#the idea that people can simply exist without taking at least two naps a day... wild

[cynicalone94]

Anger In Place Of Fear

A trip to deliver paperwork to one of Chicago’s outer districts lands Jay in hot water when he witnesses a drug deal. Can he get through to his young jailer or will this be the end?

Chapter 4 now available!

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

Hailey is frustrated.

For proof of that, she’d actively participated in both canvases.

Because she has no other leads to follow.

Jay had pulled up at the gas station, the one camera angle available shows him entering the parking lot, and then he’d promptly vanished.

And she can’t even find proof that he’d continued to exist after that.

She’s talked to hundreds of people today. Some of them had been polite. Some of them had been rude.

None of them had seen her husband.

“You should try to get some sleep.” Adam dares to suggest.

He’s right.

They’d worked a full shift and each only been home for approximately two hours before getting pulled out to investigate the disappearance of their missing teammate.

That was almost two days ago.

They’re all tired.

But everyone else has stepped away from the investigation to take a nap. Except Voight but she sometimes wonders if he’s aged past needing to sleep. If he’d ever needed it.

She’s exhausted. But she can’t sleep without Jay’s arms around her.

Can’t sleep knowing that he’s out there somewhere, possibly hurting and scared.

Out there waiting for her to find him and bring him home.

“I know.” She says, “I just…”

“I know.” he soothes when she trails off, “But when the evidence shows up, you need to be able to see it. The rest of us will keep looking. We’re not going to stop. If something shows up, I will wake you up.”

She nods, sighing and steps into the interrogation room they’ve set up to nap in.

She can’t guarantee that she’ll actually get any sleep but he’s right.

She needs to at least close her eyes and try to sleep for a while.

But she’s right and sleep just doesn’t want to come.

She lays there, staring at the ceiling unable to stop herself from running through the results of the canvas in her head.

A lot of people had been rude.

They’d been dismissive that first night telling her in no uncertain terms that drugs were widespread, gunfire not uncommon and their bar for ‘ususual behavior’ pretty low.

That they hadn’t seen anything that qualified and that meant there was a good chance there hadn’t been anything for them to see.

When she’d come around a second time, asking the same questions only with a higher degree of desperation given that Jay had been missing for over twenty four hours by that point, most of them had just been annoyed.

A select few had been sympathetic; offering weak suggestions all of which had been too vague to get them anywhere.

Several had mentioned an older car that had driven past around the time that Jay had disappeared but it hadn’t really stood out enough for them to remember anything specific that might help her identify it.

There were a few older cars on the footage from the gas station but they’d run registrations and talked to the owners.

Nobody had stood out as a likely suspect.

Certainly not someone they could justify digging into further based on such a vague tip.

With one of their own missing, they might have pushed their luck a little but they’d all agreed that none of them felt like their suspect.

So either the car these people had seen had been unrelated to Jay’s disappearance or his kidnapper hadn’t actually parked at the station.

Or they’d simply avoided the single functioning camera.

She sighs heavily.

Adam watches her go before turning back to the others.

Kim and Kevin look as hopeless as he feels.

Voight is impassive but he knows he’s worried too.

It’s been nearly two days since Jay disappeared and they have nothing.

No idea what had happened at that gas station.

Who he’d come across, why they’d taken him and where he might be now.

He could be injured; badly hurt and in need of immediate medical attention.

He could already be dead.

Adam shakes his head slightly.

He can’t let himself think like that.

Jay’s still alive and they’re going to find him.

Going to bring him home and then all of them can tease him for being such a trouble magnet.

Joke about how Hailey needs to chip him and then possibly help her convince him to actually let her do it this time.

“Alright.” Voight says, distracting him from his spiral. “Let’s get back on the local gangs. Nobody knew Jay was driving out that way, this has got to be related to something local. We’ve got the local officers working with CI’s. If something comes up we’ll know.”

The team turns back to their computers.

Jay lifts his head tiredly from the wall as the door opens and watches as Vic jogs down the stairs.

To his surprise, the kid comes to kneel in front of him, ripping away the tape over his mouth.

“Look,” he says, visibly trembling. “I know I got no right to ask anything of you after what I done to you but if I asked you to help me protect Liza, would you still help?”

“If you get me a phone, I’ll do what I can.” Jay says. “I won’t insult you by making promises I can’t keep about keeping you out of prison. Even if I don’t press charges, the DA may still decide to charge you to prove a point. But I can make sure Eliza is placed with a family far away from here where Vinnie can’t touch her.”

“I don’t care about me.” Vic mutters, “I screwed up too many times already. But you can help her?”

“I promise.” Jay says.

The kid nods and sets his gun down, reaching behind Jay to untie the knots on the ropes around his wrists. The door slams open behind them just as Jay starts to feel some slack in the ropes and Vic turns around.

“Vinnie.” he gasps, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I could ask you the same, brother.” the man says, sauntering down the steps with his gun in hand. “You weren’t just letting him go were you?”

[stinkrascal]

i have to stop taking naps at 8pm

[whack-ed]

Never (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Synopsis: Y/N and Draco had a fight, and after so much time together, do they split up? Could it end like this? It is not in the personality of either to give up that easly.

Warnings: angsty; bad language; flyffy ending.

Reader: Female

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: That was an anonymous request, so that’s it, I hope you like it!

Taglist:  @nebulablakemurphy​ @jamilelucato​  let me know if you want me to add you in my taglist ;)

Everyone at Hogwarts knew who Draco and Y/N were. Perhaps the most powerful couple in that school. The two commanded and disbanded in Slytherin. There was no student who was not even a little uncomfortable around them. But most preferred the two together rather than apart. Y/N could be very proud when something - or someone - inflicted her ego. Draco then, could be worse, he was never wrong. So knowing how the two would become more unbearable if they ever broke up, they preferred to put up with the green-colored monarchy they imposed on their house.

But unfortunately, for the bad luck of many, the worst happened. After being together since their fourth year, Y/N and Draco had broken up. Or is that what everyone thought. It was close to Christmas when it happened, thankfully, but It still had another month of real hell at Hogwarts. The ending was not even for such a relevant reason, but it seems that none of the two would take of your high heels to understand the other side.

“Look how ridiculous, I would be ashamed of being a hufflepuff and still be forced to wear a hair like that” Draco said as he passed a first year in the yellow uniform. Y/N who was on his side, looked at him madly. She never understood why Draco was so mean to others.

“Why do you do that, huh, Draco? The boy was doing nothing! You don’t have to be an asshole with everyone.” Y/N said with small signs of anger in hers speech. Draco stopped walking and looked at his girlfriend indignantly.

“Are you defending a hufflepuff, Y/N? What a pathetic thing.” He didn’t laugh like he did at the end of one of his sarcastic comments, since after all, this time he was talking very seriously.

“Hello? Pathetic?! Draco the boy was at most 12 years old! The school can already be difficult enough without a git filling the patience all the time!” People around there already beginning to look at the couple’s fight. Some frightened others curious, but no one threatened to get too close to angry Slytherins.

"Impressive. I didn’t know you liked people like that.” Draco made the best reproach face he could and looked Y/N in disgust. The girl’s blood boiled. Who does he think he was to be able to talk to her like that?!

“I thought you could have matured a little since your second year! But it looks like I was wrong. I always thought the way you implied with Potter was ridiculous, but I thought you could change, right, 16 years old Draco, you don’t need that anymore, right?” And Y/N didn’t contain a word, said everything she was trying to say for days, weeks, maybe months for her boyfriend, but she never found the right moment. And maybe, that one wasn’t either.

"Oh yes? If I’m mature enough why we’re still together then?! ” Draco screamed loudly, unintentionally, but everyone within a radius of at least 3km could hear. Some Slytherin students who passed close to them both had their fingers crossed to prevent what was going to happen. Y/N then raised her eyebrows, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She simply adjusted her uniform, and looked deep into the boy’s eyes, turned around and went on her way, saying nothing.

That had been a week ago, and since then, Draco had taken a vow of silence against Y/N. It was as if the girl just didn’t exist. At first it was kind of mutual, she also didn’t want to chat with him. But, apparently, she was the only one who had felt the slightest bit of regret about what they had done. After two weeks and still nothing, Draco continued to completely ignore the existence of Y/N. The girl, on the other hand, was never going to show that she missed him, although, as the days went by, she didn’t need to say with words what she was feeling, it was clear.

In a divination class, your partner was Blaise, the two of you were sitting at a table above Draco and Pansy. He always knew that you were a little jealous of the girl, since you two were never very good friends, and she always made it very clear that her fancies draco Draco. They were both whispering things and giggling right in front of Y/N. Her furious eyes at the two kept her from paying attention to what were the names of Jupiter’s moons.

"Why don’t you go talk to him already, Y/N?” Blaise said to the girl beside him, it was as clear as daylight that she was jealous.

“Me? Why would I talk to him? I don’t understand your points, you know” She said finally taking her eyes off Draco, since she had been discovered.

“You two are really unbearable, him acting like you don’t exist and you acting like you don’t care. Really pathetic. ” He leaned back and turned his attention to the Professor in front of him.

Y/N chose to ignore Blaise, he didn’t make sense in the girl’s opinion, he was just someone else who had a wrong opinion about her … Right?

***

The following days were nothing different, cute Draco with Pansy and Y/N hating any man. People were starting to get used to the idea that the most powerful couple at Hogwarts was no longer together, it seemed, and were relieved not to be as bad as they thought it could be. Some would dare say it was even better that way. The two without speaking for so long, even if therw was no official ending, it was easier to put up with. At the end of a long day, with two times of history of magic, Y/N has just returned to the common room. 

She was beginning to think that after almost a month without speaking, Draco already considered her his ex-girlfriend. These thoughts haunted her for many hours, and she hated them deeply. He could be an asshole at times, but if there were people Y/N was sure to have a good heart, even if deep down, it was Draco. She really liked him.

As soon as the girl entered the common room, she caught a glimpse of Draco and Blaise talking near a pillar, and just passed by without wanting Draco to see her with teary eyes as the thoughts she hated so much were back. But even though she was passing fast, she couldn’t help but hear a comment from Draco “I’m telling you, Blaise, every day that I wanted that this git to have never come to Hogwarts, it’s incredible how I can’t stand being around without feeling rage” And the girl didn’t wait another second to run upstairs and drop the tears on her pillow. That was it, Draco wanted to end it all.

The next day was the most difficult of those last days. It seemed that everything around reminded her of Draco, it seemed that everyone around her was happly dating. If Y/N could choose a super power it would certainly be invisibility. At least she would have potions class today, her favorite subject, and yet she doubted she would pay any attention, last night had been filled not with snoring, but with sobs from crying.

She entered the potions room and went straight to the back table, she didn’t want to draw attention today. As Professor Slughorn was speaking, Y/N was more and more sure that the table looked very comfortable for taking a nap.

