#sorry it took me a little longer than i thought and Withheld it from you!!

[lookedlikethebins]

trying to wrap up my work day(s) and so happy to see people seemed to like the producer george oneshot!!! thank you everyone who read it!! xo

[luveline]

summer shower [Fred Weasley x reader]

Summary: Fred makes your asthma play up.

Tags: reader-insert, fluff, friends-to-lovers, pining, mutual pining

word count: 1.3k

When you were just turning 21 years old, you met a boy. He was in his third year to your second of university, funny as could be, and beautiful.

Fred Weasley was a man of many secrets, which you'd come to accept the longer you'd known him. You had no idea where he was from, where his parents lived, or even if he had any family. You didn't know where he'd gone to school before this. You certainly didn't know why he liked pumpkin pie so much!

There were many things you did know.

His eyes turned from brown to almost black in the sun, superheated and lovely. He squinted one eye against the sun when you lounged in the courtyards in an endearing attempt to always keep an eye on your face. He never crushed flowers when he walked and he always trapped spiders in a cup with a piece of card instead of killing them, seeming endlessly bemused at the small creatures.

It was a warm summers day. You were trying your hardest not to smile as he lay in the grass. Your friends had all departed, claiming headaches and essays that needed to be submitted, though you thought these were all just white lies to allow you some alone time.

It didn't matter. No amount of free time would finish the game between the two of you. Well, you hoped it was a game: Fred pretended he didn't fancy you and you pretended you didn't fancy him.

You shared a tenderness with him that was unlike any relationship in your life.

He was smirking up at you.

"What?" You asked, pouting playfully.

"You look like you're trying to solve world hunger," he said through a grin.

You shook your head, fixing your gaze back down on the book in your lap.

"Maybe one day," you said without looking up.

Fred laughed. It was a perfect laugh, infectious and happy. You smiled despite your best efforts not to.

The pages were thin between your fingers, almost a thousand condensed into a 3 inch textbook for your course. The tip of your pencil rested against the page, though sometimes it felt appropriate to bring it to your mouth, contemplative. Fred watched silently as you underlined and questioned the subject, only quirkiness an eyebrow as your frustration became obvious.

"I don't understand," you admitted finally, "how that is relevant to anything. Look at this!"

You poked your pencil angrily at the figure in question. Fred's eyebrows creased as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Doll, you know I don't understand a lick of it."

You sighed, closing the textbook mournfully. It didn't surprise you that Fred couldn't understand, you couldn't understand and you were actually taking the course for the last two and a half years. He was doing a completely different subject.

You threw yourself down flat, much too close to where Fred himself lay on the grass, knocking the air out of your lungs. You tried not to get too wound up, worried any agitation would cause a flare up.

You'd had a very bad asthma attack only a few days ago and had spent a day or two feeling very fragile and sorry for yourself. You didn't want a repeat.

The grass was cold and a little damp from the early morning dew.

You nibbled at your lip, searching the sky for something it couldn't give.

Fred was watching you.

"Oh my god! What do you want, you hooligan?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "You looked at me."

"You were looking at me!"

"Doesn't sound true. Falsehoods of such a nature are unkindly and uncouth."

"You're uncouth!"

"Yeah?" Fred asked, eyes hot.

Your mouth dried up. He was especially tempting like this, looking all homegrown and hand spun. His hair was lightened by the sun cover, strawberry blonde against his tanned and freckled face. Tanned now only after months of suffering sun burn miserably.

"I know what you're thinking." He said. You paid close attention to his mouth.

"Which is?"

"How did I get to be so devilishly handsome? Honestly, it's a question I ask myself often."

You withheld the urge to turn your face into the earth and scream.

He wasn't entirely wrong. You had been thinking about his good looks.

"How did you know?" You asked. You'd tried for bravado, for sarcasm, but it came out wrong. A little too sincere. You cleared your throat.

Fred pushed up onto an elbow so that he was looking down into your face. He studied the slope of your nose and the laugh lines you'd slowly gathered since meeting him. He reached forward, too slowly, to place the pads of his fingers gently on your cheek. You could pinpoint the exact moment he rested his palm on your skin.

He smiled gently. You beamed.

"Can I ask you something?"

You tried to read his face, preemptively guess the question.

"When do you ask my permission?"

"It's the kind of thing that requires two consenting parties."

Your mouth quirked into a waiting grin. Fred's ears grew red.

"Not that."

"Fred Weasley, embarassed. Somebody call the news."

He didn't answer, pushing the hair out of your face in a repetitive motion that sent tingles down your spine and a hot flush to your tummy.

You tried not to read into it, closing your eyes against the waves of excitement and happiness roiling through you. You didn't permit yourself to think of what it meant, because what else could it mean? Friends don't do the things you both did. Friends didn't gaze down into your face with unspoken feelings.

You lay there for some time, the excitement slowly turning to bone deep contentment, feeling yourself drift into an almost sleep. The breeze was soft and sweet, the ground beneath you cushioned by grass, and the handsome man hovering above you only sweetened the deal.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm," you said, tilting your chin to prompt him to continue.

"Will you look at me a second?

You opened your eyes obligingly.

"I wanted to ask you, do you -"

He cut himself off, peering up into the sky. You frowned, only to feel the unwelcome spatter of heavy sudden rain drops on your face.

You gasped, rushing to collect all of your things into your bag. Your textbook was already dampening by the time you'd fit it all. Fred pulled you up and began to run. You followed, laughing and struggling to be heard over the summer shower.

By the time you reached his dorm building, both of you were breathing hard. Fred said something through a laugh. You struggled to answer, hands on your knees.

"Y/N?"

Despite having asthma all your life and suffering many attacks, each time felt just as urgent and scary as the first.

Your eyes filled with tears.

"You're okay! You're okay. Where's your pump, huh? In your bag?"

He didn't wait for an answer, reaching into your bag as you gasped, though insistent on leaving one arm on your arm. The pressure was reassuring.

You tried to manage your breathing as you always did, gasping and gasping and gasping.

"Here, princess. Open up," Fred said.

You covered the hand he held your inhaler with your own, clamping down on his hand so hard you could feel the fine bones under his skin.

It took a while for you to settle down, thought this attack wasn't anywhere as bad as the one you'd had days ago.

"My hero," you coughed out, lungs aching.

Fred grimaced. "I'll always rescue you, my femme fatale."

"Misogynist."

"You have paper lungs, my love."

"That I do, Freddie. That I do."

Fred rubbed your back, insisting on carrying you up the steps to his dorm room. If you acted much more frail than you felt, it was nobodies business but yours and Fred's.

[beskar-cowboy]

The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight

Part 4 of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: You catch an accidental glimpse of the Mandalorian without his helmet, his instincts kick in. (4.4k words) link to read on ao3 here

Warnings: NSFW, Mando is kind of mean, the helmet is off but its still canon?, PIV sex, rough sex, he low-key kinda threatens the reader idk, spanking, soft ending to make up for whatever the fuck i just wrote <3 

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (linearly in my masterlist) <3

Perhaps swaddling the child to your chest on a desert planet was not the smartest idea. The heat was blistering, even though you wore less layers than usual. Just a tank top, some utility shorts and a blaster holstered to your thigh. And the baby of course, who had not stopped babbling since you left the ship, the only thing distracting you from this damned heat.

You could only imagine how Mando was feeling underneath all that beskar as he walked alongside you in silence, only stealing glances every now and then, as he usually did.

Even after travelling with them for half a cycle now, Mando still withheld so much from you.

Even after the two of you slept together for the first time, after some close call on some jungle planet, he still retreated into his usual silence.

But there were more gentle touches now, more lingering hands, more helmet tilts, but he still hadn’t let you in. You were okay with that, you knew that this was what he was used to, so you didn’t think too much about it.

You let him take what he needs without asking too many prying questions. If you were being honest, you liked the way he used you, you liked how he took it out on you, you liked how rough he got, how possessive, how starved he could be.

It had only amounted to a couple of times over the last month but… but you loved it. You looked forward to it, you thought about it, dreamt of… dreamt of him, of Mando, inside you, above you, under you-

Mando squeezed his large hand around your bicep, breaking you from your thoughts before nodding to you, then he departed. Off to meet with… whoever.

You stayed in the market and bought stuff for the ship.

Some new screws and bolts for parts that were missing or had to be fixed, food rations, dried meat, fruits that you knew Mando was fond of, some weird, shiny little trinkets the child seemed attracted to, and a new bar of soap. You had just finished the last one a few days prior.

After buying the necessities, you wandered around the little market with the child, bouncing him up and down against your chest and talking to him softly. He was very responsive today, not seeming too bothered by the heat thankfully.

But the sun was high in the sky, most likely at its peak, and it was unrelenting. The desert environment of the planet gave way to little shaded spots so you looked for water instead, finding a little mist station where children laughed and played. You ran through it a few times with the child, he screeched with joy.

On your last run through the mist, you caught sight of Mando approaching the two of you again.

That saunter… the way he walked was so intimidating, so sensual. You couldn’t help but let a shy smile stretch across your face at the people who cowered away in fear of the bounty hunter.

You made sure you had all your things in your sling, checking to see that the child hadn’t dropped his new toy and then you were off, heading back to the ship.

The walk felt longer now due to the long exposure you both had in the sun. Mando seemed to be trudging along just the same as you, profusely sweating and in desperate need for some water. And a shower.

Mando opened the hatch and you both stumbled inside, dropping your bags and untying the child from your chest where he had left a giant sweat stain from how tightly he had been pressed to you. Suddenly aware of how sweaty, sticky and disgusting you must seem, the only thing on your mind was a shower.

“I got you some Meiloorun, they seemed ripe.” You smiled at him as you gently placed the child on the floor of the Crest. He waddled towards his father, trying to show him his new toy.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” He said in your direction, that deep modulated voice making you shiver. He seemed hesitant to look away, but picked up the child regardless, letting him show off his new shiny thing. Mando took it into his hands, playing with him, you smiled fondly.

“I’m going to go take a shower if that’s okay? To cool down a bit.” You’re not sure why you felt the need to ask his permission after all this time but you still felt the need sometimes. Maybe he would want help putting the stuff away that you had bought, maybe he wanted you to help with the child or something? You just couldn’t help the way your mind only fixated on the sweat and grime sticking to your flesh.

“Of course.” Mando nodded. You nodded back, turning on your heels to head into the ‘fresher just around the corner in the low cabin of the Crest.

You leave the door open, you think you don’t mind Mando seeing you if he decides to look or happens to catch a glimpse. Even though he’s never taken any of his armor off (besides his gloves) for you before, he’s seen every single inch of you.

You quickly peeled off your damp clothing, turning the water on and making sure it wasn’t too cold but cool enough to relax your heat exhausted body. You stepped in quickly, eager to cool yourself down.

You visibly relaxed as soon as the water hit your burning skin, your shoulders sagging, a sighing escaping your lips. You dug your fingers into your own flesh, trying to knead the tender muscles which strained under the weight of the child and the supplies. It wasn’t much but you still ached, the heat had definitely contributed to that.

Supplies… your new bar of soap! You had been excited to use it but completely forgot about it the second you returned to the ship, mind wiped blank by the desire to rid yourself of your dirty clothes.

Suddenly thankful you left the door to the refresher open, you stick your head out from behind the curtain and call for Mando, wondering if he could retrieve the sparkly blue soap bar for you.

Instead of being met with an empty doorway, you’re met with something else. And it’s as if the world moved around you in slow motion, your emotions moving over you like molasses.

First, confusion.

Hair. A head full of light brown, golden hair. It curled near the ends, into little wisps. It couldn’t be-

No. That couldn’t be Mando. It was as if your brain refused to acknowledge the shiny beskar that sat underneath that head of hair, refusing to realize it was the tin covered man you were looking at.

Second, curiosity.

Your eyes scanned over his head, taking in the way the bathroom light shined over his hair, making it reflect all different shades of brown and caramel.

It was now that you realized that his head was turning, that’s why the light was bouncing off it so dynamically.

His head continued to turn. An ear.

Third, shock.

It was only when you saw the sliver of skin, the shell of his ear, the inner workings of the intricate cartilage, and the profile of his supple cheekbone that you let out a startled, and perhaps unnecessary, shriek.

Your hands flew up to cover your eyes, to shield them from the forbidden view. You turned back into the shower, facing the wall, away from Mando.

He saw more of you than you had of him. He saw the way your chest heaved, the way the water flew off your body as you twirled to face the tiled wall of the shower, away from him. He watched the water hit your back-

You had seen him. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

He hated the way his instincts kicked in. He hated the way he was trained to kill whoever saw him, whoever looked, whoever dared unmask him.

Almost innately, his hand reached for the light switch, plunging the refresher into darkness as he stalked towards you, pressing his hand to your head and pinning you against the cool tile of the shower forcefully and efficiently.

Mando’s body followed suit, bringing both of you underneath the steady shower stream, pinning himself against your backside. The cold bite of his beskar in contrast to the cool water making you whimper, the force of his hand pressing your cheek into the wall made you see stars behind closed eyelids.

“What did you see?” He asked, voice gruff, strained, unmodulated.

Fuck.

Of all the months you had spent aboard the Razor Crest, living with him, fucking him, you had never heard his voice without the helmet, without some sort of barrier. You regret the way it made you moan, how easily he could make you melt.

“N-nothing, I didn’t-”

“What did you see?” He pressed onto your harder, with his hand and his body weight, pining you completely to the wall, making you at his mercy. You cry out at his cold touch, at his harshness. Mando had been frustrated, even angry, with you before but now… now he was about to truly end you.

But all you could think about was how beautiful his real voice sounded. It always sounded beautiful to you, from the moment you met him, it had made you weak, but this… this was unlike anything you could have imagined.

“Hair,” you cry, unsure if you were truly crying or if it was just water from the endless stream running above both of you now. “I s-saw your hair, your ear… I-I’m sorry-” You hiccup, trying to regain your breath and not inhale too much water as your chest heaved.

Without the helmet Mando was quickly realizing that he could genuinely hear you for the first time, your trembling voice ringing through his ears without being slightly distorted by the helmet’s filters. He could….

He could smell you too. The sweet scent of your skin, of your wet hair tangling in his fingers as he continued to hold you in between the tiles and his unforgiving beskar.

You… the sight of you pinned against him, your wet skin, water dripping down your flesh in rivulets, your whimpers, your cries, your tears, the way your eyes closed, the way you kept them closed even now, drowning in darkness, your cheek flush against the tile.

Completely at his mercy.

You weren’t even fighting him.

“Fuck.” He groaned, leaning his forehead against your temple. You whimpered at his sudden movement, so on edge.

You knew he was trained to kill. You knew what happened to people who even attempted to look at him. You had seen it, you had been there when it happened once, ignorant vendors trying to taunt him, trying to tease the Mandalorian. How stupid they were, now dead somewhere in a ditch. Would he do that to you? It would be so easy for him...

Mando wondered if you could see him in the darkness as well as he could see you. He knew you couldn’t, the lack of windows deprived the room of any light sources. Luckily, his eyes were trained and used to harsh environments, low visibility. Luckily, he could see you trembling against him.

He removed his hand from your head, sliding both of his hands now to hold your hips, digging his blunt nails into the flesh, leaving crescent moon-shaped indents behind. You yelped at the sting but didn’t pull away. You liked it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop talking.” He growled and you bit your lip, unaware that you had opened your eyes due to the deep, dark abyss you had been plunged into.

You could truly not see a thing. All your senses became focused on the way Mando touched you, the way he’s wedged you between the wall and himself, the death grip he had on your hips, the way his breaths came out quickly and evenly onto your cheek. He was breathing almost as hard as you were.

He nudged his nose onto your cheek and you nudge your cheek back onto him, trying to remind him that it was just you, that you’re not a threat, it’s just you, it’s just you, it’s just you.

This is The Way. This is The Way… This is The Way… This… is-

Fuck. You were distracting him. Your little whimpers, the way you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. So willing, you were always so willing for him. So fucking easy and it drove him crazy.

His skin… it felt so good against yours. You had only felt the rough, rarely tender caress of his rough palms. Never of his face, his lips, his nose… You felt like you were being driven insane, you couldn't believe how close his unmasked face was to yours.

You could kiss him…

Mando continued to rub his nose against you, suddenly so lost in the feel of your skin against his. No one had ever been so close to him, so invasively close, breathing in and breathing out the same air, sharing. Feeling your eyelashes flutter against his own, your lips, open panting, swollen and pliant and inviting. He could… he could-

“Mando-”

You’re cut off by his hand suddenly slithering down your body and cupping your cunt. You gasp, unable to help the way your hips involuntarily rock into his hand, into his own hips as well, feeling a growing hardness between his legs.

You were hot, so, so hot down between your thighs. Slippery too, and Mando knew it wasn’t just the water. It was thick, sticking to his fingers, practically begging for him. Mando groaned against your open lips, both of you panting into each other’s open mouths.

“You... you fucking like this, don’t you?” He rasped, biting onto the side of your bottom lip. You whimpered, hips bucking into his hand again. What were you supposed to say? How were you to answer that?

Yes Mando, I like how fucking intimidating you are.

Yes Mando, I like how much bigger you are than me, how easy it would be for you to snap me like a twig.

Yes Mando, I like when you’re rough with me, I get off on it, I crave it, I-

“Fucking answer me.” Mando growls, latching his teeth onto your earlobe now. His hand continued to cup your sex, not truly going anywhere near where you needed him. You still couldn’t fucking comprehend that he was without his helmet, his face right next to yours…

“Yes!” You squeaked as his fingers brushed along the inside of your folds, parting you, dragging his fingers along the length of you, slipping through your sweet cyprine. You let out an unholy moan, so ashamed at how easy you were for him.

Mando kisses your ear, trails his tongue down your neck, collecting the water that pebbles down your flesh as if it were syrup.

This… is, The Way. This is- The Way-

His fingers brush up against your clit accidentally and you buck into him again, desperate for any sort of friction, any sort of attention he could give you.

Mando was trying to calm himself down. He had just been on the brink of snapping your neck and now he was overcome with lust, the desire to fuck you, stuff you full of his cock. The two extremes were dizzying, he felt drunk off of some fancy and expensive cider from some far off planet in The Core. But he supposes that’s just what you did to him.

Before he even realizes it, he’s unzipping his pants, letting the top fall undone and pulling his cock out, letting it rest against your backside. You bite your lip, trying to turn your head to look towards him but your eyes are unable to adjust, you feel as though you can see the outline of his face but… but you’re sure it’s an illusion of the dark.

“Please, Mando-” You weren’t one to beg, Mando wasn’t one to make you beg because he was always as desperate, always as pent up, touch-starved, hungry as you were.

When you two fucked it was never slow, never drawn out, never languid, luxurious. No, it was rough, mean, volatile, desperate and just fucking needy. You needed each other, and Mando fucked you like it would always be the last time, every time. Like he would never have you again, like he would never split you open again.

Mando shoves his entire length into you in one hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you from how deep he reaches so easily at this angle. He rests for a moment, savouring the way your pussy flutters and clenches around him from the sudden intrusion, trying to adjust to his substantial length.

His head pressed right up against yours, he can hear all the pretty sounds you're making, even over the loud patter of water against his beskar which begins to weigh him down from how soaking wet it's getting.

But Mando doesn’t care, he can’t, not when you’re whimpering for him in that pretty way you do, not when you clench so tight around him that he feels like he could cum without even having moved. You beg, you beg and beg and beg for him to move but he just closes his eyes and feels you pulse, hot and tight and snug around him with that perfect little cunt of yours.

You hadn’t seen him, he thinks to himself. You hadn’t actually seen him, he’s okay, it’s just you, it’s just you, it’s just you.

You.

Quivering at the end of his cock, moaning, grasping at the tiles, trying to find purchase on something, taking him all the way in like you always do, like a good fucking girl.

He hadn’t even realized that he had started thrusting, in and out with reckless abandon, bottoming out every single time before pounding back into you, making you whimper and cry.

“W-what’s my name?” He asks suddenly, pulling you from floating away towards whatever astral plane you were near close to ascending too, the one his thrusts were pushing you towards as he rearranged you from the inside out.

You had to think, you had to think of his name because your find was blank, he was fucking you dumb.

“Mando.” You whimper, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the cold tiles, keeping your head turned so that he could keep his face pressed into your cheek, nose nudging yours, lips brushing but not kissing.

“No… what’s my fucking name?” He grits from behind clenched teeth, punctuating his words between harsh, unforgiving thrusts. You hiccup, unable to swallow down air properly as he fucks you into the wall.

His name?

What did he-

Oh.

His name. Mando had never told you his name, his actual name.

Was this a test? You shook your head ‘no’ as his arms wrapped around you, locking you in place as his ungloved hands came to grope at your breasts, using your own body as leverage to fuck into you harder. You let out a wanton moan, throwing your head back, letting it rest on his beskar covered shoulder. You turned your head and let your lips brush against his cheek but he turned his head too, lips brushing against his own and you both gasped and whimpered in unison. He seemed insistent on not kissing you, so you just went along with it, all your wits being literally fucked out of you.

“I-I don’t know.” You finally answered, your voice coming out small, between laboured breaths.

You didn’t know him, he thought. He still had something of his identity held in privacy, you didn’t know him, you didn’t know him.

“You don’t- you don’t know me,” He begins to say and it makes you cry, you cry against his mouth, your body shaking, bouncing against his, water beating down on both of you. “B-but you still let me fuck you like this, don’t you sweet girl?”

You scream. You scream when his hand lets go of your left breast only to come back down onto it, slapping the underside of the supple flesh. You wail and cry and moan the only name he’s ever told you.

Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando.

He grabs your jaw in one of his strong hands, angling your face towards his, a sight unseen.

“Answer me when I speak to you, cyar’ika.” He says forcefully, regardless of the nickname.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, trying to nod your head in his tight hold but you barely can. You were right on the brink, you felt as if he were to say one more thing in that deep, rough voice of his you would cum.

“Yes, what?” He grits, fucking your harder, moving his hand down to your neck and pushing you back against the cold tiles, making you yelp and cry for him, at the cool bite of ceramic materials.

“It’s c-cold, Mando.” You whine. He slaps your ass, his hand cracking down on your flesh, no doubt leaving a mark to find again tomorrow. You squeeze your eyes shut, bordering on overstimulation from his cock, his slaps, the water turning colder.

The ship never had a great water supply.

“Answer me.” He fucks you harder, faster, deeper, un-preciously and slaps your ass again, the other cheek this time.

“Y-yes! Yes I..I still l-let you… let you fuck me like this!” You cry and shake against the tile.

Mando’s arms quickly wrap around like they had before, hauling you back into his body. He snakes his hand down and rubs against your clit in fast, precise motions.

Almost instantaneously, your mind goes blank, your eyes roll into the back of your head. One of his arms wraps across your front, against your chest, holding your shoulder in a death grip, his other hand still working on your clit, his thrusts unrelenting as you cum and cum and cum around his thick cock.

“That’s it. That’s it... Good f-fucking girl.” He rasps, holding you tightly, thrusting a few more times before he empties himself inside you with a growl, painting your walls with him, branding you, owning you.

You moan at the sensation, the way his hot cum fills you to the brim before leaking out, back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs. You both pant, your chest heaving in time with his as he fucks it back into you as deep as it’ll go, stuffing you so, so full of him. 

You keep your eyes closed, afraid of opening them, afraid he can see you even in this darkness. Even though you know he can.

Mando stays inside you until he’s softened, relishing in the way your pussy trembles around his girth, sucking him in as deep as you can for as long as possible.

When he eventually does pull out with a low growl, you hear him twist the knobs of the shower, the water suddenly becoming warmer, heating your now freezing skin. All these temperature changes were making you feel light-headed, the rough fuck you just got from Mando not helping your case either.

“Wha-”

“Stay here, warm up.” Mando cuts you off, you hear him step out of the shower.

A series of loud bangs resonate throughout the refresher, making you jump. Only one thing could be that loud. Is he… removing his beskar?

“Mando-”

“You’re always so cold when we’re travelling… can’t believe you were taking a cold shower.” He mumbles to himself, you can imagine him shaking his head. You’re stunned honestly, at how much he’s talking, especially without the helmet, that fact alone still lost on you. His voice was so beautiful, you had thought it to yourself about a hundred times now since you first realized he took the helmet off.

You stand under the warm stream, your quaking shivers slowly dissipating. You feel his presence enter the shower again, this time you can clearly feel his body heat, more flesh. He’s naked.

Mando is standing naked with you in the shower.

You involuntarily step away from him but he catches you, his hand landing on your waist, his hand softly grasping the flesh there. Such a stark contrast to the way he just fucked you into oblivion.

He’s naked.

This man had never removed anything besides his gloves. Even when he fucked you, the armor stayed on. You’re not sure if it was an issue of trust or due to his boundaries or his Creed. But considering he almost just killed you for accidentally seeing his ear and cheek, and was now standing naked with you in the dark… well, maybe it was a bit of both. You were having trouble wrapping your head around all of this, nothing was making sense to you.

The hand on your waist pulls you closer to him, your chests and bellies bump together and you gasp. Mando is firm, you knew this but… but to actually feel him against you, well, you could cry about it honestly.

You felt uncertain about what to do with your hands, unsure if you were allowed to touch him but you tentatively lifted them to his chest anyways, letting them rest against his solid pecs. His skin was soft despite the random series of raised flesh that seemed to brand him, his scars. You don’t think you ever wanted to see someone’s scars, someone’s skin as badly as you do now. But you would right out ask for it, you couldn’t.

You felt Mando lift something to your skin, it was smooth as it glided along your arm, your shoulders, across your back. A fruity, earthy scent filled your nose.

Your bar of soap.

He must have grabbed it before he took off his beskar. You lean into him unknowingly, the hand at your waist moving to hold you against him more easily as he washed you. You let your face rest against his chest, the little spot where his throat meets his collarbones. He smelled like sweat, grime, gun powder, he smelled like Mando.

You pressed your lips to the skin, the skin you knew was tanned and rugged, worn down, tired, in need of more kisses than he would let you give.

At the gentle press of your lips, that’s when Mando speaks again. It’s so hushed amongst the falling water, you almost miss it, but the few words don’t fall deaf to your ears, you hear every letter, every syllable.

“My name...” You look up to where his face would be, trying to imagine what expression he wears as he speaks to you in the dark. Your forehead not too far from his lips, you can almost feel the ghost of them on your flesh. 

“My name is Din.”

[marvel-and-mischief]

Lavender

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Words: 1700 Warnings: reader is mother of Frankie's newborn, swearing, angst, talk of death Synopsis: Frankie is met with a sour welcome when he returns home from South America

Lavender: mistrust

💐

The blood red door hid the scars of your last encounter with Frankie. The wood had been a pure white but in your fury at what your husband was about to do, you let a gravy jug fly through the air where it landed with a smash in the middle of the open door, denting the surface and chipping the original paintwork. You repainted it a few days later with the only can of paint you’d found in the garden shed, the same paint Frankie had used to decorate your baby’s room halfway through your pregnancy.

It was that very door that you were stood next to now, staring at the man that had walked away from you a few weeks before. You had cried your tears of disbelief, heartbreak, frustration, you had cried them all out. All you had left was indifference at the sight of him returning home.

“Honey,” Frankie pleaded, shoulders slumped, eyes tired and tinged pink with emotions. He looked haggard, drained of everything that made him Frankie. He didn’t seem to even have the energy to look sorry, or hopeful that you wouldn’t slam the door in his face. He just looked defeated.

You didn’t say anything, what could you say? Part of you still loved him and that part refused to turn him away. You left the door open as you turned around and entered the living room. You took a stand in front of the TV on the other side of the room as you heard the door click softly shut and Frankie’s boots shuffled across the carpeted room. It was then you felt your heart rate spike.

Your husband had returned.

Frankie had survived his escapade to South America and was back looking worse for wear. He was back but you knew him well enough to know he had left a part of him somewhere else.

He paused in the doorway, unsure of himself despite the familiarity of home. He helped to pick this house; his pros had been the large driveway at the front to fit his truck and your family sized car, the quiet neighborhood with a park just down the road, the fenced in garden at the back for the puppies he’d always dreamed of having. He’d laid down the carpets himself, fitted the electrical appliances in the kitchen, paid half the mortgage. But as he nervously wrung the strap of his rucksack over his right shoulder and swallowed around the lump in his throat, he looked completely out of place.

“I thought you’d be gone longer.” Your voice was tight and came out frustratingly croaky as you tried to hold it together.

