished!”

“What does badgers likes to eat?” Holly demanded.

“Naughty little mice and squirrels!” Constance said, raising her eyebrows and showing off her shining canine teeth.

“No!” shrieked Holly in terrified delight, while Jessamine giggled. “They likes chesknutters an’ strawbee cordial!”

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot. I bet you like chestnuts and strawberry cordial too. Here, let’s wash our paws off in the pond first.”

“I think we may have a use for a large, grouchy badger after all,” said Mortimer, with proper Father Abbot-like sobriety.  

  She did not go back to the cottage where she had grown up. Mortimer had tended it for her while she was away, but she felt that with a new chapter of her life should come new lodgings, and had him find a family of poor fieldmice to live there instead. Nights she slept out on the soft grass of the Abbey lawn, waking up drenched in dew. In the early mornings, recalling her Salamandastron routine, she let herself out through the side gate and took long rambles through Mossflower Wood, running, swimming, testing her strength against heavy boulders, practicing with spears, javelins and her grandfather’s longbow, which she kept stored in a mossy log, away from Mortimer’s slightly rueful glances and the peaceful Redwallers’ fearful ones.

But she was always back at the Abbey before luncheon, helping with chores and, mostly, keeping a weather eye on the mischievous young ones, who soon began to call her “Muvver Constance,” just as the grown-ups respectfully referred to her as “the Badgermum.” She had an unexpected gift for caring for the Abbeybabes, and eventually she knew she wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. She traded her woodland homespun for an apron and stout gown, with deep pockets to hold clean handkerchiefs and found toys and coltsfoot pastilles. At mealtimes she could often be found sitting at the young ones’ table, spoon-feeding the smallest of the babes, convincing middle-aged ones to eat their turnips and rutabagas, cuddling and rocking fractious infants to sleep while their older siblings perched on her shoulders. At bedtime she tucked the little ones in, one by one, and hummed old badgerwives’ lullabies or related Martin-the-Warrior legends until the dormitories echoed with the sound of gentle snoring.

Mortimer’s heart gladdened the first time she spoke of Redwall as home.

  ***

  Constance was several seasons his elder, but it was Mortimer who grew old and fragile first. His eyesight grew blurry, necessitating a pair of crystal spectacles. In the winters, when the orchard trees were brown and brittle, and the Abbey grounds sparkled white with snow, his joints sometimes grew stiff and painful. But untiringly he watched over his beloved Redwall, through many peaceful years, as any good Father should: patient, wise, just, kind, with the badger as his strong right paw.

Then came the seasons of Cluny the Scourge.

  In the seconds before she picked up the Cavern Hall table and threatened to smash it over the warlord’s head, she chanced a glance at her friend and saw on his face an expression she’d never seen there before: rage.

In the days afterwards, as Martin was lost to the enemy, as creatures were wounded and killed, this was soon followed by another first, one that startled her even more: uncertainty.

  Constance was bleeding freely from some half a dozen gashes along her flanks and on her paws, wounds earned during a vicious skirmish with several of Cluny’s scouts. Abbot Mortimer worked by candlelight to clean the deep cuts and treat them with herbs. He was unusually silent, not speaking until his work was finished.

“Please try to take better care of yourself, Constance,” he said at last, rather shortly. “You put yourself in danger far too often.”

“I only do what I must, Father Abbot.”

“But if something were to happen to you –”

“You have Matthias and Basil, Jess and Winifred. Redwall would survive.”

“I am asking you as a friend,” said Abbot Mortimer. “My dearest and wisest friend. If we win this war tomorrow it will already have been at too great a price. Do not ask me to suffer your loss on top of everything that has already come to pass.”

Constance was stunned by the emotion in his voice. After a moment she laid a heavy paw on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Abbot. I’ll try my best.”

It would never have occurred to her to ask him the same. He was as ever the careful, noncombatant Mortimer, a healer and a stretcher-bearer, a creature of peace, and the battle would never breach the Abbey walls to reach him. She would see to it.

  The Father Abbot was awakened by a sword-point at his throat.

  The poison barb on Cluny’s tail had done its deadly work. The Father Abbot was dying.