"Miss Y/L/N” Professor Slughorn called Y/N, the girl was far from waking up, several students were laughing quietly. He called her three more times before giving up and trying something different. “Well, guys, as I said to you, Amortenia is a very strong potion, probably the most dangerous in this room. And to prove it to you, I’m going to use it to wake up Miss Y/L/N. ” So the Porfessor put some of the potion in a bottle and took it open very close to Y/N, the girl in the same time woke up.

“What the …” She got up scared and looked around the room, looking for where this familiar smell came from. 

“Can you share with the class what you smell, Miss Y/L/N?” Professor Slughorn asked.

“Hm… a woody smell, with a hint of mint and… chamomile shampoo.” The girl replied and everyone laughed, everyone in the room knew who was the only person at school who could have these three smells at the same time. Draco who was on the other side of the room, stared at Y/N with sad eyes. It seems that finally, after days, he realized who he was ignoring. Whose flowers did he smell when the professor opened the potion next to him. Seeing Y/N the way, holding back the crying, broke his heart into a thousand pieces. What had he done.

As everyone was laughing, and the Professor Slughorn without understanding nothing, let the girl go to the bathroom when she asked. He might not have understood why, but he knew that for some reason the smell that the girl felt made her very sad, since the girl had tears in her eyes.

“Professor, can I go to the bathroom too?” Draco asked the professor a few minutes after Y/N left. That’s when he understood everything. As soon as the boy got close to him, he felt exactly what Y/N had described. Slughorn may be not a student anymore, but as a good slytherin, he heard the gossip here and there. “Ah… Of course, of course, you can.”

Draco ran down the castle corridors after Y/N, she couldn’t have gone that far. He then stopped and thought for a minute, where could she be? And without much delay he got his answer. The boy ran to the bathroom where he was sure he would find Y/N, and he was right.

He heard it outside one of the cabins. “He doesn’t deserve you if he goes to treat you like rubbish!” Myrtle’s voice echoed throughout the bathroom, as no one came, it was normal for this to happen. Draco wasn’t sure why, but Y/N was the only person at Hogwarts who really enjoyed Myrtle’s company. 

Unfortunately the conversation between the two did not last much longer, Draco made a lot of noise when entering the bathroom. Y/N without thinking twice, took her wand and stood by, that was what made the girl a first-rate Slytherin. "Who’s there?“ 

“Y/N, it’s me, Draco” The boy said coming closer to the cabin door where his girlfriend was.“Filthy fellow! Go away, don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Myrtle said flying over the stall with his arms crossed to look Draco in the eye. Naturally Myrtle was already scary, but sailing in anger instead of sad was worse than you can imagine.

“Go away, Draco” A much less aggressive and much more tearful voice came from the other side of the wooden door. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was crying a few minutes ago.“I just want to talk …” Draco put a hand on the door in front of him. “Ah! Briliant! Now do you want to talk? ” Myrtle replied angrily.“Can you let me talk to my girlfriend in peace, Myrtle?!” Draco replied angrily to the ghost that hung over him. Myrtle was going to give a very rude answer when Y/N interrupted her. “Myrtle, if you don’t mind, can you give us a little privacy?” Myrtle groaned in disapproval, but ended up diving through the pipes of one of the bathroom toilets.

“Well, since you decided to be so talkative, you can speek now" 

"You can open the door, I mean that for you and not for an old wooden door” Draco grunted, still holding his hands on the door, holding it as if it could fall at any moment.

“No. Whatever you have to say, say it anyway” Y/N shrugged her feet over the toilet, she was sitting on top of the lid. 

Draco sighed and leaned his head against the door. "I’m sorry, Y/N.” He sighed for another moment. “I was an idiot. Ignoring you was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done. And teasing you with Pansy was even worse, God that girl is a nightmare.” He vowed to hear a Y/N giggle muffled by the door. Then he turned on his back and stood there. “I … I really tried to be without you, but today in Professor Slughorn’s class, seeing you describe … well … what you described, just made me realize what I was doing, it was so … . bloody stupid. Look, I understand if you want to break up, I really was an asshole, but I needed you to know that I regretted talking to you that way, the same time I saw you walk away from me.” And he walked away from the door.

In all this time together, Y/N had never seen Draco be so transparent with what he felt. So he didn’t want to end, but what about the conversation with Blaise? Y/N opened the door and was faced with a very sad Draco. Definitely the girl had never seen him look so downcast. He let out a sad smile when he saw the girl with puffy eyes and red cheeks in front of him. It was incredible that she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"So you don’t want to finish things?" A hoarse voice came from Y/N’s throat. "Me? Finish? Never! Where did you get that crazy idea? ” Draco replied approaching the girl."I heard you talking to Blaise yesterday in the common room, about not being able to stand the thought of having me at Hogwarts…” She replied looking at her feet. Draco laughed through his nose.“I was talking about Potter, Y/N …” And came closer to the girl.

Now it was Y / N’s turn to laugh. “I should have known …” She finally hugged the boy in front of her by the waist. Draco smiled and looked deep into his girlfriend’s eyes. He was happy again. He felt complete. Having Y/N in his hands was like having the whole world to himself. Drunk with so much love, he didn’t wait another second to place a kiss on the girl’s lips. Was her. He knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

After breaking the kiss that shared so much passion, Draco said in such a low tone that only Y/N could hear, even if there was no one else there. “Promise me something?” The girl looked into his gray eyes, always liked the immensity of feelings that lived there, and agreed with the head. “Never walk away from me again, seeing you leave was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.” The girl smiled and placed another short kiss on his lips.

“Never.”

[the-golden-ghost]

Things you said prompt number 17? Feeling like reading a bit of Jigoe angst 😁

17. Things you said that I wish you hadn’t

A lot could change in two months.

Jigen had been living wild since Lupin’s last supposed death (drowning, no body discovered, all of them far too jaded with him now to believe he was truly gone). In Jigen’s case, he probably wouldn’t have believed it even with a body. He knew how conniving Lupin could be. But there’d been no word from him, nothing but rumors of his continued existence on the mortal plane, and now they’d been summoned to one of their most secluded hideouts - not by him, but by Fujiko.

Jigen damn well hoped she knew something he didn’t, because he wasn’t going to work for her. But because she really might know something - and because Jigen was a damned idiot who didn’t know what was good for him - he was here.

It was one of their nicest places, too. Small, on a lakeside, hidden behind some big grassy hills and surrounded for miles by woods. A good place to rest. When they’d been up here together last, Goemon had hung wind chimes and the four of them had planted a garden which was now, as Jigen could see, overrun with weeds, but the chimes were still singing.

He parked his car and sat for a minute. No idea who’d be inside. There were no other vehicles he could see but that didn’t mean the house was empty. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to face any of them.

~

Two months ago Jigen had gotten the news and buried his grief because at this point he was numb to it. Lupin liked to screw around like this - he was magnificent and selfish and saw his own life as a stageplay that the world watched with baited breath. When he died - truly died, he’d assured Jigen long ago - it would be spectacular, the kind of death that shook the world to its core and that people would immortalize in song and story for centuries upon centuries to come.

Drowning wasn’t it, so Lupin was coming back. Probably. Either way that wound had cauterized itself long ago, for Jigen. It wouldn’t do any good to grab Lupin by the throat and demand what he couldn’t give. It didn’t seem to matter that Jigen got shaken to the core every single fucking time but Jigen was just one man, and he didn’t know how to write stories. So on it went.

Goemon was different. After the news came they’d stood together with their bags packed, ready to separate for an uncertain amount of time, and Jigen, shaken, had turned to the one man he loved who he was certain was still breathing and offered himself. What did a samurai need with a partner? Apparently nothing, because Goemon had refused his service and left. And it was that simple refusal that had been grating on Jigen since they’d seen each other last, because somehow, in his infinite stupidity, he’d thought Goemon cared enough about him to want to stick together. Somehow he’d made that mistake.

But no. Jigen was a man who faltered without someone to ride beside, but Goemon worked just fine alone.

~

After two months living city to city in and out of dives and the seediest motels money could buy, it was strange to be in a place with wind chimes. It felt like a waking dream, like none of this was quite real, or maybe it was just the scotch messing with his head. Didn’t matter. The door was unlocked and Jigen walked in with a rush of apprehension.

Nobody. The place was clean and empty and abandoned.

“Fujiko?” he asked to no one. She’d called them, so she should be here. But apparently not. “Lupin?” he called, more hesistant now. If Lupin were to truly just show up like this, casually, as if Jigen’s life were just an intermission he could stroll into whenever he felt like it - Jigen would probably shoot him dead right there and just get the inevitable over with. But he was still gone.

“Goemon?” He wasn’t here either. That made it easier. He shuffled off to the kitchen to get himself another drink and then slumped on the couch for a nap. The drive up here had been way too long.

~

Jigen awoke with a start in the early evening to find that he was no longer alone, that there was a shadow hovering by the window. He scrambled up; taking in through his dazed and blurry vision who it was. “Goemon?” he asked.

“It’s me.”

In spite of the rage and bitterness that he’d been clinging to for the past two months in a desperate bid to keep from collapsing, Jigen’s heart still pulled towards Goemon. Soft as he was, he would have forgiven Goemon for that abandonment. He would have forgiven him for anything.

Anything except for what he did a moment later, which was to recoil when Jigen approached him. “Jigen? Where have you been living?”

“Around,” Jigen said, taken aback by the reaction, his anger slowly rising. Damn him, he didn’t even want to go through a proper greeting? Even now? “Why? Do you care?”

Goemon studied Jigen for a long moment before looking away. “You look terrible. I would not doubt you haven’t even been trying to take care of yourself. Why didn’t stay in one of the safe houses? Lupin would not have denied you that.”

In truth, Jigen hadn’t stayed because it would have been hell on earth. Living day to day, alone in one of those empty half-homes with way too many memories per square inch but no people in sight. He couldn’t take it. Jigen needed cites; that impersonal human contact where no one knew you from Adam and didn’t give a shit in hell about you but where you were never isolated, never cut off from the world. There was security in living like a rat in a wall.

He didn’t say any of that to Goemon, though. Instead he decided to opt for something much nastier. “Maybe I just like living in filth. Guess we can’t all be as honorable and perfect as you, can we? Where were you? Wait - I can guess - training yourself up so you can get a better gig and stop associating with mangy dogs like me.”

Goemon’s gaze flickered angrily but he kept calm. “I have been training,” he said coolly. “And you are drunk by the sound of it. Not that I’m surprised.”

Jigen’s rage flared up again, in full force. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re not surprised? What, you want to fight me? I’ll show you how fucking drunk I am.”

Goemon didn’t move, nor did he make a motion to draw his sword. “I did not come here to fight anyone, least of all you. I came here because Fujiko sent for me.”

“Yeah? Well fuck Fujiko. Fuck her and fuck you. I’m out.”

He made it twenty miles back towards where he’d come from before he realized he hadn’t put gas in the car, ran out, toyed briefly with sleeping in the ditch on the side of the road, thought better of it, and began the long hike back to the house. He made it in by 1 am and collapsed onto the couch, too exhausted for words.