“I came back as soon as I could. Is she-?” Frankie pointed towards the stairs behind him, indicating his three month old daughter who was sleeping soundly in the cot he built.

“Asleep, just gone down.” Don’t go upstairs, don’t disturb her. But what you really wanted to say was you’re not going anywhere near her until we’ve sorted this out. Fortunately Frankie nodded in understanding.

You bit your lip and sighed. “D’you want a drink?”

“Water please.”

You hurried passed Frankie and into the kitchen before the first tear slid down your cheek. You bit your lip against the barrage of emotions threatening to overwhelm you, clutching onto the edge of the sink as you took deep, silent breaths.

You knew this day would come, if he hadn’t died on his little trip that is. In some ways you could have dealt with that a lot better. It was easier to prepare a funeral and carry on life as a single mother than it was to have to have a conversation with your husband about why he upped and left to go on a dangerous mission to steal millions of dollars from a drug lord, leaving his wife and newborn baby behind without any contact to say he was okay.

How do you explain to him that you wanted to kill him yourself when he left? That you felt betrayed that he would leave you in search of something neither of you needed and you certainly didn’t want? That you felt as though he was prioritising money over the importance of him in you and your baby’s life? You had begged him not to go, to tell Santi no, but he went anyway and that still pisses you off.

It pissed you off on day one and every day after. You’d nurse your daughter in front of the window, watching every car that drove by hoping it was Frankie’s truck but always being disappointed. Your ears perked up at every car horn, at the mail being pushed through the letterbox, at your phone ringing from a withheld number.

You let out a shaky breath, grab a glass and fill it with water. You would let him talk, let him grovel, it’s the least he deserves for what he put you through.

When you returned to the living room Frankie had taken a seat on the couch. You placed the glass of water on the coffee table and sat in the armchair across from him.

“I know you probably hate me right now,” Frankie began, eyes trained on his hands as he absentmindedly picked at a hangnail, “I should have listened to you. The whole thing was a bust.”

“So Santi was talking shit about the money?”

“There was money, too much of it. We all agreed to give it to Tom’s family.”

You felt your body go cold. “What happened to Tom?”

You heard Frankie’s muffled sob and you knew without needing to be told that he lost more than just money in South America.

“Fuck,” you deflated into the armchair and watched as Frankie threw his cap to the floor, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

“I should have listened to you,” Frankie repeated himself, quieter this time as he rubbed at his eyes in frustration.

“And the others?” You were close with Benny, regularly cheered him on at his MMA fights before you had the baby. Will was a good man, always asked after you and had your back when you and Frankie had gone through a rough patch a few years ago. And Santi, you’d never seen eye to eye with him, you knew if anyone was going to lead Frankie down the wrong path it would be him, but Frankie loved him like a brother.

“They’re alive,” he confirmed and you nodded in relief.

“That’s good,” you replied, because what else was there to say? The worst had happened but you were glad it wasn’t your husband coming back in a bodybag. As much as you hated him right now, the thought of never seeing Frankie again, of having to tell your daughter one day that her daddy was dead, tore you apart. You were glad he was in front of you to be angry at.

The two of you fell silent, the news of Tom’s death and the mission going wrong hanging heavy between you. You didn’t know what to say without sounding harsh. Fortunately it was Frankie that broke the silence.

“Have you both been okay?”

You wanted to laugh, remind him that you would have been a hell of a lot better at dealing with a newborn if her father was around to help but you bit your tongue and calmed your mind and remembered that what was done was done.

“Good. She’s still not sleeping through the night, but neither am I so it works out fine,” you shrugged. You wouldn’t go into detail why you weren’t able to sleep, you’d keep to yourself that you had nightmares of all the different reasons why Frankie wouldn’t make it back home. The way his eyes widened in guilt told you he probably knew anyway.

“I can take care of her tonight, if you want to try and get a good nights rest,” Frankie offered cautiously, his expression hopeful.

And how could you say no to that? He was a good dad, a natural, doting father and the reason why he’d left the two of you in the first place. And if you wanted to rebuild your relationship you would have to learn to trust him, even though you didn’t.

“That might be nice,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I don’t want to step on your feet.”

“You’re not. You are but it’s fine. I think she missed you,” you admitted, meeting his eyes with a passive smile. You were trying, that was all he could expect of you.

You saw how tired he was, the pink in his eyes from exhaustion, the wrinkles in his brow from tension he couldn’t shake off, the downward turn of his lips and you suddenly felt the same. You couldn’t fight with him tonight, maybe tomorrow but Frankie needed sleep and peace and the feel of his baby in his arms and you didn’t have it in you anymore to deny him that.

“Go up to her,” you whispered and you think you saw the briefest flash of happiness in his eyes, “but if you wake her it’s your problem.”

Frankie wasted no time in jumping up from his seat. It looked for a second that he was going to step towards you but he thought better of it. He shucked off his boots and coat and padded up the stairs.

And that’s when you cried. All the pent up emotions of his return flooded out of you like a dam breaking. You let the tears fall but contained your sobs, not wanting Frankie to know just how much pain you were in. You were glad to see him home just as much as you were angry he had left in the first place. You had your husband back but you didn’t trust him like you once did, you didn’t trust that he wouldn’t drop you again when Santi called.

For now you’d let him hold his baby and you’d try and get some sleep for the first time since he stepped out the front door. Maybe tomorrow you could continue to repair the cracks in your home.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @anu-simps @computeringturtle @bts17army

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Jeweler!Sapphire AU (not canon)

Welcome to 3k words of this amazing AU idea that may or may not become a multi-parter. No editing, we die like.. idk. Please let me know what y'all think!!

Tagging the usual group (let me know if you only want to be tagging in canon stuff): @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @broadwaybabe18 @whumpinggoodtime @temporary-whump-sideblog @dumb-and-lesbian let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: talk of death (in a pretty disrespectful manner), talk of human trafficking, intimate whumper, hair pulling, noncon touching, some pretty noncon vibes near the end, uhhh Saph/Dustin is a real asshole, let me know if I need to tag anything else!

Masterlist

---

The sound of a ringing phone woke Dustin. With a groan, he rolled over in bed, blankets tangled around his legs. Blindly groping along his nightstand, he found his phone and answered the call, from an unknown number, blue eyes squinting against the flash of the bright screen.

“Yeah?” he answered, stifling a yawn.

“Is this Mr. Moore?” a timid male voice said.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Dustin sat up, glancing at the clock with a groan. “Yes, this is he,” he responded, voice tight. “Now who the fuck is calling me at four a.m.?”

A throat was cleared on the other end of the line. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m Nicholas Jameston.” There was a pause, as if he expected Dustin to recognize the name. “I’m your uncle’s lawyer.”

Dustin blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. “My uncle? You mean.. Uncle Spence?”

A curt “Yes, sir.”

“Okayyyy,” he drew out. “Listen, I haven’t talked to him in years. Since I left for college at least. Probably before even high school. You see, my dad and him, they didn’t really get along-” He cut himself off. Why was he telling this man anything? “Anyways, there must be some confusion. I don’t know why he wants his lawyer contacting me all of a sudden.” Shit, he thought. Did I break or steal something last time I was at his place? Is this what this is about?

There was an awkward beat of silence before the lawyer cleared his throat again. “No, sir, there’s no mistake or confusion. You see, you’re Mr. Spencer’s closest remaining blood relative.”

Dustin was really not awake enough for this conversation. “Just say what you need to and be done with it.”

“Your uncle is dead,” the lawyer finally said. “And you’re his sole heir.”

-

Dustin pulled up in his car, a shiny BMW he’d bought using his dad’s life insurance money a few years ago. He squinted against the darkness of early morning, checking the address again. This place looked less like a family home and more like a fortress. A prison.

He wondered, for the millionth time since getting rudely awoken and told that a man he’d met only a handful of times was a) dead and b) giving him everything, what exactly he was doing here. His dad must be rolling over in his grave. Not that Dustin particularly cared about that.

He knew that the brothers had never gotten along, that his dad, the older brother, had apparently “abandoned” the family business because it was “amoral,” but Dustin had never really been privy to the details. He rolled his eyes just thinking about his dad and his need to be righteous and perfect all the time.

That apparently had gone out the window at some point, but the bastard was too proud to go back to his brother - their parents were already dead by that time - and instead decided to start his own company, selling.. who knew? Certainly not Dustin. No, the young twenty-six-year-old was perfectly content enjoying his bachelor playboy lifestyle, feeding off mommy and daddy’s blood money.

“Mr. Moore?” A man was standing on the doorstep, fidgeting nervously with a thick manila envelope.

Dustin took one look at him and barely withheld a sigh. This man, short, balding, oily, was a lawyer alright. He raised one lazy eyebrow. “Jameson, I presume?” he called back, making his way slowly up the path to the door.

“Uh, it’s Jameston, sir,” the man corrected quickly.

Dustin didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. It’s early and I have a busy day ahead of me. Left a pretty girl waiting for me to call. Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Not bothering to wait, Dustin stepped up to the door and opened it, stepping inside a grand foyer. He whistled softly, taking in the shimmering chandelier, the sweeping staircase, with a gold-woven rug running down the middle, and the many large and well-furnished rooms branching off from the entrance.

“Now this is a nice playhouse, huh?” he said, grinned indolently.

He saw Jameston’s jaw tighten fractionally. “Yes, sir,” he responded. “Now, I can give you a complete tour of the house now. However, Mr. Spencer’s real estate agent can do that when she arrives here in-” he glanced at his watch - a fake, Dustin had noticed - “a couple hours or so. Furthermore, there was a, erm, rather sensitive matter that Mr. Spencer tasked me with familiarizing you with personally.” He adjusted his tie slightly, clearly nervous, before motioning Dustin down one of the smaller hallways to the side.

His curiosity piqued, Dustin followed. “What do you mean? Oh, don’t tell me, was the old man into some shady illegal business? Drugs? Girls?”

Jameston shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing. “No sir. Your uncle, he was an.. art collector, of a sort. Well, he created his own art, really. However, it was not necessarily, um, legally acquired.”

Dustin barely held in a laugh at the lawyer’s clear panic. “Of course it wasn’t,” he scoffed. “Do you know how much shady shit has gone on in this family?” He couldn’t stop the bark of laughter this time. “Of course you do, you’re the lawyer.”

Jameston’s face flushed but he remained quiet until he reached an indiscreet door at the end of a short hall. If Dustin didn’t know any better, he’d assume it was a closet or something. Jameston cleared his throat as he opened the door. “Welcome to the Jewelry Box, sir.”

-

Carnelian sighed, his head falling back against the wall as he stretched his legs out along the small bed. The only sounds in the large room was the occasional movement from one of the others.

“That’s it,” he muttered, standing up and marching over to the glass wall. “Is anyone else wondering where the bastard is?” he called, frowning as he caught the gazes of several of the others.

Emerald just shook his head, silently warning him. Amethyst, however, scoffed, picking at her nails intently. “Why do you care?” she snapped. “It’s not like you’re ever doing anything but yelling and cursing.”

“So?” Carnelian shot back. “Aren’t you at least a little curious as to what’s going on?”

As if to answer his questions, he heard the door hiss open. Turning his gaze towards it, he felt his lips tugging down into a frown.

“Here we go again,” he muttered. “I knew the bastard would be back before long.”

Then he met the gaze of a stranger, arrogant and lazy and startlingly bright blue. Eyebrows flicking up, he blurted, “Who the fuck are you?”

Smirking, the stranger glanced at a smaller man next to him, one Carnelian had glimpsed down here once or twice before, always with the Jeweler. “I think I’d like to ask you the same question.”

The small man cleared his throat and began speaking, quietly enough that Carnelian couldn’t hear. Instead he took in the stranger, as if he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away.

The man was attractive, annoyingly attractive from Carnelian’s perspective. His skin was a bronzed tone, clear and smooth. He was tall, probably taller than Carnelian, with a lean, slightly muscled body. He had on a dark t-shirt that clung to his body and somehow looked expensive, with form-fitting jeans and some Converse high tops on as well. His dark brown hair was slightly wavy, with the top grown out long and falling into his face. Carnelian’s eyes drifted down towards his mouth before he forcefully pulled them back up to his eyes, which were-

Still on him. Carnelian felt himself blush and then scowl as he met the man’s gaze. Already he was getting on his nerves. And where the hell was the Jeweler? Was this stranger some new client of his, looking to buy one of them? At that thought, Carnelian felt a flash of panic through him and glanced over at Emerald, who was looking subtly at him as well, clearly thinking the same thing.

Carnelian tuned back in when the stranger exclaimed, “Are you shitting me right now?” The stranger was now looking at each of them, studying them more intently.

His gaze almost completely skimmed over Diamond and Ruby, both of them still curled up in their beds, watching with wary and confused gazes. He barely even noticed Amber, the new one still drugged to high heaven after mouthing off to the Jeweler yesterday. Carnelian doubted the kid could even remember their own name right now, much less stand up from where they were sprawled in their bed. He took a bit longer looking at Emerald, his defensive stance, wise eyes, then Amethyst, with her crossed arms and haughty expression, before finally settling on Carnelian.

After several long, tense seconds, he looked back at the other man. “So you’re saying,” he drawled slowly, deliberately. “That this, all of this, the house, the business, the.. Jewels-” his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk- “they’re all mine?”

Swallowing, the other man nodded. “Yes sir, that’s what I’m saying.” He drew out a piece of paper and, clearing his throat, began to read. “‘I hereby give the entirety of my properties, including my family home, my businesses, and my Jewelry Box, to my closest remaining blood relative upon my death.’ That would be you, Dustin Moore.”

There was a gasp from one of the other cells, where Diamond had stood up, flying to the window, eyes wide and frantic. “Death? Wait, no, Sir, he- he can’t be-” They dissolved into sobs, sliding to their knees on the floor.

Carnelian glanced around at the rest of the Jewels, the only sound coming from Diamond. The rest of them had frozen as well, not sure how they were meant to respond. Carnelian was reeling, glancing down as he took a shaky breath. On the one hand, he was glad the bastard was dead. On the other, well, the Jeweler had never looked at him the way the stranger, Dustin the other man had said, looked at him. The Jeweler looked at him like some prized object, something to be shown off proudly and then put back into storage. The Jeweler treated him less than human; Dustin’s gaze said he knew precisely how human Carnelian was, he just didn’t care.

Before he knew it, Carnelian was raising his head to glare at the other man, only to find him still looking at him. As Dustin slowly moved forward, he asked, “Did my uncle give these.. Jewels any names? Because I think I’m seeing a theme in them.” He stopped a couple feet away from the glass, his head tilted slightly. “The only one I can’t seem to figure out is this one.”

Carnelian’s lip curled. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he snarled softly, looking him up and down before raising his brows slightly. “Bastard jr,” he added.

Dustin almost seemed caught off guard before letting out a laugh. “I thought you said that he trained them to be all submissive and whatever,” he called over to the other. “Jameston, this one seems to be a bit feral.” He stepped even closer, lifting one hand to touch the glass. Carnelian fell back a couple inches, eyes still narrowed.

Jameston cleared his throat yet again. Carnelian would almost feel bad for the guy, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was complicit in letting him stay kidnapped. “Yes sir, your uncle had his ways of training them. However, he didn’t train them all the same way. He found that one’s fight to be..” He skimmed his notes quickly. “..rather appealing, sir.”

Carnelian made a noise of disgust as Dustin grinned. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Carnelian barely breathed until Dustin stepped away, turning back to Jameston. “Well, I’ve seen them all. Let’s go back upstairs now. I think I saw a nice liquor cabinet that I’d like to raid.”

Once they were both gone from view and the door had hissed shut, Carnelian leaned his head against the cool glass.

“You okay?” Emerald asked.

Carnelian just shook his head, a sudden lump in his throat. “The way he looked at me,” he said softly.

“I know,” Emerald murmured back.

He glanced up to find the older man looking at him with concern and pity.

“Well then,” Amethyst said loudly, breaking the silence that had fallen thick and heavy. “That was certainly something.”

Diamond sobbed loudly. “That.. that can’t be true. Can it?” They looked up, searching the others’ faces. Carnelian felt a twinge of pity for them. After over a decade of being trapped down here, they had been reduced to a mere shadow of whoever they might have once been. At whatever they might’ve seen on their faces, Diamond dissolved back into inconsolable sobs.

Resting her head on the wall, Ruby quietly asked, “So what happens now?”

There was a beat of silence before Emerald replied, “Now we wait.”

-

Back upstairs, Dustin was finally alone after getting rid of that annoying lawyer. He had had to practically shove the man out of the house to get him to leave. Even then, he had only left with promises to call later about the details.

For now, Dustin was sprawled out in a large, overstuffed armchair, a bottle of expensive whisky and a half empty glass next to him. He was already on his second glass, and he had no plans on stopping any time soon.

His mind drifted to the one who had glared and cursed at him. The smaller one, with the hard gaze, numerous freckles, and bright curly hair. The one Jameston had said was named Carnelian. Dustin looked up the stone and smiled at the pictures that were pulled up. Bright, fiery stones, of varying shades, Dustin had to admit, he could see the resemblance.

Pouring himself another glass, he sunk down further into the chair. He supposed he should be more concerned with the fact that there were six human beings locked in some creepy basement that he had apparently just inherited. But, after living the life that he had lived so far, Dustin had to admit that this was far from the craziest thing he had seen. He knew plenty of friends whose families had, well, less than legal people working for them, and now that he thought about it, he swore he could remember some show a few of his friends had gone to where the host had all his pets or whatever they were called designed as gemstones.

He laughed softly, quietly murmuring, “Carnelian, huh?” before draining the glass and pouring one more.

-

It was hours later when Carnelian awoke in the darkness. The bright lights, luckily, were still on their automated timer, so they had shut out at their usual time. It had been hours since Diamond’s sobs had slowly petered out and since the others’ quiet, stilted conversations had dwindled. Now, everyone was asleep.

Well, everyone except Carnelian. It took him a moment to figure out what had awoken him, a soft tapping on the glass wall of his cell. With a soft groan, he rolled over, out of the bed, squinting in the dim light.

In front of him stood the silhouette of a man. A couple seconds later, Carnelian recognized him as Dustin, his new.. owner. He almost snorted at the title. This man wasn’t any older than Carnelian, and he looked and behaved like an entitled, overprivileged frat boy.

Carnelian slowly walked closer. “What the hell do you want?” he whispered, because he didn’t want to accidentally wake the others and unleash the chaos that would bring with it. It took him a moment to realize that Dustin was fiddling with the lock on the door.

Without answering him, Dustin finally figured out how to unlatch it and swung the door open. He looked back up at Carnelian and made a silent motion for him to follow as he padded back towards the door.

Frowning, Carnelian carefully stepped out, towards him and the hallway beyond, where he could see light spilling out from the door. Knowing it probably wasn’t very smart, Carnelian walked into the hallway, squinting slightly at the suddenly bright lights.

Before he knew what was happening, there was a hand fisting in his hair and pushing him up against the wall. Carnelian looked up, eyes wide, to find Dustin standing much too close to him and several inches taller than him.

Feeling his breath stutter and his heart skip a beat, Carnelian breathed out, “What the hell do you want?” He barely dared take his eyes away from Dustin’s.

With the hand not pinning him to the wall, Dustin leaned closer and wrapped a curl around his finger, pulling until Carnelian wince slightly before letting it go, watching it bounce. This close, Carnelian could smell the whisky on his breath.

“Are.. are you drunk?” he asked, swallowing hard when that steely blue gaze met his, hazy yet surprisingly clear.

“That’s irrelevant,” he said, smirking as he pushed closer to Carnelian, who tried to pull away, but one vicious yank on his hair had his eyes watering and stilled the rest of his body. Dustin raised a hand and slowly traced over Carnelian’s cheeks, ending with one finger following the outline of his lips. “You’re Carnelian.”

Carnelian barely resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and instead held his breath, eyes wide and searching Dustin’s. He didn’t dare to breathe, much less speak, so he didn’t ask why Dustin had said something he already knew the answer to.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before Dustin pulled away, shoving Carnelian roughly back towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said glibly, pulling the door shut once Carnelian was through, leaving him back in the darkness.

Immediately, Carnelian went back to the one place he never thought he’d call safe. Once he had pulled the glass door closed, hearing the lock click, he curled up in his bed, as far away from the door as he could get, the thin blanket pulled over him as his heart beat in his throat.

He didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night.

[tooweirdforyou]

Hello againn!! May I ask prompt number 38 for Doffyy with female s/o? Thankyou sm!🌸

Prompt #38 With Doflamingo

A/N : heyyy, thank you for requesting again! I’m so sorry this took much longer than usual, I couldn’t think of anything for this, but I hope you enjoy! :)

note : angsty then fluff at the end.

Prompt #38 : “tread carefully, [Name]. You’re on dangerous waters right now.”

Summary : When Doflamingo finally pulls the last straw, you provoke him and leave. Yet, it seems you always return to him no matter what.

not good with summaries yall-

-

“I can’t believe you right now! You’re such a pain in the ass!”

Doflamingo leans back into his chair, a hand pressed against his forehead as he heard your shout towards him once more.

He could feeling his brain and sanity on the verge of explosion from how much stress you were building up inside him.

You were angry at him for the fifth time this week, all for the same reason.

He was pissing you off.

Most of the time, he did it intentionally. He would purposely make you irritated just to see you get all feisty.

He found it amusing to see your pouts and annoyance towards him, knowing that at the end of the day, you would be in his arms in bed.

But today was not the case.

Today, he deliberately ignored you the whole day, walking pass you and avoided you at all cost.

Which you certainly didn’t appreciate. Especially after working so hard on making sure the people of Dressrosa were happy and nothing was going wrong so far, with Doffy as king.

If the people weren’t happy, or if things went wrong with the toys in the Toy House, perhaps even the annual colosseum gladiator battles, you couldn’t imagine the level of anger and chaos that would ensue with Doflamingo and the country.

Ahem, Dressrosa arc—

So returning to the palace with Doflamingo doing his very best to act like you didn’t exist was not something you needed nor wanted right now.

“Doffy, I just spent the whole day, walking all over this country to make sure things are running smoothly.. why are you doing this?” You mutter irritatingly, pinching the bridge of your nose as you withheld a loud groan.

Doflamingo brings his hand down from his face and stares over at you with his usual shit-eating grin, however it seemed a bit forced.

“For my own entertainment.”

He said it so casually, you actually felt your heart sinking at his words.

You didn’t know why you put up with him so much, after all of this constant teasing and messing with you.

You let out a heavy exhale, hiding your pained and hurt expression as you turn away. “Right, of course. I only exist for your own amusement..”

Doflamingo didn’t say anything, his smile faltering just slightly at your words.

“Alright, well, I’m glad to have served my purpose today, your majesty.” You hiss out in a mutter, beginning to walk off.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Doflamingo asks, leaning back onto his throne and stares at you with an unamused look.

“Anywhere but here. I might even be gone for a few days or more. I’m not needed here anymore, it seems. I might try to go and find Law and his crew or something. At least they might treat me as human instead of some toy to play with.”

A small scowl made way to Doflamingo’s lips with his eyes narrowing. “I hope you’re joking.. I’d tread carefully, [Name]. You’re on dangerous waters right now.”

You ignored him and continue making way to the door.

Once you finally reached the exit, much to your surprise since you were sure Doffy would’ve pulled you back, you turned and glared at the king.

“I hope you had your fun. If you need something to cure your boredom again, I’m sure you’ll find a easy replacement, since it won’t be that hard for you.”

“After all, everyone here is just a tool for your own entertainment. Right?”

With that, you opened the door and slammed it closed behind you, leaving his sight and leaving him in silence.

Doflamingo sat there, reflecting on your words and his mistake.

-

“Don’t fret over it, [Name].”

You ignore Baby 5 and continue to pack your bag of your needed supplies, moving quickly to leave as quickly as possible.

“Are you sure this is what you really want?”

Hearing her question, you pause your actions and reflect on your memories.

Regardless of the many times Doflamingo messed with you, teased you, or hurt you, he always made up for it twice as much.

Whether it was showering you with all your favorite things, making it up for it in the bedroom, or made sure to shower you with his own way of affection, keeping you close to him and in his arms.

You stay quiet as you slowly began to continue to pack, still thinking deeply at her question.

“..I’m sure it is..” you murmur, eyes slowly closing as you accepted the truth. “I don’t even think he truly loved me.. probably only kept me by his side to help his boredom..”

Baby 5 frowns at you. She didn’t want to see you leave but she couldn’t stop or your choices. “I’m sure that’s not the reason.” She comments, in hope of trying to change your mind but she knew it was futile.

“I’ll come back in a bit.” You say softly, offering a gentle smile to her as you close up your bag and swung it over your shoulder.

Baby 5 stares with a sad smile, nodding reluctantly as she sighs and brings a cigarette to her lips. She was going to be sad, but she respected and understood your decision.

You gave her one last smile before heading out of the room and into the hall, exhaling gently as you began making way down to the front of the palace, mentally preparing yourself for your leave.

‘This is the first time I’m actually leaving on my own.. is it really the best choice?..’ You started to feel doubt running through you, reminiscing on the genuine good times you had with Doffy, times where he was vulnerable, actually sweet and endearing towards you.

Pursing your lips, you shook your head from the memories and reassured yourself that this was what was best for you.

“I’m done being a little pawn for his game.” You mutter to yourself, gripping the strap of the bag tightly in your hand as you sped up your walk.

It didn’t take long to reach front. Your steps slowed down, still processing the fact that you were heading out for a while.

Sighing, you look down at your feet and continue to walk, biting on your inner cheek as you thought to yourself.

When you reached the open air, making it to the outside, your eyes widen at the sight of the king standing right in front of it, hands in his pockets and him in his usual stance.

“Doffy.”

Doflamingo didn’t say a word, standing there and staring straight at you through his glasses. His lips was in a firm straight line.

“What do you want, Doffy?” You frown at him, securing your bag onto your back tightly as you stop in front of him at a distance.

“I want you to stay.” He said simply, unmoving from his position.

You narrow your eyes slightly and scoff. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you what you want this time, Doflamingo. Sorry about that. Please move aside.”

“No.”

Your brow twitched as you clenched your fists and inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

You continue your walking, heading straight towards him before turning just slightly to go around. You kept your vision straight, making sure to avoid eye contact with him.

When you finally reached a close enough distance, being right next to him, Doflamingo spoke.

“[Name].”

You stop in your tracks once again, keeping your head and posture straight and listen to him clear his throat.

“...I’m sorry.”

Doflamingo was apologizing?..

“You aren’t a tool, nor a toy to play with.” He continues, turning his head just slightly to look at you. He saw your tightened grip, seeing the whites of your knuckles as you listen to what he had to say.

“Don’t leave. Stay with me..”

If you listened close enough, you could tell how much he was struggling to speak and the faltering of his voice.

Doflamingo never begged, apologized, pleaded or have been so vulnerable before. The only time he was vulnerable was when he was with you, alone in the room. But even then, it wasn’t much.

So seeing him right here, completely serious and sounding so stressed and struggling with himself, you couldn’t help but be empathetic.

“.. One of the seven warlords and king of a country.. apologizing and being so sincere..”

Hearing your words made a small vein appear on his forehead as Doflamingo clicked his tongue.

“Damn it, I hate you Doflamingo..” you mutter in annoyance, dropping your bag and turning to face him, jumping into his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck tightly and shut your eyes, Doflamingo’s arms wrapping around your torso and held you up.

“You really are such a pain in the ass.”

Doflamingo felt a small grin forming back on his lips, a genuine one as he held you close. “I’m aware.” He says as he leans down and pressed his lips to your head.

“You aren’t any better yourself.” He points out, making you smile slightly despite the previous irritation and anger you had.

“I know.”

-

A/N : okayyy, glad that this is out, I hope you liked it.

Also not one of my best works, it’s reallyyy hard to do Doffy honestly, no matter how much I love him.

Especially since I’m in Whole Cake and haven’t seen Doffy in a while lol so I’m really sorry if this isn’t too great :(

[sourbat]

Here’s a quick little ficlet where Skwisgaar and Toki discuss the proper treatment and training of yard wolves, and Skwisgaar learning that he isn’t the most reliable pack member of the group.

