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waylamia · 2 months ago

Text

All Bark

hey so this one is a doozy. and a significant departure from my previous work so just be mindful. of that.

recommended listening: Bite The Hand by boygenius, Crybaby by Nanna

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both. You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing. Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside. He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless. Yours vibrates in your hands. Cay ✈️: D: Cay ✈️: y?

-> You begged Grandma for a dog, growing up. You've always had one.

reader experience notes: reader is mc, reader is gender neutral and not physically described in this fic

MDNI - minors do not interact with this work

content: emetophobia. nonsexual petplay with sexual implications. a teeny tiny bit of NSFW content. I don't know what else to say about that. post homecoming wings, post lucid dream myth and painful signal, pre relationship. spoilers for most of his cards probably but its all pretty vague (lucid dreams myth, painful signal, and hidden waves off of the top of my head) completely unnegotiated kink that isn't like. engaged with AS a kink... YET. uh. strange and peculiar d/s coded dynamics?? theologyless catholic style guilt. heavy usage of pip-squeak. pip-squeak nation RISE. MC and Caleb are just both freakazoid weirdos there's no getting around it. some. nonsexual feet stuff. at the very end. not a lot. my bad. mc/reader is trying to process big, conflicting feelings and is having a not great time about it. Caleb and MC were raised as siblings and we are in the nuance mud about it. get messy or get gone my friend. mc/reader needs an attitude adjustment and TRUST 🙏 they are not going to get it JGDJSGJKDFJSJFJFS. very cool and fun finally writing grown up Calebmc. I heart them. they have issues. in the wise words of Saucy Santana... walk em like a dog <3 LMAOOOO

approx. 11k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

The thing about Caleb is he's annoying. This fact is made worse by another: no one, in the lifetime you've spent together, has ever sided with or believed you on this. Not even Gideon, who has suffered the only experience remotely similar to yours-shared space, the closeness that comes from it-could be coaxed into saying a word against him. God knows you'd tried, back in their DAA days.

Catching his eye while yours twitched, in the brief moments when Caleb would leave the room. 'Did you-' and Gideon's gaze would drift to the window without a word. Rude, but in these moments you'd always be too irked to care. 'He just- He is so-' and every time you'd be met with pursed lips and silence, a clear indication that one way or the other, he had no desire to be involved. So you'd huff and cross your arms over your chest. Wouldn't stomp your foot like you'd really have liked to, lest you be accused of throwing a tantrum at the fine age of 18 and 1/2. The fraction included for accuracy and not any arbitrary attempt to make yourself seem more grown up.

Now, if you're being honest with yourself, you can admit the obvious lie in that. In your mid-to-late teens and early adulthood everything had been about proving yourself. Caleb has always been bigger than you, and back then, for a long time, you worried you'd never graduate from his shadow. Worried no one would be able to see you in it. Worried that, if you weren't careful, if you weren't loud, he'd forget to look for you in the dark too.

He never did, of course, always smiling a little too knowingly when you'd remind him or yourself how old you are, how strong you are. At the time, you'd thought he was mocking you when he'd only respond with a laugh, messing up your hair and carrying on. Only when you look back on it now, can you see it for what it was. Cherishing, endearment, warmth. Maybe that's part of it. The annoyance, you mean. The gap in your understanding. He's always known more than you. More than you about you. And though you know him better than anyone-always have-you've never been able to boast the same ability to know exactly what he's thinking, like hes always seemed able to with you. You suppose it actually makes perfect sense that that gap in comprehension has only grown, since you helped bury the idea of him. Your perfect brother, in an empty grave in the ground. Your perfect brother, and you left behind.

'Always left behind.' You brood to yourself. And maybe that's not fair. But Caleb has never asked or expected 'fair' from you. Instead, you've spent a lifetime encouraged to take and take and take from him. You don't know that you could do anything else, after all these years of programming, think that a part of you is always going to be his spoiled little sister, forever. The thought sits in you like rot. Stuck in his shadow, still small. Afraid that that's how he will always see you, too.

Maybe being brought up together actually made all the difference in the world. Maybe that was another thing you had to be honest about.

About the fact that he came back, from the dead-not-dead, after you'd mourned and surrendered yourself to a life without him, and told you he was never your brother. About how it had hurt. Wounded you, left you reeling like the blast. Sent immediately back, standing in the wake of it not knowing what to make of yourself, what you felt, what was real.

Really annoying.

Caleb is just a really annoying person. You don't know how else to explain it.

And honestly? You would never allow anyone else to agree with you. 'Annoyed with Caleb' a secret emotion only applicable and accessible to you. You think upon hearing it said-after that brief, beautiful moment of feeling finally vindicated-your mouth or fists would start flying. Because how dare some hypothetical whoever think that they know him, could speak ill of him? What could anyone say to you about the man you have trusted intrinsically since before you could even spell the word 'codependency'? Not a thing.

And then, of course, who would be the one to pull you from the word or hand or both fight?

Ugh.

Then, it's the principle. That maddening, planted seed that never sprouts but stays ever stuck in you, dug into you. Caleb is incredibly fucking annoying. And, if you are being honest with yourself-it's something you've both been working on, since he came back-dying made him way way worse.

There is a tenseness between you, something that was simply not allowed to exist before he disappeared. The security you felt in each other, the closeness that never left room for anything else to take root. When he'd been dug up, taken half of your root and soil with him, room was all that was left. Now every day it is harder for you to make a distinction one way or the other. What you were and what you are and what you may be, may be in want of, all coagulating into something phlegmy and stomach-turning. It is a change you don't know how to swallow. It chokes you, like the look on his face, the sound of his voice, back in the interrogation room. Sometimes, it feels like you're still there, taking turns strapping each other down for questioning. You still feel the weight of that collar on your throat. It feels how his necklace felt, in the year you were left with it, and so you know he feels it too. There is an ache and comfort in that thought that grounds you. It's always the same, you cling to what makes you equal.

And so, there is another thing you must admit to yourself.

The thing about you is you're annoying.

It is a fact that has never been stated to you directly, and yet you have always known. Needy and bratty and emotional and demanding and kept all to yourself for all but one pair of eyes to see. One pair of ears to be chewed off. Everything that's about him is about you too. And you're both working on being honest, but only to each other. And you've always favored actions over words. Or maybe, you just find it's easier to be honest when you don't have the chance to open your mouth and fuck it all up. You think maybe you aren't any good at this. You wonder if he thinks the same thing too. And that's the problem isn't it? You wonder. You don't know.

You don't know that you ever did.

The point. Is. You're in Skyhaven. You'd gone to the Fleet HQ first, tracked down Liam-knowing that The Colonel was in a meeting-and had him escort you to Caleb's home. Now, you're standing outside of his front door. All that expended effort, for an unplanned visit, because you're mad at him. And when you're mad at him you want to be close to him. You don't know who to attribute that quirk to. Him, for refusing to give you any goddamn space all of your growing years. Or yourself, for getting into the habit of screaming into his shirts pulled over your pillow in the one he was gone. Whatever did or didn't do it, its done now, and the pattern has been established. One of many, for the two of you.

And so, even without Liam immediately reporting back, you know you won't have much time between pressing your finger to the lock on his door and him calling out to you while he peels off his boots, irritatingly unbothered by your uncommunicated arrival.

But that's fine. You'd had time to think on the ride over, as long as you work quickly you'll get done what you need to do.

A press of your finger, a soft chime and a click, and you push your way into the quiet of his home. Almost immediately distracted from your mission by the hairs on the back of your neck raising, the thought that you need to open a window. Even with the adjustments you've both made since he first brought you here, the atmosphere is stifling. The air is stagnant and oppressive, the walls are cold, the space occupied by an emptiness no amount of furniture or plant life or plushies could overcome. That's the problem. His arm that can't feel you and his home you fear you'll never fit into. There are parts of your lives that aren't shared. More now than ever, more every day. You shake your head, efforting to evict the thought and focus.

You force yourself into action, marching like a good soldier straight to his bedroom. Ignoring, along the way, the pristine kitchen and its empty sink, the layer of dust on the shelves, the closed curtains, the way even your breath seems to echo. You are completely certain that without the falling of your feet, you'd hear your heartbeat bouncing off of the walls. You don't know how he can stand it. The silence. You'd leave your beating heart here to fill it if you could. You'd feel better, you think, knowing he had it.

Maybe you could trade. Matching pulled open ribs for matching beating heart homes. The finger you'd pressed to his door lock tingles. You know that everything that's his is yours. You know that everything that's yours is his. So when you feel yourself suffocating in this empty fucking house...

Empty house like his empty grave. It's funny, you had wanted to follow him there too.

His bedroom is the closest this place comes to not feeling like a morgue to you. You hadn't put together, until you came back to Linkon, after that first eventful visit, why that is.

It was set up just like your old room, back at Grandma's. Bigger, differently-lifelessly-styled before your interference, but with all the furnishings in the same locations, facing the same ways. You wonder if that was intentional. You wonder who it was all for. If what he said to you was true, and he really had planned never to reenter your life, then-

He's annoying. You're angry. You have to be close to him because the distance has been killing you. It's an excuse you can use to explain your being here, but not what you're about to do.

You run your hand over each of the pillows on the bed, searching for traces of warmth, looking for fallen strands of hair. You are unsurprised when all evidence points you to the one on the far left, closest to the door. You've seen the way he sleeps, like even unconscious he was ready to fight, poised for it, tense. You snarl as you pluck his pillow up, along with the comforter, and stomp out of the room.

There isn't a yard at his house but there is a balcony, and it'll have to do. Your brow furrows as you slide the glass door aside, stepping out and unceremoniously dropping the pillow and bed cover onto the ground. You stand over them, attempt to make some sense of your actions to yourself.

Stepping outside hadn't helped you ease the dread and discomfort that came with being alone in his house. The sun is starting to set. It's still warm, and the breeze is soft, just like it was at his funeral.

And the bone deep cold you feel in you now is the same as you felt then.

You think maybe the problem isn't the house, maybe it's always just been you. You, all needy and bratty emotional and demanding. The thought festers as you stare at the bedding at your feet, and finally you have your answer.

More than closeness, what you need is control.

Your stomach drops. You don't get time to process it.

There's a chime and a click, and the front door opens. He never gives you enough time. He always gives you too much.

Can two things be true at once?

"You here, Pips?" He's unzipping his boots. You don't feel the need to respond, he'll find his way to you. You're expecting him to.

Big feet pad through the house, purposeful, with a distinct lack of wandering. Like he knew exactly where he'd find you. Though you think he should have no reason to expect you out here. He's still in uniform-obviously, since he'd come straight from work to you-and he looks tired. You are surprised, ashamed of yourself, to find that doesn't deter you.

He's just looking at you, like always, and you know he's waiting for you to say something, to over-explain yourself like you tend to when you're nervous or caught off guard or just caught. All you can bring yourself to do is stare back, face blank. The sliding door is open, with you on opposite sides of it. You're gaze darts to the threshold and back up and you almost want to look away again. Coming up against the resistance you usually do when he wears his old face with his new uniform, head at a slight tilt, eyes wide and relaxed. Like he's smiling even though his expression is neutral.

"Yooou okay?" He looks you over, gaze falling to your feet, to the bedding beside them. You tense up, immediately drawing the conclusion that what you were about to do was crazy, and you absolutely needed to rein it in and back down. You sniff, shaking your head like a dog trying to shake off water, your face heating as you open your mouth to do the usual song and dance of rambling and excusing. The sooner you start it, the sooner it will be over. If you tell him to forget it happened, he will. Or, he'll pretend he will, for you. It's been enough before. Maybe pretending is enough.

You're interrupted before you can start.

"...if you're doing laundry, generally speaking you want to take the pillow out of the case first-" He steps beyond the threshold, outside, kneels before you to reach for the pillow. "-and nothing is gonna get dry all bunched up on the ground." He thumbs at the comforter with his glove, looking at you with raised brows and that too-aware-too-familiar smile that makes you feel like he can see inside you. To the meat and marrow, all raw and ugly. You're brain catches up to his words and an indignant laugh is choked out of you. Obviously you know how to do fucking laundry. Obviously the blanket is completely dry. Obviously he knows all of this. Why is he always so-

Oh.

He's giving you an out. A chance to undo what you've done, whatever you've done. To pretend, if pretending is enough for you.

He sees you. It's comforting, familiar. He tilts his head curiously, angled away from you, exposing his throat.

'I've always held myself back and endured day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.'

Annoying.

You see red. Meat and marrow. No. You won't play pretend anymore. You need to know who he is. You need to know who you are.

You've been working on being honest.

You step around and over him, back into the house. He watches you as you go, smile dropping with your continued silence. As he moves to stand, you slide shut and lock the door. He blinks at you from the other side of the glass. Mouth parting in confusion.

"Okayyy. Are we.. gonna talk about it?" It. He says, muffled by the glass. Implication being: he doesn't know whats going on. Good. You almost smile. A sick thrill running through you, followed quickly by the sorrow, the guilt. That he doesn't know what you're thinking, that you've made it so.

You realize you haven't spoken to him since his return. You open your mouth, only to close it again. You don't have the words. You don't know how to say them. The collar tightens. You want him to choke too.

"Pip-squeak." His garbled voice is firm, but not stern. Anchor to your brewing storm. You realize you've been looking just past him, and let him pull you back. When your eyes drift to his its still his face, not the Colonel's, that you're looking at. The funhouse mirror that is your Caleb in the Colonel's uniform. This is good. This is the right way for this to happen.

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both.

You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing.

Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside.

He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless.

Yours vibrates in your hands.

Cay ✈️: D:

Cay ✈️: y?

And. Well.

...It is at this point that you realize you cannot remember what made you so angry at him in the first place. There had been a specific something, but in the time it took you to get from your place to his you'd gotten a bit distracted by everything else about the both of you. Together and separate. Meat and marrow. You know too much about each other, you don't know enough anymore, you can't think about him too long without all that you've ever swallowed trying to come up. Bring the bile with it. All of the ugliness in you.

It's his. He's the only one who gets to see it, to hold it.

You'd gotten sick on the ride home from the orphanage. It was your first time in a car, and you'd been watching the world speed by through the backseat window. Caleb was holding your hand, watching you. That had ended up being a good thing, when the wave of nausea came. As it often went when you were little, he noticed before you did. He'd shouted something at Grandma, and she'd responded in the calm, even manner she always did. None of their exchange made it to you, discomfort in your body quick to turn to gagging, heaving, vain attempts to swallow it down. Caleb was quick to turn your body to face him, away from the window, and cup his hands.

Grandma did pull over, just not fast enough. By the time she made it around the side and opened the door it was already over. Her eyes scanning from your exhausted, shaky body, to the spared interior of her car, to the bile pooled in Caleb's hands. She'd sighed, rubbed steady, gentle circles into your back as she reached for a bottle of water that had been left rolling around at your feet.

She made her way around to the opposite door, poured water over Caleb's outstretched hands until they were clean, and told him not touch anything until he could wash them properly at home. He'd nodded and kept his word.

Even though you spent the rest of that trip with your head in his lap, eyes closed to keep you from getting sick again, he didn't touch you even once.

You'd thought it was silly. What did it matter? All he had on him was you.

