#spent too long scrolling and feeling dread for tomorrow FOR NO REASON

[schmutzigertauberengelsjungen]

going to SLEEP! Now!!!!

[earlgreydream]

enemies.

| bucky x reader | fluff |

requested by @fitzfiles​ enemies to lovers 

this is technically a highschool au, but only slightly. we love bucky being a loveable ass out here

Your eyes narrowed and you glared at Bucky. You couldn’t stand him. Bucky was popular, flirtatious, and an asshole. He was always flirting with you at school, and you always felt like he was trying to make a joke of you in front of everyone. On top of that, it made other girls envy you, tainting friendships with jealousy.

It seemed like you were the only one who didn’t want Bucky Barnes. 

“You’re such an ass!” You snapped at Bucky, who only laughed in response. You hated when he tilted his head to the side, the stupid smirk you loathed pulling at his lips. 

“Don’t be like that, doll.”

“I’ll do whatever I want! Leave me alone, I’m not going to fall at your feet like everyone else!” You stood up from the library where he had been absolutely intent on distracting you from finishing your homework, the reason for the fight in the first place.

You were the only one who didn’t give him every ounce of attention he desired, and he was determined to get it. 

You sat on your bed, a folder of history homework open in front of you. You studied with music softly in the background, needing a break from trying to study with Bucky bothering you every five seconds. 

“Y/N,” your mom called your name as she walked in the door. 

You looked up, setting down the document on World War II. Your father was behind her, and you grew uneasy, wondering what they possibly felt they needed to both talk to you about.

“We’re worried about you, dear.”

“Worried? Why?” you laughed, surprised by their explanation.

“We’re just concerned that you don’t have the same social life people your age have. You seem to always be up here, studying in your room. We want you to meet some people, and have some fun,” your father explained.

You were confused by the explanation. You spent most of your time at school, and around other students. You did have friends, but you also prioritized your grades. You certainly were not the hermit they were making you out to be.

“You don’t need to worry-”

“But darling, you’ve never dated. One of our friends has the most charming son, and we think he’d be perfect for you. We want to set you up.” Your mother was smiling, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Perfect for me?”

“Yes! He’s so charming, and he’s sweet. He’s also incredibly intelligent, his grades are wonderful. He travels a lot, you know, has that worldly kind of sense. And, he’s beautiful. We were thinking of setting the two of you up, having them over for dinner.”

You couldn’t deny that this sounded too good to be true. The boy they were describing sounded perfect for you, and although you cringed at the idea of your parents setting you up, you were intrigued.

“What is his name?”

“James!” She beamed, and you raised your eyebrows.

“I will go on one blind date with him, if you stop giving me a hard time about my social life.”

“One date. You can meet him at dinner tomorrow, and then the two of you must go on one date. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But try for us, honey.”

“I will, I promise,” you smiled at your parents, excited and nervous to meet your supposed dream-man. 

You dressed up for dinner once you were home from school. You’d never even seen this boy, and yet your tummy was filling with excited butterflies. Your name was called from downstairs, and you quickly ran down to meet them. 

You nearly tripped over yourself as you stopped dead in your tracks. You were met with an all-too-familiar silver gaze, and the smirk that made you so, so angry.

“Bucky.” 

Your voice was cold, and all of the butterflies shriveled up and died, the excitement fading from you. You were furious that you’d agreed to go on a date with him in addition to sitting through this dinner.

“You two know each other?” His mother asked, surprised.

“Quite well, actually. We have history together at school, right doll?” Bucky was trying not to laugh, only fueling your irritation. 

“It’s Y/N. And we’ve met, yes.” 

This motherfucker. 

Dinner was long and painful, and you were forced to listen to what a perfect prince everybody thought Bucky was. You were surprised to hear about his academic standing, one that competed with your own. It was clear by his expression that he didn’t want the news to get out that he wasn’t a complete anarchist. 

You cringed as your parents praised you too, unsure of who they were trying to impress. You were quiet, not giving a single damn about being polite to the boy you hated. 

“Why don’t the two of you go upstairs?” your mom suggested, and you sighed, holding back a massive eye roll. Being alone with Bucky was about last on the list of things you wanted to do.

You stood up under the pressure of four gazes, and Bucy followed you up the flight of stairs. He couldn’t contain his amusement for the situation, and you walked into your room and sat down on the edge of your bed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Did you know it was me?”

“No, I really didn’t. But I’m glad it is.” He almost sounded sincere.

Bucky looked around your room, taking in the soft lavender walls, and the white bedspread that you sat on top of. Everything was soft and sweet, like you. Fairy lights hung above the bed, casting a gentle glow over the room. Bucky thought you looked beautiful.

“Quit staring at me,” you snipped, pulling your knees up to your chest.

He smiled, stepping in from the doorway and sitting beside you on the bed. You were angry at yourself for noticing the way the lights seemed to make him look golden, glinting in the reflection of huge silver eyes.

“How could I not?” He breathed, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

No. No, this is not happening. You will not let yourself be seduced by this cocky asshole. 

“Save it for the date,” you rolled your eyes and he smirked. 

“You’re not looking forward to it?” Bucky asked, and you shook your head with a face.

“No, of course not.”

“Come on, I’ll show you a good time. You’ll probably even realize that you’re in love with me.” His grin was infectious, but you fought off the urge to smile back.

“In love with you? Hardly.”

“I’ll give you one night. You’ll change your mind.” 

“You seem confident,” you snarked, rolling your eyes at his arrogance.

“I always am.”

You watched him as his eyes traveled over the room, seeming to take everything in. Bucky noticed every small detail, including the sketch of daisies that leaned against the wall on top of your desk. 

When he was finally called away, he stood in front of you, leaning over you with one hand on the wrought iron bed frame. A soft smile broke onto his face, and you felt warmth spread through your chest, reaching up to your cheeks.

“Goodnight, doll.”

You scowled at the dress that was laid out in the end of your bed when you got home from school. You’d been dreading the date, especially when Bucky winked at you during history class. He didn’t make a show of embarrassing you in front of his friends. You hadn’t even heard gossip about it, so he must not have told anybody. 

You were a bit surprised, you thought that Bucky would seize the opportunity to be the subject of gossip and attention, dragging you into it with him. 

Your parents were out of town for the weekend, and you’d been set up for a friday date after school with Bucky. The doorbell rang, and you went to answer it, your eyes widening a bit when you saw him in jeans and a button down. 

Fuck, he was handsome. 

“Hi James.” 

“Y/N, you look beautiful,” he said honestly, and you couldn’t stop the warmth from blossoming on your cheeks. He held up a bouquet of daisies, and you bit back a smile, taking your favorite flowers from him. You realized he noticed the drawing, and something about that made you feel fuzzy inside. 

It was too bad you didn’t even like him.

“Let me set these down, thank you.” 

You put them in a vase on the table, and he followed you. 

“You didn’t tell everyone at school.” It was a statement, but you meant it as a question.

“Why would I? I knew you wouldn’t appreciate everyone in your business,” Bucky confessed. Despite the amusement he gained from getting on your nerves, Bucky did like you, and he did respect you. The idea of others participate in the teasing, more than just his bit of playfulness, upset Bucky.

He wanted you to like him. 

You followed Bucky outside to his yellow car, one that was sort of vintage. He didn’t drive to school, and you realized you had never seen his car, but it somehow fit him. You got in the passenger seat, and he handed you the chord to play your own music.

You nervously scrolled through your phone, deciding that the safest bet for music was bon iver, and he broke into a smile, leaning forward to turn up the stereo.

“I love this song,” Bucky grinned, surprising you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, leaning forward and watching the buildings pass by as he drove you to an unknown location. 

“Just trust me.”

He parked and was opening your door for you before you could get out. You stepped out and took his outstretched hand, deciding you had to at least give this as much of an effort as he was. 

His hand was soft and he squeezed you gently as he led you inside the huge aquarium in the city. It was your favorite place to go, and you wondered how Bucky knew that. 

“You mentioned it once, in class,” he spoke as if he read your mind, or at least read the bright smile on your face.

“I can’t believe you remembered... Or that you even listened,” you laughed.

“I always listen.”

You walked through tunnels filled with colorful fish, and they swam around you on all sides, even under your feet. You gasped and pressed your hands to the glass, letting go of Bucky as you watched a sea turtle swim by. Bucky watched your delight, smiling at your excited squeal.

“Look!” you pointed, and he grinned.

“I see, it’s so cool,” he indulged you. 

You moved through the tunnel, into a room of separate tanks, all smaller and holding their own creatures. You struggled to see the clown fish in the top, even standing on your toes.

“What’re you doing, doll?”

“Trying to see the nemo fish, but-” you squeaked as Bucky’s hands went around your waist, and he lifted you up so you could see. You blushed and smiled, looking at the fish swimming around. He gently set you down, and you wrapped your hands around his arm, a little bit shyly.

The two of you spent hours looking at the creatures, and you let him wrap his arms around your waist as you stood and watched the jellyfish. 

“They’re so pretty!” you gasped, and Bucky could see the reflection in your wide eyes, and he couldn’t ignore how his heart raced when he looked at you.

You found yourself feeling the same way.

“This was great, James. I didn’t think you’d manage to win me over, but this is the best date I’ve ever been on,” you confessed shyly as you left, the sky already dark. He beamed at you, his silver eyes lighting up when you smiled at him.

“I’m so glad, but we’re not finished yet, doll.”

“You spoil me,” you giggled, and he pulled you to the car.

“Come on, or we’ll miss it,” he hurried you, laughing as he got behind the wheel. 

He drove to a park and got a blanket from the backseat, producing a basket that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Picnicking in the dark?”

“Hush and come with me,” he insisted, laying out the blanket on the grass and pulling the food out. 

You bit into a piece of fruit, leaning against his side. You gasped as fireworks started to go off overhead, and you looked at Bucky, who just smiled back at you. 

“I thought you’d like them.”

You watched the light and colors explode in the sky, enjoying the dinner he brought. You ended up leaning back against Bucky’s chest, wrapped in his jacket when you complained of being chilly. You couldn’t believe that over the course of a few hours, he had managed to work his way into your heart, and you were now in his arms.

“Do you want to come in and stay?” you asked Bucky as he pulled up in front of your house.

“I’m invited?”

“Yes.” 

He smiled, grabbing sweats from his trunk, explaining that he always had a change of clothes, on account of being an athlete. You teased him with a giggle, going inside with him and up to your bedroom. 

You changed into a pajama set and laid on your bed with him, the two of you staring up at the tiny, glittering fairy lights above you.

“You look perfect like this,” you whispered.

“Not as perfect as you.”

“What happens Monday? Do you go back to being an ass and I go back to hating you?” your voice was soft, and although you were joking, the fear behind it was real.

“I was hoping I could call you my girlfriend on Monday.”

You leaned over and kissed him, answering the question. When he kissed you back, it was like a million tiny fireworks exploding inside of you, instead of in the sky overhead. 

“You changed my mind in one night.”

[ayatosmlktea]

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫𝑾𝑰𝑫𝑬

Pairings: Bokuto x Reader

Genre: Fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Just a lil something I wrote for @soltserra​ one night! This song is based on Worldwide from Big Time Rush and I highly HIGHLY recommend listening to it while you read because 1) it’s a masterpiece and 2) it makes the fic 10x better

Also I literally know nothing about sports so pls...be kind :3

The news comes as a shock to Bokuto, he knew that eventually it was going to happen but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, being drafted into one of the biggest volleyball teams in the world. Of course he was excited, he had been thrilled so much so that he could barely contain his excitement and had nearly grabbed the manager in for a hug before remembering to remain professional.

 His dreams were finally coming to fruition and the first person his mind thought of after hearing the offer was you. His rock through thick and thin, his highschool sweetheart. Unable to wait any until he got home he dialed your number, bouncing with excitement as he waited for you to pick up.

Frowning when his call went to voicemail he figured you must have been busy, it didn’t matter. That meant he’d get to share the news with you in person!

Rushing home, he stopped along the way to pick up your favourite takeout to celebrate. Their lives were about to change in the best way possible and there was no one else he wanted to go on this journey with.

Practically running home, he bounded up the steps to your shared apartment two at a time eager to tell you the good news.

Upon entering the apartment he found you fast asleep on the couch, placing the food on the kitchen counter Bokuto sat down next to you, gently stroking your hair.

“Hey love, I got dinner” he says softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Pulling the light blanket over your  head you groaned something incoherent into the cushions.

“I got your favourite! Sushi burritos” At the mention of food you poke you head out from under the blankets, suddenly wide awake.

“Food” Bokuto laughs loudly, wrapping his arms around you to plant wet kisses on your cheeks.

“So you’ll wake up for food but not me? That hurts” he sniffles before continuing his assault of kisses all over your face.

“Move, I’m hungry” Turning your head away from his face you struggle to slip out of his arms.

“Can I at least have a kiss for being the world’s best boyfriend and bringing my beautiful girlfriend her favourite dinner?” Bokuto pouted, you had gotten used to his childish temper after being together for so long but for some reason right now it was funnier than usual.

“If you wash the dishes too you might get one later” Flashing him a cheeky smile you shoved your hands against his chest, walking into the kitchen to inspect the food. Not even waiting to sit down, you lean on the kitchen island unwrapping your food and take a hasty first bite.

“So there’s something I wanted to tell you about!” Bokuto says abruptly. Your eyes leave your burrito, with a curious look on your face.

“I got an offer to play for that American team I was telling you about”

“Oh my God! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you Bo” You knew how big of a deal it was for him to get drafted by this team, putting down your food you shuffled over to give him a hug.

“I know right! We have a few weeks to get settled into our new place. We should probably start packing tomorrow” The longer Bokuto rambled on, the bigger the pit of dread grew in your stomach.

“We?”

“Yeah, you and me babe.” His smile is so hopeful and full of excitement that it feels wrong to have to crush his spirits.

“I-I can’t go with you, I can’t just quit my job and move across the world with you”

Bokuto’s face fell instantly, he hadn’t expected this. He’d been so caught up in telling you the news, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might not be able to come with him.

“I’ll come visit you! But for now, it’s not possible. I’m sorry”

“It’s fine! Like you said, you can come visit me” He was trying to brush off his disappointment for you, but you knew that he was upset. The rest of dinner was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾　　☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

It had been almost three months since Bokuto had seen you, the two of you tried to call as often as you could but it was difficult with the time difference. While you  were on your lunch break Bokuto was already fast asleep. The only time you really got to spend with each other was on the weekends, and even then it was never enough. 

The way your eyes would become glossy with tears never went unnoticed but he didn’t want to say anything that would make you cry. It ripped his heart into shreds knowing that you were crying and he couldn’t do anything about it. He sent you pictures everyday along with cute messages reminding you that he loved you. Bokuto spent most of his nights going through old pictures and videos of the two of you  together. 

On days where they weren’t able to call at all, he’d go through his voicemail until he found an old message from you. It didn’t matter what you were saying, the sound of your voice alone was enough to help ease his homesickness.

Volleyball took up a lot of his time and most of his energy but you were always on his mind. Everything he was doing was for your future. The sooner he became successful, the sooner you’d be able to come live with him in America.

Lately,you seemed more distant. You didn’t send him as many texts like you usually did and whenever he tried to make plans to call you, there was always something keeping you busy. Doubts of you falling out of love with him were putting him on edge, the rational side of him tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid for no reason. You were an honest person, and if you were falling out of love with him he trusted you to tell him.

Regardless, the thought of not having you in his life was enough to start affecting his playing. His serves were off, his spikes were not timed properly. He’d been yelled at by their coach more times in one week than he had in his entire time spent on his highschool team. It was beginning to irritate him, as much as he wanted to get his head in the game he couldn’t stop worrying about you. Thoughts of you dating another man, kissing someone who wasn’t him, holding someone else’s hand were all starting to drive him crazy.

When practice ends, Bokuto leaves feeling frustrated, he knows  he can play better than that. He knows what he needs to do, he knows how to time his jumps so why can’t he just focus on the game. Pulling out his phone, he scrolls through his notifications hoping that you had sent him something, anything to make his disappointing day a bit better.

But there’s nothing.

He doesn’t even want to eat, his mood is so sour that all he can think of is taking a shower and crawling into bed. His emo mode reaching new levels of pettiness. The walk back to his apartment is spent hoping that you would be able to call him. A week of bare minimum communication was making him crazy. He could only imagine what it would be like if you were to actually walk out of his life. The thought alone makes his throat constrict.

“Why do you look constipated?” A distinct chuckle instantly grabs his attention. His eyes dart up from the sidewalk to find you standing outside of his apartment complex. For a second Bokuto doesn’t know how to react, his mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether or not he’s hallucinating.

“Are you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna let me in? I’m hung-” Bokuto races forward, grabbing you and enveloping you in a bone crushing hug.

“I missed you so much” he mumbles, suddenly finding it hard to get his words out. He’s so sure that he’s dreaming and any second his alarm will go off, waking up once again to an empty bed. But the smell of your shampoo is right under his nose and your arms are squeezing him back in a way that feels too real to be a dream.

“I missed you too”

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining”

“I requested a transfer to our American branch, that’s why I’ve been distant this past week. I was so excited I didn’t want to give anything away” You confess shyly, averting your gaze from his face. Cupping your cheeks with both of his hands he leans down to kiss you passionately, the feeling of your lips against his after so long feels so good that it sets every nerve in his body on fire.

“I love you, so much” he says, tightening his arms around your  body. All the doubts he’d been having immediately disappeared. It was stupid to think that after all this time a little distance would come between you two. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together Bokuto was complete.

“I love you too Bo”

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 2

Read on ff.net

Read on AO3

Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, moved about her bedchambers. It was a vast room with grey stonework walls and old furniture that had been in the royal family for generations. One corner held a grand writing desk where she often carried out her research into ancient relics late into the night. Affixed to the wall above were her most treasured research notes.

The princess was dressed for bed, her thick golden hair in a protective side braid, but she wasn’t feeling too tired, her nerves shot by the day’s earlier events. It was the first moment of rest she’d had all day. She had been constantly in the presence of Impa and the knight her father had assigned as her guard. The knight, who she’d learned was named Link, was odd. He barely spoke a word, yet Zelda couldn't disregard that he had saved her that day when a large Guardian that had been unearthed at the Breach of Demise had activated somehow without warning. This, along with the increasing number of monsters throughout the kingdom made their trip to the Royal Tech Lab an arduous one.

Zelda turned over many thoughts in her mind. How the little Guardian that seemed so attached to her had traveled from a Hyrule of ruin. Her father had seemed so vexed by the Guardian’s appearance, although Zelda was not surprised that he would try to discern whether the Guardian could be trusted. The little one did feel somehow familiar in a vague way…. Not to mention, it brought with it a look into the future of the destruction the Calamity would bring. 

A heaviness was descending upon the princess. Impa’s sister, Purah had managed to extract visual data from the little Guardian’s memory - true to life images that showed what the future would hold. Zelda had taken a cursory look through a few images but had quickly become overwhelmed. This was the destruction that would befall Hyrule should she not be able to harness her divine power. But, perhaps the pictures might also hold clues on how the Calamity could be averted.

She powered on the Sheikah Slate, wanting to give the visual data a more thorough analysis before turning in for the night. She scrolled through the horrific images of destruction, this time not having others around whom she had to put on a brave, composed face for. As much as she loathed wallowing in self-pity, she had at least managed not to break down earlier in front of the others. The princess had sensed the understanding of her plight in Impa’s voice earlier as they looked through the images together. 

Not only was Hyrule Castle pictured, but the destruction seemed to be widespread. Akkala Citadel... Fort Hateno…. The Divine Beasts…. All in ruin or corrupted somehow, and the fate of the entire kingdom and its people were bearing down on her.

I will not allow this to come to pass… I’ll do everything I can to stop this… But without the power, how will it ever be enough?

Despair and dread were starting to set in as it often did more and more over the years. She’d already tried everything she could up until now, and still, the power that should have come so naturally seemed to be impossible to find within herself. And the longer her power remained dormant, the more frustrated and cold her father grew. Zelda shut her eyes, holding her hand over her face, trying to calm herself, but it was too late as the tears she’d been holding back for hours broke forth. She quietly sobbed, hoping to not alert the attention of any of her attendants who might hear her cries. She scrolled to the next image and then there was not a location or a Divine Beast, but a picture of a strange man and she went silent. Her green eyes moved over the image. There on the Sheikah Slate was a hooded man in a tattered purple robe, but she could tell he was very handsome, even if not by typical Hylian standards. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was very pale and had dark, collarbone length hair. There was a long braid that hung in front of his left eye and was tucked behind his ear, and another that was decorated with gold beads.

He wore a gold circlet and a thick gold collar that draped over his shoulders that reminded her of jewelry worn by Gerudo royalty, although this man clearly wasn’t Gerudo. No male had been born to that tribe in ages. There was an oddity about the circlet though, in that the red stone had what appeared to be a stylized yellow iris painted on it - sort of symbolizing a third eye.

Who was this mysterious man? He must have been on the slate for a reason. The slate’s screen went black, and she realized she’d zoned out. Her mind was flooded with so many questions and speculations. Could someone like him really be out there, somewhere? He looked more like he belonged in some distant past foreign to her. Were they destined to meet? Should she seek him out? She didn’t know, nor did she know how to raise the subject to anyone else. Her father, dear sweet Hylia, her father…. Would almost certainly chastise for wasting her time with images discovered on Sheikah technology which had been banned up until the recent past instead of dedicating every waking moment in prayer to unlock her dormant power. But to Zelda, this felt as crucial as researching relics, perhaps even more so. And then it occurred to Zelda who she could confide in - Urbosa. Based on the jewelry the man wore, maybe she might know something.

And just like that, the heaviness that had pushed her to the edges of despair had lifted, even if only a little bit. Zelda laid the slate on her nightstand before climbing into her stately canopy bed. She found she was able to drift off with relative ease, all things considered. Tomorrow, she was sure, would be another demanding day, and she was eager for the respite sleep would bring.

In her dream that night was a woman in a resplendent white dress, and Zelda sensed she was connected with her. Was this Hylia, the goddess whose blood was said to run through her veins? The goddess smiled to herself in a dreamy way, absorbed in her song as her fingers moved along the strings of a small harp. The goddesses appeared to be singing as her lips moved silently, Zelda not being able to hear her words. Perhaps it was a lullaby. Zelda wished she could hear the goddess’s song. The goddess seemed so passionate about…. something, but all she could do was watch and hope this dream to be a harbinger of good things to come.

oOo

His harbinger turned and left, having imparted to his disciple how it had come to be and how it planned to counter what its “twin” from a ruined Hyrule had set out to do. It was fate that Ganon’s hatred had followed that Guardian through time to possess the one from this era. 

And now, Calamity Ganon’s will can be fulfilled in this time as well… The Prophet of Doom thought. This was all a part of Lord Ganon’s plan to annihilate his enemies completely, leaving no room for victory, even in a separate path in time.

That Guardian by the princess’s side had the means to set this path on a different course, and the prophet knew he couldn’t let some meddlesome piece of junk alter fate’s rightful course. He would subdue the princess and her newfound ally. The thought of destroying the Guardian had already crossed his mind, even before Lord Ganon’s new directive. Now he just had to make those two degenerate, banana-eating goons do his and Lord Ganon’s bidding.

The prophet was elated that he could now receive such clear directives and revelations from Lord Ganon. Had he not met with the harbinger, he would truly be on his own. The harbinger was proof to potential allies that he had indeed been chosen and could know the will of Calamity Ganon, not just interpret it through the constellations or prophetic dreams. Gaining the trust of the Yiga Clan didn’t feel like much, but things were coming together. The Calamity would return and reign down its hatred on Hyrule, and the kingdom would come to its end, at long last.

oOo

“I have selected the candidates for the Divine Beasts. Zora grace, Princess Mipha; Goron vigilance, Daruk; Rito confidence, Revali; and Gerudo spirit, Chief Urbosa. You will go meet with each and explain their role to pilot their respective Divine Beast.” King Rhoam’s voice carried through the main foyer from his place on the balcony.

Zelda looked up at her father and responded. “Yes, I suspected as much… I will meet with Chief Urbosa first. I am... looking forward to seeing her again.”

Rhoam nodded. “Understood. It has been some time since your last meeting with her.” The king’s voice held a respectful tone, perhaps thinking of his late queen who had been close friends with the Gerudo chief. His gaze moved to the little Guardian, and his voice became cold. Zelda stiffened as the words left his mouth. “And? You’re taking this relic with you, I presume?” Rhoam narrowed his eyes at the small Guardian that was currently hiding behind his daughter.

Zelda could sense an admonishment incoming, yet she managed an explanation. “Yes. After talking to Purah and Robbie, we thought it would be best.”

Rhoam took a seat on his throne, considering this. The Guardian moved out from behind her as if emboldened by her voice. “I will remind you once again. Above all else, your duty is of the utmost importance. Are we clear?” Rhoam said, sternly.

For the briefest moment, Zelda thought of the hooded man she’d seen on the Sheikah Slate. “Yes, we are clear. I understand... And I will honor my duty.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se…. Zelda thought. After all I’ve been through, who can say what honoring my duty looks like. Prayer hasn’t worked. I’ve spent over a decade dedicating myself to prayer. If I could just focus my attention elsewhere, perhaps the power will find me in a way nobody could foresee.

Zelda, Link, and Impa departed the castle with the new Guardian in tow. The Princess breathed a soft sigh of frustration as she felt her father’s eyes boring into her, which didn’t go unnoticed by Impa and Link. And in time, the three were laughing and bonding over the little Guardian that acted as if it were a knight in the princess’s service.

[msjr0119]

The Unexpected Roommate

Part 3

What happens when your roommate of many years falls in love and moves out unexpectedly? Drake Walker was in this situation, until his friends fiancée suggested that her friend moved in to replace her fiancé. The new roommate is causing tension already. Will they be able to survive living together? What’s the worse that could happen?

Drake x Riley

Leo x Olivia

Warnings: Swearing, tension, smut

A/N- So I spoke to @pedudley, she published a one shot with her characters doing a ‘truth and dare’ scene. We wrote it at the same time, and I reached out as I panicked that people would assume that I’ve used her idea. It’s totally different, just a similar idea and Paige is fine with it- best friends and great minds think alike 😆 This part and part 4 was originally just this part- however tumblr is saying that I’ve exceeded the word count 🤷‍♀️, so you all have two chapters posted back to back- SORRY! 😘

Tags- As always if you want to be removed please do let me know. I won’t be offended.

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @texaskitten30 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @cordonianroyalty @rainbowsinthestorm @jared2612 @desireepow-1986 @twinkle-320 @bebepac @drakewalkerisreal

******

As Riley answered his question, she witnessed a smile slowly creep up onto his face- believing that she would never see the day that Drake Walker smiled.

“I still don’t like you though...” She continued. “But....”

“But what?”

“I actually have plans for tonight. Maybe we could do it tomorrow instead?” Seeing disappointment on his face, she instantly felt guilty. She wasn’t saying to never to do this, she had wanted to make amends before he did- however, her friends were more important. More loyal. Fuck. “Or I could cancel? I see Daniel and Maxwell all the time..” Yes, cancel. Please cancel. Spend time with me. God I sound desperate. He thought to himself.

“It’s fine. You live with me. We can have drinks and food whenever.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I’m letting you down after you’ve made an effort. But I don’t like letting my friends down either. I’m sure they won’t mind. I can stay in... with you.”

“Honestly, it’s fine.” Providing a fake smile, his heart sunk- but he would never admit this to her.

“Okay.... I’ll erm. I will be back before my ‘curfew’.”

“You better be.” Smiling at him, she walked away shaking her head. Drake sat on the couch, not knowing what to do. Berating himself, that she had given him the final say for her plans- and he backed out of telling her what his heart truly desired.

****

Riley made her way to the bar, shaking her head she saw the two lovers had already ordered drinks. The amount of drinks that surrounded the table, was a sign of premature liver damage.

“Blossom! You’re here.”

“Hey, guys.” The two men looked at her, she was surprisingly quiet- in a daze. Not her usual self.

“What’s he done now?” Daniel demanded to know as he raised his eyebrows. Maxwell was aware of Drake’s attitude towards Riley- however Daniel had played it down. Daniel knew that Maxwell was a pussycat, but when it came to his friend who was like a sister to him, he wouldn’t hold back if someone hurt her.

“He... well he fucked a blonde all over the place last night. This morning. Whatever that doesn’t matter. He didn’t ask for my permission. Breaking his own rule...” Maxwell’s lips allowed an over exaggerated gasp to escape. “I hope you called him out on it.”

“No. I just put my old teddy bears and Barbie’s on his bed. She soon ran out.” Maxwell jumped up and high fived her, Daniel provided a smirk but her facial expression was still puzzling him.

“So why the long face?”

“He bought me a ‘La Perla’ set.”

“He did what?” The men asked in unison, both wondering what Drake was playing at.

“He bought me a bra and thong set... I mean that shit isn’t cheap. He seemed sincere with his apology but I still don’t trust him. One minute he despises me, then he’s nice. It’s just not normal...”

“Maybe he wants you to dress up for him?” Maxwell licked his lips, then mimicked a blowjob. Providing her friend with her own hand gesture he soon stopped. Afraid of what she may do if he was to carry on.

“Stop right there, Max. This discussion is ending right now!”

“Okay, fine. But you didn’t have to stick two fingers up at me.... or is that what Drake will be doing to you?” Unable to resist winding her up, he escaped to the bathroom quickly- convenient timing.

****

Drake had spent the night, wondering if she was using her prior plans as an excuse to avoid him. He wouldn’t blame her, he had been awful with her. Scrolling through social media, she appeared in the everlasting list of ‘people you may know’. His finger hovered above the ‘add friend’ button- deciding against it, he kept coming back to it. Every time he was tempted to just click it, but he thought that it would give her an excuse to argue with him. Looking at her profile, he shook his head- he clearly wasn’t her only victim for her infamous pranks. Checking out the photos, he needed to stop- he had a sudden erection. That was until he saw a photo of Riley and Olivia- just looking at his arch-enemy turned him off straight away. After a few hours, he made the decision to have a shower- as he had nothing better to do. Usually he wouldn’t mind being ‘home alone’ but for some reason he felt more lonely now than ever. As he entered, the water cascaded down his toned body- placing one hand on the tile, his other hand wrapped around his shaft. Stop thinking about her, she will kill you if she knows you’re wanking over her.

“Shit! I’m soooo sorry. I’m going to puke... I won’t be long. It was the toilet or the floor...” Jumping, he tried to cover himself up- she was in a state. Standing frozen, he didn’t know what to do. Carry on ‘showering’ or get out and hold her hair? The hair debate entered his mind- mainly concerned about her waking up with the sticky yet fowl substance in it. But also to keep her head upright to avoid her face planting the bowl.

“Couldn’t you have just puked in the trash bin? I’m trying to shower!”

“Oh. My. God. It stinks. I’m sorry.” Turning her head towards him, she had a little laugh to herself. “Are you jerking yourself off? Hey! You wasn’t lying was you?”

“No, I am not doing what you think I am! I am covering it up to protect my dignity as best as I can.”

“Whatevs... you are so totally doing it. I’m going to rename my dildo to ‘Drake’.”

“What the fuck are you on about? Can you please hurry up- and collapse in your bed....”

“Ewww I’ve puked in my hair...” knew it. Just fucking knew it. Great. Stripping her clothes off, she stumbled- before entering the shower with him.

“Do you not know about social distancing? Riley! Get to bed.”

“What’s up Drakey? Never shared a shower before.... at least it’ll save on the water bill.” Putting her thumbs up towards him, her drunk mind was now trying to calculate ways in cutting down the bills- whilst she washed her body. Looking down at his erection, she smirked again.

“Yup, definitely calling my dildo ‘Drake’...” Drake knew he was now trapped, believing that if he was civil- and possibly helped her with anything, the quicker he would be able to go to bed.

“What was it called before?” He asked, in his mind he was thinking all sorts of obscure names. Bob? Battery operated boyfriend- because that’s all she’ll ever get if she carries on treating men like shit. Peter as in Peter rabbit? Mr Big?

“Leo....”

“Leo?”

“Yeah, Liv called my dildo ‘Leo’. Apparently it’s the image of him. Personally, I can’t see it. I haven’t used ‘Leo’ since. It put me straight off.” Yeah, don’t blame you. What the actual fuck?

“Right, I’m going to wash your hair for you- then tuck you in bed.”