  ***

  There was much work to be done, after the war ended, but for a while she thought again of flight. Of sandy windswept shores and austere halls of mountain stone. Of the borderlands, of the northlands. Even of the sea. Anywhere but here, where the crimson laterose was still in fragrant bloom, and the big carved chair at the head of Great Hall sat empty, and the verdant gardens were full of mice in wide-sleeved brown robes gathering berries and talking with the Sparra, but none of them was Mortimer.

Yet every time she decided that the wound was just too deep, that she’d go mad with grief if she didn’t get away from here, something – or someone – changed her mind.

Matthias, still victory-stunned: “Constance, what should we do about the Joseph Bell?”

Mordalfus, solemn and deferential: “Constance, where do you think we should house the Guosim warriors who’d like to stay here till the springtide?”

The Redwallers at large, surprising her in Cavern Hole one day with a badger-sized marchpane cake: “Hurrah for Constance! We’d have been lost without you.”

And the young ones, clinging to her apron: “Muvver Constance, don’t be sad.”

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

  Slowly summer gave way to autumn, autumn to winter, and winter to a spring whose beauty was beyond compare. John Churchmouse had suggested a season-name upon which they had all agreed.

It was the Springtide of the Warriors’ Wedding!

Constance had spent the preceding week tugging a hay cart far and wide through Mossflower Wood, ferrying creatures to the Abbey for the ceremony that would take place today. Now the Sisters of the order and all her woodland friends had spirited Cornflower away to the dormitories to dress her in cream-colored gown and veil, and Matthias was waiting anxiously in the gatehouse that would become their home, with Log-a-Log and Basil fussing over his tunic, to which he had tied a certain flowered headband that a certain maiden had bestowed upon him, what felt like years ago.

Therefore, Constance was enjoying a rare moment of rest out on the sunwarmed steps overlooking the orchards, as the blossoms danced and the pond rippled gently in a playful breeze. It reminded her of something Mortimer had said. 

I have seen it all before, many times, and yet I never cease to wonder. Life is good, my friends. I leave it to you...

In the kitchens Friar Hugo was making a trifle as tall as two mice, heaping with raspberries, meadowcream, and honey-soaked sponge. Foremole and his crew were filling Great Hall and Cavern Hole with bunches of purple irises, butter-colored daffodils and, of course, cerulean-blue cornflower, while Winifred and her otters lined the cloisters and outside corridors with sweet alyssum and pale pink and white water lilies. Ambrose Spike was shepherding a herd of little ones as they rolled barrels of strawberry fizz, October ale and dandelion-burdock cup to the tables out under the shade. Jess Squirrel and Silent Sam were leaping bough to bough amongst the fruit trees, affixing colored lanterns to the branches.

The friends I know and love are all about me.

Constance remembered another feastday many seasons ago, and a wise young mouse marveling with her at the splendor of the Abbey and the goodness of its creatures, and she felt, for the first time in long memory, entirely at peace.

“Today is a good day, my old friend,” the badger said.

[thong-in-the-twist]

In Control XI and last

//Yixing x you

Summary: Yixing loses his grip, both on the track and in his life, and you are a countersteer he needs to go straight again

Part I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI Epilogue

Nothing keeps you up at night. Nothing wakes you up at wee hours of the morning. Nothing makes your heart speed up.

That should be considered an improvement, but you know it’s not – and you fully understand the reason. You loved him. You loved him so much, that you were ready to sacrifice yourself for him, that you stepped up and did what the old rhyme says.

You’ve let him go.

During those first weeks after he disappeared from your life you questioned that decision so many times. Every time something reminded you of him. And after such a long time everything did. Silver ribbons of steam over tea. Raindrops on the window sill. Distant sound of engine.

But day after day it all faded away. Slowly, but surely, you’ve begun to breathe again. Your bed no longer smelled of him (it never actually did – that was the first thing that you did after coming back to empty apartment – washing the sheets), you couldn’t imagine his hair on the pillows anymore.

Only sometimes when motorcycle rushes past you on the street, you can feel the familiar pang in your chest. You quash it immediately, but it doesn’t quash curiosity. Is he riding again? Is he back on track?