...You don't know how to say any of that to him. You stare, untyping, at your phone. Will yourself to respond. Honestly.

Cay ✈️: ...because I canceled our plans yesterday?

He beats you to it. Rather, he beats you to saying anything, because you're sure that wasn't the thing that set you off. He'd already apologized for it and you'd ended up having to work late anyways.

...But it would have to do.

Pips 🧡: ding ding ding!

The embarrassment has set in, total awareness that you are being ridiculous. But the noxious cocktail of shame and frustration and anger-always, these days, the anger-are at the wheel. You've done it and it's been done. You can't take it back. You won't.

You are so. Goddamn. Annoying.

You turn to walk away before you can second or fifth guess yourself when your phone vibrates again.

Cay ✈️: if i'm out here who's gonna make dinner?

---

It is decided that you will make dinner. Mostly because you know if he gets you to unlock that door and let him back in you won't have it in you to shut him out again, which is not an option when you've already committed to... whatever this is. You're fine enough at cooking, you've had plenty of practice since Caleb first left for the Aerospace Academy, though you don't think you'll ever be able to match his skill. You're clumsy with a knife, more prone to over-seasoning. Everything is a reflection. You, ever careless and dramatic.

You're still trying to figure out what you were mad about as you stare into the empty fridge.

Empty, again,like his stupid grave. Which you cannot stop fucking thinking about today. Standing here in his house, kicking him out, trying not to lose him. What are you even doing? What do you hope to achieve here? Do you want him mad at you like you're mad at him? Whatever you're mad at him for? Has it always been like this? You lashing out for something you're making up as you go? And him, always just-

"Stop." It comes out with your voice, from your mouth, but it's not your thought. Caleb used to be the only one who could cut off your endless rumination, coax you into sitting still and staying your hands and 'copy my breathing Pip. In-one, two, three, four-good. now slower.' It had been one of the harder things to teach yourself, when he left you. Harder than the braised chicken recipe, which you still can't get right. "Stop." You're talking to yourself, but your gaze turns to the sliding door anyway. Where Caleb is standing at an informal sort of attention. Arms folded and head cocked, observing, smile rising to his face when you catch his eye. You turn back to the fridge.

It isn't a difficult puzzle for you to solve. He doesn't cook much when your not around, you've talked about this. But even still the state of the thing is dire. Three protein shakes, two eggs, and an apple. What does he even eat? You know he's meticulous about his diet, so there's no way he's just eating out. You pull open the freezer, not even a frozen chicken breast. Is he just inbetween grocery trips? With his salary there's no excuse to let it get this bad. You're pulling open and checking cupboards when your phone vibrates on the counter.

Cay ✈️: I've moved some stuff around since you were here last. If you let me back in I can show you?

Cay ✈️: ...and then you can scold me for doing a bad job taking care of myself >x<

...As enticing as the idea of reprimanding him is, you aren't a fool, and you aren't falling for it. All he's done is confirm to you that he knows you know you won't be able to push him away again if you let him through that door. Just like you know he knows you know he could come in whenever he wanted, lock be damned. They've hardly stopped him before. You can't suppress the smile that thought brings to your face. Truly, it should worry you more how giddy it makes you. You're older, the game is different, but one thing remains ever unchanged: Caleb will always play with you. Always. Even when you shut him out.

Food. Dinner. The fridge.

Grandma didn't raise a quitter, but she did raise someone with solid deductive reasoning. The situation is hopeless, and you are fucked. By the time you find the half empty box of cereal-the processed-to-hell sweet crap that was only here because of you in the first place-tucked high, hiiigh up in one of the cupboards, you are already resigned to your fate.

Caleb is distinctly unpleased when you approach the glass door with two bowls of stale cereal. No milk. Milk is for Caleb's that don't die-not-die and for You's that don't go on weird ends-to-the-means-unclear power trips. Also there wasn't any. You stand opposite each other, separated by the door, you with your cereal bowls in hand, actively trying not to laugh at Caleb. Whose still crossed arms are now accompanied by a single rhythmically tapping finger and an impressively unimpressed scowl.

"'s not dinner, Pip." He's speaking low enough that you almost can't make it out through the barrier. You sigh, aggrieved, like someone who didn't start this.

"I'm not the one with the empty fridge." You make an attempt to balance both bowls in one arm with little success before deciding against it, sighing once more, at your unending trials. You move to lower one of the bowls, yours, to the floor, to free a hand. "'m gonna open the door but you better stay-" Caleb undoes the lock, slides the door open with his evol, stands back, still, and stays.

Not without sort of glowering, mind you.

"That's not dinner." His voice is clear, with the door open, so you know he's just choosing to annunciate like you can't hear him. You have to fight not to roll your eyes.

"If you wanted food you should have had food in your house." You set the bowl down just beyond the threshold, ceramic making an aggressive clink that you feel appropriately conveys your annoyance to him. "Bon appetit." You gesture at the dish, sitting down on your side of the door, already spooning the sugary, grainy, nutritionless pellets into your mouth. Caleb huffs, moving to sit as well, to be level with you. You mistake the movement for an advance into the house.

"Uh uh. Stay." His arm freezes midair, where he was reaching for the joke of a meal you prepared. A single finger twitches, a shaky breath is exhaled.

"'m not goin anywhere Pips..." It's difficult to tell, with the sunset glare at his back, but you'd swear his pupils are dilated.

"Okay." You release him, he doesn't move. "Caleb, eat." You reach a hand beyond the threshold, push the bowl towards him. Finally, he stirs. The way his fingers brush over yours as he grabs the dish is familiar, so much so, that the complete innecessity of the action doesn't even occur to you. Instead, your focus falls on his continued avoidance of the sugared cardboard crap, even with the bowl now in his hands, even with your command. He stares at the bowl in a daze. "Dude. You will survive one cheat meal, I promise you."

"I don't care about me." He shakes his head, raises the offending dish, glaring at the cereal like it was was responsible for all the evil in the world. "You need to eat something with substance." He raises a spoonful only to pour it back into the bowl in distaste. You bite down on your own spoon, teeth clinking against the metal gratingly. That is the problem. That is always the fucking problem.

You could actually strangle him.

"Caleb." You say, stern.

"Yup." He pops the 'P', like an asshole. Annoying.

"Shut up. And eat your food." You reach up to pull the door back shut, flipping the lock.

He sighs, but doesn't say a word more. Just picks up his spoon and eats, like a good boy.

---

Beyond dinner arrangements, Caleb doesn't complain. When you've both finished your bowls he pushes his right to the door, to the place where it opens. Sits, leaned back and relaxed, when you unlock it to take the bowl. He doesn't scold you, or shout at you, or call you ridiculous even though he probably should. He doesn't even try to bargain again. Just looks up at you smiling as the lock slides back into place.

You think that's the end of it, that the night will pass like this and you will both wake up tomorrow, pretending it never happened. You think that, until you're washing the dishes and hear a knock at the door. The main door, not the glass one Caleb is standing, watching you from behind. You checked, to be sure he wasn't messing with you.

Your brows furrow, because you're on a fucking private floating sky island with some sort of forcefield disguise mechanism wrapped around it, who the hell could possibly-

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: its okay.

Cay ✈️: you can open it :-)

You scoff, head darting to look at him incredulously. Locked out of his own damn house and still acting like he's in charge here. Annoying annoying annoying. You march over to the front door, throwing it open like you own the place. Because you can, not because he told you to.

It's Liam. With takeout.

"When did he even-?" You head whips to the balcony door before turning back to your unexpected guest, stunned. You move yourself to block his line of sight to the glass door as you try to recall Caleb pulling out his phone even once. You come up empty.

"Have a good night, miss." Liam says flatly, extending the bag of food to you. Paper, which you interpret to mean posh. All of the little places you frequent still use plastic. And it would certainly track for Caleb to pick something needlessly high-end. Like his stupid, expensive car and his stupid, dreary house. You take a deep breath, recognize that you are being kind of a dick.

To Liam, of course. Not Caleb, who you don't even have a last nerve for, right now.

You relieve him of the bag.

"I- thank you! I'm sorry you had to come all the way out to-" You speak up, frantic and embarrassed.

"It's no trouble. Goodnight." Mission completed, he turns to leave without ceremony. You stand still in the doorway. Your attempt to process the interaction interrupted by muffled laughter.

"Motherfucker."

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: shut up and eat your food xP

---

Back in the kitchen, your assumption is proven right. Needlessly fancy food from a restaurant you aren't even going to attempt to sound out the name of. With the logo embossed, not stamped, onto the side of the paper bag. A single serving, you note, with great irritation. You're convinced now, he is actively efforting to dig himself a second grave. You grumble obscenities to yourself as you pluck the same two bowls off of the drying rack. Distributing the to-go box's contents equally between them. You, pointedly, do not look towards the balcony, as you know exactly what you will see if you do.

How can he possibly be so smug, locked out on the balcony at his own home?

You know, have known, have been saying it all night, have been saying it for years.

Caleb. Is. Annoying.

And, as you make your way over to the door, bowls in hand, a perfect replication of only an hour before, you know you can't let him get away with it.

He's grinning as you approach the door. You reflect his earlier glower back at him, and then the idea strikes you. You look into his eyes, focused and intense, and will him to guess your next move. You drop the bowls in your hands, and they fall no more than an inch through the air before being stabilized. Floating gently beside you, as you unlock the door. Something stirs in you and you swallow it down, along with the satisfied smile you don't want him to see.

"'Sposed to be for you Pip." He hovers the bowls towards your face, as if to clarify the point of discussion. Again, he is so-

"Well if you'd gotten two I wouldn't have to share." You huff out, with a roll of your eyes. Annoying.

"Didn't know if I'd earned it." Something in you stirs, at the acknowledgment of your roles in this, heat in your stomach immediately beaten down by shame, and the part of you that wants him to fight back. But he won't. You don't know if there is anything you could do to him that he'd protest to. It frustrates you. It scares you.

"You wanna come back in the house? Then you'll eat it." And you're at the door again. Not the one between you, to the balcony, but the one in your heart. You have your fingers on the lock, you've been trying to be honest. "And you couldn't have had it delivered before I went through the effort of washing the dishes?" You fail.

"Fair is fair." He shrugs his shoulders, you don't need him to elaborate. He's spent years cleaning up your messes only for you to make them again. You're only just beginning to take your turn.

You eat your second dinner in silence. This time, you don't shut and lock the door between you. You take turns pretending not to watch each other. Cornered animals waiting for the other to bite or fawn, in your view. You don't know how Caleb sees it. Sees you. You worry that he thinks of you as something other. Something lesser or more, and either way, different from him. Not his sister, not a woman, not-

"You're anxious." Any other voice, cutting through the quiet like that, would make you jump. Not his. Not with the way he says it, all low and certain.

"When did I say that?"

"You don't have to say something for me to know." That thing stirs in you again. A rumble of satisfaction at being known. And then a prey animal, seen. Ready to run. You tense, looking away from him, eyes landing on his pillow. Remember your role.

You scoff, voice mocking, a challenge. "Okay. Then why are you outside?"

He pauses, hand raising to his chin in thought. "...don't know. Haven't decided yet." Not he doesn't know, and not he hasn't decided yet. Which leaves... which means-

"I'm not doing the dishes again." You don't have an answer for him.

"I'll do em." He grabs his bowl and chopsticks, leans in, arm over the threshold, to take yours too.

"No, sit down. Stay." Your hand raises in a stopping motion between you, just nearly touching his chest.

"You said if I ate I could come inside." He grumbles, whines, leans into you, closes the distance between his body and your hand. You can feel his heart, the beat of it thunderous. You pull away as though burned.

"I said you'd eat if you wanted to come inside. That's not the same as an invitation."

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he pulls back. "Yeah?" His grin is wide and manic. "You're being particularly cruel tonight, did I really upset you that much?"

"Yup." You nod, slowly. Pop the P, like an asshole. And suddenly you know that he knows this isn't about whatever made you mad, not anymore.

"Okay, okay. Colonel Pip-squeak, I'm staying." And an old thing is made new again, he speaks to you like he knows something you don't. Caleb is older than you, a distance of only a few years that he has never let you forget. It had mattered more to you, when you were small. One of the first ways you learned to be annoyed with him. You remember struggling after him, to climb as high on the orphanage garden tree and every tree you could find after, with him teasing all the while. He was older, his hands were bigger, that was just how it was. An insurmountable distance, established between you from day one. It was easy, in your agitation, to forget that he'd always pulled you up to meet him, in the end. There's a symbol in that, you think.

"Where'd you go Pip?" Your drawn back to the present moment.

"The playground." You don't have to say which, though you've been to many, over the years. He just knows. The way that he always knows, when it comes to you.

"You should get some sleep." 'We can talk in the morning, we can talk when you're ready.' Goes unspoken. He removes his hat, sets it at his side. Yawning, but still sitting tall. Still, somehow, accepting of this. Of you. "Be sure to lock the door."

In lieu of a goodnight, you do as told. Sliding the door shut, letting the lock click solidly into place, while he watches your hand, dazed in a way you refuse to attribute to anything but exhaustion from his work day.

You turn away from him without a word, making your way through his house to get yourself ready for bed.

---

You're in his bathroom, glaring at his toothbrush laid flat on the counter. Yours, which had been stood up nicely, in the cup by the sink, is now being used to scrub much too aggressively at your mouth. Brush and bristles catching on your cheeks and teeth like you find yourself caught on his brush's needless separation. If you didn't know better, you'd think he wanted to be apart from you. Your heart stutters. Because maybe he did. Maybe that was the thing you were missing, in your desperation to be close and close and closer still. He wasn't going to find you, that's what he'd said, if you hadn't stormed the Fleet yourself you'd never-

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

Cay ✈️: Goodnight Pips, sleep well.

Cay ✈️: [Sunny Apple: G'nite]

You exhale. No. No. He'd wanted to protect you, you know that. You spit into the sink, rinse your toothbrush clean and place it back in the cup. You wipe the toothpaste at the corners of your mouth onto the shirt you'd pulled over your head to sleep in. One of his, now stained by you, like many others before. You creep out into the hall, peak around a corner toward the balcony, where you can only make out the vague shape of him, faced away from the door, toward the rest of the world, either asleep or pretending at it. You turn off the house lights and make to retreat into his room, stopping briefly again at the bathroom, to place his toothbrush in the cup with yours.

In his bedroom, you pull a pillow over to the far left side of the bed. You take his place in it, pull the sheet over you. It's a warm night, even for Skyhaven. You tense and untense your body, rhythmically, try not to dwell on the too quiet of his home. On how you were right, earlier, when you thought your footfalls were the only thing stopping you from hearing your heart. It kicks up now as you shift around under the thin cover. You find yourself briefly worried that Caleb will get cold. You pluck your phone from the nightstand to check the weather. Your punishment of him not without its limits. You hum dismissively at the readout. He'll be just fine. You close the weather app and unconsciously open your messenger, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Pips 🧡: Night.

Pips 🧡: [Sunny Apple: Bye]

The walls in his house are thick, and his bedroom isn't all that close to the balcony, but still you'd swear you hear him laughing softly from outside.

Whether it is a hallucination on your part or not, the sound of it soothes you to slumber.