~

In the morning Jigen wasn’t mad anymore. Mostly because he felt like he’d been run over by a truck. Just didn’t have the energy, but more than that, he felt guilty about taking his losses out on Goemon. It wasn’t Goemon’s fault Jigen couldn’t survive two measly months flying solo without having a complete breakdown. Goemon had tucked himself away in the bedroom and wasn’t coming out. Fujiko was nowhere to be seen, still, and Lupin... who knew.

Jigen sat around for a while and smoked and wished he hadn’t come. But he had come, and he’d screwed things up, so. Over to the bedroom door he went, and knocked.

“Hey,” he asked hoarsely, opening the door a little. “You still mad?”

There was no reply, which meant the answer was probably yes.

“Cause... look, man, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about every stupid half-assed thing I said to you last night. And I didn’t mean a word of it. I just wanted to fight somebody and you were the only one here.”

Still silence.

“But that doesn’t make it right.”

No response.

“I’m comin’ in,” Jigen said finally. He wasn’t immediately sliced in half, so that was a good sign at least. Goemon was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, deathly still and silent. “Goemon? Please look at me.”

Goemon did not. For all that, Jigen might have been invisible.

He took a step closer. “Look, I don’t care what you say to me,” he said between shaking breaths. “I don’t friggin’ care, Goemon. You can cuss me out if you want. You can say whatever you want to me - you can call me the lowest, dirtiest, most pathetic damn bastard you’ve ever met in your entire life. I don’t give a shit, I know what I am, I just - “ he broke off, pleading. “Just hold me, Goemon, for fuck’s sake I just need you right now, and -”

The words struck home. Goemon turned, looking startled, and reached out to Jigen. For a long while they clung to each other, squeezing tight, Jigen burying his face against Goemon’s neck, twining his fingers through his hair, and Goemon gripping Jigen around the waist and running a hand down his back, over and over.

“Did I hurt you? Bad?” Jigen asked finally, settling down on the bed next to Goemon, who, by some miracle, didn’t pull away, even when Jigen leaned against his shoulder.

“Nothing that I cannot survive. I’ve been training, remember,” Goemon said softly. “And you’re sure you’re all right? You don’t look well.”

“I feel like shit, but it’s just part of the territory. I’ll get better,” Jigen said.

“Good. I was worried about you, you know. While I was alone I was able to improve myself - I hope to be strong enough now to keep you and Fujiko safe at all costs. But I knew that the price was that I had to leave you alone for that time.”

“Well, I’ve been alone before,” Jigen said nonchalantly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. It was kind of fun not having to do the dishes or listen to Lupin’s chatter.”

“I miss Lupin’s chatter,” Goemon replied.

“Yeah,” Jigen said sadly. “I do too.” They sat for a moment, united in loss. “Hey, Goemon?” Jigen asked after a minute. “Can we forget about yesterday? I’d rather just start over.”

Goemon sighed. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

The rest could come later. Fujiko’s plan, Lupin’s revival. For now, the two of them simply rested, side by side, for the remainder of the morning. They had a lot of catching up to do.

[thelostguardianau]

The Lost Guardian- Chapter Eight

“Heed the Silenced”

(Authors note: aha.. yknow I should probably stop making promises for this fic. Months later, w/ a chapter that doesn’t have Thomas in it, three different outlines down and i’m really just at the mercy of this fic at this point xD considering midway through writing this chapter I had to cut and rewrite an entire scene i’d spent a month on bc I’d decided that Dee had a chance at redemtion that added an actual direction and a tangable end goal to this story. So. Yeah. And!! A loud Thank You!! to @bumblebeekitten for helping me bounce ideas back & forth for this au and being my beta for this chapter!!)

Character Info & Art:

Patton | Logan | Roman | Virgil | Remy | Deceit | ??? | ???

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Polyamsanders (LAMPR/CALMR-a.k.a LAMP/CALM + Remy ‘Sleep’ Sanders)

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA DIALOG HEAVY!(sorry) Currently depicted as morally grey Deceit(subject to change in future chapters), though the side of Deceit from his first appearance doesnt make an appearance in this chapter and it is explained why, mentions of past betrayal and dark descriptions of bodily concepts, curses, limitations, and changes only really explained as possible through the lore of this au. Deceit speaks in riddles because he has to, ominous warnings. Virgil still isn’t okay mentally. Mentions of indifference to death, lack of selfworth or self preservation. (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

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Brown eyes flutter open at the chilly breeze of a fan, and the ravenette’s mind comes to realize that he’s been moved from resting on his stomach to laying on his back. Groggy from his much too short nap, it takes a few moments to realize there are no warm bodies near him or under him, no breathing or chatter of familiar voices to sooth him.

The room, he realizes, is empty.

The room itself is, in fact, not Remy’s bedroom at all.

Shooting straight up, Virgil’s first clear thought is that he’s back at home. At his apartment, this time in his hoodie yet still roughed up from his latest ‘adventure’. The scene is eerily familiar, and yet he knows this time that work is not where he needs to be. It’s already daylight and his mind now knows this familiar scene, he should feel alone. Yet, this time he can hear the sound of honking cars and people, his loud neighbor from upstairs stomping around.

It doesn’t make sense as he walks to his window and peers out to see vague cars and people, he can’t even seem to make out any individual faces. It’s grey and raining outside, but there is no pattering sound against the foggy window. ‘What’s happening?’ Virgil wonders.

“Life seemed so simple a week ago, even months ago, did it not..?” A familiar voice drifts from behind him. Ice cold fear shoots down the ravenette’s spine as he recognizes the voice.

“I can hardly believe you were able to leave it, your routine. It was your everything, back when you came to terms with what you had left. Am I wrong, Virgil?” Whirling around to face the voice, Virgil finds the terrifying ex-Guardian sitting on his couch looking quite at home, if a little sheepish.

“What do you care?” He spat back, stepping back against his window.

“I am only looking out for you, you know. I have been protecting you all your life. Of all people I think I would know what is best for you, don't you think? We are connected after all, you and I.” The man sighed, making a surrendering motion with his hands.

“Why would I trust you?! You tried to kill me yesterday!” Virgil growled. “Why--h-how are you even here!?”

“False, my dear Virgil. I tried to warn you. Sure,” The guardian rolled his hand as he spoke, “I am forced to have a round-about way of speaking my truths, it is just part of my consequences it seems. But how else was I going to get you to listen to me after the others fed you lies about me? I do sincerely apologize for my other half being rough, though. I cannot quite.. Control.. Him.” The guardian tilted his bowler hat down to guiltily hide his eyes, regret briefly twisting his expression.

Finally the Guardian stood, dusting himself off as if his immaculate attire had acquired dust from just existing in his apartment. “I needed my physical body to reach yours and make our soul connection strong again, so that my soul could reach yours. However.. The pain I caused you was far from my intention. I am deeply regretful that it came down to.. That awful encounter.

“To answer your question though, Virgil, I am here because I created ‘here’. A realm made to form this illusion of being home, sweet home, just on the corner of the little street you had come to live on for the past year. It is all my doing. Where you stand is simply an illusion only you and I can access, a manipulation of your dreams and memories. The only place where the real me can talk to you mostly unhindered.” The guardian gestured to his surroundings.

“It takes only one person to flip your life on it’s head, a matter of hours to make the decision of a lifetime, and a matter of days to have completely changed your life’s direction,” He turned to Virgil, and looked him straight in the eyes, feeling distant and lost.

“And only a matter of years to succumb to the depression of the lonely consequences..”

Virgil blinked at that. The sad, longing tone had him thrown for a loop; it almost felt like the Guardian wasn't even quite talking to Virgil. “I-What..? I.. I don’t understand.”

The Guardian shook his head, snapping out of it and refocusing himself. "Nevermind that. It is time I talked to you for real, if you will have me?" The Guardian held out a hand politely, though there was no real expectation for Virgil to take it.

After a pause, Virgil gave a slight nod, still suspicious of the other's intent. The Guardian returned the nod, and his hand fell to his side.

“I am limited to the time that you rest and for now I will not be able to explain myself thoroughly, so, I ask you to understand that I do not expect you to trust me when I am done. I honestly do not expect you to ever trust me. With the mistakes I have made, I firmly believe I would not deserve it.”

Virgil blinked in surprise, not having expected his captor to admit to his faults straight off the bat.

“Okay.. Well, we’re here, might as well hear your side of the story. So.. Shoot.” Virgil said lightly, distrust and suspicion still evident in his tone and stance.

“I would assume at this point you are well aware of how the story you have been told paints me as the villain, a mastermind seeking power, immortality, and revenge? At least, that is what I am led to believe is still the story, it has been many years since I have heard the tale first hand… And... Well. Would that not be so lovely?” Virgil made a face, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I am serious. Life would be so much easier if it was all black and white, true or false, good and bad, would it not? If those who meant well knew everything and those malicious few could not corrupt anything?” The Guardian frowned a bit, frustrated with his words that couldn’t seem to cooperate with him.

“Would it not be lovely if I could talk to you without fighting to keep from turning every honest thought into a question or theoretical statement just to let it be said? That my words could hold a meaning not forcibly disguised in the forms of fables and riddles?” The Guardian looked down lamely, his words tapering off in agitation. For a moment, Virgil waited as the Guardian was silent, contemplative. Then, the next moment the Guardian’s face scrunched up in sadness and his words were soft as he placed a hand over his golden wrist markings.

“My story is complicated, and twisted with shades of grey. One could say what I did was an attempt to keep you safe, another could say that what I did was outlandish and impulsive, and stupid. But no one will be able to tell you that what I did went according to the plan I had... at first. No one will tell you that my intention was to save you, to keep your fate safe. No one will tell you that my plan was ruined. Because there is no longer anyone who remembers what happened that night except for me,”

The Guardian’s eyes flicked up to meet the ravenette’s, a hurt look passing over his face as he continued. His steady voice now just barely trembled with uncertainty as he continued.

“No one but me and the soul who wants so desperately for everyone to forget. The soul who ripped my own in two to bury the secret, and ruin you and I both.”

“My final warning is this: Beware of the man who carries the world on his shoulders unflinchingly, he will be watching you closely. You have immunity to his power thanks to our connection, you might use this knowledge well to find the truth that lies in plain sight. However, your fate lies in the decisions you chose to make with this knowledge, I can only warn you of what might come.” The Guardian nodded solemnly, choosing to finish his cryptic warning there.

Virgil stood there, reeling with the information. Sure, he definitely wasn’t completely convinced he could trust this cryptic stranger, Guardian? Foe? Friend? Virgil wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. But damn, his life was already so fucking crazy, this was all just fucking crazy! He could just be dreaming for all he knew.

But… Deep inside, he was hoping he wasn’t.

This was, well. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear when facing the man whose, er, body? Had originally tried to strangle him? Now he’d heard his sob story and, well, Virgil wasn’t that easy to fool, but he’d also been told that it wasn’t expected that he’d trust the guy even in the end and he didn’t really want to.