“Aw you do have a heart.” Trying to make a love heart shape with her fingers, she failed miserably. Drake turned her around, holding on to her with one hand he tried to keep a distance, he didn’t want to poke her- she kept slipping in the shower, making him nearly fall instead as his grip tightened onto her waist. If he was going down, he wasn’t going alone. Getting out of the shower, he held on to her- escorting her out too. Drying her body with the fluffy towel, she was swaying - making it difficult to help assist her. Carrying her to her bed, he laid her onto her side- hoping that she wasn’t going to be sick again. After a few minutes, he kissed Riley on the cheek and left her sleeping alone. Sweet dreams, pisshead.

****

The morning after, Drake decided to check on Riley before leaving for work. He had barely slept, mainly worrying that she was going to choke on her vomit- but then the short shower that they had shared was also lingering throughout his thoughts. Knowing that she was breathing, and was content- he left for work. Not that he wanted to, but he knew the sooner he got to work- the earlier he could finish and return home.

Later on in the day, he returned home- the apartment was as he had left it. Opening her door, she was still asleep. Sitting next to her, he needed to wake her up. Caressing her cheek, she didn’t stir- deciding to gently shake her, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Still in a daze, she still felt slightly drunk believing that she was hallucinating. Smelling his cologne, and seeing his blurry face- she sighed heavily.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Fuck. He’s here. He’s on my bed.

“Drake! Get out!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m naked...” Pulling the duvet up as far as it could go, she was practically suffocating herself. “Remember you don’t like to see my - how did you describe it? Oh yeah. Flab.” Shaking his head, he was never going to hear the end of his hurtful words.

“Do you remember getting home last night?” Her eyes widened, she dread to think what had happened. The horror that was shown across her face, explained to him that she was clueless about the events after her night out.

“You came home, puked up then jumped in the shower with me. I carried you to your bed. There was no funny business. Anyway, it’s four o’clock- I think you better get up.”

“Four in the morning?”

“No. Afternoon. I’ve been to work and come back. I’ll order food and we can do what we planned if you’re up for it? There’s a match on.”

“Do I look like I watch sport?”

“Oh sorry. You’re probably one of those girls who likes to watch a film where the two main characters fall in love at the end.”

“Guilty.”

“Typical woman. I’ll get you some tissues- don’t want you ruining any make up.”

“It’s fine, Drake. Watch your game. I’ll have a shower then join you soon.”

“What drink do you want? I’ll get it ready for when you get out.”

“I’ve got wine, it’s in the fridge. Thank you, Drake.”

“No worries. Hurry up though.” Fuck why have I said that? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Before she could respond, he needed to think of an excuse for why he said that. “Because you don’t want your food to be cold.” Nodding, he smiled and swiftly left her- allowing her a bit of privacy to get out of bed. Making her way to the bathroom, she wished that she was able to walk in a straight line. Fucking Daniel, again. I need to stop drinking. Leaving the door slightly ajar, Drake couldn’t help himself but have a peek at her. Seeing her hair cascade down her back, he admired her body again as he did when she sabotaged his shower. God, she’s gorgeous. Stop looking at her Drake. Finally coming to his senses, he ordered the food and poured the drinks - waiting anxiously on the couch for Riley, he wanted to tell her the truth about what he thought about her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Hearing her voice in the distance, it was a slight mumble as the noise from the tv was distracting him and was much closer.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear the door because of the game.”

“No worries. Hmm chinese. Good choice, roomie.” Bringing the food over to the table, they ate it together- both stealing glances from each other, both wondering if this was going to last. They spoke about simple things, to keep the conversation flowing with no awkwardness. Favourite food, phobias and fears, favourite vacations- were just some of the topics that they discussed. Riley decided to top up their drinks as they both gulped it in one, possibly needing Dutch courage to talk in a civil manner.

“Jesus, you cant even walk when you stick to the same drink.”

“I’m just a lightweight. You’d think that I’d be used to it working in a bar.”

“You work in a bar?”

“Yeah, with Daniel. He pulls in all the gays, and I flirt with the punters. It’s a real dive bar, so any custom is important.”

“I’ll have to come one day, just purely to annoy you and to distract you.”

“No. You’d just come for the free drinks. Because you know a person that works there.”

“Now you’ve offered free drinks, I’m definitely going to have to come.” Shaking her head, she knew that she would potentially get sacked if she provided Drake with whiskey all night on the house.

“So what do you do?” Sitting down next to him, she passed him the whiskey- waiting for him to elaborate. Intrigued as to what he did for a living. First impressions of him, was that he was a very closed off person- private. Unlike herself, who was an open book.

“I’m a mystery. That’s all you need to know.”

“C’mon Drake... tell me. I’ll ring Olivia and ask if not.”

“No!”

“Why no? Are you a serial killer? Or a drug dealer or something?”

“I just don’t like your friend. The answer is no. Plus, mind your own business.”

“You don’t like many people do you?”

“I hate her.”

“Like me.” Riley said this quietly, as her face faulted. Most people liked her, but Drake just had instant hate- deep down it hurt her slightly.

“Of course I’m going to hate you, you’re my roommate. Liv, she’s like the fucking devil.”

“You just don’t know her properly. Like you don’t know me.”

“I’d like to get to know you. I’m sorry. But you are annoying as fuck.”

“Maybe I am annoying. But so are you. Your teams losing, time for a change.” Reaching over him, she stole the remote and quickly changed the channel. Sex and the city, perfect.

“No! Not a chance! I’m not watching this shit. Put the fucking goddamn match back on.” Shooting off of the sofa, she ran towards her room shoving the remote in her bra- knowing he wouldn’t dare touch her whilst it was there.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Catching up to her, he pulled her back flush to his chest. Turning her around, his eyes never left hers.

“You’re a bit too close for comfort.” She could practically feel her heart attempting to leap out of her chest.

“Give me the remote, and I’ll let go of your waist.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll be holding on to you all night...”

“I pretty much doubt that, Drake.”

“You want to bet?” Moving his lips closer to her neck, his breath made her heart skip a beat- it also sent shivers down her spine. “Can you resist my lips, Riley?”

“Of course I can.” Whimpering, she wasn’t sure what to think. Deep down, she had always thought that he was handsome- but he was her roommate. Someone who hated her the previous day. Someone who was fucking a stranger in their shared accommodation. Kissing her neck gently, her body froze- his hands roamed her body, getting closer to her chest. Closing her eyes, she gulped at his soft touches.

“Your skin is so soft.... Riley.... I....” Swiftly removing the remote from her bra, he smirked- feeling smug with himself. “I win! Don’t fuck with me...no one turns the matches off!”

“You bastard!”

“Aw what’s up darling? Did you think that I was kissing you because I wanted to?” I actually really wanted more.

“I don’t know what to think with pricks like you! I knew tonight was too good to be true... why can’t you just be a normal human being?”

“Why can’t you ask for permission to turn the tv over?”

“It’s not the end of the fucking world!” Hearing a knock at the door, their bickering stopped almost immediately.

“Hey guys!”

“Leo?” They both shouted in unison, wondering why he was here. As soon as Olivia joined him, she eyed the two of them in front of her- attempting to study their body language.

“Woah, you two are close...” Leo stated as he nudged Olivia.

“Thought we’d drop by to see how you are both doing. Is there a problem? Have we come at a bad time?”

“I’m on top of the world, Liv. Living with a fucking prick like him is all I ever wanted in life. You have perfect timing! I’m so glad some normal human beings are here to socialise with me.” Drake gulped, now realising that he had been slightly petty.

“Living with an annoying bitch is all I ever wanted! So thanks for getting engaged guys. Beer, Leo?”

[allaboutmywriting]

Walking the Gallery

can’t afford to go to Harry’s tour lol nothing new so writing this instead--gonna be some chapters, not sure how many yet || 5k words 

Lexy Marks is a recent novelist, who has risen to a reasonable amount of fame for a first-time fiction writer. She ends up at an album release party Harry Styles has thrown, where he tells her how much he loves her writing. Back in the day, Lexy was a 1D stan; unfortunately, she has some trauma related to that particular era of her life. 

CHAPTER ONE:

The check engine light came on as soon as could at least see the stoplights hanging from the intersection behind the row of cars in front of her—whoever had warned her about LA traffic certainly hadn't been joking—and Lexy screamed in frustration when she saw it. With her foot on the brake, she slammed her hands against the steering wheel, in the same manner that she was privy to throwing her phone on the ground whenever it froze. It was a method that never solved the problem, but always made her feel as if it did.

Her father had assured her, incorrectly it would appear, that her 2007 Toyota Corolla would be fine for the six-thousand-mile trip she was taking around the country—from Columbia to Los Angeles, Los Angeles back to Charleston. She'd already completed half of the journey there, but she couldn't exactly complete the other half back with a faulty engine.

The car behind her beeped its horn and Lexy jumped, pressing her foot too fast on the gas, jolting forward uncomfortably. She hadn't expected the traffic to be quite so bad, and she wasn't prepared for the traffic gridlock. She sighed and looked at the clock. 5:57.

She was meant to be there by 6:00. She didn't really know what the where was, somewhere in between Beverly Hills and a direction of Hollywood. She supposed she could've been smarter by not driving in rush hour traffic. Perhaps she could've asked the event holders if she could have arrived in the morning. Surely, they'd have understood that people hailing from the East Coast were not as smooth, talented, or put together as those on the Golden Coast.

The car in front of her moved up a foot. She turned the radio down and scrolled until she found her dad's contact. It was after eight on the East Coast, so he would be home from work. Probably in the kitchen making himself a sandwich with the unhealthy kind of bread and too much mayonnaise—he liked to play around with cholesterol.

"Lexy-loo!" he greeted. She smiled, already feeling at ease from hearing his booming voice. He was a middle school science teacher, the goofy kind, so he said everything with strange inflections and accents. This time, he sounded Irish. "Where the hell are ya?"

"Stuck in traffic." She glanced at the GPS he'd installed for her eighteenth birthday a few years before. It was the nicest part of her car, and it looked awfully out of place compared to the rest of it. She was somewhere in East Hollywood, which contrary to the name, was a little more rundown than she expected it to be. "This has to be even worse than New York."

He laughed, having spent his summers growing up in Brooklyn, back when the twin towers were still a part of the skyline. "You hanging with the rich and famous yet?"

Lexy glared down at her lap, pushing the gas gently as the next car moved forward. She didn't have the time to explain the intricacies of the area to her dad, to let him know that there were entirely more poor people in the area than celebrities, and that she would probably never even come in contact with someone of such a demographic. In fact, after the event or reading or whatever she had tonight, Lexy had half a mind to go handing out food to all of the people she saw on the sides of the street.

"Not yet, Dad." Her calf was starting to ache from staying on the brake for so long, and she tried to stretch it in place the best she could. "Anyway, check engine light just came on and I don't know what to do."

"Huh," he grunted. "Well, is it steady or is it blinking?"

"Steady."

"Did it just come on?"

"About a minute ago." She shuffled her seatbelt around to keep it from digging into her neck.

"Is your car acting up? jerky?"

"No. it seems normal. I can't really tell, though. Traffics at a standstill."

"Well, it's probably not an emergency then. Go find yourself an Auto Zone and they'll do a diagnostic for free. Call me back once they tell you and we'll figure something out."

She frowned at probably not an emergency, her mind speculating as it was prone to, visions of her car exploding in the middle of the LA freeway.

"I don't think I can do it today," Lexy frowned. "I have an event in three minutes."

"Glad to see that the extra three hours has increased your timeliness," he joked and Lexy rolled her eyes. "Just do it first thing tomorrow," he said nonchalantly, yawning. "I'm so proud of you, Lex. Living out your dream. I wish I could be there with you."

She wanted to roll down her window, to lay her arm across it the same way she might have back home, but she took the threats of pollution seriously.

She said a goodbye to her father quickly. Her eyes were already stinging. Lexy was so far from home and so alone. It had just been her and her dad for so long, even while she was busy in college, but he couldn't leave the school for the weeks the tour had taken her, would take her, for fear that the district would fire him. Ain't no rest for a public-school teacher, that's for sure.

Lexy had managed to do thirty-seven different readings without him. Had managed to impress thirty-seven different crowds of people without offending them—had even managed to make a few of them cry. Her twitter and Instagram followers had increased gradually, so that now she had a small following of few thousand, that rivalled the accounts of her high school valedictorian who'd gone on to become an influencer selling tanning lotion.

While Lexy really was living out her dream, having a New York Times bestseller at twenty-two, becoming an author wasn't as glamorous as she always thought it would. Her settlement for the book, which was supposed to be $55,000, after taxes only came out to a little more than half of that, and now she understood why authors talked about how difficult it was to make a living just writing. There were no health benefits in authorhood, and there were no extravagances where bookstores paid her to come talk. Here she was, six months out of college, driving herself around in her own car just for her inaugural book tour.

Who cared if Barack Obama had put her book on his recommended reads of the year, when her car was going to break down and she was going to be late for her first event in Los Angeles?

As the clock shown 6:04, Lexy finally was able to pass through the intersections. Now, if she could just figure out how to change lanes, she'd be doing okay.

&&

Her car started smoking as she turned onto the street. It was framed by huge houses with gates in front—black ones, silver ones, some with outright walls so that you couldn't see what was happening on the other side. About halfway down the street, and with the smoke darkening, her GPS said she arrived.

Just what was this event? Her fingers were itching for her phone, to call her publicist and make sure she was at the right place, but a security guard appeared just by her driver's side window.

He was a big and buff bald-headed man who gave her car a dirty look as he instructed her to roll down a window. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Statement of purpose?"

Statement of what?

It was really starting to feel like she imagined the White House felt like after all—back in the Obama days, not the current ones.

"Hi. My name is Lexy Marks. I've been told to be here."

"ID?"

She grumbled to herself as she reached forward and went through her purse, her fingers shaking as she took at her wallet, and then her driver's license. Her fingers were shaking, but she didn't know why she should be the nervous one.

He cross-checked her license with whatever was on the tablet he was holding, then nodded at her. "Pull around back. You should see the other cars. Park between the two on the back row."

Lexy took back her license, rolled up her window, and waited at the gates until the swung open. Her car continued to smoke so bad that she could see it even through the darkening tones of dusk. The house, which she gawked up at, was black and modern, with gaping windows. There were three stories from what she could tell—Lexy had never seen such a nice place, much less been invited to one.

She tried to park in between the cars the guard had instructed her to—a white Audi and one of several black rovers. These cars were all worth more than her manuscript was, and especially more than she was.

And Lexy had always been awful at parking. Never mind how awful she felt about being late, and how dreadful her stomach felt with her engine smoking.

She couldn't tell just how dark it really was outside due to the multiple lanterns and light fixtures that illuminated the entire outdoor parking space. She was most certainly late, but she wasn't even sure what this event was. She didn't know if they would even notice, if this was an event with other authors, if she was meant to be giving just a reading. Her publicist—Simon & Schuster had given her one along with her royalties' contract—had set up the whole tour for her. All she had to do was arrive on time. And here she was, a half hour late, and if her GPS was right, somewhere between West Hollywood and Beverley Hills.

But weren't the rich and famous known for not being on time?

As she climbed the steps to the front porch, she was certain she was at a mansion. Just whose mansion, she wasn't sure, but she was more conscious, if she ever had been before tonight, of the twenty-dollar black Old Navy dress she was wearing. She'd thought she was being frugal, chic, stylish. She'd even paired them with her favorite pair of chunky blue heels. But now she was certain it couldn't be further from than truth.

There was no one in the yard with her. Across the lane was the security guard, and Lexy contemplated waving him down and asking for directions. Suck it up, she told herself. You're living the dream.

A white cat was perched on the front step and it watched her, lazily, as she knocked twice on the front door. When there was no answer, she rang the doorbell.

There was music coming from inside, banging beats that made it seem like she was entering into a dorm. They were exactly the kind of loud that she heard in college on nights out, at house parties, or in the frats. She couldn't make it out exactly—either that or she didn't know the songs.

When she knocked a second time, the door was sprung open.

"Ay, welcome to the party of the century," A well-dressed man greeted her. He sounded Australian, but Lexy couldn't be certain—she was the worst at deciphering accents. But he was dressed in suspenders and a white t-shirt that read SOUTHERNE in black, bold letters. Behind him, Lexy could see a bunch of people standing around, talking. None of them were dancing, as she had incorrectly assumed from the music, but instead, standing around listening to the tracks.

And now Lexy was certain she had never heard it before.

"Hello? You there?" The man asked again. This time he grinned at her and revealed a set of teeth so perfect they were probably veneers. If Lexy had to choose a new occupation, it would be dentistry. But she was awful at science, math, and everything in between that would lead her to becoming one.

"Sorry." She tried to smile back, but her annoyance ran strong through her veins.

A few of the people around them, beautiful people, women with the sort of hair that didn't have flyaways and men that looked like they came from the cover of GQ turned to look at her curiously, but the company must've been important, because they looked away again.

"I'm Lexy Marks. I was told to come here by my publicist."

She cringed as she thought about how it must sound to this man—acting like her publicist was in charge of her. Much like a parent leading their child to the first day of kindergarten. It was just like her publicist to do this. She knew how unexperienced Lexy was and had been known to take advantage of it before—her first reading in the mid-west had been at a senior home for people who had never read her book.

But his smile only widened, and he opened the door up even further.

"Come in, come in," he said, waving an arm in front of him. He held a wine glass in his left hand. Dark and red, the kind she hated. "I'm Greg."

Well, she could guess that Greg was not the person she was meant to meet here. He didn’t have any idea who she was. But she stepped inside the door anyway, the music amplified, and Lexy had to stop herself from abruptly gaping at the beautiful scene before her. Beautiful hardwood floors that had been stained white, walls so beautifully decorated they looked straight out of a gallery, the people all around her who were so beautiful and dressed so well they might as well be models themselves.

It felt like something straight out of The Great Gatsby.

Greg nudged her arm. "Let's get you a drink, yeah? Have you eaten? We've got loads of stuff in the kitchen."

Lexy shook her head as he followed him through the crowd, saying hi to people as he went. She was almost positive he was Australian.

Lexy hoped she would recognize someone in the crowd, but these were not the sort of people she knew. She even tried to place the voice singing because she had most certainly heard it before but couldn't do it for the life of her. It sounded pop-y and generic, the sort she would've made out to in a club back in college.

"You're lucky I was walking right by the door," Greg continued, stepping beside her once the crowd was sparse enough to allow for it. There must be over a hundred people in the building. All of the windows were covered by long, flowing silver curtains; there was even a balcony that people hung off of. All they needed was a sprawling indoor people.

"What do you do, Lexy? Singer? Actress? Dancer? Triple threat?"

"Um, author, actually."

"Oh yeah?" he turned to grin at her. "Poetry?"

Lexy felt like she was disappointing him. "Fiction."

They entered the kitchen, after feeling like they had walked a quarter of a mile from the front door. The house hadn't actually looked this large from the outside and Lexy wondered if it was the fact that they'd had to navigate all of the people standing in the way.

And this time Lexy did look around with her mouth open. "Oh wow."

The countertops were black marble, and stretched the entire length of the room, which was probably half the size of her house back in South Carolina. The floor was still stained white wood, and the kitchen had double islands in the center, one of which was adorned with drinks—the other with sweets.

It was a kitchen so perfect she would've never been able to dream it up. Lexy couldn't cook—at all really, but if she could, this was exactly the sort of kitchen she'd want.

"Harry," Greg called, almost lazily, to a man in yellow pants and white t-shirt, who was looking out of the kitchen window. "I've brought you a guest."

He turned around to face her, and Lexy furrowed her eyebrows at the man standing there, then her eyebrows shot straight up to her forehead when she finally recognized him.

And all of a sudden, she was right back to being in ninth grade, fighting over which of her friends laid claim to the man standing before her. Hell, Lexy used to keep her toothbrush in a cup with the man's face on it.

His hair, a deep brown, not unlike her own, was wavy and perfectly placed—the definition of artist's hair. His skin was the sort of clear she only ever got when she was wearing a full face of make-up, and immediately, from the time his eyes first landed on her, he seemed to exude charisma.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"What's your name?" He smiled politely at her, without showing his teeth, and Lexy's heart dropped at the thought that she wasn't really meant to be here. Her ten minutes of existing on the estate had made her feel some sort of emotion towards the place.

But how could she be after all? Standing in Harry Styles' extravagant kitchen, in what was most likely his exorbitant mansion, at an event that was clearly some sort of Hollywood party.

She was meant to be reading.

"Uh, I'm Lexy," she stammered. "Lexy Marks."

His eyes bugged out when she said it, but he quickly recovered enough to grin at her, dimples on full show, just like the media trained mega star he was. And though he certainly looked more grown-up than Lexy remembered him as, his smile was the same as it was on her toothbrush cup from all those years ago.

He took a few steps forward and held out his hand to her, fingers covered in rings and pink and blue painted nails. She took it. "I'm Harry. I've been waiting to meet you—you're the guest of honor."

Behind her, Greg rolled his eyes. "You're the guest of honor, mate. This is your release party."

Harry grinned at Greg, then looked back down at Lexy. "I invited a lot of people."

Lexy's heart was beating so rapidly that she was certain if she tried to speak, she would be out of breath. So, she simply nodded.

"I love Beginning with February," Harry continued, naming her title. Lexy couldn't stop staring at his damn smile. It was so perfect. Her dad could never afford braces for her, and she had a thing for people's teeth. "It's my favorite book right now. After I finished it, I immediately read it again. I must've read it eight times by now. I tell everyone it's the perfect antidote to loss and loneliness—I don't think there's anyone I've ever met who explains love and friendship and death the way you do. I've bought a whole box of copies to hand out as Christmas presents. Of course, it would be better if you signed them."

Lexy stood frozen from his exclamation—still processing the fact that she was standing in front of Harry Styles and that he had read her book. More than once.

"I had my publicist reach out to yours, and I was really hoping that I could make it out to your reading tomorrow, but unfortunately I have an interview."

He smiled at her again and Lexy knew it was her time to say something. She tried to seem cool, seem the way that any of the people in the house might would respond, but her brain only backtracked far enough for his last few sentences. "Uh…I'll read you anything you want."

Lexy wanted to punch herself at how stupid she sounded, yet again, but Greg snorted, and Harry smiled, ducking his head.

"What I mean," she rushed to explain. It was his damn smile that got her. "Is that I'll give you a private reading of whatever you want. Like—"

This was just getting worse and worse as Greg began lightly laughing. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, then back to meet Harry's. He was a lot taller than she'd imagined he would be, but though his lips twitched, he was giving her his entire attention.

"Thank you for your kind words," she swallowed. "Of course, I'll sign anything you want."

Harry's smile deepened, his dimples appearing. Greg pointed to the door with his thumb, and Harry nodded at him.

He turned back to Lexy, just as the song from the other room changed. This one she'd heard before—something by Lorde, that she couldn't remember the name of.

They gazed at each other, then Harry suddenly clapped his hands together. "So, can I get you anything to drink? Wine? Water? Vodka?"

She was alone with one of the most famous singers of the time. And he was offering her a drink, in his kitchen, somewhere in Los Angeles. She wasn't just living her dream; she was living the whole dream. Everyone's. All of them. A place on Barack Obama's recommended reading list could have never prepared her for this one.

"Um, water. Please?"

He nodded, and turned around to the island, taking one a wine glass, similar to the one Greg was drinking out of, from the side and filling it with water from a pitcher.

He handed it to her, then leaned against the island and picked up his own drink, something green. He was dressed so well…Lexy had always admired fashion but could never get the hang of making anything look good other than wearing neutrals and blank shirts.

"I hope you don't mind being here," he drawled slowly, his eyes on hers, darting back and forth as if trying to determine what her true feelings were. Lexy hadn't heard him talk since the height of her One Direction days, when she would watch every interview that came out multiple times, but she wondered if he had talked quite so slowly back then. "This is my album release party, for my friends, and I was quite hoping you'd do the intermission."

All…of those people…at least a hundred…were his friends? Lexy could count all her friends on both hands. She probably only talked to three of them a day.

"Intermission?"

His eyes still on hers, he nodded. "Yeah. Do you know that bit in your book, the part where Jamaica dies? You have two pages of just wonderful prose there, and I was really hoping that you would read it. Maybe halfway through the songs?" He paused in thought, his eyes rolling up. "Actually, maybe after track seven would do."

She took a big sip of the water. It was room temperature and Lexy thought, in a moment of spare humor, probably the most expensive water she'd ever drank.

But her hand was already shaking, and she doubted that she could convince herself to read in front of everyone in that other room. Well, at least. There would be no way she could control the tremors in her voice. She was used to reading in front of people who knew her, in front of people who liked her reading, who cared about her characters as much as she did.

Not in front of talented, model millionaires.

"I'm sorry. I thought this was a reading."

"It is a reading," he insisted. He ducked his head and crossed his arms and smiled at her again. Lexy had to look down to keep from disappointing him. Those damn dimples.

She felt awful turning him down. But there was so much about the day that wasn't turning out right. Her car, her first day in Los Angeles. And here she was, about to tear up in front of this singer who had to share his work with everyone.

"I'm really sorry, Harry. It's just been a long day. I really thought this was just going to be a regular reading at a bookstore. My publicist, she never really told me, like, what this event was, or I probably would've been really prepared. But I think everyone wants to listen to you. Not me." She opened her purse and pulled out the printed-out pages she'd rendered just for her readings—she didn't know a single author who didn't at least tweak their writing somewhat before reading. "I don't even have those paragraphs with me. I only have chapter one."

Harry took the creased paper from her, frowning down at it. They had her scribbles all over it. Her first chapter had a lot of dialogue, and it was never the best for reading out loud.

But from the expression on Harry's face, you'd think that she'd just taken all of the magic out of it.

She was just about to say as much when the music changed, and her ears perked up. She frowned at the beat. "Is that—"

"Yeah," Harry said, still dejectedly frowning down at the papers. "Never get far from your roots, right?"

"That's what they say," she sighed.

Harry glanced up at quizzically but didn't ask for clarification. He handed the papers back to her. "Look, if you don't want to read, you don't have to. I'd be honored if you would, but I understand if you won't."

She nodded at him, folded the papers back in her bag, and took another sip of her water.

"Harry, love," a man called, walking into the kitchen. This man had brown hair and a long face, and a dark-haired woman at his side. Both of them were dressed—much better than she was.

Harry's face lit up and he set his glass on the counter. "Mitch! Maia! Well, you both look lovely!"

He walked over to them and Lexy took a step back, observing the way he interacted with them. The couple seemed completely at ease around him and it was obvious they'd known each other a while. Before Harry could turn to introduce her to them, Lexy had already set her water on the counter and left the room. She skirted in between the crowds of people, wondering why she'd always thought black was the classiest of colors, yet literally everyone in the room was dressed colorfully. That familiar urge to run away was strong, and she just told herself to get out of the room, and that no one would remember her.

The last chords of What Makes You Beautiful ended, and she vaguely registered the sound of something else start—an older tune, one that she was certain she'd heard before.

There was a group of people standing by the door, but she was able to open it and get out by not paying attention to the looks that they gave her.

More people were out on the porch. Did Harry really have that many friends? They were all laughing, clearly happy to be invited, and here she was running away.

She took the steps two at a time and nearly knocked herself over, sprinting to her car. She yanked open the door and got inside, slamming it back closed. She pressed the lock button, then tried to regain control of her breathing.

There were moments in life that suddenly took her over. It had been like that her entire life. When the air from her lungs would disappear and suddenly feel like there was a valve closed. And while she did have asthma when she was younger, she knew that this wasn't that. She took deep, deep breaths and tried to regain herself.

But the pain was too strong. It came quickly, the way her wrist broke in fourth grade when she fell off her bike and took over her body like it was an epidemic, consuming every organ.

She had to get out of there.

She rummaged through her bag for her keys, landing on her phone, her mirror, her makeup. For the most part, everything Lexy owned was somewhere in her car. It wasn't easy to know what you would need on a three-month trip across the country. At last she found them and jammed them into the car.

Two breaths.

She could feel the steering wheel beneath her hands.

Two breaths.

She could hear the people from the porch laughing, unseen behind the row of rovers in front of her car.

Two breaths.

She could smell the leather of her car, the sun-burnt smell it had acquired from being years old.

Two breaths.

She could see the scent ornament hanging down from her mirror, a green pine tree.

Deep down, Lexy knew why she felt like this. It had come back so suddenly now that she could breathe again—the way it felt to first hear it in the auditorium, how much it hurt, afterwards, almost in hindsight, to hear Mr. Mack, the principal, stumbling over those two words. He couldn't seem to figure out the best phrase, so he said them all. Is dead. Has passed away. Has died. Lexy stared ahead at the little ornament hanging off the mirror and tried not to think of the blue curtains in the auditorium. Or the ugly carpet that covered the floor. That little ornament was meant to smell of pumpkin, but the scent had gone away somewhere in Illinois, and if she stared at it long enough, the auditorium went away and she was alone in her Toyota.

She took another deep breath, convinced she would never again think of Harry Styles, or One Direction, or the night again once she had the opportunity to yell at Samantha—her publicist. She reached forward and turned the key.

But of course, in the spirit of the night, it wouldn't start.

Lexy laid her head upon the steering wheel.

She'd at least have to stop crying before she called her dad, lest he buy a flight and come all the way to LA to lose his job. And what use was being in a healthy state of mind if she destroyed her family’s, too? 

A/N: lmk what you think/thoughts/feelings etc etc 

[theharellan]

Ame dirthan, ame harthan

This is a repost of a thread written five years ago tomorrow (so 4/1/2015) between myself and @theshirallen​, an alternative scene (and canon to this blog) to the infamous grove scene where Solas does not turn away from revealing the truth to his love.

I want to note that this was written before Trespasser, so it was based mostly on speculation and extrapolation of canon material. And there is a lot I and I’m sure Joly would probably write differently if we were to rewrite it today, both because of new canon material and because our interpretations have changed. Regardless, it remains a special thread to me and I wanted it back on my blog.

As a final note most of the elvhen featured can be read by scroll over text. My apologies to those reading on mobile.

theharellan

The day had been kind to them, for though Crestwood was famed for its foul weather they had felt not a drop of rain since sunrise. It had been the perfect day, everything Solas had been planning since he first asked Ian to join him in Skyhold. Though fate had ruined his plans before, today it seemed fortune smiled upon him.

Yet every day spent beneath the sun had to end. Twilight had already begun to press down upon them and the grove was lit with a pale blue gloom. With every step Solas took the pressure in his chest increased twofold. It had hung over him like a shadow, always at the back of his mind even as he melted into kisses. The truth was mere moments from being spoken, and his lips trembled at the thought.

As they approached the grove Solas took Ian’s hand, hoping it might steady him. Their fingers laced together, his thumb rubbing the tough skin where scars lingered.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The Inquisitor uncovered it not long ago, I thought of you when I saw it.” The proud hart statues towered over them, their eyes turned skyward. Whatever they guarded was gone now, but the area still had a power to it. The Veil moved here, stretched thin as spirits leaned in to watch the two elves on their stroll.

Solas pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth, glancing towards Ian. He had learned to love the way his whole spirit lifted when he looked at him. Over the course of the day Ian’s hair had steadily grown more mussed, tousled by the wind that skirted over Crestwood’s lake. Untangling their hands, he reached up to brush his hair through it, bringing them both to a halt.

“I was– trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he confessed.

And as far as Ian knew, that was Solas’s only reason for planning the day’s events. It was more than that, though. He wanted one last selfish day, just for them. One last day where he might swim in cold lake water and hike up hills with Ian at his side.

“To demonstrate how much I love you,” he added. His hands rested along the back of the other’s neck, fingers warming themselves beneath his hair.

theshirallen

Ian was glad of the sun today. He always felt better when there was sun, and traveling in Crestwood was a rare place to find it. He would have endured the rain without complaint, however, to live this day with Solas.

Easy days came rarely, still. Things were not so difficult as they had been, though he was beginning to realize that the changes to his mind and his magic would linger far longer than he might have hoped. The ever-growing urgency that hung over Skyhold and the Inquisition did little to help him, but to spend an entire day with nothing more to concern him than enjoying the company of his love was a gift he had no intentions of squandering.

Stepping into the grove was like passing beneath a waterfall. Ian could feel the Fade shift and press close. The Veil was thin here, thin enough he was surprised no Rift had opened. Just on the other side of the barrier between the physical realm and the realm of thought, he could feel spirits shifting, their essence bending the Veil like a child behind a curtain, pressing their face into the shroud so that the contours almost matched their features.

Spirits caused him less alarm than once they had. He’d touched them, been touched by them, and being aware of them so close had become a comfort. They were always closer when demons were farther, and demons he still feared.