You are at a dog park. The one nearby Grandma's old house. Its larger, in the dream, the trees at the far end less human planted embellishment and more organic forest. The fence lining it is a sturdy iron, and not the feeble, beat up, wired one that exists in reality. You are playing fetch with a dog, your dog. Which you both cannot see and have also, in your waking life, never had. You toss the ball and assumedly the dog catches it and brings it back, as it keeps reappearing in your hand. Your voice echoes through the eerily empty park "Yes, good catch. Good boy!" You coo at it. Each time it barks out a reply. You hear its feet hitting the ground as it runs, kicking up grass and dirt as it goes, your laughter is light and giddy, as you continue to play with the unseen thing.

Until eventually it makes its way back to you-"good boy! yes, yes so good!"-and its bark is warped. Less dog, more... human.

"Woof." You look down and finally you see it, him. Caleb is there, all big and broad, sat at your feet. His eyes are dark and focused. He's panting. Red apple, like a ball, between his teeth.

You wake with a start. Breathing ragged, stuck between confusion and mute horror. You stay completely still for a long while. Playing it back, feeling more and more sick each time. Knots coiling in your stomach. What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

You have to let him back in the house.

You throw the covers off of you, move to stand, before freezing entirely. Your shifting weight, the movement of your legs, draws your attention to the wetness between them. You exhale shakily, tears building unbidden behind your eyes. Your brain short circuits, scrambling to explain it away as just a fucked up dream. Challenging, with the subject of it currently locked outside like an animal. Your body's reaction could be written off as just that, a reaction of the body. Totally isolated from you. You will yourself to believe, in your half-sleep state, that you've not felt the knot all night long, the coil in your stomach.

The sensation now given a name, one you can't bear to repeat.

It's fucked. You're fucked. And even still, as always, you want to run to him. To have him soothe you the way only he knows how. If you went to him, now, would he be disgusted with you? All night all he'd done is listen to you. If you told him again to sit, to stay, to eat-

You gasp aloud, invisible collar tightening as if tugged. The thought is banished, and you lay back down, stock-still. No, actually. You need to go back to sleep. You need to not be near him. You need to rewrite this moment, too, as part of the bad, bad dream. Not real. Not your drowsy-but-still-very-much-awake thoughts. Not yours. Not really.

It will be like the theme park, like those days consumed by the chip. You'll forget. You'll pretend to forget.

It's the only way to ensure you both survive it.

In sleep, you are drawn back to the dog park. You know he is still there, can hear him panting and whining in your ear. You refuse to look at him. The apple, that you think now may have never been a ball, is held loosely in your palm. You stare off into the grassy field ahead, to where the horizon hides behind the treeline. From there, you wouldn't be able to see the park fence. Even within the dream, you untense. Caleb barks at you. You stare into the trees, the fullness of them, the cover. You throw the apple into them, as far as you can.

And, without even looking to see if he's given chase, you take off running after it.

It's morning, when you wake next, the sun cresting over the horizon. You paw at your sleep crusted eyes, instinctively sniff at the air for the scent of Caleb making breakfast. You'd figured, sometime in the night or early morning, he'd find his way back inside. Whatever game you were playing abandoned, in favor of play pretending none of it had happened. One game for another. Something put up on a high shelf, where you wouldn't have to look at it, where only Caleb could reach.

But there's nothing, not the smell of coffee, not the sound of sizzling, no spatula scraping at the stove. All is quiet. You frown, move to rise from the bed. Your nose scrunching in distaste when shifting your legs unsticks yourself from your underwear. Great. Gross. Before anything else, you need to change.

You try and fail not to remember the dream, as you dig through his drawers for some boxers. So lost in the catastrophic mess of your own head that you don't think much of anything when you come across three pairs of your own underwear. It's easy to ignore, you leave stuff here all the time, and his underwear drawer was a pretty logical place for them to end up, all things considered. Just because you don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

And again, you're kind of more worried about your dog problem.

You'd pleaded for one desperately, a few years after Grandma adopted you. You'd spent some time with a friend and her dog, watched her do tricks on command, follow your friend around all open-mouthed and bright-eyed, seen how she'd sat, her back facing the pair of you as you played, keeping silent vigil. You'd been awed, you'd been envious. But Grandma was adamant about maintaining a pet free household. And so your dreams were dashed.

Mostly. Except for the part you'd forgotten, until now.

You'd been moping about the house all day. Grandma's continued rejection of your wishes putting you in a sour mood. One Caleb had been incessantly trying to lift for the last hour at least, as you both sat on the living room floor, sat in front of the big fan, trying to keep cool in the sticky summer heat.

"Piiiips. C'mon. Let's go on a walk or something." He tosses the paper plane he just finished folding at you. It flies in circles around your head, courtesy of his evol, until you swat it out of your orbit. He makes a big show of crash landing it in front of you, making explosion noises and everything. Apparently three people need immediate medical attention. It's all very tragic. You kind of don't care at all.

You're at tough ages now, 13 and 15. You don't know if he's gotten worse at comforting you, or you've gotten worse at being comforted. There's no time to ponder it, as he has succeeded in folding the rescue helicopter, which is also just a paper plane.

"Dispatcher Pip, we need coordinates, these people are not going to make it."

You sigh dramatically, half-heartedly pointing to the crash site. "They're over there."

"Copy that, dispatcher Pip, sending in the rescue team now." The plane is thrust into the air, gently floating its way to you, just as the first did. "Oh no, we seem to have encountered an obstacle in our flight path. There is no clear path around it." Ugh! Yes there is!

You duck, raising your hands over your head defensively. "Are you saying I have a big head?"

"Negative. Gravity seems to have warped around you, the rescue copter can't escape the pull." The paper plane-copter circles your head, just like the first, the only thing keeping you from swatting it down is your desire to keep him from introducing a third.

"Well I'm not the one with gravity powers-"

"Do you wanna go get ice cream?" The suddenness of the question takes you off guard. Caleb's always been really good at that, making distractions. You blink at him three times before remembering that you're super upset. You sigh, for probably the 100th time in the last 25 minutes.

"I don't want ice cream. I want a dog." You pout at the floor, knees pulled into your chest. A finger tracing at the wood grain absently.

"Then lets go to the park." Caleb says with a shrug. You perk up. "To... get a dog?" You ask, equally hopeful and confused.

"Nnno..." He starts, and you deflate immediately. "Gran would probably send us packing if we pulled something like that. Buuut I bet there will be at least one nice doggie there for you to play with." He shuffles across the floor to you, ruffles your hair. "You're small and cute, I'm willing to bet their owners will let you." You bat at his hand.

"'m not that small..." you grumble, but don't reject the idea.

"Okay. Are we goin or not?"

---

There aren't any dogs at the park. Mid-afternoon heat keeping visitors away from the sun soaked field. You are devastated of course, and kind of annoyed, since you bothered to peel yourself off the floor and away from the fan for this. But it wouldn't be Caleb if he didn't have a backup plan.

"I'll be the dog." He says, easily.

"You'll huh?" Your head whips to him, brow raised and mouth agape.

"I'll be the dog." He shrugs, like whats he's saying makes any sense. "How did your friend and her dog play?"

You hesitate, feeling that somehow this is wrong, but not finding any real reason to say no. Find it incredibly hard to want to, when you've spent all day really really wanting a dog."...She would hold one of her rope toys and run around the field. And Buttons, that's her dogs name, would chase her. And tug at it when she'd catch her." You hold up your empty hands to him. "I don't have a rope toy though."

Caleb thinks it over. "I can still chase you? If you want?"

You nod without hesitation. Eyes widening excitedly.

He chases you around the field, barking and yipping playfully as you laugh and run away. He tugs gently at the hem of your shirt when he catches you, lets you go again when you squeal. It isn't long before you're sweaty and breathing heavy, exhausted from running around in the heat. Caleb all but drags you to the water fountain, demands that you drink and then drink some more. The breeze has picked up, to your relief. A soothing balm on your overly warm skin.

"We should head back." His breathing is still leveling out. You push away from the fountain and nudge him to take your place. When he raises his head, after a drink, he catches your frown.

"Do we have to?" Your tired, yes, but you were also having so much fun. Even if it was just pretend.

"We don't have to..." He cups your sweaty face in his equally sweaty hands. "...but anymore sun and you might start cooking." He says, patting your cheeks.

"Just a little longer. We can play a different dog game." You're eyes are big and pleading, something you know always works with him.

"...okay, okay. 10 minutes. One more dog game."

You tell him about your friend and her dog playing catch. How she'd throw the rubber ball and Buttons would chase it down and bring it back. You don't have a rubber ball, and so you improvise with a stick you find by the tree Caleb made you sit under. Compromising about play time only when you promised to stay in the shade. You throw the stick, he runs to catch it, and when he picks it up in his hands you tell him no. He's a dog, he has to use his mouth. And so he does. Runs back and forth under the sun, picking up the stick with his teeth, while you sit in the shade. He's panting again, all sweaty and beat red. You wonder how long he'll keep going, if you keep throwing it, before he tells you to stop.

He doesn't. Not until you tell him you're ready to go home.

The memory leaves you horrified with yourself all over again. God. You were spoiled. And cruel. And over all these years nothing seems to have changed, not for the better anyways. Now, on top of it all, you're a pervert too. Your list of objectionable traits only growing.

You'd managed to get changed, while you reflected-soiled underwear tucked into your bag to be dealt with whenever you got back home-and now are making your way back to the main room in the house. Expecting still, to find Caleb either in the kitchen or living area, busying himself while waiting for you to wake.

But he's not in either location. When you turn the corner, finally in clear view of the balcony, you see him there. Sat right outside the door, in uniform. One arm propped up on a raised knee, the other extended behind him, supporting him. Relaxed. Patient. Waiting. 'Stay.'

Oh.

It's worse. He's making it so much worse.

You walk to the door, open it with a shaky hand that you try desperately to control. You search yourself for words. For anything to say at all.

Your rumbling stomach cuts through the tension for you. Startles you out of your stupor.

"...Ok, you can come in. We're going to the grocery store." You give your best performance of passivity, only look at him when you recognize your avoidance of eye contact will do just as much to give you away.

When your eyes finally land on his face, his smile knocks the breath out of you.

---

From there, the day passes with frightening normalcy. The both of you get ready, make it to and from the grocery store with little drama, and Caleb, graciously, doesn't bat an eye at your sudden awkwardness. Falling easily back into step like everything is completely normal and you didn't totally overstep in pretty much every conceivable way just hours ago. You return home and he makes breakfast. You eat together at the table, the silence companionable. You, stealing glances at him all the while. Searching for any anger, or upset, or discontent. Something that says he's sick of you, because he should be.

There's nothing.

You spend the rest of the day working on one of his models. Mostly he works and you scroll on your phone, still keyed up about... pretty much everything, unable to meaningfully focus. You'd been so angry yesterday, and you'd lashed out at him, disrupted his whole day like you had any right to. Had the audacity to be annoyed with him about it. You still can't even remember what had gotten you so worked up in the first place.

"Hey, we should watch that new episode, while your here." He says offhandedly, still focused on the model in front of him.

Oh.

My fucking.

God.

You remember. You remember why you were so angry. Which sucks, because its completely stupid. You fight through the embarrassment, through the heat rising to your face, to respond. "Yeah. Sounds good." You know he hears it, but he says nothing about the way your voice cracks.

---

The sun is long past setting and Caleb is still chipping away at the model. You, for your part, have pretty much given up on assisting. Drifting in and out of consciousness from where you are sprawled out on the couch. He says something to you, a request for another piece, probably, but you miss it in your drowsy state. You rapidly blink your eyes, try and compel them into staying open.

"...huh?" you hum groggily. He turns his attention to you. Face and voice soft.

"...Said can you hand me the-" He cuts himself off, gives you a once over. Huffs out a laugh. "Coulda told me you were fading, Pips." He smiles, leans over to pinch your thigh. Startling you just slightly more alert.

"Ow!" It hadn't hurt. "Rude-"

"You can't go down yet. You gotta tell me where I'm sleeping." He says coolly. Your eyes narrow in confusion. He hums, raising himself up from his place behind the coffee table with a little 'hup'. And disappears from your line of sight.

You hear the opening of the sliding glass door.

Shit. Shit.

Your stomach drops. Heart thundering with every step his feet take back to you.

He's in front of you, pillow and comforter in hand, still smiling, all teeth.

"So, Pips, have I been good?"

Your entire body lurches, breath catching, heat rolling through you.

Everything stops moving. Like his evol is active, even though you know it isn't.

You don't know what to say. Every wire is crossed, every weapon you have, misfiring. He's still... why is he entertaining this? Why would he start it again? Is he just... messing with you? Is it a test? What are you supposed to say?

"Pips." He kneels, makes himself level with your position on the couch, looks at you, all big-eyed and focused. "Where do you want me?" He brings a hand to your ankle, rubs circles into it.

You look away from his face, to the dirty bedding in his other hand, and say the only thing that comes to mind.

"You can sleep at the foot of the bed, but those aren't coming with you."

---

He had been quick to mask his surprise. Just not quick enough for you to miss it entirely. Besides the night he was sick, its been years since you've shared a bed.

You needed a minute. To recover from what he'd said, what it had done to you. And so excused yourself to throw the pillow and comforter into the laundry, telling him as you hastened away, to wash up before bed. The fact that he'd let you go, do the deed yourself, without protest, tells you he needed that minute to. You're leaning over the running washing machine, arms braced at the front edges of it, trying to get yourself through and over the thought of 'What the fuck? What the fuck do I do?' and onto something more productive.

A part of you, the selfish, spoiled part you don't think you're allowed to deny anymore, hopes that Caleb's already solved it. That he has returned from his time outside enlightened and will, like every other time before, pick up all your troubles for you, and carry them like they weighed nothing. The other part of you, the bigger part, the one that has spent a decade trying to be his equal. Hopes that whatever truth he saw he'd tell to you.

That's the hard part. Getting him to tell you. It's the one thing Caleb won't give you without first taking. Truth, confessions. You groan to yourself. Your either gonna have to tell him about the dream, or the reason you made him sleep outside.

Frankly, the choice is obvious.

You make your way out of the laundry room and into the bathroom, where you see Caleb brushing his teeth. By the time you start on yours he's rinsing his mouth out.

"Gonna grab an extra blanket from the hall closet..." He sets his toothbrush down on the counter. You make a displeased noise through a mouth full of foam and spit. Glance at him, brows furrowed, only to find he's already watching you. His mouth turns up, slow. Grinning wide enough to make his eyes squint, as he picks the brush back up, and places it in the cup. He looks to you, you hum, nod your approval. His nose wrinkles with a giddy little huff. He pats your shoulder, lets his hand rest there, as he makes his way around you and out of the bathroom. You roll your eyes, when he's gone. 'And what are you supposed to make of that?' Annoying. The same annoying Caleb. No amount of canine roleplay or psychosexual wet dreams will ever take that from you.

He's changed into his pjs and draped the blanket by the time you finish up and make for his room. Already laying at the foot of the bed, eyes closed, with the pillow you'd used tucked under his head. You don't know if he chose it because it was in his place, on the far left, or because he'd known you used it.

"I don't remember saying you could have that." You give your best effort to sound firm. Though you can tell from the way he smiles, not bothering to open his eyes, that he knows there's no bite in it.