You don’t google him. Not anymore. You did, anxiously. Waiting for one day when there would be news of him being back in the world of speedway racing. Something that would prove that you did a right thing. But the news never came.

Never again did you hear roar of engines on the street under your apartment. You miss that as well. Not because of him. Or at least not only. You miss the times when sound of the engine meant only weekly show. It meant mystery personified by those late-night riders, and not misery of one that disappeared.

But apart from that your life was back on track. You did what every heartbroken girl does – after a period of misery, you’ve put all your strength into improving yourself. That meant doing better at work, earning yourself a promotion, picking up gym, changing hairstyle.

It was cliché and by the book.

But it worked.

*

“I so do hope you are buying me coffee later,” whines your friend from behind the curtain and you laugh, pulling your hair out from under the dress you are trying on. You check yourself out in the mirror, deciding that you actually look good in it.

“I promise!” You answer, and drag the curtain to open your fitting room to her eyes. She is sprawled on top of the sofa, looking the part of a bored to death boyfriend. You turn around to show her the dress.

“Yeah, you ass looks amazing.” She says as if that was the most important part. You roll your eyes at her, and check your rear in the mirror. Ok, so it does look good. “My vote is on this one.”

“Because you want to go out.” You accuse, but at the same time you can understand. You dragged her here in the morning, and lunch time was already upon you. But you don’t like rushing through buying clothes, especially when you are buying something that is not exactly indispensable for your wardrobe, but just something you really want to have.

“Guilty as charged.” She admits, as you close the curtain. “But your ass does look amazing.”

“Sure.”

You buy the dress, and your friend laughs at you the whole time you wait in the queue. But nonetheless you walk out of the shop feeling satisfied. Mall is moderately busy – it’s weekend, but only lunch time, so there are people, but it’s not yet crowded. That’s why you have no problem with finding an empty table in the second floor coffee shop with the view on ground floor display space. Photo wall is already waiting, stage and table ready, and it looks like there is going to be some kind of meet&greet.

You pay not only for the coffee, but you also treat her to piece of meringue cake (which is amazing). The two of you have so much to discuss that for a longer while you forget about outside world – juicy gossip is the only kind of gossip you believe in.

It’s only when you hear a sudden uproar that you are brought back to the real world. Both of you look down on the ground floor, where by now a lot of people have gathered and the roar was the sound of them greeting the main character of the supposed meet&greet.

It’s only then when you realize that just in front of the stage, in front of plastic chairs now filled with people there is a nice sleek motorbike, looking a notch too square for usual one. It’s frame is covered with sponsors’ names and you realize you’ve seen this kind of motorbike before.

Your heart stops for a second, and you jerk to find the person entering the stage – because that is a speedway motorcycle. You localize person dressed in padded riding clothes, jacket with sponsors’ name on it further broadening person’s shoulders.

You deflate in your seat.

It’s a familiar face. Very much so. But it’s not Yixing.

It’s Jongdae.

Your friend is craning her neck to see what got your attention, and you wave dismissively, bringing back the topic that you were last on.  You are not sure what you are feeling, that’s why you want to ignore the situation.

It’s so weird to see one of them after such a long time, and in the context of their job. Actually you are not even sure if you knew Jongdae was speedway racer. You don’t remember getting this information – you are not even sure if you ever assumed that. In your world Jongdae was groundless object floating around Yixing.

It’s so weird that you didn’t even know from where Yixing knows his friends.

You realize that seeing Jongdae from so far away is still reliving. It means that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

You try not to look, but your eyes somehow gravitate towards him, sitting at the table, answering questions. You really want to go down, to grab his hand and ask how is Yixing doing. But you also want to go out of the building and never see him again just as much.

In the end you find yourself dragging your friend two stories down, to stand in the back of the crowd to listen to Jongdae.

Seems like those past months were gracious to him. He is smiling, and this whole set-up tells you that he had successful… Period? Season? Well, people did come to see him, at the very least.

Or maybe speedway racing is getting more popular that you’d think.