Rating: General

Warnings: references to “Bookklok” and implied trauma

Read it on Ao3

or just “read more” below :D

A yard wolf mother died at the hands of a stray bullet, leaving behind five young pups. Though Offdensen was a staunch believer of the old saying “survival of the fittest,” Skwisgaar took it upon himself to help raise and socialize the orphans until they were old enough for proper training. There were no complaints amongst the band, and the first few weeks of mostly nursing and playing went by smoothly. Then, during one afternoon, Skwisgaar got wise to a wily pup who was busy attacking and biting his sister’s ear into a bloody pulp.

Skwisgaar silently observed the scene, the larger male nipping and taking advantage of his submissive companion. While some might regard the aggressive behavior as a positive trait, Skwisgaar focused entirely on the female’s obvious signs of displeasure, and the male ignoring her pleas in favor of a quick power high. Carefully and swiftly, Skwisgaar swooped in and grabbed the pup by the snout. With his thumb and forefinger, he closed the tiny jaw shut, then rolled the upset thing onto his back where it tried to wriggle free. Aware of the continued defiance, Skwisgaar applied some weight and forced the pup into place.

As it whimpered and fought to be free of its new submissive position, Toki took interest and broke from the gang’s activities to check on Skwisgaar.

“You ams hurtings him,” he quietly suggested, as if ashamed for even bringing up the issue, or out of fear that the other members of Dethklok might notice their lead guitarist’s less than acceptable behavior.

“Just stoppins him from biting withouts permissions,” Skwisgaar replied while keeping his hold. “Ams more humiliatinks than anytinks else.”

“Nots very nice,” Toki remarked, sounding more offended than the pup.

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. “Sometimes ams not abouts be-inks nice.”

Below, the young wolf’s tail began to vigorously sway, as though it were nervously considering this act by his foster a game. Perhaps he saw Toki and figured he might be saved from the awkward predicament.

Skwisgaar refused to budge. He stared the dog down, eyes chasing and locking with the pups’ whenever it so much as tried to whimper and cry in Toki’s direction. Eventually, after Toki joined the sounds of complaints, the puppy emitted another soft plea, and then went limp.

Toki’s shadow fretted above, finger pulling at the other as Skwisgaar counted down before finally breaking from his fierce glower and hold.

“He doesn’t likes it,” he heard Toki comment.

“He needs to learn to controls himself, Tokis,” Skwisgaar calmly insisted.

He watched the small wolf turn limp and submissive, and finally released his grip. As he had hoped, the pup remained fixed in place, wild amber eyes locked onto Skwisgaar and awaiting permission to crawl back and join his pack mates. Satisfied, he smiled, and backed from the puppy, letting Toki observe the small beast quickly recover and scamper off, tucked tail already lifting the moment he was out of grabbing range.

When Skwisgaar turned, he saw Toki retracting awkwardly before providing an overenthusiastic nod. His eyes, however, were very much on litter, and when Skwisgaar tried to invite Toki close with a smile, earned a slightly dismayed pout instead. He brought a hand to his dusty elbow, rubbing it consciously as Skwisgaar made yet another glance at the pups.

He couldn’t guess what irked Toki so much, so he asked, “Thinks I hurts his snouts?”

Toki’s face hardened. “Thinks you hurts his feelinks when you humiliatics him.”

Skwisgaar found the suggestion amusing, but refrained from being nasty. It would be easy to poke fun at how his rhythm guitarist applied human thoughts and feelings to that of a beast. And was Toki so hurt because he felt sorry for the pup? Did he not witness the damage the young wolf caused?

“It ams better to have his feelinks hurt now,” Skwisgaar stated firmly, “otherwise, he will gets reckless and gets his pack hurts.” He stared at Toki, then turned to watch the pup return to his sister to lick the wounds he had caused. “Sometimes we needs to be hard on the ones we cares about, Tokis. We needs them to be betters,  understands?”

Toki’s head sank. He looked doubtful. Skwisgaar didn’t hold it against him. It was so easy to focus on the present, on immediate pleasures and momentary, fanciful whims. That was all Toki knew. He lived in a world of luxury. It seemed cruel to forcibly keep a pup’s mouth shut, glare at it while teaching it to submit. But it was for a greater cause. The pup attacked a member of his pack. Maybe to Toki, it was nothing more than an accident, but in the grander scheme of things, such rebellious acts would get in the way of the pack’s wellbeing.

A light clicked. It occurred to Skwisgaar why Toki would feel bad for a disobedient pack member. Toki likely saw himself in the animal: reckless, thoughtless and desperate for control. Skwisgaar couldn’t count the times he had to put Toki in his place, remind him who was the lead guitarist, or pull him out of some ridiculous situation that he’d gotten himself into. The rhythm guitarist who wanted more creative control, but couldn’t be bothered to practice more or offer any input during recording. Toki saw himself in that male wolf and empathized with his terrible blunder, reliving those embarrassing times Skwisgaar caught him woefully unprepared.

“Don’ts worry,” Skwisgaar said. He stood up and continued to watch the small litter return to their play. “He wills be okays. He wills…gets over it.”

It sounded far crueler than intended, but there was no going back from it. Skwisgaar didn’t see any reason to, and began readjusting his guitar strap.

“Did you “gets over it” when I humiliatics you?”

The question struck like a hard blow to the gut, mentally upper-cutting an unsuspecting Skwisgaar and leaving him hopelessly at a loss for words.

“No,” Skwisgaar finally managed once most of the memories of the event had subsided. “But dat ams–”

His first inclination was to point out the difference between the two; however, after reliving those traumatic few weeks once more, Skwisgaar withheld from concluding his thoughts.

Though a memory now, the reminder proved its weight and pushed all the air out of him in the form of a heavy, uneven sigh. His composure teetered, and although they were out in the private haven that was Mordhaus’ fields, Skwisgaar avoided Toki and the band in the far distance to hide his immediate reaction. Shaken and misty-eyed, Skwisgaar faced the small collection of wolf pups and homed in on the young male he had disciplined in front of Toki.

Skwisgaar didn’t think he resembled the older male. True, he’d been hard on Toki in the past, and made their shared rehearsals difficult, but that was only because he had high standards.

The pervasive thought lingered, festering the longer Skwisgaar had his sights on the animal. Standards or not, Skwisgaar knew there was more to him berating Toki than he let on. It was years of mediocrity, of performing well below his skill in bands that didn’t go anywhere, of going from band to band, from teacher to teacher, of being told by his last  lead guitarist that his creative input wasn’t wanted, and–

And following that, years of his insecurities and obsessive compulsive desire to stay on top quashing any hope for Toki to step outside his shadow, lest Skwisgaar repeat the cycle again. And where did that get him? A spot in the New York’s Times best sellers, and for all the wrong reasons. Things between the two had gotten better since the books were pulled, but Skwisgaar couldn’t deny that it still haunted him.

All because he couldn’t bear the thought of supporting Toki and letting him play a solo in front of an adoring crowd.

Skwisgaar faced Toki. Nervous, and still recovering from the memories, he grappled the neck of his guitar, letting the strings underneath his grip scrape into him.

“Skwisgaars?” Toki neared, taking him by the arm. “Ams sorry. Didn’t’s means to brings–”

“I learneds my lesson. And…” Skwisgaar stared hard at the ground. It didn’t stop the heat from rising out his face, the pain from constricting his throat. Toki tugged his arm. Slowly, Skwisgaar lifted his head, the hurt in his eyes uninhibited and blaring. “Tokis…I dids not like it whens you humiliatics me.”

Toki shriveled before him. “Skwisgaar, I ams so sorries.”

“Ams ok. I shoulds hab knowns better,” he said, tearing his hands from his guitar to stop Toki from shrinking any further. He fought past the stings of his wounded pride and misguided anger, and faced the bitter truth as best he could. Again, staring at the earth did little to help stave away the pain, but this time Skwisgaar had Toki by his side. Toki was still shaken, but it seemed he knew they both needed some help keeping things together.

With the other’s help, they walked to a nearby and empty table, the litter of pups and a few klokateers trailing not too far behind.

“I should habs been a better members of the packs and lets you plays a solo.” Skwisgaar sighed, eyes rifting from the wolves to his guitar. He had half the mind to play. Something to distract from the pain. With Toki waiting and calming down in front of him, he broke habit and clasped his hands together.

“I will also tries to finds a different ways to train the yard wolves,” he added, feeling the pangs of guilt and tarnished ego subside once Toki’s expression eased into acceptance.

“Okays.”

They made a glance at the pups in the distance. Skwisgaar watched the male he had punished stop and stare at him, then returned to his chase. Amongst the yips and barks, he spotted the quiet female at the edge of the pack, her bloodied ear now drying. Skwisgaar knew he’d have to make it right on her behalf, fix her ear and teach her to defend herself if she was to survive training.

Consequently, he owed Toki the same opportunity for success.  

Skwisgaar drew a finger, and let it glide along one of his strings. As it vibrated a silent note, he willed the courage to face Toki and add, “And…if you gets over freezinks ups, I will gives you solos the next time we plays.”

Toki’s eyes practically glowed. “You means it?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“Ja. What ams teams-mates for?” Skwisgaar said. He wanted to tack on more, go as far to suggest that he’d try to help Toki face a demanding crowd, but refrained. A history of bad music lessons and bullying, not to mention the remaining members of the band picking up on the fact they’d been away for so long, kept Skwisgaar going too far from his comfort zone. But that didnt mean the idea was off the table. Once he picked up a new method of training, and Toki had proof he wasn’t going to go back on his word, he’d mention the idea.

If he was worthy enough, Toki would accept him as an instructor.

“Thanks you, Skwisgaars!” The embrace arrived quicker than Skwisgaar could defend himself from. Still sitting, his guitar pressed into his chest, and Skwisgaar wheezed a slight gasp while Toki gratefully squeezed the life from him. “I promise Toki will do betters.”

“Ams fine. Just promise not to tells the others I gots… emoskinals.”

Toki broke into a little chuckle, then let go of Skwisgaar. Murderface called for Toki to return to the table and roll the die, and finish his turn. He raced ahead of Skwisgaar, leaving him to the purple glades and perpetual mist that accompanied the fields, but not before sending a final, optimistic glance at his lead. Skwisgaar watched it come and go, like so many others, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this time Toki was going to uphold this promise.

A sharp cry pulled Skwisgaar away from the table, and to two of the young yard wolves fighting and causing quite the stir amongst the litter.

Only times will tells, Skwisgaar thought, then set out into the fog to return to the wolves.

[jojo-reader-hell]

Kars x Pillar Man!Reader: Beautiful Boy

“Take it away! Take it away! I don’t want to see...!”

The way your friend mourned, you would have thought the baby had been born dead. Her wailing was just as loud as his.

“You have to stay calm.” hummed the medicine maker to your friend. “He’s still attached.”

“He’s defective!” She screamed, red staining the birthing cloth below her that your father had made.

“Be still...”

“He’s defective! He’s deformed!”

This was wrong. Birth was supposed to be exciting. A rare opportunity for your species to give life to a being made by two mated pillar people deeply in love with one another. The second birth of the tribe was just as anticipated as the first. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

It wasn’t supposed to be this painful.

All you could do was hold the infant to your chest, this squalling pink creature only a few minutes old and swaddled in skins, as Sepultura screamed from where she was kneeling. The medicine maker had to remove the organ that attached the child to her, even after birth the baby would continue to absorb her flesh from the inside with this particular organ. Any pillar woman would have let her child absorb the energy from her body a few extra minutes or even hours to let the child grow stronger, but the moment Sepultura’s child emerged bathed in the melted parts he took from her, he screamed bloody murder and sealed his fate. The extraction of the organ was brutal, the wise old medicine maker emerged with crimson coating his arm up to the elbow. Because you were so curious about infants and how they were born he had agreed to let you stay with your friend as she labored, and as he worked he explained to you what was happening.

Now, you wished with all your might he would shut up.

“Crying means he will have a stunted growth, the infant is too weak to live...” Eisidisi whispered in your ear as he cleaned his hand on an animal skin.

“Why?”

“Look at his neck there. The cord binding him to his mother was strangling him up until the moment he emerged. If he wanted to survive, he had to continuously take from her. It was enough that he lived through the birth. I’ve shown you what normal infants look like, you helped deliver Whamuu and saw how big and silent he was and how strong when he clung to you. For this one to get to that point he’d need to feed far longer. Your friend... She’s far too weak to give any more. This infant will be lucky to find anyone willing to let him feed from them.”

But how was he any less than the other child you helped to deliver? To you, this one was just as perfect. There was a soft dusting of your friend’s fine red strands on the soft crown of his head, little fingers and toes spreading like stars as you cradled him in your arms, even the way he opened his mouth to cry was absolutely fascinating. It wasn’t wrong to you. There was no reason for Eisidisi or Sepultura to recoil from him as though he was a disease ridden member of the Others.

“What do we do with him now?” You asked innocently.

The way he looked at you, you knew you wouldn’t like the answer.

“I need to take him to the altar.” was his gentle reply.

“Why?!”

You sounded like a child because you knew there was only one altar anyone ever talked about. Desperate, high pitched whining, wondering why the little one couldn’t just be left be. It might have sounded to the uneducated that you were totally naive to the ways of life in the tribe, and to the uneducated outside observer they would be surprised (and a bit pleased) to find out they were right. But not for the reasons one might expect. For an artisan, someone as low on the caste as you, matters of procreation and intimacy were withheld purposefully. Even though you were mated, the knowledge of reproduction was shrouded in mystery. Why allow you to add unnecessary mouths to feed to the tribe when already there were plenty? Such was the case regarding your match. Kars had it in his favor that he detested procreation of any kind, he kept you appeased with the most minimal of affections and nothing more.

There was also the rule among the tribe to keep the numbers in check: If you should desire to add to your hearth, a member of your family had to die. Kars wasn’t an artisan, but any offspring would theoretically be trained to take the place of one of the artisans in your caste, just as you were born to take over your grandfather’s role of carving the tribe’s stone death masks of the ancestors. Your father had his place among the weavers, your mother was the armorer, there would be no place for your offspring unless one of your parents willingly gave their life. It wouldn’t be logical to have a child for the sake of having a child.

But hadn’t this infant been given a role? Sepultura and Megadeth had already buried one of theirs, you helped dress Sepultura’s mother for her funeral, the old priestess named Opeth weeping with joy to be reunited with her mate and wishing her grandchild a long and happy life. You yourself made Opeth’s death mask, even helped Megadeth place it over Sepultura’s face as she labored.

The child even had a name... His grandmother had whispered it in your ear, and you had intended to name the child when it was presented to your dear friend.

“... Santana...” you whispered to Eisidisi.

He looked at you curiously, brown skin capturing the glow of the tallow lamps as Megadeth rushed to the side of his screaming mate, holding her tightly and hushing her as she screamed that her offspring was trying to kill her.

“Opeth named him. Before the sun took her.” You murmured. “It was her mate’s name. He’s supposed to be Santana...”

A large hand dwarfed your head, smoothing down your locks of disheveled hair away from your horns as hot tears dripped down on the quieting infant. The baby, Santana, wore himself out with crying and had stopped to open his crimson eyes, training on you and reaching out as though you were his parent. You cried ever so quietly, Eisidisi ushering you from the hearth as he attempted to soothe the distraught mother and her equally broken mate.

Obediently your legs took you through the tunnels and into the familiar surroundings of the sunfasting antechamber. During the glow of the moonlight, it looked peaceful. The air from above provided a cool breeze that whistled softly through the tunnels, sounding as though it was singing, and as you placed Santana gently on the altar where months before you and Kars sat, you knew you were doing something horribly wrong. Santana was calmer now. Drenched in tears and remnants of rusting blood, he cooed delicately at you. His lips formed a smile as he reached out to touch your calloused hands. Such a beautiful thing to see, but it broke your heart to know that you had to leave him here.

They’d know if you tried to save his life, and they’d kill both of you. Kars would certainly volunteer to do it himself. There was no hope for the infant except to return him to the sun, that his parents might try again for the normal, strong child that Opeth sacrificed for.

It must have been a long time you were gone for your mate to come looking for you. When he found you standing at the altar with Santana, he was unusually quiet. His steps towards you were tender, his touch soft as he enveloped you in his arms.

“It’s not fair...” you told Kars.

“I know.” he murmured into your ear.

“It’s not fair... just because he cried when he was born.... just because Sepultura’s cord was strangling him, he has to die for something that wasn’t his fault to begin with. It’s not fair. Why... why can’t they just let him feed and grow stronger? What if from an evolutionary standpoint he’s got so much more to give than his parents ever will? Would they be sorry then? Would Eisidisi feel ashamed for encouraging me to leave him here to die?”

When you looked up at your mate, bitter tears dribbling down your cheeks, you noticed he was looking at the child strangely. He reached out a gargantuan hand, dwarfing the child’s little foot as he stroked it thoughtfully.

“Perhaps...” he murmured. “It would be a shame, wouldn’t it? To be so wasteful. Negligent in evolutionary potential.”

This wasn’t like him, but you only cared that for once in your life, your mate was agreeing wholeheartedly with what you said.

For the first time since this birth things looked hopeful. The expression on Kars’ face meant he was plotting, as he usually did, and you hoped whatever it was that it would work in any way that allowed Santana to live.

Santana... sweet, beautiful little Santana.

In a moment of weakness, you wished Sepultura would be brought to justice for violently rejecting her son, unaware that in a short amount of time your wish would come true.

[wexhappyxfew]

Shannon! I have a question for today, it might be a little broad, but how did you come up with Natia’s character? :)

AMY!!! hello! sorry that i have *just* gotten to this as my weeks have increasingly gotten insanely busy between my job starting back up, school, college stuff, and ap exam chaos as well haha! i did this at about 11pm(?) and i'll be queuing it up for the morning for you, but outside of tumblr, i've thought a lot about this question and what i really wanted to include in this question. having almost spent 10 months spent writing and developing natia to who she is today makes a whole lot of stuff move through my brain when i go back to my developing stages for her! thank you for the question (and the broadness, never fear, i absolutely love it!)

Natia's character really came from the idea of just wanting to really push myself out of the box and *out there* to see what I could do. And I will say Landslide is one of my most *out-there* projects in terms of content - I mean we have Death as a personified character, crazy Agent Mortem, all these past connections to Natia? It's chaos haha! But, I had experimented previously with a partly Polish-OC, Hazel Parker of "The Soldier of Stars", and from that, I went, well there's no centrally focused Polish OC yet that I have seen (this was back in like June-July 2020 mind you, so there probably has been Polish OCs created since this time!!) and I had always felt that the Warsaw Uprising was inherently important! I also read up on the Polish Resistance and how they were the most effective resistance group of continental Europe during the war, with ultimately the Warsaw Uprising being their last final push that did sort of end that.

Something I've really enjoyed about creating Natia's character was putting a great focus on her flaws. Now, her strengths are just as important - she is a great soldier in the field, she's highly intelligent and can make quick decisions on the fly, she withholds a lot of strength when it comes to situations where she needs to focus, she's observant, and she keeps herself fairly humble when not bursting at the seems. She doesn't let herself get stepped over very often (unless it's Mortem) and if anything she will insert herself, and show what skills she has, but she won't go overboard. She's also passionate about her country and her people and she always has something to fight for and even when she feels all hope is lost, she withholds a tiny little sliver no matter what, even if she doesn't feel it. But her flaws I feel are a massive part of her character. She's stubborn, she won't let people help her, she has trouble expressing emotion, she numbs herself more often than not to not feel the pain that she is supposed to feel, she blames everything on herself, she gets hot-headed quite easily, and grows to the point of nearly irrational at some moments in time and even will let her emotions get the best of her in times like this. But that makes up who Natia is as a character and who she is as a person in general.

But even with the strengths and flaws of her character, it makes her very much still a human being. And that was one of my main goals when creating Natia - make her human enough to make that angst HURT, but make her human enough that when you see her succeed or even the little wins here and there, you want to cheer. Because those are human moments. And I know this sort of character creation is not for everyone, but for me over the past near-year, this has been one of my favorite things about creating Natia because I've found myself able to relate to her even though I'm so vastly different from her.

I did some research on a British-Polish SOE Agent, Krystyna Skarbek otherwise known as her alias Christine Granville and I took a few liberties from this amazing woman and used it on Natia. But things such as Agent Mortem, Death/War connection and the eventual introduction of another character Solomon Campbell (who will be in Part 3), as well as the Resistance group of Part 1 and her siblings and parents, are all more of my own ideas and connections!

Something I have had a LOT of fun doing is showing that even though on the exterior Natia seems cold-hearted and dark and numb, and whatever other *cold+dark* ideas can be thought up, she is very much underneath -- not that. We can see how much evidently she cares for someone like George Luz; I mean even Joe Liebgott has pointed it out to her. She always is just trying to do her best and do what is best in the situation - no longer it is about what is good or bad anymore to her, it's about doing what's best in the situation for the time being, and I really love that aspect of her character a lot! We can see that when the war ends, she wants to live on the English coast, far away from war all alone with a dog and even a little goat in a seaside cottage. She grew so attached to the word AWOL after Joe Toye came and sat with her that night in Holland and they talked for once about something other than war. She even withheld her name, her nationality and just about everything else to keep the idea of the cold-face agent she thought she was up so the men of Easy Company don't have to know the real her. But -- was it to protect her...or to protect Easy? All these little ideas I threw in there to show that she is actually, very, compassionate in many ways, and caring and attentive and observant of the men and women she works with.

I really try to show that Natia listens when she listens to someone speak and she observes and she pays attention more than anything. And she ends up, holding information like that close to her and finding comfort in it.

My goal with Natia was to show that there can be a balance to "the bad-ass fighter" idea who fights for what she believes, but also remain human as well. We can see how much things affect her, especially the loss of friends. Of course, she doesn't show this to other people, but to use as readers, we see this and we see her occasional breakdown - and in a way, she continues living on their legacies because she listened to what they had to say. For example, Zdzich told her to not let the war overtake her, and throughout the story so far, we've see her sort of repeat this to herself in various ways. Because Zdzich meant that much to her. She's lost so much by this point in war that almost it's so sad to see that she, from what we all know of BoB, still has to go through so much, but at that point, she's fought so much, that all she can do it keep pushing on with it.

I think one of the most interesting moments from writing Natia was when the first few chapters were actually uploaded on platforms and there was someone really coming after Natia for her decisions and for this, that and the other thing (amy if i vaguely remember i think you remember who this person is as well because you clapped back at them once, and man your response was GOLD!!!). One of those things was Natia's approach with food (TW: mentions of struggling to eat with food, references of depression and struggling to eat, mental health issues relating...) and the person who commented would always be saying something about how she needs to eat, and she needs to remain strong and she needs to snap out of it with her depression and all this other stuff and to be honest, I sort of sat there for a moment like??? But there's reasons WHY she's not eating? Why she's holding back? (And of course ones I had mentioned so...) But let's move on.

Mental health was a prevalent thing in World War 2, though it was not looked upon fondly and Natia essentially does have depression as well as a border-line eating disorder. And so when the comment said that she had to snap out of it, I don't know it sort of off-put me because I have family with both those disorders and they've had treatment for it for years and you can't just snap out of it. I really tried to stress that 'the snapping-out-of-it" does not work, and the person kept firing back a bit at it, so I just moved on from it and ignored it. Natia's struggle with eating, as one can see, also comes from the heavy guilt and grief that is slowly uncovered throughout the story of what Natia has done and what has happened throughout the course of the war to her. Natia's number one thing she constantly does and has now become the focus of many character relationships with her (ie Doc Gene Roe) is the clenched fists, that she squeezes until they bleed and eventually need wrapped up by the Doc. Something she also refuses to accept she has a problem with. As we can see, acceptance is a concept she struggles with more than anything and something she will essentially have to learn to simply, accept.

That's just sort of one of the many bits of information about her character that I added, especially in society today as mental health is so important and so I just wanted to share a bit of the backlash I got from someone for it. But I guess that's life, but I'll continue to write Natia Filipska as an OC who does struggle with depression because of her life in war.

Natia's character and her story is probably one of the most complex characters and stories I've written and crafted and created and I'm just extremely happy with how she ended up coming out in the end! I'm about to go and do some writing and editing for her and it's just so exciting writing her because of all these various levels she withholds and she slowly lets uncover as the story unfolds! I just love it! OH - and we can't forget about the infamous mentions of the piano....yep that'll be coming up soon haha!! <3

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION AMY!!! IT MEANT SO MUCH!!!! just getting to talk about Natia a little bit and her character and what my mind set was creating her - it means so much. my mindset with her is somehow always changing and shifting as she goes through her character arc throughout the story and how her developmental shifts and it's just something i really love and enjoy more than anything!!! <3 so thank you for letting me just talk about it for a little while as well as my thoughts and opinions, it means a lot :)

[theinkyisles]

haunting figures

this is for my @ts-storytime​ ‘s submission! my artist is @ravenclawicecream and it was awesome working together for this piece. word count: 15001 tags: discussion of war, slight internalized ableism, arranged marriages, familial death, awful parents, open/ambiguous ending author’s notes: im never writing anything like this again.  it was an experience im glad for !! but i never wanna do this again salkjfdal

The meeting had lasted centuries, it seemed.

In all reality, it had only been a few hours, but he felt like he could see the hairs at his temple graying.  The aching joints had been a painful companion all his life, so it seemed that being an old man at age thirty-one was simply his life now.  The books surrounding him and the crutches leaning on the side of the desk agreed.

Logan sighed and let his head drop onto the stack of his papers.  His eyes threatened to shut but it was only three o’clock in the afternoon and the number of advisors clamoring for his attention was unbelievable.  He was only the king, not God Herself.  Honestly, if he was a power-hungry noble wishing to be in the king’s good graces, he wouldn’t try and get an appointment with him.  Appointments never solved anything; any good court member knew that. 

There weren’t many good court members, as you could tell.

Lifting his head from the inked parchments, he rubbed his brow with the palm of his hand.  The court member problem was an on-going one, left over from his mother’s reign.  Her partner’s death shocked everyone and the queen scrambled to recover the pieces of what she discovered to be a shattered kingdom.  She couldn’t fix everything, and so that’s what Logan grew up learning how to do.

The king pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.  “Fix everything” he murmured to himself. “What a useless task.”

A knock came at the door and Logan called for whoever was at the door to come in.  “Hello, your majesty,” his steward bowed. “I was told to fetch you.” Logan lifted his eyes to peer over the top of his glasses.

“Am I not the one who is supposed to request others to be fetched?” he asked. The steward’s eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.

“We both know that that’s no fun,” Emile said, placing his arms behind his back. “Besides you’re going to like who’s come to visit.” Logan exhaled deeply.

“Well, if you are here to fetch me, let me be fetched.” Logan pressed both his hands to the desk and slowly raised.  His knees creaked in protest, but he kept going until he was upright.  Grabbing the crutches, he swiftly made his way to his steward.  Together, they walked the ornate halls until they reached the throne room, where the courtier opened the door and Logan marched inside.

“Your majesty!” a voice boomed.  A man clad in black and green stood in the middle of the room, his hand resting on his decorative scabbard. “How is that every time I visit, you seem to become more and more the old man you are inside?”  The servants around the room tensed, but Logan just grinned.

“Remus, how is it every time you visit, you can never find a better joke to greet me with?” Logan countered.  Remus threw his head back, a loud laugh filling the room.  Servants around the room winced at the loud display, but Logan merely smiled.

“Never change, my friend.” Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling.  Logan’s heart grew fond at the sight. 

“Well, let me sit, and then we may discuss why you are here.”

“What, a prince can’t come to visit his old friend?” Logan scoffed as he sat down in the throne, removing the crutches from his arms.

“Not when said prince has been shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous wreck since I stepped foot into here.” The anxious look in his eyes grew more apparent, but Remus’ smile never dropped.  His hand began shaking back and forth at his side.

“I wanted to wait for a bit longer before bringing it up.”

“Nonsense.  This is the world we live in, your highness. We’d be fools to forget our responsibilities for a moment.” Remus nodded.

“There has been…a complication in the plan we drafted last summer.” Logan straightened in his seat.

“The one for the fields of the volcanoes in your kingdom?”

“Exactly, my dear friend.”

“What complication could come from that? It was a routine signing, everyone agreed to it and- “

 “-and there shouldn’t be another meeting for several more years?” Remus finished. “Yes, but the kingdom of Xious has found that the terms of the contract that has been in place for a millennia before the current monarch is not suitable and wishes to make some changes.”

“What changes could they possibly want? They get forty percent of the crops and pay an incredibly low rent, even after adjusting for inflation!”