"You've let me come this far. Is this really where you're gonna draw the line?"

You're not sure there is a line, anymore. But you don't say that. The silence, you crawling under the covers, into the bed, is answer enough. You reach for the light, pausing for a moment with your hand on the pullstring. You'll have to be honest with him, if you want any shot of him being honest with you.

...doesn't mean you can't do it in the dark, though.

You yank the light off.

"Night Pips." He wraps a hand around your ankle from over the covers, just to hold it, you think. It settles something in you that he wants to know you're there.

"I remembered why I was mad at you." You blurt out, the cover of dark doing very little to make you brave.

"Yeah?" he squeezes once, then rubs circles into the bone.

"It was the canceled plans. Kinda. But it wasn't that part." You pause, take a breath, he hums for you to continue. "...We were gonna watch the new episode of that show together. You couldn't make it and that's fine, we're adults with jobs and we get busy. I didn't care about that." Another pause, another breath, this time he just waits. "But you told me I could watch it by myself, if I wanted." You shrink in on yourself, unconsciously. "...Aaand it bothered me." You pull the blanket up over your face, despite the fact that he couldn't see your expression in the dark if he tried.

You feel him shift, rise up onto his elbows, know without seeing yourself, that he is looking at you.

"...You made me sleep outside, at my own house... because I was too considerate of your excitement and desire to not see spoilers?" And you can't even entertain the idea that he's irritated with you, because you can hear him smiling stupid big.

You always manage to forget. He's not just annoying. He's a big annoying weirdo.

"I mean. Kinda. Yeah." You sigh, lowering the blanket back down, so your mumbling can be heard more clearly. "It wasn't about the show. Or it was, at first. But then it was more than that?" You were still working out the details yourself, you don't know how to explain it to him. But this is Caleb. If you just... say exactly what you're thinking. He'll figure it out like he always does. At least you hope he will.

"I want to be the same as you. I don't like that we have our own heads... sometimes." You lose steam with each word, end of the sentence leaving you as barely a whisper.

There's a beat of quiet. Then another. "Only sometimes?"

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. But say nothing beyond it.

You did your part, now it's his turn to talk.

"...I don't want you to be the same as me Pip." His hand has reached under the covers now, wraps itself back around your ankle. Like he knows it's not what you want to hear. "You deserve more than- ow, let me finish." You'd kicked at his chest, which he should have anticipated, he knows you hate it when he does that. As he speaks, he pulls you closer, not away. Presses your foot to his ribs, shows you where to hit him next, if he upsets you again. "I'm yours. Always have been, always will be. And if it were up to me you'd have everything, it wouldn't even be a question." After that, his voice dips low.

"Everything good. And none of the bad. That's all me." More circles rubbed into you, tracing further up, on your calf now. "I'd let you crawl under my ribs though, if that's what you wanted. Use me like a jungle gym. Give you something to cut your teeth on...." You push your foot into his ribs, toes pressing into the spaces between the bones. He grips your leg tighter.

"If you're mine I'm yours."

"Pips, listen-" His hold loosens as he sighs, the first hint of frustration you've seen from him over the last two days. You pull away from his grip entirely, throwing the covers away from you. "If you're mine I'm yours. It's not a question. It's the end of the discussion." You crawl to the end of the bed, movement quick and clumsy. You lay facing him, close enough to see his eyes even in the dark.

He chokes out a bitter little laugh, wraps his arms around you, nudges a leg between yours. "You still don't get it. Even after the stunt you pulled?"

"Don't get what Caleb?" You curl into him, head tucked into the peak of his arm, breathing deep. "Don't make me guess. Just tell me, for once." And that's rich, coming from you. But you don't really care about your own hypocrisy at the moment.

"You always wanted a dog, didn't you?" you tense, freeze, and then try to pull away.

He doesn't let you.

"Ah, so you do get it." You can feel him smiling against you. "Good. That's good."

"Caleb..." You whine, pout, squirm. All the sudden feeling entirely too seen. Worried he somehow knows. About the dream, about the knot. He's laughing at you, now, strong enough to shake with it. But the way he moves against you, the boyish lilt of his voice... you can't bring yourself to feel embarrassed over it. He squeezes you tight, secure and warm, even without a blanket over you.

"Don't worry about it. Same rule as always. We'll put it up on the high shelf. Til your ready to face it."

It's enough, for now. Not quite pretend and not quite honest.

You're working on it.

---

This was supposed to be a 500 word drabble. btw.

#read. the long ass content warnings.#pleasies.#caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #calebmc #lads caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 8 months ago

Note

helloooo!! I absolutely adore your works puts me to sleep with a great bag ass smile on my face! Can you please write about the moon boys where the reader is a complete bimbo/ fashion fanatic showing off her newly bought clothes and accessories to them

I hope this is okay! I'm not so good with bimbo reader, so this is a lot more like reader that likes fashion. <3

Moon Boys x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Warnings: Fluff, silliness, a little mention of masturbating in (semi)public, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 712

Steven Grant

Is super interested in your love of fashion because you are interested in it. Literally loves to listen to you talk about it for hours and will not get bored. Asks lots of questions and gets so happy when you excitedly tell him the answers.

Loves going shopping with you, will give you his honest opinion on everything, even if he disagrees. “That’s awful love.” “I like it.” “Well then get it, of course, it’ll look beautiful on you, but it is hideous.” Pulls faces to make you laugh. The only thing he’ll really grumble about is if you wear clothing that feels bad (sensory wise) for him, but he’ll do it in a jokey way.

“You know where this would look better, love?” “On your bedroom floor?” “No, in the bin.”

Is happy for you to suggest some clothing choices for him, but he won’t change his style/comfort, he’s very content to be himself. However, he does adore it when you buy him clothing because you always make sure it’s something he would like and it makes his heart so full that you put in so much time and consideration for him. (When he expresses this and you tell him, ‘duh, of course, I love you silly!’ you are getting 1000 kisses. No other option.)

Really likes it when you try on sexy outfits in changing rooms and send him photos. (This has led to him asking you to touch yourself and send him a video while you do it.)

Marc Spector

Gets a little nervous sometimes if he comes with you shopping in person, this depends on if the shop is very busy/the lights are really bright and overwhelming. It’s difficult to let when he gets overstimulated, because Marc masks a lot and has done so for a very long time. Plus, even if you’ve told him you want him to tell you, he doesn’t want to ruin your fun.

Also likes it when you buy him clothes, always washes them before he wears them and usually asks you to wear them/lay on them before he puts them on so that they smell like you.

Don’t tell you if he hates something, tries to be so polite, but you can tell because he does a little ‘oh’ face with raised eyebrows before he gets his expression back under control.

Surprisingly, really loves bright colours. Doesn’t tend to wear them much himself, but is always drawn to them. Really loves whatever personal style you have (bright or dark colours, he doesn’t care, you look amazing no matter what.) and will try really hard to point things out/show you what he thinks you’ll like/fits with your vibe.

Really likes watching shows about fashion with you, gets very invested in The Great British Sewing Bee.

Jake Lockley

Has so much fun going clothes shopping (in person or online) with you and having a massive try on montage. Literally flings the curtains open so dramatically. Will try on anything for the thrill of it.

Quite often you both have a silly day where you try to dress as each other, this has led to some very realistic interpretations and some utterly chaotic ones.

If he’s annoyed with you he will find the most eye watering outfit in the universe and wear it, saying ‘It’s the height of fashion’.

His favourite t-shirt to sleep in is one with grammatically incorrect spanish on it that he found in a charity shop and thought it was hilarious. You cannot get him to part with it for love or money, even though it is falling apart and he has fixed it many times. (You don’t actually want him to get rid of it, but it’s become a fun little teasing game both of you play with each other.)

I’ve said many times that I headcanon Jake as a knitter, (because he is (joking)), I think he would happily knit with you/teach you if you wanted/didn’t know how to. He’ll also happily make you lots of clothes and accessories as gifts. However, it took him a long, long time to ever make and give you a jumper because of the knitter's curse and he just got so paranoid about it.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

@maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus

@lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch

@iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan @faretheeoscar@lonelyisamyw-0love

@queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @to-be-a-sunshine @blushingrn @missdictatorme @musicalnacho

@soft-girl-musings @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

@mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus

@mandytrekkie @novarosewood @pygmi-cygni @purple-amaranthe @amasdaydream

@i-have-all-these-freakin-uwus @casa-boiardi @bookoffracturedescapes @pigeonmama

@theratscorner @krakenkitty @sergeant102105 @weekendgothgirl

@klillah @howellatme @mystic-writings @f0url3af @brunlocc @buckyssugarchick

@mari-thesimp

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

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starflungwaddledee · 4 months ago

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Ahoi, in being normal about your content, I came up with a couple of questions! (From answer answers, in fact!)

One...ah, less a question and more expressing interest in why Elfilin is ALSO uncomfortable with Starstruck, along with, y'know, the Waddle Dee... (I know you've got a whole platter on your plate, I'm just curious and I'll bet Elfy looks really cute in your style if you wanted to draw a thing about this!!!!)

Two...you mentioned in an answer that Starstruck knows some languages already, has...anyone figured that out, in canon? Has Magolor shown her some ancient texts or used a loanword and stumbled into yet another way she is Perfectly Normal?

(Actually...if you don't mind a third, what does Magolor think of the Ancients in general? Given they sound, um...like QUITE a topic to unearth, in your AUs! And if I'm remembering my Magolore right he's a big nerd for the ancients.)

(Please answer as much or as little as you like!!!!! Whenever you like!!!!!!!!!!!)

helloooo graycoin!! more Keen Eye'd questions!! 👀 i'll answer each of these in order and link to any relevant info! there's a little comic of magolor and starstruck towards the end, for folks who want to skip the text!

regarding elfilin being uncomfortable around starstruck, it's very much to do with her magic signature, which is why i compared it to how waddle dees are uncomfortable around her. i'll still do a full comic for this- i know i said i'd have it done for february, and i'm sorry for the delay, but it is actually a key lore drop so i won't be skipping it! personality wise i think starstruck and elfilin could get along totally okay, especially with kirby as a mediator, but as it stands elfilin can't quite bridge the gap of trusting her.

with magolor's interests; i absolutely think of him as someone who is very much a big nerd for the Ancients!!! of the ancient races, he would be (of course) most interested in the ancient mages, but he's one of the few folks out there who recognise meta knight for what he is; not that meta knight knows this. magolor is smarter and better travelled and harder working than most, but i'm not sure spending a decade or two isolated on a planet of dust and fire was what we'd call "super great!" for his overall morality when it comes to accessing the flaws and failings of his beloved Ancients.

as for starstruck's knowledge of languages, while no one in starstruck's core friend-group has figured this out yet in her canon timeline, i do think magolor would be a fantastic candidate for it, for all the reasons you mentioned.

he would also, i think, keep completely tight-lipped about anything he learned or suspected about starstruck. language, or otherwise.

mostly because he'd assume she picked it up somewhere ordinary, like from a friend. or maybe she is-or had been- similarly passionate about history as him; and that's something they could nerd out about privately, if he can spark the memory!

and on the off chance he did assume anything more serious about the languages she's fluent in, he wouldn't want to risk getting on her bad side.

#after all; fitting in and finding friends saved magolor!#maybe it can save starstruck too.#my art #my comics #asks #starstruck dee #magolor #gravitational collapse #🎀🔍

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plor-bindery · 9 months ago

Text

Bound: Kinkuary ‘23 by wolfpants

Next up in my tour of binds I made for wolf: Kinkuary ‘23 by @wolfpants

When I first reached out to wolf to ask permission to bind their fic, I asked if there was anything in their fic that they wished they had bound. They mentioned their Kinkuary fics but immediately said "oh but that's impractical because it's a whole collection" or something to that effect, which of course I took as a challenge. (Authors, be warned. I will almost certainly bind the thing you say I should not try to bind.)

Anyone who is wisely subscribed to wolf's works on AO3 probably had the same delightful experience as I did throughout February 2023: namely, waking daily to a little notification that there was a small kinky gem awaiting consumption at one's leisure. Wolf writes sex incredibly well: the viscerality and immediacy of it, but also the thoughts and turn-ons and how it lights up each character's brain differently. They have a gift for making me love tropes and kinks I might not ever think to read or write otherwise.

All that being said, I felt slightly weird about being like HERE IS A BOOK OF YOUR KINK THAT SAYS KINK ON THE SPINE so (as wolf has noted) I went all Victorian and made a dust jacket to cover up the bind if wolf ever wants to make it look a lot more innocent than it is.

So many firsts in this one for me: first dust jacket, first index, first collection of fics, first table of contents... It was a blast from start to finish and I learned SO MUCH.

Materials and process chat under the cut.

Materials:

Ye olde wooqu bookcloth off Amazon, HTV vinyl, 24 lb cream letter (wrong grain, forgive me) folios, machine-made endbands, black cardstock end papers.

The dust jacket is probably the only newish thing for me: I did a print using Staples' online service (which probably contributed to my choices because I also use this service for actual work things...) It was a poster print on matte paper.

Process:

This was a pretty straightforward bind but the typeset was full of learning curves. I use InDesign for typesetting and figured out how to set up a TOC and index. Wolf is a GREAT tagger so once I realized I'd either have a seven-page run of front matter listing the tags for each fic, or an index condensing them down, it was a no-brainer. And because wolf is so brilliant with tags, this led to my favorite index entries ever under Draco's listing (see photo.) I also figured out how to use styles to make every story have a header of its title, etc.

The great artwork of Eros is from rawpixel.

The other new thing for me was, of course, the dust jacket. I was disappointed to realize I'd messed up the measurements somehow once I printed, but it was close enough, so I went with it. I tried to rub some beeswax into the cover to help preserve it a bit but not sure it did much. If I were doing it again now, I'd use some Mod Podge matte aerosol fixative.

The dust jacket artwork is from the Smithsonian online collection of vintage seed catalogues. (S/O to my librarian spouse for the tip!) I created the spine matching the style as closely as I could, and then I went to town with silliness for the flaps. (This is probably a downside to having a fic writer also be a binder. I have trouble not writing something when the opportunity presents itself in the course of binding...)

The cover design is, of course, just a whole bunch of cursive X's. I'd hoped to have the title and author be a knockout from that pattern but it proved too hard to weed/read, so I ironed black HTV over the red pattern instead.

This is the only one of the set of four binds that I haven't (yet) bound for myself as a personal copy, but I think I will probably do so at some point! I was running out of black bookcloth at the time, so I prioritized wolf's copy for obvious reasons.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #case binding #wolfpants #kinkuary 23 #dust jacket #book jacket #drarry fanbinding #fanfic collection binding #stealth fanbinding

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burningcheese-merchant · 7 months ago

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I need Eternal Sugar x Hollyberry content, please!