“Why are we even here?” Asks your friend and it’s so unexpected that you jump. She looks so perplexed that you immediately feel embarrassed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just…” You don’t have a slightest idea what to say. So you awkwardly push her in the direction of the nearest entrance, and you follow her, deciding that some things are better left unmentioned.

She is already chatting freely, by the time you leave the crowd behind you, and as you hear the fading voice of Jongdae talking about races, future plans and the team, you realize how far you’ve come.

And yet you haven’t moved an inch.

*

“How about going back to the dating stage?” You raise your eyes to look at your coworker. It’s a good one, but you are not close enough for you to explain why it’s not yet the time, so you just smile and say nothing. “Because I know a guy that would be really interested in meeting you…?”

Great. A blind date. Are you really looking that desperate? Is single such a horrible thing to be that your coworker thinks that he needs to set you up to brighten your life?

But you don’t let your first reaction define you, so after a quick calming inhale, you decide to take advice of every women magazine and just take it head on.

“Is he hot?”

*

Armed with photo, number and more than a few exchanged messages you find yourself out in the city (wearing that dress you bought the day you saw Jongdae) waiting for your date to arrive. You hate making people wait for you, so you are too early, and as not to wait awkwardly outside you take a shelter in the nearest café. There with paper cup you sit in front of the window, scrolling down your feed, and checking if he’s there yet.

You are excited and anxious. You know it’s not like you’ll like him, and it’s not like he’s gonna be the one, but you are excited to be finally moving in what you decide is the right direction.

Except he doesn’t come, and fifteen minutes after scheduled time he calls to apologize and reschedule. You remind yourself that things like that happen, and you decide that you can reschedule. But you are left like that in the city, dressed up and with nothing to do – and going back home would be sad.

You toss around a thought of calling your friends, but you told them all about the blind date, and you don’t feel like explaining to them that you got stood up – so with the cup in your hand you go outside.

Sun is still high on the sky, but definitely inching into the late afternoon. You walk down the street, curiously looking around – you rarely walk like that, actually paying attention to your surroundings. You find a off-chain store with cute and funny plushies and you take a mental note of it for future present shopping.

You buy yourself a snack at the street vendor, realizing that you might as well take yourself out on the date, and just treat yourself. You sit in the park watching ducks on the lake and joggers. You even share the crumbs of your pastry with pigeons (even though it shouldn’t be done). You like your city and you always thought that you know it well, but it turns out – it has a lot of secrets you could learn.

You hear a distant sounds of engines and since it’s a you-day, you let yourself walk in the direction of the sound. Soon enough roar grows louder and park’s trees clear to show you a stadium. Your heart thumps louder in your chest, when you realize it’s a speedway stadium.

You knew your city has one, it’s obvious with Yixing’s job (and Jongdae’s), but you didn’t even know where it was. It wasn’t one of those great 50k seats type of stadium. It’s definitely not as tall, and looks quite brusque, but the parking lot is filled to the brim and people are crowding at the entrance, slowly sipping in. You can hear the usual chatter of this kind of place.

You see Yixing.

Or at least his face.

He is shown on the massive screen above the entrance, wearing his team’s uniform, helmet under his arm, with Jongdae and two other at their side. On the other half of the screen you can see a four wearing different uniforms, and it seems like they are having a match tonight.

You are stoked. You haven’t realized how much you needed Yixing to be ok. That was the whole idea behind letting him go. For him to get his life on track.

But it still hurts – to see him, and to see him successful without you.

So you do what would any girl in your position do.

You go to the ticketing booth to check whether they still have tickets for tonight game and it’s as if universe is trying to tell you something, so you buy – not knowing what to expect.

You find your seat feeling lost in the crowd. You are late so you’ve skipped the beginning, and truth be told you have no idea what you are watching.

There are currently 4 motorcycles on the track, each wearing different color helmet, red, blue, white, yellow, but judging from the uniforms they are pairs from different teams. You are quickly overwhelmed by the roar of engines and the crowd, and you regret coming.

But against your better judgement the excitement of the venue seems to be getting to you as well, as you find yourself swayed with crowds emotions. You react with them, not really knowing why they cheer or why they gasp.