Solas’s fingers between his own pulled him from his distraction, and he looked up to study what his love had brought him to see. The towering statues inspired a soft draw of breath as his mouth fell momentarily agape before shaping into a gentle smile. Like so many remnants of the elves’ past, these monuments had weathered with time, but even the passing of ages had not robbed them of their beauty. Words could not adequately express the emotion they inspired, but Ian gave a soft nod in answer. Yes. He liked them very much. There was more to Solas’s question than it presented as, however. Something else beneath the spoken that did not immediately give rise, and Ian turned his face as Solas made an effort to smooth his impossibly tousled hair.

Fingers came to rest at the base of his neck, half buried in his hair, and his head fell forward for a moment, forehead resting where he fit so comfortably, nestled in the safety of Solas’s chest, tucked beneath the curve of his love’s chin. His own fingers found purchase at Solas’s waist, and he shifted his weight back, just a little. Just enough that he could lift up to his toes and bring their lips together.

How to explain to Solas that, though the thought was much appreciated, the gesture itself was not necessary?

“I’ve never doubted.” He said softly. “You have nothing to prove.”

He dropped back, rocking from his toes to his heels to back again before he found something akin to stillness. “I have no gift to offer you in return, vhenan, but I hope my love is known to you.”

As Ian nestled against him Solas went still. For a moment he did not breathe, afraid that in this position Ian might hear how his heart quickened. His nerves had settled over him, blackened fingers that gripped him tight and squeezed ‘til he had to remind himself to breath. He breathed in, memorising the feeling of his nose being pushed off-center by the top of Ian’s head. It was always the little things that he feared missing the most: the pins and needles he woke up with after a night spent together, the way his cheeks would ache from smiling, the things he could never find on his own.

He sank into the kiss, eyes falling shut. A shame that at this distance he could not admire how Ian’s mouth curved when their lips met. The fingers that rested at the nape of his love’s neck tangled in his hair, and remained there even after they parted.

A gentle smile stole across Solas’s features, though his eyes could not keep pace. “To you, maybe.” But he had much to prove to himself.

In a thousand years he never would have guessed he would be standing here, in love with another elf. Yet love was about more than sharing dreams and stories, he could colour a thousand dreams, show Ian a hundred ruins, but the word Vhenan would feel hollow on his lips until he could afford Ian trust.

This lie had lingered for far too long.

“I require nothing in return, I only ask that you listen ‘til the end, for what I have is no gift.” Ian loved him, but would he love all of him? He was meant for quiet evenings and a humble homestead, nothing Solas could offer him. Solas’s gut clenched, eyes tracing over the branches of Mythal, lingering upon the Tranquil brand. Perhaps this was a mistake, perhaps some truths were not meant to be shared, some loves never meant to be.

He had practised the words to himself time and time again, hoping he would find the combination that would make the revelation easier. Yet another truth came to mind, so that his lie might live another day.

But it would mean losing him.

“You have become important to me, in ways that I could never have imagined.” His fingers untangled themselves from Ian’s red locks, knuckles brushing his cheeks. “And so what I must tell you… the truth…”

For all his talk of freedom for the People, he had always been a selfish man. A more worthy man would never be in this position, his eyes would never have strayed from the target. He watched how Ian’s vallaslin shifted with his expression, and remembered the words of a woman who once valued him for his malleability. Perhaps, if things were to change for the better, then first he must change, as he had before. Something stirred in his chest, heart lifting, a feeling akin to hope.

“The Dalish tell tales of uthenera. From what they have described to me they believe it to be the last stage in an ancient elf’s life, and they are not always wrong, but they do not have the full story. Some Dreamers were so proficient they could sleep for centuries and not age a single day, often they would wake up to share what they learned during their time in the Fade.” The serenity of the grove put him ill at east, he almost felt this confession should come on a battlefield, if only to match the dread in the pit of his stomach. Solas paused to allow his words to sink in, so that Ian might recall every story his love has told him from his time in the Fade, stories that would have taken even the most proficient dreamer a hundred years to collect.

He surrendered any grip he had on Ian, afraid that if he held on his grip might be miscontrued as possessive, needy. “But when Arlathan fell they had nothing to wake up to. Some, like Abelas, clung to what little they had left. Others changed, allowed the world to see them as a lie while they picked up the pieces of their lost civilisation.

“Do you see what I am saying?”

theshirallen

There is a method of teaching, a style of intellectual discourse, in which one party leads and the other follows, where the destination is left only to discovery rather than provided in revelation. Sometimes, there is no time for such wanderings. Sometimes, the final fact must simply be given. Other times, this almost-game allows for a deeper exchange of thought, and comprehension is bolstered by reaching conclusions with only a gentle guide.

Ian and Solas often held conversations this way. It was how Ian had taught his apprentices, and Solas himself was quite adept at this, at providing one small piece after another, until, as Ian assembled them, the picture itself presented as a whole.

Solas’s request for him to listen attentively added an urgency that tightened Ian’s chest. Though nothing yet had been said, no motion had been taken that he might find truly upsetting, the soft brush of a hand over his cheek paired with his love’s somber tone and left his heart skipping. His attention was always given, freely, gladly. That Solas felt the need to ask for it as though seeking a promise added weight to anything that might come next. Something deeply troubled Solas, and that knowledge in turn troubled Ian. He would listen. He must.

But the pieces Solas set before him were incomplete, and it could be nothing but intentional. Solas was too gifted at teaching, at the sharing of stories, and there was more to this than the words he measured so carefully. Ian studied their shape, how they formed on Solas’s lips, as intently as their sound. He followed, and he listened, and his brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile what he knew with what Solas was saying.

It was more complex than a tale about elves like Abelas. Were it only about elves like Abelas, these pieces would have been given sooner. Shortly after meeting Abelas, perhaps.  No. Were it only that, Solas would not have brought him here. This was a place for gifts, or so it had seemed. Now he knew that it was also a place of confession. A place to mark an occasion that could not otherwise feel right, where truths and stories should be shared that were too heavy for comfortable venues.

Solas’s hands fell away, and without that touch Ian had no anchor. Ice crept into his chest, and his mind clouded, but he did not reach out to reconnect with Solas. His thumbs hooked within the hems of his sleeve, rubbing the thick stitches and worrying at threads that would soon unravel for his nervous attentions. Teeth drew over his bottom lip as his mind worked, and his gaze travelled back to the towering statues, remnants of a world long since lost. Touched by time, and yet enduring. What moments ago had been subject of inspiration and wonder now stirred the beginnings of fear.

The pieces did not tell a frightening story, not yet, but Ian could feel his understanding shift as certainly as the world around him. The press of the Fade against his skin, the dampness in the air, the trepidation of the sun peeking through gathering clouds, and the foundation of the history of his people that he had so carefully nurtured for all of his life, all of it moved and changed and existed in a flux that threatened at any moment to grow unbearable.

And Solas.

Ian’s understanding of his love was changing, too. Solas was not talking about unnamed elves, about strangers unknown to Ian who might yet wander this world in the guise of any other, who carried secret banners and forgotten knowledge.

Solas knew much, had always known much. It had been so easy to accept that such was his gift, a piece of his magic and his talent, of his curiosity and his ability to seek places and people who might enrich his mind and broaden his experiences. Now it seemed that it was that, combined with the impossible spanning of ages.

Solas’s question fell heavy in his ears, and they shuddered at the burden. He dropped his eyes from the giant harts, folding one arm across his chest, holding himself where Solas would not, and braced his chin against the rough edges of his knuckles as words died somewhere between his throat and his lips.

“It must have been disorienting, to awaken and find your world so changed. To so suddenly have reality mean something other than what it always had.”

theharellan

“You must know the feeling well by now.”

Ian had lived a thousand lives in his twenty-seven years. Born to a Dalish clan but raised in the Circle, he had travelled with heroes and earned the title hahren by deed and not age. Now his world was being reshaped again, but unlike the colours in his dreams this change would be permanent. They could never go back to the way things were, not exactly. Yet that did not spell doom… only if Ian wished for it.

It was not often he allowed himself to seem vulnerable, even in their most intimate moments there had always been a part of himself he had guarded. No more. He looked small against the backdrop of the hart statues, shoulders rounded and sagging from the weight of what he had to say. Solas laid his heart before him, still beating, and hoped that another pair of hands would reach out to take it.

“When I was a boy reality was determined by Dreamers. The world was more than it is now. Once I told you of a world where spirits were one with this world, as natural as a mountain stream or a thunderstorm.” Without Ian to cling to his hands searched for something else to occupy them. He drew his fingers across the air between them, distorting the Veil until it shimmered. “The two worlds were woven together, and those with the ability to shape the Fade could build wonders.”

Palaces that floated in the clouds, spires that rivaled the mountains themselves. Arlathan, a city woven by Dreamers, the jewel at the center of Elvhenan’s crown. Solas had seen them all at their roots, when Arlathan was naught but a dream in the minds of Dreamers. He wanted to show Ian what the Elvhen were capable of, but he could not pretend they were without flaw. At Mythal’s Temple he saw a hint of what the empire was, and perhaps he could glean the truth from what Abelas had told them. That there had always been a blackened pit at the center of Arlathan. The brighter the empire the darker its shadows, their glory had eclipsed the lives of a thousand slaves.

“What I told the Inquisition was no lie: I was born in a small village to the west of Haven, but if you were to go there today you would find only ruins.” A wiser man would have lied, yet when Leliana questioned him he could not bring himself to sever ties with his home for a second time. “I had humble beginnings, but my abilities set me apart. I befriended spirits, which in the eyes of my village was akin to taming wild beasts.” And sometimes they were beasts. He recalled the fear in the eyes of a boy named Era’Len who had seen no wisdom in the eyes of their friend, not at first. The world was what they made it, after all.

“As I grew I began to discover I could do more than commune with spirits. From nothing I could craft anything, a dangerous power for a wild young man to have, and I was not the only one that had it. There were others like me.” He drew his tongue across his teeth, face crumbling as his tale continued. Solas watched Ian’s expression. He had pulled into himself, body language guarded. Ian had built a wall between them, and Solas feared it would only grow higher the more that was revealed.

“Imagine for a moment that you lived in this world, that you met a people who could shape the world to their whims. Imagine the names you might have given them as they went on to build cities that outshone the sun itself.” It had all seemed so logical then. They had built wonders, how could they not be gods? Their deeds far outstretched those of other elves, there could be no mistaking it.

He took a deep breath, lungs filling with air and mist. It did not lessen the strangled hold his nerves had over him, it did not make what he had to say any easier.

“Solas is not the name I was born with, nor is it the name that your People know me by. I have another.”

theshirallen

Ian could imagine the feeling, but he would not claim he knew it. For every time his world had come unravelled, for every time reality had reweaved itself, he had borne witness to its changing. There had been sudden changes and there had been gradual ones, but he had watched their passing, had caught himself in the falling and bent his soul to weather them, even as he had tried to resist them.

He watched as somehow Solas’s words made him less. It defied comprehension, to see him speak of the ancient empire of the elves, of the power he wielded and the life he had lived, and watch him grow smaller for the sharing. He could not bear Solas being small, because he was small, and Solas had always been more. How was it possible that in this truth, this identity he was revealing one gentle statement at a time, he was diminishing, as if in fear or shame? For all their time together, he had never seen Solas so vulnerable, and it was not a vision that brought him comfort. Solas had never been small, and Ian closed his eyes against the sight, turning away from the images Solas was weaving in the shimmering light of the folded Veil.

Solas was still speaking, and Ian was still listening, but the anxiety that crept up his throat and iced his mind made concentrating difficult. He could hear the words, could comprehend their meaning, if not entirely their implications, but his thoughts had drifted back, to a past truth that had felt so much safer.

To the Solas who stood beside the Inquisitor–then only Herald–and exuded confidence, who had first spoken to him in Elvhen when his Common had been so stuttering. That first meeting, when Ian had been covered in another man’s blood, terrified for his own life but needing to finish his task before the Inquisition stole it away and cost two lives instead of just one. How certain he had been of their hostility, and how Solas’s gentle assurances had calmed him. How he had believed, how he had trusted. Solas had not been small, then.

He had not been small when they stood together as the Herald had closed the Breach, when Ian had all but crushed his toes in his haste to steal a kiss in celebration, or when he had knelt in a dream to paint a garden, or when he had taken Ian’s hand to soothe away nightmares. He had not been small.

But now, with his shoulders slumped and his expression sad, with his every word weighed and measured and burdened with emotion, despite the power in their content, to Ian he seemed unbearably frail.

Ian’s own breath came only with conscious effort, ribs tight enough to cause pain, but he needed air in order to give answer.

He had listened. He had followed. He knew well enough how Solas guided, could see the conclusions that he was expected to reach, and yet he railed against the knowledge. It settled over him like a shroud, like icy mist that clung to his skin and muted the world around him. He didn’t like this truth. He didn’t like the way it shifted the ground beneath him, the way it unmade everything he’d tried to learn. He had always had questions, doubts, curiosity, but whatever answers he’d hoped to find had always been vague and distant and philosophical in nature. This was harsh and sudden and certain, and he could feel his very identity unravelling as he processed Solas’s words.

Shaky inhales left him trembling as his fingers still worried at frazzled threads and his lips still pressed against raw knuckles. He knew what Solas was saying, but he was coming to realize that knowing and understanding where quite different things.

Several attempts to speak fell to failure as the words crumbled in his mouth to leave a stinging bitterness in his throat.

“To those without such power, they would seem as gods.”

He stilled as if alarmed by the sound of his own voice, and when he lifted his eyes to study the face of the man he loved, the man whose name he did not even know, the dryness in his mouth broke the words  that came next:

“Which god? Which name?”

theharellan

He saw how Ian came undone before him, unraveling like the threads of the shirt he tugged at. Solas’s stomach lurched, fingers curling into fists that squeezed ‘til his knuckles turned bone white. Tethered to the earth, he felt powerless to reach out, to help, terrified that the last thing Ian would want was his touch.

Fear had claimed Solas. He envisioned a world where he hid his truth, severed the ties that bound Ian to this ruin of a god. It was selfish of him to share it. There were times when he envied spirits, spirits like Cole, who at a single touch could unmake all the damage they had done.

    Forget.

It was a talent Solas had never mastered, for all his expertise he was only an elf. Ian would know the whole truth, or none at all.

“… Correct again.” Though his voice did not ring with pride, as it so often did during their conversations. It was quiet, soft against the flow of wind and water.  Words were fleeting, fumbling things, and this tongue was not native to either of them. The language of the People could not just be heard, but felt. Every word took on a life of its own, the King’s tongue a mere invention used to peddle goods. He was afraid in this language his meaning might be missed, his intentions overlooked.

He waited for Ian to find his voice, listening to the shaky breaths he could not soothe. Tonight he was the nightmare.

The question, once spoken, changed the world. The Veil drew to a breaking point, the curtain between the worlds thin enough for spirits to see through to their side. They listened, not just for the answer Solas will give, but the response. This confession was more than a display of trust, it was a surrender.

The curve to his back was shame born not of his past, but the lie he had lived. Ian had allowed Solas to love all of him, the freckles and the scars. Until now he had seen only the good Solas had to offer, only the freckles and never the scars.

His hands ghosted over the bone that hung about his shoulders, thumb tracing over the ridges in its teeth. A gentle hint, so that the words Solas must speak might be softened.  His chest swelled, but not with pride. Resolve squared his shoulders, though the shame still dwelt behind his eyes as they met Ian’s. He wished he did not have to speak the words.

Ian could not answer every question for him.

                                             “U'melin tel'dinem…                                                                         Fen’Harel.”

theshirallen

The only one that remained. Said like that, it sank into his skin and burdened his very bones. The only one that remained, because the rest were locked away, trapped out of the People’s reach. Trapped by the one who yet walked the Fade, who visited the People’s dreams and dispensed twisted wisdom, who used them for sport, or hunted the souls of the dead.

Fen'Harel, to whom offerings were made in appeasement. Fen'Harel, whose name was a curse upon the People and their enemies alike. Fen'Harel, whose teeth were to be feared as those of any wild, untamable thing. Fen'Harel, who had chained the gods and would never stand to be bound himself.

There were no blessings in the Dread Wolf’s name. Only…

                                   Nuva mar'dera'hron ir'tel'dera Fen'Harel.

Murmured in cautious parting, when anxious friends might fear for the safety of the paths they walked. Take care, that you might not draw his eye. Take care that he might not hear your steps. Take care, for when the Dread Wolf finds you interesting, nothing good will follow.

                                  ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ let him cαтcн your 𝓼𝓬𝒆𝓷𝓽

It was a warning as much as a prayer, and as Ian’s mind whirled through every story he could recall, he was chilled to realize that nothing he knew, nothing he had ever read or heard, provided instructions for what to do once he had.

Ian felt himself grow tight, fingers digging into his palms until the crescents left behind by his fingernails marked the skin as he unballed his fists. Lurching emotion quaked in his gut, and his head spun. There was no point in denying the statement; Sol–Fen'Harel. Fen'Harel had worked too hard, had been too adept at leading him here. The Elvhen hung in the air and shaped reality around it, like a dream weaved to suit the Dreamer. The knowledge would not let him deny it, would not let him ignore it. It would be heard. It would be acknowledged.

Accepting, then, this truth with the ones before it, left him exhausted, trembling and aching. Nothing was steady. Nothing was solid. Not the truth, not the stories, not the grove they stood in. Least of all himself, folding and bending and warping as surely as the Veil that tickled his skin and set his nerves prickling. Anxious, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, needing motion to balance himself, feeling more at ease with restless pacing than with stiff attention.

He must speak again, and the effort to do so all but broke him.

“I thought I knew you.”

It was not an accusation, but the beginning of a plea. “Why tell me this? After all this time, why now?”

theharellan

From birth the Dalish were trained to fear him. They were taught legends of his cruelty and hatred. He had taken the People from the gods that loved them. He was no elf, but a wolf– a monster. A beast with six eyes and a black heart.

What must his love think of him now? Could he still see the elf, or was there only a wolf where he once stood?

Solas wanted to hide, cover his face for fear that Ian may see his fangs. He didn’t, instead his hands clasped before him, a mimicry of the woman Ian had pledged himself to. Mythal had believed in him, given him purpose, he hoped she would forgive him for his weakness. He hoped Ian would forgive him for his deceit.

                                                “I thought I knew you.”

If words could cut Solas would be sliced to the bone. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat, head bowing to look at the space between them. From where he stood it looked like a chasm, one he feared might never be bridged. “You knew more than most,” he whispered. “Even before today.”

History would paint him as a monstrous god, but there were no monsters and there were no gods– only people. Ian knew the person that lay beneath the legend of Fen’Harel. That did not make it right, but he thought (he hoped) it was enough.

“Because I could not allow this to continue if you did not know the truth. I might have told you sooner, but I have heard the tales the Dalish tell of me, Vhenan. They carve statues of wolves and turn them from the hearts of their camps. Cowardice prevented me from telling you sooner; I was afraid.” There were moments, in dreams or on quiet evenings, when he imagined telling him, but terror gripped him. Solas could carry the hatred of the Dalish, he could stand the scorn of humans and Templars, but he could not stomach the thought of Ian’s resentment, no matter how justified it was. “It was wrong, and I am sorry for the deception.”

This lie had grown rotten inside him, cleaning the wound was no small task. Da’Fen, Fen’Samahl, Fen’Harel, Solas– they were all him, and if Ian wished to listen he would learn of them all. The good and the bad, and the shades of grey in between.

“I will not tell you what you should make of me. Despise me and I shall hold no ill will towards you, but know there is more to my tale than the Dalish tell.” As there so often was. He could see the truth at the heart of each legend, but the lie was prettier. It had good and evil, a figure that they could hate and a light they could turn to. “If you listen I will tell you everything.”

The promise slackened the tension in his shoulders, and his hands released one another. His fingers pulled idly at the Veil, as if he were plucking the strings of an instrument. One hand curled into a gentle fist, then opened, pulling the Veil tighter around them. This story was for Ian, and Ian alone.

“You deserve the truth. The whole truth.”

theshirallen

Ian had not intended his words to wound, but how could they do anything but? Fen'Harel slumped as the blow landed, and Ian’s shoulders mirrored the injury, though he did not straighten when the other did.

He tightened his grip across his ribs, knotting his fingers into the rough weave of his shirt for a moment before one hand lifted, fingers carding his own hair, tugging and pulling at the tangles as he continued to struggle with concentration and comprehension. His palm brushed against the raised scar of the Andrastian sun, and his whole body stiffened with the distraction, the memory of the broken man he had been surfacing to smother him. Panic, already clutching his heart, hovered just at the edge of tolerance, and he felt as though a single misdrawn breath would send him plummeting.

Strange then, that the thing that had set him to spinning was the thing that brought his world back to a stop.

That familiar voice, the whisper that had calmed his storm time and time again, drifted through his haze, first touching his heart and then his mind. Ian did not know what answer he had expected, but the one given surprised him. A fleeting warning brushed against his thoughts, a reminder that the Dread Wolf spoke in riddles and deceit. That he should not so readily trust, that it could be the words he wanted to hear were the ones that would be said, offered to appease him in a purpose he could not yet fathom. He should be cautious, and yet…

                                             Fen'Harel already had his scent.

Ian smoothed his bangs back down, and with them as many of his misgivings as he could smother.

In the previous truths, he had been given no choice. They had to be accepted, even when they dismantled everything that composed his world. This one was offered differently, in the tone of a confession, a request, an offering. There should be no secrets between lovers’ hearts, and he wanted to believe that was Fen'Harel’s purpose. He let himself believe, because doubting would destroy him. He needed this truth to hold him steady while he heard the rest of them.

“It is unfair of you.” He said softly, glancing back to the great hart statues. His eyes travelled up their proud necks until he was looking no  more at earthly things but drifting clouds that shaded the glade and dimmed the slowly rising moon. “To let me love you and then think I might despise you.”

In truth, he could not put name to the emotions he was feeling. Confusion, certainly, and fear. Hurt was there also, but not hate. Frustration. Anxiety. Others that could not be given substance beyond the turbulent waves that constantly buffeted his thoughts since he had been touched by the fade and the spirits therein. It never settled, and parceling his emotions did little to alleviate them. Let the waves come, so long as he did not drown.

He felt the change in the Veil before he looked to Fen'Harel, the thickening of the barrier pulling it away from his skin, relieving the ever-present electricity by a fraction. The spirits who had taken such an interest in their discourse no longer stood as witness. He was alone in the glade, and he no longer knew with whom he stood. His love, yet?

                                                               “Sathan dirtha.”

The elvhen left him with a sigh, and he moved forward with hesitating steps.

Fen'Harel already had his scent. More, he had his heart.

Ian reached tentatively forward, unable to disguise the shaking of his fingers as he touched the hand that had woven the Veil.

                                                           “Ar ame harthan.”

theharellan

“It would not be the first time that I earned the scorn of those I loved.” Though this time scorn was what he deserved. Those he once called brother and sister would rather hate him than hate themselves, as Fen’Harel had learned to centuries ago. He followed Ian’s gaze, eyes drifting towards the hart statues that had guarded this grove since a time only he could recall.

Solas had been here before long, long ago, in a time when he had needed shelter from a war of his own making. It had seemed more peaceful then than it did now. But Fen’Harel had brought ruin wherever he tread, why should Solas be any different? The thought curdled his blood, picturing the brand that lay beneath knotted red hair. Ian had come far since his tie to the Fade had been rekindled, but his emotions burned like a wildfire that threatened to reduce the forest to ashes.

If not hate, then what could he inspire? The name Dread Wolf was given to him by his enemies, but if history told him anything it was that Solas could destroy his friends just as easily.

The sound of boots scuffing against grass snapped Solas back to reality. Ian’s footsteps were an answer to a prayer he had not spoken. His words, woven in a tongue that had once redirected rivers and brought kings to their knees, stood a chance of changing both of their worlds. His legs shook and he locked his knees, toes curling into the wet earth, pulling strength from the soil beneath his feet.

Yet Ian answered no prayer beyond the one in his own heart, for he was no god. There were no gods, there had never been gods, only people. And Solas believed in them all, but none moreso than the man that stood before him.

They stood toe-to-toe, as they had so many months ago in Haven. Ian had asked him to speak, but he dared not so long as his heart were in his throat.

Warmth blossomed where Ian’s hand met his. At a single touch Solas had brought colour into his dreams, he had turned his sky blue and his gardens green, yet it was trifling compared to the fingers that now brushed the back of his hand. His skin felt unbearably fragile, his heart dropped in his chest. Tears pricked the corners of his vision, like needles in his eyes.

He moved as if they were made of glass, hand slipping gently into Ian’s. A broken smile cracked his lips, wet cheeks pinched together. Stranded somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Solas settled for a sigh.

                                            “Ma serannas, emma lath.”

The moment lingered, Solas waiting ‘til he had found the words to tell his story. Parts would be missing, but if Ian wished to hear them, then they would come, too. There was not a moment of his life he wished to keep from him. He squeezed his hand once, and it gave him courage to go on.

“In the golden age of Elvhenan the People had another name for me– Fen’Samahl. I was a man without purpose or direction, while my brothers and sisters found their place in the world I floated without shackles. Some might have called me a god of freedom, but not universal freedom.” He had been blind, his pride made him a fool. “The Dalish wish only to see the good, for there was much to admire about Elvhenan. Magic lived in springs and music, we lifted the earth into the sky, and lived at a pace where each man might live forever. Yet it was not without flaw.

“In the early days of the empire criminals were forced into servitude for the duration of their sentences. This practise endured for a time, but it was not long before there was a desire for a steadier source of labour… slaves.

“Lower classes were forced into a lifetime of servitude, their faces branded with the blood of their gods– my family.” Blue eyes met with the markings of Mythal before looking past to see the elf that lay beneath. “It was described as a blessing, for by serving the gods and those who loved them, you were serving the empire. For centuries it went unquestioned, but Mythal, she…

“She guided me. I was her arrow, I struck where she could not, and I began to see that the faces beneath the vallaslin were no different from me. I was no god. I was born just as they were, what right did I have to subject them to my will?

“It was like I had woken from a dream, only to find myself in a nightmare. My name no longer had meaning, for there was nothing to laugh about, not anymore. I chose a new one, a better one, and I fought.” Purpose was a difficult thing to find, but once he had found it he did not let go. He held fast, determined not to let his love of his family turn him against his People.

“The People called me Fen’Harillen, but to my enemies I was the Dread Wolf.” At the time he rather liked the name. They had every reason to dread him, for he did more than free slaves. “Now I am neither.” Now he is Solas.

theshirallen

All the world was different, and Ian had almost forgotten, almost allowed himself to detach and retreat, to construct a reality that resembled the ghost of the one Fen'Harel had just unmade. For a few moments, his breaths came at pace, and his heartbeat slowed. He had returned to a quiet evening with his love, and everything was easier.

Their hands still fit, and Ian’s wrist turned slightly as Fen'Harel squeezed his fingers.

A simple gesture, that, and yet something in it spun the world again. At first Ian had thought the shakes were all his own, his fear and trepidation so prone to leaving him in timid fits. He was not alone in his uncertainty, however. Fen'Harel was trembling, quaking where he stood, vulnerable in a way Solas had never seemed, and when Ian lifted his face he could see the shining dampness of tears.  

Even in this turmoil, it was not a sight his heart could bear, and his free hand lifted to cup Fen'Harel’s cheek, thumb gently smoothing away the tracks, as Solas had so often done for him. He let his hand rest there for a moment, still struggling to know just whose face he was touching. The same face he had kissed, just before the sun had set and the rising moon had thrown the grove into another realm? It seemed the same, dotted with pale freckles and the shadow of a scar. The eyes were the same, and he could almost see their color shift, the grey clouds massing to mute the bright blue.

His hand fell away. The face looked the same, but so did the world, and he knew that it was not. He had almost forgotten, in his desire to feel safe. But Fen'Harel had unmade it with these truths, and unmade him, and unmade himself.

Listening, still, one hand still anchored in Fen'Harel’s, the other raised to thumb the crystals set in his ear. There was little enough they could do for him, but even the small release of calm, of courage, eased his struggle.

He listened as Fen'Harel spoke of names he’d never heard, names forgotten by the Dalish. The Dalish had forgotten so much, and were he not so close to tears himself he might have laughed. He had dedicated his life to preserving what was known, and to discovering what was not. The truths he had uttered had turned him out from his own clan, and still he had searched. To hear now these truths, to know it was the barest shadow of what yet was unheard, might have been amusing, in another light…If he hadn’t been hurting down to his bones.

Fen'Harel’s eyes met his own, just for a moment, and then traced the lines that marked his face, gazing over the vallaslin he had worked so hard to earn, to prove himself worthy of, after a lifetime alienated from his culture, and the truth that came next viced around Ian’s heart. The ink burned as fresh, and he felt the skin on his wrists grow raw and tight in memory of chains he’d sworn to never wear again. Cold sank into his veins, so deep and penetrating that when he breathed he was startled to not see frost in the air, and his shaking grew. His head fell, as though if he looked away he might hide the shame, the hurt.

He had promised to listen.

He wanted to listen.

But how much more could he bear? What truth would come next? What was left to unravel in his world?

The next truth, however, was a great relief. It was the one he needed to hear most, and the one he had not dared to search for.

Ian’s shallow breathing fled him a sudden deep sigh, exhaustion pulling from his toes to escape, and when he breathed in, it was with his nose pressed deep into his love’s sweater. He could hear their hearts beating together, erratic and frightened, and the both of them trembled, and their hands still fit.

“Solas.” He murmured. “Solas, I’m sorry.”

theharellan

Every touch rebuilt the foundation Solas had feared he’d torn down. Ian bridged the gap, stone by stone. He took the heart Solas had laid bare and held it.

His eyes closed, indulging himself in the rough thumb that brushed across his cheek. It smeared the wet trail, cool against his skin. He longed to lean into it, feel the palm press into his skin. With Ian Solas forgot what it was like to have walls around him. For so long he had watched the world turn without him, but the fingers threaded through his anchored him to it.

The air felt cold where Ian’s hand was, blue eyes opened to watch how his love’s expression changed. He knew it was not easy. Ian had weathered two losses, one after the other– first he lost Solas, and then the Elvhenan of his childhood. Solas had heard the stories for himself: tales of kind gods and golden streets where every elf was free. An Elvhenan that existed entirely within the realms of their imaginations– and his own.

Ironic that this empire they longed for lay in the mind of their dreaded Wolf.

His heart clenched as Ian’s chin fell, remembering the face of another marked elf who could not bear to look him in the eye. Felassan had no such qualms anymore. Perhaps if Ian knew there was a choice his, too, would disappear. “In my time as Fen’Harel I discovered a spell that would erase the vallaslin, undoing the hold the gods had over the freed slaves.

“Not all of them desired it, some demanded theirs be kept. They did not want to forget, nor did they want me to forget.” At first Fen’Harel had not understood, but Solas did, and that was why he offered a choice. “If you like, I can remove yours as I did theirs.” Ian deserved better than the brand of two tyrants. He did not possess the power to remove the scar the Chantry inflicted, but he could take this.

He inhaled sharply as Ian fell against his chest, not daring to move.  Solas hesitated, even now, even with Ian’s face pressed against him. Their hands still fit, but how? The breath caught in his throat, remaining there until the moment his other hand found his Vhenan’s waist. He wondered if Ian had heard anything he said: he had admitted deceit, and much more, yet he still sought comfort in his arms.

And they were only the beginning. There was one secret that remained, one that he had to know, but as Solas’s hand crept up to brace Ian’s shoulders he wondered if it should wait. He trembled as he had the day the Inquisitor brought Ian back to him. There was time, they both had time– together.

“No,” he whispered. Voice gentle, it wavered as fresh tears stained his cheeks. Solas– never had the name sounded sweeter. “I am sorry. Telling you was selfish, but I hope you understand why I had to say so much so soon.”

                                           “Ar din jumyan na ta.”

theshirallen

For all the world had changed, leaning into Solas’s chest was enough to keep him breathing, and breathing seemed all he could do. He lingered there, and long moments passed of listening, of matching breaths and heartbeats, of laced fingers and smothered sobs. Solas’s hand first found his waist with a  touch so gentle it almost seemed afraid before his hand traveled up to brace Ian’s shoulders, and it felt as though these hands were the only thing keeping him on his feet. Ian’s own hand pressed against Solas’s chest, close enough to his own face to feel the dampness he left there, but more concerned with the pace of a beating heart.