Dug to the bottom of the inbox mountain for this one lol. hollysugar-merchant, coming at you live ��🗣️🔥 (is that what the ship is called? HollySugar? I don't actually know, that's what i got used to calling it)

Eternal Sugar, being a musician, likes to play songs on her harp for Hollyberry. Eager to please, she at first went out of her way to pick up Hollyberrian tunes, knowing that Holly's people and culture are already quite musically inclined and believing it would win more of Holly's favor. After enough reassurance from Holly that she doesn't need to "impress" her (she just loves that Sugar can play something and is good at it, and she cares enough to want to play for Holly), Sugar allows herself to just play whatever song she has in mind at the time. Her goal had always been to serenade Holly and make her happy - and she always succeeds, which was all she wanted, anyway

Lots of brushing and styling each other's hair for fun, I can imagine. Eternal Sugar looks extremely feminine so it's easy to ascribe the "girly" affinity for makeup and hair and fashion and things of that nature to her. She'd love to dote on Hollyberry in this manner: just relaxing in their room, chatting with her while she brushes her hair. And Holly is happy to oblige, because she enjoys it and Sugar is really adorable when she does this

Hollyberry tries to encourage Eternal Sugar to go out and do things a lot, just in general. She can be (and often is, because it's Holly lol) a bit much, which leads to Sugar sort of digging her heels in and maybe them bickering about it, but Sugar at least acknowledges that Holly means well. Old habits die hard, is all. (Harder still when you're a Beast lol)

Sugar is very, very clingy in bed (sleep-wise, you perv lol). She'll curl up next to Holly, wrap her arms around her tight and not let go for anything. Good news is she's not super physically strong (not compared to Holly, anyway), so it's not that big of a hassle to peel her off when it's time to get up. Bad news is Sugar sleeps like the dead, so it's almost impossible to actually get her to wake up and start the day with Holly like Holly wants/prefers. And if/when she wakes up and notices that she is no longer glued to Holly like she was when she fell asleep... oh boy. It's Whinin' Time lol

Sugar finds Holly's family very cute. Her son in particular, just because of how much he resembles her. She dotes on him (and the others, of course; she also loves Princess very much, she's even more like Hollyberry than Royal Berry is) whenever she sees him. He and his friends and family get used to her presence and even welcome her to some degree after they stop being terrified of her lol

Sugar can be quite jealous, and doubles down on that jealousy when the one causing it actively does try to get in the way of her and Hollyberry. She goes back and forth between liking Wildberry and disliking him (Wildberry just dislikes her lol). She is sweet towards Jungleberry until the latter's mostly unshakeable distrust of her becomes a little TOO apparent. It is On Sight with Pitaya Dragon lol (she is VERY unhappy with how often Pitaya wants to spend time with Holly, even if it's only in a friendly capacity and the romantic threat is entirely imaginary. Pitaya just does not like Sugar in any way, shape or form; not really out of concern for Holly's safety or anything, he just thinks she sucks, there's really nothing else to it)

Sorry these are kind of lame :/ there's not enough for me to work with wrt Eternal Sugar. I'm sure I'll think of better things whenever she's added to the game and we actually see what she's like

#cookie run kingdom #hollyberry cookie #eternal sugar cookie #hollysugar #hollyberry crk #eternal sugar crk #merchant asks

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chireikiden · 7 months ago

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do we know whether zun writes the script for each official manga word for word, or if he gives the artists a detailed outline and they write the dialogue? i often wonder this because i feel like the writing styles of each manga can differ quite a lot, and some of them feel really different from the way zun writes dialogue in the games.

I don't think we can say for sure how he works with each individual manga. However, the largest sample we have is from this spring's Dai Touhou Project Expedition, which included some of ZUN's scripts for Lotus Eaters. As photography was banned in this section, afaik we only have the recreated text in this blog post here, in Japanese of course.

In these examples, the dialogue is the one thing that ZUN does include word-for-word, while most other descriptions are very brief. This matches how the artists clearly draw e.g. characters' reactions and general behavior very differently.

The scripts have been reframed a bit for the expo, and Mizutaki's comments are a later addition, but we can assume the contents themselves are pretty unedited (or else there'd be very little point in displaying them as a showpiece). I'm gonna go through a couple.

Here we have the script for the first few pages of Lotus Eaters chapter 4. The Japanese dialogue is word-for-word identical between the script and the finished manga, and though this could be a change made for the expo, I doubt they did that. I've borrowed Alpha Beta Kappa's translation for the dialogue, but the point is to illustrate what is and isn't in the script:

Chapters 4–5｜"The Haughty Grab Even the Red Ape" (Part 1–2) Page 95 ― ZUN's Script ――Night-time cherry blossoms at the Hakurei Shrine. Reimu, Marisa, Sakuya, Remilia, Youmu, and some other usual characters may or may not be there. Everyone's already had some drink, and the party is in full swing. Sakuya brings out a dessert on a large tray. Marisa: "What's this?" Sakuya: "I tried my hand at a dessert. In the Outside World, it's called tarte soleil, or 'tart of the sun'. Supposedly it's quite popular for it's sunlike appearance. Although as the sun hardly suits my mistress, I tried rearranging it for a night theme. I call it the tarte lune. It's not too sweet, so enjoy." Everyone's excited. Sakuya looks proud. Marisa: "Fits right in your hand!" Reimu: "This is wonderful." Everyone happily finishes dessert as well. No one's looking at the cherry blossoms at this point. Reimu: "Jeez, your cooking's so good. I'm glad we asked you for help again, Sakuya." Sakuya: "Oh, it's nothing. I merely prepared it to entertain the mistress. Perhaps this is the best the shrine could hope for, but it really is nothing praiseworthy. To think you'd be so easily pleased." Reimu and Marisa smile awkwardly. Reimu: "R-Right... Well—" Marisa: "Y-Yeah, that's right!" Mizutaki's Comments ZUN-san's script didn't really clarify what this tarte lune was supposed to look like, so I just came up with something tasty-looking based on the appearance of the real-life tarte soleil. It says that Sakuya made this for dessert for Remilia, yet Remilia doesn't actually have any lines here. Luckily she's a pretty easy character to make move on page.

Obviously this is a pretty simple, dialogue-based scene, with not much else happening plot-wise, but it shows how all the little interactions on page and even what characters are present is left to the artist's discretion. Sometimes the script for an entire page is like "Miyoi's cleaning happily, when suddenly there's some noise at the door", and sometimes the script ends up becoming a different number of pages than expected. Because the whole point is to be the script for the story, though, it can also be pure description when that's what the story is being told through:

Chapters 11-12｜"Love the Customer, Hate the Sin" (Part 1–2) Pages 106–107 ― ZUN's Script Mamizou and Komachi begin to exchange information. Mamizou keeps the existence of Sanshoku Geidontei a secret, but tells her about the fake name customer. Komachi recognizes what she's talking about! And shares what she knows. Mamizou looks like she understands everything now, and seems satisfied with herself, but her face is also a little solemn. Mizutaki's Comments This scene had no dialogue, only ZUN-san's description of Mamizou and Komachi's conversation. Figuring out how to draw stuff like this is difficult, and I feel a bit lost sometimes, but it's also fun in some ways. Since the location wasn't specified, I wanted to give the feeling that they're hiding themselves from humans but doing so right under their noses, so I chose the underside of a bridge across the river (canal) that runs through the Village. Where else would Komachi be but a "river", after all!

In general, we have Mizutaki's word for the scripts being a bit vague sometimes, but being able to discuss them with ZUN during the process:

Chapters 1–3｜"A Drunken Evening Leaves no Memories" (Part 1–3) Page 77 ― ZUN's Script Suika: "Ah, yeah. I just figured she was that sorta youkai. The kind that always appears at bars. Getting people drunk and then wasting 'em. Good sake makes for a good suima. Bad sake makes for a bad one. And an oni's sake, well..." Reimu: "Well what?" Suika drinks directly from the gourd. She laps up the last bits of the bottomless Ibuki Gourd. Looking drunk and very smug, she goes: Suika: "That makes for... the strongest kind of suima. Unmatched, and unparalleled." Mizutaki's Comments At the time that I got the script, this scene had basically no stage directions. When I tried asking ZUN at our meeting what the mood was supposed to be like, he suggested that Suika blow an alcohol-laden breath at Reimu, so the end result is what you see. (*We were usually also drinking during our meetings, and it's not like I really have any clear notes from them, so there's also a good chance that I'll misremember things. Please read with that in mind...)

We don't get to know how much of the embellished fight scene against the dream-pig that follows was in the script, and how much of it is Mizutaki's creation. But it's already easy to see that with directions like this, any scene can be drawn in many different ways.

If this is representative of the other manga too, it seems that the dialogue itself is straight from ZUN, but almost everything else we see on page is just drawn based on his very general directions. This means that even if the text is pure ZUN, it can still be greatly affected by the context, and the less dialogue there is going on, the more of the page is made up whole-cloth by the artist.

Presumably there are differences in how he works with different artists for different manga, and CDS for example has far less dialogue than most of his other manga, but I must assume that is on purpose. For example, he's said on some show or other (don't ask me to dig up the source, sorry) that he enjoys how he can just kinda tell Akimaki to stick in a fight scene and cut loose (which tells us both that it's Akimaki's doing, but also ZUN-approved).

I can't say with confidence that the dialogue in CDS or any other manga is also word-for-word from ZUN's script, but I think it's plausible and likely, and the artists just have a lot of room to put their own spin on it even without touching a word of it.

There's also other factors in the dialogue pipeline, of course, such as:

ZUN himself is writing in a very different format in the games than in the manga, and the manga generally have a lot more and lengthier dialogues.

The text is split up very differently (into small text boxes vs. across multiple bubbles and pages). And believe me, if you've never translated Japanese, the way things like periods, ellipses, commas and conjuctions are placed is half translator preference and half trying to wrestle with the way the text is split.

The game translations are generally massaged by a number of translators, while the manga are hammered out by individual translators in a couple days with maybe proofreading at most, meaning that their individual styles also affect things more directly.

#ask #anonymous #translation disc.#chireikiden disc.#general disc.

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omnipitant-duck · 2 months ago

Text

The fic Im writing (idk, I'll come up with a name soon):

Chapter 1

Content warnings:violence, swearing(not much, just thought I'd mention it), my complete inability to spell anything to save my life

If I missed anything, LET ME KNOW and I'll fix the warnings

Characters(in this chapter): Kaz Brekker(SoC), Inej Ghafa(SoC), Jesper Fahey(SoC), Anika(SoC), Aang(AtLA), Katara(AtLA)(sorry if I didn't get her personality right), Zuko(AtLA), Toph(AtLA)

A/N: Don't really know what to call this one yet, chapter or fic wise. Also, sorry if it absolutely sucks, it's been a while since Ive actually tried to write anything

Ketterdam was just as busy as any other day. People were bustling through the streets of East Stave, shoving their way in and out of every pleasure house and gambling hall they could lay their filthy eyes on.

The smog and clouds blocked out most light, but still, somehow the sun found its way right onto Inej's cheeks as she sat in the window of Kaz's office, feeding the crows that now nested on the roof outside. All the while, Kaz was busy doing paperwork and calculating different costs and the revenue they'd earned, or, he was trying to at least. It was always so hard to focus on paperwork when Inej's laugh rang out in his usual silent office like the soothing chime of the church bells, at least, when you weren't right next to the church. Ghenzen, what he wouldn't give to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life, to get drunk off of it every night and to soak it in like the sun's warmth after a cold night.

Inej had been hounding Kaz for hours after they got back from their most recent job to just rest, Saints knew his leg needed it, so she supposed him sitting there and doing paperwork was the closest she would actually get to him listening to her on the matter. She tossed another handful of crumbs out to the crows on the roof, sending the new ones scattering momentarily before flying back to join the others in pecking up every last one they could find.

"Inej, darling, treasure of my heart." Kaz's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, ripping her painfully back to reality. "I do suggest you close the window, of course, unless you want to get soaked." Saints, Inej hadn't even noticed that it had started raining. The soft pitter patter of rain against the windows and roof of the slat soon became a violent downpour, as if Mother Nature herself was demanding to be let in.

It was hours later when someone else finally came and knocked on Kaz's door. Inej had left long ago to retire into her room for the night. But the paperwork never really did stop for sleep, did it? The dim light of the full moon shone in through his window, occasionally blotted out by the thick blanket of clouds.

"Come in," Kaz grumbled, his voice raspier than normal from lack of use. He didn't bother to look up as Jesper entered his office, followed by Anika, pushing along a small group of what seemed to be... kids? But, oh, dear Ghenzen, why the fuck were they so bright? And why the hell did the shadows on them look like that? It was as if they were just pure color.

"Who are they?" Kaz asked, almost demanding, although he was tempted to ask what they were. He stood up slowly from behind his desk and slowly made his way over to the group. He was limping worse than usual, considering the pain shooting up through his entire leg was much worse after sprinting through alleyways and climbing ladders. He could deal with that later though.

Jesper glanced over at Anika for a moment, as if wordlessly asking her if she knew.

"We, uh, we don't know," Jesper mumbled as he glanced between Kaz and Anika.

"They were just outside the Crow Club causing trouble. I think some of them might be Grisha though," Anika added.

"Grisha?! What the heck is a Gree-sha?" One of the kids demanded indignantly, a little short girl with black hair that was tied up in a ruthlessly tight bun-like style and light, almost white, green eyes. "We're not Gree-sha or whatever the heck it's called."

"Whatever you are, what were you doing outside my gambling hall. I lost good money thanks you four." Kaz held his hands behind his back as he glared at the kids in front of him. At least he could only assume they were kids, for all he knew, they could've been some sleep deprivation induced hallucinations.

"Excuse me?" One of the other kids spoke up, some little bald kid with an arrow on his skull. "I'm sorry, I don't use this card often, but I'm the avatar. Clearly you didn't know that, but now you do, so if you could just tell tell us how to get back to the Fire Nation, that would be wonderful."

Kaz could only manage a blank, confused stare at the kid. Clearly he was out of his mind or on something real strong. The fuck was an "avatar" anyway? Was this kid okay? Kaz glanced up at Jesper, silently asking him were him and Anika found these kids anyway.

"Kid, what the fuck are you going on about?" Kaz finally managed through his confusion, and slight concern, earning a glare from the little bald kid and a startled look from the rest of them.

The kids exchanged a few glances for a moment before the same bald kid and a girl wearing what seemed to be Tidemaker colors tried to explain their insane concept to them. An avatar? The master of all four elements? That wasn't possible, Grisha could only control one thing. And apparently the girl was a Tidemaker, but not really? It was confusing and Kaz needed a break.

"Just... bring them somewhere else to question them, I can't take this anymore," Kaz said dismissively, waving them away with the back of his hand while he hobbled back over to his desk.

"Wait! You can't do this! I'm Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, you can't just send us away without answering any of our questions!" One of the other kids yelled, the one with a nasty looking burn scar over his left eye. It almost made Kaz feel bad. Clearly these kids were going through something, or they were just insisting on playing a very elaborate game of pretend.

"I can, actually. You're in Dregs territory, not your little pretend kingdom," Kaz growled. Ghenzen, he was getting tired of dealing bratty little kids.

For once, Kaz didn't see it coming when he was suddenly knocked to the ground, the air ripped from his lungs as his back slammed against the side of his desk. What... what hit him? He hadn't seen any of the kids move even once. Kaz gripped his cane, trying to push himself back up. Or... he thought he was gripping his cane at least. Why wasn't his arm working? He didn't have to wonder long though when he saw the girl he has thought to be just a Tidemaker.