He’d been on the path to death for so long, and then just two days ago everything had changed. So much was happening, it was frankly exhausting. What the fuck was he, some book protagonist? Couldn’t he get a little time to think about all this before he went crazy?

Still, something under all his incredulity begged to hear the guardian out. He vaguely wondered how Stockholm Syndrome worked before he gave in a little. What difference did a little more crazy make in his life at this point?

“Fine, I’ll heed your warning, or whatever the fuck. But only if you can tell me what you mean when you said that this guy ripped your, uh, soul? In two.” Virgil huffed, partially relaxing. It was odd how comforting he found it to be, floating in this weird feeling imaginary world, where he could interact with objects that weren’t real. It felt like he was really standing in his home, and yet it was just built from memory.

The guardian’s solemn expression formed into a grim smile, eyes distant once more before nodding. “I will do the best that my words will allow.” Virgil nodded, and waited for the now very familiar stranger to gather his words and take a breath. Then he began, his markings lightly flashing gold.

“You find yourself whole one day, as you have always been. To be whole of body, whole of mind, both human and guardian in nature. To have conscious thought and control over your whole physical being and soul..

“You find that yourself and others of the winged variety are capable of separating your soul from your being, though only the most Elite can do it well. You find out the family you made would soon be in danger. You then find yourself lost and alone when you once had a home to call your own.

“You find yourself knowing a truth, a perilous truth. Your home is in shambles now that you are gone, yet they do not know it. This truth is at fault, but the blame is not fully your own in a world built on lies.

“The source of truth tucks itself into blankets of grey, drawing itself further from discovery with each passing day. Now only you know the truth. The source of the truth finds you, it seeks to hide you too.

“You find yourself split one day, as you have never been before. Forced apart from the body, trapped within the mind. Guardian in nature, to have conscious thought and your dying soul trapped within, a false mind piloting the puppeteered confines of a broken body with a blind goal.”

“You find you cannot control what you used to, you are a prisoner to a body that is no longer your own, mostly unconscious to the world around it. Crazed by the false emotions that fuel it.”

“The you that used to be is no longer, and has not been for over a hundred years. The world that knew you knows not of what you’ve become. Knows not of the shackles that bind you.

“The you that used to be is no longer, and will never be again.” The Guardian finished, hesitant yellow eyes meeting Virgil’s carefully. Phantom goosebumps trail down Virgil's arms as the final sentence strikes a cord in him.

Virgil found he really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, the rawness in the other’s tone spoke volumes of the sore spot they’d reached.

“Your body rests, but your mind also needs time to process today. I shall see you when you next rest, though only if you wish to seek me. Rest well knowing that you will not be scooped from your safety once more, as I hope I’m never to do so again. And...” The guardian paused, considering their next words very carefully.

“I know it is selfish to ask... but, I hope and wish that Thomas is alright, after all this time... Do take care of him, would you?”

Virgil paused and stared, finding only concern and longing in the guardian’s expression. And, well, fuck. What a way to pull at a guy’s heartstrings.

“Er, yes. Yeah. I’ll try my best.” Virgil gave his signature mock salute, the Guardian tipping his hat in return.

“Trying is all I could ever ask of you, Virgil. Rest well, you will need it.” And with that final sentence, the world around Virgil gently grew dark, and he sunk into the comforting arms of sleep.

Despite it all, Virgil still found his mind vaguely conscious. Sluggish at best, but awake nonetheless.

He figured it was likely some lingering effect from the Guardian’s dream realm, but didn’t dwell on it. His life had way too much else going on to be debating the side effects gained from Guardian powers.

First, he’d been pretty damn convinced two days ago that he was going to be a goner by the end of the month. Completely resigned to die believing that his very existence was scorned by the world he’d been unwillingly born into.

Then Patton had stumbled onto his shitty apartment’s roof, found him in all of his resigned and depressed glory, and changed his life forever.

They’d mostly skipped the whole ‘Human nature is a series of life, death, and rebirth’ spiel that guardians were known to give in these situations because... Well, It wasn’t like they’d really had time to address it before the truth about his soul had come out. That he wasn’t exactly human to begin with.

Virgil didn’t think that Guardians had ever had a situation like his before. There wasn’t a protocol for comforting a kidnapped guardian soul. It’d never been a possibility before!

So it wasn’t surprising then, that Virgil didn’t have any better of a time processing it.

His whole life, all that he’d known to be true, all that he’d believed in? Everything had been uprooted and turned on its head. He’d apparently been living a life that was not supposed to be.

Perhaps for the first time in two days, Virgil realized that the thought of his death at the end of the month had not been consistently worming into his brain. It had once been something he could never seem to stop thinking about.

The death indicated by his soul timer was now perhaps the farthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps the strangest thing so far was that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d possibly had more physical contact with other people in the short two(three?) days since this adventure started then he’d had in the past 16 years.

And wasn’t it just the cherry on top that he’d also gotten nearly choked out by the very guardian accused of kidnapping his soul in the first place? And now he was considering trusting the damn guy.

Virgil hollowly wondered why he even cared.

Why did he care about staying alive now when he’s spent his whole life believing he never would? Up until two days ago, that belief had still been true. But now? Avoiding death was the goal, Logan had stated as much.

Really, would Virgil lose anything by trusting the banished guardian? Even if the guardian was trying to trick Virgil and got him killed, what difference would it make? That’d always been the goal before. What did he, Virgil, really have to lose?

If it happened that Virgil lived past his twentieth birthday, if he became a guardian like he was supposed to be in the first place. Would he want that? Did he want that?

He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know if he ever had been.

His life had been built on resignation to the inevitable. Nothing seemed to motivate him towards liking or hating that possibility. He was just that.

Indifferent.

And wasn’t that just the greatest revelation of the night? Finding out that you’re indifferent to living or dying.

Once this was all over, if Virgil lived that long, he would make a note to see a therapist. He knew very well that this kind of mindset was unhealthy to keep. It just couldn’t be helped that the nineteen years he’d lived with this particular affliction couldn’t be fixed by a few extra hugs and comforting words.

Even if he didn’t like the fact that death sounded like the more peaceful option.

His thoughts paused, mentally sighing at the downward spiral he’d caught himself in. It was tiring, and going nowhere.

‘For now,’ he decided, ‘I’m just going to see how this plays out. The Guardian said that none of the others remember the truth, or whatever. So, It’s a ‘he said-they said’ situation right now...’

‘I’ll have to keep an eye out for the guy that he warned me about, then. Who knows if he's as dangerous as The Guardian made him out to be. It’s hard to tell with the weird way he has to talk..’

Virgil paused again, a realization striking him. If he could have groaned, he would have. Not once had he been given or even remembered to ask for the name of said Guardian. What was he supposed to call the rogue Guardian now? He couldn’t just keep calling him The Guardian!

Amidst the disbelief of such a slip up, a foreign yet familiar feeling prodded questioningly at his conscious mind. Adding confusion into the mix of emotions, he returned the feeling with a questioning thought of his own.

He briefly heard the Guardian’s whispy voice once more, now acting with permission.

“You may call me Janus”

Then all at once, Virgil woke up.

.

.

.

Chapter Nine

[writeblrfantasy]

Adventures of the Existential Three #3: The Great Travesty and Torture of Hot Weather (i.e. When Charys Put Their Hair Up)

the short that i have been waiting to write and post since the day i came up with these 3,,,,the hair short. please enjoy, i enjoyed writing this immensely <3

word count about 2400

-

It is well known that Charys’ hair is one of the most beautiful things in the world they know. Paris and Damien are far from the only ones to privately and publicly express their adoration for the way the black and dark blue shines in the sunlight, how it captures the darkness in the night or in the dim clubs Charys so loves.

Charys’ eccentric outfits cause enough of a stir, usually in interest, jealousy, or attraction from humans in all states of life and death. The population and Damien and Paris should be thankful that he wears his hair down and plain and spares them all some mercy. Instead, they’ve taken it for granted.

Because today, it is hotter than Paris and his sun have ever been, leaving him to swim all day in the river outside the house while Damien sits under the tree and watches. His eyes keep drooping, tired but too sweaty to take a nap, too lazy to go join Paris in the water.

At the sound of Paris’ gasp, Damien sits up, suddenly on full alert. He finds Paris still in the water, dripping in a decidedly distracting way under the sun, his mouth hanging open and eyes pointed towards the house.

Damien turns to see what has caught his attention—and mutters a soft curse.

Charys is standing in the doorway, head tilted down at a book, wearing none other than a pair of thin square spectacles. While both adorable and attractive in a way that makes Damien’s breath stutter, the real kicker is the messy and loose bun Charys pulled his hair into at the back of his head. In this angle of light, the blue streaks of his hair are especially highlighted, one of Damien’s favorite parts of the outside of him.

Damien must let out some noise of his own. Charys’ eyes drift up from the book and lock onto him. His eyes drift between Damien and Paris, brow furrowing. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, quite the opposite,” Damien says before he can stop himself. Charys raises a brow. “Your—your hair.”

Charys’ hand drifts up, playing with his bun now that attention has been called to it. Damien’s eyes track every movement. “What about it?”

“It’s different,” Damien says lamely, obviously.

“It’s hot.” Charys shrugs and turns his eyes back to the book.

“Yeah,” Paris breathes, “it is.”

Damien is still too stunned to slap him.

***

Charys does it again.

They’re reading a different book at the kitchen table, another in the same series they’ve been raving about as of late. Of course, Damien listened to everything Charys had to say about those books, but now he can’t remember a damn thing about the books. Probably because when Charys told him late at night, Damien understood, tired as he was, since Charys had their hair down.

Damien has a little bit more coherency this time, enough to figure out what exactly is so mind numbingly attractive about the hair. Charys is always so put together, so focused on looking good, beautiful, composed, that to see them like this is a wonder. A privilege. Damien and Paris are the only ones Charys would do this in front of. Reading glasses, hair up, wearing but a silk dressing gown, chin in their hand.

Damien could never forget the magnificent creature that takes his breath away every time they go out and more, but this quiet, soft version of Charys is quite different. quite attractive. He’s convinced no one in the three realms can make such a casual style look so good—except Paris, heavens help him if Paris gets any more ideas—and that it should be a crime to do so.

He’s not sure if it’s the heat, actually Charys, or his insistence on wearing long sleeves and high necks during the summer, but Damien feels more than a little hot under his collar. Without thinking, he unbuttons the top two buttons of his jacket and sweeps his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Now that’s unfair,” Charys says without looking up from the book.

Damien startles, not knowing Charys had been aware of his presence. “Unfair? I’m hot! It’s hot out. I need to cool down.”

“Yeah, this heat is wicked,” says Paris from across the room. “I’m going to go swim in the river. Damien, join me?” It’s an obvious ploy to tempt Charys into coming with them, so that Paris can have them close—at least Damien thinks it is until he realizes Paris can’t see them yet. His footsteps grow louder as he enters the kitchen, where they promptly stop. Charys literally stopped him in his tracks.

Charys moves their glasses down their face, unreasonably attractive in its own right. “You need to cool down. And I need to see.”