One race finishes next starts, and you realize that though racers change, there only small number of iterations. You see 3 races before there is a break. You look around wanting to know if it’s finished, and smiling lady next to you informs you that it’s only 4th heap.

Your lack of knowledge must have shown, because she turns around to you and grabs your ticket, where you have a small table waiting to be filled with numbers. She starts quickly explaining to you that match has fifteen rounds, each called heat, and winner of every round get awarded three points, first runner-up two, and third one, while loser gets nothing. Points are added together at the end, after all the heaps, but you can keep the check with the table.

She is nice and patient, and clearly happy to explain, maybe wanting to turn you into a fan. So you listen to her while she explains the rules, rather enjoying it.

“Oh, they are about to start fifth heat.” She says after a few minutes and you turn to the track. And yes, judge turned orange light on, and four riders appeared on the track, coming to their respective gates.

“Uh… Could you please tell me which one is Zhang Yixing?” You ask her, and the smile you get is blinding.

“Oh, so you came to watch our Yixing! Good to see him back on track, isn’t it? It took him two years, but then again after what happened… There he is! Blue helmet, with number 10. His record in this season is actually quite good. Not as good as Jongdae’s but with two of them back on track we can start thinking seriously about championships…” She babbles on, but it all fades into the background sound when you focus on Yixing.

It’s not like you can really see him. He is completely shielded from the world, but you actually prefer it that way. It’s safer. You watch him look to the side in his gate, engine reviving, and you watch him when they start.

You can’t explain it, but you feel as if you recognized his riding style. The way he picks the best line to follow on the first curve, the way he lays down the machine when he goes into next curve, and you watch him hypnotized as he rides his four laps.

It takes no longer than a minute, but it still burns a hole in your chest.

Are you that good without me?

*

The last heat is finished midst loud cheering from the home team supporters. The woman tells you excitedly that not only their team won, but Jongdae and Yixing scored respectively first and second place.

You looked around to check if that means the end to which your neighbor helpfully supplied:

“They still have to receive their prizes and there is usually end of the race interview.”

You smiled to her, and sunk deeper in your seat. Your anxiousness levels were rising up, you were slowly coming down from race-induced-high and you slowly started to realize what you’ve done.

It hits you really hard the moment you see Yixing on the screen without his helmet. He is smiling, clearly pumped, with face wet and hair mussed. You see him hug Jongdae, who looks similar only more smug, and you watch the prizing ceremony with a hollow chest and having to remind yourself that you need to breathe.

Yixing looks gorgeous. Happy. Healthy. Living. Alive.

Of course it’s good, it’s like he should be. But at the same time he is a little bit too happy. Too healthy. Too alive.

Without you.

“So, Yixing, tell us how it feels to be back on track?” It’s interview time, and Yixing is standing with Jongdae and two other members in front of the photo wall, with trophies and/or flowers in their hands. He looks to Jongdae with his small, embarrassed smile, and you recognize it.

“Oh, good. Of course it’s good.” He says and laughs, Jongdae joining in, and patting his back with quite enthusiasm.

“This break… Was what you needed?” You can feel that everybody knows. About Yixing’s tragedy. It was private nightmare, that was public from the beginning. In the end probably half of the people on the bleachers saw it happened.

Once again Yixing looks to Jongdae, and it’s clear that he seeks support. He clears his throat.

“Yes.” He says and his voice breaks a little. It’s suffocating to watch, especially since thousands of people watch it as well – you have to remind yourself that you are no longer part of his life. That you are not supposed to help him. You shouldn’t. You see him gather his strength.” Yes, actually, I would like to say few words, because I think it’s important to… Share things like that. After what happened I was in… A really low point of my life. “He takes a deep breath, and you consider walking out. You are not sure if you’ll be able to listen to that.

But you can’t move your limbs.

“No, let me say it correctly. I went into depression. Mental illness is not something people talk about, nor it’s something we consider that it can happened to us. But it did. For months I denied the existence of my problems, pushing myself deeper into the hole, dragging down people around me.” Stadium is quiet. You are barely breathing as Yixing stares right at the camera. The silence is getting longer.

“But you managed to pull through it.” Supplies the interviewer. Yixing blinks and looks at him as if he forgot about him.