"...Heartrender," Kaz gasped out. It was as if his lungs refused to draw in air. He couldn't focus on the the kids yelling, arguing amongst each other or telling the girl to stop, he couldn't focus on the fact that even Jesper an Anika couldn't move, even if they were out of her line of sight. His mind immediately went to Inej. What if he died here? Suffocated by a Heartrender. What would happen to her then? Would she even miss him...? Would she think of him even once when she left Ketterdam...? No. He couldn't go out like this. Not now, he'd survived so much worse to just be taken out in his own office.

_______________________________________

Me when I leave the chapter on a "cliffhanger" bc I ran out of ideas for the chapter and don't want to work on it later:

(Hmmm. Wonder where Sokka and Suki are🤔🌝)

(Sorry if the formatting is a little weird on pc, I'm on mobile.)

A/N: WE GOT IT BACK BABY!!!!! Leaving it off there for now though, let me know what you think so far. Sorry if it sucks absolute ass lmao, I did if bc I was encouraged to, but I also did it for myself (and the worms in my brain) I'll try to post the next chapter soon since this was more of a late night writing session of "just throw shit at the page, see what sticks, and don't edit a single thing" minus the don't edit a single thing part. Feel free to throw in your own ideas or headcanons and I might just add them into later chapters 🌝 KEEP IT CLEAN THOUGH!! THESE ARE MINORS AND SO AM I!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I'll probably add most of them in since Im horribly deprived of ideas already)

Me if you don't keep the headcanons and suggestions clean:

__________________________________________

Artists/bands listened to while writing this chapter and amount of songs:

Will Wood: 3-4 songs

Daft Punk: 3

Le Tigre: 1

Sarah and the Safe Word: 2

Will Wood and the Tapeworms: 1 (should probably just count this in with Will Wood but it's technically different so I won't)

Coyote Kid: 2

Jariah: 3

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME: 2

The Taxpayers: 1

SonReal: 1

bbno$: don't know, at least 1, maybe 2 started going into autopilot around this point

(Not listing songs because I'm a dumb idiot that can't remember them all but I'll do that next time!)

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angelofthenight · 1 year ago

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Kenchanted Pt.1

(Ken x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Lost in the chaotic and gritty human world, you come to Ken’s rescue. He’s determined to find his one true love who is also lost in the human world, Barbie, and despite your cynical and pessimistic view of “true love”, you help. You and Ken’s views of life and love are constantly clashing and arguments constantly follow. Yet the more time you spend together, you both begin to fall in love with the epitome of everything you once disagreed with. But you are both promised to others and you are from two different worlds, pink and grey.

Warnings: Swearing, V brief harassment (nothing intense), YN thinks Ken is mentally ill/disturbed, Mentions of police

( Super special thanks for my pookie mutual @detectiveapparatiagreen for proofreading for triggers💖 )

Word Count: 3.5k

Tropes Used: Grumpy x Sunshine, She fell first/He fell harder, Slow burn, Unexpected/Unintentional pining, Fantasy vs Reality

( This is based off the Disney movie Enchanted so it’s kinda like an AU, with a touch of Warm Bodies and Aquamarine. Also I named YN’s boyfriend after Oppenheimer in honor of Barbenheimer but I just realized that a Robert is in Enchanted too😭. Also this is steering off a bit from canon in the Barbie movie to cater more to Enchanted’s storyline so Ken doesn’t become a typical man/antagonist.

And lastly YN is basically Ken’s opposite personality-wise and clothing color palette-wise, I typically always have all my YN’s fashion style ambiguous in my stories unless it’s a direct effect to the story so that’s why I’m just forewarning )

Table of Contents

(R/n) = Roommates name

“God, learn to have a little fun, bitch!”

You flipped out your middle finger over your shoulder as you walked away without looking back at the man near the bar. Despite your platant rejections and constant explanations that you were about to leave the club, the man that approached you with sexual intentions still ran his mouth on how you should let him buy you a drink. You endlessly declined and when he began to grow impatient and rude that’s when you told him off and marched off to find your roommate, (R/n), in the crowd who had gone to retrieve your coats.

The music thrusted into your eardrums and rumbled your brain so intensely you wondered if you’d be able to get away with calling off work the next morning. You leaned against a wall to take off your heels, leaving your feet in just your pantyhose as (R/n) reunited with you holding both hers and your own jacket in her arms. She laid your jacket over your shoulders and you instantly huddled it around your short dress to prepare to step into the breezy, rainy night.

“Of course the night we finally have the energy to go clubbing is the night we have work in the early morning.” (R/n) chuckled into your ear as the two of you left through the doors in giggles. Once out into the storming outdoors, (R/n) and you stood by a wall under some shade as she began to order an uber through her phone to get you guys back home. You yawned as you people watched while you waited for her to order, letting your eyes wander and linger on the LA characters that either rushed past you with jackets over their head or walking with umbrellas.

Some you could assume were clubbing like you, some ran to catch cabs, some looked to be just getting out of work. Each person that crossed your line of vision were all different and unique… but there was one specific individual that made you do a double-take: the bleach blond man wearing rollerblades and blindingly bright neon that stood out in the dark night.

He was sitting on the curb of the sidewalk getting drenched by the rain with his head in his hands, seemingly sobbing dramatically. You frowned in concern and curiosity. You faintly nudged your friend. “Is that guy okay?” Your friend looked up at you with confusion until she looked over to where your eyes were locked. She wasn’t as worried as you and simply brushed him off. “Huh? Oh… Just leave him to it.”

That offered no apathy to cease your attention on the bold man. You just couldn’t brush him off no matter how hard you tried, it was like you were feeling this magnetic pull towards him. “I’m just gonna go check on him.” You told your friend as you stepped into the thundering storm with your hand acting as a shield above your eyes to prevent rain hitting them, and began walking towards the perfectly tanned stranger.

You stopped once you were right next to him, the cold droplets of water quickly dampening your styled hair. “Hey. Are you alright?” You said, loud enough for him to hear you over the rain.

The bleach blond thrashed his face out of his hands to look up at you with tears endlessly flooding out of his blue eyes and his lips trembling. “No! I am not alright!” He loudly wailed out. “Barbie got arrested! And they wouldn’t take me with her! I tried to follow them but then I got lost in this humongous place! But while I was wandering I discovered that men on horses rule this world and at first that seemed so awesome but I still couldn’t even do anything because I need a bunch of papers to do stuff! And even though I am a man, people are still not being very nice to me!”

He already lost you a while ago with his fast yet confusing words which prompted you to stare blankly, but his last complaint resonated with you enough to erupt a chuckle from you. “Yeah, well, welcome to LA.”

The man halted his dramatic crying to stare at you with his watering eyes lighting up. “Thank you.” He breathed out with a sniffle and a grateful tone of voice. Your smile twitched down and your brows furrowed at him.

“And I lost my visor cap! And now I am leaking from my eyes!” He suddenly exclaimed as he touched his wet cheeks. “But the worst part of it all is…” he reached up to grip onto his soaking wet blond locks, “my hair is WET! Why is the sky sprinkling water and making my hair flat and squishy?!” He yelled and physically jumped and yelped like a child when lightning cracked in the sky.

You didn’t mean to just stare blankly stare at him with your mouth slightly open and your eyebrows slightly furrowed, but you just didn’t know how to react to how this man, who you were now assuming wasn’t right in the head, was acting. “You mean the rain?” You finally asked with multiple confused blinks.

The man harshly sniffled again. “Well, I HATE the rain!” He yelled while glaring up at the sky like he now had a vengeful grudge against it.

You kneeled down next to him to be at eye-level. “Do you have your phone with you? Or any money?” The man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ve never owned a phone.” He looked back over to you, the rain dripping down his face washing his tears away. “And what would I need money for?”

You blinked, dumbfounded in its rawest form. You just stared at him again with a complete loss for words at his question. You looked him up and down, taking in every neon detail on his skater outfit. You probably looked like you were seeing an alien for the first time. “…Do you need me to call somebody for you?”

He vaguely chuckled with a small smile as he looked at you like you were the weird one. “I don't think they'd hear you from here.” Again, your jaw went slack at your loss for words; intense confusion baffling you. “What?”

You glanced around, trying to find some sort of camera crew. Your eyes returned to the blond man who cradled his knees to his chest and reached up to touch his wet hair. He was pouting and wearing the saddest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen on a grown man. You needed to help this poor, troubled guy.

“What’s your name?” He took his hand out of his hair and released his knees, letting his legs fall straight as he looked at his neon strain roller blades. “Ken.” “No, like, what’s your full name?” You added. He tore his eyes off his feet to look back at you. “Kenneth or And Ken.”

You forced an awkward laugh and smile as you tried to hide how you were beginning to lose your patience. “No, what’s your last name?” Ken gave you another weird look. “How many names do you people have?”

Your frown began to deepen as your annoyance began to grow visible in your features. “…So it’s just Ken?” You asked, a slight snap to your voice. “Well it’s usually Barbie and Ken.” Ken explained with a pep to his own voice. Your brows crinkled, “You keep mentioning Barbie. Like the doll? Are you named after Barbie’s boyfriend Ken or something?”

Ken shook his head with a toothy smile. “No, I am Ken.”

‘This guy must have escaped from the ward.’ You mentally noted. “Where exactly are you from, Ken?” You asked, hoping to get a solid enough answer to help you navigate where he needs to get to.

“Barbieland.” Ken answered without hesitation, leaving you once again baffled. A loud thunderclap snapped you back into your senses as the rain began to pick up. You looked over your shoulder at (R/n) who pointed at her phone, trying to tell you the uber was about to pull up. You looked back to Ken who returned to sadly staring at his rollerblades and clutching his sopping wet hair.

You pursed your lips together, deep in debating thought, until you let out a groaning sigh. You rose to your feet and draped your jacket over Ken’s head and shoulders. He looked up at you with surprise and opened his mouth to say something but you strictly cut him off. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back.” You instructed him before rushing over to your dry friend.

“Okay, so Boris will be picking us up in a gray Toyota and I’ll just request what you owe me on Paypal-” “I think we should take him with us.” You cut (R/n) off as she watched the tracking map on Uber, her eyes snapping up towards you. She glanced over at Ken getting pretty comfortable in your jacket on the sidewalk curb before looking back at you with an eyebrow raise.

“(Y/n), what?” Now she was the baffled one looking at an alien over how out-of-character your request was. However, a smirk stretched across her lips. “Usually I’m the one wanting to bring home strange men at night.” You rolled your eyes and gave her a glare. “It’s not like that.” You glimpsed over your shoulder at Ken.

“That guy is the farthest thing from my type as you can get.”

You turned back to (R/n). “And you know I would never do that to Rob.”

(R/n) visibly cringed and shut her eyes, holding her hand up to stop you. “Ew, I’ve told you before I don’t like to hear that guys name on girls night.” You slapped her hand out of your face. “We’re not gonna have this argument again right now.” You grumbled, knowing how passionate (R/n) was about verbalizing her distaste for your boyfriend Rob. She shook her head. “We’re not because you didn’t say his name.”

You sighed, dismissing that whole rift in the conversation. “I just can’t leave him like this. He’s lost and confused and will get sick in this rain.” You explained to your roommate who didn’t seem to even mind. “As long as I don’t have to give up my room or share my morning waffles and we lock our bedrooms. And if he ends up being a thief or murderer or rap-” You cut her off.

“He’s not staying the night. I just wanna get him out of the rain and send him back to whatever mental institution he came from. He is not staying the night.” You stated with a stern expression. He’d be out of your apartment quicker than he got there. It’s not that you didn’t have room for a guest, other than prioritizing you and your friends safety, you just didn’t want to take care of this crazy man any more than you had to.

After (R/n) told you you’d be taking the heavier load on the overall cost, you hurried back over to Ken who was still wrapped up comfortably in your jacket. You planted your hand softly on his shoulder, grabbing his attention rather quickly. “Come on, Ken. You can get dry at my place and we’ll try and get you home.”

Ken’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and tried to stumble up to his feet due to his rollerblades before you grabbed his muscular arm to help him up safely. You pushed away the observation of how tall he actually was when he stood up to focus more on wheeling him over to the Uber (R/n) was waving you over to.

Ken skated circles around you and (R/n) as you walked down the hallway of your apartment building as he talked your ear off. “-and then we had to ride a snowmobile through the snow, which was very cold and not good for my hair. And then that’s when we rollerbladed into Venice Beach. Barbie did not like your world by the way, like within the first second we got there her mood instantly bummed out. And then-”

As soon as you got him seated in the car, he instantly began telling you how he got to that sidewalk curb that somehow involved his whole life story. You tuned him out about halfway through, you just couldn’t comprehend what he was telling you; Barbieland, Barbie, disco parties, Kens, Barbies, beaching, Mattel, a portal, Barbie’s flat feet, horses.

It was crazy to you. His story, his words, his personality, his clothes, quite literally everything about him. You nearly began to regret picking up just another LA nutjob on the street.

“-and now I’m here with you tired looking ladies in this kinda ugly, gloomy building. They should paint these walls a brighter color. Like pink! Or blue!” Ken joyfully said with his wide smile never faltering as he continued to skate down the halls. His upbeat energy was beginning to sicken you.

He started to skate backwards to continue talking into your annoyed face. “But don’t worry, I'm positive that Barbie is already out of jail and looking for me. No doubt by morning she'll come and pick me up and we’ll go home and the two of us will finally kiss under the stars.”

A snigger finally cracked out of you. “Right.” From the snippets of his story you paid attention to, it didn’t sound like this Barbie girl he kept talking about was all that interested in him. You wanted to press on about that but knew you’d just be met with blind stupidity.

(R/n) seemed to be having the opposite reactions and opinions from you as all she did was humor his story and laugh at his jokes. What was entertaining for her was agitating for you. “Well all I can do for you is let you in for a minute so you can dry off.” You asserted as you neared your apartment door.

“Thank you!” Ken chirped out, still clinging to your jacket that was still wrapped around him. “So if she’s (R/n), what’s your name? You never gave me it.” You told him your name and he repeated it out loud, testing it in different voice tones which annoyed you even more. ‘I just need to last another hour or two and then he’s out of my life and out of my sight’ you kept telling yourself to keep your composure.

You finally reached your front door and began to fish out your keys from your purse. You rustled through your stuff and held back your exhausted groan, digging through to find them. Ken’s vibrant neon color palette still blinded your peripheral vision. You fleetingly glanced over to him, “What is it with this outfit of yours anyways?”

Ken looked down at his clothes with a confident smile and placed his hands on his hips. “You like it?” Your brows furrowed together. “No, it's just… I thought you said you didn’t have any money.” “I don’t. Clothes just come to me.” Ken said simply as you finally found your keys.

“Like people give you clothes or you design them?” (R/n) questioned. “No, clothes literally just come to me.” Ken stated with that bright grin still intact with his lips.

You stared at him with that ‘are you serious’ expression. “Why don't we see about getting you a car.” You quickly said before you unlocked your front door.

(R/n) approached you in a fit of giggles while you sat at your dining room table scanning over a map for places to drop Ken off. She grasped onto your tense shoulders as she tried to regain a steady breath after her stomach-hurting laughter from something Ken had previously told her.