Paris makes a wounded noise and presses a hand to his chest, dramatically bracing a hand on the wall and ducking his head. “No. No. You can’t do this to me.”

Charys looks up with that same curious expression they wore when the two of them first reacted like this, but now they smirk and push the glasses up a bit as it clicks, if it didn’t click before. They know what they’re doing now, even if they claim not to understand it.

“Oh. Oh. You bastard. We’re doing this again, are we? Fine.” Paris pulls free the blue paper fan he’s taken to carrying around to deal with the incessant heat, and fans himself.

Damien almost laughs.

And then Paris hands him another one of his own, this one bright green. Damien does not usually play along with the others’ games like this, but this time Charys is simply being unreasonable. Have they seen themself?

Damien rapidly fans himself and tilts his head back. He can feel Charys’ hungry eyes on his throat.

“I’m trying to read,” Charys says. Damien can hear the little lilt in their voice suggesting they’re suppressing a smile.

“Your fault,” Paris tells Charys. “Your damn fault. You made this mess. Be the one to clean it up.”

Charys closes the book with a snap—well, as much snap as a paperback can have. “What would you have me do?”

They’re so different like this. Casual they may be, but the glasses and the hair seems to give new confidence, as confident and carefree as they already were. Damien supposes that’s his and Paris’ own doing, and they’ve secured themselves their own place in the afterlife with such a dramatic reaction.

If they—or more accurately, Paris, Damien will put the blame on anyone else—would’ve kept quiet, Charys wouldn’t have known it affected them so and the two of them would’ve perhaps been spared.

Though in their current situation, securing their own places in the afterlife wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He can’t imagine it’d be much better or different than life with Charys as is. If Damien is even alive. If he even has a soul to give to the afterlife.

Now is not the time to debate the nature of Damien’s existence.

Paris looks vexed for the first time as he’s forced to consider what he actually wants here. Damien doubts getting Charys very thoroughly alone with the two of them would fix the problem. If anything, Paris would be even more distraught the next time Charys put his hair up.

“I don’t know,” Paris says, thrashing his hands like a child throwing a fit. “Just—do something. Come swim with us.”

Charys’ smirk spells nothing good. Damien kisses them to distract himself.

***

Charys does something, alright.

Paris always has to open his big mouth. He should’ve listened when Charys told him to stuff it.

Because, indeed, “This is what happens!”

Paris has the decency to look ashamed, ruffling his windswept hair in a way almost enough to drag Damien’s attention from the matter at hand.

The matter being Charys in a brilliant new set of green robes—without the glasses, at least—and his hair up in that same infuriatingly messy bun.

The robes are a dark green, not quite dark enough to be mistaken for black, like the color of dark forest leaves. They’re stitched in gold, bringing back memories of the way Charys looked in those gold robes, offsetting the golden glow of the sun itself. Damien saw everything about his two lovers in that gold, and that is just one more distraction and reminder he does not need right now.

At least he left the damn glasses at the house. they’d be impractical going to the theater, but Charys seems to be fueled more and more on spite these days. He’s always cared less about what other people think than the two of them, despite his attention to his appearance. It’s all for them, reactions from others are minute.

Damien wouldn’t put it past him to wear something like that, disrupting his outfit, just to torture him and Paris.

But the hair…

This time it’s done a bit more neatly, slowly, less stray hairs spilling out. Everything Charys does is careful, calculated, from the glossy black paint on his nails to the dramatic black wing on the edge of his eye to the gold buckles on his shoes, another callback.

He’s already taller than both of them, if only by a bit, but his hair and the heels on his boots make him tower. If he wouldn’t already be commanding attention, he will be now. Watching the public suffer alongside him might be the only consolation Damien will get.

Paris is in gold, head to toe, complete with the gold laurel Damien picked out for himself. As Damien prepared to call Charys in to dress him tonight to his liking the way he always does, Paris grabbed his arm and made him stay. “Let’s dress in the most devastating things we know of,” he said, a crazed gleam in his blue eyes. “Revenge.”

Damien still isn’t sure one can get revenge on problems that one created himself, but he smiled and went along with it. Anything to see this new composure Charys developed break down.

So that is how Paris ended up in his classic gold, a chiton draped halfway across his chest and pinned properly, for once, so at least Charys does not have to suffer his warrior’s chest unveiled in the packed theater. Paris does not need it, but gold glitter is sprinkled in his hair, the laurel crown a hopeful comeback to Damien’s apparently mind blowing appearance. The only part of him not gold or tan is the blue of his eyes, glimmering with mischief.

This is what they’ve become. They’re content with their jobs, their lives, and each other, so they descend into battles of spite with fashion as their spears. It’s so ridiculous, Damien smiles.

And then he and Charys see each other and suddenly this is very serious again.

Charys’ mouth opens, probably to exclaim or swear, but he shuts it at the last second. Damien doesn’t know when their battles turned to war, but it’s been a long time since he’s walked away from a fight. Long time since he’s fought at all. Doesn’t mean he’s lost the art.

The look Charys sends him is smoldering.

“You’re beautiful, Paris,” Charys says, to which Paris preens. Jealousy spikes over Damien’s skin the way it hasn’t in a long time.

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?

He doesn’t care if he’s acting like a petulant child. He seats himself with Paris between them, arms crossed, stubbornly watching the play. Despite himself, he tries to enjoy it as much as he can, because it’s Charys’ favorite thing and he always wants to try and cherish everything his lover loves. Even while in a war with him, his instincts betray him. His own fault.

During some of the duller parts of the play, Damien contemplates the way his emotions have unfolded since the debacle of Charys’ hair up began. Awe to raw attraction to disbelief to annoyance to revenge and finally to the pettiest form of spite: taking it seriously.

“I can hear you thinking,” Paris whispers, squeezing his hand lightly to bring him back to the present. A spike of guilt climbs through Damien’s chest, and a whispered apology turns his eye back to the scene.

They always get a private box in every theater, but that only gives Charys and Paris more freedom to stare shamelessly at Damien’s profile. He and Charys can’t see each other well with Paris in the way, but Damien still feels eyes dragging over him, hungry and heavy. The hardest challenge is not returning the look. He’s losing the plot of the play more rapidly by the minute.

They haven’t fought like this—if this even counts as such—since they were new lovers, still unsure and competitive in many ways. Paris has never been competitive like them, but this dance, romantic in many ways, reminds Damien of the early days.

He’s not surprised that it’s Charys who breaks first.

When the play closes and the applause begins, the lights dimming, Charys leans across Paris to kiss him. the distractions of celebration below provide the perfect opportunity. Damien smiles into it, already dreaming up ten kinds of goading comments about Charys’ lack of self-control, his own irresistible charm. The passion in Charys’ kiss sweeps him and all his words away.

He loves this. there is nothing better. All logic in his mind melts into a pile.

“This is a nice view,” Paris comments, making Damien finally pull back. Charys is gasping, burning, the slightest bit ruffled. His hair is still intact.

Damien pulls him back in with a grip on the back of his neck, determined to change that.

“I am convinced,” Damien says against his lips, “that you and your hair can command realms, my love.”

Charys laughs, Paris complains about being left out, Damien holds back the needling comments Charys doesn’t have a filter for. Charys is too passionate, too open, too small a vessel for life’s majesty to restrain himself and his words, but when he is like this—Damien cannot claim he is anything but one of the two luckiest men in the realms.

aet taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @47crayons @chayscribbles @metanoiamorii @ashen-crest @doggo038 @artsietango

[inkedtae]

into the meadows ⇾ pjm. [F]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ faery!jimin x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2f2l, romance, fluff, studio ghibli inspired, pg

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  at seven, you heard a sweet voice lure you into the meadows. the memory is so distant, you’ve always thought it was a dream. twenty years later, you realize how wrong you were. 

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ brief implied mention of abuse (not explicit / mentioned in passing), swearing

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ order up, @dylanxmin​! it’s best to take this in lil sips.

◐ beta’d by ⇾ @kitsutaes​

◐ le playlist 

◖collab. for @bangtan-dreamland​’s drinks and drabbles event. find original request here.◗

Nana is not an early riser, nor is she a night owl. You’ve gotten used to her midday naps and early turn-ins since you first began visiting every spring when you were seven. At that time, your mother would stay with you and help Nana around the house. Lately, you’ve been visiting alone and extending your stay to make sure Nana has everything she needs before you return to your college life of stress and finals. 

Shuffling about in the kitchen, you combine and mix Nana’s lemon honeysuckle pound cake recipe.You remember having it every morning when you came here as a kid. She’d wake extra early to prepare it for you and place three slices on your plate, despite your mother’s protests. You couldn’t eat all three slices, but always appreciated Nana’s tendency to want to make sure you leave her house ten pounds heavier. 

After wiping your flour coated hands on your pink apron, you grab a tiny blue bowl and make your way out through the backdoor. Little Mimi, Nana’s puppy, follows behind you; he’s always scuffling around your ankles, whining for little treats he knows he can’t have too much of. You hear his little collar jaggle as you enter Nana’s garden and begin picking honeysuckle petals. Once you have a good amount for the syrup, you grab a couple of lemons as well. 

A familiar melody greets you as you open the garden gate. Mimi’s already on his way inside, hopping through the pet flap at the bottom of the door. Without his collar’s irregular jiggle of metal on metal, you’re left alone with the angelic voice as company. The tune twirls around you, filling your chest with a familiar sense of comfort and warmth. 

Placing the lemons into the bowl, you rest the dish on the edge of the wooden gate. Perhaps following a mysteriously familiar voice over the hills and into the meadows is not your sharpest idea, however, you can’t shake this sense of deja vu. The rhythm of the song, the pitch of the voice all sound too familiar to ignore. As you further distance between you and Nana’s house, you wonder if the voice knows you can hear them. 

You climb up the last hill, the rising sun bleeds it’s peachy rays into the sky. The sight is entrancing, especially when paired with the enchanting voice. Rushing down the side with a shout and giggling, you almost feel like a seven year old all over again. The voice only continues it’s melody, drawing you into a meadow you’ve only thought you’ve seen in your dreams. The bushes of spirea flowers, and rivers of lavender with little shores of roses and tulips, you can almost definitely pin this moment to a dream you had when you were seven. 

It was also the peak of dawn when you entered a meadow exactly as the one before you. A little boy, maybe only a few years older than you, sat on a moss covered tree stump, resting his cheeks in his small hands. Blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, the boy sighed and sang a similar tune to the one you hear now. He looked upset, gazing at his feet but all you could think was where are his shoes? 

Exhibiting the innocence of a child, you asked the boy if he was sad because he lost his shoes. His eyes widened when he saw you and he sat up straight in his seat. His lips all but trembled as you tilted your head at him. Thinking he was simply shy, you took off your shoes and placed them in front of him. They were all too small to fit him, but you were adamant that he at least try them one. As he tried to shove his feet into the small red shoes, your mother’s voice cut through the meadow. That’s all you could remember of the dream before waking up on Nana’s couch with your mother muttering under her breath and your Nana approaching you with more slices of honeysuckle cake. 