“Your anger matches that of my own,” Remus agrees and steps closer, “but they are willing to go to war over it, and, as interesting as I find that, it turns out that death and destruction is not good for kingdoms, so we need to find a solution.”

“War?” Logan exclaimed uncharacteristically. “Over a treaty about wheat?”

“It would definitely be quite the bloodbath.  Your army is no match for Xious’.”

“War is quite a rash move, especially if his country is suffering famine.” Remus shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t pretend to know what goes through the child’s mind.  My brother believes he’s scared and he sees that war is the only way to protect his country’s dignity. I say that he has been pushing off help from his advisors in some vain attempt to prove himself.”

“Have you done due diligence? There is no reason for the Xiousians to be acting in this manner.” Logan said, leaning his chin into his hand. Roman scoffed, crossing his arms.

“My father would not approve that, not with how the king is acting.”

“Remus, please, your father has little influence in the court anymore, especially in his old age.” Roman gave the Cygnan king a look.

“Please, Logan, you’ve met my father.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You act as if you didn’t know that.”

“Forgive me for still finding it ridiculous.”

“You are forgiven,” Remus jested.  Logan huffed a laugh and let his head drop into his hands.

Without saying anything, Logan picked up his crutches, slipping his arms in. He stood up and Remus straightened on instinct.  Logan made his way down the steps and walked over to the doors leading out of the throne room.  He looked behind him to where Remus was staring at him quizzically in the middle of the room.

“Well, what on Earth are you waiting for?” Logan laughed and kept moving towards the doors.  Remus chuckled and hurried after his friends.  The guards at the doors moved to follow them, but Logan shook his head. “Leave me with my friend.  I certainly won’t die between here and my chambers.”

“But sire-”one of the guards started.

“I am well aware of the protocol, my parent was the one who wrote it,” Logan snapped back. “I will be fine.”  Logan saw the guard hesitate for a moment and took his change to keep walking down the hallways.

“You are so rude to them,” Remus mused.

“I’m the king and I can take care of myself.  They know to respect me at this point, I’ve more than proven myself.”

“I wonder how many times you could be assassinated between now and then,” Remus thought out loud after a moment.  The same guard stiffened and Remus smiled widely in his direction. Logan barely withheld a snort and Remus turned the smile onto the king.

“Are you going to try and find out?” Logan asked rhetorically, beginning to make his way down the hall.

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t taken every chance to find out the exact about of time it would take for any number of assassinations to take place in this exact hallway? That’s so very unlike you,” Remus laughed as Logan smacked his shin with the crutch. “Watch it, Logey, lest I report back to my father that I was assaulted by the king of Cygnas.”

“Oh, shut it,” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Hm,” Remus preened, “I don’t think I will.”

“You and your brother will be the death of me, I swear,” Logan muttered.

“Speaking of my brother…” Remus trailed off.  Logan wrinkled his nose at the sound of the prince Roman. “He wasn’t able to accompany me, but we might be returning in a few weeks’ time in case of war, especially since he is the new crown prince.” Logan’s embarrassment shifted into shock.

“What? I thought that-“

“Father has also decided which son will take the throne.”  Remus stopped in the middle of the hallway.  Logan followed suit.

“Why I haven’t I heard about this sooner? Has he declared this officially?” Logan asked incredulously.  Remus shook his head.

“The position is brand new.  I heard about it myself while in transit coming here.  We both knew that this was coming, Logan.”  Remus gave the other king a look and Logan turned away to stare at the ground.

“Yes, but-” Logan cut himself off, frustrated.  He turned back to Remus. “Send my congratulations to your brother.  He will be a fine king.

“I hope you know that resenting me is an acceptable course of action.” Remus said knowingly.

“I just-”

“You wanted me to be king.  I know.”  Remus stepped closer to Logan, resting a hand against Logan’s cheek. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“What kind of talk is that?”  Roman looked away, allowing himself to shove his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Remus.”

“Logan,” Remus mocked slightly. “Just yell at me already, won’t you?”

Logan scowled. “Have you no faith in me? Good heavens.” Logan slipped his arms out of his crutches and leaned them against the wall.  He pressed up close to Remus and hugged him, making his two inches over Remus known.  He cupped the back of his friend’s head, pressing it against his shoulder.  Remus slumped forward. “You will be a fine king.  Do I wish your father had given Remus more of a chance? Yes, but that does not mean you are anywhere near unqualified for the position.”

“You’re just saying that.” Logan pulled back to look Remus in the eyes.

“Have I ever lied to you?” They stared at each other a moment.  Remus searched for something in Logan’s face, but whatever dishonesty he was looking for, he couldn’t find.  The air was thick with hidden messages passed between the two members of royalty.  Finally, Remus let his head fall against his friend’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of Logan’s jacket.

“You know it’s serious when you start thanking me for things.” Remus snorted.

They stood there for a few more minutes before pulling away.  Logan pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead and Remus leaned into it.

“You know me too well, fiend.” Logan smiled softly as he picked his crutches back up from against the wall.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

    -

  Weeks had passed since Remus left Cygnas to return to his own kingdom.  Despite promises from both twins and the king of Ticevas, the pair of princes were still in transit.  Logan was antsy and worried.  The threat of war from the Xious kingdom was getting more and more real, with reports of soldiers being seen at the border, and if Remus had to set off to take care of the admittedly powerful army, Logan wouldn’t see him for several months, if not years.  He needed to sort this out between Xious and Ticevas, even if it was for purely selfish reasons.

Selfish can be described as practical.  That was his story and he was sticking to it.

In their own private letters, passed through business letters addressed to Roman who handed them to his twin, Remus reassured his lover that his brother would be there soon. Yet, Logan’s anxieties still were not soothed.

My bleeding heart,

What do you think of the new introduction? Roman keeps suggesting these ridiculously sappy names for me to call you, but this was the only one I liked, even if I had to modify it a bit. Tell me if you enjoy it.

The Xiousian king visited this past week to try and negotiate with Roman about the contract.  They didn’t really get anywhere, which normally wouldn’t bother my brother, but I had to try even less to piss him off at dinner.  He stormed out and everything.  Quite the dramatic one he is, I have no idea what you see in him.

Speaking of seeing, he plams to be in Cygnas within the next fortnight.  I know you’ve been worried about the war with Xious, but Father is slowly becoming more lenient in his old age.  With our treaty with you and Limora, I think he’s seeing that handing over the food and money this once won’t be an issue (which is what I’ve been telling him from the beginning, but of course, he only listens when Roman says something).

Enough of business.  I miss you, quill.  Kill a flower for me and stare out the window like I’m your husband gone to war.

Yours,

Remus

Logan smiled as he thumbed over the indents in the paper, the spritz of the cologne Remus wore wafting up from the page.  It was a shorter letter than usual, much shorter, but any word was better than none at all, in Logan’s opinion.

It was barely dawn when the letter had been given to him, the poor messenger looking dead on his feet.  It had been difficult to conceal his excitement and relief, but he knew that getting a letter from what everyone thought to be Roman was no cause to be filled with such joy.  Only Roman and the two of them knew of Logan and Remus’ relationship, though he had no doubt that their father knew as well, and turned a blind eye.  As the general of the army and now officially second-in-command to Crown Prince Roman, any upstanding royal or noble family knew how valuable having that connection would be.

Unfortunately, it meant Logan and Remus would never marry.  With the current treaty in place, there was no need to strengthen it with a marriage and Remus’ father, and Roman, after the king died, would need Remus elsewhere for political maneuvers.    

Back in his early days as crown prince, Logan had foolishly hoped that marrying Remus would be an option. Roman was an obvious shoe-in to be announced king even then, (no matter if Logan secretly hoped that his lover would be awarded the honor) and Logan continuously badgered his mother about the potential ways they could fortify the alliance with Ticevas.  The king was sure that his mother knew of his relationship with the prince and both resented her and was grateful for her saying nothing of the matter.  They might have secured a betrothal while Remus’ father was younger and more easily persuaded, but Logan was unsure of his and Remus’ ability to maintain both a burgeoning personal relationship and permanent political relationship in their youth.

 And yet, there was almost nothing Logan wanted more than to fall asleep each night with Remus in his arms.

Logan exhaled and carefully folded the letter back up.  He slid it under the false bottom in one of his desk drawers, relishing in the smell of Remus’ cologne that rose from the letters before shutting it firmly.  Today was too busy for him to be distracted, even if Remus was a wonderful distraction indeed.

He shifted his attention to the documents in front of him and wrinkled his nose.  Taxes were important to his kingdom’s economy, but even he found them dreadfully boring.  The advisors always insisted that they needed to raise taxes on the lower class almost exponentially in order to pay for better cities, but Logan kept them on a tight leash.  The last thing he wanted to do was rob the majority of his kingdom blind.  Not to mention the fact that the taxes were still outrageously high and no one deigned to put the money to good use.  He found it absolutely disgusting how all the nobles in his court refused to pay their own taxes, yet insisted that those who were living paycheck to paycheck deserved to be burgled by their own government.

He had opinions on the matter, not that he was ever that passionate in court.  That would lead to a scandal that he did not want nor need to deal with.  He was fixing things slowly but surely. 

A knock came at the door and Logan called out to permit them entry.  He straightened his posture as his personal steward stepped into the room.  Emile bowed and Logan nodded his head in return, remaining sitting at his desk.

“Good morning, Emile.  I trust you have a reason to be interrupting me at five o’clock in the morning?” Emile smiled at his boss, not put off by the seemingly dismissive greeting.

“Do you how do, Your Majesty?” Emile said instead of answering, a cheeky grin on his face.  Logan’s face dropped into a confused scowl.

“Emile, that phrase is utterly nonsensical, I have no idea why you use it so often,” the king said, looking back down at his papers. Emile laughed.

“It’s simply a fun turn of phrase, Your Majesty, nothing nonsensical about it.” Logan opened his mouth to retort but Emile kept going. “Besides, I have some important information for you.”

“Really? Do share, Emile.” Logan motioned for the steward to continue, still not looking up from his papers.  He heard Emile shift nervously.

“The Xiousian king is here and has requested an audience.” Logan’s head shot up, the quill dropping with a clatter to the desk. 

“The Xiousian king? When did he arrive?” Logan demanded, pressing his weight to the desk and rising from his seat.  Emile grabbed the crutches by the door and swiftly walked over, setting them against the desk for Logan to use if he so wished.

“He arrived mere moments ago, it appears that they rode through the night to get here.”

“Good heavens,” Logan muttered, paling considerably.  It was a quiet for a moment as Logan stared down at the ground, trying to decide what to do. “Alright, you go speak with the king while I ready myself.  Tell him I will be there shortly.” Emile stared at Logan for a few moments, not moving to comply to Logan’s orders.

“Logan,” Emile started, his voice soft, “you don’t have to go and greet him.  I can do so myself and you can take your time.” Logan kept his head down, avoiding making contact with the steward.  “Valerie wouldn’t want you to force yourself to-”

“Don’t speak her name,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm.  “As far as I am aware, I do not know Virgil and Virgil does not know me.  There is no reason for me to hide from him.” Emile opened his mouth to speak, but Logan shook his head. “I’m not having this argument today.”  Emile hesitated before nodding and moving to leave the room.

“I’ll inform His Majesty that you will be arriving shortly,” Emile said softly, before shutting the door behind him.  Logan sighed as the final click was heard, raising one hand to massage at his constricting chest. 

To the world, he was Logan, King of Cygnas, the only child of Monarch Ranal and Queen Leona. 

Valerie couldn’t be a factor in his decisions anymore.

-

Logan threw the doors of the throne room open as he strode in, his ornamental cloak fluttering behind him.  He took advantage of the low pain that day to try and be as dramatic as possible (Roman’s points about theatrics and intimidation had some merit), but he saw Emile standing by the throne, crutches in hand.  Something in him shriveled at the idea that not even his steward thought he could make it through this meeting without buckling beneath the pressure and aching, but he cast it aside.  This was not the time for pride.

He regretted the powerful move when he saw the tiny boy in the middle of the room.  He knew that the Xiousian king was young, having kept track of any news coming from the Xiousian front, but the boy looked so small.  Logan took one look at the kid’s trembling shoulders and stopped in his tracks. No sudden movements, he decided.

“King Virgil,” Logan greeted. “Your presence in my court is highly unexpected, especially at this hour in the morning.”  The boy attempted to straighten up, but the crown on his head tilted to the side. It was almost comical.

“King Logan,” the other king bowed his head. “I have travelled a long time to be here.”      

“And yet that does not answer the real question,” Logan threw back.  He started walking towards the boy, taking note of how the other king winced as Logan drew nearer.  The older king passed by the boy, noting how he didn’t relax until he reached the throne. Logan tucked his cloak beneath him as he sat down. “Why are you here?”

“Well, you must know about how your ally Ticevas and how they have been refusing aide to my hungry people.” Virgil took a few short, yet decisive steps closer to the throne.  Logan had to give it to him; he might be scared, but he was handling it well. Logan cocked his head to the side.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but that is not the information I was given by the Crown Prince of Ticevas.” The boy glowered and he furrowed his brow.

“I do not know what information the Crown Prince has given you, but I can assure you that if it is anything close to what I believe Prince-General Remus has said to his superiors, it is unequivocally false.”  Logan quirked an eyebrow, but the rest of his facial expression remained peacefully blank.

“You cannot blame me for trusting what has been told to me by the Crown Prince and Prince-General of Ticevas themselves,” Logan lifted his hands from the arms of his throne, folding them into his lap. “I do not intend on changing my opinion on what is true and what is false on unsupported hearsay and beliefs.” Virgil scoffed and he crossed his arms, the movement made slightly difficult by the heavy furs he had draped around his shoulders.

“Do you believe everything the Ticevans tell you?” the boy asked, no hesitance in his voice. “They are known for their dramatics and story-telling, Your Majesty, not every word that comes from their mouths is sure to be true.”  Logan blinked in shock a few times, caught slightly off-guard.  No one had dared question his trust in the Ticevan twins before.

He’d have to do better.

“I’m not sure the Ticevan royal family would entirely appreciate you implying that they are liars, Your Majesty,” Logan said as-matter-of-factly. Virgil scowled, taking impulsive steps towards the throne.  The soldiers flanking the throne dropped into a defensive stance, holding out their spears.  The young king froze and the guards that were with him when Logan entered pulled their swords from their scabbards. “Remigius,” Logan scolded, turning towards his head guard at his right. “Please, show some decorum.” He turned back to Virgil. “My apologies, my liege, as king I am sure you aware of the heightened security.” 

The silver-haired captain-of-the-guard let out a soft scoff as he resumed his stationary position.  Logan shot the man a stern glance but Remy refused to turn towards him.  “Yes, I am aware,” Virgil said warily, and Logan saw him make a soft hand motion out of the corner of his eye.  The guards stood down, their swords back in their scabbard.  One guard, his braids pulled back into a tight bun, left his hand on the hilt. “If I have to ask,” Virgil said snidely, “may I approach, Your Majesty?” Logan gave him a deadpan look but the thirteen-year-old held his ground.

Logan broke first, surprisingly, sighing and waving his hand in a motion for Virgil to step forward. “You may approach, King Virgil.” Virgil didn’t move, instead resting his weight on his heels, a smug smirk on his face.   A ‘well, now that I have permission, I don’t want to do it’ move.  Incredibly immature, Logan noted, but then again, no matter what status Virgil might have, a teenager is still a teenager. “Very funny,” Logan said wryly. 

“Why, King Logan, I have no idea what you mean!” Virgil said in a high-pitched innocent voice.  Logan held in a chuckle.  A few beats passed as Logan stared down at the young boy.

“Why are you here, King Virgil?” Logan said, slightly bored. “You come in with bravado and accusations and you still have not answered my very first question.”  Virgil stuck his nose up.

“We are here to offer a chance of your kingdom surviving the crossfire.” Logan furrowed his brow and sat up slightly in his throne.

“What crossfire.”

“Ticevas has disrespected our sovereignty and threatened us tenfold over.  Xious will not stand for it.”

“And your solution is to kill everything on sight?” Virgil scoffed.

“You have no tact, Your Majesty.” Logan raised an eyebrow and Virgil turned red. “Apologies, that-that was uncalled for.” Logan hummed, amused.

“Join me for dinner,” he said suddenly and he placed his hands against the arms of the throne. “You and your entourage are welcome to stay in the castle for the next week and we can discuss matters in a more private setting.” Confusion flashed across Virgil’s face and he looked towards the guard to his left, a question of whether or not he should accept floating between them.

“I accept your invitation,” Virgil responded a moment later, his eyes still locked with that of his guard. He turned back towards Logan with a polite, sardonic smile. “It was an honor to meet you, King Logan of Cygnas.” Logan raised his eyebrows but did not smile back.

“And it was certainly interesting to meet you, King Virgil of Xious.” Logan pushed himself off the throne, sliding his right arm into the crutch someone in his periphery offered him.  He stepped down the stairs until he was face to face with the Xiousian king.

Virgil was a lot shorter so up close.

Logan offered his hand and Virgil stared at it a moment.  The room held its breath as the Xiousian processed the gesture.  Hesitantly, Virgil uncrossed his arms and gripped Logan’s admittedly much larger hand.  Logan shook once, a firm yet gentle motion, before releasing and walking right past the young king towards the door of the throne room.

At the very least, he had an excuse to write Remus.

-

Remus,

I’m afraid I write to you not with personal anecdotes but with political news.

 T’is dreadful, I’m aware.

The young boy king of Xious dropped by this evening, though it will be a few days past by the time this letter reaches you.  He is small, but skilled with his language.  His father very obviously groomed this boy for the throne at a young age.  He stutters, though.  It reminds me slightly of myself at his age.

I have invited him to stay at the palace for a few days, provided he have dinner with me.  I will write you after the dinner; hopefully I will have more information for you then.  Your brother told me that he threatened war over the treaty, but he seemed quite offended at this accusation, lending me to believe that there has been a miscommunication.  You were there for this exchange? I need both sides here.

Just so you are aware, and please relay this to Roman but do not tell your father, he has given me an offer to avoid crossfires of war.  I don’t pretend to understand why he would offer to have me fight alongside his kingdom or die and then turn around and be offended at me saying that he is planning war.  I fear there are other factors at play, not simply a confused child at the reins of a job that no individual can truly succeed at. 

I hope you are well, my love. 

Sincerely,

His Majesty, King Logan

-

       Preparing for the dinner on such late notice made everyone on the castle on edge.  Logan rarely had visitors as it was and as such, unused guest wings weren’t cleaned with the frequency that was kept throughout the more populated sections of the castle.  If worries of war breaking out over a scared teenager weren’t plaguing Logan with every waking moment, he might’ve taken a moment to thank each staff member that passed him by.

He made a note to up their pay for the month.

“You know I’m not one to question your decisions,” Remigius, Logan’s head guard, said as the king and him walked down the hallway, “but enemy Xious here? In your castle?”

“If I turn them away, I will not gain any information that could actually be of use to our allies.  The Ticevan princes would not lie to me and so I am eager to understand exactly why I’m being told two different stories.” Remigius scowled.

“You’re ignoring all the potential security concerns, babes, we don’t have the manpower to guard all the guestrooms, even if they only have ten in the security detail.”

“It’s thirteen,” the king said offhandedly as they turned a corner. “The person dressed in the steward colors had a knife hidden up their sleeve.  Some type of holster, I presume.” Remigius paused, gaping at Logan – who kept moving down the hall at a rapid pace – before jogging slightly to catch up.

“I don’t wanna even ask how you caught that.” Logan smiled wryly.

“I’m doing everyone’s job at once,” Logan began, his voice vaguely humorous as if he were starting the beginning of joke. “I have to pretend to do yours at one point.” Remigius scoffed and Logan knew he would cross his arms if he wasn’t holding onto his spear. They made their way down the rest of the hall, their voices in a hushed chatter and Remy complained about what an awkward position Logan put him in and Logan shooting back that this is exactly what he hired Remy for.  When they arrived at the door, Logan sighed heavily.  “This isn’t something I want to be doing, Remigius,” Logan said softly. “Preventing a war from happening is just as taxing as fighting the war itself.”

“I agree,” Remy said, “but you have to remember our limits.”  Logan sighed again, before pushing open the door into the small conference room. 

Originally, Logan had a council of advisors and early on in the last day’s of his mother’s reign and the beginning stages of his own, he met with them frequently.  Every book on ruling and being fair that Logan could get his hands on emphasized the importance on seeking others’ outlooks on each decision a ruler made for their country and when he was nineteen and fresh from his mother’s funeral, Logan dove straight into that.  Looking back on it, it was a poor decision.

For many reasons.

Years later, Logan was still stuck weeding out nobleman who gained their positions through willful missights by both his parents or a generous donation of money towards the upkeep of the castle.  The budget for the upkeep of the castle was woefully tight and it had always been that way, so he was sure that his parents squirreled away the money somewhere or maybe wasted it away. 

Presently, Logan still stuck by the idea that a stable king had stable council, but it was increasingly difficult to find said steady council when all the councilors seemed keen on starting wars at every given opportunity.  The only nobles or advisors or councilors Logan allowed in his presence anymore were handpicked himself, regardless of status.

Or attitude for that matter.

Dominic Dormis, known colloquially as “The Critic” and called Dice by everyone who was just out of enough common sense to have a conversation with him, sat in the middle of a long wooden meeting table, papers spread artfully around him.  He was the brother to Remigius, though ironically, it was Remigius who insisted that Logan not hire Dominic.  Logan ignored his head guard’s advice and it was the best decision he had ever made.

“Tell me, Dice,” Logan started, walking over to look over the advisor’s shoulder at the papers sitting in front of him, “how urgently do I need to try and fix this all?” Dice laughed humorlessly as he threw his pen down and leaned back in the chair.

“You’ve made a right mess of this, darling!” Dice exclaimed, tilting his head back to look Logan in the eye. “No matter how often they run the numbers, nothing looks favorable.” Logan sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Are we really that low on manpower?” Logan asked, his voice bordering on desperate, and screwed his eyes shut. Dice tutted his tongue, motioning towards the papers.

“I haven’t been here all morning trying to spread our defenses across the Xiousian border for nothing, darling,” Dice snarked.  Logan opened his eyes slightly to glare at him.

“We’re aiming for peace, Dice,” Logan snapped, “not to antagonize the same kingdom threatening war by placing our entire military on the border.” Dice just shrugging, looking down at the papers.

“It was the only way I felt we had a chance,” Dice said defensively.

Oh, damn it all,” Logan swore under his breath. “What are your thoughts on Ticevas lying?” Dice just scoffed.

“Please, the boy had a point.  We Ticevans have a tendency for the dramatics.”  Logan scrunched his nose.

“So am I to march up to the Crown Prince and his general brother and tell them to their face that they’re lying? Were they even at that meeting?” Dice shrugged, picking up his quill to dip it into ink and scribble a note into the blank space of one of the pages. “Why is it that when I am listing all the things going wrong, you jump right in, but when I try to figure out a solution, you just sit there nodding?”

“You hired me for a reason,” Dice replied in a singsong voice. “I tell you what you need to hear, Logan, not what you want to hear.”  Logan crossed his arms, his face pinched.

“What do we do then?” Dice sighed and moved his head back down, searching through the sheets of paper.

“You either side with Xious or you get them to back down,” Dice says, reciting the words from a piece of paper held close to his face.  Logan narrowed his eyes and swiped the paper from Dice’s hands, much to his advisor’s indignance.

“Dice, this just says ‘you’re screwed’.  That’s not entirely professional.  I do have to present these papers to the princes of Ticevas.” Dice scoffed, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up on top of the desk. “And now your feet are on the table.”

“You’re very good at observations,” Dice said wryly. “Look, you have that dinner with the Xiousian king.  Make it count.  Make yourself likable.” Logan moved to open his mouth but Dice cut him off. “Diplomacy and facts might work with more stable-minded individuals, but this is a kid, Your Majesty.  You need to charm him.” Logan tossed the papers back on the table.

“Fantastic.”

“It’s not all bad, Your Majesty.  Emile said that he’s your-”

“No.”

“What?” Dice asked innocently.  He blinked up at Logan. “It’s a good strategy, my lord, it will work, especially on a boy his age.”

“I will not be using my dead sister’s name in war talks, Dice.” The advisor scrunched up his nose.

“Well, yes, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound all that wonderful.” Logan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Dice shuffled through his papers and Logan could hear him scribbling down notes and calculations.  “A right mess you’ve made of this, Logan.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” the king hissed. Dice snorted. A knock came at the door. “Enter!”

“Well, hello there, Dice! It’s been a while,” Emile said as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him.  Logan looked up to see Dice waving slightly, leaning forward against the table onto his elbows.

“Hello, dear brother-in-law,” Dice said amusingly. “It’s a shame you are so busy these days, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak one-on-one.” Emile’s eyes crinkled and he laughed.

“That’s what family dinners on Sundays are for, Dice, it’s not my fault you never show up.”

-

“Your Majesty,” Logan greeted coolly, rising up from his seat in order to bow slightly.  His knuckles were braced against the edge of the table, allowing his body weight to distribute. “How kind of you to join me this evening.” 

Virgil stood in the doorway, classic Xiousian furs piled up around his shoulders and wrapped around his head.  His eyes swept across the room, as if admiring each piece of furniture and morsel of food.  His face was shadowed by a thin wrap covering the tops of his head and draped across and around his neck, but Logan could still the stringy black hair that reminded Logan of himself when he was a teenager. The way Virgil held himself reminded Logan even of his parent, which was not necessarily a reminder that he was looking for. If he were superstitious, it would feel like a bad omen.

Logan felt the weight of what this dinner meant settling across his shoulders like a physical presence.  Ever since the meeting with Dice, several other nobleman came up to him, trying to play up the might of Cygnan army.  They acted incredibly patriotic but Dice’s intel (and also that of his brother, Remigius) showed him what their true intentions were.  Deals with investors and black markets across both Cygnas, Ticevas, and Limora could make them rich if Logan decided to follow through with the war. 

None of them seemed to take into consideration quite exactly war would mean for absolutely everyone else.  Sometimes it felt like everyone thought him as naïve as a dog running after a phantom stick.  He was the King of Cygnas, the kingdom associated with all things knowledge.  He had some common sense.

“Come sit,” he invited, motioning to the seat beside him. “My kitchen staff has slaved over this food all day and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.” Logan busied himself with tucking his coattails beneath him and shuffling his chair closer to the table, but he kept track of the careful steps Virgil took towards the table.  He eyed the guards at the door. 

Virgil’s personal guard followed his charge to the chair, inspecting it before allowing the boy king to take a seat.  Gently, the boy unwrapped the fur shawl from around his shoulders and the guard took it from him, draping it against the high back of the chair.  “It is custom to wear wraps that cover our heads,” Virgil says, his voice tiny in the giant room.  “I hope this does not offend you.” Logan waved his hand in dismissal.

“I hope you are not offended that I am not wearing one myself,” Logan says, motioning for a servant to pour them drinks. “In Cygnas, it’s typical to wear less clothing in the presence of guests, though,” Logan gestured at himself wryly, “the same does not usually apply to the royal household.” Virgil gave a small, but genuine smile.

“My father was a…lover of our culture,” Virgil responded, “as am I.”  He paused for a moment to lift up his wine glass to his guard, who took a small sip.  Whatever the guard was looking for, he didn’t find and he handed the cup back to the teen. “However, I understand that you have your own customs.” Logan nodded, beginning to pick up his cutlery to start eating.

“In Ticevas,” Logan started, “it is customary to bow in a particular fashion before approaching the monarch.”  He gave Virgil a humorous look.  “Of course, when my mother passed, may her soul rest among the stars, I had many things to worry about and I stormed into a meeting with the King before bowing.”  He took a sip of his wine.  “I don’t believe the Crown Prince or his brother have ever let me live that one down.”  Virgil gave him a curious glance.

“Are you close with the Crown Prince and the Prince-General?” he asked innocently.  Logan held back a deadpan look.

“As close as life-long allies can be,” Logan said, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

Logan heard a small, exasperated huff as he looked down to his meal and resisted the urge to chuckle.  The boy was smart, but he had little tact. 

He was doing better than Logan would have done at this age, regardless.

The clinking of ornate cutlery against fine china filled the room as the two began to eat.  Logan could see the young boy struggle to use the wares that were just a tad too big for his hands and wondered how such a boy could threaten war but not know how to handle utensils.

Maybe he simply used swords to eat. 

Logan banished the thought from his mind.  The past was the past, as his mother would say every time the Xiousian king would extend an invitation to his castle.  