“C’mon, (Y/n). Can’t he sleep here tonight?” She asked you with a pleading smile. You didn’t spare her a glance and shook your head like a strict mother, your eyes still remaining on the map. “No way.”

(R/n) sighed in disappointment and was about to go back over to the couch where Ken was sitting all wrapped up in towels until she caught the sight of him leaning all the way back into the couch. His eyes blissfully closed and his mouth open enough for a vague snore.

“Um, (Y/n). He looks really tired.” She whispered down to you. Your eyes shot up to see the couch from where you were sitting to witness Ken already fast asleep. “What? Oh, no. That's not acceptable.” You stood up, the intention of physically hurling him off your couch flaring your imagination.

“Are you really gonna make him go?” (R/n) asked sadly with a pout. You turned to her with a glare. Of course you had to be the only sensible one, taking on responsibility. Sometimes you felt like the only adult in a world full of children, the only one with a stable head on their shoulders. “Just go to bed. I’ll handle this.” You asserted.

(R/n) delicately grabbed your arm before you could march over to him. “He’s so funny though, and he seems pretty harmless.” You sighed and turned to her with a softer tone in your expression and eyes. “(R/n), he is a seriously confused and troubled man who's fallen into our laps. All I want to do is get him home.” You explained as plainly as you could.

“So he’s not gonna stay?” (R/n) asked again but put on a brighter smile to try to convince you. “No.” You harshly deadpanned. “Now go to bed.” She huffed but turned on her heels anyway in pursuit of her room.

Once you heard the closing of her door, you made your way over to the snoozing psychopath. With your hands on your hips, you glared down at him as if trying to telepathically make him wake up. You reached down to his arm, about to violently shake him awake, but your fingers halted and hovered over his toned bicep.

You glanced up to his face as you were frozen, mindlessly taking the time to get a proper look at his face for the first time. You nearly couldn’t mentally deny that when he wasn’t rabidly sobbing or babbling his mouth off, he was actually very beautiful. The most beautiful guy you’ve ever actually seen, almost like he was fake. He was too physically perfect.

You snapped yourself out of your admiring daze, almost not believing you got distracted with physical attraction. You deepened your frown and finally pushed your hand against his arm, a weak attempt to wake Mr Sleeping Beauty. You pushed one more time to find he was still fast asleep. You gruffly sighed and pulled out your phone, clicking into the Uber app.

You were just going to send him to the nearest police station, he’ll be the cops’ problem now and Ken can tell them all about his Barbie life. However, before you could hit the final button to get the car your eyes glanced up to Ken once more. Except this time you couldn’t look away as he subconsciously snuggled in the towels wrapped around him.

‘Just push the damn button and get him out of here’ is what you kept yelling at yourself. So why couldn’t you do it? Of course right when it came down to it, you felt yourself going soft for this lunatic… with very blue eyes and an innocent kind of sweet smile. Despite his prettiness and despite his aggravating immaturity, you still felt this gravitational pull towards this strange man.

You sighed and turned off your phone, ruthlessly cursing yourself at your failure to get rid of him. You just couldn’t bring yourself to kick him out, something you knew you were going to regret when he woke up and began talking non-stop again. Still, you found yourself gently laying him properly down across the couch on the pillow and replacing the damp towels with a blanket.

You denied your own small smile at his sleeping form as you left for your bedroom. You hadn’t thought about Barbie dolls in a very long time, but all of his Barbie talk made you sit in your bed in silence for a few minutes. You wished you still had your Barbie dolls with you instead of them sitting in a box in your parents basement. You just wanted to at least look at your favorite childhood toy.

Not your Ken doll though.

You buried him three feet underground in your backyard when playing funeral with your Barbie dolls and forgot he was still down there.

#reader insert #ken x reader #ken #Ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #Barbie #Barbie 2023 #the Barbie movie #Barbie movie #greta gerwig #greta gerwig barbie #enchanted #ken Carson #Ken Carson x reader #kenergy #I’m just Ken #enchanted movie #fluff #disney enchanted

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thesamoanqueen · 1 year ago

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Blackwater XX

Warnings/AN: I should apologize for the drama but its my trademark at this point, I'll just say that there's a flashback and a couple of references to previous chapters. As soon as possible I'll create a masterlist dedicated to the series, because I have contents that I want to add since we are at the end. Lemme know if someone wants a tag there too~

Trouble ahead.

He showed up unexpectedly, grumbling about the mud that had gotten on his expensive shoes, the usual penguin-like gait and Jimmy rolled his eyes, waiting for him to finally reach them because they couldn't have continued at all if he was around. And it had nothing to do with a tactical move to hide plan from the enemy, it was simply impossible to ignore or avoid Paul Heyman and if once Jimmy would have laughed, now Paul was just annoying and the expression on Jey's face proved it.

- "Nice place, in your style" – he commented, without greeting or trying to pretend too much – "reminds me the days I used to come visit your dad, both of you were three, four maybe" – and Jimmy folded his arms.

Sure, their style wasn't their cousin's luxury stuff, the one Paul had accustomed him to. At that moment he was probably having breakfast in a restaurant downtown or a sauna to cool down his muscles, but he too had cut his teeth at the garage near Oak Wood Hills. Jimmy still remembered the afternoons spent there after school to see the red Jeep Cherokee that Roman had become obsessed with, he bought the damn car as soon as Uncle Sika came back from one of his trips and now instead he drove around in black businessman's SUVs and looking after the community with checks he couldn't spend on himself.

- "Did you get lost Og? Want me to call your daddy so he can pick you up?" – he asked and Paul must have had colic judging by his reaction.

- "No. Im here to talk."

- "Wow really?! Mind-blowing!"

The colic became a reproachful look at his sarcasm, but still Jimmy was not impressed and when Jey decided to come closer to support him, Paul wisely quit, once again showing off the best acting skills to save his ass.

- "Even though I remember what was said at the meeting, Im here with good intentions. Of course, it hurt me if I have to tell the truth, I don't understand where the aversion against me comes from... but despite this I couldn't refuse in my heart to help" – he began and Jimmy blinked confused.

- "Have you had a heart transplant?" – he urged, matching his attitude.

Paul didn't take that joke well either, but he had nothing to complain about, everyone knew how things were. The wiseman didn't help anyone if he didn't have something back, goodness was not among his qualities and it was impossible he had found some of it within himself now that he was personally involved. His feelings worked on command, according to occasion and business.

- "He thinks I'm dumb ass" – Jey said out of nowhere, staring at him.

He had crossed the edge since the boys' were dragged into the family mess and now his goal was just putting an end to it all. For him that war was an unbearable burden, Jimmy knew how he was, he knew Jey just wanted to start over, have some peace and he didn't like Paul's fake visit because it also added provocation to his worries. He would probably have put up with Roman, but not Paul, Paul wasn't family to him and those turns of phrase were making him nervous.

He heard the wiseman noises, trying to stay in control even though Jey's gaze didn’t help his attempts.

- "What? No, of course not, I’d never think bad about you! The Tribal Chief had chosen you as his right-hand man, a fool would not have had such an honor or right to speak in family business."

He thinks we're both dumb.

That stunt pushed Jimmy to clench his fists in annoyance, but didn't have time to silence Paul because his brother really didn't seem in the mood that day and had come forward again.

- "I had no right. He take all the decisions, with you, from day one."

He hadn't been around when that deal or alliance or whatever it was between him and Roman had come about, he'd been forced away from home for months, but Jey was there and kept him updated on everything. They had kept him on the sidelines of the family business from the beginning and the right-hand man title with their tricks had become a joke they made real when it suited them. Jey had taken it seriously despite everything, he had committed to the vision and tried, but it only make him run everywhere and get beaten. When Jimmy came back everything was already done and things had even gotten worse after.

- "Jey…" - he heard Paul negotiating trying to slow things down, realizing maybe that his sweet words were no longer having the planned effect - "when you're at the top you often find yourself in unpleasant situations, it's not for everyone, you're starting to understand it too how it is bearing the weight of that position. At the meeting you made some choices... let's say questionable ones... listening an advice would have been right for you if I may, to judge pros and cons. I'm here to offer you a second chance, I care about you even if you don’t care about the wiseman."

Jimmy hadn't expected his brother to discuss those terms in front of the elders, it had been strange and even he had been amazed, because Jey hadn't talked to him first about anything. But whatever plan he had if he had one, leaving a door open for Solo and even Y/N, Jey didn't need any second chances, especially not thanks to Paul. Jimmy was there to cover his back and it would always be like this, he didn't need counselors and dogs licking his feet to sleep better at night.

I can handle him.

His offer echoed through the link, but Jey didn't answer.

- "I know you're angry now and maybe it won't seem that way, but all this will help you, trust me it can be good for you, it's part of your journey to take the place of the Tribal Chief one day" – he persisted and Jimmy decided to step forward, ready to send him back to where he came from with good ass kick.

- "Imma take his place next week" – Jey stopped him, voice far too calm.

The day. It was just a week away. At the dawn after the harvest moon things would no longer be the same. Jimmy had been hoping for a change for years now, in the last few months he had chased it like a breath of air, now that was so close it was an almost surreal feeling, but Jey already seemed in control and ready.

- "It could happen... of course..." - Paul hesitated, avoiding answering to Jey push - "its essential, however, that the family is preserved and all of this, lemme tell you, is a dangerous gamble now. The elders have agreed to restore order, but we're all worried about what will happen next, them, me, your parents, even Y/N... poor girl, she can't rest knowing what’s going on and what could come" - he tried, pulling out an apologetic face that he could have avoid considering what relationship he had with Y/N.

- "None of them should be. The only one who needs to worry is you, because when I'm done, you'd better be far away. Bring back your advice, speeches and ass to my cousin, Og, don’t make say it twice" – Jey quickly silenced him though, stopping his tantrum by placing a hand on his shoulder.

Jimmy watched him stiffen as if someone had growled at him, face pale and shaken, his gaze going from Jey's fingers to eyes, which had been fixed on him from the moment he showed up. The realization of failure hit him right in front of them, a mixture of affront, anxiety and worry that Jimmy watched Paul shake off in the same way as Jey's hand, scrambling a few steps back to make room between them. He nodded to who knows who, body shaking as he sorted out his expensive clothes and pride.

The harvest moon was near, so their mother said. That year it was time to reap what they had sown.

***

Devil's Point, that's what the sign they passed on the way said and it really must have been one of devil’s tricks, because Y/N felt her stomach flipped. Or maybe wasn't the devil, maybe it was just another perfect date, pleasant anxiety, wine and fresh air caressing her warm face, sun slowly sinking beyond the strip of sand and trees, setting the sky on fire. Maybe the devil was Roman, with his gentleman manner, so confident, constantly eyeing her, always attentive, his low velvet voice. The bond had always been there, in her veins, in her bones. An invisible impulse born with them, as their lives went on and years passed, omnipresent, indissoluble, inevitable despite miles and obstacles. And more Y/N lingered in that trap easier it seemed to fall, normal deserving the life she hadn't had, a security she didn't know and now all around her, emanating from Roman.

Where has he been all this time? We were alone…

- "Have you ever looked for me?" – she asked out of nowhere, putting the dessert away.

A chocolate cake, because it was her favorite and he worked hard to please her, learning quickly and put into practice even the most insignificant details.

Roman looked surprised at the change of subject, putting down his glass.

- "Have you ever looked for me before that evening, when you found me at the camping?" – she asked again, feeling anxiety suddenly hit even though it had been her idea to investigate, happiness quickly dissolve into doubts.

Y/N didn't even know why she asked. It was an uncomfortable question, the search for a mate was a now past custom, too low probabilities and a world where alternatives had now become norm. It was stupid to expect something and unnecessarily provocative, what's more in their case, after all the first few months problems, it sounded a bit like an accusation or an attempt to ruin plans. Roman however didn't lose his composure and she saw him take a deep breath, brow furrowed as he remembered.

- "Years ago. When I finished college, did it for a while, then stopped."

- "Why?"

He looked at her in silence, but he didn't seem angry or bothered.

She needed to hear it, to know.

- "… had become frustrating. I needed to focus on what I could accomplish."

So real. So true.

Few could say they were lucky enough to find their other half. Rare cases, exceptions. Was it sad to meet someone, choose them and fit in? No, most people out there did it like that, she herself had witnessed it with her parents before the horror, but sometimes people couldn't even find someone, sometimes they were not chosen or stopped wanting each other and then yes, it became sad. For Y/N having someone in her life had never been an aspiration, a dream to cherish when night became too cold or silence too heavy. Getting attached was a risk, risks were dangerous and in her case, as an omega, alone and without a family or a community, it was better to avoid rather than defend. She had to be smart, loneliness had kept her alive, had kept her going, was the possibility of filling the void that scared Y/N. It scared her to get used to someone and lose everything again. She knew what Roman was talking about, a perpetual aftertaste on her lips when she moved away from a place and now she was founding out that she had never really been alone. She had always had a chance, someone waiting for her, ready to fill that void that for Y/N had become like an old illness she lived with.

Roman had been looking for her, among so many people, even if only for a while he really had and it was… so reassuring.

- "You didn't" – she heard him reflect, moving closer to put his jacket on her shoulders.

There was knowledge in his voice, a heavy bitterness, as if he didn't need to hear Y/N say it. She watched him take another sip of wine to warm himself or perhaps wash away the taste of that thought, enduring the cool evening for her.

- "I did it once… just once" – she admitted, surprising him and even herself.

She had never thought about that day before, but memory had hit her soon through her she-wolf, perhaps to console him. She didn’t like that look on his face, he was better all cocky and flirting.

- "I have been in foster care for couple of years after I lost my parents. I went from one house to another, it didn't work and I really didn't want to stay. There was a brunette white girl in one of the families, she didn't like me, talking behind my back all the time... I told her I’d find you and make her regret it" – she said, shaking her head at the thought of that childish menace.

Y/N didn't remember the reason for their fight, it could have been anything, she was an unbearable girl herself at the time, but she knew how she had felt. It was vivid in her memory. That sense of not belonging, absolute loneliness, anger, so much anger at the idea of being and being able to be just a stray in the future. The world is too big a place when life decides to give its worst lessons. Y/N had always grown up quickly, she had always learned running, what to be without roots, what to do if there is no one waiting.

- "We can pay her a visit" – Roman proposed casually and Y/N stared at him, because of all the things he could have said, she hadn't expected that.

No pitying comments, no words of comfort or judgement, just a blind complicit willingness to indulge her past madness.

- "Mmh I'm tempted" – she giggled softly.

- "What happened?" – heard him ask and pointed to her arm, where there was a scar similar to the one he had.

- "I stole her dad’s car and destroyed their fence" - she said, making him frown.

She had gotten into that pick-up without knowing how to drive or what to do, it didn’t end well, they caught her immediately and in hurry she had taken everything and everyone down. One of the poles around property had broken the pick-up window and the wire wrapped around it had threatened to blow her arm off, it was a miracle she hadn't fainted there. One of the biggest dumb act of her life and at the same time another lesson, proving Y/N she shouldn't be carried away by her omega impulses, it didn't bring anything good.

- "I stayed in town for a while I think, then left without looking back. I have no idea what happened to the pick-up or her. I didn't find you though... it was enough for me."