Trying to speak, his voice was lost in quiet hiccups, muffled in the thick fabric of Solas’s sweater until he surrendered the effort. His thoughts whirled back, spanning months and ending here in rapid and repetitive circles, from the moment their eyes had first met until this moment he stood in, reliving everything he had experienced a dozen times over in the span of only a few ragged breaths.

Though he had heard everything that had been said, to say he understood would be a lie. He reeled amidst the crashing turmoil of his emotions and the sudden overwhelming barrage of information, the hurt of being one deceived and the shock at the nature of the deception, the desire to be held until the storm settled and the need to run until it could not find him.

He could make no choice tonight, not with the whole of his existence unravelling.

He needed to think, to settle, to understand, and he could not do it in this instant. He wasn’t certain, really, if it could be done at all. Worse, he could still feel the way his love shook, and he could hear his tears, though they were softer than his own. No one should be abandoned while they cried, and yet Ian was not strong enough to stand beside him.

Breath came with a shudder, and he pulled his face back so that his words would not be stolen, knowing he could not speak loudly enough to keep them from being lost in the warmth and safety of his love’s chest.

“N-no.” He fisted Solas’s sweater briefly, before his hand fell away. A single shaking step put more distance between them than he could bear, and yet he took another, connected only to Solas by their interlocked fingers. “I-I’m s-sorry, I–”

He shook his head, still unable to raise his face, ashamed of his brand and ashamed of his fear and ashamed of his exhaustion. He struggled to find words to explain, knowing that clumsy ones would wound, and there was too much hurt in this grove already.

“Everything is–I can’t b-breathe.” The stutter in his voice marked his unsteadiness as surely as the way he swayed where he stood. He looked up, expression pained. “I-I need to r-run. I n-need to b-breathe.”

He always felt better when he was running, but he wasn’t certain that Solas would understand, standing as they were in such bare vulnerability. How could Solas think that he was doing anything but running from him, when Ian himself was uncertain just what it was he needed to flee?

“I-I’m s-sorry.” He said again, fingers slipping free from those of his love as he took one final step backward, the motion pulling him into a cloud as he cast his spell and changed his skin, fleeing the grove and bolting into the night.

theharellan

Wet tears stained the front of his sweater, Ian’s shoulders shook no matter how close Solas held him. He had lived through the millenia, believed himself a god, and yet without fail he was powerless to help the ones he loved. Fen’Samahl had not been able to save his brother, Fen’Harel had allowed Revas to slip through his fingers, and now Solas. Wisdom had knowledge that outstripped any library in Thedas, yet it had not been wise enough to put its trust in someone else.

The thought might have made him laugh were he not mere inches from the brink.

Solas’s fist balled up in his love’s shirt, burying his nose into his hair. He had done this to Ian, it did not seem fair that he was permitted to hold him. A selfless man would have let him go, but Solas couldn’t. Love, once earned, was a difficult thing to let go of. He hoped for the hand that laid in his to remain until it grew wrinkled and spotted. He longed for selfish nights where he could fall asleep to the sound of Ian’s breathing. He wanted forever.

This was no longer a diversion, the moment his old name tumbled from his lips it evolved into something far more dangerous. The last time Solas had embraced change he had lost his home and his People. His eyes squeezed shut, pushing out tears that caught in strands of ginger hair.

Fear consumed him, but love sustained him. Ian held Solas up with the top of his head, giving him strength where he thought he had none.

Fingers tugged at his sweater, squeezing the fabric into a fist. Lips freed from Solas’s embrace, it was impossible to ignore Ian’s staggered breathing. His arm fell to his side, dragging down Ian’s shirt. “Vhenan-” he breathed, hand twitching, hoping to stroke his cheek. Instead he touched air, as the chasm between them opened. He did not stop it, promising to himself that if Ian left he would let him. “I-”

Words were lost on him, he could only watched as Ian took another step, and another. Solas’s arm stretched out, fingers slipping farther from Ian’s grasp.

‘Wait,’ he wanted to whisper. ‘Please.’

Bridged only by the tips of their fingers, he clung to what was left. The inches between them felt crossable so long as they had this. “Ian,” he began, though he was not sure what he wanted to say. Solas traced his eyes over his love’s features (a precaution, in case memories were all he would have), memorising the shape of his eyes and the two freckles on his lips.

As they parted, he realised what he wanted to say:

                                                       “Dareth shiral.”

A blessing he had said time and time again, but never with the weight it now bore. ‘Please be safe,’ it said. ‘You do not have to come back, but be safe.’ Solas pulled his hands into fists, trying to fill the spaces fingers had filled. A breeze chilled him to his bone, a cold settled over him that no magic could cure.

Tears flowed freely, blue eyes rimmed red. Solas settled by a pool of water, feeling older than ever. In it he beheld the moon and watched its path across the sky. He sought no solace in the Fade, though he felt them gather around him, offering comfort when he wanted none. Twilight passed into night, and he sank into it. Sleep would find him when he needed it, now Solas needed to feel the chill night air in his bones and the damp earth beneath his feet. For once the waking world had something the Fade did not.

No matter what changes it might bring, Solas had chosen this world–

         He had chosen Ian.

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 7

Chapter title: Secrets and sorrows Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: None A/N: This chapter tore the hell out of my emotions, and I actually expect it to do much the same to you. I’d apologize for that but I know you’ll all stick with me to the end, because the story has a long way to go to get to that happy ending you all want so much! Enjoy! X

The next three weeks were some of the best weeks of my life. Being Taron’s girlfriend, being loved by him, was an exceptional experience. Despite both of us being incredibly busy and in the thick of filming, he never let a day go by where he didn’t remind me in some way that I was loved and that I was his. I’d never had a relationship that had felt so genuinely real and sweet and supportive, and it made a difference in how I felt about my own life to that point.

One of my favorite moments had been the evening I was making dinner, some kind of cauliflower pasta recipe Taron had agreed to be the guinea pig for. He and Clara were seated at the dining table, going over her fractions homework. Clara’s frustration at not understanding the problems was palpable, but I just remember how patient and calm Taron remained until that look of understanding dawned on my daughter’s face. They’d both looked up at me, leaning in the kitchen doorway, with the sweetest looks on their faces.

Their bond was growing every day, made even stronger when, unbeknownst to me, a special delivery had been made of a Steinway upright studio piano so Clara could continue her lessons at home. I will never forget the look on her face when she realized it really was hers and it would be staying in my front room. Taron rebuffed every “you shouldn’t have” I tried to give him, telling me he knew first-hand how important it was to be supported in the pursuit of your art. I couldn’t deny him that, because I knew it to be true as well. Still, a few internet searches later made me gasp at how much he had spent on us; I knew I could never repay him.

But that was just the thing; he didn’t want or need repayment. He did things for people out of the kindness of his heart; he never expected someone to give him a favor back. He was generous to a fault, and whether he knew how much money he was worth or not, he never affected an attitude that he was affluent. He remained the working class boy he’d spent his childhood growing up as, the boy who needed financial help from his family just to audition for RADA. And I think I loved him even more for that.

Trying to pin Markus down, though, that was a whole other story. I knew I needed to tell him we were definitely done, but every time I tried to make plans to grab a coffee he had something else come up. We were dancing every day, learning choreography for both “Saturday Night’s Alright” and “Bitch Is Back,” and my body hurt in every way it was possible to hurt. Both of those pieces were massive, and when they secured set locations we would have to be ready to go. 

I’m pretty sure I spent more time at Rocketman rehearsals those few weeks than I did teaching my own classes, but I was beginning to wonder if Markus was blowing me off because he already suspected what I needed to tell him. I had finally decided to just grab him after rehearsal that day and make it final, and the stress and anxiety of it made me feel slightly queasy.

We had just finished rehearsal and Leah immediately came up to me before I could pull Markus aside. “Are you okay?” she asked me, and I shrugged.

“Of course. I mean, I’m with Taron now anyway,” I said, watching Markus flirt a bit shamelessly with another dancer, and she was all-too-happy to be receiving his attention. I’m not really sure how someone could manage to make a leotard look slutty, but she certainly got an A for the effort.

“Markus can be a dick, forget that. What I mean is that you’re really pale but your cheeks are also really flushed,” Leah said, staring at my face.

“Oh, that, I don’t feel great, no,” I shook my head. “I’m kind of nauseous, but hey, I’m here. The show must go on,” I said, giving her a faint smile.

“Or it really doesn’t if you’re really sick, Juliette,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment.”

“I just need to deal with Markus and get home and take a nice long soak and get some sleep. I’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a tight smile even though I was fighting the urge to lose my lunch at that moment. “See you tomorrow?” I said, and she nodded, still looking concerned. But when I turned away from her to find Markus, he had already disappeared, and I was in no state to try and chase him down.

I changed into my sneaks and gathered up my bag and, as I was leaving, had to make a detour into the bathroom to puke after all. I hadn’t had much to eat that day anyway, so it was mostly orange Gatorade and bile and I felt worse for throwing up, since it was now burning in my throat and sinuses.

“Ugh, fuck,” I groaned as I left the stall, trying to wipe the clammy sweat off my forehead. The truth was that I was waking up most mornings feeling a little ill and sometimes it lasted long into the day. I was beginning to think I needed to go to the doctor, but it seemed to come and go at random. I imagined it was likely just stress from everything going on, but it would probably be wise to see the doctor anyway. I washed up, splashing water on my face, and smiled as I scrolled through my texts. Taron never failed to make me feel better no matter what.

I left the bathroom and passed Riley and her posse hanging out in the hallway, ignoring their stares and the whispered comments on how I must be bulimic because that’s why I was always running to the bathroom during rehearsals and why I stayed so skinny. I had no idea what they were talking about, and ignoring them was always the safest bet, but their bullying still got under my skin some days. I wished I could turn to them and tell them off, but that probably wouldn’t satisfy anything or make me feel better.

The subway ride to my mother’s to pick up Clara, and subsequently home, made me feel even more queasy, and I lost my appetite for dinner for the rest of the evening. After I helped Clara with her homework, her piano lessons, and made her food, I ended up just laying in front of the telly, exhausted and lacking any energy, for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t the most inspiring end to the day, and just as I was crawling into bed, Taron called me. 

“Hey love!” he replied when I answered the phone, probably sounding as sleepy as I felt.

“Hey T,” I groaned, rolling over slightly in my bed, all of my muscles protesting.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the excitement draining from his voice slightly.

“I just feel miserable, honestly,” I said softly. “I think I might go to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Oh, babe, you should have called me over. I’d bring you the best soup my mam made to make me feel better,” he said sweetly.

“I just need sleep. And probably strong drugs,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow to the clinic?” he asked, and I shook my head before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“I’ll not have you cancel on your film scenes to go wait in a clinic lobby. I’m sure it’s just some kind of bug. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, and I could hear him pacing on the other end, the way he did when he was anxious about something.

“Alright, but if you need me, you know I’ll be there, right?” he said quietly.

“Of course, babe. I know that. With my whole heart, I know that,” I smiled softly. We chatted a bit more but I couldn’t hardly keep my eyes open, and soon we ended our call and I passed out.

I actually felt better in the morning, enough to keep some dry toast down, and after seeing Clara off to school, I managed to teach my first two classes of the day before taking my lunch break to go to the clinic. My stomach had started to churn again, and I was ready to just be over this stomach bug. I got checked in and had to groan at the long wait time, having to text the Rocketman choreographer that I’d be running late to rehearsals but he only told me to take care of myself and he’d see me later, and to let him know if that somehow changed.

I was a nervous wreck by the time my name was called, and after having my vitals checked (and frowning over the fact that I’d gained 10 pounds despite my diet restrictions) and explaining my symptoms to the nurse, I was left to wait in the room for another 15 minutes, shivering in the cold air. I bounced my knee and aimlessly scrolled through Facebook until the doctor came in. After describing my symptoms, yet again, even though they were in my chart, the doctor asked if there was even a remote chance that I could be pregnant. And since I couldn’t answer that with utter confidence, she made me take the dreaded urine test. 

I was so nervous I nearly couldn’t do it, and then had to wait even longer for the results to come back, my stomach tied in knots for an entirely different reason. I’d had my period, though, so I’d never thought to take the home tests I’d bought. I’d believed that was a sure sign I wasn’t. But what if I’d been wrong? I thought to myself, my head a complete jumble.

When the doctor knocked and came back in the room, interrupting my train of thought, I nearly fell off the table for having been holding my breath so long. I was clutching my phone in my hand so hard my knuckles were turning white.

“Well, Juliette, your symptoms are very explainable by one very simple thing. You are indeed pregnant, about seven weeks or so,” the doctor replied, as gently as possible.

“But it can’t be,” I whispered, feeling the walls of the room closing in around me, the tightness in my chest threatening to overwhelm me. “I had my period,” I said stupidly.

“Many women still have menstrual cycles, especially in the first trimester. It’s quite common, and some can even exhibit period symptoms throughout the entire pregnancy. But the results are very clear,” she explained sympathetically after gauging my reaction as not-of-the-excited variety.

When I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, the doctor continued, giving me a prescription to help with the nausea and telling me I needed to follow up with my Ob-Gyn. I could only nod my head, still frozen in the ocean of confusion, fear, anxiety, joy and excitement that came with “You’re pregnant.” Where do I go from here? I had no idea.

I left the clinic in an absolute daze, and instead of going to Rocketman rehearsal, I ended up wandering around Regents Park, not really seeing anything at all as I worked through the torrent of emotions and thoughts and questions inside my head. Seven weeks meant the baby was definitely Markus’ - that was the only good thing about this situation. I wouldn’t have to spend months wondering who the father might be. 

But now I wasn’t sure what to do; I was in love with Taron, but how could I possibly ask him to carry this burden with me, to take this responsibility on when it was another man’s? Even more so, I was adamant that Clara know her father; I would fight just as hard to make sure this baby knew his or hers. And I had yet to actually leave Markus, so maybe the right thing to do was to decide to be with him even if it didn’t make my heart entirely happy. I now had a responsibility to this baby to not be selfish, to not choose only my own happiness but what would be best for all of us.

I gently touched my belly and smiled for a moment; a new chapter in my life was most definitely beginning.

I finally made it to rehearsals, texting Taron that we needed to talk later, as soon as we could manage to find time. He responded immediately that he’d meet me after rehearsals were over, so I spent the next few hours trying to dance through my anxiety. As soon as I stepped out of the rehearsal room, bag slung over my shoulder, Taron was there waiting for me.

“Juliette, darling, everything alright?” he asked, kissing me on the forehead and making me feel intrinsically sad.

“No, not really,” I said softly, nodding toward one of the empty studios. We stepped inside and instantly I felt smaller, diminished by what I was going to do, a lesser person somehow.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” he asked, his eyes wide and full of the vulnerability that had endeared me to him, my hands clutched tightly in his.

“I can’t do this,” I said so quietly I wasn’t sure he even heard me. “I can’t be with you, Taron,” I mumbled, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling it like a knife wound in my heart.

“What the hell do you mean?” he asked, slowly dropping my hands and staring at me.

“I have to break up with you. I’m going to choose Markus,” I said numbly, unfeeling.

“You told me you loved me,” he said, the hurt in his voice hurting me.

“That was a lie,” I said, trying not to tear up. I’m not sure I sounded even remotely convincing.

“No, it wasn’t a lie,” he said, shaking his head and calling my bluff. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, at all. I don’t understand it, but I won’t play these games with you,” he said, waiting for me to explain myself. But I couldn’t tell him about the baby now; it would only hurt him further. “I gave my heart to you. You can’t just toss it away or pick it back up when it’s convenient to you,” he said, not an ounce of anger in his words, only resignation. His eyes were a bit red at that point, and if I wasn’t already feeling low, seeing him nearly cry would have broken me down further.

He sighed heavily when I still said nothing. “When you’re good and ready to love someone proper, come back to me. But until then, I wish you all the best,” he said gruffly, tearing himself away and leaving me standing alone in the studio, the pain in my heart echoing silently off the walls.

****

It turns out that I deserved the biggest Oscar award in the world. To act sincerely happy when your heart is shattered into a million jagged pieces is no small feat. Markus, for his part, was beyond thrilled that I had chosen to be with him after all, and while he wasn’t Taron in any capacity, he was still kind to me at least. I had yet to tell him that I was pregnant though; somehow that felt like a secret I needed to protect until the moment I couldn’t hide it any longer. 

For now, I continued to dance, eating anti-nausea meds like Pez candies and trying to find the right balance between eating enough food to sustain myself and the baby but not so much that I’d gain any more than I had to. If the production never found out I was knocked up, then no one else would have to be the wiser. I hadn’t told my mum yet either, afraid of her judgment, nor Madison, even though I desperately needed to talk to someone about this. All she knew was that I had decided to cast my lot in with Markus and that I was, according to her, figuratively insane.

The worst part was the cold politeness I now received from Taron any time we ran into each other at the studios. I hated what we had become, hated the pain I had caused him and myself. I knew he’d shut himself down to protect his own feelings against me, but knowing how warm and compassionate and open he could be just made this feel even worse. Still, I knew for certain that he couldn’t know about the baby, and so I bore the ups and downs of the pregnancy for weeks in silence, sometimes dreading getting out of bed, sometimes full of a strange energy I couldn’t explain. But glowing I was not; I mostly felt bedraggled and exhausted, so much that even Clara asked if I was sick one day.

But you can only go so long without support before you totally break; I learned that lesson the hard way. Five weeks later, after a back-breaking rehearsal, I just totally felt something inside me snap. We were about to start night shoots for the “Saturday Night’s Alright” scenes but I couldn’t even muster the excitement I had originally felt when I signed my contract. I felt like I was going through the motions of everything, and I was worried I wouldn’t even be a proper fit for the film. I was living a lie, only partly happy in this pseudo-relationship I was trying to build with Markus. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t me, and keeping the baby a secret was crushing me. I also desperately missed Taron, and I can’t tell you how many times I nearly dialed his number, because I knew despite everything he would have picked up the phone, and he would have listened, and he would have tried to help me find a solution even if he wasn’t with me. That was just the person he was; I felt like I had lost my best friend.

I pulled Markus into the same empty studio I had broken Taron’s heart in, and sat down on the floor, my hips aching something fierce.

“Markus, I have to tell you something. Please don’t freak out,” I said quietly, as he sprawled out on the floor next to me, his sweaty shirt sticking to his muscular chest.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. While I loved when Taron called me babe, something about the way Markus said it always made me cringe slightly. For a moment I nearly chickened out in telling him my news, but I couldn’t keep going on like this. At some point he would notice when I was naked that my just-beginning-to-show stomach bump was more than just a large meal I wasn’t even eating.

“You remember that first time we had sex, right?” I said, looking over at him and biting my lip.

“Of course I remember that,” he chuckled. “I fell for you that night,” he said, a boyishly cute grin on his face.

“Yeah, well, we did a lot more that night than just sleep together. Markus, we made a baby. I’m pregnant,” I said quietly, but my words still sounded too loud.

“Woah, no way,” he said, sitting up immediately. “You… you’re sure of that?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I had a test at the clinic, I’m sure,” I said. “I’m twelve weeks already.”

“And you’re sure it’s mine?” he asked, making me sigh.

“Of course it is. Taron’s always used protection, for one, and for two, the timeline is right. It was you.”

He was quiet for a long few minutes, trying to process this news, I’m guessing. “You’re running out of time then,” he finally spoke.

“Running out of time? For what?” I asked, confused.

“Well you’re not going to keep the thing, are you?” he said, and I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped.

“Of course I’m going to keep your son or daughter. This baby isn’t some ‘thing.’ It’s not garbage you throw away,” I said, feeling the anger rising in my chest.

“Woah, I didn’t mean it like that Juliette. But I sure as hell am not ready to become a father,” he said, holding up his hands to me.

“You don’t get to make that decision now, Markus. You have to take responsibility for what you did,” I nearly hissed. “And what about Clara? You can’t date me without considering her!”

“Yeah, but Clara’s old enough to wipe her own ass. And I’m not her father, she already has one of those she spends time with. I’m fine with that, but a baby is a whole other story. You can’t possibly want this too, it will ruin your career,” he pointed out, and I could only stare at him, unable to process what he was saying.

“My career? Being a mum was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life and I will choose my family over my career every single day of my life. But of course, you wouldn’t know what that’s like because you don’t even want to try,” I said, my face flushing red.

“I’m sorry Juliette. I just can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d support you if you want to, you know, terminate it, but I won’t be the one raising it,” he said. “I’m not going to shatter my life like that,” he continued.

“Then get out. Get out of my face. Don’t ever talk to me again,” I said, my voice shaking in both anger and anguish. “This baby will be better off without someone who doesn’t want it. But I do, and my baby will always know how much I love him or her.”

I buried my head in my hands, bursting into tears as I heard Markus leave the room without another word. I’m not sure what I had expected, but that was not it. I hadn’t remotely prepared myself for the possibility that he would have wanted me to get an abortion, that he would reject fatherhood so thoroughly. Were any of us ever ready to be a parent, even people who had looked forward to it for so long? There was something so deeply terrifying about being responsible for the needs of such a tiny human being, of trying to help them thrive in a world meant for destruction. But that was also the greatest role I had ever held, far more rewarding than any production I had ever graced the stage in. And it wasn’t until the words had left my mouth that I realized how deeply, fiercely I wanted and needed this baby too.

I have no idea how long I cried in that empty studio. I have no idea who discovered me like that through the tiny window in the door. And I have no idea who went and got Taron, but suddenly he was there, pulling me into his safe, comforting arms. I don’t know how long we sat like that, until I had long cried all my tears out and my body had stopped shaking and his fingers grew tired of stroking my hair.

He had stayed silent, patient, until I finally pulled away enough to sit up on my own. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, absolutely no judgment in his voice. His expression was nothing but kind and compassionate, worried for my well-being over his own.

“I found out I was pregnant five weeks ago,” I said softly. “That’s why I was feeling so ill. I went to the clinic and we did a test. I was already seven weeks at that point. I thought … I thought it would be the right thing to do to give Markus a chance to be the father of the baby he created with me but he wants no part in it. He told me to get rid of it, and I can’t,” I whispered.

“That’s why you tried to break things off with me?” Taron asked gently, smoothing back my hair from my face as I nodded. “Oh Juliette,” he said softly. “I knew there was something, some reason for it. I knew that wasn’t what you wanted, that you were breaking your own heart. I’ve only been waiting for you,” he said, making me want to cry again. “I am here for you in everything, through everything. And we will face this together too. When I told you I loved you, there were no conditions attached. And I love Clara too, and I will love Markus’ baby as it were my own. Because that’s how I love, endlessly,” he said, and my eyes watered up again.

“I can’t ask that of you, Taron,” I said, wiping at my face hastily, but he just reached over and gently brushed my tears from my cheeks before gathering my hands in his own.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. This is something I need too. Maybe it doesn’t happen exactly the way I imagined it would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, adapt to it, and grow with it. Life has a way of challenging people, but that doesn’t make it all bad. And I right imagine that this could be so much more of a blessing, yeah?”

“My God, you’re a saint. An absolute angel, Taron. I don’t deserve this, at all. I pushed you away,” I said, trembling slightly so he pulled me back into his arms and kissed my forehead sweetly.

“I’m just Taron,” he smiled. “And you do deserve to be happy, and to be loved, and to be absolutely fucking cherished. So I am here for as long as you want me to be here,” he said. “I never really stopped.”

“Even with this?” I asked, touching my belly, which I had started to hide beneath dance sweats because leotards just weren’t cutting it anymore.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he grinned and I’m pretty sure I broke apart in a whole new way at that statement.

“Taron,” I breathed slowly, just gazing at him, feeling excited and a bit bewildered too. “Are you sure?”

“100 percent, Juliette. Now stop asking me that because I won’t change my mind,” he chuckled sweetly. “Now let’s get you up off this floor, and let’s go have a celebratory dinner, shall we?” he said.

“But don’t you have more filming to get back to?” I asked, a bit wide-eyed and still feeling a bit like I was floating a few feet off the ground. My head was swimming with the crazy turn of events.

“Dex understands. You needed me, it’s really as simple as that,” he replied, helping me stand up and even shouldering my stinky dance bag himself, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Taron, not invalid,” I teased him and he just shrugged.

“I’d carry it for you any day,” he smirked, even holding the studio door open for me too. “Get used to it,” he said, before playfully slapping me on the bum as I walked by. “Also just wanted to do that,” he said cheekily, making me groan at that but also feel so grateful that we hadn’t lost what made us feel so special.

“So who all knows about this?” he asked me as we walked out to his car.

“Just you and Markus, really. I hadn’t told anyone before today,” I said softly. “I couldn’t handle it on my own anymore. I was feeling so alone.”

“Well you aren’t alone now, at all. And you should tell your mum, and Madison. Tell them the baby is mine if you like, if you’re worried about anyone judging you. It might as well be, because I’m going to love it that way,” he said, squeezing my hand in his. “But you should feel happy, and proud, and excited. I want that for you,” he grinned, changing everything about the fear and confusion I’d felt just a few weeks before.

“How are you so perfect, Taron?” I asked, shaking my head in awe of him.

“I just wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s not that hard to care about people more than yourself. I find that pays itself back in dividends. And it’s not hard to love you, you know. You’ve brought a lot of color and light into my life in a way I didn’t understand it could be before,” he said softly. “And now I have even more to look forward to.”

“Damnit, T,” I said through the blush rising in my cheeks. “I don’t know how to handle when you say things like that,” I laughed. “It’s like living inside a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales were written because the truth in them does exist. They aren’t unattainable, impossible figments of our imagination. They can be elusive, yes, and rare, but sometimes you do find yourself living inside one.”

I could only gaze after him as he unlocked the car, opening the door for me again, as I felt every bit of myself being put right again. We decided on our favorite pizza place, but I first made him stop by my house so I could shower and change into more suitable clothes. Clara was with Zayn that night, so we took our time eating and enjoying our relationship again, a relationship that nothing could seem to derail.

I had the idea to stop over at my mum’s, because of all the people who should know, who had been through thick and thin for me with Clara, it was her. Taron almost seemed cutely nervous as we sat on the couch and I broke the news to her. My mom honestly screamed in excitement, jumping up and enveloping us both in a bone-crushing hug. I had no idea why I was so worried about her reaction after all; we never mentioned the baby’s lineage and let her assume since Taron was there. We figured it would be easier this way, to not have to deliver the news with a long introductory caveat, and if the question came up later we could explain then.

As we were driving back to my home, it hit me with a sudden jolt that I would have to meet Taron’s parents, and that we would be sharing the news with his family too. Something about that made everything feel far more real to me, that this was honestly going to be my life. That I would truly become a part of his life, not just in the few dates we managed to squeeze between rehearsals and film sequences, but that we would honestly be creating a life together. There would be many things to have to discuss and figure out in the near future, but tonight wasn’t the night for all of that.

Later, when we were laying on the couch, my head in his lap, the telly on a low murmur and both of us trying to not pass out, everything just felt right. Troy was snoozing on the rug, and I felt as emotionally satisfied as it was possible to feel, and far too stuffed with pizza than I had a right to be. I didn’t have to put on any kind of show with Taron; there was no performance here. We could both comfortably be ourselves, even if that was tired and cranky or moody or whatever.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” I said with a yawn.

“God, don’t remind me. Night shoots,” he groaned playfully.

“I think it’s exciting,” I grinned. “The set already looks insanely cool. I can’t imagine it all lit up at night!” I smiled. We’d already had a few camera blockings at the carnival they had built specifically for this scene. I was honestly excited about the four days we’d be shooting tomorrow, despite the massive amount of logistics that would go into it. We were definitely in for some long, long nights.

“You think that because you haven’t done it yet,” he giggled. “Speaking of, we should probably head for bed ourselves now. Try to store up some of that energy we’ll be needing.”

I grinned at that and happily followed him back to my bedroom. We both quickly got ready for bed and fell into it, and I was all too happy to see him resting between my frilly sheets and pillows. “You’re cute,” I grinned, kissing the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled in response.

“Well don’t give me a big ego about it,” he teased me lightly, pulling me down to him so that I squealed and then kissing me proper a few times.

“Get some sleep, love,” he smiled, his eyes already drifting shut in exhaustion.

“You too, T. Thanks for saving me today,” I said softly.

“Always,” he breathed out, falling asleep shortly after, his eyelashes sweetly resting against his cheeks in slumber.

Despite my own exhaustion, I was still a whirlwind of emotion and I couldn’t quite fall asleep, so I silently slipped out of bed and grabbed my phone, sitting on the bathroom floor and calling Madison even though it was late and not caring if it woke her up.

“What on earth is going on with you!” she fairly screeched into the phone when she answered, clearly not asleep. “You’ve barely talked to me for weeks. I’m so-”

“I’m pregnant!” I cut in, and she instantly stopped what she was saying.

“What?!” Madison yelled into the phone, so I had to hold it away from my ear for a moment.

“Jesus, Mads. Calm down. Things have really changed,” I said, explaining why I’d broken up with Taron, how things went down with Markus, and that Taron had been more forgiving than I deserved him to be toward me.

“So you’re back together again?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. I’m not sure we really were ever apart. He knew I hadn’t made the decision I wanted to make. That the lie was that I didn’t want him. He knew that the whole time. He truly knows me better than I know myself,” I smiled softly.

“And what about, you know, Markus’ baby?”

“That Markus refuses to acknowledge? Yeah, Taron said it’s his now. He wants to be a dad, and he’s claiming this as his.”

“That’s love, right there, Juliette. It’s staring you right in the face. Don’t you dare ever try and throw that away again, you hear? I will kick your little ballerina ass with my own pointe shoes if I have to!” she squealed, making me laugh too.

“I think I’m done screwing everything up here,” I replied with a laugh. “The universe couldn’t be louder and clearer.”

“That’s for damn sure. Now I’m just curious when he’s going to put a ring on that finger of yours!” she giggled.

“Woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet,” I cautioned.

“Dream a little, Juliette. He’s obviously a bit of a romantic. You know he’s going to make an honest woman of you. You’d better get on Pinterest and start planning. Oh, and I’d better be your maid of honor,” she said, making me laugh again. I listened to her chatter on about weddings and babies and all the possibilities, feeling bemused but also a little hopeful. I had no idea what a future with Taron looked like, not really, balancing kids and our careers. But I was certain that it would be happy; not easy, not perfect, but always fulfilling and supportive.

“Alright, Mads, I should go,” I said with a yawn, breaking into her reverie of my own someday maybe wedding.

“Oh, of course. Momma ought to get her baby rest,” she teased me, but it was all in love and excitement for me.

“You know it,” I giggled. “And that hottie in my bed tonight, snoring away,” I snickered.

“Jesus, you lucky bitch,” Madison joked, sort of.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned. “Night, Mads. Love you long.”

“Love you hard, Juliette,” she grinned back before we managed to hang up the call. I leaned my head back against the wall for a long moment, smiling to myself. I could honestly do this - I could have a happy life, I thought to myself.

I used the toilet one last time, already starting to feel the need to do that more often, before slipping back into bed with Taron, realizing just how much I had missed seeing the silhouette of his sleeping form. We had grown so comfortable with each other, that that absence over five weeks had been misery. But like magnets, we had found our way back to each other, his openness, vulnerability and forgiving heart never once questioning whether I should be in his life. He already knew that was where I belonged, and I loved him so much for never doubting it. I needed him, and he accepted that, and trusted so much of himself to my broken heart.

“Love you, T,” I said in the darkness, brushing my fingers lightly through his hair, before settling in next to him, feeling every ache and pain, emotionally wrought, but also feeling a deep satisfaction too. There was a certain courage in what he was choosing to do, and I respected him whole-heartedly for it. The universe had given me the greatest gifts, the man beside me, and the baby inside me. As I fell into the sweetest slumber, I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to let go now.

How will Taron and Juliette’s lives intersect, now that there’s a baby between them? Find out in Chapter 8 HERE.

[rogermeddowsx]

office parties suck part 1

word count : 2.5k 

contains : slight bad language, literally not even. 

author’s note : hi, this is my first fic on here so please be nice to me haha :) also please bear in mind that there are mistakes. there also isn't much of a backstory for reader, just wait. there will be in parts to come x

“Leaving already?”

Your head turned to the direction of the voice. A man stood behind you, leaning on the narrow table in the hallway. Your hand rested on the door, and you shut it softly. The man ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair. You extended your hand out towards him.

“Ben.” He said, taking your hand and shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you.”

You introduced yourself and the way the handshake lingered slightly, tinted your cheeks.