Damned Xious.

“How are you finding the meal, Your Majesty?” Logan asked coolly. He didn’t look up from his plate, but he heard Virgil fumbling with the fork and knife.  He ought to stop playing mind games with children. 

“It is suitable,” Virgil replied, his words slightly muffled by what seemed like a mouth full of food.  Logan looked up to see Virgil swallow harshly and washing down the ball of food with a gulp of wine.  “I appreciate your hospitality, King Logan.”  Logan tilted his head to the side.

“I accept your thanks.”  Logan cut a piece of meat, and held it up to his lips. “Your father was a frequent guest at this castle and I hope you will be as well, as you grow into your role as monarch of Xious.”  Virgil nodded nervously, fiddling with his silverware instead of responding. “Speaking of which,” Logan continued, “my condolences to you and your family.  Losing family is something I am woefully familiar with.”  Virgil nodded again; his eyes were downcast.

“May his soul rest among the stars,” the young king murmured. Virgil straightened his back, having slouched slightly, “He was good father to me.  He taught me well.”  He paused for a moment, looking down at his plate. “Though, there is no other family to console.  I am his only heir and my mother died young.” Virgil looked at him inquisitively. “You would have known her, no?” Logan resisted the urge to try and swallow down the lump that had grown in his throat.  He hadn’t thought about Virgil’s mother in a long time.  It was a shock to try and remember it all.  Realizing he hadn’t responded, Logan cleared his throat, busying his hands with cutting a slice of the meat on his plate.

“Yes, I was good friends with your mother,” Logan said, his voice on the edge of trembling. “I simply…forget she is not here with us, from time to time.”  Virgil hummed in response. “Your father was a strong king,” Logan said, instead of continuing down the previous path of conversation, “Do you plan to follow in his footsteps?” the Cygnan inquired after a moment. “He was quite focused on the military, but this is a time of peace, as you must know.”  Virgil froze slightly and Logan resisted the urge to smile.  Finally, he’d pushed a button.  Virgil began to look up towards his guard, presumably for guidance, but he aborted the movement, tightening his grip on his wine cup that he’d reached out for as Logan was asking his question.

“It is quite a…” Virgil paused, quirking his lips as he brought the wine cup up to his mouth, “bold statement to claim peace, considering what your allies in Ticevas have accused of me.” His hands were shaking.  Logan bowed his head in agreement.

“Though, if what you say is true, there is no reason to fear, is there?” Logan tilted his head. “After all, if there is war to be had between you Ticevas, there is little reason for you to be here, at the castle of a Ticevan ally.”  Virgil gulped down his wine nervously and the guard behind him gripped his spear threateningly.

“Peace is a lot harder to defend than a home front, Your Majesty,” Virgil said at last, setting down his glass with a clumsy hand. “It is best to be prepared for the worst, as my father always said.”  Logan raised his eyebrows and Virgil’s shoulders seem to shrink slightly.

“We simply have different tactics then,” Logan shrugged artfully, careful not to become too casual.  The Xiousian guard glared. Virgil shifted slightly in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“Uh-” Virgil went red at the noise, busying himself with cutting another piece of meat. “What-What tactics do you employ, then?” Logan looked up from his plate, smiling slightly.

“Cygnans pride ourselves on our practicality.  The budgeting reflects that,” Logan explained, taking a sip from his glass. “We have dedicated numbers for each individual aspect of the government, numbers that are reviewed daily by our famed scholars.” Virgil leaned in closer, his eyes wide. “And what of you? You said that your father always liked to be prepared.”  Virgil blinked a couple times before shrinking back into his seat.

“Well, my father, as you said, was a very strong man and he-he wanted that reflected in his kingdom, I suppose.”  Logan raised an eyebrow.

“You suppose?” Virgil fumbled to correct himself.

“No- not that I suppose, I know that is what he wanted.  He taught me that himself,” Virgil rushed out.  “He always said to me that being overcautious meant two things. One,” Virgil lifted up his index finger; Logan marveled at how small the child’s hands were, “you are prepared for what comes, or option number two,” Virgil lifted up a second finger, “you are pleasantly surprised.”  Taken slightly by surprise, Logan huffed out a small laugh.  Virgil beamed, his smile almost glowing.

It was times like these that Logan had to fight himself to see a burgeoning king, instead of an unsteady young boy.  Logan was lucky he had his mother when his parent died when he was but being the tender age of twelve years old was not a fact that prepared himself for the death of someone so influential.  If not for the queen, he would have been forced to take on the harrowing task of being responsible for millions of people’s lives, something that haunts him in his dreams even at his older age.

“You are quite the comedic guest,” Logan said amusingly. “It’s difficult to catch me by surprise.” Virgil went shy, ducking his head.

“I must give credit to my father then, may his soul rest among the stars,” Virgil blushed. “It was he who said it.”  Logan tutted good-naturedly.

“But it was not your father who made me laugh, was it?”  A glimmer danced in Virgil’s eyes and a fierce protectiveness came over Logan.

“No, I suppose it was not.”

-

They moved to Logan’s official office, not the throne room nor the desk in his room where Logan kept most of his paperwork.  He hated the ornate decoration of the space, the gold-plated wood, and curtains of the that never ran out of dust no matter how often you beat them.  He hated the paintings of the wall, memories of his mother and his parent and his sister.  They were all gone, were they not? What was the point on dwelling on it?

Roman called it unhealthy.  Remus called it remembering the dead how they deserved to be remembered.  Logan called it practicality.

Virgil and his guard followed him inside.  Reluctantly, Logan motioned for his head of security to follow him into the room. Before he shut the door, he motioned for Remigius to come close. “You do not touch a hair on that boy’s head,” Logan threatened, his voice calm and soft despite his words.  “I will not be the one who starts this war.”  Remy gave him an odd look.

“And if he attacks?” Logan sighed, eyeing Janus who had his hand on his charge’s shoulder.  They seemed to be speaking words, but Logan could hear nothing from where he is. 

“If the boy attacks, you go for his guard.” Logan stared Remigius right in the eye. “I meant what I said.” Logan bowed his head, bracing his hands against his waist. “Send word to Dice that this meeting is not to be interrupted under penalty of treason. No one but you, me, and King Virgil and his guard will know what transpires here tonight.” Remy nodded, saluting, before whistling over another soldier to relay the message.  Logan straightened his shoulders, holding his hands behind his back, and turned to face Virgil and Janus.

“Feel free to sit down, we might be here a while.”

-

The room was silent.  You could drop a pin and the sound would ring out through the hall.

“I’m not sure I quite understand,” Logan said quietly, his left hand flat against the desk.  Virgil shifted nervously in his seat, no longer hiding his glances to his guard on his right. 

“I wasn’t at that meeting with the diplomats,” Virgil repeated, before shutting his eyes tightly. “Didn’t- wouldn’t your contacts that were at the meeting have told you this?” Logan looked down at the papers scattered artfully across his public desk.  His memory flashed to the stack of letters hidden beneath a false bottom drawer in his room and the distant feeling of being wrapped around his lover.

“No, they had not,” Logan muttered under his breath.  He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes briefly. “This changes many things, Virgil, I hope you understand.” He jumped at the sound of a thump against the ground, looking up to find Remy in an attack position and the Xiousian guard with a deadly stare.

“That is Your Majesty to you, King Logan,” the guard gritted out.  Virgil averted his eyes from the scene, staring at the carpeted designs on the wall.  Logan blinked a few times before clearing his throat.

“But of course,” he amended. “Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty.”  Virgil nodded sheepishly and the guard nodded approvingly.  Logan motioned towards Remy. “Remigius, stand down.  It was a simple correction on my manners, one that is sorely needed.” Remy reluctantly stood down, casting a wary glance towards the guard. Virgil sighed, burying his head into his hands.

Logan looked at the clock on his desk.  It was getting late.

“How,” Virgil asked, his voice bordering on a whine, “does this change things, your so-called allies refused to give my people aid after we practically kissed their boots asking so.”  Logan shook his head, exhaling.

“No, Your Majesty, that is not what I have been told and that’s what becomes the problem.” Virgil peeked through his hands and Logan’s harsh expression softened and his shoulders dropped. “Your Majesty, I have been told by the Head General and Prince of Ticevas himself that your diplomats promised war if they did not lower the rent and heighten the amount of food Xious could take from the crops.  There was no talk of famine or aid and King Romulus does not take kindly to threats, whether they be true or false.”  Virgil sighed, sinking forward so that his elbows were against his knees.

“What would you have me do then?” Virgil asked. “Call my own advisors and agents liars?  Do you know what that kind of position that would put me in? And let’s not forget the fact that those same advisors were put there by my father and removing them would be an affront to his legacy.”  Logan gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist.

“And what am I to do?” Logan asked, holding a tone of incredulity. “Write to my allies in the South and tell them that it was all a misunderstanding?” Virgil sighed deeply. “Your Majesty, I do not want war.  My people are thriving and bloodshed would stunt that, I know it goes the same way for you.” Virgil shook his head and straightened up in his seat, his face gaunt in the flickering candlelight that brightened the room.

“I would do anything to prove Xious is a force to be reckoned with,” Virgil muttered, rising to his feet. “You would do well to remember that, King Logan, or I will be forced to show it to you.” Logan glared, bracing his hands against the desk as if he were about to stand.

“Does what I just said mean nothing to you?” Logan seethed, leaning closer to Virgil. “If your people are truly facing a famine—”

“-are you doubting the word of a king-”

“-then they cannot handle an invasion!” Logan slammed his palm against the desk.  Virgil’s eyes were wide and angry and Logan’s chest heaved.

“You know nothing about my people,” Virgil seethed.  “Janus, we are to leave immediately.  His Majesty has shown us that we are not respected here.”  Virgil stood up from his chair, but Logan held out a hand, bowing his head towards the wood of his desk.

“Wait.  Please,” Logan breathed. “I don’t want this to escalate.  I lost myself.” Virgil glanced at him with disdain but did not make to move towards the door. “I take your word as truth, Your Majesty, just as I take the Ticevan princes’ words as truth.”

“Then what do you propose, King Logan?” Virgil sneered. “You cannot believe a truth and a lie at the same time.” Logan nodded, setting his hand down.

“Please take my words with a grain of salt, King Virgil,” Logan said softly, looking the young king in the eye. “Have you ever considered that, maybe, your diplomats and advisors are looking for war?” Virgil’s nostrils flared. “No, please, listen.  I am also forced to re-examine my alliance with Ticevas here, this is not just you who is put into a compromising position.”

“Your Majesty, please listen to what you’re saying,” Virgil said after a beat of silence. “You’re accusing my trusted advisors and diplomats of treason.  Of lying to the crown.  That comes at the penalty of death in my country.” Logan nodded understandingly, breathing in deeply.

“Please, stay a few more days,” Logan offered. “Think about this.  Talk with your people and I will talk with mine.  The Crown-Prince is due to arrive as soon as tomorrow and perhaps, we can clear things then.” Virgil glanced at his guard – Janus, he’d called the man – who merely stared back.  Whatever passed between them solidified Virgil’s decision and he turned back towards Logan.

“So be it.”

-

Roman and Remus arrived two days later and Logan felt like he was about to collapse.  Virgil and him had been going back and forth for days, letters arriving by the sack-full, no doubt several angry diplomats coming after Virgil for even thinking that they could potentially be treasonous to the crown. 

Logan himself was dreading such letters coming in from his own advisors, whenever he finally found a way to prune them out, but he pushed that aside.  He had to worry about one thing at a time.  His advisors could wait.

When the Royal Carriage for Ticevas finally arrived, it was like weights measuring a ton were lifted from Logan’s shoulders.  The worry and the anxiety soothed itself and it was like the answer to all his problems rested inside the gilded coach.

“Crown Prince Roman, General Remus.” Logan greeted cordially, a playful smile on his lips. “It is a pleasure to see you so soon after your previous visit.” Logan held out his hand and Remus stepped up, bowing and pressing a kiss to the ring on Logan’s finger. Roman merely smiled, bemused by his brother and best friend.

“King Logan, the pleasure is all mine,” Remus returned, nothing in his voice hiding the utter glee in his eyes. 

“My steward will take you to your quarters and then, perhaps, you could join me in my office to discuss a few things before dinner.”  Remus’ smile grew, nearly splitting his face in half. Logan’s eyes crinkled in pleasure.

“But of course, Your Majesty, your hospitality is most gracious.”  Roman accepted, not-so-subtly bumping his elbow into Remus’ stomach.  Remus scrunched his nose and moved to step on Roman’s foot with his heeled boot, but Roman skillfully avoided the maneuver, following Emile who was beckoning the twins to follow him.  Remus scoffed under his breath as he moved to follow his brother and Logan had to resist a smile.  As Remus passed by, the prince reached out his fingers, the action so subtle, no one but Logan saw it coming.  Logan reached his own hand out, under the guise of adjusting his lace cloak, to brush skin against skin.  He breathed in deeply and it was like the sun had just peeked through the clouds at the end of a horrid winter.

A few, long minutes later, Remus finally entered Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him. “So,” Remus said playfully, “what matters of business are we to discuss?”  Logan laughed and something in his chest loosened.  He unclasped the ceremonial lace around his shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground as he strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders.

“I’ve missed you, Remus,” Logan said reverently, digging his nose into Remus’ neck.  He felt Remus lean against him, wrapping his thick arms around Logan’s lithe frame.

“I’ve missed you too, quill,” Remus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come alone to see you.  It’s been far too long since we’ve just existed, you and I.” Logan sighed, stepping back but not letting go of Remus.

“I know,” the king said apologetically, moving to brush Remus’ bangs from his eyes. “Maybe that will change one day, but I can live with this.  At least I get to have you in arms once again.”  Remus’ ears went red, but his smile merely grew and he jutted out his chin in pride.

“I’ll go down in history as the one to make the stern Logan of Cygnas crack,” Remus teased, digging his fingers into Logan’s sides, where he knew the king was ticklish.  Immediately, Logan tensed, giggling.  “Aha! I’ve discovered your weakness.”  Logan slapped at his lover’s hands childishly, giggling even when Remus pulled his hands away.

“You menace,” Logan said softly, grabbing Remus’s face between his two hands and pulling him in for a long overdue kiss. “You will be the death of me, I swear it.”  Remus smiled and leaned back in for another kiss.

Eventually, they made their way to Logan’s bed, kicking off extraneous pieces of ceremonial garb and their shoes, determined to be as comfortable as possible without making it difficult to leave the room in a rush.  “Why do we actually have to do things,” Remus whined, shoving his face into Logan’s chest.  Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling more through his diaphragm than an actual noise.  He ran his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Remus’ neck.

“We’re royalty, Remus,” Logan said humorously, with the tone of someone whose had this conversation with the other prince many times. “If we don’t do things, other things don’t work.” Remus groaned.

“The other things should be able to figure it out on their own,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna leave yet.”  Logan pursed his lips, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.

“I know,” he said wistfully, letting his head fall against the headboard. “I don’t want to leave either.” Remus gripped Logan’s waist tightly and Logan lifted his head slightly to look down at the prince. “Is something the matter?”  Remus looked up at Logan, a frenzy in his eyes.

“We should run away,” Remus whispered, careful of anyone sitting outside the bedroom doors. “You and me, we could run away and never come back and they’ll think we died a bloody death and all of our problems would be solved.” Logan smiled softly and brought up his hand to brush Remus’ white bangs from his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be a bloody death if there was no blood,” he critiqued good-naturedly.  “We’d have to find a decent substitute and leave quite a few red herrings for them to follow.  They wouldn’t just see us gone and give up.”  Remus stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry, and Logan just scrunched his nose.

“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, shoving his face into Logan’s stomach.  “Always making plans make sense and be rational.” Logan chuckled.

“You certainly thought I was fun when we dissected that deer together,” Logan said. “I was so sure my mother was going to barricade me in my room after she saw the mess we made in the dining room.” Remus scoffed and Logan huffed lightheartedly.

“Your mom just didn’t like that we ruined the wood of the table with all the blood.”

“To be fair, that table had been in the castle for over two centuries.”

“Then it was obviously due for a remodeling.  We did her a favor.”  Logan let out an uncharacteristic snort  and he could feel Remus’ smile pressed against his torso.

“Maybe so,” he said, carding his fingers through his lover’s hair. “I wonder what she would think of me now.”

“You are doing a much better job than she ever did.  Not to mention how much better you’re doing than your parent.” Logan sighed, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, I would hope the bar would be higher than my parent, but I suppose as the next monarch, that is exactly where the kingdom’s standards are at.”

They fell quiet, the only sounds filling the room were that of the steady rise and fall of their breathing.  The sun gradually set in the sky as they spent hours wrapped up in each other, too afraid to let go as if they would be dragged apart as soon as they did.  It had been too long, Logan thought, his head bowed of Remus’ as the prince dozed against him.  He didn’t know if he could do this again.

Eventually, Logan moved Remus’ head to the pillow beside him, waking up the prince from his gentle nap. “Where do you think you’re going,” Remus grumbled, shooting out his arm to trap Logan’s hips against the bed.  Logan smiled softly, but removed the arm from his body, tucking it gently against the prince. 

“Your brother and I need to talk about what’s been going with Xious and King Virgil,” Logan said, swinging his legs slowly over the edge of his bed. “It’s gotten infinitely more complicated than I would have hoped.”

“What’s the way to fix it?” Remus asked, stretching out like a spider across the bed.  Logan pushed himself up off the bed, holding his nightstand as a support.

“At this point, I’m not sure,” Logan admitted, shuffling to his dresser. “I need Xious to agree to not fighting if everything doesn’t go their way and I need Ticevas to agree to providing aid.  They’re in the midst of a famine and Roman has a short temper so high stakes plus-”

“High stakes plus my dumbass twin does not equal peace,” Remus finished for him and Logan snorted. 

“Exactly.”

“What do you plan to do about it?” Remus said.  The king draped his ceremonial cloak around his shoulders and paused.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Logan said hesitantly. “I’m hoping that-” he cut himself off, before glancing at Remus. “I’m hoping Virgil will be a little bit like me.” Remus’ eyes widened and he rolled onto his side facing Logan.

“I’ve got to say, beating heart, that’s quite a tall order.” Logan looked away, avoiding Remus’ cutting gaze.

“Well, it’s my only hope that the boy has a minute amount of common sense in his bones.” He chuckled. “It’s either hope for that or pretend that Roman has all the common sense and I somehow doubt that.”  Remus gave full-body smile and Logan smiled as he stared down at the floor. “I don’t want to leave, Remus,” he said quietly. 

“Come here,” Remus said, his voice holding a sensual lilt.  Logan turned his head back up. His lover had a hand stretched out and a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Remus,” Logan said warningly. Remus scoffed.

“Oh please, we won’t get messy unless you really want to,” Remus teased. “I just- you need a distraction and I can give you that.” Logan swallowed nervously, trailing his eyes up and down Remus’ body.

“Can you?” Logan said at last.  Remus closed his fist in a “come hither” gesture and Logan couldn’t stop himself from indulging, at least one last time.

-

Logan woke up that morning with the feeling of someone slamming a hammer into the inside of his temple repeatedly. 

Now, there are several things to unpack in this statement.  For starters, there is no such thing as a hammer being present inside his skull.  It is impossible and Logan wasn’t sure if a hammer so small with such power could even exist. 

And although Logan continuously prided himself on not believing in the superstitious, his mother’s upbringing had instilled certain fears in him and his inability to even handle the sound of his skin against his bedsheets did not sit well with him.

Pain in his head such as this was usually only cured by drinking ridiculous amounts of water and resting for hours on end.  Logan grabbed the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, drinking it as if his life depended on it, and then slammed it back onto the wood surface as he threw his legs over the side of his bed.

As soon as the cold air hit his knees, he recoiled and tightened his fist in the blankets.  Although Cygnas was in its spring prime, thunderstorms still found their way into the season, as if to plague the king himself. 

Today would not be a good day.

Dressing was a struggle.  He pretended not to see Emile wince as he battled his way into the immense amounts of garb considered necessary at diplomatic conventions.  Navigating his room brought tears to his eyes and frequently, he found himself gripping onto the nearest surface and taking heaving breaths as he waited for the pain in his legs to subside enough for him to keep going.  He knew he was in for it when Emile presented his crutches and he didn’t even think twice before slipping his arms in and resting his entire weight against the mobility aid. 

Logan must have looked as haggard as he felt because every worker of the castle who crossed his path as he dragged himself to the throne room immediately scuttled away, for fear that his temper might cut short with them.

He couldn’t blame them.

Sinking into the plush chair that awaited him in the giant dining room he insisted on eating in each morning was a relief.  The ache in his knees lessened as he stretched his legs out, but every so often, a twitch or a jolt of his body would cause the throbbing to pound in time to the hammer in his head.

Emile set the platter of food in front of him and did not even hesitate before patting the king on the shoulder. “I’ve requested that Remus join you this morning and I’ve given the others orders not to disturb you until you call for me.” Logan looked up at his steward with alarm, but Emile just smiled. “I’m a sucker for romance, Your Majesty, and I’ve known for far too long to not notice the signs.” 

“I didn’t realize we were so conspicuous,” Logan murmured, leaning against the back of the chair. Emile just shrugged.

“You remind me of my husband and me is all.” Emile pat him again, this time on the head, and let a small chuckle loose when the king blinked rapidly in surprise. “Have a good meal, Logan.” 

Emile left the room, skipping slightly, and opened the large doors to run face-to-face with Remus, who smiled so widely at the sight of the steward that even Emile seemed a bit taken aback.  Logan hid his smile behind his hand as Remus lunged forward to wrap his arms around Emile’s waist and pick him up, squeezing the shocked steward. 

When Remus set him back down, Emile wobbled slightly, though the laughing Logan heard from across the large dining hall soothed his worries that Remus hadn’t been gentle enough with his steward.  Emile patted Remus on the cheek gently and the prince beamed as Emile slipped past and shut the door behind him.

Remus’ smile seemed to spread even more at the sight of Logan, however tired and disheveled he looked to the rest of the world.  Whereas Emile’s skip outside of the room was small and barely noticeable, the Ticevan seemed to leap into the air as he wiggled his way to Logan’s side. “Hello, my dear,” Logan greeted softly, careful not to jostle his legs as he reached a hand to grasp at Remus.

“Hey, Logie,” Remus said just as quietly, gripping Logan’s hand to his chest and he sunk to one knee so that he could rest his forehead against Logan. “Emmy told me that you weren’t feeling so spic-and-span.” Logan huffed through his nose in amusement.

“Since when are you on such good terms with my steward?” he asked rhetorically and Remus didn’t so much as laugh as jostle his shoulders. “Are you two conspiring against me?”

“And what if we were?” Remus asked. “Maybe it’s my job to seduce you and then Emile’s gonna, I don’t know, take over the kingdom.”  Logan chuckled out-loud.

“I’m not sure how seduced I can be in this state, but I have no doubt the kingdom would do well in Emile’s hands.” Remus pouted.

“No, Logie,” he whined, “you’re supposed to be a tyrant, not a reasonable human being.” Logan smiled and shrugged his shoulders lightly.

“My apologies,” he whispered as Remus closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together.  Logan breathed in deeply through his nose and shuffled closer, reaching his other hand to grip at Remus’ neck.  They broke apart and Logan sighed happily, shoving his nose into the strip of bare skin at Remus’ neck.

“You really must be going through it if you’re this cuddly,” Remus mused, releasing Logan’s hand so he could card a free hand through soft hairs the base of the king’s scalp.

“All the evidence points towards today not being a good day.” Remus made a sympathetic noise.  Logan pulled back and Remus let him rest against the chair backing.

“Don’t you have that meeting with my brother and the little pip squeak?” Logan snorted.

“I don’t know if the volatile King of Xious would be amenable to being called a pip squeak, but yes, I do.  In approximately an hour and a half, I’ll be trying to stop the leaders of two kingdoms from killing each other.”

“Sounds funky fresh.”

“Where do you even come up with these sayings?”  Remus shrugged.

“I sneak around here and there.  Father is...quite preoccupied with preparations for the coronation so there’s little else he notices, especially regarding my whereabouts.”  Logan tried to make eye contact with Remus, but the prince ducked his head. “I’m truly fine with it, I think I just miss...I miss making an impact,” Remus paused before snorting, “good or bad.”

“Trust me,” Logan said, a bit more sentimentally than intended, “you always make an impact.” Remus gave Logan a smile on the teary side.

“You’re biased, Logan, isn’t that against your whole thing about logic and true verdicts?” Logan made an offended noise.

“It’s an objectively true fact,” Logan insisted. “Nearly everyone would agree with me.” Remus just gave a shrug, still seemingly disbelieving of the king’s statements, but he stopped refuting them, so Logan counted it as a win. 

Eventually, Remus moved to the chair beside Logan and they made their way through the food platter, obviously stocked with some Ticevan delights that few knew were the prince-general's favorites.  Laughing too hard made Logan’s legs ache with the movement and his head continuously throbbed, but the stack of rocks that had built up on his chest seemed to fall over at each joke or hidden barb at his brother that Remus made. The sun slowly rose up in the sky, highlighting the two lovers, whispering and giggling as if they were teenagers all over again.

“It’s been two hours,” Logan remarked at one point, recovering from a bout of laughter that nearly sent him to the floor. Remus shrugged, his trademark rebellious smile playing at his lips.

“And?” Logan gave him a deadpan look.

“I have responsibilities, Remus.” The prince waved a hand in dismissal.

“Responsibilities, shmesponsibilities,” he leaned in closely, shuffling his chair so that he could touch their noses together, “let’s burn this place to the ground.”  Logan smiled, his heart full in his chest.

“So long as my library stays intact, there’s no reason why this place doesn’t need a renovation,” Logan teased.” Remus bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and Logan saw him pump his fist in celebration underneath the table. “Of course, I’m joking, dear Remus, I quite like my home.” Remus ceased his excitement to feign disappointment.

“Oh, you’re no fun, Logie,” he moaned, throwing himself back into his chair.  Logan merely grinned and raised his cup to his mouth, sipping as Remus thrashed about.

The doors to the dining hall creaked open.  It was like a switch had been flipped.  While Remus maintained his strewn about position, he pulled his chair away and spun the food platter so that it was sitting directly in front of Logan.  The king swept a hand through his hair and gingerly lifted his legs from their spot against an ottoman set underneath the table so that he could sit with his back straight.  His hand was clenched around his glass and Logan felt like his heart was in his throat.  Remus, though he mastered looking casual in tricky situations, had a nervous air about him that Logan could feel from where he was sitting.

The guest stepped into the room without much fanfare and turned to make sure the door was shut behind them.  Their white tunic shone brightly in the morning light.  They turned around and the gleaming smile and red curly hair instantly relaxed the entire room.

“You bastard,” Remus groaned, sinking down into his seat. “You fucking bastard.”  Roman merely smiled innocently as he approached the table.  Even Logan slumped slightly, taking a few deep breaths as he lifted his aching limbs back onto the ottoman to stretch out.

“You caused an immense amount of anxiety, I do agree.” Logan said, trying to take another sip of his glass to calm down.

“Not my fault you guys haven’t gone public yet,” Roman teased as he took the seat next to Remus. Remus groaned theatrically and Logan shook his head.

“We’ve been over this, Roman, there are many reasons why Remus and I cannot be out of the metaphorical closet and-” Roman raised a hand.

“I know, Pocket Protector,” he said, “I was just teasing.” Logan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to cross his arms in a petulant manner. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

It felt like an avalanche had just toppled over his body, the way Logan felt like he couldn’t breathe.  Chills filled with heat raced up and down his back and he let go of his glass to discreetly wipe his hands against his cloth napkin. “I- I suppose that I am, I have all the documents prepared in the primary office.”  Remus must’ve noticed how he was fidgeting with the napkin because his brow furrowed and he opened up his mouth.  Logan all but threw the napkin back to the table and made quick work of setting his legs back down on the ground, cutting off whatever Remus wanted to say to him.

“Wonderful!” Roman cheered, not noticing the exchange going on between the two lovers, or the immense glare Remus was now sending his way. “I can escort you to the meeting place?”

Logan waved him off. “You go on ahead, Roman, I will have to take my time this morning,” he said as he stood up and slipped his arms into the crutches leaned up against the table.  Now it was Roman’s turn to furrow his brow and grow concerned and Logan cursed the day he became friends with the two princes. “I will be fine.”