Admitting it, thinking about it, made her feel vulnerable. She didn't like that feeling. That attempt had been a failure from the start, chances of meeting him simply by walking a few miles, going to any city, any street, had been zero and even if he had been there, messed up as she was by pain, Y/N wouldn't even know she had found him. She had been stupid, irresponsible, mindless but realizing when it got dark she was still hopelessly alone had been worse.

She shrugged, picking up the dessert to distract and control herself.

It was over now.

- "We'll make things right, you have my word. It will be enough to be together, there's no need to think about it" – she heard Roman assure, once again without excuses or pity, firm in his intentions – "no more car rides though"– he added with a reproachful look that made her smile.

No, there was no need to think about the past. Everything had already changed and Y/N had learned her lesson, but maybe it was time to learn something else, trying not to run away this time. It seemed easy at the time and yes it really all came down to being enough for each other, filling the void with their bond.

For days Roman's routine had always been the same, calculated to the second, with no margin for error or change. He woke up before dawn, shower, breakfast and run, spend the morning in the gym, then lunch and gym again until dinner time, after which he lock himself in the office taking care of the documents Paul brought or business that required his supervision, and then join her in bed when it was already late night and repeat everything the next day. He was locked in a bubble, focused on a single goal, counting minutes, preparing in advance for whatever would or could happen. An absolute, maniacal dedication that Y/N somehow admired. It made her proud to see that he was capable of so much and yet it also made her sad.

Because in the wild run of that family war, she was just a spectator. She repeated to herself that she had to be patient, be understanding, that she had to put aside anxieties and bad moods to support him as better as she could, but it weighed on her. She did whatever not to show it, not to think about it, and despite her efforts Y/N felt everything around her emptying and cooling, her sacrifices devalued and even ignored. They almost didn’t speak to each other anymore and certainly not about what they should have because there was no time for doing it, they didn’t spend together and when that happened he was focused on something else, Y/N had the feeling of having gone back to the days when they were two strangers, two separate worlds united by a thin wire.

She didn't want that, they weren't like that, they had both worked hard to make things work, succeeding, they had truly found themselves at the end. The idea they were affecting their relationship, the possibility to distance themselves so bad to spend a life like that, wasn't something Y/N could bear. They had overcome differences, they shouldn't have burned everything because they didn't see things the same way in war where their relationship was not in play. They just had to meet once again and remember. He had taught her that and Y/N hadn't believed him for a long time, but they really needed their bond.

On the now empty table on the patio, she opened the floor plan of her old house, the one she had had to leave and Roman had given her back. It was nothing compared to what she had now, but it could become something, maybe just for them, a place where nothing and no one could disturb them.

***

Day after day his body pushed further and further, urged by pressure, focused on a single goal from which Roman couldn’t look away. He couldn't afford any mistakes with Jey, Roman knew he could beat him and he would, but his cousin knew him better than any other out there. They were certainly on two different levels, however Roman couldn't allow him to prove anything if he wanted to regain the absolute control that the elders had questioned due to too many mistakes in those months. And it was for these reasons that getting out of his head, stopping and having those breaks had become an annoying obligation that he fulfilled in the shortest time and avoiding any extra thoughts. Lose focus was a weakness, give ground an advantage, something he couldn't tolerate.

When he closed the door behind him, the house was silent as if he were the only one around. It had been like this for a long time, but time had passed. Now it wasn’t empty, Y/N was there and not finding her in the living room as had been the case for days forced him to follow her trail to the outside. He expected to find her busy, but not to see her with all those papers on the table.

Why is she looking at them? Why she got that floor plan again?! Stop her. Now.

- "What are you doing?" – he asked, voice heavy and she immediately raised her head with a weak smile, one that she could have addressed to anyone, not to him.

- "Nothing, I was waiting for you. Is it already time for your break?"

If it was an attempt to push away the conversation or pretend, it didn't work. He knew those documents, he had signed them and he had been clear telling her not to get any strange ideas about her family's old house, and yet she was there looking at them page by page at a moment like this.

- "I asked you what you think you are doing Y/N" – he repeated seriously, convincing her to put them down.

- "I was keeping myself busy while I waited for you to finish. I answered."

He saw Y/N keep her gaze on him, head held high, back straight, but Roman still sensed what was behind, tension, heavy air. It was since he said he would no longer have regrets that Roman had seen her react like this and in the last few days the atmosphere had gotten even worse. She didn't comment, didn't ask, she stopped trying to argue, she was good at not showing it, but his wolf could sense it when he lay down next to her at night, saw the way she looked at him. It wasn't a good idea for her to punish his cousins despite what they had done to him, she couldn't stand the prospect of a fight, she had promised to stand by his side no matter what and after a year she still rejected his mark when she shouldn't have even had to choose whether to have it or not, now she also took out the floor plan of her old house even though he had given her another one, one for them, better.

We told her not to act like this, she doesn't need that house. We did everything, we gave everything to her.

He had spent the last year dedicating himself to their bond, proving time and time again that he was worthy, that he would be a good mate for her, he was doing so even facing his own family. Shielding their future family even before their bloodline was born. Jey e Jimmy had ruined his plans, it wasn’t his fault, he was risking everything for what they would have built together, for their future. He had proven who he was, Y/N had to know, no one before him had ever achieved so much, no one would ever bear such a burden, there was no alpha out there on his level able to take care of her and anyone else. She couldn't think about them again, she couldn’t doubt, it was crazy!

- "What Im doing is to keep everything for us, protect what we have" – he explained to her for the umpteenth time, seeing Y/N stop that attempt of a smile understanding what direction their conversation was taking, as he approached the table.

He didn't like losing his temper with her, he didn't want to, but Y/N had a fastlane to pushing him in any situation and that was definitely the wrong one. Why she was throwing it in his face? At home, while he spent the days preparing to end the mess out there and start again together?!

- "You say it all the time, I know."

Her and her mouth…

- "Because that's the only thing that matters, not sitting here fantasizing about alternatives."

- "Ain't fantasizing about anything. You're so focused that we don't spend more than ten minutes together, I thought we could have a break for a bit, do something together when it's all over... but I guess it's a no if you react like that."

No, she couldn't blame him. This mess wasn't his fault, he was fixing it, it wasn't on him!

- "I don't have time to plan these things, not when I have all the work to do and problems keep piling up! I told you this too. You should have get it by now what has priority and instead we are here discussing because you keep putting these ideas in your head!"

- "My apologies, my Tribal Chief, is that good?" – he heard her reply, mocking him and he froze.

He looked at her angrily, as if they were back to the days when she couldn't stand him and he was always on the verge of exploding. He looked at her out of his mind, mouth twitching, but she wasn't even giving him attention, too busy keeping her eyes somewhere other than him, in an act of submission that was more a provocation than an apology. He ran a hand over his beard, clenching his jaw, but it was just too much and he lowered himself, leaning on the table to tower over her. Her scent, so familiar, usually so comforting, immediately filled his lungs, a regenerating peace that clashed with their fatigue and that Roman felt once more from Y/N, her body stiffening as soon as his breath hit her cheek.

He was the Tribal Chief and would remain so until God woke him up again. People out there could have planned trials, clashes, attacks, anything, nothing would have changed. But she was different, she was not one of those folks. Y/N might not have his mark, she might claim every freedom she wanted, Roman would put up with it to please her, to make her happy, because she deserved it, but still didn't change anything. They wouldn't go back to those hellish days where they were nothing.

- "I'm more than that to you" – he reminded, seeing her nod.

- "I know" – she replied immediately, finally turning around.

Her eyes, dark as the water of the river that ran through Roman’s land, almost seemed to suck him in. Two sharp chasms where he had looked for her for months, until found her huddled at the bottom waiting for him. Roman had dragged her out of there, he had given her everything, all of himself and he would do it again every day, without holding back or thinking about it and that was exactly why he was acting like that. If it wasn't for him, she would still be there, alone and with no future.

- "Make that stuff disappear before I do it" – he ordered, straightening up.

Y/N didn't move, her eyes still on him, as Roman decided he'd had enough of that pause, walking away. Her reaction reached him through the bond, when he crossed the threshold to go back inside: a mixture of anger, pain and sadness.

It hurts.

It hit him like a wave, alarming his wolf despite the fight, but it disappeared just as quickly, as if Y/N had wiped it away and Roman took a second to look at her through the windows, check, while she gathered everything on the table, head down and in silence.

He had to focus on what needed to be done. Distractions were just more problems.

We’re doing it for everyone. She will understand soon.

***

She had put everything back in his office, locking the desk drawer almost throwing away the key.

Why is he acting like this? What did we do wrong?

Her she-wolf felt confused, hurt and so was Y/N, with a good amount of anger on top of that. She was trying with all of herself, she was doing everything every day to make things work, to not disappoint him, to be up to the task, to not miss the opportunity for a good life. She had learned to ignore what didn't require a reaction, to be understanding when with anyone else would have freaked out, she was trying to be a better version of herself for her sake and for Roman. Was it such a bad idea? She knew Roman was fighting for their place, for his packland, but she hadn't suggested to leave everything and disappear, she would never have done it because she knew what it meant, she just thought they might have a safe space somewhere else... in a future less sad and complicated. That house was important to Y/N, she wanted to do her part, help, give back doing something like Roman had done with the house they lived in now, share.

It's already his though.

His property... that's why he snapped?

Roman had considered it a waste of time, a fantasy to be put away... after all, why he should pay attention to something no one wanted to take away at that moment? something far from his family war, from the packland. It already belonged to him, her she-wolf was right to justify him, Y/N had pushed him first, there was nothing to share or fix there and Jimmy's words came back to her mind. She had thought about doing something for them and instead she had really wasted time.

“The house… you bought it to give her nowhere to run away from you.”

It was a gift. For us.

Roman had said so and Y/N had felt so special. But it had his name on it, everything, every sheet of paper.

He wanted to make us happy. The best for us.

“I don't want you to go there, okay? This is your place now, it's your home and you have to stay here. But one day maybe we can fix it and go together.”

One day. Maybe…

Together.

Maybe? now the memory sounded like a dad tricking his daughter into not throwing a tantrum.

Smell of aftershave mixed with something familiar distracted Y/N, reminding her that she was still in the office and she turned to stare at the door just before seeing Paul arrive with a folder of documents in his arms.

- "Y/N! I thought you were out for one of your runs" – he said after a second too long, tone surprised and suspicious, as he looked at her standing there –"… you alright? "

No one was allowed to go upstairs unless it was necessary, but business those days seemed a matter of life and death, so it was hardly surprising. The last safe place for her would have been the bathroom.

- "You seem a bit…"

- "Take comments for yourself, there's no point in having a conversation" – she said, moving away from the desk with the intention of disappearing, but Paul wouldn't have been Paul if he hadn't decided to ruin her day already messed up.

- "Of course not, but I think you’ll want to know I went to talk with the twins. Didn’t go as hoped. Jey… he doesn't listen" – he admitted with disappointment, taking her place to add more documents to those already placed everywhere and Y/N finally recognized what that other scent on him was.

- "He doesn't like you, it was pretty obvious."

The idea of talking sense to Jey had been stupid. Maybe Jimmy could have been a possibility even if he was the one who started shit, he would have talked to a wall regardless of his sympathies, but Jey? No, Jey wasn't made for those things and both him and Y/N shared the same opinion of Paul. Sure he had had more time to learn to tolerate the so called wiseman, but Y/N had known from the very first moment he wouldn't accept any proposal Paul was going to make him.

- "You do though. He allowed Solo and you to stay if… well you know – he threw it there with such nonchalance, but she wasn't willing to tolerate, it was the wrong day – "he’s attached to you, he think about you as someone to protect."

What is he trying to say?!

- "What I know is that they shouldn't fight and that you Paul, said you would make sure to avoid it."

The brilliant idea of saving her during the meeting a few days before had taken Y/N by surprise too, there was no agreement or plan behind it, she didn't even know why at that moment, with everything that was happening, Jey had decided to expose himself for her. She was almost absolutely certain it wasn't something normal in situations like the one they were in, she was Roman's mate and Jey was threatening to take everything away from him after all, but whatever was the reason it didn't matter because it wasn't what they needed to focus on, especially not Paul.

- "I fear that stopping everything is no longer an option, we don’t have time, they have sworn in front of the family now. Neither of them can back out" – heard him say with a funeral face that didn’t inspire pity in her.

- "So that ridicolous meeting was the point of no return?!" – she snapped and he choked, hands reaching out in an attempt to stop her when Y/N nerves were undergoing yet another stress test.

She respected Roman's family, she respected their traditions, but it was unthinkable to Y/N that a handshake was an unbreakable pact, not when both sides were risking everything and whoever was supposed to advise them, stop them, watched or made things worse. She couldn't, it was something she couldn’t understand. They were a family, they had to act like a family, not fighting.

- "I wouldn't talk like that, let's try to breath now okay? Think about it. There are other ways to swing things in our favor, I'm already working on something. An idea in the right ears works wonders."

- "You're working on something" – she repeated, feeling blood go straight to her head.

Yep, sure, after all they had time to act with calm, there was a week to go and everything was already a disaster, but who cared? They could also sit, chat, think and judge who remained to be sacrificed so they could sip a drink under the patio when their bright future would be on hand.

- "I know, I understand your concern, but if you decided to be more cooperative it would help a lot and speed things up. The twins are stubborn, but Jey making all these decisions on his own could work to our advantage if we prove that he isn't capable of"- he tried, but it wasn't the right day for her to listen his sneaky little games.

- "I won't help you making anyone believe anything. You are the wiseman, be the wiseman, find a way, just do it" – she silenced him, leaving the office without waiting an answer.

She wanted that fight, everything to end once and for all, she wanted to go back to months ago when Y/N had thought she could have everything missing in her life, she wanted a family, Roman to annoy her with his daily nonsense instead of dramas to survive and manipulations on a daily basis. She was tired and for the first time since the beginning even if she tried hard… she couldn't see the end.

Breath. Calm down. Don’t lose control, we can’t allow it. Breath.

***

Right, left, right, left, right, left again. The punching bag was easy to predict every time Roman hit it, Jey wouldn't follow those times when they would have been face to face. At some point he would shift, it was the only way he had to really bring Roman down. As both man and wolf, Roman was bigger than his cousin, bruises and broken bones wouldn't keep him down once they were out there, Jey would have to do more and to do so he would have no choice. He was fast, he would aim for multiple points, targeting him, Roman only needed one, the right one, like with the punching bag.

When he hit it seriously, the chain holding it up gave way, sending it down and putting Roman face to face with Solo, standing silently there, even though he hadn't asked to see him.

- "What's up?" – he asked, catching his breath and kicking the punching bag away.

- "He was talking to Y/N upstairs" – Solo said, without mincing words and Roman stopped, staring at him, his sweaty brow furrowed in an attempt to understand.

Y/N couldn't stand the wiseman. She had never liked him, from the first day, it had taken months to convince her to not growl when he approached and now they were talking? Alone upstairs, while he was there training?

- "About what?" – Roman asked, but Solo shrugged his shoulders in a heavy silence Roman had to accept, hiding his annoyance with a grimace.

First in his land. Then in his family. Now in his house. No… not that time.

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