“Well, Ben, as nice as it was talking to you,” you kept your eyes on him as you fumbled around behind you for the doorknob. “I was leaving.”

You shouldn’t be, leaving that is, it was your best friend’s engagement party after all. And now that you’d met Ben, he was certainly giving you a reason to stay. You had to be up early though, and you didn’t fancy going into work hungover, and with no sleep. If you left now, you would turn up at your shitty office, hungover.

“Wait.” He said, stumbling forward; his hand slammed against the door in front of you, making you wince at the noise.

Ben cringed and mouthed a ‘Sorry.’

“So how do you know the bride, o- or groom?” He stuttered, making you giggle.

“Are you drunk, Mr. Ben?” You tucked your hair behind your ear.

“No, actually. I just wasn’t sure.” He chuckled, actually chuckled, nervously and scratched the back of his neck.

Oh my God, his laugh.

Nope. No. You didn’t just think that.

“I’m with the bride. Her best friend.” You smiled at him, captivated in his olive-green eyes. “You?”

“The groom, he’s my best friend.” He shrugged on his skin coloured leather jacket. You furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? I’m coming with.”

“We’ve only just met.” He only laughed at your look of confusion.

“Then let’s get to know each other.”

It’s cold. Why on earth did Ben insist on walking you home? You wrapped your arms across your chest, trying to conserve heat. Ben watched as you shivered in your tank top and skirt.

She’s an idiot. It’s snowing for Christ’s sake!

“Want my jacket?” He began to take it off when you stopped him by placing yours on his arm.

“No, no. Please. Keep it.”

He took it off anyway and draped it across your shoulders. You smiled at him gratefully, tugging your arms through the fluffy lining of the jacket. The winter air was biting away at his nose causing it to go pink. The tips of his ears were also starting to go a deep crimson. From the corner of the street you saw a pub, brightly lit and sounding lively. You took his cold hand in yours and pulled him in the direction of the pub. His hand stayed firmly grasped in yours as you took him to a booth. The warmth radiating from the fireplace contrasted with the bleak weather outside. As you sat across from Ben, you blew into your hands and rubbed them together to keep them warm.

The pub was busy. At the bar was a rowdy group of men, shirts that were once neatly tucked into their slacks were now unbuttoned and half empty pint glasses were in each of their hands. Across from them, clearly from their office, were a bunch of girls, hair drowned in spray and lipstick smudged slightly off their lips.

“Ah, office Christmas parties. I don’t miss them.” Ben broke the silence. Your gaze shifted from the party to the man in front of you. His ears were slowly regaining their colour as he warmed up. You hunched your shoulder closer into his jacket and laughed.

“I have one tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes. “Dreading it.”

He cocked his head. “You work in an office?”

You scoffed.

“No, no. I just- didn’t peg you as the type.” He stuttered.

A smirk tugged your lips upwards.

“And what did you have me ‘pegged’ as Mr. Ben.”

“Hardy.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name.”

Your mouth made an ‘O’ shape. You giggled.

“Joe told me you were a musician.”

Joe? Your best friends’ fiancée?

“Failed.” You said sharply. You cast your eyes down to the kinks in the wooden table. It felt like an eternity before Ben finally spoke, standing up and clapping his hands together.

“Drink?”

You looked up at him. His eyes crinkling as he smiled. His hands were still clasped together as he looked expectantly at you.

“I shouldn’t-”

“Nonsense. Besides, I want to hear about your musicianship, and I have a feeling you won’t tell me unless you have a Jack and coke in you.”

You scrunched your nose up at the thought.

“Not a fan?” He laughed. “Vodka and coke?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Merlot?”

He nodded and made his way to the bar. You sighed heavily. Your future self would not thank you in the morning. Quickly, you glanced at the gold banded watch sitting on your wrist. You should be at home. Sleeping.

Ben came back almost as quickly as he had gone. He passed you a large glass of a deep red wine. As you took it gratefully, your fingers swiftly brushed his. You could feel your cheeks heat up. He had a pint of Guinness, beads of condensation dripping from the glass. You watched as he took a large gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, sighing in satisfaction. He shifted uncomfortably due to his soggy jeans, wet from snow. Then his eyes bulged in realization and he patted at his jean pockets. He swore under his breath. Without him noticing, you moved your hands to the pocket of his jacket, pulling out what you could only assume as what he was looking for.

“Oh, thank God.” His hands flew up to his chest as he gasped.

You jangled the keys in front of him, a large smirk making its way across your face.

“Stooooop.” He whined as you moved the keys out of his reach when he leaned across the table to get them. Time seemed to slow as his elbow knocked your glass. It wobbled before completely tipping over, its musty crimson contents spilling over the edge of the table and dripping onto your skirt. As it dribbled down your leg, Ben’s voice broke you from your trance.

 “Oh I- err- God,” he stuttered. His hands flew all over the place, his eyes searching for something to clear up the mess. You stared dumbfoundedly at your lap, the red wine seeping deeper into your suede skirt.

“I’m so sorry.” Ben’s eyebrows drooped as he apologized. His chair scraped across the floor as he leant over to the table next to you, grabbing a few napkins. His pushed his hands out towards you, passing the crumpled paper to you. You took them appreciatively and started to dab at your skirt to absorb some of the excess liquid that had pooled in your lap.

“Will it stain? I’ll pay for a new one, or your dry cleaning?”

You laughed out loud.

“Honestly, Ben, it’s fine.” You had dried off as much as you could, the wine still leaving a patch of your skirt sodden. He gulped down the rest of his Guinness; looking at you for a moment before standing and clumsily extending his hand. You looked at him curiously, but took it in your own, nonetheless. His palm was hot and slightly wet from the drops of condensation on his glass.

“Let me take you home. You need to wash your skirt.”

Still holding his hand, you exited the booth and walked towards the door of the pub. You looked up at him, he was much taller than you. You came up to just below his shoulder, making it feel like he towered over you. His hand encased yours completely. As soon as you stepped out of the pub, the cold air hit you like a harsh punch to the face. You shivered into Ben’s jacket.

“Ben, is this your way of telling me you want to see me without a skirt?” You smirked.

Is he…blushing? No, he’s probably pink from the cold.

“It’s my way of inviting myself into your house for another glass of wine.” He looked down at you. “And for the story behind your music.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You should. You still had work early the next morning. But as you and this handsome stranger were stood, shivering at the bus stop – too cold to walk any further – you couldn’t help but feel intrigued by Ben. Grace, your best friend (and the bride) and her fiancée, Joe, hadn’t mentioned him. You wondered why. Grace was brilliant at setting you up. Not with future suitors, that was obvious as you were currently single, but with one-night hook ups you could giggle about with her on the phone the next morning.

There was no denying that Ben was your type. The blonde, floppy hair and his tall muscular build were down to a ‘T’. Up ahead, the blinding headlights belonging to the bus came closer and closer. Your hand was instantly cold as Ben dropped it from his to take his wallet out of his pocket. He gave you a small smile as he stuck out his arm. The bus rolled to a stop in front of you, a puff of air released as it prised its doors open.

It was a short bus journey to your house, one spent nattering away to Ben about his dog, Frankie.

“Honestly, she’s such a good girl. I’m trying to convince Joe to let her be part of the wedding.” Ben said, excitedly. You looked at him endearingly, admiring the way his eyes lit up and his smile reached his ears when he spoke about his dog. It made the long walk down your road more enjoyable. You laughed, and nodded, and interjected when you could during Ben’s stories. He was undoubtedly the easiest person you’d ever had the privilege of talking to.

You lived in a large, three story, semi-detached house down a long road of similar looking buildings. There were around five or six stone steps leading up to your house, the door on the left and big bay windows on the right. As you walked up to the door, there were bushes of lavender and carefully placed potted flowers.

“How was the party?” You heard as soon as you opened the door. Glancing to your right, you saw you roommate, Miles, sat in the bay window, scrolling through his phone. The inside of your house was dim, due to the minimal lighting. Your living room and kitchen were open plan, the only thing dividing them was a round wooden dining table. The back room was separated by a wall and a door. You had converted it into an office when you first moved in. It had a desk each for you and Miles, both littered with paperwork and pencils, surrounding your computers. French windows led into the small back garden. You’d spent all your free time in the summer working on the garden, watering and planting flowers and painting the little shed, hidden by the Weeping Willow tree. Now, however, the plants were drowning in the snow, bare from the petals they had lost.

After kicking your shoes off once closing the door, you took off Ben’s jacket and draped it over the radiator. You welcomed Ben in.

“Ben, meet my roommate, Miles. Miles, meet Ben.”

As they exchanged a small wave and a smile, you grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and two glasses from the draining board, then motioned for Ben to follow you upstairs. Miles gave you a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, but you brushed it off, and grabbed Ben’s hand.

You pulled him into your room and shut the door behind you. Ben looked around your room in awe. Your bedroom was at the front of the house and as the blinds were open, the only light came from the streetlights outside, illuminating your room with an orange glow. The shadows of falling snowflakes danced around. The walls were covered head to toe in band posters and small polaroids of you and your friends. In the corner of the room was a white, full length mirror, draped in fairy lights. Ben approached it and admired the photos that were clipped to the lights along the mirror.

“Okay, don’t look.” You said, slipping off your wine-soaked skirt and throwing it into your laundry bin. You changed into the pajama trousers that were left on your pillow and lay back onto the bed.

“Finished?” Ben laughed, taking his hands away from his eyes. You nodded as he turned around and began to make his way to your bed. He sat on the end and took the glass of wine you were offering.

You leant behind you and turned on the fairy lights that were draped along the head rest on your bed.

“So tell me about your music.” Ben said, sipping his wine. You laughed nervously.

Is he really asking this?

“There’s not much to say. Dropped out of a good school because I got signed, then they kicked me off.”

You couldn’t look Ben in the eye. You could hear him shuffling around, then felt the bed dip as he sat next to you. He leaned against the headboard, your shoulders brushing against each other with each rise and fall of your breaths.

“Why?” He said in almost a whisper.

You really didn’t want to talk about it. If it weren’t for the abundance of alcohol coursing through your blood right now, you would be fast asleep, mentally preparing for work the next day. You sighed. He could sense your hesitancy. He noticed your guitar, sitting between your bed and the wall, gathering dust from the months you’d left it there. His hand crossed over your body, resting inches away from your arm as he leaned across to put his glass of wine on the bedside table and grab the guitar.

“Play for me?” He insisted, handing it over. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I haven’t played in a while.” You shook your head at him.

Pouting his lips, he looked at you pleadingly. You flashed a smile and the glint in Ben’s eyes was so sudden you almost missed it.

Almost.

With a roll of your eyes, you took the guitar and began to strum it quietly. Ben watched in awe as your fingers moved nimbly against the frets, playing with the strings gently. You hummed a tune. Immediately, Ben caught on and began to sing quietly. His voice was gravelly and complimented yours when you joined in softly. He admired the way you kept your eyes shut, the way you felt what you sang, even though you kept quiet and reserved. Your fingers paused slightly, ruining the rhythm. It didn’t go unnoticed by Ben.

“You okay?”

“Sorry.” You wiped away the tears, fiercely willing them not to spill. “Haven’t played in a while.”

The guitar was placed back in the corner, and whether it would be picked up again or not, no one knew.

[hailey-halstead]

Risk

here’s another upstead fic!!! it’s a longer one! i finally have some brett and casey ones in the work as well 😊 also i cross post my fics on ao3: im corgidaisies there! as always i don’t own a thing! going to go watch this is us now 🤪

——————

“Hey, Rojas, how was your day off— Ah!” Hailey was a few steps inside her apartment when she noticed the sight in front of her. It was Rojas and Atwater, completely naked in the middle of her living room.

Besides the fact she was shocked to see the two of them having sex, it being right in front of her in her open apartment was even more appalling. “What the hell?!” She yelled, slapping her hands over her face, while also closing her eyes for good measure. Extra precautions needed to be taken as she did not want to take any chances at experiences that dreadful sight ever again.

“Hailey! I’m so sorry!” Rojas at least had the decency to sound abashed, but it didn’t make up for the fact she wasn’t doing this in the privacy of her room.

“You have a bedroom, Rojas!” Hailey took a step back with one arm reached out behind her trying to find the doorknob.

“I know! We just got carried away—“

“Just... go into your room now.” Hailey turned around after she found the door knob and quickly opened the door, eager to get out of her apartment.

“Hailey, you don’t have to leave!” Rojas protested. Hailey could hear Atwater whispering, but he was too quiet for her to be able to decipher what he was saying. She bet he was not agreeing with Rojas though.

“Vanessa.” Hailey used Rojas’ first name to show that she really meant what she was saying. They both became silent. “I can’t stay here because I both have the urge to throw up and clean everything in sight right now. So it’s best if I leave.”

“Um, yeah I get what you mean. If you want though, you can pack a bag—“

Nope. Hailey was not going to do that. The faster she got out of the apartment the better. Besides, she always kept a spare bag in her car.

“Don’t do anything on my table!” She yelled before shutting the door behind her. She let out a breath of relief now that she was no longer in the same room as Atwater and Rojas, but as soon as it faded she realized she had no idea where to go.

Jay would be the best bet, and the place she would be the most comfortable. In the back of her mind she wondered if he was in the same situation as Rojas, having a woman over at his place. The thought made her stomach twist unpleasantly.

She ignored it, as she has been for what it seemed like months now. While she felt reluctant to call him, she did it anyways, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts.

She pressed down on ‘Jay Halstead’, and put her phone up to her ear. As it rang, she started to walk to her car, pulling her keys out of her purse with her free hand. If Jay was busy for some reason, she’d just have to find another place to stay for the night. Because her place was not an option.

She was unlocking her door when Jay finally picked up. “Hello?” He said, thankfully not sounding like he just woke up. However, he did seem tired.

“Hey Jay,” Hailey couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. They only saw each other a few hours ago, but somehow she could never get enough of him. Which was good, since they spent so much time together as both partners and friends. “Can I stop over?”

“Sure.” If he was wondering why, he didn’t say anything.

She reworded herself. “I mean, stay overnight. It’s a long story—“

“Hailey, you wouldn’t come over for no good reason.” Jay interrupted her. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t have anyone over too, right?” She joked, thinking of Rojas and Atwater, but it fell flat on the other side.

“Uh, what?”

Hailey sighed, realizing the joke went over his head. It was really too late for the both of them. They had a late night and will be having an early morning wake up tomorrow too. “I’ll explain when I get at your place.” She explained, starting up her car.

They both said their goodbyes, as Hailey started to drive. She threw her phone onto the passenger seat and focused on the road in front of her.

—————

She was at his door for barely a moment before it swung open. Jay looked down at her, a beer in his hands.

Hailey barely got out a hello before he shoved the drink in her hand, and put her bag over his shoulder. “Thought you needed it.” He called over his shoulder as he was walking back into his apartment. She followed him, taking a swing of her beer as she went.

Once the bottle left her lips she let out a loud sigh. Alcohol was a welcoming sight, but still didn’t wipe away the disgusting events she had witnessed. “I’m going to need a lot of these to clear my mind of what I just saw.” She moaned, collapsing down on a chair and taking another sip.

His hand reached out and tried to grab her drink, but she was quicker and kept it out of his grasp. “That’s concerning.”

She rolled her eyes. Once he heard why she was acting like this he would understand. “I walked into my apartment and saw Rojas and Atwater, completely naked, having sex.” Just saying it aloud made her want to gag, so instead she had more of her beer.

Across from her, Jay was silent. He was taken aback, no doubt, as he would have had a snarky quip if not. Either way, it almost made the whole experience worth it for Hailey because seeing Jay speechless was incredibly amusing.

“I feel obligated to give you all the alcohol you want now.” He said, still looking shocked and now quite disturbed. “I did not need that image in my brain.”

“We’re partners, Jay. We have to go through it together.” She said mournfully, reaching across the island to mockingly pat his shoulder. “Why else did you think I came here?”

Unbeknownst to her, the question entered them into uncomfortable territory. Territory they tried to avoid at all costs, in order to keep everything the same, their partnership and friendship, instead of risking it all.

Silence transpired. Hailey searched through her mind for words, to say anything to get them out of this awkwardness. The fear of these situations were never of not finding something to say, but saying what they have been hiding for so long.

Jay finally found his words, to Hailey’s relief. “Free alcohol.” He said with a grin, raising his glass.

She saw how his eyes flickered down to her lips before he spoke. But like they both always did, ignored the action. “Free alcohol.” She echoed, clinking their drinks together.

Hailey thought that was that, but Jay’s face became serious again. “You don’t ever need a reason to come here, you know that right? This door,” He gestured with his head towards the door. “is always open.”

“Same to you.” Her voice cracked a little as she spoke. “Well, you probably shouldn’t without at least a heads up to Rojas.” She added with a roll of her eyes.

“And you?” His fingers were fidgeting against the side of the counter, but the cocky grin on his face showed a different story.

“Hm?” She wasn’t sure what he meant. Which of course meant giving into his bait.

She would never admit it to him, but she enjoyed his shit-stirring. She enjoyed anything that made him feel light and happy and not trapped in his demons.

“Will I need a heads up from you? I really don’t want to see Adam’s bare ass—“

Months ago she wouldn’t have had appreciated a joke of this nature, but her and Adam have moved on completely. Honestly, sometimes she forgot she dated the guy. Still, she wasn’t expecting those words to come out of Jay’s mouth.

“I’m happily single, thank you.” She loudly interrupted, so she didn’t have to listen to whatever Jay said next. Happily single. Did she just say that?

She pushed onwards with the conversation, knowing full well she could play too. “And what about you then?” She countered back, as Jay rose an eyebrow as if to say ‘bring it on’. “You won’t have any drug users over?”

Jay, who was taking a sip of his beer, choked on his drink at that comment. “Touché.” He said with a chuckle. “You’re always one upping me, Upton.”

Some alcohol still remained on his face from him choking on it. More specifically, his bottom lip. He seemed to realize it, because the tip of his tongue came out of his mouth to swipe it away. Her mind begun to wonder further, if she could still taste the alcohol on his lips—

“Hailey?”

The sound of Jay’s voice jolted her back to earth. “Hm?” She made a noise of acknowledgement, not trusting herself with words.

Somehow, her partner took her behavior to mean something else entirely. “Are you tired?” He scratched the back of his head, looking guilty now. “I didn’t mean to keep you up..”

Hailey could barely constrain herself from making a face. It truly amazed her how clueless Jay could be at times.

But it was a good diversion, not to mention half-true as she was tired, so she took it. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” She rubbed her eyes for good measure. “It’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it.” Jay got up and walked around the counter, heading towards the hallway. “Let me grab some sheets and blankets.” He said, reaching out to briefly touch her shoulder before he walked away.

Once he was gone, Hailey let out a soft groan and downed the rest of her beer. She didn’t know how much more of this dancing around she could take.

She got up herself, reaching for her bag against the bottom of the chair. “Everything’s good how it is, Hailey,” She told herself as she headed towards the bathroom to get changed. “Don’t screw anything up.”

Work and Jay were too important for her to risk.

[nani-lahiffe]

Fighting Over a Lady’s Love: Chapter 2

Summary: Nino has a productive weekend, gets shocked by the news, gets shocked by Alya, and has the worst Monday ever.

Read Chapter 1 here or read it all on ao3 here

When Nino woke up this morning he felt energized and ready to face the day. It is the beginning of the weekend which means he has a whole two days to do the things he was yelled at for not doing the day before. He quickly turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it. He also has already told everyone on Friday that he was going technology free during the weekend just so he could get caught up with everything that he has been slacking. Alya called him smart for thinking of that and wished that she could do the same, but the Ladyblog is too demanding. Not only did this tactic work, but by Sunday evening he managed to get ahead of his homework schedule by two weeks.

“You have made some great progress these past couple of days. I am quite proud.” Wayzz says flying over to Nino cuddling up to his cheek.

“Thanks, little dude, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Nino smiles at him and strokes his shell. If it wasn’t for Wayzz always motivating him and helping him figure out the material he couldn’t understand, Nino wouldn’t be as successful as he is now. He even helped clean Nino’s room which was definitely not an easy task. Maybe I should make him his own playlist to thank him, and so he can chill during the day while I’m in class.

“You deserve a break, Master Nino.”

“You know how much I hate it when you call me that.”

Wayzz laughs and with a smirk he says, “I know.”

Nino chuckles and jumps onto his bed. For the first time in two days he turns on his phone and was pleased to see that his friends and girlfriend kept their promise of not messaging him. He sent a quick message to the group chat between him, Alya, Adrien, and Marinette to say that he was still alive, and immediately went to social media to see what he has missed. Though what he was seeing was definitely not what he was expecting.

Love Between Paris’ Superheroes?  

On Friday night a few spectators were enjoying the nice weather when they saw Ladybug cuddling up with another one of Paris’ favourite superheroes, though not the one we were all expecting. It seems as if Ladybug might be more of a turtle fan rather than a cat one. Yes, you read correctly, Ladybug and one of the newer heroes, Carapace, were seen holding each other very closely and intimately up on a rooftop.

One onlooker, Ruben Musquet, took the pictures that are shown below and had this to say, “We were trying to enjoy a nice night so we all went up on the roof of our apartment building, which is when we noticed Ladybug and Carapace. We just thought that they were running around like they usually do around Paris until they started hugging and stayed like that for about 10 minutes. Even when that was over they were still physically close to each other. That is when we really started thinking that something was going on between them. Our suspicions were confirmed when they kissed.”

Nino was used to gossip and rumours about him being spread around but that last sentence made him do a double take. When the hell did we kiss? He scrolls through the article to get to the pictures and sees grainy pictures of him and Ladybug. One of them hugging, one of him rubbing her arms when he was comforting her, and another of when he kissed his cheek. Though of course from the angle that the picture was taken from it looked like an actual mouth to mouth kiss.

Nino immediately starts panicking. He leaves that article and sees what the rest of the world is thinking about this.

Move over Ladynoir, Carabug is the newest ship in town.

Is Chat Noir jealous of the newest competitor to Ladybug’s heart?

Top 10 reasons why Carabug is better than Ladynoir.

Top 15 reasons why Ladybug should be with Chat Noir instead of Carapace.

Is there tension between Team Miraculous?

Every documented interaction between Ladybug and Carapace that will make you realize that this ship has been sailing for a long time.  

Nino has the feeling that he should avoid being Carapace for a while, especially around his teammates. Though he is still scheduled for a Monday night patrol which he is now currently dreading. Friday’s squabble of who loves Ladybug more is going to be minor compared to the yelling he is going to receive since his team must think that he and Ladybug are together. And poor Ladybug is already so stressed from everything, and this is definitely not going to help with that.

Nino’s mind goes to Alya, his actual girlfriend, and starts thinking how crushed she might be when she finds out Ladynoir is ruined, and hopefully that opinion will be quickly changed. He heads over to the Ladyblog to see what Alya has written to find that there haven’t been new posts since Friday. It is very unlike Alya to just ignore the Ladyblog. Even when there is no important news she always plugs in fan work and theories to keep things alive.

He tosses his phone away and sighs. He has patrol tomorrow night so for now he should just sit back and try not to think about how all of Paris thinks that him and Ladybug have a thing going on.

As evening turns into night, Nino realizes no one has messaged him back yet. He lies down in bed and wishes that Paris calms down by tomorrow.

Surprisingly, Nino is the first one of his friends to get to school. Thankfully he didn’t wait long until Adrien’s car pulled up to the school.

Adrien starts getting out of the car and Nino yell, “Hey, dude!” He rushes over to see his friend and quickly stops once he takes a full look at his friend’s face.

“Hey, Nino” Adrien says in a weak voice. The boy was the definition of a hot mess. Disheveled hair, dark bags under his eyes that clearly shows the lack of sleep he has gotten, and eyes that look like he spent his weekend crying.

“Are you alright? What happened to you? Is it your dad again, because if it is I will literally fight him for you.” Nino wraps an arm around Adrien to try and comfort him as they walk towards the school.

Adrien cracks a small smile at that. “No, it’s not about my father, but thanks. It’s just this girl… I guess I thought we were closer than we actually are, and one-sided feelings kind of suck.”

Nino always had a feeling that there was someone in Adrien’s life, especially since he seemed to never consider anyone at school as a romantic choice. Also knowing how big of a romantic he is, it was weird that he hasn’t gone on millions of over-the-top dates. “Come on, dude, you’re a model! How can she not like you?”

Adrien gives him a sad smile and says, “I guess looks aren’t everything.”

Nino cringes at his bad choice in words, and he turns Adrien to face him. “I know plenty of girls here that actually like you, and I know that you will get along with them. Don’t even think about rolling your eyes at me. Trust me when I say they actually like you and not model you. You being hot is just an extra perk.”

He lightly chuckles at that and looks Nino in the eye. “Thank you.”

From all the advice he is giving out recently, he should change his career path from DJ to therapist.

One second, he is walking towards the school with Adrien, and the next he is being dragged away by Alya into a secluded part of the yard. When Nino realized where they were heading he was pretty excited to spend some quality time with his girlfriend, and then he looks at her and realizes that she, like Adrien, has also been crying.

Alya turns to face him and shoves her phone into his face. On it was the picture of his and Ladybug’s kiss. “Tell me what the hell is this?” Her voice was as fiery as her hair.

Nino just looks at her confused. “Uh, looks like Ladybug and Carapace hanging out?”

“Don’t do that to me, Nino, cut the bullshit. I know you are Carapace, so please, tell me what the hell this is.” Alya’s voice is strained, and she is trying to control her temper.

At this moment Nino felt his heart drop, because of course she knows and is misreading this situation. “Alya, I-.”

“You think you can become a superhero and cheat on me? Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out? This whole time you have acted like you were uninterested in Ladybug, but in reality, you two were together! Even around the team you acted like you didn’t care about our argument on who she cared about more, because obviously you already knew that answer!”

At first her words weren’t making any sense, and slowly he pieces together her whole statement and realizes a secret that should have been obvious to him. “You’re Rena Rouge.” He whispers.

Of course, Alya would be involved in the team’s fight. She has loved and looked up to Ladybug since she first arrived, has a blog dedicated to her, has risked her life to help Ladybug, and the first person Ladybug has trusted with a miraculous. No wonder he hasn’t seen her throwing herself at akumas lately, she was there as Rena the whole time.

“Yeah, I am. Surprised?” She says bitterly.

“You have it all wrong. Ladybug and I are not dating. She was having a rough time yesterday after the little fight that broke out. Hell, she was crying in every picture that those civilians managed to take! As a good friend, I was trying to comfort her!”

“Then explain the kiss!”

“It was on the cheek and she was thanking me! It meant nothing to the both of us!”

Alya looks away from him. “Just… don’t talk to me for the rest of the day.” She runs off towards the school.

“Merde.” Nino whispers to himself.

He walks back to school alone and enters the building. Across the hall Marinette gives him a strange and undecipherable look that he feels like he should know what she is communicating to him, but his brain is fried from the morning that he has already had. She is probably wondering what is going on with Alya, and I definitely can’t let anyone in on that secret.  

The rest of the day continues awkwardly, and it does not make it any better that everywhere he goes he is hearing about the Ladybug and Carapace situation. It makes him more bitter, Adrien weirdly gets sadder, Alya burns with rage, and Marinette looks uneasy. Alya he could understand why she acted the way she did, but the other two are an anomaly. He assumes Adrien just gets sadder about his own love life every time someone else’s relationship is brought up. Then with Marinette, well she has always been a firm believer of ensuring the heroes have privacy in their lives, which Nino currently wishes more people were like. She must be annoyed that their privacy has been broken.

By the time the end of the day arrived, Nino couldn’t be happier. He was tense and on edge the whole day, and now he is speed-walking away from the school and everyone in it. Sure, he wishes to talk to Alya to maybe make up and make out, but one look at her face says that he probably should not approach her yet. Maybe Alya will be calm once I’m done patrol, so I can visit her, if Queen Bee doesn’t murder me first.

[niallsstainedcoffeecup]

Wake Up Call

Harry despises Y/N, but a barista pulls the couple together.  I hope you all enjoy! Feedback and Requests are welcomed! Lots of Love! 