“No. Not really. I mean, I did, but I wasn’t alone.” He turns to the side, throwing arm around Jongdae’s shoulder. “This man here was a person without whom I couldn’t have done it. The other two was also a great help.”

Jongdae shows his teeth in bright smile, and for a moment the mood is lifted. But then Yixing focuses back on the camera and somehow, you really don’t know how, but you know who he is going to talk about next.

“And there is another person that… I owe so much to.”

“Is that person special to you?” Asks interviewer and you can feel fury pushing through your veins. Yixing is talking about his mental problems, actually baring himself to the world, and the guy is waiting for some kind of gossip-site juicy news?

“Yes.” Says Yixing steadily, nonetheless, and you feel in dire need of oxygen. It’s like you can’t breathe, waiting for him to elaborate, heart beating madly in your chest. Is it about you? Is it? “She is the one that took care of me, even at the expanse of her own needs, and I’ve let her down. She was the one to push me into right direction, and I made her life hell.”

Suddenly you realize that there are tears on your cheeks. It’s been hell. It’s been living hell. But now with him so earnest in front of the camera and so many people, all you see is him having courage to admit that.

You reach into your bag, knowing that what you are doing is weird and futile.

“And you are telling this, because…” Prompts interviewer and sure as hell you are going to strangle him. Jongdae shoots the guy an annoyed glance, but Yixing doesn’t even blink.

“Because she is the most amazing women I’ve ever met. And yet, I am not strong enough to face her, after what I’ve done. I need to apologize to her. I need to ask for forgiveness. I need to tell her I… It’s way more scary than speedway racing.” His attempt to joke is greeted with scattered laughs. No one seems to notice the sentence he cut out.

But you think you know what was he about to say.

You’ve never deleted his number from your phone. You walked for weeks ignoring the fact that it was still there, and you actually lied to yourself that it shows how strong you are. And now it comes in handy.

You know that probably his phone is in the locker or something, and he is not going to answer it, but… You need to tell him that it’s ok. That you forgave him. That he doesn’t need to be scared to see you.

That you still want him in your life.

All those months when you tried to forget him – it’s been all a hoax.

You didn’t even want to.

Interviewer moves to Jongdae, who actually comes in front of Yixing to shield him from camera, and you realize that he is shaking slightly.

It was probably harder than he thought it would be, and you are so proud of him. You are dialing, oblivious to the fact that Jongdae’s part of interview is on, the only thing you can see is Yixing.

Yixing who stares ahead, as you are calling him.

What did you expect? No one would race with a phone.

But you are relentless, you can’t hang up, not after what he said.

Maybe someone above decided to smile at you. Maybe it’s just a chance.

But you see a mechanic, one of Yixing’s team, peeping from behind the photo wall, and you see Yixing turning around, and listening to the man, and then disappearing behind the wall.

Dial sounds are cut in the middle.

“Yes?” His voice is shaken and unsure, and now you are openly crying, barely controlling your sobs. You grab your bag and storm out of your seat to hide somewhere. You can hear Yixing softly asking your name on the other end of the line.

You stop at the end of the bleachers, hiding behind a pillar.

“Yixing.” You answer, realizing it’s been months since you said that. It pleasantly rolls off your tongue. “I forgive you. I forgave you.” You say hurriedly, speech chopped because of your sobs. You push the phone against your ear, wanting to be as close as possible to him, feeling both broken and finally putting yourself back together.

“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He whispers, voice breaking, and you realize that he is crying.”Where… Where are you?”

“Bleachers sector C.” You know that he’ll come. He will come, and he will get you, and as surreal as it is you realize that you’ll have to call off the blind date that you rescheduled.

You realize that Yixing is walking, and fast, and he shouldn’t, because the official part has not ended yet, and your eyes are red and puffy, but at least your dress is amazing, and the array of thoughts that goes through your mind is just wild.

“I... I am close.” You can hear that he is breathing heavily, and even though you’ve already calmed down, you start crying again. He is coming for you. For once he is coming for you.