Those red shoes dangle from a cherry blossom branch now, rapturing your heart as the realization that whatever vivid dream you thought you had, might not have been a dream at all. The wind blows through the loose strands of your pinned up hair and the skirt of your white day dress. You take a step closer, but ultimately jump back the moment you hear a quiet hiss. Looking down, you spot a white, glossy snake rolled up in the tall grass of the meadow. It hisses at you before slithering further towards the cherry blossom tree behind that tree stump you found that little boy sitting on all those years ago. 

White snakes, scales that glossy, are the omen, signaling the presence of a nearby faery. Nana told you all about faeries when you visited, creating a web of worlds in which faeries and humans once co-existed. Usually each tale ended with two different versions, the one the humans tell themselves is the truth, and what really happened. The human’s tale usually focused on the faeries’ power being too toxic and harmful and thus, safety precautions needed to be taken. They believed the faeries needed to be “exterminated.” 

The truth, however, lies in the fact that humans have a fickle tendency to take advantage of faery magic, capturing the innocent people to further their bidding under harsh and inhumane conditions. After a revolution, faeries secured the right to live a life separate from the humans without the threat of being hunted or killed. The magical beings have morphed into a myth now, and if it hadn’t been for Nana’s tales and omens, you would’ve believed it to be as such as well. 

The voice, you sudden realize, has ceased. You aren’t sure when or how it stopped, but just that it did. Now, surrounded by the meadow and the swirling breeze of the early spring wind, you notice you’ve been watched this entire time.

Stand atop the tree stump, a man, blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, stares down at you. He cocks a brow as your eyes meet and you need to swallow your scream as his crystal wings flutter when he jumps off the stump. 

“Little red,” he says as a means of greeting. 

You feel your face with the back of our hand, and noticing that from the heat on your cheeks alone, that you must be a little red. 

“No, no,” he chuckles, before pointing to the shoes. “You gave me those, right? They’re little and red.”

A nickname. He has a nickname for you. All notions that whatever happened twenty years ago was a dream have disappeared. The boy, now matured, was- is real. His wings, the sparkle in his eyes, and the entrancing aroma of lilacs and pomegranate all point to the conclusion that he’s not merely a man, but a faery. 

“It’s you,” you whisper, taking a step towards him. “You’re the voice?”

“The voice? I give you Little Red and you give me The Voice?”

The smirk on his face lets you know he’s only teasing, but you can’t deny that he does have a point. His name for you is cute and personalized, a detail you greatly appreciate. Fighting off a smile, you mutter an apology and scan his frame for a nickname that encompasses him in your eyes. 

“Pretty,” you blurt. 

“Huh?”

“Princy,” you quickly correct. When he furrows his brows, you explain, “You just remind me of a prince.”

He smirks, all confusion in his face shifting to an expression of smug grace. “I see,” he hums. Scanning your frame, he raises his brows and says, “oh, did I take you away from a task?”

You shake your head to answer his question, words caught in your throat that the realization that he intentionally sought you out this time. You’re not quite sure what he wants, but the look in his eyes reassures you that it’s nothing to be afraid of. “What’s your name, Princy?”

“Isn’t Princy good enough?”

You pause. “I’m (Y/N),” you smile, ignoring his question. 

“Little Red suits you better.”

He makes his way over to you, wings twitching as he nears. You stay still, reflecting that same look of reassurance in your eyes to let him know you’re not a threat. He must believe that you have no intentions to harm him. He did seek you out to begin with, luring you to the same place you met all those years ago. 

“You know what I am.” A statement of fact, not a question. He seems surprised by it though, as if he was prepared to explain himself. “Here for magic?”

You furrow your brows. “Here for you.” You know exactly how it sounds. And, though you’re firm on your stance, you can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “Didn’t you call?”

“Why would you answer-”

“If you’re so suspicious of me, Princy, then why did you call me?”

He gulps. His eyes dance around your frame, as if registering something around it. “I thought your innocence had something to do with age,” he replies. “But, it seems to be your usual sentiment.” 

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that but, based on Nana’s tales, you can somewhat make out a meaning. Choosing to ignore his observation, you say, “nice wings.” 

“Want them?” You know he’s teasing, but you can’t ignore the dark bitterness behind his humor. 

“I’m happy with what I have now.”

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing.”

You smirk. “Maybe,” you shrug. “Or maybe I’m not missing anything at all. Maybe you are.”

All hints of cockiness have left his face, only the image of pure grace staring back at you. Both barefoot, you stand within half an arms length reach of each other. Humming his tune back at him, slight off key and beat, you smile up at him. 

A little smile plays on his face, right eye twitching as you hit a particularly pitchy note. Placing a hand over your mouth, he whispers, “never again.”

You laugh against his hand before gently nudging it off you. “How will I be able to call you then?” 

“What would you need me for?” he chuckles. His usual hints of suspicion and defense do not accompany his question. He asks more out of confusion than doubt. 

“Well, what’d you need me for now?” 

He shrugs. “Reassurance.”

“Of..?”

“Trust.”

He does not hesitate in his answer, intensely holding your gaze. Your heart murmurs, hitching your breath at the word, the implications that follow it and the way he looks at you. 

Swallowing thickly, you ask just above a whisper, “what will I do when I need the same?”

His hands dig into his pocket after a moment of silence. Pulling out a little copper dragonfly pendant, he cups it close to his lips and blows over it. The copper turns to glass, lined with gold. He brings the pendant to your lips, nodding at you to do the same. Blowing over the pendant, the clear glass reflects a rainbow between the gold lines. 

“Give it a kiss when you need a friend,” he smiles. Glancing behind you, he sighs. “Nana’s waking; you better get back. See you around, Little Red.” He licks his lips, backpedaling towards the cherry blossom tree before his wings snap into action and he flies out of sight. 

Twirling the rainbow dragonfly pendant in your hands, you catch a glimpse of a little Princy flying between through the meadow. You press the glass token to your heart with a little smile and make your way back to Nana’s. 

Princy’s quiet tune accompanies you, filling your heart with trust. And as his tune fades, you clutch on the pendant and silently wish for the day you’d get lost with him and the meadows he calls you into. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[regrettablewritings]

How They Spend the Quarantine (Tadashi Hamada, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Wade Wilson, Harley Quinn, & Benoit Blanc)

Just a fun (?? is that even responsible to say?) little thing I’ve been thinking about while slogging through this neverending hellscape of an extended lockdown.

Tadashi Hamada

When San Fransokyo was ordered to go into a lockdown, there were mixed feelings.

At first, Tadashi had a hint of optimism that this would mean more time to work on his prospective projects . . . But then he quickly realized that his projects mostly required tools and space offered by the campus. He could technically make do at home, but it wouldn’t quite be the same considering the garage was considered Hiro’s space.

Somberly had to clean out his lab and take whatever he could home.

Cue the rest of the group (sans Fred and Hiro) griping that at least his style of science could travel well enough to be somewhat continued off of university grounds.

Helps do delivery for The Lucky Cat. It helps him get out the house, and it’s simply helpful altogether.

Uses Baymax frequently to make sure everyone down to Mochi is sanitized, and nobody’s running a fever.

Nearly as frequent a sanitizer as Aunt Cass.

He starts most days prepared to be productive, only to stop and poke fun at Hiro, who’s almost always got his eyes trained on a video game.

Tadashi realizes three hours later that he, too, has been playing the game as Player 2.

Learned how to make facial masks with Aunt Cass. He already knew how to sew a little but frankly, making the masks made him realize he could have a new hobby on his hands. He’s currently trying to figure out how to make Mochi a little vest . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

B o r e d. A s. F u c k.

At first, he thinks everyone being forced to go home would work in his favor -- surely some rule-breakers would sneak out and try to bunk up with the Devil, right?

Well . . . Kinda? Once Chloe found out and scolded him about it, the idea died real fast. Plus, he realized he wasn’t quite fond of the possibility of being around someone who could pop up with a disgusting human sickness at any point during their time with him. Smearing their snot all over, coughing into his Egyptian cotton sheets . . . Nope, never mind, he is perfectly content having the penthouse to himself, thank you very much!

Except he’s not.

The poor bastard is going crazy by himself -- he’s just not used to being without some kind of company!

“At least in Hell, you could tell there were people around you based on the screaming!” he’d whine at his phone during his hourly video chat with Chloe.

Oh yes: The video chats. He tries to make them hourly with anyone he can get a hold of (namely, his long-suffering detective) but this clearly never plays out as he would like for it to: If he had it his way, everyone would respond in an instant and let him bounce mainly one-sided conversations off of them -- basically, what he did before all this went down.

What usually winds up happening is he gets hung up on or nobody answers him at all out of sheer annoyance over his clinginess.

Ironically, he’s not exactly crazy about when Amenadiel initiates those “family calls”. He insists it’s healthy and normal for them to do this and even calls Luci out on the hypocrisy, but let’s face it: Lucifer finds it obnoxiously gushy and weird.

He works his way into Linda’s video appointment books to help him cope with his boredom and admitted need for interactions. She doesn’t mind offering him counsel, but once Lucifer starts attempting to butt in during others’ appointment calls, it becomes an issue.

Has, at some point, gotten buzzed down in Lux and streamed himself attempting to pole dance. It drew quite a bit of attention.

He’s managed to gain a bit of a following and some companionship by streaming himself playing piano and singing. It’s not the same thing as having an actual audience, in his opinion, but it will have to do for now.

He’s never been one to binge with regards to TV shows or movies, but after the first week, he decided to binge watch every work action star Wesley Cabot was ever in.

Makes sure his staff still gets paid well. After all, he’s pretty well-off; there’s no need to make an innocent bartender’s life a living hell just because some other rich bastard fucked up, yeah?

Going off this, should he need to order to-go or anything, we already know he tends to tip as handsomely as he looks.

Dewey Finn

Kids were being sent to Horace Green on tuitions worth more than what some people saw in half a year -- of course the school was going to continue classes online!

While technically an afterschool instructor, the program is popular enough for parents to expect it to continue, and for Dewey to be kept on payroll.

Initially, he was pretty smug: He’s one if, if not, the youngest teacher-figure at Horace Green, so surely that means he’s more tech savvy than his older, stiffer coworkers, right? For once, he’s ahead of the curve!

Wrong: Figuring out Zoom was a headache, and then there was the realization of just how dependent his classes were on actual physical presence.

Plus, let’s be real: Dewey’s Internet connection was decent on its own, but craptastic when compared to those of his wealthier students. The lag is strong with this one.

Has definitely accidentally messed up the background on his screen. Somehow wound up with the Beetlejuice background and got so frustrated, he wound up keeping it there for two whole sessions.

In spite of the slight issues regarding lag, they pull through and try to resume lessons as best they can.

Tries to keep optimism by pointing out how this is a new form of entertainment they could be pioneers in.

Some days, it’s just going so wack or everyone’s so bleh that Dewey just assigns for them to watch a music documentary or something.