           Her worn sneakers clicked against the sidewalk as she hurried toward the red brick building.  The cool autumn wind brushed away the nervous sweat gathering on her forehead.  Her hands gripped the straps on her pastel pink backpack. The gold watch that she inherited from her grandmother ticked with dread and excitement.  A new school year began.  She loved learning new things but despised the hectic schedule that came with courses. She tugged open the heavy glass doors, entering the dark hallway.  She glanced down at the room number written on her wrist.  She sighed, checking the room number for the fifth time.  One time, she walked into the wrong classroom and interrupted a lecture, resulting in this fear of embarrassing herself again.  She marched into the crowded classroom, beginning her search for the perfect seat.  The first row classified you as a teacher’s pet.  The back row created this tension between you and the professor. The window seats would distract her from the lecture.  She nearly gave up when her eyes landed on a handsome guy.  He looked as if the gods and GQ came together to sculpt this man. His short brown curly hair fell in a tousled mess.  His tanned skin seemed to glow as if the sun pressed delicate kisses on every inch. What she liked the most was his crystal green eyes that shined brighter due to the pastel blue shirt that he wore. The open seat beside him shined with luck.  She shuffled toward him, controlling her breathing.  How embarrassing would it be if she began to hyperventilate around him? Her hand slipped around the cold, black chair and slid it out.  She locked her eyes on the gray stained carpet to avoid making awkward eye contact with the stranger.  She sat down, feeling accomplished in not making a fool out of herself.  She placed her backpack on her legs, unzipping the pockets.  She set one notebook, three pens, and water on the wooden desk.  She cleared her throat, facing the man with the sharpest jawline.  She watched him slowly face her.  She stuck out a hand, caught up by his rosy lips. “Hello, I’m Y/N.” Harry smiled, revealing two adorable dimples, “Hi, I’m Harry.” Harry shook her hand, “Are you a history major?” She wondered, hoping someone else enjoyed history as much as she did. Harry shook his head, “No, I love learning about the World Wars.  My advisor suggested this class.” She nodded, “I’m a history major.  You’ll love this professor.  The only part that sucks is that they scheduled this class at eight a.m.” Harry chuckled, “Yeah it’s the worst.” She swore that Harry’s laugh sounded like angels giggling.  Harry’s husky voice might be her favorite sound.  Usually, whenever she flirted with anyone, she would tell them a compliment. A compliment went better than cheesy lines.  Her best friend, Niall, constantly used lines and it never worked out in his favor. “I like your shirt.  It brings out the blueish green color in your eyes.” Harry smirked, “Thank you.” She smiled, basking in the happiness her compliment caused.  Sadly, the professor walked in, ending her conversation with Harry.  She sat back, feeling as if this semester would be her best yet.  She chose the right seat and made a new friend.  What could go wrong? * * *

          The first few weeks sitting beside Harry were amazing.  She showed up early to class, eating whatever snack she stole from Niall’s kitchen.  Harry would be there, reading a textbook or scrolling through his phone.   “Hi Harry, how are you?”   “I’m well, how are you?” “I’m well, what did you do last night?” Harry would either shrug or smirk, “I had a date.” Her heart ached at the thought of Harry dating someone.  She pictured the most beautiful woman that she could not compare with, spending an evening with Harry.  Harry would dive into the details whether the date was good or bad. Other days Harry would tell her about his mom and sister.  His mom worried about Harry’s eating habits, and his sister mocked Harry’s recent obsession with flared pants.  Y/N always reassured Harry that flared pants were totally in style.   “Do you want to hear a joke?” Harry would ask. Y/N could never say no, seeing the excitement in Harry’s eyes. “What is green and sings?” “What?” She’d wonder, smirking with anticipation. Harry’s giggles would interrupt the punchline, “Elvis Parsley.” Harry’s loud laughter would fill the silent classroom, causing Y/N to break down into a fit of giggles.   “My mom told me that one last night.” “She has a great sense of humor.” Those first few weeks created a bond between the couple.  She considered Harry, a friend, and she hoped he felt the same way.  The fourth week brought a drastic change.  Harry showed up to class during the professor’s lecture. He stopped taking notes and instead started sleeping during class.  He decided his dreams were better than learning about British war tactics.  Y/N frowned, concerned about Harry’s grade, but it all fell on Harry.  He was not her responsibility.  The professor hadn’t noticed Harry’s sleeping habits until the day Harry snored during a serious part of the lecture. “Y/N, could you wake up Harry?”  The professor called out, glaring at Harry. Y/N nodded, shaking Harry until he jolted awake.  The professor appointed Y/N as the person to wake up Harry whenever he fell asleep. Her notes suffered since she spent a majority of her time shaking or poking Harry awake.  Harry shrugged her hands off his body, shooting daggers at her each time she woke him up.   “Can you stop?” Harry hissed. She glared, “Harry if you stayed awake I would leave you alone.” “You are annoying,” Harry spat out, “No one cares if I sleep.” “The professor cares and so should you.” Harry rolled his eyes, “Shut up.  I don’t need a lecture from you.” She huffed, ignoring Harry’s complaints. Harry’s attitude ended her friendship and birthed her annoyance with the handsome man. * * *

           She stirred the pot of quick minute rice while Niall flipped the sizzling chicken. George Ezra’s melodic voice filled the tiny kitchen.  She hummed, swaying with the song.  Condensation rolled down Niall’s beer bottle, wetting Niall’s palms with each sip.   “How’s your morning class?” Niall wondered. She huffed, gripping the wooden spoon tighter, “I hate it.” “Why?” Niall raised an eyebrow with shock. She loved every history course she enrolled in.   She rolled her eyes, “Harry Styles.  He’s a scumbag.” Niall nearly choked on his beer, “What happened?  You are hardly mean to anyone, but this guy gets called a scumbag?” She blushed, facing Niall, “He won’t stay awake.  My professor forces me to wake him up, and he complains every time.  I can’t take notes, and my grade is slacking.” Niall nodded, “That does suck.  Wait, didn’t you mention a Harry like two weeks ago?” “We were friends.  We talked and laughed, but something changed, “She shrugged. “Maybe he’s too busy with school and work,” Niall mentioned, leaning against his messy kitchen counter. She frowned, realizing she hadn’t stopped to think about Harry.  Maybe he was working too hard, and couldn’t help but fall asleep.  Maybe she judged him before she asked what was wrong. “You’re right he isn’t a scumbag.  I’m a terrible person for judging him,” She sighed. Niall shook his head, spinning around to fix his burning chicken, “You’re human.  You should bring him a coffee or a snack.” She nodded, “That’s a great idea.  Now I know why I keep you around.” Niall snorted, “I thought it was because I have a kitchen in my dorm.” She giggled, “That’s my second reason.” Y/N decided tomorrow she would surprise Harry with a cup of coffee from her favorite shop.  She could rekindle their friendship with baked goods and coffee. * * *  

           Niall bounced in line, eyeing the people in front of them.  Y/N rolled her eyes, scrolling through her phone.  Niall huffed for the tenth time, glancing over at Y/N. “They need another barista.  Twenty people are waiting for coffee, and she’s taking forever.” Y/N placed a hand on Niall’s shoulder, “Calm down.  She’s doing the best she can.” Niall scoffed, “You are only supporting her because you find her attractive.” She blushed, looking at the beautiful barista, Angie.  Her smile lit up the entire room.  Her long hair bounced with each effortless step she took.  Y/N recalled complimenting her recent hair color, hoping Angie caught on that Y/N was smitten with her. “Well, she’s beautiful.” Niall nodded, “She is beautiful.  Maybe I should use my line.  Is there something in your left eye because you’ve been looking right all day.” Y/N burst into a fit of laughter, clutching her stomach, “Niall, that is the worst one.” Niall bumped her hip with his, “Shut up. I’d like to see you flirt with her.” Y/N quieted down, “I can’t.  She’s out of my league.” “You are beautiful; she is beautiful. You two could be great.” She grinned, “Thank you, Niall.” Upon seeing Y/N, Angie’s smile grew wider. “Hey, how is my favorite customer?”  She asked, winking at Y/N. “I’m well.  How are you?” “It’s been busy.  Are you grabbing the usual?” She asked, scribbling Y/N’s order down. “Yes, but I need to add another coffee. I plan to surprise a classmate with a cup of the best coffee.” Angie clutched her chest, “You are sweet.” Y/N blushed, “Thank you, can I ask you something?” Angie nodded, “What’s up?” “Would you like to have dinner with me?” She asked, feeling her heart race with anxiety.   She pictured Angie laughing in her face, but she giggled and nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me. Niall bet me that it would take another two weeks,” She answered. Y/N laughed, “I hate that man.” Angie chuckled, “Well, give me your number.” Y/N nodded, scribbling her number on a cardboard cupholder.  Angie grinned, looking over the number. “I look forward to our date.  Tell Niall that he owes me twenty dollars,” She called out. Y/N nodded, walking out of the warm shop with her two coffees.  Niall waited outside, sipping on his cup of tea. “Did you ask?” Y/N smirked, “I have a date with her.” Niall cheered, clapping a hand on her shoulder, “I knew you could do it.” The chill wind blasted against Y/N, drawing her attention to the two cups of coffee.  She hoped Harry would accept her gift.   * * *

           Harry stumbled through the door later than usual.  He plopped down next to Y/N, stretching his tired limbs.  His eyes bugged out when he saw the coffee cup sitting on his desk.  He raised an eyebrow, wondering if the person in an earlier class left their coffee there. Harry picked up the warm cup, catching sight of pretty handwriting.  Y/N bought him a cup of coffee and apologized for not treating him like a friend should. Harry’s heart fluttered as he faced the woman.  She glanced over with a smirk but quickly turned to face the board.  Harry felt terrible for treating her badly.  Lately, he had been busy with his job, and his courses weren’t making it easier.  He treated everyone badly because he needed sleep and space.  He didn’t expect it to hurt the one person he cared for.  He planned to ask Y/N out to dinner three weeks ago, but he couldn’t fit time in for her.  Harry sipped the coffee, and nearly moaned at how delicious the brew tasted. Vanilla and hints of nutmeg snuck out past the roasted bean flavor.  Harry focused on the lecture, deciding that it was time he changed his attitude. Occasionally he would glance at Y/N, admiring the glow that surrounded her.  Harry pondered what had her glowing.  Was it the possibility of their friendship blossoming?  After class, Harry hurried to catch Y/N before she left. “Hey, thank you for the coffee.  I’m sorry about lately.  I haven’t been very kind to you,” Harry winced, rubbing the back of his neck. Y/N waved him off, “Don’t worry about it. We all have those moments.  I’m sorry for not asking if you needed help.” Harry smiled, “It’s okay, can we be friends again?” Y/N giggled, “I would like that.  I’ll see you later, Harry.” Harry watched her leave the empty classroom, unaware of Harry’s racing heart.  He sighed, shuffling out of the classroom.  He kept the coffee cup, hoping he could buy another cup from the same shop.  Harry gripped the strap of his messenger bag that kept banging into his hip with each step. He typed the shop into his phone, looking at the directions to the coffee shop.  Harry strolled around the empty streets, breathing in the fresh air. His mind shifted between thoughts of Y/N and work.  Harry opened the glass door for an elderly couple, who thanked him for being so kind. Harry grinned, inhaling the scent of the roasting beans.  He waited in line, admiring the art on the plain white walls.   “Sir, what can I get you?”  Harry glanced up, making eye contact with the beautiful barista.   Harry smirked, “Hi, I’m Harry.  My friend got me a cup of coffee, and I would like another.  I can’t tell you what it had in it, but it tasted like vanilla and nutmeg.” Angie grinned, “That would be Y/N.  She likes to tell people that she created that drink herself.” Harry laughed, feeling his stomach somersault at the mention of Y/N.  A pang of jealousy hit his gut when he caught the look in Angie’s eyes.  Was she in love with Y/N too?   “She’s amazing.  How long have you known her?” Angie shrugged, “I can’t remember.  Once she’s in your life, it’s hard to think that she hasn’t always been there.” Harry nodded, “I understand.  Would you like to see a movie with me?” Angie blushed, “You are very handsome, but I am not interested.  Your coffee is ready.” Harry’s heart sunk with the rejection.  How could he end up with Y/N?  She was perfect.  She deserved better than him.  That’s why he kept dating other girls, in hopes that they filled the hole that Y/N seemed to fit into.   Harry grabbed the coffee, walking out of the shop.  The chilly wind swept up his hair, resulting in his grumbling.  Harry glanced down at the cardboard holder, noticing a number scribbled across with a heart beside it.  Harry furrowed his eyebrows, didn’t she say no to his date? Harry shrugged, adding the number to his phone.  Perhaps this was fate placing him with someone he belonged with.   * * *

           “Why do you think she hasn’t called me?  She seemed interested right?” Y/N wondered, laying upside down off of Niall’s lumpy couch. Niall nodded, focusing on the golf match, “Yeah.  She even gushed about you later that evening when I returned for my second cup of tea.” Y/N huffed, checking her calendar.  Two days ago she gave Angie her number, and she hadn’t called Y/N.   Niall leaned back onto the couch, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth.  Y/N sat up, placing her feet across Niall’s lap.  Niall looked at Y/N, frowning whenever he saw tears pricking her eyes.  He scooted closer, holding her fragile figure in his arms. “She’s insane not to call you.  Would you like to go out with me?” She giggled, “No, but thank you for the offer.” Niall chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. She leaned her head on Niall’s shoulder, watching the game with Niall.  During a commercial break, her phone lit up.  Niall’s eyes widened, and she leaped across the room.  She answered the call, breathing heavily after moving quickly to get to her phone.  Niall watched with anticipation, hoping Angie had called. “Hello?” “Hey, it’s Harry.” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Harry, when did you get my number?” Harry raised an eyebrow, “You gave it to me at the coffee shop.” “Harry, it’s Y/N.  I did not give you my number.” Harry froze, realizing the barista gave him the wrong number, “Oh my gosh.  She gave me the wrong number.” “Who did?” Y/N wondered, standing to her feet. Niall kept asking whom she was talking to and asking what was going on.  She shushed the Irishman, escaping to the kitchen. “The barista told me that she knew you. I asked her out, and she gave me your number.” Y/N frowned, realizing the girl didn’t like her, “Are you sure?” Harry noted the disappointment in her voice, “Yeah.  Are you upset?” Y/N chuckled bitterly, “No, I just thought she liked me.” Harry frowned, “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.  I’ll see you later.” “Wait, I’m not doing anything tonight.  I have two tickets to a super romantic movie. Do you want to go with me?” She smiled, “Sure, Harry.” “Great, I’ll pick you up.” She hung up, walking back into Niall’s living room.  Niall jumped up, knocking over his bowl of chips. “Shit! Who was it?” He asked, bending over to pick up his mess. Y/N laughed, helping Niall clean up, “It was Harry.” “Harry?  The guy you hated?” She nodded, “I don’t hate him anymore. We didn’t talk for a while, but we are friends again.  She gave him my number, but he asked me out to a movie.” “Is this a date?” She froze, realizing that Harry asked her out for a romantic evening.  She had a date with Harry Styles.  She had a chance with the man that she found attractive and dreamt of dating.  The man that told her basic stories, but she listened with full attention because she loved seeing the sparkle in his eyes. “Do you think it’s a date?” Niall hummed, “I think it might be.” “Niall, what do I do?  Do I need to dress up?  How do I know?” Niall gripped her shoulders, “Hey, you need to calm down.  If Harry asked you out, then he’ll be flirty.  You look fine.  You will be okay.” She nodded, “Okay.” “Are you okay?” She nodded, “What would I do without you?” Niall laughed, “I don’t know.” The minutes leading up to her night out with Harry were stressful.  Was this her chance of connecting with the curly haired man? * * *

           Harry parked his car in front of Niall’s dormitory.  He breathed in, attempting to calm his nervous heart.  What would happen?  Should he try to make a move on her?  Would she turn him down or did she feel the same way that he did?  Harry’s worries drifted away the minute he saw her walking toward his car.  Harry scrambled out of his car, tripping over his large feet. “Hey, how are you?” He asked, hugging her tightly. She smiled, breathing in his comforting scent, “I’m well.” Harry opened the car door for her, hoping he didn’t mess up tonight.  She smiled at Harry, watching him step back inside the car.   “Thank you for the invitation, I felt horrible,” she mumbled. Harry frowned, “Well, we will have fun tonight.” She smiled, “You are a great friend.” Harry smiled, ignoring the pain in his heart when she called him a friend.  Did she have feelings for him?   “Did you ask out that barista?” “Yeah, I guess my flirting didn’t work.” Harry shrugged, “She’s crazy not to like you. You are amazing, funny, smart.  I could go on for days.” She blushed, “Thank you.  You are amazing too.” “How did you flirt?” She rolled her eyes, “It sounds stupid. I usually compliment the person that I have a crush on.  I complimented her hair color.” Harry nodded, recalling their first conversation.  She complimented Harry’s shirt because it brought out his eyes.  He might have read into that last sentence, but did she try to flirt with him? “Didn’t you compliment my shirt when we first met?” Her eyes widened, but she forced herself to nod.  Harry nodded, tapping his fingers on his steering wheel.  Silence filled the tiny car, suffocating her lungs. “That’s cool,” Harry mumbled, breaking the silence. She chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah.” “Was that flirting with me?” “Yes,” She whispered. Harry nodded, “That’s cool.” She groaned, covering her face with her palms. Harry chuckled, keeping his eyes locked on the road.  She lifted her head, eyeing Harry’s expressions. “Why are you laughing?” “All this time I’ve been going insane.  I didn’t want to have feelings for you because you were better than me.  I even thought this was just two friends hanging out, but you like me.” “You like me?” She gasped. Harry nodded, “The day I met you, I liked you.” She blushed, “Can this be a date?” Harry smirked, “It can be whatever you want it to be.” She snorted, shoving Harry’s arm playfully. The handsome stranger in her class was now her boyfriend.

[errantknightess]

Truth in the mirror

Pairing: Lavi/Allen

Word count: 10,624

Summary: Lavi has to break a curse before it breaks his heart.

A/N: Requested by a dear anon who asked for a curious Lavi stumbling upon a cursed mirror and had to wait entirely too long to see their idea realized - I’m really really sorry about that! Hopefully the final product will be worth the wait ;;

[Read on AO3]

The light of the oil lamp danced on the broken book spines, worn-out gilded letters glistening faintly in the glow. Lavi walked slowly along the aisle, sliding his finger over the dusty leather covers and breathing in the moldy smell of old paper as he brought his face closer to decipher the faded titles. Every now and then, he stopped to pull a thick tome halfway from the shelf, only to glance at it and cram it back in with disappointment. The palace library housed thousands of volumes, all of them perfectly organized – and yet, he still couldn’t find what he came here for.

“Hey, Miranda?” he called in a hushed voice that rolled clear through the dead silence. “Where are all the archival almanacs from two centuries ago? I don’t see any of them here.”

The librarian slinked out of the darkness, a quiet shadow in a black dress and a state of constant trepidation. Lavi has never once seen her anywhere else around the palace. Nervous and timid as she was, she rarely left the peaceful seclusion of the library.

“They should be here, right?” Lavi asked, waving his hand towards the shelf in front of them. Miranda followed the gesture with a concerned look. For a moment, her eyes darted over the books, and then stilled, staring off into space as she pressed her hand to her mouth in a sudden realization.

“Oh,” she whimpered, fingers trembling against her chin. “Oh, my.”

“What’s the matter?” Lavi raised his eyebrow, shifting his gaze between Miranda and the shelf. “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal if you misplaced them. I can help you look. I need them, after all.”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Miranda said quickly, a panicked look flashing through her face. “I didn’t— I didn’t touch them! If they’re not here… If they’re not here, they must be up in the observatory.” Her voice cracked, and she paused, wide-eyed, wringing her hands anxiously.

There was something more than her usual unrest in the way she tensed up – a cold, pale fear that unsettled even Lavi as he watched her. As much as he needed those books, he really couldn’t ask her to retrieve them now. The poor woman looked as if she were about to fall apart where she stood.

Lavi sighed, scratching at his temple as he weighed his options.

There weren’t many.

“Well, then.” He forced a smile and turned to the door, the light of the lamp wavering with the movement. “I guess I’ll better go look for them.”

Miranda stammered, and in the quivering shadows it was hard to judge if she was more relieved or worried at his decision.

Honestly, Lavi couldn’t blame her. He had heard the stories many times even in those few months he has spent at the court so far. The abandoned tower in the east wing had a grim reputation among the servants. Some nights, when the wind flickered the fire in the hearth and the low rumble of thunder heralded a brewing storm, they would skulk and whisper about the strange things they had seen and heard there. They spoke of knocks and thuds echoing through the corridors, of lights appearing suddenly in the empty room, and of pale specters standing silent in the dark doorway.

Lavi recalled it all as he walked down the hall, his footsteps unbearably loud in the stillness of the night. The sky outside the tall arched windows was sprinkled with stars, the treetops down in the garden silvery blue in the pale light. He hadn’t even noticed when the sun set while he was busy in the library.

After a few minutes of meandering through the empty corridors, he finally found the narrow staircase leading to the observatory tower. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he set his foot on the first step: just a draft, he insisted. Shaking himself off, he took one last look over his shoulder and started climbing the tall, spiraling stairs. The stone slabs were slippery and uneven, making him stumble and grasp at the walls to keep his balance. When he reached the top, stopping in front of a sturdy looking door, his hands were clammy and sweaty; he wiped them on his shirt and slowly reached for the handle. It moved heavily, hesitantly, but at last – with screeching of hinges and moaning of the warped wood – the door opened.

The room was dark, rimmed with deep shadows that made everything look as if it was cut out of paper. The floor was a mess – unsurprising, but still unsettling. Lavi made a few uncertain steps forward, shuffling his feet so he wouldn’t stumble over the clutter. As his eye got used to the dark, he made out a long telescope by the window, the outlines of shelves filled with some odd instruments on the walls, and a tattered map of the sky on a stand in the corner. Just opposite the door stood a tall mirror, reaching from the floor nearly up to the ceiling. Lavi turned his head as he passed it, wincing when he caught a glimpse of his own shadow in the reflection. There was something disturbing  about mirrors in the dark, something that made him uneasy no matter how he reasoned with himself.

Trying his best to ignore that feeling, he crossed the room to the huge table in the middle. It looked like a good place to start, strewn with papers, rolls of parchment and crudely bound notebooks. Lavi started to sift through all of that, picking up every thicker volume he found and peering at it in the scarce light – but if the almanacs really were there, he couldn’t see them anywhere underneath all this chaos.

THUD

Lavi flinched, looking around nervously. Did he knock something over in the dark? It was hard to tell, but he hoped whatever it was didn’t break. All those tools scattered around looked delicate and complicated, and despite how uneasy this place was making him feel, he was already itching to come back here later when he could take a better look at them.

THUD

This time, it was louder – and now he was sure where it came from. Lavi whipped around on instinct, coming face to face with his dark reflection. The sight froze the blood in his veins, but this time, it was not just his own shadow.

In the mirror, there was someone standing right behind him.

Lavi stumbled away from the table, wasting no time to look back. He shot out of the door, slamming his shoulder hard against the opposite wall, and ran blindly, taking two steps at once and nearly tumbling down the stairs. Outside the dark staircase, the dim light of sconces was blinding. The lamps blurred in the corner of his eye as he raced along the corridor, at this point pushed more by the momentum than shock. He didn’t stop until he reached the library door again, frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears like an echo of his heavy footsteps.

“Are you all right?” Miranda’s voice barely broke through to him as he closed the door behind him, leaning back against the rough wood. “Why are you shaking? Did—did something happen?”

“I’m fine.” Lavi managed, still a bit breathless after his desperate dash. “Just… cold. It was really cold up there, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, trying his best to look unfazed under Miranda’s worried gaze. Maybe he has been spending too much time with her – surely he hadn’t been this jumpy before.

“I can’t believe you really went there, and in the middle of the night.” Miranda shook her head with a sigh. “Let’s hope the ghosts didn’t get angry with you. Make sure to wash your hands with thyme before bed, just to be safe. Did you find the almanacs?”

“No.” Lavi couldn’t quite find it in himself now to argue that ghosts didn’t exist. “I didn’t look too well, though. There’s still a few places I haven’t checked. I’ll go again tomorrow. Surely the ghosts will be asleep then,” he added quickly to appease her. Sooner or later, he knew he would find himself coming back there no matter what.

Even under the haze of dread, unanswered questions continued to gnaw at him all through the night.

 ***

Though restless as it was, sleep helped him clear his head a little. In the light of the morning, the fears from earlier felt embarrassingly irrational. Yes, he did see something last night – of that he was sure; just as sure as he was now that there had to be a logical explanation for whatever it was. And Lavi needed to find it, or he wouldn’t have a peaceful night again.

He had barely swallowed his breakfast before curiosity led him to the foot of the spiral staircase once more. His heart quivered as he mounted the narrow steps, but this time Lavi was not afraid anymore – just excited.

The room looked just the same as he left it. With the sun pouring in through the latticed window, it was easier to see exactly how ruined it was. Everywhere in sight lay broken pieces of ceramic, upturned chairs and drawers pulled out onto the floor, spilling their contents like the innards of a mauled animal. Lavi carefully stepped over a tangled heap of dark fabric and made his way to the table. Now that he could see properly, the task of digging through the piles of papers wasn’t as daunting as he thought it would be. The only obstacle left was distraction.

Surrounded with such an immense amount of books and notes, Lavi couldn’t help but look over them closely as he set them aside stack after stack. There were charts and tables, thick tomes of theories and treatises, and hundreds of loose sheets and parchment scrolls filled with dense, careless writing. The same letters swirled on the few bound notebooks laying around, scribbled over the rough covers in red ink: Allen Walker. Lavi had heard it before, repeated in hushed tones around the dying fire in the palace kitchens. A former royal astrologist, a strange young man who disappeared one day just as mysteriously as he had arrived. Lavi’s fingers tingled as he ran them over the dusty notes. What could have happened to him? Where did he go? Why did he leave all of this work here? It’s such a waste, he thought bitterly, thumbing through another volume and wincing as the pages fluttered with a parade of anatomical diagrams. Astrology, medicine, even alchemy – the room was brimming with orphaned knowledge, and Lavi wished he could soak it all up right from the dusty air.

This was not all he came here for, though. Even as he burrowed himself in the documents, the faint glint of glass across the room kept stealing his attention time and again. Whenever he looked up, Lavi would catch his own wary eye staring back at him from the murky reflection, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Leaving the table, he crossed the floor in a few firm strides that wouldn’t give him enough time to change his mind. From up close, the mirror didn’t look remarkable at all, the smooth surface flecked with dust and stains of old age. Lavi inspected it closely, carefully running his fingers along the simple frame carved in jade. There had to be something more to it than it seemed. Whatever he saw last night, it was probably some trick of the light, a crafty illusion, and he just had to figure out how this thing worked. He peeked around the frame, but all he found there was just more dust. No hollowed out niches, no secret mechanisms. Nothing that could explain seeing things that weren’t there. Puzzled, Lavi pulled back to face his reflection again – and barely bit down a scream of shock.

The apparition was there again, white and shining and looking straight at him with wide silver eyes. Lavi blinked, staring back at it with cold sweat running down his spine. Slowly, he took a step back, boots crunching on the clutter on the floor. The figure in the mirror didn’t move, still piercing him with those eyes – intense, bright, glistening.

Pleading.

Even if Lavi wanted to run, his legs felt like stone pillars mounted firmly in the ground. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he had half-expected to see it again, but even so, it still took him by surprise – too sudden, too close, and much too real. And yet this time, looking into the fair face of the boy that stood in place of his own reflection, Lavi realized he was not afraid at all.

The boy’s shoulders drooped in what looked like relief, a deep sigh fogging around his lips for a few seconds. Lavi watched as he raised his hand and knocked on the glass. The mirror shook with a dull clang, the image rippling like waves on a lake. Nothing more happened, though, and after a tense moment of hesitation Lavi decided to step closer again. The silver eyes widened, trained on him as the ghostly boy suddenly opened his mouth. No sound followed, but his lips shaped a single desperate word that Lavi recognized immediately:

Help.

Taking a final step towards the mirror, Lavi carefully reached out and put his fingers to the dusty surface. It felt cold, smooth and firm like a block of ice. His skin started to tingle against the touch, and he pulled it back immediately, hissing at the itch still wriggling right through his bones. Most peculiar. There was some magic at work there, no doubt about it.

Lavi had never had much experience with spells and sorcery. His master made sure he stayed as far away from it as he could in his line of work. Nothing good ever came from getting involved with magic – especially of this kind. Lavi chewed at his lip, the gears in his mind spinning under the imploring gaze from the mirror. Returning freedom to those sealed away was burdened with consequences. A powerful jinn or a mischievous dytko could cause a lot of trouble if they were let out by reckless actions. He should be cautious – he had to know exactly what he was dealing with.

Taut with anticipation, Lavi leveled his eye at the figure, steel needles of static dancing in the air between them.

“Who are you?" he whispered.

The boy didn’t reply, just leaned against the mirror with his hands splayed on the glass.

“Can you hear me?” Lavi dared to raise his voice just a little, but he could already see it wouldn’t make any difference. The boy in the mirror stared back at him with sad eyes, his lips fluttering again with soundless words.

“Hold on,” Lavi muttered, raising his finger in a gesture he could only hope would get it across. In a blink, he was back at the table, sifting through the notes until he found some blank scraps of parchment and a shabby quill stuck in an inkwell. The ink had gone dry a long time ago, but mixing it with some spit was more than good enough for him at the moment. Lavi dropped his findings in front of the mirror and hastily wrote his question, holding the parchment up for the boy to see:

Can you read?

The boy’s face lit up in an instant. He answered with a vehement nod, and Lavi didn’t waste time, dipping the quill back in the ink so quickly he almost spilled it.

Do you have a name?

His stomach light with thrill, Lavi watched as the boy opened his mouth again – but instead of speaking, he misted the glass with his breath and quickly started to scribble in the vapor with his finger. The mirrored letters were pale and wobbly, vanishing almost immediately:

Allen.

It felt like a pebble falling into its place in a confusing, half-finished mosaic. Lavi’s eye darted back to the table, back to the notebooks signed with the same name in the same sloppy handwriting. He tried to recall everything he had heard about this tower, about the hauntings and the missing astrologist, but there wasn’t much he could hold on to in those fanciful stories. Was this some kind of a trick after all? Or could the figure in the mirror really be…

But before Lavi could string his confusion and excitement into a coherent sentence, Allen started to write something again, fingers gliding over the glass and leaving a trail of lines as ghostly as himself:

Who are you?

Lavi hesitated, watching the mist fade away to reveal a pale face brimming with anticipation. Could he really trust this person? He still didn’t know for sure what he was facing – but would he ever get any closer to the truth if he backed away now?

He could divulge at least this much, he decided, his heart crawling up to his throat when he wrote the next sentence: I’m Lavi, the chronicler at the court. Knowing this shell of a name wouldn’t give anyone any power over him, and either way he would discard it as soon as the palace gates close behind him for the last time.

Allen tilted his head, staring at him with a thoughtful frown. A moment later, his face was a blur again, hasty strokes cutting through the screen of mist, but whatever he was trying to say faded away before Lavi could read it. Somehow, this helped to put his doubts at ease. As much as he yearned for this mysterious stranger to explain everything, he felt safer knowing that he was more in control of this conversation. It was his turn now, anyway – and so he quickly scrawled his next questions, smudging the letters with a shaky hand:

Are you the missing astrologist? Why are you here?

Allen’s face lit up with a surprised smile. He nodded eagerly, strands of silver- white hair flying over his eyes. His gaze was piercing, glimmering with unasked questions. It almost hurt to look – but Lavi wanted his own questions answered first. Restlessly, he tapped the second line with his quill, urging him on.

The smile fell. Allen bit his lip, turning those bright eyes away. For a moment, Lavi feared that was it, but then he started writing in his breath again, this time just a single, grim word: curse.

So he was right. Lavi eyed the mirror cautiously, nervous tension tingling in his fingertips. It was best to stay out of matters like this – but by now, curiosity had seized him firmly in its chilling grip and he knew it wouldn’t let go so easily. One of the greatest mysteries of the palace was right in front of him, just out of his reach, only a thin pane of glass separating him from the explanation he wanted so badly. He needed to know this story, to learn it straight from the source, to fill in the blanks left in the records. And then – then there was so much more that Allen could tell him…! His notes alone would be enough to quench Lavi’s thirst for learning for months. They were full of obscure science and research, things he’s never heard about, things he couldn’t even read. All this knowledge, and the only person who could share it with him was stuck in a crystal cage like a songless bird.

When he put his pen to paper again, there was no trace of doubt or hesitation left in his racing mind.

If I let you out, Lavi wrote, shooting Allen a determined look, will you promise to teach me?

Allen frowned, his mouth round with surprise: What?

I want to learn all you know. Everything. The tip of the quill flew over the parchment, scraping a thick, resolute line under the word. If I bring you back, you’ll tell me about your work and show me what you do. Sounds fair?

It took a moment for Allen to reply, a tense moment he spent drilling his gaze into Lavi as if he was trying to see something deep inside him. Lavi stared right back at him, studying that pale face for any hint to his thoughts – until finally, the astrologist nodded slowly. One of his hands reached up to the glass, the pads of his fingers pearly white where they met the surface. Lavi pressed his own hand against it, the hairs on his arm rising at the sudden bite of the magic discharge. This was an agreement, then. A simple pact, no more binding than a promise made to a friend, but somehow that gave it even more weight. They’ve only just met, and yet this stranger decided to trust him. Allen’s eyes were so full of hope it made his stomach churn. He knew next to nothing about magic – will he really be able to help?

Hesitant, Lavi tapped his fingers on the mirror’s frame, tracing the white veins in the smooth stone. The easiest way to break any spell was to destroy the enchanted object – but who could tell what would happen to Allen then? For all Lavi knew, he could very well shatter along with the glass prison that held him. They couldn’t risk it. The curse, whatever it was, had to be lifted properly.

Do you know the spell that was used? He wrote, dampening the tip of the quill with his tongue after each word. The dried remains of ink were running low, and Allen couldn’t really say much with his fading words, either, but that at least would be something to get them started. But when he held the parchment up to the mirror, all he got in response was a dejected shake of the head.

Lavi sighed, rubbing his temple to collect his thoughts, but somewhere deep down he could already feel the swelling excitement – a rising wave, ready to sweep him up and toss into a wild frenzy of research. He might be no good with magic, but he was great with books, and that was more than enough for now. This was a puzzle, a trick lock; all he had to do was find the right key.

I’ll start searching for a way to undo it, Lavi scribbled. If you can think of anything that might work, let me know.

Allen nodded behind the screen of fog, his eyes shining though the thin, shaky smudges: Thank you.

Lavi couldn’t help the smile that crept on his lips – but it was faint, and brief, and gone before the mist dissipated.

 ***

The moon was high up in the sky, pale rays breaking on the floor as Lavi pried the age-crusted window open. A mild breeze fluttered the candle flames and stirred the yew seeds scattered inside the charcoal circle at his feet. He carefully made his way back around it and knelt down over the book propped open against a stack of others. The diagram spread on the yellowed pages looked neater than the one he drew on the rough floorboards, but as long as all the sigils and ingredients were placed in the right configuration, the spell should still work.

“Let’s see,” Lavi muttered, picking at his lip as his eye flew over the faded text, checking everything for the last time. This spell was a bit more complicated than everything he had tried so far. Stronger, too. Maybe this time it could finally work.

A soft knock coming from the mirror stole his attention. Lavi looked up, just in time to see Allen’s message fading from the glass: It’s messed up.

“Whoops, sorry!” He followed Allen’s gaze and frantically reached out to sweep up the pile of thistle ash disturbed by the breeze. His hand trailed a faint gray smudge as he wiped it on the front of his shirt, sending Allen a lopsided smile. See, it’s all good now. Everything’s going to be fine.

Allen returned the smile, but his face remained tense. He looked as nervous as Lavi felt, fidgeting behind the cursed screen as he observed the preparations. Lavi couldn’t blame him – after all, his life now lay in the hands of a novice who wasn’t even sure what he was doing.

He turned back to the book, the words melting together in his head from the dozens of times he had read them already. As he pored over the lengthy list of directions, he could almost feel his old master’s disapproving glare boring into the back of his skull. For all the reverence for knowledge inherent to his profession, this was one of the few things he had been explicitly forbidden from studying. And yet here he was, with the bitter, earthy scent of herbs clinging to his hands, troubled less by defying his teachings and more by the disadvantage they put him at.

Never mind that now. With a bit of luck, this will be the last time he goes against them.

Are you ready? He scribbled on a shred of parchment, one of many he’d brought along to make sure he could talk freely. The floor around him was strewn with shreds of earlier conversations, questions and ideas jotted down in hasty, sloppy handwriting. He’d pick them up and burn them when he was done, just to be safe – a relic of his training that he found hard to shake, even though no one seemed to take interest in what he was doing up here.