You see him at the end of the corridor, few of the fans leaving the venue, turning heads after him, surprised. You unglue yourself from the pillar, unsure whether to go to him, or stay in your spot. He is walking fast, on the verge of running, and you break and you take two steps, and he catches you, still in his uniform, padded jacket and padded trousers, tall shoes, and smelling of dust, exhaust and track, but it’s Yixing, and it’s Yixing that hugs you, and it’s Yixing chest that you sob into.

You shake, hands grabbing onto the leather, and he rocks on his heels, repeating over and over again how sorry he is.

“I’ve missed you.” You say in between your sobs, and you hit his chest. “I’ve missed you, you bastard.” You repeat, pushing back to look him in the face. It’s wet, and his eyes are red and puffed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I hated you. I hated you so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

He is shaking and you raise your hand to wipe your tears off your face. You take a deep breath trying to collect yourself.

“How come I learn about all of that from the after-the-race interview?” You say, staring at his face. So long. It’s been so long.

The corner of his mouth twitches as if he tried to smile.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats earnestly, and once again your eyes fill with tears. You choke slightly, and once again hit his chest.

“I hate you, you dumbass.” You say quietly, looking down, feeling tired.” I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I missed you.”

Yixing cups the back of your head to bring you close once more.

“There wasn’t a day I didn’t miss you. Only after I left I realized… What you meant to me. What you mean to me.” You hit him again, heart swelling, but tears still falling.

So many days, weeks, months.

“I hate you.” You repeat, lifelessly. You don’t and you both know that. You hate the time you spent apart, the time you spent crying because of him, when you could have been smiling. You hate the time which you spent chasing after the idea of the girl, and not being a girl in your own right. You hate the time you spent letting Yixing ignore his illness.

“I know.” He says, rocking you in his arms. “I know.”

The I love you is left unspoken, but you realize there will be better time for that.

For sure.

Before you start calling for it, yeah, there will be smutty epilogue. It’s just - this chapter was too long on it’s own.

[frywen-babbles]

Everything comes with a price pt8

A/N: This is a modern AU, that was partially inspired by the awesome college AU by @sengokugenkigirl !

Thank you so much @nitelotus  for betaing!

Trigger warnings: attempted suicide, implied self-harm.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part7

*****

She was there.

Lying on the ground. Eyes closed. Unmoving.

Without thinking he tried to run to her, but he was too far away. She was already surrounded by people.

People she didn’t know. People who weren’t him.

“It’s probably nothing serious, Mr. Yugiri.”

“It’s so good of you to be worried about your injured fans, Mr. Yugiri.”

“Mr. Yugiri, you’ll get a cold if you stay in the rain.”

As soon as he could pay any attention to the voices around him, he realized he was being spoken to. He let his impassive mask fall into place, his voice devoid of emotion, “I should look after my fans. You all should hurry along now. Nothing to see here.”

Somehow, he had made it to the bottom of the stairs. The rain hit him harder, the crowd getting thinner every passing minute.

He could now see she had opened her eyes, the young woman in front of her telling her to stay still. When he stepped closer, his shoe hit something. It was her phone, the screen shattered from the fall. He hurriedly picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket before anyone else could see.

Every fibre of his being hated this. Hated he couldn’t go to her. Hated he couldn’t touch her. Hated he couldn’t comfort her. But he needed to keep her safe. He would go to the hospital afterwards.

But right at that moment, he hated himself.

Hated that she had to be alone, in a foreign city, surrounded by strangers.

When the ambulance doors closed after her, he was left on the street, staring at the small puddle of blood that was slowly dissolving in the rain.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I have a cab waiting for you.” Kiyohiro’s voice was calm and steady, the exact opposite of how Saizo felt. He pushed Kiyohiro’s hand away irritated and walked to the cab, ignoring the rest of his fans.

She lied on the hospital bed, her eyes closed, but as soon as she felt his touch she opened her eyes.

“Saizo… you came.” She smiled and curled her fingers around his hand.

“… So it seems.” His smile seemed to ease her and she gave his hand a squeeze.

“Sorry… I… didn’t mean to disrupt your tour…”

“It doesn’t matter. Kiyohiro is already taking care of everything.”