Remus huffed through his nose, muttering something under his breath that Logan knew to be calling him out as a liar, but he refused to acknowledge it, only bending slightly for Remus to kiss him on the cheek as Roman stood from his seat.

Roman trailed the way, throwing the heavy oak doors open and all but marched down the hallway to Logan’s office, where the meeting would take place.  Logan struggled to find his footing, the dull throbbing in his head and knees expanded tenfold as he tried to walk to the door.  He felt Remus’ gaze on him, but he refused to turn back, afraid that he would just melt to the ground if he made eye contact.  He walked past the threshold of the dining hall and the guards swung the door shut behind him.

-

Walking to the meeting felt like it took another three hours, though logically, Logan knew it had only been twenty minutes.  Walking without his aids would’ve taken another forty at this rate and quite honestly, he was proud of the pace he was making.   

What was admittedly awful about said twenty minutes was the amount of time it gave him to think.

Logan enjoyed thinking; it was practically his job to think.  Cygnas remained the kingdom with the region’s largest library and it brought him never-ending joy to contribute to that collection.  Studying and researching was a favorite pastime and the only thing he enjoyed about hosting events and having guests was the knowledge they would bring him about their homes and countries.

But this felt like something entirely different than the thinking he had come to enjoy and take pleasure in.  This felt like a worry after worry compounding into itself, growing bigger and bigger until he felt like a small child in the middle of the eye of a storm.

His office door loomed in front of him and the pressure of thousands upon thousands of souls rested heavy on his shoulders.  Memories of his sister and parents swirled around him, ghosts long since dead risen again for the sole sake of reminding him what lay before him should he fail.  His vision swam and had he not been resting steady against his aids, he would have surely toppled over from the weight of his ancestors and their collective duty to protect his people placing itself on to him.

He motioned for the guard standing by the door to open it for him.  There was no ominous creak as it opened, but Logan’s mind filled in the blanks. 

Roman and Virgil sat across from each other in front of the fireplace, an antique tea set sitting between them.  As Logan stepped inside, they both rose to their feet to greet him. “Good morning, King Virgil, Crown Prince Roman.  I am glad to see you both here.”

Virgil bowed, a symbol of respect in Xious.  Logan felt an odd lump developing in his throat, but he swallowed it down.  Based on the growing look of offense on Roman’s face, Virgil had not given the crown prince the same honor.  Roman simply shook his hand and preformed a rune in the air, with a motion to push it towards Logan, a standard Ticevan greeting of monarchs in a formal setting such as this.

Logan nodded his head towards the seats and motioned for Emile, who he just noticed was standing in the corner of the room, to gather the papers at his desk and bring them to where they were sitting. “Let us begin, shall we?”

Virgil and Roman resumed their original positions, while Logan took up the seat that was not usually there at the head of the coffee table.  Emile poured him tea as Logan spread the documents across the table, handing each party a copy of the details they were there to discuss.

“Thank you for hosting this meeting and acting as a mediator, Your Majesty.  It is quite the honor,” Roman said, glaring daggers at Virgil over the tops of the papers he was skimming.  Virgil nodded in agreement, setting the papers to down to pick up his cup.

“I agree with Ticevas, and that is quite the thing to say, seeing as I don’t agree with Ticevas on much of anything at all.” Roman went red in the face and Logan saw the grip on the papers tighten as Virgil innocently sipped at his tea.

“It is my pleasure,” Logan said. “I simply want the best for my people and I have strong evidence to believe that this meeting will be fruitful for all parties involved.” Roman wrinkled his nose.  Logan almost kicked him in the shin.

“I, for one, want this to be resolved.  My advisors grow restless with me having been away for so long,” Virgil said.  Logan furrowed his brow at the mention of the advisors.  He was unsure of how much of the previous conversations between him and Virgil he wanted to bring up with Roman present, but he might ask if Virgil would be willing to discuss more in private.

That is, if everything went well today.

“If it is amenable to the both of you, I would like to begin with the meeting that took place two months ago, as of today.”  Virgil went tense and Roman scowled. “It is to my understanding that neither of you were there at that meeting.”

“That is correct,” Roman said. “However, my brother was there and I trust his word.”

“Your Highness, we are not here to discuss the alleged threatening on either side,” Logan cut in. “If I wanted to do that, I would have let your two kingdoms go to war already.” Virgil snickered, hiding his laughter behind another sip of tea when Roman glared at him.

“I am simply stating my matter on the opinion,” the prince harumphed, crossing his arms.

“I was hoping-”

“I don’t think hope will get you much of anywhere,” Virgil snarked, still holding the cup to his mouth. Logan sighed, his headache beginning to spread to the middle of his head.

“Please, let me speak.” Virgil shrugged, but Logan could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“The Ticevan land has been rented out to the kingdom of Xious for centuries.  The rates of rent have always remained the same.  Why are you asking for the rates to be changed, King Virgil?”

“My kingdom is in famine,” the boy said primly, jutting out his chin.  “We need food and Ticevas has plenty to share.”

“Ticevas has been plenty generous with the land we’ve offered to you, we have no obligation to give more.”

“Xious offered for you to have the largest military this side of Capemin at your disposal in exchange for lowering the rates for five years, you cannot look me in the eye and say that we did not give you reason to accept our proposal.” Roman looked taken aback.  Logan averted his eyes to the papers on the desk.

“I know Xiousians are a lot of things, but I didn’t know they were liars,” Roman said, almost conversationally.  Virgil startled, looking slightly like an agitated feline.

“Your Highness,” Logan said warningly. Roman waved him off.

“No, no, this is bullshit-”

“Roman-”

“There was never such an offer and I am offended at the mere idea that we would even accept such a savage exchange.” Virgil’s eyes seemed to flash red.

“Savage? If I remember correctly, that land was ours in the first place, but you pushed my people out and forced them to run into the mountains where they barely survived-”

“-I resent this accusation-”

“I didn’t mean for you to enjoy being called a murderer, Crown-Prince Roman, that would be pretty savage if you did.”

“Logan, throw him out.” Roman turned suddenly to the older king.  Logan looked at him over the top of his glasses, flitting back to Virgil who now had his arms crossed and looked five seconds away from storming out.

“No,” Logan said calmly. He saw Virgil blink in surprise. “I invited you both here for a civil conversation and so far, you are being anything but civil-”

“He started it-”

“-and you’re not even letting me finish my sentences.” Roman’s nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Is Cygnas not a Ticevan ally?” Logan looked nervously at Virgil, but the younger king avoided his gaze.

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing, Logan, you should be supporting me and tossing this riffraff out with the rest of his kind.”

“Your Highness, I will do no such thing.” Roman paused in his motions, unnervingly still.

“Fine.” Roman stood up.  Virgil shrunk back and Logan became viscerally aware that this was not a private conversation between him and a friend about his temperament, but rather a political discussion over whether or not war would break out between their three countries. He had forgotten himself and now everything hung in the balance. “Ticevas officially removes herself from this meeting.”

“Roman, sit down,” Logan demanded, his voice calm even if his hands began to shake. “You don’t want this to go where you’re thinking.”

“Just because you have a soft spot for the boy doesn’t mean I do, Logan,” Roman seethed.  “I don’t have to listen to you and I never have.  I should have ignored you from day one, Logan.  Valerie is dead. Deal with it.”  Roman stalked out of the office, his sleek boots hitting the stone ground sounding like the din of a thousand soldiers marching on the city gates as the noise echoed around the room.

“Valerie?” a questioning voice came.  Logan’s tunnel vision receeded slightly to accompany Virgil in his periphery. “That is my mother.  You were friends- is that why I am here? Because you pity me?”

“No,” Logan ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You- you don’t respect my country or my people, do you?” Logan’s shoulders scrunched forwards, the sheer anger in the child’s voice making even him panicky. It was all falling apart, all the diligent planning, all because he couldn’t handle the pressure of his sacred duty as king.

“If you would let me explain-”

“No! No, I don’t think I will, because you lied to me!” Virgil shouted, his chest heaving.  Logan felt his anxiety crawl into his throat, squeezing his vocal folds shut.

“I never lied to you,” the older king croaked. “And none of this is about you being Valerie’s child, I assure you.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at him, any hint of the camaraderie they had developed over the past few days gone.

“You can’t prove that.” Logan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“When you showed up, my steward told me that I had the right not to speak with you, but you know, I know-” Logan cut himself off, trying to stave off panicked tears. “It was either speak to you or let my country burn to the ground, I had heard what Ticevas was warning me over and it wasn’t about manipulation, it was about protecting my people.” Virgil stared at him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then how do I make you believe me?” Logan exclaimed. “How do I prove what is intangible? That just because Valerie is my sister does not mean that I wanted to control you and your kingdom?” Virgil paused.

“My mother was your sister?” he asked, the quiet room coming to a standstill.  Logan’s face crumpled.

“Virgil-”

“My mother was your sister?” Virgil shouted, cutting Logan off. The older king sighed, his hands clenching around his knees.

“Yes, but-”

“If I die, you have a claim to the throne! You could take over!” Virgil said incredulously.  Logan’s heartrate went through the roof. “Is there poison in my cup? An assassin laying just outside the room? Were the Ticevan disagreements just a ruse to get me here and kill me in my sleep?!” Logan shook his head.

“No, of course not, that would only harm my people, I want peace, Virgil-”

“No, I will not hear it, Xious will not hear it.”  Virgil stalked over to the door, throwing it open.  He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Logan. The burning hatred in his eyes made the older king feel faint. “This is war, Cygnas.  You will have my kingdom over my dead body and I don’t intend on living this realm anytime soon.”

The door slamming shut behind Logan’s nephew sounded like an arrow from a firing squad hitting its mark, right in the center of his chest.

[c-grace]

Since there are loads of [unnecessary] opinions on how Aloy looks, which I, frankly have nothing to complain about. I still believe she is very beautiful and her looks makes sense, not to mention the original model is stunning.

So lemme just take some time to write out this scenario I thought of that I found very cute and emotional, idk 'bout everyone else but it did make me cry when I thought of it.

_______________________________________

POV: You and Aloy are both outsiders, but you were cast out from being a "defect", the both of you only got to know each other during the last few years before the proving.

A little something I wanna mention, this is sorta a Y/N fanfic but without the Y/N, so wherever you feel like you need to add your name in the dialogue, you can do that but I did it so that there would be no need for the name. I hope you enjoy~

T.W: Slight mention of death and injury.

Aloy × F.reader/G.N

Also this has song lyrics in here, if that's not to your taste, I'm sorry but I couldn't think of anything else

__________________________________

"Oh! I found something!"

"What? What did you find?"

"Tada! Another audio file!"

I lifted the device and showed it to Aloy and waved it with satisfaction. "And here I thought you found something useful." Aloy grumbled.

"It's important to me, you know how I love to study the old ones' musical pieces, especially the singing, they all sound.....I don't even have words to describe them." I held tightly onto the device. Using Aloy's focus I scanned the device and played the audio, and without a doubt, it was a musical piece.

"You sure love music, huh?" Aloy smiled and eyed me for a moment, "Yes, all the pieces from the metal world have a certain, essence to them, it feels like it's calling out to me." But that joy was cut short once I remembered of the proving.

"But then, with the proving coming along, the matriarchs might not let me visit any ruins and I won't be able to study them anymore." I huffed and kicked a rock away.

"Who cares? I'll take you to see more of the ruins, they didn't care for us for so long. What is it to them that we see who the old ones really were?" Aloy never understood, nor took high regard to any of the tribal laws and I do agree with her but I have no one other than her to accompany me to explore all these new wonders.

I believe Aloy can do whatever it is that she wants, no one, not even the matriarchs will be able to stop her from going to where she wishes to go. I only have her and if she were to be cast out once again just because of me, I don't think I would like that all that much.

"Thank you Aloy, oh that reminds me, I learned this song, I want you to hear it."

"Can't wait to hear it then. I can't believe it's tomorrow, how are you taking to it?" She looked at me worried and I could get where it was coming from. I get anxious quite often, taking down a watcher, without any preparation, will make me sick to the stomach. "Yeah, I've given myself a 'pep-talk and I think it's working, I don't feel too worried about it now."

"Thats good, alright, I think it's time we leave, Rost said he needs to meet with me." She stretched her hand over to me and I held on firmly, it was calloused yet warm, I felt safe by her side.

The both of us went on our ways and I made it back to the little tent that I called my study and home, I have journaled all the music I have found and dated every one of them. So far, I have recorded 12, 5 of which were addressed to someone else, it was as though they had sung while they mourned for them, wishing they could be with them and the rest were of random order but interesting nonetheless.

I set the recordings aside and tried to make myself fall asleep, the proving was not too far from now. I didn't train my whole life for it but rather, I just wanted to belong somewhere. Aloy is.....different, to her, the tribe means nothing but a means to know more of the world, she said it herself, she wishes to know why she was cast out and never once thought of the tribe in good light.

I had no sense of conflict in me, unlike Aloy, I liked to keep to myself and I ran away at the sight of the tribe members because I was afraid. I was afraid of how they would treat me but that sense of fear became a threat to me.

I learnt how to live on my own, I knew why it was that I was an outcast. My parents didn't want me, said that I would often act strange and I never understood why, till one day the matriarchs marked me an outcast and left me on my own. It was a little over 3 or 4 years ago, where I met Aloy, we grew close.

I never told Aloy, why I was cast away, I didn't want her to be burdened. I kept to myself but this time, with these songs I wanna let her know, all these withheld emotions are making me feel like I could rot from the inside. I am in a way excited for the proving.

_______________________________________

"Aloy! Watch out!"

'I didn't think it would come to this, no, please, stop this.'

"Stay where you are, I'll come to you, alright?!" She shouted but the sound of blasts had muffled all the sound around me. The proving was going well, with Aloy and I being named braves but the celebration was cut short when all of a sudden, intruders had marched in and openly attacked everyone on sight.

"Kill all of them, don't let anyone of them come out alive!" The invaders sounded.

I frantically grabbed my arrows and shot at a few of them, two had missed and the rest 4 had all landed a hit, killing them on contact.

"We can't hold them!"

Aloy had been covering for all the braves and took a stand at holding them down, I decided to let myself all out and help Aloy and guided the remaining to the exit but not many made it.

"I'll hold them down, go! Make it to the slip-wire! Vala! You go too, I'll cover!" I directed all of them, Vala looked reluctant but went on ahead. "There's more of them!" I heard Bast shout and I whipped my head and shot my arrows, this time, all of them landed.

Vala and Bast had got caught between the shots, I watched their bodies hit the floor and a look of dread had washed over Aloy but I could feel the anger that brewed within. She shot them down, all of them.

But it wasn't long before a man had grabbed her by the neck, and something in me snapped, all I saw was that Aloy was in danger. My body moved on its own and I had grabbed my dagger and drove it into the man's side, he screamed but he lifted his arm and thrust it to my gut, sending me straight to the ground.

Before I had lost my senses, I caught a glance at Aloy who had laid on the ground, at least, no longer choked by that man.

_________________________________________

"A-Aloy! You're awake! You're awake...Aloy..." It hadn't been too long since the attack but my injuries are far from okay but at that moment, all that mattered to me now was Aloy. She awoke but her face was pale and her breath, uneasy.

"No, no, no......ugh, I—I have to get out of here..." She clutched on to the side of her head. "Aloy, I'll gather your armour and Focus, just wait here, I'll co—"

She grabbed onto my hand locked her fingers around mine, her hands were shivering. "Aloy?"

"You're alive, I...I thought I lost you..too...." She whimpered, I crouched down and held on to her hands softly, "You can't take me out that easy." Slowly caressing the side of her face, I smiled meekly.

"Rost...he saved me...but."

"He didn't make it Aloy. I don't know what happened either, you'll have to talk to Teersa."

"Where are we?" Her feeble voice asked, "We're inside the sacred mountain, I'm not sure why, I was nursed outside the mountain, they didn't say much when I asked if I could see you." She nodded and slouched down. I went on ahead and brought in her focus, there was another focus with it but I just handed them all to her without questions.

I quietly left the mountains and waited outside for Aloy. It took a while but she came out with Teersa.

The two walked to the rest of the matriarchs, they were talking amongst themselves and it was then I heard that Aloy had been bestowed the mark of a seeker, Lansra did not take to highly of this decision and made some unwanted remarks to Aloy.

I glared at her, hoping that it would do something but she huffed and grunted, walking on just fine.

The rain had poured on harder with time, it felt like it was meant to weep but was choking instead, an odd feeling but that was how I had felt.

"Aloy, of the Nora? Or would you rather prefer, Aloy, a seeker from the Nora?" I tried to put a little lightness to the heavy air around. "I don't think I like either of them." She made a face at my names.

"Alright, then....Aha! Aloy.....despite the Nora?"

"That sounds better." She smiles wide. "Listen...I need to go, I need to find out who those killers were and why they came here, which means that I need to leave the sacred lands." Her smile drops and she looks at me apologetically.

"No no, you have more to worry about than me, it's alright, I can hold my own." I reassured her but her look of response was doubting all of it.

"Aloy, go, I know how much this means to you. I would only be a burden if you were to worry about me. I want you to go out of this place, I know you've always been curious about the lands beyond." There was so much I that I wanted to convey.

So much that I wanted to ask but I pinched myself to not do that.

"Before I go, I wanted to hear that song you wanted to let me listen to, at least let me hold on to that." She pleaded and held on to my clothes. "I-I don't know Aloy, right now, if I did that, I would appear more—"

"Here, you can just record it on my focus."

She removed her focus and placed it in my palm, I looked at the device and glanced back at her. I heaved a sigh and excused myself from the area.

'Am I seriously doing this now? Yes, c'mon me! You can do this!'

There goes my heart beating

'Cause you are the reason

I'm losing my sleep

Please come back now

There goes my mind racing

And you are the reason

That I'm still breathing

I'm hopeless now

I'd climb every mountain

And swim every ocean

Just to be with you

And fix what I've broken

Oh, 'cause I need you to see

That you are the reason

I started to cry at thought of having to let go of Aloy, she would be far off and I would be here, possibly just waiting. I wouldn't have the slightest clue where she would be, but I would hold strong, not only for her but for myself.

I won't have any more music files for me to explore so this was the last of all of them. Before I stopped recording, I quietly whispered, "I...I...love you, I love you Aloy and I hope you will be safe. I may or may not be here when you come back but if it weren't for you giving me a reason to be here, I would have never bothered going on with that life I had..."

"And I would have lost myself if it weren't for you."

At the familiar voice, that was none other than Aloy's, I had lost all reason and the shock had gotten me wailing silently.

"I'll be back, you are all that I look forward to when I return." She grabbed my face and pressed our foreheads together. "You sang well, I didn't know I meant that...much to you..." She whispered.

"You are the reason I'm even here. Come back safe, Aloy-despite the Nora." I clutched on to her clothes.

She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and went on her way, she didn't turn back and I looked at her back, fading off.

'I'll be here, Aloy.....my Aloy.'

•END•

____________________________________

Alright! Phew, that was done. I have never written a one-shot ever, I don't even know the word count cause I was just writing without thinking too much.

Anyway, it was more emotional in my head so I did cry a little but it's pretty meh on paper 😂

Aight, this distracted me from all the bs of the world, I hope it distracted some of y'all too.

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 15: Quiet

This is chapter 15 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael

Word count: 3501

Cw: food mentions, tension between characters, crying, feelings of worthlessness

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The walk to the nether portal was even more strained than it had been all the other times combined. It was stupid, because really, not much had changed. Wilbur still knew next to nothing about his situation or how he got there. Most people were dismayed to see he was alive at all, and he was trying his best to get used to his heart beating. He even grabbed some sugarcane along the way, hoping there would be a comment about the strange feeling. Instead, silence rang in his ears that made him disappointedly put it in a jacket pocket. There was a ghost… While he was silent, there was still a ghost inside of Wilbur’s head.

Though the silence was just it. It was the only real change there was, when overlooking some of the strained interactions Wilbur had had in the meantime. But what really changed the situation was the silence, and that for some ungodly reason, managed to get to Wilbur.

“So, we’re going to visit Michael again, huh?” Wilbur tried, his voice cheerful to the point where he almost felt like he was mocking himself, “And Ranboo! You like him, right? Whatever it is he has done.”

No response.

“We can go play with Michael and all that. We can have some food too, maybe.” Wilbur said.

No fucking response.

Wilbur withheld a frustrated sigh. He didn’t want it to be interpreted as if he was angry at Ghostbur. Though maybe that was true. At least that was the simplest explanation for the fire within himself. Angry at everything perhaps. Angry at everything that hadn’t been blown up with himself. “We can talk to all of them. There’s still quite a bit of catching up to do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet,” Ghostbur suddenly said, his voice hushed. Wilbur’s eyes widened, the sound taking him entirely by surprise.

“No no you don’t have to.” He sounded far too desperate than what he was proud of. He was met with nothing but silence again. 

“I’m going to go in the portal now,” he said, and did exactly as he’d narrated. He felt himself being whisked away to the nether, the warmth once again surprising him. “I’m here,” he said. “There’s pretty much nothing but red netherrack as far as the eye can see. Oh! And there’s a zombie piglin a bit to the left, though it’s not a threat. No match for us, you know.” He added a quick laugh, but it almost sounded like a sob. He took a deep breath as he continued ahead. 

“The nether really is big,” he cleverly observed. “I’m going onto one of the bridges now. I remember the way to the mansion, I think.” He heard a ghast make a sound, and picked up the pace. “And we’re safe, don’t worry. I’m wearing good armor, and it won’t be long.”

For the silent moments until they made it through the portal by Snowchester, Wilbur almost felt as if he was holding his breath along with Ghostbur. It was nice, in a way, and Prime Wilbur despised how that was comforting. How pathetic had he really become, if something as simple as doing something with someone who wasn’t even alive was enough to make him feel at home? The familiarity of Ghostbur’s constant presence had gone to his head.

He stood in the snow, which was a nice change of pace from the time he’d landed there with all the burns and the screaming from within. He once again became aware of his bandages. “We’re out,” he said. There wasn’t a response in words, but he could feel a relieved sigh. 

He started walking in the direction of the mansion, his steps a little slower than they had to be. “We’re in Snowchester now. There are actually a lot of buildings here. I’m not sure what they-”

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur said suddenly.

“Yes?” Wilbur said, a little too quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Wilbur said, relief and confusion mixing in his mind, until a quick laugh followed

“I’m sorry for… For invading your life.” Ghostbur said, sounding a lot more serious than he usually did, “When I came here instead of you, I couldn’t quite fill the role you left behind.” He sounded almost defeated, but so unbearably sincere, “This is your chance to do so, and I shouldn’t get in your way like that.” 

Wilbur could hardly comprehend what he was hearing, because it was so unlike his own understanding of events. It was unlike Wilbur’s image of Ghostbur, and completely different from what he’d wanted the ghost to say. “What… What the fuck, no.” Wilbur said, shaking his head, something dark settling around his heart, “Ghostbur, you were nothing like me.”

“I know, and I-”

“And you think that’s a bad thing?” He said, with a huff, “Ghostbur, the last thing I did was blow up a fucking nation, and you think they’d all rather have had someone like me on here? Come on.” It was hilarious really. How Ghostbur was so blind to the fact that everyone was probably dying to get him back in Wilbur’s place now. How everyone would be so sad on passive little Ghostbur’s behalf. Including Wilbur himself for some reason. “For crying out loud, you are so fucking good it hurts.”

“What? I’m sorry I don’t mean to hurt you, I-”

“Shut up!” Wilbur said suddenly, standing in the middle of a solitary street in Snowchester, “No fuck- wait, don’t shut up. Don’t shut up, because it’s honestly really boring without you.” The last few words slipped out before he could stop them. They slipped out quietly enough to be genuine, and perhaps that was an issue on its own.

“What?” Ghostbur tried, sounding confused, “But you don’t always like when I talk, and no one else can hear me anyway. I thought that maybe you’d want some peace and quiet after all that. I’m disturbing you.”

“Perhaps I want you to.” He hissed through his teeth, before shaking his head, “I don’t know I don’t know I just-” he took a deep breath, collecting his words, “Ghostbur, you don’t need to apologize. I slipped up, and I… It gets boring without you here, okay? So you can keep talking.”

Perhaps Wilbur was still a lost soul, stuck at a train station, desperately grasping and wishing for even the slightest hint of interaction. Perhaps it was selfish of Wilbur, to want the only person who was forced to be with him at all times, to continue talking to him. Perhaps Wilbur was being just as cruel as he knew he was, throughout all of this, begging for attention as usual. Begging for someone who had every right to despise him, to keep him company.

And perhaps, he didn’t even care about any of that. Because Ghostbur clearly had it all wrong, and if it took Wilbur’s selfishness to prove it, so be it. “If you want to talk, you can,” he said, hoping that he would no longer feel as if he had to fight to reach the surface of the ocean on his own.

“Oh,” Ghostbur said, sounding uncertain still, but in a different way. “It… It gets lonely without you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stay put like this but I don’t want… I don’t want to be alone.”

Wilbur didn’t either, but he knew he couldn’t say that. Wilbur Soot wasn’t lonely, because he couldn’t afford to be, and he was alive. “Then I can keep you company,” he said instead. “You won’t be alone.”

A fondness slipped into Ghostbur’s voice, part of it was quieter than it should’ve been, but Wilbur didn’t mind, “Thank you.”

Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He wanted to say how he didn’t need to be thanked for such a simple thing, but he didn’t want to spark a disagreement when Ghostbur was already in a fragile state. “No problem.” He started walking towards the mansion, before quickly adding on, “Headin’ inside the mansion.”

Ghostbur gasped so quietly, Wilbur almost confused it with a gust of wind, “I thought you were just saying that.”

Wilbur stopped walking for a moment. “No I… I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Ghostbur spoke quietly, “You lied to Tub-” He sharply cut himself off. Wilbur winced at the truth Ghostbur knew. 

He couldn’t think of a response as he heard a familiar voice call out, “Oh, Wilbur, you made it here a little earlier than I did.” He turned around and saw Tubbo there. 

Wilbur smiled softly towards him, “Yeah, we must’ve barely missed each other. Didn’t see you in there at all.” And I wasn’t talking to a ghost at all either, part of him wanted to add. 

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Tubbo didn’t seem skeptical of him, but he wouldn’t doubt if the boy was a good actor. He was a spy for part of the war, with a library even he was unaware of. Though he tried to put his thoughts aside.

Tubbo walked up to where Wilbur was, and the both of them moved together towards the front doors of the mansion. The two walked together in silence, something that he typically wouldn’t have even acknowledged. Yet, with the quietness of Ghostbur returning, he couldn’t help the concern in his eyes. Tubbo seemed to look at him slightly differently, but neither of them bothered to comment on it.

Tubbo pulled the door open, the warmness from inside being a nice refresher from the cold. They walked in as Tubbo called out, “Ranboo?” He closed the door behind them. 

A muffled voice came from upstairs, before Ranboo’s head popped out of Michael’s room. He met Tubbo’s gaze, before hesitantly smiling at Wilbur’s presence. “We’re just coloring in here. Did everything go alright?”

Tubbo nodded and made his way up the stairs with Wilbur close behind. “Yep! Of course there’s still a bunch of questions I wouldn’t even know how to find out, but there’s a lot of new info.” Tubbo paused for a moment before continuing, “I’ve got a few theories in my head, but it’s all messy.”

Ranboo nodded understandingly, “I’m glad it went well.” Ranboo looked down from behind the door. A grin came across his face, “Michael, guess who’s here?” Tubbo and Wilbur made it to the top of the stairs, but the latter couldn’t see what was happening behind the door.

“Noo, not grandpa.” Another second passed, “Not Puffy.” A few moments passed before Wilbur heard a frustrated snort. Ranboo chuckled, “I guess I’ll just have to let you see.” He opened the door all the way, and Wilbur’s eyes immediately caught Michael’s. He quickly knelt down as Michael ran into his arms. He reciprocated the hug, his eyes closing for a moment, just holding the presence of warmth in his arms. 

Too long must’ve passed as Tubbo playfully mentioned, “Michael, how did you miss Wilbur that much? You saw him earlier today.” Time must've flown by Wilbur as he quickly let go. Michael smiled and grabbed onto Wilbur’s arm, tugging him toward the room him and his father were recently in.

Wilbur laughed, “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He stood up slowly, making sure not to accidentally hit Michael, and walked into the room. It looked the same as last time, except now there was a small bin on the table. It seemed full of crayons, with most of them being new. There were small light red chairs around the table, clearly made for children. Wilbur didn’t know if they would collapse under him and decided to sit on the floor, resting his calves under him. 