Allen nodded, eyes trained on him expectantly. It was too hard to meet them. Averting his glance, Lavi stood up and stopped at the edge of the circle, careful not to smear the outline. With a deep, measured breath, he reached down and picked up the small cup he had prepared earlier, the smooth ceramic still warm to the touch.

“Here goes,” he sighed and slowly spilled its contents in the center of the ring. A strong, spicy scent rose into the air as the brew splashed onto the floor. The candlelight flickered in the dark puddle like scattered coins. Lavi put the cup away and crouched down, dipped a shaky finger in the mixture and started to stir, scraping against the wet wood in small, deliberate spirals. Across the circle, Allen drew closer, leaning wide-eyed against the glass pane. Lavi did his best to avoid his gaze, focusing on the warmth coating his fingertips and the almost hypnotic movements of his own hand.

The breeze picked up again, the window rattled against the wall in the sudden surge. The candle flame shot higher, casting long, dancing shadows on the cluttered floor. Lavi held his breath, almost choking on the lungful of heady aromas all around him. The brew bubbled, foamed, steamed – and settled again before he could even think to pull his hand away. The candles went out. The silver streaks of moonlight faded under his scalded fingers, plunging the room in a cold, silky twilight.

Nothing happened.

Lavi sat back on the hard floor, feeling a choking lump of ice slowly dislodge from his throat and drop heavily to the pit of his stomach. Disappointment weighed down on him as he got back his bearings, wrapped in silence and the smell of blown out candles. With a sigh, he shuffled through the ring, paying no mind to the now useless remains of the spell, and turned his oil lamp back up.

If it was hard to look Allen in the eye before, it was impossible now. He sat there still and silent, head bowed low, hugging his knees tight to his chest with a white-knuckled grip. Lavi took one glance at the dejected slump of his shoulders and pointedly busied himself with inspecting the mirror frame, looking for any signs of success that he already knew he wouldn’t find.

I think it looks more cracked than before, he wrote, pressing the scrap against the fizzling glass before turning it around to show Allen. The astrologist just pursed his lips and shook his head with a look that made Lavi ashamed for playing with his hopes like this.

Good work, though, came a misty reply, and for a moment Lavi’s heart felt lighter before crumpling up with defeat once more.

Not good enough if you’re still in there. I’ve got one more, take a look, he wrote back. As soon as he held the paper up, he was already reaching out with the other hand to pull the right book out from the bottom of the stack. Allen tilted his head quizzically, craning his neck to see as Lavi leafed through the abundantly marked pages.

Here. Lavi set the book down at last, tapping his finger on an intricately inked initial. Allen quickly skimmed over the first paragraph and looked back up to give him a resolute nod. His eyes were bright with confidence, shining in the mirror like a twin reflection of the silver moon.

Lavi caught himself staring. He cleared his throat, eye darting away to focus on the open page instead, examining the tiny, densely packed script upside down as if he could read it. It didn’t matter either way; he could recall the instructions word for word ever since the first time he read them. He had never praised his perfect memory as much as he did these days, digging through dozens of books each day and having to keep track of every little snippet that could help him.

I’ll get to it now. The last word drowned in a black splatter as Lavi dropped the quill in his hurry to start working. It took only a moment to brush aside the mess left by the previous attempt, scrub down the lines from the floorboards and discard the half-melted candles. His limbs were heavy with fatigue, but determination lent fire to his body and kept him moving as he went about setting the new spell up, hands trembling under the watchful silver gaze. It was all simple things this time too, herbs he had snuck out from the kitchens and seeds he had bought in the market on his days off. Good, helpful magic did not demand much, it seemed.

And yet, Lavi still came up short.

“Damn it,” he muttered, looking haplessly around the jumble of books and ingredients. He shot Allen an apologetic glance and heaved himself up, wobbling a bit on his stiffened legs. A puzzled look from the mirror followed him all the way as he circled the room, rummaging in the cupboards and drawers.

I forgot to bring a knife, he explained once he plopped back on his spot, rubbing his eye from the dust and the candle smoke and lack of sleep. Hold on, I’ll go get it real quick.

The mirror fogged up before he even made to stand up again.

You need rest. Allen looked at him over the writing, his eyes firm.

It won’t be long, Lavi assured, but Allen’s gaze held him in place even as it disappeared once more behind a screen of mist:

I can wait.

Are you sure? Lavi held the parchment up to cover the traitorous yawn that escaped him just then. Judging by Allen’s face, he still noticed.

Go to sleep. His eyes softened as he smiled, steel melting back into silver, and Lavi couldn’t help but answer with a smile on his own, pale and tired and grateful.

I’ll come back tomorrow, then. He gave Allen a little wave and reached out on a whim to playfully poke his nose with the tip of the quill. Allen winced comically, stumbling back in surprise despite the glass separating them.

Goodnight, Lavi. He punctuated it with a prod towards Lavi’s nose in turn, shaking his head not without amusement.

 ***

The silence of the library wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, filling his ears and brain with cotton numbness. Lavi fidgeted on the hard chair, rhythmically tapping his quill against the desk to stay focused. It was getting late, later than he would usually stay in there recently, but there were still some books he wanted to check before heading up to the tower. He leafed through the yellowed pages, stopping every now and then to jot down a note and mark the spot with a piece of parchment. Even the simplest things, even if it didn’t seem like much – he would grab onto anything that held the faintest ray of promise. There weren’t many of those, though. With a sigh, Lavi set the volume aside and opened the next one, biting down at a smile as his eye fell on the familiar sloppy handwriting on the margin. Scribbling on books was not something he approved of, but Allen’s notes were often more helpful than the text they annotated, so Lavi was willing to forgive him for this awful habit.

That, however, was one of few traces Allen seemed to have left in the royal writings at all. The documents and chronicles Lavi had perused made no mention of his name, and at any rate it was a blind search without knowing how far back he should look. Even with all his love for puzzles, this one was frustrating to no end. Books and records had never let him down in the past – but this time, no matter how hard he looked, it appeared they did not have the answers.

There was but one way left to figure it out.

The night was dark and still when he finally climbed the steep stairs of the tower, weighed down with half a dozen volumes and a sack of spell ingredients. Allen was already waiting for him, the same bright smile as always lighting up his face as soon as Lavi opened the door. His eyes glinted in the gray shadow of the room before they were covered by a veil of vapor: Hello.

“Hi,” Lavi whispered, pressing his open hand to the cold glass. He set down his load and rummaged in the sack for the writing supplies, but before he even uncorked the inkwell, he saw Allen already writing again.

What’s wrong?

Lavi looked away quickly, smoothing out the crinkled shred of parchment in his hands.

Why would anything be wrong?

You look… troubled, Allen replied, hesitating a bit between breaths. His eyes widened, watchful and so full of concern that for a moment Lavi’s resolve wavered. He didn’t want to see them grow dark with the memories of the painful past.

I’m tired. I had a long day, he wrote, playing for time with himself. Allen nodded with understanding as he eyed the stack of books in front of the mirror.

Found it? He asked.

I think so. Lavi pulled up one of the books and cracked it open on the spell that seemed to match what Allen had told him last time. He got it right – and he couldn’t help but smile at the wonky drawing of a happy face he got in answer.

We can try it now, I’ve got everything prepared-- Lavi’s quill hovered in place, heavy drops of ink dripping from the tip and crashing onto the parchment. But first, I wanted to ask you something.

Allen raised his eyebrows, finger fluttering on the glass like a lost butterfly. Ask what?

Lavi studied his face for a moment, smearing the ink over his hands as he twirled the quill nervously before he finally started writing.

How did you end up in there? You’ve never told me what happened.

The shift in Allen’s face was hard to miss even in the dim light – the way his pale cheeks turned even whiter and the shadows under his eyes sharpened. He looked away, down at his fidgeting hands, and when he raised his eyes again, they were filled with leaden unease. His lips trembled as he took a deep breath – then another – and once more – but each time he let them out, their mist would wither away without an answer. Lavi watched him intently, holding still as if the slightest move could ruin the delicate balance and push Allen to withdraw even further – but in the end, it didn’t matter.

Can’t say. Allen shook his head, the shrinking fog taking the words away from under his fingers.

Why not? Lavi pressed, his eye still fixed firm on Allen’s face. What’s wrong with that?

Just can’t.

Can’t or won’t? Lavi swallowed down the disappointment, writing so quickly he nearly tore through the parchment. Is this a part of the curse? Or do you—he paused, ready to cross it out, but the bitterness gnawing at his guts won. Or do you not want to? Don’t you trust me?

It’s not—Allen’s hand trembled, a deep sigh hiding his face in a blur. –not that.

Then why not tell me?

Allen shook his head again, more frantic, leaning against the glass as he misted it up over and over.

I can’t

Not yet

I’m sorry

The letters staggered, breaking under his unsteady finger. The mist crept down, washing them away like a falling tide, but the eyes behind it remained blurred, glassed over with tears that threatened to spill under the white lashes. The guilty look on his face made Lavi’s heart fall, his composure returning in an instant. Now he felt like a fool – there was no reason to lash out like he did.

It’s all right, he backed away lamely, chewing at his lip with frustration. Must be a damn good reason.

No response, just more fidgeting.

You’ll tell me when I get you out. It will be fine then, right?

Allen nodded slowly, solemnly.

Great, Lavi scribbled, hazarding a smile that soon found a reflection in the pale face before him. Then let’s get to it!

 ***

The nights soon started to blur together, sleepless and busy, filled with fruitless tries that Lavi could no longer bother to count. Still, he didn’t mind – it was far from new to him, after all. Sleep was a low price to pay in return for the answers he yearned after, and the thrill of the unknown helped to keep him up at least until the last of the lamps gave out. Between researching the spells and his usual duties, often it wasn’t until midnight that he stumbled up to the tower, laden with books and supplies, hoping that maybe this time one of them would finally do the trick.

And though they never did, the time he spent there did not feel wasted in the least. It was always good to see Allen, to exchange smiles and ideas, to look through the books and notes in his silent company. They could barely talk, but the more they did, the less Lavi could fathom why anyone would want to curse the astrologist. His wit and charm shone through with a strength that even the magic barrier could not stop, and with every quip, every gesture, every concerned look thrown his way from the glass surface, Lavi found himself growing fonder and fonder of him.

He was no longer just a puzzle to be solved – which made solving it all the more frustrating.

Are you sure I’m not doing something wrong? He scrawled, jabbing the quill into the parchment so hard it nearly snapped. What if it’s not working because I’m messing it up?

It’s not you, Allen protested, looking at him over the remains of their last botched attempt. I’d tell you. Don’t worry.

Lavi just shook his head with a grimace and turned back to cleaning, scraping the melted wax sigils off the floor and picking up the needles placed meticulously around the circle. His hands ached, pale lines of scars rippling over his knuckles as he worked. Not all spells were kind. Mistake or failure in the magic art could often hurt the flesh and break the mind of those not careful enough in its handling. Lavi had learnt that early on, and he knew he should count himself lucky for only earning a few burns and scratches so far.

This was the last one I had for tonight, he wrote after sweeping the last of the scattered herbs up in a pile. Unless you have something else?

Allen tapped his chin pensively.

Not much. He gestured to the bowl of brine left on the floor, then up to the cupboards lining the wall. Chamomile, he instructed.

Lavi jumped to his feet, crossing the room with energy he couldn’t find just moments before. By now, he was familiar with Allen’s stash enough to locate the right ingredients immediately. Shriveled flower heads rattled in the jar as he made his way back; he could only guess how long they had been sitting on that dusty shelf – but fortunately, age meant nothing for their magic properties.

Allen didn’t waste time on writing anymore. Lavi followed his gestures closely, plucking out three big flowers and crushing them into the brine as the astrologist walked him through the steps in a graceful pantomime. It was easier this way, quicker, and over time they had gotten quite good at reading each other’s faces and hands. Allen moved like a dancer, sharp and clear, ordering him with broad, confident strokes. Sprinkle. Stir. Swipe. Carefully, Lavi dipped his hand in the bowl and smoothed it over the glass, ignoring the instant tingle that raced through his skin. The water dripped down Allen’s face, rippling and bubbling, until the last drop evaporated with a hiss and the cursed screen smoothed out again, untouched and unmoved.

The bowl clattered against the hard wood, its contents sloshing out in a dark circle as Lavi set it down on the floor. On the other side, Allen slumped to his knees with a sigh, but from the look on his face it was clear he didn’t expect much to begin with. No wonder, Lavi thought bitterly; it was nothing more than a common folk charm. They truly were starting to get desperate, resolving to this kind of thing where even proper spells had proven too weak.

Well. If they were at that point already, surely it wouldn’t hurt to try everything.

Stifling the laugh that bubbled up in him at the thought, Lavi scooted closer and gently tapped his fingers on the mirror. Allen looked up, startled, hair falling softly over his eyes as he tilted his head. Lavi barely curbed the instinct to reach and try to brush them away; for a moment, he hesitated, bracing himself for the pain to come – and then he leaned in to smooch the cursed glass right where Allen’s confused face was.

It hurt more than he expected, the barrier sparking to life with force he hadn’t felt before. Lavi sprang back at once, breaking the connection and grasping for balance in a daze. His face felt numb and the metallic bite of static on his lips tasted like ice. But all that lasted just a few heartbeats, and when he looked up again, the bolt rushed through his body once more, warmer and stronger.

Allen was laughing, holding his sides, shoulders shaking as he leaned his forehead against the glass that was still stubbornly there. The only change to the smooth surface was the wet print of Lavi’s lips over his cheek, fading slowly until no trace remained to be seen.

What— wobbly letters bloomed in its place a moment later, but the astrologist was too wrapped up in his giggling fit to finish writing, hand sliding helplessly down the mirror to clutch at his stomach.

“True love’s kiss”, Lavi explained, scraping the bitter tang of the brine off his tongue. The most basic magic, I know. Don’t look at me like this, it was worth the shot!

Already flushed from all the laughter, Allen’s cheeks coloured an even deeper crimson.

You looked… like a fish, he managed at last, wiping the tears from his eyes with the other hand.

In spite of himself, Lavi felt a smile tugging at his lips at the comment. It was not often that he’d seen Allen this cheerful in the past weeks. There was a small victory in this failed attempt after all, if it managed to make him laugh even for a short moment.

Did I, now? And what do you think you look like, flapping your mouth like that? he teased, pulling a face over the parchment as he held it up.

Not like this, came a quick answer before the sight had Allen curled up again, chuckling soundlessly into his fist.

Next time, Lavi promised himself – next time he will hear that laughter.

 ***

The sky was starting to pale on the horizon, slowly replacing the dying light of the oil lamp with the dusty glow of the dawn. To Lavi’s tired eye, it was not much of a difference. After hours of peering into the papers, he could barely see anything at all. His head was splitting, and the futility of the task wore him down and weighed on his shoulders like a stone. For how vast the palace library was, the materials he had managed to find were dwindling fast. Time passed, and all those books and attempts didn’t bring them any closer to a solution. But there was still a wealth of information he hadn’t sifted through – stashed up in the tower, scattered all around in notebooks and loose pages. Somewhere in the chaos of Allen’s notes could lie the key they were looking for.

Your handwriting is a mess, Lavi noted, setting the page he’s been studying aside and shuffling the rest for another promising trail.

Now it bugs you? Allen smirked.

Really, sometimes I can’t even tell what language it is!

There’s just one. With a shake of his head, the astrologist leaned on his elbow, eyes fixed attentively on the paper in Lavi’s hands. Lavi could almost sense his helplessness and frustration radiating through the glass. He also wished there was a way for Allen to help him sort through those notes.

Drained and disheartened, Lavi threw himself back onto the floor, resting his head on a stack of useless books. His bones and muscles protested sharply after so much time spent crouching in front of the mirror. Stretched out on the hard boards, he let his mind wander, staring at the dark ceiling high above. There were planets and clouds and constellations, painted in faded colours and flaking off with age. Among them, he could just barely make out the outline of a huge snake-like body, etched into the stone with fine golden lines. Lavi followed it absent-mindedly as it coiled all across the room, twisting among the pale pictures. Its hind legs rested against the doorframe, while the head took up most of the opposite wall, glaring at him with a big round eye from between two bookshelves. Lavi peered back at it, frowning. In the soft morning light, a part of the wall seemed to jut out just a bit, circling the dragon’s eye with a thin dark shadow. It was easy to miss at a glance, but the longer he looked, the more obvious it became.

Intrigued, Lavi heaved himself up and came closer to inspect it. His weary sight could deceive him, but when he ran his hand over the stone, he met a shallow yet distinct groove. It was just enough to slip a finger in there and pry. The tile shifted slightly and fell out – and with it a small shower of parchment rolls and loose scraps, pouring from the opening they had been crammed in.

As he bent down to collect them, Lavi felt the blood hammering in his ears. Things kept out of sight were always the most interesting; if someone had gone through the trouble to hide something, it had to be important. Smoothing out the crinkled pages, he crossed the room back to the faint circle of lamp light by the mirror. Allen followed him with tense eyes, but remained still. Did he know about this? Lavi couldn’t waste time for questions, already too engrossed in his findings to discuss them.

Most of it was numbers, equations spanning entire pages, celestial coordinates and dates from over a hundred years back. Other sheets had pictures, schemes and star diagrams he couldn’t read much from. Others yet were filled with densely packed notes. Lavi decided to look at these first, peering at the rows of messy penmanship and trying to decipher the names scribbled in tiny print on top of each page.

It didn’t take him long to realize what he had in his hands – and when he did, he nearly dropped it. Blinking in disbelief, he looked up to meet Allen’s wary gaze and reached for his quill, writing so fast he nearly ripped the parchment with the nib.

Did you make these?

Allen averted his eyes, but nodded slowly, pausing for a moment before he fogged the mirror with a deep sigh: crown counsel.

Lavi suspected as much. The names on the notes were ones he knew well – the names of princes of this land. These, then, must have been readings Allen had made as the royal advisor.

He went on, reading intently through every line of faded ink. There was a host of reasons why submitting a royal horoscope could land the author in trouble, especially in case of a matter as momentous as succession. If he was right, the answer for what happened had to be somewhere here. One by one, page after page, Lavi studied the princes’ fortunes until finally one of them caught his attention.

It was not outright bad – the astrologist had more than enough common sense, after all – but the clever meanders of his words did little to soften the picture they painted. It was a dark and brutal judgement that its recipient certainly did not appreciate. Lavi held the note up for Allen to see, quickly scrawling his question with the other hand.

Is this why you were cursed?

Allen bit his lip. The shame and regret on his face spoke more than his ghostly words could.

The third prince was not impressed with your opinion of him, was he? Lavi wrote carefully, glancing between the paper and the mirror. Did he do this?

He saw but a short nod before Allen’s face blurred behind the screen of fog: Ordered it.

That, Lavi could see. He’d read many records that painted the third prince as a violent and prideful man who held his grudges long and firm. There was no doubt that his nature made him a poor candidate for the crown – and obviously he did not care much for hearing so from the court astrologist. It was unspeakable luck that Allen was still alive when the prince wanted him disposed of.

You can go.

The fading words left Lavi puzzled. What do you mean? he wrote back and watched with a frown as Allen breathed on the mirror again and again.

I’m a traitor. So they say. That’s why – I didn’t tell you. I was scared. If you knew – you wouldn’t help. I’m sorry.

He only stopped when Lavi put his hand to the glass, covering the fog.

Calm down, Allen. I’m not going anywhere. His hasty handwriting was barely legible, but Lavi was too agitated to care. You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve this. Of course I’ll get you out.

That’s treason too. Allen shot him a fearful look. It’s not safe. He’ll get you.

“He…? What?” Lavi mouthed, trying to make sense of the cryptic message – and then his heart caught in his throat as he realized what Allen had in mind and what that meant.

He won’t, he wrote slowly, carefully choosing his words. Don’t worry, I can do this. I promise you I’m not risking anything. There’s no threat for either of us anymore.

Allen bit his lip as he read, staring at the parchment for a long moment before replying with just a single word: How?

Lavi’s hand hovered over the parchment. It did not come easy, and he could only hope that Allen would find at least some relief in these shocking words.

All those people are long gone now. There’s no one here to know about this. You’ll be safe.

He watched Allen’s face fall as his eyes darted over the writing.

How long? The letters appeared slowly as if carved in stone and not vapour.

Over a century. There was no point in hiding the truth any longer – Lavi couldn’t think of anything that could soften a blow like this. What did it have to feel like, to spend decades all alone in a place without time? To suddenly learn that everything you knew was not there anymore?

Allen sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with soundless sobs, roughly, rapidly, then slower, as if there was no strength left in him anymore. When he looked up at Lavi again, his cheeks were stained with tears – but his eyes glinted with something else entirely.

It’s fine, he wrote, trailing tiny droplets after his wet finger. It’s for the better. Thank you, Lavi.

No need to thank me. Lavi shook his head with a pale smile. At least wait until we let you out.

The breath that fogged the mirror next was silent like all – but he knew it had to be a laugh.

I feel free already.

 ***

Knowledge has never weighed down on Lavi’s mind this much. Now that he finally got the answer he so craved for, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. His heart ached for Allen, a dull pain that laced his thinking with a feverish haze as he took on his research more determined than ever. A century of silent solitude was too horrible to even imagine – he couldn’t let Allen have to endure it any longer.

The corner of the page crumbled in his fingers as he turned it. Lavi winced, but quickly shook off the guilt along with the paper dust. No one would notice – no one ever read the books he was looking through. They were kept in the library merely as curiosities for display, their contents too dark and twisted to take in earnest. Miranda would probably faint from fright if she caught him now. Lavi wasn’t sure if she would panic more over him studying these scripts or ruining them. He stole a look over his shoulder just in case, but the librarian was nowhere to be seen. That was a relief; having to explain himself to her was the last thing he wanted.

But it was not Miranda that Lavi should have been concerned with.

What’s this? Allen eyed him suspiciously as he dropped his notes before the mirror a few days later.

Our last resort, Lavi wrote back after spilling the spell supplies from the sack. It took me a while to collect everything, so it’d better be worth the effort. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.

As he started to sort through the packets and jars, Allen craned his neck, peering upside down at the symbols meticulously copied from the dilapidated volume. With the corner of his eye, Lavi saw his frown deepen – and then he looked back up, shaking his head vehemently.

What’s wrong? Lavi turned to him with concern, quill dripping.

Don’t. Allen slashed the fog with firm strokes and pierced him with a stern, steel look.

Why? Did I miss something? Scribbling with one hand, Lavi shuffled through his notes, but Allen’s words bloomed on the glass again, stealing his attention.

It’s hard, Allen wrote quickly, the fuzzy edges of mist already nipping at the letters. Too hard. If it fails— He didn’t finish, letting the message wither away as he fixed his imploring gaze on Lavi. Please, he sighed.

It’s worth the risk, Lavi replied in harsh, thick letters smeared with a piece of coal he had grabbed to outline the spell ring. He went on to it right away, and it wasn’t until he completed the last rune when he finally looked up again.

Stop. Allen’s hand sprang into motion as soon as their eyes met. I can’t allow it.

Lavi gritted his teeth, parchment crumpling under his hand.

This is our best chance right now, he insisted, ink splattering across the page as he tossed the quill aside in his haste to continue the preparations. Three black river stones set in a line pointing North. An iron ring. A crown of sloe thorns around the edge. A pile of sparrow bones in the middle, nested on a handful of earth from the crossroads.

NO.

A loud bang from the mirror gave him a start. Allen stood with his clenched fist against the glass, the angry word fading over his heaving chest. STOP. And right after that, I mean it.

We don’t have much choice. Lavi’s quill dragged on the parchment, digging lines in the rough surface. Don’t you want to get out?

Not like this.

With a sigh, Lavi lay down the quill and inched closer to the mirror. The spell was almost ready – there was no way he would back out now. Smiling softly, he pressed his hand to the sizzling pane and breathed out, his eye never leaving Allen’s face.

It’s fine. The words hovered in the fog between them even as Allen shook his head again.

No. He didn’t bother writing anymore, the soundless protest rounding his lips over and over and over.

“It’s fine, Allen,” Lavi whispered, taking a step back and feeling blindly for the last thing he needed. His fingers clenched nervously around the wooden handle. The candlelight glided over the polished blade. In the mirror, Allen thrashed against the barrier, mouth open in a silent scream.

It took all of Lavi’s strength to tear his eye off him.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, his voice trembling as he rolled up his sleeve and put the knife to the crook of his arm. The cold steel stung so sharply that he almost didn’t feel when it broke the skin. Blood trickled down freely, thin threads of sticky warmth trailed across his body, heavy drops hit the floorboards with deep, booming thumps – or was it his pulse hammering in his ears? – or was it coming from the mirror? Lavi clenched his eye and reached out over the circle, letting the blood fall and splash on the smooth river stones.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

When he looked again, there were tears in Allen’s eyes, trickling down, trailing wet threads across his cheeks, splashing heavily at his feet. He didn’t stop for a moment to wipe them, hands red from pounding on the glass in a frantic rhythm that matched the racing of Lavi’s heart.

“It’s all right. I promise, it will be over soon.” It was hard to hold that hot glare, but Lavi did, looking dead ahead as he drew a deep breath and stepped inside the ring.

He didn’t see it until he felt it, the sudden heat lapping at his legs, the faint glow dusting the charcoal lines, growing stronger with every blink. A low flame slowly crawled around the edge of the circle, flickering gently as if taking a breath – and then roared into life, enveloping Lavi in a whirl of fire.

Allen’s terrified face vanished behind the red veil. Lavi choked on the heated air, his throat and chest burning with each gasp. He held his breath, barely keeping himself from crying out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Something went wrong, again, but this time he was not dealing with benign magic that forgave mistakes easily. Panic rose in his stomach as he watched the flames dancing round and round, licking his arms and swallowing the papers laying on the floor. He had to stop it.

His body moved as if on its own. Before he could think, Lavi braced himself and leaped.

Every inch of his flesh screamed as he flew through the wall of fire. Out of the raging blaze, the cooler air hit his skin like a thousand of needles. Lavi rolled on the ground and scrambled to his feet, looking around in a daze. There. He reached over the clutter and grabbed the torn curtain jumbled on the floor under the window. The thick fabric smoked and charred when he threw it to smother the flames, covering the burnt ring like a burial shroud.

Lavi stared at it, chest heaving as he fought to force his breath through his clenched throat. Through the thinning smoke, he saw Allen pressed up against the mirror, face frozen in a mask of terror and pain. Lavi was before him in a heartbeat, falling to his knees in the ashes of notes and books he couldn’t care less for now.

Lavi. He recognized his name on the pale lips, cried out time after time, lingering on the glass in a mist that ebbed before Allen could put his trembling finger to it.

“I’m here,” Lavi whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold, soothing pane even if just for a moment. “It’s all right, Allen, I’m here, everything is fine.”

It’s not fine, the tearful glare told him. Allen jabbed his finger at the mirror, scribbling frantically, scratching it off and trying again, struggling against the shrinking fog and his shivering body.

“Shhh. Calm down.” Lavi reached up to his face as if he could touch him through the glass and wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. There was nothing he wanted more. Allen’s face was soft and shining in the moonlight, the damp trails on his skin glowing silver. He looked like a porcelain figure – white and delicate and ready to shatter any moment.

Gingerly, Lavi leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead, the charged aura of the barrier tingling between his lips.

It stung. It stung and pricked and hurt, but as Lavi pulled away, he realized it was not the curse biting at his skin. The smooth surface split under his touch, distorting Allen’s shocked features with a jagged line. The crack spread like a spiderweb, tiny specks of glass flew into his face and Lavi barely managed to close his eye and turn away before the entire mirror shattered.

The next moment, there were arms wrapped tight around him, a warm weight in his lap, a wet face pressed into his neck.

Lavi blinked the crystal dust away, gaping in disbelief at the empty jade frame and the boy in his arms, so close and so real. He held him fast, fingers clenched into his shirt, burying his nose in the white hair. Allen’s breath crashed against his skin in a hot wave, and when he finally pulled away, Lavi suddenly felt cold like never before.

It was obvious now – and it should have been obvious to him long ago already. How come he had not seen before how much his feelings had grown over all those sleepless nights and silent conversations?

“Allen…” Lavi stammered, bewilderment clutching his throat. “That was… I think I—“

Gray eyes looked up at him, wide and red-rimmed under the tousled bangs. Lavi reached up to brush it away and let his hand linger, gently tracing the curve of the pale cheek, fingertips ghosting over the corner of the lips. Allen smiled into the touch, cupping Lavi’s hand in his own to hold it there.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and laughed, and his voice rang like silver and glass through the night.

[redditnosleep]

I've Been Seeing A Man In My Backyard For The Past Two Nights

by Opinionson

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (Final)

Hi everyone,

For anyone who has been reading this I am alive and well but far from safe. As my neighbor and I were waiting for the coast to be clear, I saw my garage door open and at approximately 3:27 am, and right then my neighbor and I booked it to his car. As we were leaving I saw the light turn on in my bathroom and I nearly threw up realizing how easily he got in and how I had been just a sitting duck an hour prior. I have been fantasizing over and over of how if I had stayed in there, my neighbors would have called me telling me he was in my driveway and i would had heard my garage opening with dread just knowing I was absolutely fucked. Once we were in the car we sped off to the police station.

Police gave me the usual rundown of questions in this type of situation like; Whether I knew this man, when and where my first encounter with him was, and whether I could identify his car/if I managed to write down his license plate. I told them he had only come two times prior, and that both times it was too dark to tell even with the street light. When the man had parked in my driveway one of my neighbors who had still been on the lookout said she that she saw the car was a grey Volkswagen with no license plate. She went on to say she saw the man type in the code to my garage, go inside and turn on each of my lights, as though he was checking the whole house. The man had stayed there for 5 minutes according to her and proceeded to get back in his car without taking anything and sped off down my street. She notified the police immediately and they have been searching for him since then.

Nothing has come up. We returned to find that the house had been left relatively unscathed. The police did not find even a trace of DNA. Whoever this man was, he was meticulous as all hell, and somehow had gained the knowledge of what my garage code was. It makes me shiver to think he may have been watching me even as I typed it in earlier in the week. God only knows what other knowledge he has to track me down. My parents have still yet to return home from their trip as their plane was delayed, so as of right now I am alone and still at the hotel with only a bottle of Jack Daniels to console me. A couple police cars has been stationed around the area of my house looking for the guy and they are all waiting upon his arrival. I am not leaving this hotel until this fucker is caught. I don’t think I will be able to sleep tonight. I am hoping this is the night he finally can’t track me.

The police have advised me to stop using any form of social media that can be indicative of where I am. That means no snapchat, no instagram, no facebook; nothing. They told me that I can use my laptop as long as I remain as low profile as possible. This means all I can do now is wait for the police to call me and tell me that the stalker has been caught. Now I am gonna try and figure out just who this guy is and why he might try to be stalking me.

Theory 1: My 9th grade Italian teacher. So I went to a private school and this teacher had basically been one of the biggest lunatics I had ever met in a school system. He was very outspoken in the way he described politics and very mean spirited during his time teaching. He would always make fun of students, had sometimes fallen asleep in class, and would always make perverted comments towards girls I knew. So one day, I decided to write an email to the Dean asking him to please fire the man from his teaching position and explaining the unacceptable behavior he had while working. It worked, and I have never seen the man since. Now the reason I think he could be a possibility is because he never particularly liked me, in fact I feel as though he singled me out in a lot of instances and picked on me. I don’t know if he ever found out I sent the email, but if he did I am extremely worried. I can’t tell if it was him or not when he spoke in my backyard, as I was in full adrenaline mode while I was screaming at him. I would say this is not a likely suspect but I’m just not sure.

Theory 2: My Christian deacon from back in second grade. I used to be part of this church program a while back when I was in elementary school. Out of all the head figures there one that always stood out to me: Deacon Anthony. He was a middle aged man, very soft spoken and he had always been very particularly nice to me and my friend Kevin. He would often bring us candy, talked to us about our home life, and treated us more fairly than the rest of the kids. One day my friend Kevin had told me that Deacon Anthony had asked Kevin if he wanted to go home with him to hang out. Kevin said no to him and told me. I told my parents about this and they had immediately contacted the church and told them about it. After that I never saw Deacon Anthony again. My parents later told me that they had contacted the board and he was removed from the church. If this is the guy, he must have had a massive personality shift after that incident because the way the man happily told me to “HAVE A NICE DAY” did not match up with the one he had when I was younger.