“Okay, kids, Mr. Finn’s hungover and clearly Summer is the only one who went to bed before 3am. So what I’m gonna have you do is watch . . . Prrrbbbb . . . Amadeus.” “How is Amadeus rock-related?” “It had a rock single, shut up. Anyway, we meet back next class and talk about what we saw, m’kay? M’kay. Over and out.”

Next class, he’s filled with dread as Summer produces an in-depth analysis of the relationship or lack thereof between character and the presence of talent as evidenced by Mozart’s abilities juxtaposed with his immature presentation and -- Dewey just can’t keep up. Sure, Summer, why not?

When he’s not busy teaching, however, he’s using the lockdown to work on some new material. Or just screwing around.

Otherwise, let’s be real, Big Boy’s living the high life in a place of his own: Playing video games (Animal Crossing, recently got back into Team Fortress 2, is trying to finally finish Ocarina of Time); eating a not very great diet; staying up late, napping at weird times; all in the name of quarantine.

If he orders delivery or to-go, he tips the best he can.

Wade Wilson

On one hand, murking never goes on lockdown. But on the other . . . He’s already technically not well, why risk that even with his mutation?

Oh, fuck I just remembered he lives at the X Mansion, never mind turn back turn back oh god give us free --

The situation is tense to say the least. There’s Wade, who’s sensible enough to know why the quarantine is in place . . . and then there’s everyone else, who knows Wade’s full of shit.

And by everyone, I “coincidentally” mean Colossus, Nega Sonic, Yukio, Domino, Cable, and Russ because the already small world of the sequel just got smaller by the fact that everyone is bound to a large but nonetheless single estate whose size has probably decreased from that of the First Class timeline.

You know those videos of the usual Quarantine Characters? Wade is somehow yet still unsurprisingly all of them, save for the frequent sanitizer. He raids the pantry frequently, sleeps at all hours, considers scooting a swivel chair down the halls exercise for the thighs, blasts video games, and so on.

Going back to the sanitizer thing, it’s not that he’s just not exactly known for being tidy. Colossus occasionally does drag him out of bed at a decidedly decent time (read: any time before 11am) to try and get him excited about cleaning up around the mansion, but it rarely ends well. At this point, the safest option is to just remind Wade to wash his hands for 20 seconds as necessary.

Has acquired a Switch and visits everyone’s island, often to bonk them on the head with a net or gift them with weird crap they don’t necessarily want. For the “friends” from Sister Margaret’s, he has somehow acquired their Dodo Codes. Nobody knows how he did this. 

Facetimes Dopinder frequently.

“Precious, you’re the beacon of light in this cold, cruel world.” “I miss you, too, DP --” “Sshshsh! I’m having a moment . . .” *weeps*

On the many occasions he orders delivery, he tips by giving the delivery person something expensive from the mansion that they can sell. Prof. X is loaded, after all. Plus, he more or less isn’t even present in this universe, it’s not like he’s gonna miss anything he can’t see/probably doesn’t even know exists in his house. The problem is, Colossus does exist and does notice and does care when things go missing. Leading to many a delivery person getting caught up in shenanigans at that weird school in the boonies that they either don’t get paid enough to deal with or couldn’t pay to make up.

“Oh, pawn shops are closed?” asks the man who looks like a skinned avocado if avocados had human skin. “Don’t worry, lemme hook you up -- I know some guys --” “DEADPOOOOOLLL!!” roars a Russian accent from inside the house. “WHERE IS THE BRONZE BUST OF THE PROFESSOR!?” The poor delivery person’s eyes widen as they realize that the odd cargo they’ve been presented with apparently holds some value of some kind. But before they can flee, the avocado man blurts, “Shit! Leave the pizza in the bushes, look me up on my Youtube page, byyyeeee!!”

In his defense, Wade does hold up his end of the deal. Much like the Dodo Codes, nobody knows what strings he pulled. They just accept it and move on.

Harley Quinn

Surprisingly compliant.

She’s crazy, not stupid: Staying at home may suck, but what sucks more is making things harder on people who may not fair so well. Besides, she’s spent time in a maximum security prison -- she can handle staying cooped up in her own home. At least home has TV, books, and snacks.

When she hears people are still going out without masks or plotting to have a protest, she strongly considers firing up the old Fun Gun and popping the next sign-carrying Karen she sees with a tit full of cadmium yellow powder.

Seriously, stay the fuck home and fuck up your own hair; this is the perfect time to make mistakes with your looks, it ain’t like you got anywhere to be or anyone to impress.

“STAY THE FUCK HOME, BITCH!” P O W!!! “JUST GO GREY ALREADY, WE ALL KNOW YOUR HAIR AIN’T THAT COLOR ANYMORE, YOU’RE THREE YEARS FROM BEING IN THE GODDAMN AGE-BRACKET!!!” P O W!!!!

Only leaves her new apartment to grab groceries and to take Bruce on a walk. She actually refuses to steal or cause a scene during this shitshow because she may be a bad guy, but she sure ain’t evil.

So far, there haven’t been complaints about the fact that she’s walking a hyena down a public street. Maybe it’s because there’s hardly anyone out? Maybe it’s because Gothamites just can’t be bothered to be fazed by it . . . Or maybe it’s because she made him a little mask for his snout.

“In this house, we wash our hands for at least 20 seconds, kid.”

Lets the forest reclaim the earth, so to speak. She was never really shaving anything for anyone but herself before, but now it just seems especially pointless.

Spends almost every day in a kigurumi. To give her a semblance of routine, she has a pink bear one she calls her “Sunday Suit.” She doesn’t know it’s not Sunday because the days just blur but Cass just doesn’t have the heart to tell her; she seemed so proud of herself . . .

Like everyone else, she’s gotten Animal Crossing. She’s trying to create an all-preppy island with a few exceptions (Astrid = Aesthetic, m’kay?)

Tips nicely when ordering delivery.

Benoit Blanc

As young and spry in nature as the gentleman sleuth would like to think of himself, he would really rather not test the dangers of the situation and go about all foolhardy -- he’s staying home!

In theory, it’s only logical and therefore perfectly fine. But in practice . . . God, he wishes he’d invested more in things to occupy himself with when home.

It wasn’t that Benoit was never home, he just never felt too much of a need to invest in a fancy entertainment center -- the fanciest he ever got was an iHome.

The beginning of the quarantine served as the perfect time for him to read over case files, catch up on paperwork, even catch up on some reading he’d been putting on hold since God knows when due to cases popping up left and right. But that dried up quicker than he’d assumed, and that’s when he was faced with what a man of his mind dreads the most: Boredom.

Finally caved and decided to hook up Amazon Fire.

Expected to use the one-month free trial on Netflix and be just fine but once the lockdown in his area got extended and he realized he wasn’t going to be able to catch up with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend at this rate, he caves even further and buys a subscription.

Fully delights at the influx of platforms uploading Broadway recordings; when The Show Must Go On put on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, followed by The Phantom of The Opera, it was a treat, I tell you!

Sanitizes often, despite hardly ever leaving his house besides to have a smoke or to go grab groceries. Honestly, it’s less about cleaning at this point so much as it is finding something to occupy his focus when he feels there’s nothing else to so.

Takes zinc after every meal to help lessen the intensity of any ailment that might hit him.

Definitely owns a facemask. There’s a good chance it’s from Marta or one of his relatives, and there’s another good chance the pattern is as flamboyant as his clothing. He’s delighted.

Benoit tries not to rely too much on delivery,  as he’d much rather just cook. On the rare occasion where tipping comes up, however, he gives as generously as he can.

Bonus: There’s a slight chance he might have acquired a companion to foster early on in the quarantine. Benoit hadn’t had a pet since childhood, a crime of which he was admittedly melancholic of his own involvement. However, his surprisingly busy lifestyle just wouldn’t suit a four-legged friend, now could it?

Well, now there’s time to. Besides, it would certainly ease the potential feeling of loneliness to have someone or something with whom he could interact with.

Admittedly, when shelters began encouraging people to invest time in taking home a companion, he’d been looking more for a comrade on the canine side of the spectrum -- but darn, if Duke wasn’t a handsome cat.

A lovely grey-and-white cat with eyes that matched his own, Duke has become the one Benoit monologues to (because in all honesty, the man is a performer at heart, in need of an audience to speak his mind to and portray a thought before). Plus, he doesn’t appear to mind it when Benoit finds himself belting out in tone-deaf notes to showtunes while washing the dishes: The mark of a true companion.

At this rate, he’s probably not going to keep fostering Duke when things calm down -- he’s probably going to just straight up adopt him.

Stay safe & healthy!

[silenceofthecookies]

Black Clover OC Claire - moonlight memories

Art created Rinmaru’s mega fantasy avatar creator. 

Claire sighed as she waded into the lake, sitting down as soon as she deemed she was far enough in. Her hair floated around her, reminding her somewhat of the hair of the mermaids from the tales she heard as a child. The thought made her smile as she began washing the dirt and grime off her body. She had found scouts from a foreign country near the border, wanting to return to their own country with the information they had gathered. She couldn’t let them do that. It was nothing new to Claire, but she couldn’t help but wish she didn’t have to do what she did.

She raised her hands out of the water to see them properly. The pale moonlight showed her that her hands were clean, but she couldn’t help but feel they weren’t. She quickly put them back under water, deciding not to dwell on it for any longer. Instead, she let her mind wander to a much nicer thought.

William.

They were two sides of the same coin, she realised. The well-respected captain Vangeance, a beacon of light for all people to see. Claire, the shadow of the Magic King, protecting the country no matter what it took. Both of them were fighting for the forces of good, but they were taking very different approaches to it. Claire wondered what it would have been like if they had been on the same side of that coin. It didn’t take much for her to realise she never wanted William on her side. She didn’t want him to see the things she saw, or do the things she did. He was a much too kind person for her line of work and on top of that, he had been through enough already.

Her being on his side though, that was a different story. The thought of joining him in the Golden Dawn crossed her mind more often lately. She missed him and she wanted nothing more than to be able to see him every day. To have his face be the last thing she’d see before she’d fall asleep. To have it be the first thing she’d see when she woke up.

She remembered their first meeting very well.

After having joined the magic knights when she turned 15, Claire had joined the Grey Deer and was travelling around with Julius. The two of them were in search of interesting magic and information. As they travelled, Julius trained Claire himself, causing her magic to grow stronger very fast. Together they figured out the many ways her reversal magic could be applied. She had to promise him to never use some of them unless absolutely necessary. They were ‘too dangerous’ or ‘simply unethical’.  

Julius and she had found a young boy, only 13 years old at the time, with the ability to use world tree magic. His magic was beautiful and it reminded Claire much of springtime, when the world would come back to life after the cold winter. Julius was amazed by his magic and wasted no time offering him a place in his squad, handing him a mask to hide the scar on his face. Claire, for once, did not share her brothers excitement about magic. Instead, her heart was breaking for this young boy, who was being treated so cruelly by his family, people who should have cared for him more than anyone, just because of a scar. She felt that what happened to him should never happen to anyone. Once his clear, purple eyes looked her way, she smiled at him and encouraged him to join.