“But…” He silenced her with a kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll get you home as soon as possible.”

“…Okay…” She fell silent, closing her eyes. He examined her, the bandages around her head and hands, her pale face, her body clad in an ugly hospital gown.

“What happened, hm?”

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a few moments before she spoke. “Um… I… I’m not sure… My memory’s kinda fuzzy…” She kept a short break as if trying to find the right words. “But the doctor said I was very lucky. I only broke some ribs and an arm, they didn’t even have to shave my head. Apparently, there’s some glue in there somewhere.” She tried to smile, but he could tell by her laboured short breaths she was in pain. He smiled back at her despite the coldness gripping his chest and stroked her head gently.

She had been lucky.

Lucky to be lying in a hospital bed.

He didn’t even want to think what else could have happened to her. She shouldn’t even have been here. But he had forced her to come.

Was this his punishment for wanting to keep the woman he loved close to him? A way for the universe to tell him everything he touched would be drenched in blood. That his hands would never be clean. Clean from her blood.

She would be better off without him.

Without his influence on her, without him ruining her life.

She could have died.

Oh god, she could have died…

Her blood had spilt on the street. The blood of the one person he wished to love and cherish with all his might. To love and cherish with such a desperation he sometimes felt like it might drown him.

He stroked her hair one last time before he pulled his hand back. She had fallen asleep, probably due to the painkillers she had been given. He turned away to leave, his fingers lingering still a while longer on her hand before he could finally let go.

“Mmm… Saizo…?” she murmured, her eyes cracking open, “Saizo… don’t leave…” Her eyes drooped closed again for a moment but she looked at him again, reaching for him, “Saizo… I need you…”

“Aren’t we needy today.” He smiled and brushed at the back of her hand. Her eyes blinked slowly, unfocused, but on him. He took a chair and sat by her bed taking her hand on his. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I breathe,” she joked, but he knew she was serious. He saw how she winced every time she tried to move, heard the small whimpers leaving her lips every now and then. Despite all that, she smiled and her eyes closed again.

“Saizo…” she whispered her eyes opening and closing once as if she was making sure he was really there.

“Hm?”

“Promise you won’t leave…”

Any other day, he would have brushed her demand off. Any other day. But not today, he just couldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t make any promises to her. Not now, not ever. But even the idea of losing her felt so horrible it lurched his insides, made his heart freeze, his chest tight with fear. He had to give her something.

“I promise, little lady. Go to sleep now.”

After only a few seconds, her breath came out in calm breaths as sleep claimed her.

He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

She was here and she was alive, that’s all that mattered now.

*****

“But Mr. Kirigakure, you can’t go in there! She quite clearly stated she didn’t wish to see you.” The nurse’s voice stopped him in his tracks. The hand he had already lifted to reach for the door handle dropped to his side and he silently stared at the door.

The nurse put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to sit on one of the chairs in the hallway.

“She’s been through a lot. Go home, take a shower. Get some sleep and come back in the afternoon. I’m sure she’ll want to see you then.”

Suddenly he felt exhausted. He buried his face in his hands, a sigh escaping his lips. The anxiety from the day before and the sleepless night were getting at him. Like the mask he was always wearing was suddenly crumbling to dust a bit by bit, revealing his inner self to the whole world to see. 

“She’ll probably want this…” His voice sounded weird even in his own ears. Too much emotion was leaking through. He should have this under control by now.

But somehow, he wasn’t in control when it came to her.

Somehow, he was so lost.

He pushed her phone to the nurse and stood up. He fiddled with his own phone, ordering a cab for himself before he managed to school his face in an impassive mask again. “I’ll come back later. Please call me if anything comes up.” He looked at the nurse, who had a slight frown between his brows when he peered at him. The nurse looked concerned, ready to listen if he wanted to talk. He didn’t. He just wanted to see her.

When he stepped outside it was still raining. The raindrops landed heavy on his face, on his hair, soaked through his clothes chilling him to the bone. All the people around him pulled their coats tighter around them, held their umbrellas against the wind blowing in gusts, tried to avoid puddles while hurrying away from the rain.

He didn’t even bother.

It was always rain.

*****

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