Theory 3: My classmate Derek from 8th grade. Derek was one of those insecure types who would always get off to making other people feel small. He was your standard 8th grade middleschool shiteater who deserved nothing but a good ass whooping, which unfortunately never came. However what did happen was I had started a rumor about him that I wish to not bring up, but it pretty much ruined his reputation and made him a laughing stock. He never found out it was me as far as I could tell, but from what I heard from my hometown while I went off to public school is that at our local public High School the rumor hadn’t stopped, and he turned into one of those quiet kids who never talked. Keep in mind, this kid literally had told my whole friend group to stop hanging out with me, so as far as I can tell this revenge was extremely justified in my mind. This may in fact be the prime suspect as he would most likely know where I live. I tried finding any sort of social media about him but nothing came up. This guy is a ghost and I have no idea what he has been up to.

Theory 4: Some complete stranger who I have no association with. Maybe this is just a genuine old school stalker who takes pride in picking out their prey from a random crowd. No one I have seen in this town for the past week has seemed particularly odd. The only one that comes to mind was this weird cashier at 7/11 who seemed particularly in love with his job. He may have some form of asperger's syndrome or just maybe he just takes pride in being a cashier but he was always very polite with his customers when he had been interacting with them. I had gone in to get a soda from the fountain and as the store was empty he had asked me:

“Hey is that all you're getting”

I said “Yeah this is all”

So he continues “Oh well congratulations! It’s free!”

I thought, sweet a free soda, this guy is the shit. I thanked him a ton as he was smoking a cigarette outside and I said “Have a good one” and left. Now I know what all of you must be thinking. This is definitely the guy. He’s a fucking cashier for crying out loud! Well, I am just not sure. This guy was probably in his thirties, seemed extremely grateful for his low end job, and just seemed content with what he had. He didn’t strike me as a stalker, but then again I haven’t been back to the store since so he maybe still be there or not there at all. Time will tell. I might have to stop by tomorrow and do a little more investigating.

As we speak it is 11:00 pm again, and I am staring out my hotel window scrolling through reddit. I am still dreading the moment I see a car with flashing high beams pull into the parking lot, so I will probably just be looking out my window all night again. I will post more updates if necessary. I appreciate you all, bye for now.

Edit 12:43 am: I'm reading all your comments guys and just so you guys know I can't get ahold of a gun as easily as most of you think. I live in a state where that shit does not fly the best think I have right now is pepper spray and baseball bat.

Edit: 1:37 am: Call me a lunatic but I left my room to get some fresh air. I couldn't stand being in this small ass hotel room one more second. I was bugging out like crazy though. Every person I saw seemed like a threat to me. I started talking with this one guy in the hotel lobby. Says he's been traveling from state on some sort of self indulged journey across the country. I asked him if he has any experiences with stalkers and he told me that he had been receiving anonymous calls a couple years back of from some guy. I asked if he has ever encountered one in his backyard or anything and he just looked at me funny. I explained to him the situation and he wished me the best of luck. Nothing out of the ordinary but it was nice to have some real human interaction while I am losing my mind.

Edit: 1:46 am: Alright one of the janitors must be fucking with me. I spent the last 10 minutes searching for my phone and asked someone outside my room to call it for me. I listened for the ringing and its in the fucking safe and the password is not the one they gave me. What the fuck?! This is fucking ridiculous! Whoever fucking did this is going to get torn a new one. I'm going to the manager right now to get this sorted out.

Edit 2:08 am: I'm demanding a different room. I am not staying in that same fucking room one more second. The whole staff is in there now trying to figure out the safe pass word. Meanwhile the manager is looking for the janitors who have been in my room to ask what the fuck they were thinking. Fuck this. I'm tired, I'm worried, and now I just lost my fucking phone. FUCK!

Edit 2:24 am: Its not the garage code guys I checked. Even if it was why would it be and how would the fucking stalker even get into my hotel room let alone rewire my safe?

Edit 2:26 am: Guys I'm not leaving the hotel ok I already paid the money to stay here I dont have any other place to go thats not 100 miles away. I have no car, I got here in an uber car and atleast here there is over a hundred people staying here. The stalker is not gonna come into a hotel full of people.

Edit 2:40 am: Ok now you guys got me worried. I'm sitting in my hotel room, all alone with no phone. No way to call an uber. No way to call the police. I'm starting to think one of the janitors got bribed to do this. I now not only have no way of driving away from here, but I have no way on contacting any family or anyone for that matter of getting me away from the hotel. I'm going to wait another 45 minutes and if they don't open the safe I am demanding they call an uber for me and I'm driving the hell out of here.

Edit 2:53 am: Someone just knocked on the door saying the safe is open. I told them alright and then they asked me to come get it. I asked him if he can slip it under the door but he said I need to go get it myself. I told him I would in a couple minutes and that he'd be waiting. I don't know what to do guys you're all fucking with my mind.

Edit 3:10 am: The man said that my phone is in the main lobby if I want it. I am on my laptop next to my window and I could have sworn out of the corner of my eye I saw a car flashing its high beams. I don't know if I should hold out till morning or get my phone and leave...

Edit 3:14 am: Guys I am not waiting until 3:24 for this guy to fucking come into my room and jump me. I am packing and getting the fuck out of here. I'll keep you guys posted on mobile when I get my phone back.

Edit 3:16 pm: Alright guys I'm staying a friends place for right now. Just to clarify when I said not a trace of DNA was found I meant that there was nothing that was found to trace this guy back. Like a glove or figure prints on the garage key pad. The police did not do a full investigation obviously. The guy still hasn't been found. My neighbors have told me no one has been back to the house and my parents are currently staying at my aunt's down south. I got my phone back and there was a missed call from some guy named Nick Sullivan. Whats strange his name was never put in my contacts. I have never met anybody named Nick Sullivan in my life and I don't know how it was in there. I tried calling back and it just went to voicemail. Creepy shit none the less. Maybe I'm just paranoid I don't know. I'll see if I can make another update tonight. Bye for now.

Edit 4:24 pm: I just posted an album on imgur of pictures I took yesterday when I went back to my house. See for yourselves.

Album

[itslulu42]

Leftovers

Chapter Ten of Ninja Dorks Flailing at Interpersonal Relations

In the previous chapter, Sakura was oblivious and there was a game of spot the Kakashi reference.  

We are right in the thick of my very thin plot, so feel free to catch up before proceeding.

One | Four |  Seven | Nine

Kakashi hesitated before adding another cup of rice into the cooker.  Tsunade had assured him that Shizune was securing quarters and they would be situated by the next evening.   For tonight, they were staying in the guest quarters in an adjacent building, and Kakashi had invited them over for dinner.  Sakura had appeared like clockwork on Saturday’s evenings for the last two months and he didn’t see why tonight would be any different.  

Kakashi was embarrassed to admit it, but he didn’t remember if he had ever cooked for four guests at one time before.  Tsunade and Shizune arrived just as removed the fish from the heat so it wouldn’t dry out. A few minutes later, they were sitting at the table.

Tsunade smiled as she gave the fish a jab with her chopsticks.   “Aren't you a perfect host, Kakashi?”

"Thank you," Shizune added.  "You didn't have to do this for us."

"I was making dinner anyway.  What's another couple of fish?"  Kakashi replied easily.  He pushed another bottle of sake in her direction.

"I could get used to this, Shizune.  He's such a dutiful housewife."  

Kakashi frowned at Tsunade’s bizarre statement.  "What's wrong with being a housewife?"

Tsunade chuckled. "Oh, there is nothing wrong with being a housewife.  It's simply because it's you, Kakashi.  This is terribly domestic for the stoic Anbu agent who at my side during my tenure as Hokage."  She raised her chopsticks to her mouth to take a slow bite.  "It looks like my apprentice has softened you up nicely. Although” —she gave a lascivious smile—“I would think that Sakura wouldn’t want you soft."

Kakashi discreetly coughed in his hand to dislodge the food that had stuck in his throat. Shizune choked on her drink, and then glared at Tsunade.

Tsunade scowled. "Don't give me that look, Shizune."  The smile on Tsunade's face became absolutely dreadful.  "You should have seen the two of them this morning.”  

Shizune's head snapped in Kakashi's direction, her mouth open.  Kakashi felt the heat rise to his fac.  “There’s nothing going on between the two of us.”

"Kakashi-sama, you..?” Shizune hesitated, she was torn between being polite and asking more questions.  She settled with shoving a giant piece of fish in her mouth. Kakashi narrowed his eyes at the spread on his table.  He had such ungrateful guests.   Still, he wasn't about to argue with anyone who could be perfectly fine after being cut in half for hours.  

Deciding he didn't want to talk about it further, Kakashi changed the conversation.  "You never did mention what brought you back to Konoha early."  He looked toward the window, noting a passing ninja who was crossing the rooftops.  

Tsunade's good mood vanished.  "I heard that Uchiha Sasuke was coming back into town."  She raised the cup to her lips, drained it and then slammed it back on the table.  "I thought it would be wisest to come back here for the sake of village moral. He may have reformed, but it doesn't mean the entire village is comfortable with his presence."

Kakashi remained impassive. It was the first he had heard of the news, but then again, he has spent most of the day fishing.  "And when will he arrive?"

"He's probably already here.  He was ahead of us and we decided to follow."

"I see." Kakashi looked at his empty plate. "It would have been nice if he checked in."

Tsunade snorted.  "So says the man who was presumed dead for an entire year."

Kakashi didn't respond. There had been enough debriefings after his return from Suna that Tsuande knew it was impossible without giving himself away.  

"Thank you for the food."  Shizune rose from the table to clear up the plates.  Kakashi removed them from her hands.  “I’ll take care of it.”

"Are you certain? I can help."

Kakashi nodded and Shizune went to pick up Tonton from the couch.  Tsunade was already at the entryway, slipping on her sandals.  

Kakashi shut the door behind when they left, and walked over to the window to peer outside.  It was starting to get dark outside, but he didn't see a head of pink hair headed his direction.  Returning to the kitchen to wash up, he placed the leftovers in one of Sakura’s empty bentos.  

Sakura hadn’t arrived home even after Kakashi finished washing up.  He went to the bathroom, and then froze with his hand on the light switch as the thought replayed in his head.

Home?

WHAT?

How had Sakura become such an important part of his world in such a short period of time?

Kakashi scanned the bathroom: Sakura’s shampoo, Sakura’s bathrobe, her toothbrush, and hairbrush. He back out into the hallway and returned to the kitchen.  Sakura’s mug, more of her bento containers, umeboshi, and a box of dog treats he never bought his ninken.  There were a couple of fuzzy pillows on the sofa; she liked to run her fingers through when she watched TV.  Her slippers were by the table, one shoe was stained with ink that had spilled during their morning tussle.

Kakashi sank on the couch, not bothering to go into the bedroom for more evidence. Her scent had begun to impress itself on the walls, and he already had labeled the largest pillow on his bed as hers.  He leaned down to rest his face on his hands.

How did this happen?

Yamato.

Kakashi scrambled from the couch to the doorway where an Anbu agent waited on the other side.  Panther stood at attention as soon as Kakashi opened the door.  “I need to speak to Yamato.  It’s an emergency.”

When Yamato knocked on his door less than five minutes later, Kakashi pulled him in the room by his vest.  “How did you know?”  Kakashi questioned, as he pointed towards the table where he had placed all of Sakura’s belongings to take inventory.   Yamato gave a knowing smile in Kakashi’s direction, heading towards the cabinet with the alcohol.  

Kakashi woke the next day on the floor, his right hand clutching one of Sakura’s heels like it was Raikiri.  Yamato had already left the apartment; he had stayed sober while Kakashi drank himself into oblivion.

The resulting hangover made Kakashi feel like garbage, but had had at least gained some clarity. Well, maybe not clarity, his memory was a little fuzzy toward the end of the night.  But Kakashi had never gotten drunk over a woman before.  Yamato had also explained more about his matchmaking decision, and it was enough to convince Kakashi that there was something there.  There was only two choices left, Kakashi could either do something about it, or be completely miserable when she rolled over to his side of the bed in the middle of the night.  

The thought made him ill.

Or maybe it was the hangover.

After his shower, Kakashi went out to the training grounds to get some much needed air. The repetitive nature of training helped clear his mind, and when he returned to his home a few hours later he felt better.

Kakashi opened the door to his apartment to find Sakura inside, standing at the table where he had gathered her things.  He panicked for a moment, trying to figure out an explanation that was reasonable.   Then he noticed she had lain out several scrolls, and was in the process of sealing everything away.

“Good afternoon, Sakura.” Kakashi watched as all her clothing disappeared into a scroll.

“Hi, Kakashi!  I’m so glad you’re here!”   Sakura spun around to face him, her face alight with happiness. It left Kakashi unbalanced, to see someone so happy around him, because of him.  He swallowed, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Kakashi didn’t want to keep this feeling to himself.

Sakura waved at the table. “I take it you heard the news?  It’s so exciting!  I didn’t think that this would happen.  I hoped it would, of course.  But to have Sasuke-kun return after a few months….”  She raised her hands to touch her cheeks, a pretty blush rising on her cheeks.  “Shishou said she would stay to run the hospital so at least you’re not out of a head medic while I’m gone.”

Gone?

What?

“Do you have any idea how long that will be?” Kakashi kept his voice impassive even though he felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

Sakura frowned.  “I don’t know.  Sasuke-kun finds it hard to stay in the village, but I’m glad he came here, that he asked me, to travel with him.  He wants to leave by tomorrow morning, so I have a lot of people to see and packing left to do!”  She beamed at him once more as she sealed away the last of her belongings.  “You’re a really good friend to make it easier for me. It thought you might be a little upset since I’m leaving on such short notice.”

Friend.

Ah.

Kakashi smiled back at her, hoping that she fail to recognize something was amiss.  “Anything for you.”

Sakura shoved all the scrolls in the tote bag at her feet, and then pulled it over her shoulder.  “I think that’s everything!”  She came forward to give Kakashi a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around his middle.  

Kakashi closed his eyes to savor the physical contact, relishing how she fit against his side and the smell of her shampoo.   He gave her light pat atop her head, his other hand fisted tightly at his side to keep it from betraying him.  Sakura withdrew and the moment was over.

Sakura was blinking rapidly. “I’m going to miss you.  You’re a good friend and a great Hokage.  I can’t wait to come back to see what else you have done for the village.”  She bowed.  “Thank you for your support, Kakashi-sama.”

Tongue heavy in his mouth, Kakashi settled for nodding.  Sakura then left, he could hear her voice as she said goodbye to the Anbu agents in the hallway.  Kakashi started at the space where she had just stood as a hollow, familiar feeling rose inside of him.  Once again, he was too late.  He couldn’t indulge in those feelings of self-loathing anymore; he had a village to run. He walked to the refrigerator for some milk; there was a bitter taste in his mouth he wanted to erase.

Returning the milk to the fridge, Kakashi’s eye caught sight of Sakura’s bento box where he placed the previous night’s leftovers.  The flowery pattern stood out amid his plain containers.  

Feeling foolish, Kakashi tossed the bento into the trash.

Part Eleven

Bonus Content

[fourangers]

Rite of passage - ch 2

Rating: M

Summary:  Every day, he faced the same rhythm, the same pace that lulled his body to join all that dull reality in this life. In a sudden drastic decision, Sasuke decided to travel, meeting someone that would change his life.

AO3 link | FFnet link

Tumblr masterpost

–.–

Chapter 01

–.–

Itinerary 2

"Are you fucking crazy?! Slow the fuck down!"Sasuke gripped tightly the car rail to hold onto his dear life.

"You know I can't! I have to increase the speed or we won't get out of this mud road!" Naruto shouted, trying to rear the car in control.

"You have to go slower or we'll end up crashing on some sugar cane plantation, stop right now!" Sasuke growled, his hand reaching on the steering wheel, attempting to turn right.

"Hey! Get your hands offa here, you're going to cause an accident!" Naruto slapped the pale hand away.

"If you continue to drive like a maniac, I'm sure you are going to cause an accident you dumbass!" His blood ran cold when the car suddenly jumped till Sasuke felt his backside floating above his seat for long seconds before crashing back again.

"Will you quit being so melodramatic asshole?! Everything will be fine, just trust me!"Naruto roared.

"No, stop it. Stop it! Dumbass, stop it right now!" Sasuke shouted alarmed as they were getting closer and closer to some wooden fence. He propelled his body forward with zealous determination to stop this nonsense at once.

"Hey! You're blocking my visio─!" An insistent noise of car wheeling halted their skirmish as they widened their eyes.

Their car got stuck in the mud.

Naruto closed his eyes, turning it off. Then he twisted the key again as he dug on the accelerator pedal without any avail. He tried to shift the car left and right as he resumed step on the pedal as far as he could, but nothing happened aside the car careening a little from the spot.

He threw his hands on the air. "Oh great! We're stuck!" He turned to make an disbelieving frown towards Sasuke, but the dark haired man merely ran his hand on his face, pensive.

"Congratulations Naruto. For a few seconds, you almost made me wish believing in God once again." He deadpanned.

"Oh shut up. Let's see what happened." Naruto went outside the car, as did Sasuke, both men appraised the current predicament, from the wheels were completely lathered with mud, the once silver colored car was now painted with brown to the obvious fact that the whole vehicle had sunk down and it wasn't going to move any time soon.

They stared in silence before Naruto smacked his lips, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's try again?"

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke went back to the car, waiting patiently as Naruto did the same.

When Naruto turned on the key, with a deep intake of air, Sasuke held onto the car rail.

"…will you quit squinting your eyes. It's not like you're going to die soon."Naruto grumbled.

"Could have fooled me."

Observing the blond man rolling his eyes, Sasuke almost began reconsidering the moment he offered to travel alongside Naruto.

–.–

(3 days ago…)

"Uh…exploring? Sure, I guess…I think." Naruto mumbled, caught off-guard from this sudden proposal.

Sasuke nodded, munching an apple.

"Let me think about it and then we'll talk?"  Naruto said.

"Sure." Sasuke finished his breakfast, picking up some clothes.

"And where exactly you're planning to go afterwards?" Naruto questioned, waiting as Sasuke went to the bathroom to change. "Rio de Janeiro?"

"Not Rio." Was the muffled answer from behind the door.

"Uh…São Paulo then? Salvador?"

"Neither of these, at least not for now." Sasuke emerged from the bathroom with a towel in his hands. "I don't want to go any typical tourist attraction people would go whenever they visit a country. I don't want to be part of anything regular, that everybody had gone. I want to find any place undiscovered, unique that makes it worthwhile the experience."

Sasuke stared confused when he only met an inquisitive silence in return. Nevertheless, he eyed back evenly, lifting his chin.

Naruto chuckled. "Alright, I'm in."

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm in. I'm joining your merry entourage or whatever you name it." Naruto widened his arms with a dramatic flair.

Taking few more seconds to let those words sink in, Sasuke blurted out. "Already? I hope I'm not creating any misunderstanding but I'm not pressuring you, you can consider my idea for as long as you'd like."

"Nah, I made up my mind, I'm in." Naruto grinned. "I was actually dreading that you wanted to go to some typical touristic places that well…I already went before but I feel like you're off for some great adventures. It's gonna be great!"

"I didn't plan anything, so I don't know if whatever we do will really be on par with your expectations." Sasuke warned.

"It's ok, as long as you're open to new things and so far you don't seem to have any problem with it." Naruto replied. "So, how are you going to decide where to go next?"

Thinning his lips, black eyes stared back before flickering towards the bedroom door. Naruto cocked his head to one side, following behind.

Sasuke muttered. "Let's decide where we should go today and we'll come up with some plan for whatever is later afterwards."

Rubbing the back of his head, Naruto shrugged. "Sure. We can finish exploring Ouro Preto and maybe try touring a neighbor town called Mariana. There's another option though, go to a town called Tiradentes but it'll take roughly 3 hours by car. It's worthwhile though."

It's still 6 hours being wasted though; Sasuke mulled, shaking his head. "Ouro Preto is fine. Maybe we can try going to the other town tomorrow if it's en route."

Thus, they spent the rest of the day visiting museums and admiring handcrafts. As dark eyes were perusing some souvenirs in the street vendors, Naruto came to the realization how easy Sasuke was to tag along. He appeared to be in top physical condition, being able to walk all day, up and down everywhere without any complaint. He was not an exceedingly picky person, trying out new things and different spices. And even though Sasuke preferred a certain level of cleanliness and hygiene, under dire circumstances he wouldn't mind going to a dirtier bathroom or even to a hidden shrub to do his business. After meeting many people that were too naggy or too immature, overall too bothersome that almost made Naruto put off with traveling with anyone, this time he was looking forward to have Sasuke as his travel companion.

And ok, he's not going to lie, it didn't hurt the fact that Sasuke was nice on the eyes. Tall lean body, a striking contrast between pale skin with black hair and obsidian eyes, Naruto had to sometimes police himself to avoid staring him for too long.

"Can you wait for me a little, I'm going to buy a map of Brazil." Sasuke declared when they passed through a newstand.

Bewildered, Naruto obeyed, and later on they went to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Sasuke actually ordered another shot of cachaça, downing in a single gulp despite all protests coming from the blond man.

"I'm not going to carry you all the way back again when you pass out bastard." Naruto shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

Sasuke answered with a snort, ordering another shot and placing it in front of Naruto. Undaunted by the silent challenge, he also finished the drink quickly, earning a raise of eyebrow coming from the brunet.

Hours passed fleeting by as their bantering resonated throughout the dinner, their conversation went on even after they had paid the bill, walking back to the hostel. Naruto still had an eye on the rolled paper being held securely on Sasuke's hand, curious unbeknownst himself about why he'd want to have a printed map of Brazil.

Once they were in the hostel's living room, Sasuke picked all the objects on the table and set aside, opening his map and grabbed a coin from his wallet.

"Let's let the fate decide our destiny."

"Huh?" Naruto slackened his jaw.

"I'm going to flip the coin and whatever state it'll drop on, is going to be our next destination. What do you think?"

Naruto studied Sasuke's expression for a while and muttered. "Hm, call me crazy if I'm wrong, but for some reason I never saw you as a person who would let any decision being taken out of your control." When he noticed the thin lips being pursed, Naruto hastened to add. "But hey, I like this idea. Let's do it, it's gonna be fun."

Narrowing his eyes, Sasuke trained his vision back to the single coin laying on his palm. He closed to a fist, shutting his pale eyelids and flipped the coin, ascending and quickly descending on the wooden table. It twirled for a while, circling around the big map as blue and black eyes watched in trepidation, speed slowing within each spin until took a halt.

Sasuke squinted his eyes. "Mato…Grosso."

"Mato Grosso." Naruto reconfirmed.

"Ever went there?"

Naruto shook his head. "Any idea where to go first?"

"No…what about you?"

"We could search for ideas…" Naruto muttered. "I'm gonna grab my laptop and will be right back."

Sasuke acknowledged with a grunt, also following behind to pick his iPad. "You know Portuguese right?" He asked while they were turning on their devices.

With a raised eyebrow, Naruto answered with a nod. "Yeah, why?"

"Feel like native people will have more interesting spots to go considering they know their country better than us, so it's interesting to read their suggestions. You can look in Portuguese while I search in the tripadvisor or something like that."

"Ok, sounds fair." Naruto began typing and soon enough there was an excited shout. "Hey hey Sasuke, look at this!"

The other young man approached with narrowed eyes not before he raised his eyebrows impressed by the pretty photos.

As Naruto was scrolling down the website, he said. "Looks like Mato Grosso has a lot of waterfalls. Maybe we should choose one?"

"Well…maybe we should search the one who has a great varieties of activities to do. It'll get boring if we only go to waterfalls and nothing else right."

"Hm…" A silence fell in between as their eyes were focused on the screen, punctuated with noises of clicking and typing. "It says here that the most famous sightseeing in this state are Chapada dos Guimarães, Pantanal and Nobres. Chapada dos Guimarães above all. It's a national park."

"Hn."

"They have waterfalls, caves and whoa." Naruto clicked more. "There's even an archeological site. That doesn't sound bad."

"Agreed. But how far is this place from here?" Sasuke clicked on the google maps and typed the aforementioned places.

"HOLY FUCK, 21 hours by car!" Naruto dropped his jaw.

Sasuke thinned his lips, wordlessly agreeing to this outburst. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to back down. "We are passing through two states after all. Anywhere else it's nearer?"

"Hmmmm…" Naruto began clicking every link possible, comparing their distances but unfortunately, it kept broadening even further. 22 hours, 24 hours…there was even one that would demand 27 hours of driving.

Sasuke huffed. "Feels like it's a waste of time, maybe we should decide this Chapada already since it's the best choice. I guess we have to face the fact that we'll use roughly this many hours to go there. Maybe we can rest in one city in the middle of the road and sightsee there while we're there."

"I'll see if there's something interesting in Goiás then." Naruto scratched his head. "Brasília, capital of Brazil, what about it?" Naruto grinned, staring the way the dark eyes narrowed back. "No? Not at all?"

"Not interested." Sasuke muttered nonchalantly."Anywhere else?"

"Well guess what. They have another Chapada, named Chapada dos Veadeiros."

"Pass."

"Uuuuuuuh…Caldas Novas, considered to be the largest hydro-thermal in the world."

"Hn." Sasuke checked and thankfully it was more or less within the path they wanted. "I'll see whatever hostel is available. You're ok if we share the room right?"

Naruto blinked. "Yeah sure, whatever. I mean, we've been sharing a room for two days and so far 's been good right? We should split all fares too." Naruto let his index finger scratch his jaw, embarrassed. "I'm not good with numbers though."

Sasuke lifted a crooked smirk. "Alright, I'll do it. You have to give me all the bills to me though. Like car rental, gasoline, highway tolls and all that."

Naruto sighed in relief. "Great! I'll be in your care then hah."

They began deciding which places they should visit, as Sasuke began preparing his luggage, knowing they would need to wake up really early.

Naruto suddenly exclaimed. "Oh oh oh! I found an awesome video! Look at this!"

Approaching, Sasuke stared and then glared. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

Naruto ignored the jab, his smile widening as the men in the video were jumping on a waterfall. "And it's only four hours by car from Chapada dos Guimarães."

"Only?" Sasuke did not bother to refrain his sarcasm.

"Well, we're going to travel almost 21 hours to get there so yeah. It's only 4 hours in comparison to that." Naruto grumbled.

"…we'll think about that."Sasuke muttered, noticing that despite the low quality of the video, the distance between the tip of the waterfall to the lake was rather far. He glowered from the victorious grin coming from the blond man, and returned to fold his clothes.

Even despite the possible difficulties lying ahead, his heart quickened with anticipation. It's going to be an exciting adventure for sure.

─.─.─.─.

(Now back to…yep)

"…"

"…"

"We're not moving." Naruto grumbled.

"I see that."

"We're fucking stuck."

"I also see that." Sasuke drawled out.

Naruto gave him a dry look. "I don't think I need your sarcasm right now."

A black eyebrow was raised back.

The blond man sighed. "Alright, take the wheel."

"…why?" Sasuke muttered.

"Well, drive while I'll try to push the car forward. I guess it's the only way out." Naruto opened the door and went outside.

"You’re going to get all your clothes dirty, are you sure?"

Naruto shrugged. "'s not like we have any other choice right?" Sasuke turned his head to look as the blond man positioned behind the car, hands placing at the back of the trunk. "Ready?"

With a swift nod, Sasuke turned the car on, ready to put the foot down on the accelerator until he heard a warning scream.

"Wait!"

Sasuke stopped at once, opening the car door. "What happened?"

Naruto was waving his arms energetically and said. "I think that guy wants to talk with us!"

Sasuke stared right ahead, noticing now an old man waving them back while he was driving a tractor. Before he could voice anything, Naruto went there and began chatting with that stranger, as Sasuke went back to his seat observing the unfolding situation, with a tinge of envy and admiration. Naruto had an ease with talking to anyone at any moment, letting their guards down with his bubbly personality. He, on the other hand, would always struggle to initiate any kind of communication, partially for his own reservations.

Therefore, Sasuke opted to observe how they were gesticulating wildly, the old man patted Naruto's back and went back to his tractor. Naruto approached grinning as he said. "Hey, that guy said he's gonna help us out. 'm gonna chain our car to his tractor."

Their car soon got dragged out of the mud much to their relief, as Naruto and Sasuke went to thank him once it was over. Naruto did most of the talking since he spoke the native language, with Sasuke standing next to him.

Suddenly, the stranger said something that made Naruto blush to the tip of his hair, spluttering a reply. The old man just laughed and patted his arm, Naruto held Sasuke's arm to drag him few steps away.

"What happened?" Sasuke craned his head backwards as emphasis to the question.

"Huh? Nothing!" Naruto answered way too quicker to his tastes. "Hey, that guy is called Fernando and he invited us to spend a day in his farm with his family. You wanna go?"

Sasuke frowned, studying the old man. He didn't appear to be anyone suspicious nor dangerous but still…The brunet attempted a more diplomatic approach. "I thought we were first going to that archeological site since it was on the way?"

"Yeah, I told him so, but he said it's ok whatever day we choose."

"And you don't mind? Going to a completely stranger's house?"

Naruto scratched the back of his head. "Uuuuuh…I guess I always have the habit of trusting people pretty easily. And well, I've been traveling for so long that I kind of have an intuition which is fine which is not. We can ask later the landlady of the hostel we're going if they are really ok. I mean, if you're interested."

Sasuke grunted. In regular situations, there was no way he was going to accept this idea, but the whole idea of this trip was to do something he wouldn't do on regular days. "Sounds like a plan. I think I won't mind going if it's safe."

He also tried to tamp down the fluffy feeling squirming in his heart when he received a grateful smile coming from Naruto. He went to talk with the old man as they exchanged phone numbers and parted ways.

The road was full of holes and sinuous curves, it was a wonder Sasuke didn't have any motion sickness. They both sighed in relief once they arrived at the destination, noticing a good number of native aborigines living there, the cavern had a historical and mystical significance for them.

Unfortunately before the cavern was protected by the government, many had degraded the place with graffiti. Sasuke huffed seeing remaining scribbles, whilst admiring primitive drawings. "Don't you wonder sometimes, did they draw these expecting the next generation would study them or they simply drew for no specific reason?" Those words were uttered without much of a thought.

Sasuke glanced backwards to see if any shock or confusion within that pair of blue eyes, but Naruto merely stared back impressed. He shrugged. "Yeah, that's a good question right? I mean, we don't know how advanced were our brains and that time they were still living in rudimental conditions. The fact that drawings still exist after thousands of years is still pretty impressive anyways." He took a photograph from a particular drawing and said. "It's crazy how far we have gone though. I mean, even this is eons old, you can still pretty much understand that they were drawing something about how they were hunting an animal. It's a fucking comic book."

"From drawing on caverns to draw in an iPad. Humanity can be really impressive sometimes. As well as destructive." Sasuke muttered, staring at some badly drawn graffiti below the ancient drawings.

The sun was beginning to set in the horizon when they bid their farewell and hurried to drive to their hostel. They settled with a quick snack at the nearest gas station, while rechecking the directions, arriving at the hostel at last at night.

It was getting increasingly more comfortable to share a room with Naruto as they didn't need to ask for permission for any little thing, tiptoeing around to avoid invading the other one's personal space. That also meant that Naruto was so carefree around him that he simply began changing his clothes while Sasuke was on the same room. Sasuke had to recheck himself not to ogle that attractive torso for too long.

"Oh yeah Sasuke!"

Sasuke blinked, definitely not focused in staring that defined sun-kissed biceps. "Hn, what?"

"You know something that Fernando told me while he was helping us getting our car out of the mud? That there is a waterfall in Chapada dos Guimarães that you can jump to dive just like the video we saw few days ago!" Naruto beamed, putting his t-shirt on.

"You still haven't given up about that waterfall?"Sasuke said in mild exasperation.

"Of course not! Just you wait, you're gonna love it. The waterfall he told me is so cool that only people who live in the town know about it. It's in the national park so it's even closer and we won't need to travel those four hours to get there. Also…" He approached Sasuke with a conspiratory smirk and declared. "It's taller than the other waterfall."

Sasuke shook his head. "I feel like we better go or you'll nag me this entire trip."

"I'll take this as a yes. I'll even drive and prepare some snacks on the way. We better wake up early tomorrow!" Naruto chirped.

─.─.─.─.─

AN: So I made the huge mistake of forgetting that the event that occurred last chapter happens around April and Sasuke's birthday is in July. Let's forget for a second this small detail mmkay?

--.--

Chapter 03