Michael sat down on the chair next to him, pulling it closer to Wilbur as he grabbed a piece of paper on the table. His left arm was against Wilbur’s as he slid the paper to him.

Wilbur understood the message and looked at the paper. A goofy smile slipped on his face. It was a drawing of what appeared to be Michael. The lines were shaky, but it was some kind of pink blob that wore an orange and black long-shirt with blue overalls over the top. While the image itself didn’t look like it, that’s what the Michael holding his arm was wearing. The drawing had a smile on his face that mimicked the one Michael wore. A higher-pitched cheerfulness flowed easily with his words, “Did you draw this?”

Michael eagerly nodded, his face rubbing against Wilbur’s sleeve. After the moment, Michael proceeded to rub more of his face into it, enjoying the sensation.

Ranboo chuckled, “That must be why he likes you so much.”

Wilbur tilted his head slightly, though his gaze stayed focused on Michael, “Hm?”

Ranboo shifted in his position, “Oh, I mean- he sorta likes certain textures? We don’t really know how it works since it’s a bit difficult to communicate, but he just likes rubbing his face on stuff.”

Wilbur quietly stated, “I’ve noticed.” Though the sentence wasn’t harsh, Ranboo moved slightly away.

“I think I’ll head outside for a second.” The turned his back away from Wilbur and walked out of the room. Tubbo whispered something to him, and with a brief nod, he heard echoing steps down the stairs. Michael propped himself slightly away from Wilbur and grabbed a different paper on the table. It was a few black lines that went up and down, some parts looking almost like black rectangles. There were also some scribbles near the right, that took Wilbur a second to realize it was writing. He squinted at the words, and slowly he realized it was the word, “Dad”. 

Wilbur looked between Michael and the page when realization struck. “Oh, Ran- Dad is alright. He just needed to do something.”

Michael nodded and Wilbur gratefully sighed at the toddler’s lack of overwhelming curiosity. Wilbur grabbed one of the blank papers on the table, his gaze wandering over the container of crayons. He searched the container and put a rainbow of colors in front of himself. He frowned slightly at the lack of yellow, but didn’t take it personally. 

Michael squealed excitedly at the empty paper and grabbed a green crayon. He started making quick jagged lines that formed a semi-straight line near the bottom of the sheet. He quickly scribbled it in, coating the white paper as Wilbur grabbed an orange crayon. 

Wilbur forgot Tubbo was even there as he quietly spoke, “I’m gonna start prepping dinner. Ranboo will probably be back soon.” 

Wilbur nodded, “Sounds good to me. You need any help cooking?” He looked directly at Tubbo for a moment.

Tubbo shook his head, “I’ve got it, you two have fun.” Tubbo smiled as he turned to leave the room. 

Wilbur chuckled, “Said and done.” He looked back at the paper, finding the bottom of the page to be mostly colored in with green. There were white patches at the bottom that littered the area, but he didn’t blame the toddler as he found it quite adorable. 

Wilbur’s hand went to the top right of the page as he started outlining a small circle with his orange crayon. Michael grabbed a gray crayon and continued adding something towards the left side. Wilbur focused on applying less color onto the paper, the orange shifting into an awkward yellow. The yellow-ish circle stood proudly on the page as he added lines around it to show that it was emitting sunlight.

He looked back to Michael’s part of the page. He saw something that resembled a stickman with a smile on its face. There was a clump of gray on top of the person and Michael made grabby hands for the orange that Wilbur held. He quickly gave it to the toddler and grabbed a blue, though his gaze didn’t leave Michael’s portion of the paper. 

The child took the orange and drew it over the stickman, quickly scribbling in an oval over it and looked at Wilbur expectedly. Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows together, “Who’s that?” Michael grabbed the blue from Wilbur’s hand and drew a dog-like figure next to the stickman. But the dog was blue and had a smile that paralleled the other drawing. 

Wilbur tilted his head slightly, still not understanding, but with eyes so bright an innocent, he realized it was a look he'd received before. It was akin to the eyes of a young Fundy, displaying his art for Wilbur to hang on his wall in their little home in L'Manberg. It was much like that of Tommy, when Wilbur told him about the plans to create a nation. It so bitterly reminded him of Tubbo, agreeing to anything and everything Wilbur said. Three times was perhaps a pattern, just as Wilbur had been told. And perhaps, that was all the more reason he should've expected this to happen again. Should've expected young eyes to look to him for guidance. And the bitter truth was, that just as all the other times, it filled him with a strange sort of pride and joy. 

Perhaps Wilbur had barely changed at all. He wasn't surprised at that. In fact he'd known for so long.

What he hadn’t known, and only realized in the moment, was that the drawing in front of him was Ghostbur. The orange oval was probably supposed to be a sweater of sorts, but the orange was too dark for him to recognize sooner. The gray stickman’s skin color looked similar to the ghost he saw before exiting limbo. 

His eyes lingered on the blue dog in the front on the paper. Wilbur facepalmed when he realized that the blue dog was a sheep. He didn’t know why he didn’t recognize it sooner. 

Wilbur was about to open his mouth to say something, when Michael pointed at the drawing, and then pointed at Wilbur. It was almost like a silent question, and the child looked at Wilbur so expectantly.

Oh.

Of course. Wilbur wasn’t sure why he’d expected anything else. No one had probably explained the situation properly to the child. Prime knew that would be one hell of a conversation. Still, Wilbur caught his treacherous heart dropping at the gesture. He frowned, despite himself. “No,” he said briefly, shaking his head.

Michael looked at him for a few moments. Then he nodded back, and turned towards the paper again, his expression barely changing at all.

Still, Wilbur felt misplaced. As if he’d walked inside a war meeting hosted by his enemies, or had put up walls around a nation that turned out not to be his. Every single second Wilbur had known Michael, the toddler hadn’t been aware of exactly who Wilbur was. Perhaps Michael had thought he was hugging Ghostbur. Thought he was smiling with awe at someone he knew positively, rather than an inconvenient stranger, whose presence made very little sense in the first place. The only reason Michael offered to show such basic kindness to him was because of a simple misunderstanding. Even a child who unconditionally loved every soul he met, couldn't love Wilbur without thinking of someone else. 

Wilbur felt an unwelcome tear creeping into his eye. It was likely due to the fact that he was nearly alone, as it provoked the futile vulnerability he preferred to keep at bay. He looked away, trying to keep his face out of view as he listened to Michael continuing to work with the crayons. What else has Wilbur expected? He’d done little to nothing to deserve the child’s affections, and that was alright. It was perfectly alright, because Wilbur was a genius, not an uncle.

He suddenly felt a tug at his arm. He shook his head quickly, trying to grasp the world once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael, trying to show him something. With a quiet laugh, that came out a little too broken, he turned his head. “What have you got there?” he asked.

Michael was holding the piece of paper from before, proudly displaying it with both hands. Wilbur looked at it for a long time, trying to comprehend exactly what he was looking at. The same figure as before was staring back at him, grey with an orange jumper, and a big smile. The blue sheep was standing in the same spot. Next to the ghost however, Michael had scribbled another figure.

A similar one, but with beige skin and a brown jacket, with fuzzy lines drawn on it. The figure had a white streak in its dark hair, and was smiling as well, brightly.

Oh.

Standing right there, next to the ghost and the sheep, was Wilbur. Wilbur Soot, creator and destroyer of L’Manberg, drawn with such confident crayon lines from a toddler. Wilbur let out a shaky breath, as Michael pointed to the drawing, and then to Wilbur.

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, his lips curving up as he let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. That’s me.”

[tragedybunny]

Naming Day

Swain wants to do something special for his wife Katarina, but finds out it is easier thought than done. Takes place after my story "The Blade's Edge"

I just wanted an excuse to write something sappy and fluffy about these two. I hope it works in that capacity.

A decent husband would recall his spouse’s Naming Day. That is the truth as espoused by those most intimately acquainted with living in matrimonial harmony. And for once, I intended to prove I was capable of being a decent husband. I am, of course, not one to indulge in celebrations of a spurious nature, Naming Days being one of the foremost of those. In times long past, the Noxii tribes would not name their children until they had survived their first year, marking the occasion with much celebration. As this tradition was passed down, the time grew shorter, and no one really withheld a name in the current time. However, a notion occurred to me as I overheard the bragging amongst a number of the Officers of High Command about the celebrations for their recent progeny. Marking the occasion would probably be appreciated by my dearest wife, and I rarely had the opportunity to indulge her.

Mere seconds later that thought was followed by a terrible realization, the source of doubts about my status as a decent husband. I had no idea when Kat’s Naming was. The notion tormented me as I hurried back to my office, a tactical retreat to plan my next move. Surely she must have mentioned it at some point. Was I not paying attention or had I simply forgotten? After bolting the door behind me, I settled into the chair behind my desk, desperately needing to think.

After an hour of stern concentration, and even inquiring of my birds, I still had no answers. Cold realization washed over me, I couldn’t remember my wife’s Naming Day. The battle was not entirely lost though. She had not been angry with me for any reason I had not discerned, so if I followed logic, it implied that I had not yet missed it. There was still one route to victory left to me, a strategic reserve as it were. Noxian records were unparalleled and went back ages. There was no way a Du Couteau birth in the years of Darkwill went undocumented. I would have to go myself though, I couldn’t trust this to anyone else.

With Kat out on an assignment, and the sense of urgency I felt, there was no better day to accomplish this task. As soon as the last dispatch of edicts and orders left my office, I hurried off. The records hall was just concluding its daily business as I arrived. “I have personal business to attend to, leave me.” The stunned clerk vanished as I waved him away. My steps quickly took me through the endless maze of shelves and cabinets, laden with registry books and rolls of parchment, to the section that should contain the correct date. With trepidation, I assessed my adversary, a near endless amount of paper, and felt a sigh leave my throat. Truthfully, I couldn’t place the year either. I could narrow it down, but still, the task would be daunting. Should I have asked for the clerk’s aid? Would it have been worth the embarrassment? The Grand General cannot figure out his wife’s Naming Day or birth year. With a frustrated growl, my left fist slammed into the wood of the nearest shelf and it buckled, making a distinct popping noise. It would seem I fell short again, a pattern I’m tiring of.

But I had to know the year, I...I’d been at the damned celebration. At the time it hadn’t been very remarkable, I had little interest in the Naming of an infant. Marcus had been a friend however, and our two families had long been allies. It was enough of an occasion that my parents had insisted on my attendance, even if I was only on a short leave from my fledgling military career. A memory floated to the surface of my mind, as though summoned at last by my concentration. Marcus spies me from across the room and rushes over, a smile adorning his features and a tiny bundle in his arms. “Jericho, you made it! Here, you must hold her.” That bundle is passed to me before I can utter a protest. I stare down at the cooing little thing, green eyes wide and locked on me, a dusting of red hair matching Marcus’s adorning her head. For just a moment I think perhaps infants are not so terrible after all. And then she screams at me, the wretched little brat, with such force and fury that Marcus quickly snatches her back.

It could be a humorous memory I suppose, but my teeth dug into my lip as I was reminded of exactly how much difference there was in our ages. So, just to make a clear assessment of my current position, I don’t know my wife’s Naming Day or birth year, and I’ve just been reminded I’m old enough to be her father. What a miserable set of circumstances.

Lucretia had laughed though. Another unbidden memory from somewhere deep inside, the place where I’d buried all remnants of her. I clenched my fists and willed myself not to feel the burning in my chest that accompanied it. “Lucretia.” The whisper filled the empty air around me. It had been the last laugh we would share, she would be gone in mere months, my first companion and friend, my sister. I remembered the year now.

It was easy enough at that point to find the correct registry containing all the high born births for that year, and from there, the Du Couteau name within. Ah, a solid victory at last, it was not for some weeks. We hadn’t been living together at the time last year, so perhaps it just hadn’t come up. I doubted the likeliness of that scenario, but either way, this year was sorted. We’d been busy enough planning for the wedding we never had that a small celebration would be a welcome break.

When the day had at last arrived, I felt a small touch of pride. I’d considered the notion of something more extravagant, but in the end, I’d thought she’d appreciate time where my attention was focused solely on her, where she didn’t have to share me with the Empire. It was something we both understood would be a rarity, but she never resented that fact. So, to that end, I’d planned an intimate evening at home, and handed Darius all authority until sunrise. Her gift was tucked away in the small wooden chest it had arrived from Piltover in. Dinner was arranged to be all of her favorites, starting with Cress’s seafood bisque and ending with a confection laden with strawberries. The bottles of her favorite Shuriman red had been brought up and placed on the table.

When I greeted her at the door, her surprise was evident. “Home on time for once?” I knew she didn’t intend it with malice, still, I was reminded of my fears that one day, she would no longer tolerate this life.

“I can always work in my study if you decide to keep up the sass, Kitten.” At that, she bounded into my arms with enough force to knock me back a step. After a lifetime of war and ruthless ambition, I’m not a man who deserves to be loved like this, but I’m selfish to cling to it as tightly as possible. “Shall we?” I held out my arm and she took it with the soft, slight smile that I know is mine alone. The dining room door lay open, revealing the first course on the table, and the cake awaiting us at the center. She inhaled a soft breath and turned to me, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Jericho.”

Looking down, I brought up my hand to cup her cheek softly. “Kat, I wanted to make this evening something wonderful for you and show you how much I cherish you. Happy Naming Day, my love.”

I leaned down for a soft kiss, which she absent-mindedly returned. Panic clutched at me, she was not pleased. Perhaps she had expected more? The wooden box on the table offered some hope, and I led her to it. After opening the lid, I carefully withdrew what was inside and set it before her. The finely carved crystal reflected the gas lamps and set hundreds of small glowing motes of light on the walls and ceiling. Two figures stood at the top of it, frozen in a moment. One turn of the small handle in the back and they began to move, the room filling with the soft tone of a waltz.

Still, she stood rigidly, saying nothing. “It’s the waltz from our first dance, that night at Solstice.” I offered, my heart rending in two. I had botched this somehow. All the careful planning, all my lofty intentions, it was all coming to naught. Even when I put all my will into it, I could not be what she deserved. “If it doesn’t please you I could find something else. I know it isn’t grandiose, perhaps it was a poor …”

“I love it.” She cut me off, but the melancholy in her tone did little to convince me it was the truth.

Moving in closer, I took her hand again. “I promise I won’t be upset if you don’t.”

“Did you realize you couldn’t remember when it was?” Her fingers entwined in mine, even as her eyes avoided me.

It would seem she had found me out. “Yes. I had to work it out. I’m sorry for forgetting.” Was that what she was upset about?

“You didn’t forget. I never told you.” The figurines stopped moving and she winded the handle again before finally turning to me. “I don’t celebrate my Naming.”

“Oh.” I’d still made a grievous error, just an entirely different one, it would seem.

Her gaze fixes back on the music box, the tune filling the silence between us. “When I was younger, just after Cassie was born, we stopped celebrating it. Father was away on campaign, this was before the move to Uzeris, and I excitedly went running to Mother the day of, asking how we would celebrate it. But she had Cassie now, and she looked at me with that cold look I would come to know so well, and replied that she was too busy with the baby. If I was old enough for Father to take away for training, I was too old for Naming Days, and that she would beat me if I continued to whine. I was five.” For a moment, she was quiet, staring into the distance. “You know what the worst part was? Father never said anything to the contrary when he returned.”

My own parents had been absent, cold, and ambitious to the detriment of all else, in many ways though, it was too typical of an upbringing in Noxian nobility. Kat though had experienced so much outright cruelty and intentional pain, I sometimes sensed I had not even scratched the surface of it. I wrapped myself around her until I could feel her head resting just under my chin, the place it felt like she was made to occupy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stir up old hurts.” Though I wasn’t sure how, I felt as if I should’ve known better. All the secrets I’d seen, all my ability to be ten steps ahead of allies and adversaries, I should’ve figured this out. Desperately clinging to her, I kissed the top of her head.

“You know better, you can’t blame yourself. You’re not all-knowing, as much as you’d like the pretend.” Sadness still colored her words.

“A failure is still a failure, no matter the cause.” All I had wanted was one night to love her right. “I told you I would make a terrible husband.” My forced laugh did little to lighten things.

“Oh shut it, you’re wonderful.” Her arms tightened around me, making breathing difficult, but it was worth enduring. “You know what? Fuck her.” She looked up at me, that fire that I adore burning in her eyes. “She’s rotting in her empty manor, and I’m here with you, celebrating my Naming with the man I love.” There was a feral intensity to the kiss she suddenly pressed to my lips. “I won’t let her keep controlling me.”

In that moment, I doubted the gods themselves could control Kat if she put her mind to it. “Are you sure? You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I am. I don’t want to let the past ruin what we have right now.” There was no denying the conviction of those words.

I kissed her cheek and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “In that case, I do have further plans tonight that involve the two of us, another bottle of wine, and the bath.”

She inhaled sharply. “Only if it ends with the bed a wreck and both of us exhausted.”

“But of course, my love.” I kissed her deeply again, hands wrapping around her waist to keep her close. She really is the best thing that ever happened to me.

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (VI)

Part 6: How You Almost Did

 Here I come with a new chapter for this series!!! I'm sorry the posting schedule is a little bit more hectic than usual, but depression is kicking my arse pretty badly, and it's harder to write then. BUT here is a new chapter!! Things are… evolving. A lot of this chapter is the flashback, because it's an important scene.

I hope you like this chapter, and don't forget to leave a little comment if you read, cause that really helps motivating me into writing, and I need that extra piece of motivation now more than ever, sadly.

No warnings here, it's pretty fluffy :)

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count : 4283

I.

Holmes Chapel, 2010

 "So… do you have everything?"

"Yeah, it's all ready."

"Did you take your inhaler? I won't be here to save your distracted arse this time."

"I do have it. Thanks, Lambkin."

"Fuck you, Chuckaboo."

"Oi!"

You laughed as you helped Harry carry his suitcase down the stairs. He was leaving to take a chance at X-factor. It was already crazy that he got through the first round of auditions, but now he had to travel across the country to start the first steps of the show.

Whenever the two of you talked about it though, he insisted that he would be back in the blink of an eye. He hadn't even expected to successfully get two 'yes' from the jury during the auditions, and now his purpose was to learn as much as he could from the experience, and enjoy it while it would last. It was a crazy adventure, but one he was certain would simply end in a flicker. He had asked you to get all the lessons for him that he would miss, so he wouldn't struggle too much when he would come back in a couple of weeks.

And to be honest, you thought the same about the whole thing as he did. It wasn't that you didn't believe in him enough, because you did. If there was one person that you trusted and believed in on this Earth, it was Harry. And you had heard him sing before, you knew he had talent, even if it was a little raw for now. You did not doubt though that he was full of potential, and with some hard work, could definitely stand a chance. But he was also a sixteen-year-old boy, from this little English town you called home where nothing happened, and he was your best friend. You had known each other since you were five. It was almost impossible for you to imagine him as anything else but the goofy teenager he was when around you. So, a professional singer? It was improbable up to a hilarious degree.

Still, you were nervous and sad at the sight of Harry checking the content of his backpack one last time, checking if he had everything. He would be leaving early the next morning. It was the last evening you would share before he was off for an unknown period of time, and even if you both assumed it would be but a short one, it was still scary to think about how you didn't know when you would next see him. Maybe it was simply because it had never happened before, you guessed so, at the very least. Anything unknown was scary, after all.

Harry was trying to keep a calm façade, but you were far from a fool, and knew perfectly well that he was, in reality, terrified about the whole endeavour. After all, he was going to be leaving his home for some time. Any sixteen-year-old would find the mere thought terrifying.

After you brought all of his bags to the hallway by the front door, ready for his journey the next day, you settled for a while in the kitchen, where you prepared some toasts and sandwiches for your dinner. Anne was working late, and would not be coming home for another hour or so, which meant that Harry and you could enjoy some quality time together for a little longer.

You both laughed as you almost burned down the kitchen preparing the toasts, both of you pretending for that time that everything was normal. It was almost as if you had both silently came to the agreement that for that evening, while the two of you were alone cooking in the kitchen, his journey of the next day was but a reverie, and instead, the next morning would simply be the beginning of a normal day.

You talked about video games, and TV shows you found funny but stupid, and school. You couldn't really describe why talking with Harry was so different to talking to anyone else. It was just so easy. Fluent. It came without an effort, and it seemed that the two of you could have been left there for hours on your own and would still have found some things to say to each other, some new topic to discuss. You had always attributed that trait of his to the fact that he was your best friend, and had been so for such a long time. Knowing him so well meant that there wasn't much you didn't dare to do in front of him. You weren't afraid to be yourself when he was around, never had been.

And for a long time, you reckoned that it was simply explained by you seeing a brother in him. A twin of sort that you had never had. But as puberty started its work, and your mind embraced new possible explanations and understood new kinds of relationships, you wondered if a brotherly bond was really what united so closely the two of you.

Because you weren't sure that it was all there was to it, really. Maybe, it wasn't the reason why you didn't like his girlfriends. Maybe it wasn't why you were so sad to say goodbye tonight. Maybe it wasn't why you trusted him so blindly all the time. Why you always forgave him.

But you were young, and you weren't quite sure yet of what you felt meant. Maybe you were just trying to figure yourself out, and were making a fuss of nothing.

Or maybe, Harry meant something else to you than a brother.

All you knew was that when the conversation finally quietened, slowing down to reach a full stop that filled the room with silence, his departure on the tip of both your tongues once more, you were sad and afraid like you had never been before.

"We should wash the dishes," Harry threw one last attempt at avoiding the floating threat hovering in the comfortable silence. One last ammunition used to keep his fear at bay for a little longer, and instead, bathe in your presence for a little longer.

He couldn't really explain how he felt about you. It wasn't something he had felt with the few girls he had been with before, and it wasn't either a level of intimacy that he had ever reached with any other of his friends. You were in that special box in his heart, that had only your name on it, and no one else's. More than a friend, but not a girlfriend either. Somehow, you were more than that to him. You were family to him. But he didn't see you like a sister either. Maybe he had for a while, but it slowly yet irremediably changed along the past few years. He wasn't sure to understand what that box your name lived in inside his heart was, but he was okay with that, for now. Sixteen was young after all, to understand matters of the heart.

For now, he simply wanted to be with you whenever he could, and that was enough.

He started to wash the plates in the sink, while you grabbed a clothe and started to dry the cutlery.

You didn't notice the glances he threw towards your direction, and he didn't notice the way your eyes lingered on his features as if to carve them into memory either. It was an unspoken, halfway type of zone you had settled in. It was hard to escape it now.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" you asked, breaking the long silence that had settled in the kitchen, broken only by the distant murmur of cars passing by the street, and the water running from the faucet.

Had it been anyone else, Harry would have probably lied and pretended that he was perfectly fine.

But then, it was you, standing in that special little box of yours, and despite how fragile it made him feel, he answered you anyway.

"Yeah… I'm a bit nervous."

"I mean, I reckon it's normal to be so."

"Yeah… I mean, it's all new and I don't really know what will happen. And… huh… I think… It's gonna be hard to be away, I guess. I think I'll miss my mum a lot. And… and you too."

You stared at him for a moment, yellow photons from the lamp above your heads getting caught in the wild curls of his hair. He seemed a little lost. He was just a boy, after all.

You nudged him, trying to make him feel better.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be alright. Besides, you'll have fun, and make new friends over there, I'm sure. You will barely notice I'm not here."

He frowned, looking hurt at your statement, and you wondered why.

"You really think I would forget about you?" he asked, his voice a little too low, a little too deep, a little too fragile.

You shook your head, but he could see in the way you fidgeted with the cloth that you were not completely earnest with him.

"Of course not. I know you won't."

He turned off the water, the silence becoming deafening while he took his time to turn fully towards you, drying his hands on his worn-out jeans. Meanwhile, you were drying a plate, or at least, faking to do so, for there was no more water to sweep away across the porcelain. But it was easier to rub the white plate than to look at your friend at that moment.

"Hey, look at me."

When you stubbornly kept your eyes on this plate you kept on drying, Harry gently rested his hands upon yours, successfully interrupting your movements.

"Y/N. Please."

You let him take the plate away from you, putting it away before taking your chin in between his fingers to force you to turn to him. He wasn't surprised to find withheld tears glimmering in your eyes, yet the sight broke his heart all the same.

He couldn't see you cry. Never had been able to. He would have done anything to make you smile, and it had been so since the two of you were five.

He gave you a tender, reassuring smile.

"You're stupid sometimes, you know that?"

You frowned at that, taken aback. If anything, you weren't expecting that kind of response from him. But it wasn't all that he had to say.

"I could never forget you, you dummy. You're my best friend. You're… You're special to me. And whatever happens, I will never ever forget about you. Okay?"

You looked down at your feet, fleeing his green eyes that seemed to pierce right through all the pieces of armoury you had built around your soul. You nodded, slowly, your throat too tight to speak. But you weren't so worried anymore.

"You're not gonna forget about me either, are you?" he asked, his voice fragile again too.

You smiled one more time, looking up to find yourself trapped in the green hues of his irises.

"Now, you're being the silly one. Of course not. Besides, you'll be back in two weeks, tops. You're not half as charming as you think you are."

"Aren't I?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous way, making you laugh.

"No, you're not."

As you both fell quiet again, you suddenly seemed hype-aware of Harry's hold on your chin, that hadn't wavered throughout your exchange. He brushed his thumb across the soft skin, making you gasp.

And all of a sudden, there was a shift between the two of you. The air across the room seemed to be filled with electricity, growing denser, and maybe it was why both of you found it harder to breathe. Or maybe it was the way you both lost yourselves in each other's eyes in a way you never had before.

You caught him as he glimpsed down at your lips. You noticed the way his eyes travelled across your mouth, as if he was hesitating, weighing his options. You saw his Adam's apple jumping as he struggled to swallow the lump that was growing in his throat. When his gaze flickered back to meet yours though, both of you could barely breathe at all, your two hearts stomping under your ribcages.

His hold on your chin had become more of a caress than a hold: gentle, brushing of fingertips against your skin, giving you back complete freedom of your movements. Yet, you didn't want to move away at all.

And when Harry leaned closer to you, it was your turn to glance at his lips, watching the two lines barely parted fall towards yours. And when you realized what he was doing, you stopped breathing altogether.

Because Harry was about to kiss you.

But then he stopped, merely an inch or so away, his breath fanning and brushing your lips, warm and staggering, uncertain through uneven pants. And he was absolutely sure that he had never felt anything as intense as this moment in his entire short life.

But he stopped, because it was you he was about to kiss. His best friend. And even if you lived in that special box in his heart, even if, to him, maybe it meant that you were more than just a friend to him, you were way too important for him to take any uncalculated risk. So instead of closing the gap between your mouths, he stood still, in his kitchen under the yellowish light of the lamp, fingers still a little wet from washing the dishes, or maybe it was more because of how nervous he was. He needed to give you a chance to step back and stop him.

So, he blinked a few times, staring at your eyes with a silent question in his green irises. To which you answered by leaning closer to him too.

So… you didn't want him to stop?

He moved his hand up your jaw, cupping your cheek instead, closing his eyes and focusing on how warm the air leaving your lungs was against his face, breaths mingling together halfway between your parted lips.

And you were about to meet when the front door of Harry's house loudly opened.

"Harry! Y/N! I'm home!"

Both you and Harry jumped away from each other as Anne was ruffling in the hallway, probably taking off her shoes and coat.

In the kitchen, you both shied away. The moment had passed, broken, and you both knew that there wasn't going to be any other moment for you to be alone before Harry would leave.

Harry looked over his shoulder, and before his mother would appear, he hurried to take your hand in his.

He seemed frightened, and a little frantic. A little desperate too, still struggling to catch his breath.

"We'll talk about it when I come back."

You stared at him intensely, and he took your other hand in his as well.

"It's a promise. We'll talk about what just happened when I come back, okay? Cause… that… that was a thing. Right?"

"Yeah… yeah I think it… was a thing."

He struggled to swallow, stuttering a little as he let down his armour before you completely, and with a shaky voice asked one more question.

"Will you… would you wait for me?"

You gave him a reassuring smile, and to his hands you gifted a tender squeeze.

"I will. I'll wait for you."

 II. 

Loch Lomond, 2020

 Harry was pretty when he slept.

Not that he was ever not pretty, you reckoned that Harry was a very handsome man in general. But there was something soft in the way he looked when he slept, peaceful, that you really loved.

Maybe it was his parted lips, or the soft sound of air leaving his lungs in a perfectly regular rhythm. The occasional little crease between his brow that appeared and vanished at the rhythm of his dreams. Or the way his eyelids trembled a little sometimes before growing still again, eyelashes perfectly bent in the most graceful curve barely disturbed by the movement at all. Or perhaps it was how messy his hair became as they rubbed against the pillow.

But you could hardly deny that the main reason was that Harry always grabbed whatever he could during the night and held onto it for dear life throughout the rest of the night. To ensure that he would not disturb your sleep – and knowing Harry, probably also because he was worried it would make you uncomfortable – he had hold onto a pillow for the first evening, making sure that he would not end up curled around you instead. And it had worked, the two of you waking up peacefully on each side of the bed.

But not today.

This morning, you opened your eyes to find that the reason why you felt so warm and snuggled up was because you were safely tucked in Harry's side, his arms wrapped around you and his nose almost brushing yours, face resting at the edge of his own pillow, legs tangled in a mess of limbs. A quick glance across the bed revealed that the pillow he was hugging when you went to bed the previous night was nowhere to be seen. You guessed that Harry had dropped it to the floor during the night, turned around, probably wearing across his features a grumpy little pout as he tossed and turned while still mostly asleep, until he found your form sleeping soundly on the other side of the mattress. And then, well, the rest was easy to guess given your current position.

There was a little voice in your head that kept on telling you to pull away. That you should have felt uneasy with your current position. And had it been anyone but Harry, yes, you guessed that you would have been uncomfortable right now and would have freed yourself with little regard for the other person's sleep. But the thing was, it was Harry.

It was Harry all cuddled up around you, holding you close, and you didn't feel uncomfortable at all. You felt safe and warm and taken care of. Because it was Harry holding you. Harry who had always been here for you, since your early childhood. You felt so safe with him all the time after all, this morning waking up in his arms wasn't different. It was safe, the same way you always felt whenever he was around.

It was barely dawn and the orange light of the rising sun bathed the room a colourful hue. It was still quite dark, despite the deep orange shades of the beams licking at the walls. Particles of light were caught in his wild curls, brown tainted with orange, and you spent long minutes studying the changes in the colours, the way the light made his cheeks look a little pinker, the way it seemed to hug his jawline, and was left stranded across his eyelashes and the stubble that coloured his skin. It took all of your strengths to refrain yourself from running your fingers across the swallows tattooed on his upper chest, but you were too scared of waking him if you did so. You couldn't help but stare at them though, the black ink rising and falling with his regular breathing. He was still wearing his cross necklace around his neck, the gold reflecting the morning light. It wasn't the first time that you saw him with a bare chest, and it wasn't the first either that he hugged you without a shirt on. But it didn't stop you from shivering in the best way when he moved his arm around you ever so slightly, his bare skin sliding across your own bare arms. Because you were trapped in his arms, your arms folded between your two bodies, your hands were pressed against your chest. But now that your eyes were settling on his skin again, a little tanned and looking so invitingly smooth, you really couldn't summon enough willpower to not reach across the inches-long gap between your hand and his chest, and you gently rested your palm against his heart. You could feel the organ beating under his skin and muscles, little rhythm pulsing through your skin. Regular, soothing, safe. Just like Harry.

After a long while staring at him, with a smile across your lips you hadn't even noticed, your gaze moved across the room to settle upon the window instead, and you watched the quiet waters of the loch as it reflected the bright gold and orange of the sky. With the trees alongside the shores also covered with autumnal hues, it looked as if someone had painted the entire scene in shades of ochre. It was peaceful, a landscape still barely awake, that only the wind carrying freshly fallen skeleton leaves seemed able to disturb.

You didn't know for how long you had remained like this, staring at the landscape outside, safely tugged in Harry's warmth, when he finally started to stir and wake up. You turned to him again just in time to catch his eyes fluttering open, green irises appearing in the early morning light that fell upon your face instantly, as if they had been looking for you as a reflex. A bright smile appeared on his lips at the sight of your dishevelled and freshly awaken form in his arms.

"Morning," he mumbled, sleep making his voice deeper than usual, raw and warm.

"Good morning," you answered with a smile of your own.

He snuggled closer to you, until you were tugged under his chin, so he could bury his face in your hair, inhaling the addicting fragrance of your shampoo.

You were so warm against him. He could feel your hand pressed to his chest, and the mere touch was enough to set his whole body on fire. Your smell was reassuring, so reassuring, like the scent of something familiar, the scent of an old memory. And he felt so safe like this, with you in his arms. Invincible. Yes, that was the word. He felt invincible, like nothing bad could ever happen while he held you as close as he did now.

Why hadn't he done that sooner? It felt amazing.

His eyes snapped open when the thought finished to form in his mind.

Why hadn't he done that sooner? Because you were just a friend.

He quickly unwrapped his arms from around you, pushing himself away and in his haste to put distance between your two bodies, falling from the bed and onto the wooden floor and the pillow that had grown cold after he had lost it during the night. He let out a loud 'ouch', and when you peered beyond the bed, Harry was rubbing his arse cheek through his sweatpants. And you couldn't stop yourself from laughing at him.

"You alright down there?"

"Oh shut up!" he fought back, looking all pouty and grumpy, and you found the sight so ridiculously adorable that you had to laugh to stop yourself from melting instead.

"Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" you asked a little more seriously.

"My butt and my ego will be equally bruised by the incident for a few days," he replied, but he couldn't refrain a smile of his own as the situation was rather hilarious.

You laughed at that, but grew silent again when he finally looked up at you. He seemed uncomfortable, running a hand in his hair. Embarrassed, even. And for some reason, it hurt to see him react like this.

"I… I'm sorry."

"About?"

"About… how we woke up," he apologized, stumbling on his words and stuttering a little. "I… I must have lost my pillow during the night."

"I had figured that much."

"I… I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't. It's okay."

He gave you a hopeful stare.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," you nodded. "I mean, you were just hugging me, not much to say about it."

Nothing much to say about it? Then why was your heart still beating this fast just thinking about it then?

"I… you sure you're okay?"

You rolled your eyes at him.

"Yes, I'm sure. It's fine."

"Oh. Okay."

Harry had to admit that he was surprised that you were taking this so… well. As if it didn't have any meaning at all. When he had woken up cuddling you, holding you as close as he could.

As he finally stumbled back to his feet, he had to admit that he was not just surprised, he was also a little disappointed. Because he didn't take the situation as lightly as you did, and that was because…

He pushed the thought away before it could finish forming in his mind. He didn't need to think about this at all. It was all something from the past. He was over it. Had been for a while. No need to think of it again.

"Right. Well, still, I'm sorry."

"You were asleep, it's alright."

"You should have woken me up."

"I… I was barely awake myself, hadn't really processed what was going on yet."

It was a lie, but he seemed to buy it.

"Oh… okay."

"Besides, I've noticed by now how clingy you can be!" you joked, making him chuckle.

"Right… uhm… I'm gonna go take a shower, and then we can go grab a bite for breakfast, yeah?"

"Sure, you can take the shower first."

"Thanks."

And indeed, Harry was grateful that you granted him access to the bathroom first. Because he could hide how much he was blushing in there.

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

Taglist :  @emcchi​​​​ @fishstick-knows​​​​​ @eldahae​​​​​​ @just-damn-bored​​​​ @retrouvailessx​​​​​ @marvelstudies2020​​​​ @boxofteenageideas​​​@ponycake27​​​​​​​​ @horsesreign​​​​​​​ @xinyourdreamsx​​​​​​ @jbluevelvet​​​​​@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​​​​​ @stuckupstucky​​​​​​@snek-shit​​​​​​ @suchatinyinfinity​​​​​​@i-padfootblack-things​  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​​​​​​​@jigsawlover10​​​​​​ @emyyjemyy​​​​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters​​​​​​​​ @staringmoony​​​​​​​@madamrogers​​​​ @cronias13​​​​​ @stylesfics-xx​​​​​​ @mellamolayla​​​​​​ @mariaenchanted​

@swtxel​

[ofstoriesandstardust]

the woes of an unrequited crush-luther hargreeves (part ii)

a/n: this is part 2 of college!au luther fic. enjoy :)

masterlist | prompt list

part i

warnings: mentions of death (no I promise I did not kill her), mentions of food, swearing probably, kissing, mentions of bullying

word count: 4,753

It had been exactly 5 months, 28 days, 34 minutes, and 12 seconds since you’d last spoken to Luther... not that anyone was counting. Your junior year of college had just started and you were living in a new apartment with Sophie and Charlotte, with a new room mate this year, named Kayla. If anyone asked, your summer had been great. You’d had the opportunity to work with your advisor as part of a program your college offered, doing summer research. Your classes were off to an amazing start and you’d even gotten a new, high-paying job at your university’s writing center. 

In all honesty, your summer had sucked. You had gotten so far in over your head with the research program and your grandfather had died just three weeks before the start of the new semester. Your living situation was beyond awkward, with Sophie and Charlotte making it a point to never bring any of the Hargreeves over, or even say any of their names. Kayla was kind and sweet and she did her best to include you, but it wasn’t the same. Your birthday was coming up, and you were dreading it more than anything. A year ago, Sophie and Charlotte had banded together, pulling out all the stops, giving you the best birthday you’d ever had. Now... now you weren’t sure what to even expect. You sighed as the cool air hit you as you opened the door to the building, heading down the hall to your advisors office. The woman was kind and young and new to the university and a lot of students drifted towards her when they needed a nice chat or help with citations or a good talk about the Cold War. She’d been sympathetic to your situation, even if you withheld some of the details. She didn’t need to be bogged down with all your petty personal life drama and she had enough on her plate. You turned the corner and knocked into someone, stumbling back a bit. You looked up to see Allison. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She said, straightening up. 

"No worries.” You breathed out, throat closing up. Why, why did the world hate you? You gave her a tight smile and continued to move down the hallway until you were safely inside your advisors office. She smiled at you as you sat down in the chair nearest her desk. Max, one of the other History majors, shot you a smile from where he was sitting on a bean bag chair. You discussed your ideas for a final project for one of her classes, wanting to make sure you found all your research even thought the semester had just started. You wanted this project to go perfectly, it was your favorite time in history, which happened very little and you would be damned you didn’t do it well. You stayed to talk to her for a little bit longer, but eventually left as Max was leaving. Max was one of the sweetest boys in the department and the two of you were quite friendly. He’d been one of the saving graces of your summer and he’d been on the listening end of a many late night phone call about your problems. Kayla had even teased you that the two of you would be together in no time. You had laughed her off, because Max had a girlfriend (who was just as sweet as he was and was a good friend of yours as well) and because for as hard you tried, no one really compared to the way you felt about Luther. It sucked and you wanted nothing more than to move on with your life but you had never quite gotten closure and there was painful dull in your chest anytime you see him or his siblings on campus. Which just your luck, Diego, Luther, Vanya, and Allison were standing off the side of the doorway, and they went silent as you walked past. You kept your head down as you willed your feet to move quicker and Max gripped your arm as you stumbled out of the building. That was the closest you had come to them, besides your run-in with Allison just an hour prior, and you felt like you were going to throw up. 

“You want to come over?” Max asked. You shook your head, blinking back tears. You needed to get over this. “I’ll let you play Mario Kart on the Switch.” Max offered and you were tempted to say yes, but you really should go back to your apartment to work on some homework. “C’mon, I’ll buy you McDonalds.” That was the key word. You laughed a little, looking up at him. “You deserve the world (Y/N/N), don’t ever forget it.” He said, slinging his arm around you as he walked to his car. 

-

The Hargreeves sat around the apartment, laughing at some joke Klaus had made. Sophie and Charlotte had invited them over to see the new place and meet the new room mate and (Y/N) was at Max’s (who lived just down the hall). Sophie had promised she wouldn’t come back for at least a few hours, so it was the perfect time. “Mmm, I ran into (Y/N) today, like literally. Practically knocked the poor girl over.” Allison said as she ate a strawberry. 

“Jeez Allison, tell us how you really feel.” Five joked. 

“That was the most awkward thing ever when we saw her today.” Vanya said, to which Diego agreed. 

“We need to talk about that.” Sophie said, shifting away from Klaus. “Her birthday is coming up and the situation is getting unbearable, so you guys need to make up and soon.” 

“What, the five months of radio silence not enough for you?” Ben muttered and Sophie shot him a look. Diego opened his mouth to shoot something back when keys jingled in the door. 

-

You walked through the door, sighing to yourself. You’d spent a good few hours at Max and Elena’s (who lived just just down the hall, conveniently) and it had been a good break from the drama of the real world. But you had homework to do. You walked into the entryway, seeing all the Hargreeves gathered in your kitchen along with your room mates. Kayla, ever the peacemaker, shot you a bright smile. “How was your day darling?” She asked as you eyes narrowed, surveying the room. You made brief eye contact with Luther and quickly looked away. 

“I’m too sober to deal with this.” You huffed, turning around and leaving the apartment again. 

-

The door shut behind her and Diego swiveled towards Sophie. “That really seems like she wants to make up with us.” He snarked, shooting her an ugly look. Sophie shot an equally ugly look back. 

“Look, I don’t care what you say or how you do it. I just care that things stopping happening like this. Fix it.” 

-

You trudged back down the hallway and opened the door to Max’s apartment. He turned to you, a teasing grin on his face. “Back so soon?” You crash-landed on his couch, face-first. He came over to the couch, propping his legs up against yours as he sat down. You twisted and sat up, legs still covered by his lanky ones. 

“Every single one of them is in my apartment right now.” You huffed. 

“The Hargreeves?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“No, all of Santa’s elves. Yes, the Hargreeves.” 

“Hey, I was just making sure I understood. Why are they there?” You shrugged. 

“Beats me. And I’m too sober to deal with anything any of them have to say, so... here I am.” 

“You’re always sober.” 

“Exactly. I’ll will be dealing with that situation approximately... never.” He shook his head. 

“Well, we need to talk about your birthday.” You groaned, flopping back down on the couch. “What are we doing?” 

“How about nothing? Can we do nothing? Is nothing an appropriate answer?” He shot you a look. 

“C’mon, our advisors want to do something for you.” The advisors in the department really liked you and tried to make the best of everyone’s birthday, so yours was no different. They’d just picked the wrong year. “How about like, a picnic or something? While the weather is still nice?”

“I don’t care. You decide and I’ll just show up.” 

“That’s not how this works.” 

“Well then, I want to do nothing.” 

“We’re doing something.” 

-

You squinted as you trudged towards the tables in the park near campus. The sun was out and the weather warm and your friends had gone a long way to give you the best birthday. The day had been good so far with Kayla bringing you coffee this morning and Elena taking you out to lunch. A picnic in the park with a larger group of your friends and movie night in Max and Elena’s apartment later that night with your core group was the plan for the rest of the day. For as much as you had dreaded it, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be appreciated by the people around you and it made your heart feel full. You cherished the hugs and laughs as the afternoon wore on, and every minute felt so full of joy until... until you saw the Hargreeves minus Luther but plus Lila walking towards the group. Sophie and Charlotte made their way over to the group, along with Elena, who knew Allison through the theatre department. You rolled your eyes, turning to Max. “You have to be fucking kidding me.” You said, shaking your head. You turned to walk away from them and were suddenly faced with Five. You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Weren’t you just...” You asked, turning back to where his siblings were and you were sure you had just seen him there too. “Never mind.” He sighed, sticking his hand out, present in his grasp. 

“Happy birthday.” You stared at the present dumbfounded and he shook it. “Take it. I’m not going to stand here forever.” You tentatively took it from him. 

“Thanks.. I think?” A teasing smirk settled on his face as he shoved his hands back in his pockets. The smirk was quickly replaced by a serious look though. 

“Look, I’m sorry things happened the way they did. Don’t tell my siblings I said this, but not having you around has kinda sucked. I wish there was something we could do to fix it, but as much as your room mates want to pretend otherwise, this is between you and Luther.” 

“Thank you.” You said sincerely. “Why are you guys here though?” Five sighed. 

“Your room mates, well Sophie, think if we’re around long enough you’ll just like us again. But like I just said this is-”

“Between me and Luther, yeah.” You sucked in a deep breath and you could feel Max’s weary glance at you. “Well, thanks for this,” You said, shaking the present in your hand. “And thanks for coming. Help yourself to the food.” You gestured to the table and quickly turned away. Losing your friendship with the Hargreeves had been one of the worst parts of the whole situation and you were truly starting to wonder if you had been wrong from the beginning about them. You shook your head to clear that thought. No, no they were still the bad people you knew them to be. Sure, Five was his own entity and made his own choices separate of his siblings. But the others had set you up to be one big joke and you would not tolerate people like that nor let them back into your life. They were all like Luther, who wasn’t even present, cowards.

-

You sat in Max’s apartment that night as the rain pattered down. You guys had gotten one of the last summer rainstorms for the year that night and your whole world felt at peace. You’d been able to have a really good conversation with Ben and Vanya earlier, and while it didn’t change anything, the look Charlotte gave you was enough to ease just a little bit of the pain. Luther had still been a no-show, which was probably for the best. You weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted and you weren’t sure what might’ve come out of Max’s mouth. Your phone dinged and you looked down. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself. 

Hey, are you home? I have a birthday present for you. 

You sighed as the phone dinged again.

I want to talk to you. 

You could never say no to him and maybe... maybe just maybe this would give you the closure you needed to move on with your life. 

Give me five minutes. 

You pulled on your shoes. “Hey, someone is here to drop off a present for me. I’ll be back in like five, ten maybe?” You said, standing by the door. Max gave you a thumbs up and you disappeared out the door. You took a deep breath as your feet pounded down the stairs, anxious to get this over with. You opened the door to your building, warm water cascading down as you hurried over to Luther’s truck. You opened the passenger door and slid in, desperate to get out of the rain. He turned to look at you, giving you a soft smile. Your heart ached. He wordlessly handed you neatly wrapped gift. You took an unsure look at him and he nodded, encouraging you to open it. You tentatively and carefully unwrapped the gift, a book sliding out. It was an original copy of your favorite book, and you looked up at him, a warmth spreading over you. “Luther, how- we talked about this, what, maybe once?” He shrugged as you bit your lip. He shifted in his seat and you looked back to him. 

“(Y/N), I’m really sorry about all of this.” 

“Luther-”

“I just want things to go back to the way they used to be. Where we were friends and my favorite part of my day was getting to see you smile.” You closed your eyes, heart warring over disappointment and forgiveness. You were disappointed it had taken this long to hear him say those words, over the way you knew things could never go back to the way they used to be, but your heart felt forgiveness towards him all the same. You opened your eyes and you realized you were much closer to Luther than you had originally realized. “I really want to kiss you.” He whispered. You closed your eyes, and connected the distance, throwing everything to the wind, to just know what this feeling was like one time. The book slid off your lap, thudding to the floor of the car, and you pulled away abruptly. Why had you done that? Now you were only going to be able to think of the taste of his lips on yours as your heart continued to break over the fact that you could never have him. 

“I’m sorry Luther, really, I- I can’t.” You whispered, grabbing the book off the floor of the car. He looked at you in hurt and the look was enough to make you run, slamming the car door behind you. The rain seemed to come down harder as you rushed back inside, willing yourself not to cry. He had hurt you, and no kiss could change that. You could forgive him, but you could never forget. 

-

You could hear the noise from down the hallway, which only made your feet move faster in giddy excitement. A bunch of you were getting together to have dinner at Max and Elena’s, and even though Allison and Diego (and probably Lila if you were being honest, because the girl didn’t go anywhere without Diego) were going to be there, it couldn’t diminish your excitement for the night. You let yourself into the apartment you were a constant visitor of, and the boys cheered as you kicked off your shoes. There were a few graduated students here and one, Dean, had just gotten back from a few months in Italy and he wrapped you in a hug. You were surprised, you hadn’t expected to see the boy for at least another few weeks. He squished your face as you turned, surveying who else was there. As to be expected, Allison was seated next to Elena and Diego and Lila were in the living room with a few of Max’s friends. You made your way over to the couch, sitting down as the boys played Mario Kart. 

“So, (Y/N), any new romantic prospects on the horizon?” Reyna, a senior theatre major, asked you. You shook your head. 

“That’s not what I heard.” Dean said, taking a sip of his drink. Everyone turned to look at him, but he turned to Max, a smirk on his face. “She kissed Luther.” You shot up from where you were laying on the couch as everyone turned their attention back to you. 

“I’m never telling you anything ever again.” You said seriously, but his grin was light and teasing and you don’t think he even really knew what he had just done. 

“You kissed Luther?” Max questioned but Allison broke into a shit-eating grin. 

“Alright, finally! Took you like eight months longer than I had expected though.” She said. 

“No, no. Yes, I kissed him, but it wasn’t like that. It was a mistake and it’s never happening again.” 

“When?” Max asked, voice grave. 

“My birthday.” Max sighed, turning his back to you. 

“So.. you kissed Luther. That should change everything.” Diego stated. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that you guys fucked me over.” 

“What did we do to make you hate us so much?” Lila asked. 

“I was just some sick joke to you guys, you played with my feelings and left me humiliated, and I refuse to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. I was in high school and I refuse to be the same here, especially not to you people.” 

“What are you talking about?” Diego questioned, eyebrows furrowed. You sighed. 

“I’m not explaining it to you. You can’t even be bothered to own up to it.” you huffed, pushing yourself up from the couch. You pushed past Dean and Reyna, making your way out of the apartment, and down the hall. So much for a fun night. 

-

The door slammed behind her. Diego swiveled towards her friends, utterly confused. Why hadn’t Luther told anyone he had kissed her? “Okay, what just happened?” Allison questioned. Max sighed. 

“She has it in her head that this is some sort of elaborate prank to humiliate her for liking Luther.” Elena explained. 

“That’s ridiculous, we’d never do something like that.” Allison defended. Max sighed, yet again. 

“Look, this is something you may not know about her, but you have to understand. While she was in high school, and throughout her freshman year, she was the butt of everyone’s jokes, constantly being played and left out. It wasn’t even until she became friends with us that she got a taste of what real friendship is like. So, for you guys, the most popular people on campus to actually like her? It’s foreign and she doesn’t know how to handle that.” 

“But Luther wouldn’t hurt her like that. He really liked her, still does.” Diego defended. She should know Luther better than that. Max shrugged. 

“I said that too. She told me this story, how in middle school, boys would come up to her as a joke, to ask her out to embarrass her and run away laughing when she’d say yes. I think it left a memory that no one would ever really like her, so for Luther to like her, her first thought is that it was some twisted prank rather than him actually liking her.” There was pause. “As much as she wants to pretend that this doesn’t change anything, it changes everything. And I really hope she figures it out because I’ve never seen her as happy then when she was with him.”

-

You sighed as you locked the door to the Writing Center. It was late at night and you were dreading the walk back to your apartment. You and Sophie were originally supposed to work this shift together but she had changed her mind at the last minute, not wanting to be on campus so late. It was fine, really, but it left you without another tutor and without a ride back to the apartment. “Hey, are you just heading you out?” You heard from behind you and you turned to see Luther. You nodded, not trusting your voice. “Can I give you a ride?” You shook your head.

“It’s fine Luther, really.” 

“Please? It would make me feel better knowing you got home safely.” You wanted to make a snarky remark about not doing things for him but you couldn’t bring yourself as you looked at him. You knew that as much as you didn’t want to sit in a car with him, you didn’t want to walk home this late at night more. It also meant a lot that even after everything, he still cared so much about your safety. You nodded, readjusting the straps of your bag on your shoulders. He cracked a soft smile and the two of you walked out in silence to his car. He opened your door for you and you slid in, dropping your bag to the ground. He walked around the back and got in, starting the car. The ride back to your apartment was silent and awkward and you felt a wave of relief roll over you as you saw your apartment building come within sight. Luther parked the car, but you made no move to get out. He had turned the car off completely and you had a feeling there was something he wanted to say. The silence continued until you felt forced to say something. 

“Luther, I’m sorry, I really am.” He looked at you. 

“Why’d you kiss me?” You sighed, shrugging, as you pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt around your hands. 

“I wanted to know what it was like.” You said softly. 

“I just... still don’t understand what happened that day. I mean, I really liked you, I still do, and I thought that you liked me back. But then you freaked out, and I still don’t understand it.” He said, never once taking his eyes off of you. 

“I was, I am in love with you, and all I ever was to you was some sick joke for laughs. I couldn’t do it.” 

“You think you were joke? (Y/N), I am just as equally in love with you, and I would never hurt you like that.”

“Why? Why are you in love with me? What could I possibly have to offer you that every other girl on campus who pines after you doesn’t have? I’m certainly not as pretty or as smart as some of the girls you hang out with.”

“Because you’re you! Because when I’m having a bad day, I can just talk to you and it seems like all my problems fade away. Because you’re so incredibly smart and passionate and you aren’t afraid to pursue your dreams. Because you get along with my siblings, because I can get lost in your eyes! There’s not another girl on campus who looks at me for me and not for my name.” By this point, you were in tears as you had a horrible sinking feeling that you had royally fucked up. This whole time, you had thought it was a prank meant to hurt you when you had been the one to cause all the hurt. All this... for what? “And I thought after that day that you kissed me, that things might get better, but we still aren’t talking to each other but I just want my friend back, in any way I can have her.” Your head rested in your hands, unsure of what to do or what to say. You were still crazy in love with boy, and he you. 

“Where do we go from here?” You whispered, looking up at him from your hands.

“Well, you have two options. You walk back inside your apartment and don’t look back, and we let the other go. Or you sit here and we talk about everything that needs to be talked about.” 

“I mean, how do we even fix this Luther?” 

“We start over. Start from a place of trust and communication. Tell me the truth about the last six months.” 

“You want the truth? I am in love with you and it scares the hell out of me, because I’m so used to everyone leaving me or using me for their own gain. And I was so scared you would be like everyone else that I left before you could hurt me anymore, convincing myself this was some elaborate lie to hurt me. But the last six months have been hell and there were nights where I wanted nothing more than to seek you out because I felt so alone.” Your voice broke on the last word and you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

“I would’ve been there, you know. If you had asked.” You nodded. 

“I’m sorry Luther.” You whispered, and he put his hand on your knee. 

“I’m sorry I never reached out earlier. I should’ve, because you were clearly not okay.” You shrugged, wiping your tears. 

“I kinda deserved it.” 

“Hey, I could’ve at least fought for the girl I’m in love with. I just let you walk out of my life.” You took a sharp breath because you weren’t quite sure you’d ever get used to hearing him refer to you as the girl he was in love with. You looked up at him and he inched closer. “I’m going to kiss you again, if that’s okay with you, but you have to promise not to run away again.”

You nodded. “I promise I’m not going anywhere as long as you want me here.” He kissed you again, and it was so wonderfully different from the last time, because you were both trying to communicate everything you weren’t sure how to say, and because you weren’t sure this would be the last time you’d kiss him. He pulled away, but the two of you remained quite close, feeling his lips mumble his next words against yours. 

“Five owes Kayla so much money.” You laughed, cupping his face. He smiled at you. 

“Hey, can I kiss you again?” He nodded, and you placed a short, but sweet kiss on his lips. He held you close though. 

“Hey, what are you doing on Saturday?” You shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“You want to go on a date?” You nodded, smiling giddily. A pause. “Hey, we can’t hang out on Saturday. I’m taking a really pretty girl on a date.” You snorted.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded, a stupid grin on his face. 

“Yeah, I’m really nervous.” 

“Well, you should give me a kiss for good luck then. The date has to go well, obviously.” He smirked and kissed your lips again. You reveled in the feeling as he pulled away. You let his thumb rub soft circles on your cheek as you looked at him. Your phone dinged, and you sighed. It was Sophie, asking if you’d be home soon. “I should probably get inside, it’s getting late.” He nodded, looking slightly disappointed. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?” He nodded, pressing a brief kiss to your lips. “I never want to stop doing that.” He smiled. “I’ll text you in the morning, okay?” He nodded again.

“Sleep well.” He said as you opened the door, grabbing your bag from the floor. You slung it over your shoulder as you stood by the door. 

“Night Luther. Love you.” 

Being able to say the words freely put a smile on your face, which only grew when he responded with a “Love you too.” You shut the door, waving to him as you headed inside your apartment building. For the first time in months, you could go to sleep feeling the happiest you had in years. For the first time, everything was going just right, even if had taken a couple months longer and left turns to get there.