2 years later when he joined the Grey Deer himself, Claire gladly took him under her wing, training him as Julius had trained her. Claire quickly found herself getting along well with William and became a little more protective over him than she was over her other juniors. At the time, Claire was still unaware of her own growing feelings for him. She wanted him to feel safe around her and the other Deer and for him to have a place to belong.

Claire carefully traced the scar on her right cheek. A mark that she wore with pride, but that William hated. She’d gotten it when she was protecting William on one of their first missions together. At the time she got the injury he had been too shocked to move. Afterwards, when he found out that the deep gash on her face would leave a mark, he had apologised profusely. Many years after, he guiltily confessed that he still felt terrible for being the cause of a scar on her, on her face of all places.

The scar was a badge of pride for Claire. Proof that she’d risk life and limb to protect him if she had to, even if she wasn’t aware of the motivation behind her actions at the time. She knew how guilty he felt whenever he saw it though, so she styled her hair to fall over the biggest part of the scar.

She took a deep breath and sank as far into the lake as she could without letting her nose submerge. Looking up at the moon, she wondered if William was looking at the moon as well. No matter how far she’d be from him, they’d always be looking at the same moon. It was a reassuring thought.

With a sigh, Claire got out of the lake and got ready to continue her journey. Julius had told her about a series of attacks by an organisation called the Eye of the Midnight Sun. He needed more intel about this group and Claire would search for it. The sooner they were apprehended, the less people would have to get involved. They had already gotten to one captain, Fuegoleon Vermillion, and nothing was stopping them from getting to more captains. Claire couldn’t bear the thought of them going after William. She put her cloak around herself, glanced once more at the moon above the lake and left.

She would do anything to keep William safe.

---

In the capital, William was indeed looking at the same moon. He was thinking about Claire, however, his thoughts were a little less happy. Patri’s plan had been set in motion and they would soon reach the point of no return. Claire was bound to find out sooner or later. He hated keeping secrets from her, but what would she think of him? Would she smile at him, commenting on how kind he was to allow this other person to exist within the same body? Would she yell at him for what he was allowing Patri to do? Would she hate him for not stopping Patri?

“William, thoughts like that won’t do you any good.” Patri spoke from the back of his mind. “I know, my friend. I just… if she hated me, I’m not quite sure what I would do.” “If she hates you, she’s not worth your affections.” “How can she love me if I will be an accomplice to the deaths of the people she loves? Of the people she’s fighting every day to protect? If you succeed, Patri, that will be the case.”

This question was answered by only silence. Patri had no idea how to answer him. He too, hated the humans who hurt the people he loved. But if it was done by someone else he loved… he wasn’t even sure what he himself would do, let alone a woman he had rarely talked to.

Before William became a captain and Claire left to travel, William had sometimes allowed Patri to speak with her. He wanted the two of them to get along, since they were the two people most dear to him. Patri had always found it tricky to pretend to be William, but he had to admit that Claire was a nice person. He could see why William was so smitten with her. As they saw each other less and less though, Patri never talked to her again, wanting William to have as much time with her as he could.

It wasn’t really a problem in Patri’s eyes though. If he would succeed, William would simply be sleeping inside of him forever. He’d never have to face Claire.

“It’s time for you to leave, isn’t it? Go ahead.” William suddenly spoke, snapping Patri out of his thoughts. “Yes, you’re right.”

William stepped back, allowing Patri to take over. A nap would do him well, he thought, or at least better than overthinking what the future would bring.

[simsadventures]

After All: Chapter 16: The Painful Part

Summary: You’re in an induced coma, to let your body heal. Bucky is being treated as well, Bruce and others trying to wake him up from his super soldier mode. Everything is a little more painful.

Warnings: angst, hospital, coma, pain, and more angst (I know, I’m horrible)

Word Count: 1888

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter again, I’m sorry. I also don’t know why I keep coming up with the angst, my brain obviously hates my heart, or something like that. And even more angst coming our way. Yay, right? Anyway, let me know what you guys think, and if you’d like an angsty ending or a happy ending. Love you all!! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

Your body was laying on the bed, resting. Bruce was standing next to you, checking all of your vitals, putting it in a chart so that he knew if your body was healing correctly. He felt responsible for your injuries and volunteered to be by your body until you woke up. And it would probably take some time, all your injuries taken into consideration.

When the fight started, it didn’t last long, and he changed into Hulk. He didn’t remember much after that, knowing that he was smashing the agents outside the building, being conscious enough not to do it inside. But that was it. He wished he had a little more endurance and that he could keep the green guy away for a little longer. He usually didn’t have that much problem to stay put and controlled, but in such high-danger situations, he just couldn’t help himself.

But it was times like these he wished he could. Just to be there where nobody else was and maybe he could’ve stalled Barnes a bit longer. Or hit him hard enough to knock him out. He knew that Bucky wasn’t at fault, not at all. There wasn’t a single part of him that would blame Bucky for what happened. He blamed the Revengers, or what they called themselves. He wanted every single one of them dead and gone.

And most of them already were. At least those who attacked the compound. Tony and Steve were currently searching for their headquarters, ready to take them down for what they did to their team. Nat was also hurt, but not as bad as you, and with her nature, she didn’t want to stay in bed for long. Bruce attended both of you, making sure the women of his life were both ok. But while Natasha was up and running after half a day, you were a different story.

The knife the Winter Soldier stuck in you hit your spleen, and that caused the massive bleeding. The doctors weren’t able to salvage the organ but knew that you’d survive without it. Their main worry was how your body would react to the blood loss. So far, all your other organs seemed vital and healthy, but everything could change within hours. That was why Bruce didn’t leave your side, making sure he would catch even the beginning of some catastrophe.

You seemed so peaceful as if you were just resting, napping in a long afternoon in the lab. And it was what broke Bruce’s heart even more. He just wished he could say a magic word and you’d wake up, as good as new. Or better yet, he wished he could just turn back time, and make sure you never got hurt in the first place. And not only for himself. He was pretty damn sure that the second Bucky woke up, and realised what happened, he’d hate himself for the rest of his life. Bruce knew how vital this new relationship with Bucky was to you, and to think that it might all end because Bucky wouldn’t let himself near you, made Bruce feel uneasy.

Meanwhile, Bucky was treated as well. But his treatment was a bit different from yours. While you had to undergo surgery to stop the bleeding and now all they could do was to sit and wait, with Bucky, things were slightly more challenging.

In the fight, Steve disarmed him easily, because Bucky was distracted by you and what you were trying to tell him. It took a few good punches, and Bucky passed out. When he woke up, he was still in the Winter Soldier state of mind, trashing like crazy and unwilling to yield. When Steve wasn’t helping Tony look into the Revengers and their base, he was beside Bucky, making him remember. The team even called Shuri to make sure the most intelligent people in the world were there, helping their friend.

It took a while, but they realised that words didn’t do much to Bucky. He would sit there, with his brain shut, not listening at all. Steve could see the confusion in Bucky’s face when you were talking to him, touching him, and trying to make him remember you. And that gave Steve what he thought was a perfect idea.

It took him and Sam a good few hours to collect everything they needed, but Steve was pretty happy with what they were able to collect and prepare to help Bucky remember everything. Steve knew that the second Bucky came to himself, he would crumble. Not only was it his biggest nightmare, being used to hurt people again, but this time he was ordered to destroy his family, people who accepted him despite his dark past. But most importantly, he hurt you. And Steve wasn’t sure how Bucky’d take it, but he knew that it wouldn’t be nice. Still, his friend needed to wake up, pain or not.

Shuri was positive that Steve’s idea would work, and so they set their plan in motion.

They rolled Bucky’s chair into the private cinema in the compound. Bucky was trashing and yelling, obviously distressed what would happen to him, but the second he saw the big screen, he stopped. His brain couldn’t work out how this could hurt him. Were they gonna play him a psychological movie, hoping he would wake up? The Soldier in him scoffed and waited.

The screen lit up, and a first picture appeared. It was the one from war, only Steve and Bucky in the shot, both laughing at something that happened behind the camera, looking carefree and relaxed, despite the circumstances. Then, a video played, again from the war, with the whole Howling Commando, marching towards the camp.

Steve looked over at Bucky, who was trying to escape his confines. He was very obviously uncomfortable, and Steve smirked. It was precisely what they wanted. If there wasn’t any reaction, just like with the spoken word, they would probably despair. But seeing that Bucky’s brain was telling him to run was a good sign.

The time jumped a bit backwards, to when Steve and Bucky where teenagers. They didn’t have many photos from that time, but some still existed. Steve had to smile seeing his friend so smug and happy, while Steve was almost a head shorter than Buck, trying to look tough and not as if the wind blew a little harder, it would blow him away.

There was a time jump again, this time to this century. It was shortly after Bucky woke up, still shy and unsure of his own position in the world, but Steve and Sam were guiding him. There were also videos, of their training, of their pranking each other, pretty much just being jerks as always. Bucky wasn’t trashing anymore, just watching the screen intently. It was enveloping his senses, no chance of him escaping the memories.

The last few images were of you. They were all pulled from Bucky’s phone because Bucky liked to take silly photos and videos of you in the last few weeks. They were simple things, nothing sexual or of that sort. It was you in the kitchen, dancing silly to your favourite song while cooking a meal. Or you laughing uncontrollably on the couch because of something Bucky said. Or Bucky tickling you and you begging him to stop, laughing so much, tears were trickling down your cheeks. It was the little things, you calling him by his name, looking at him like he was the only important person in the whole damn world, that finally made him snap.

Bucky took a ragged breath, looking at your joyful face and it hit him like a tidal wave. He gasped and screamed, tears flowing down uncontrollably.

“What have I done? Oh my God, what did I do?” He was whispering and shaking, unable to stop the wave of emotions coming over him.

Steve ran to Bucky’s side, looking at his face, trying to find any traces of the Soldier, but could find none. It was just his friend, broken by his actions.

He snapped his head to Steve, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Where is Y/N? Is she ok? Please tell me that I didn’t…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, the lump in his throat growing by each passing second.

“She’s in the hospital wing, bud. She lost a lot of blood, but Bruce is taking care of her, and they all believe that she will be alright in no time.” Steve tried to sound as reassuring as he could, but it wasn’t doing much to Bucky’s panic.

He hurt you. He was holding you by your throat, choking the life of you and then, in an unexpected moment, he stabbed you. HE STABBED YOU! He promised never to hurt you again, and here he was, fucking stabbing you. You must have hated him. He was doomed. The only person that could make a better guy out of him would never let him touch her. But he prayed to God that you survived. You didn’t have to talk to him, hell, you could go and move out if it made you happy, but he needed to know that you were alright. That he wasn’t the reason why you died. Just the thought of him being the cause of your death made a cold shiver run down his spine.

“Would you like to see her?” Steve asked, hoping that Bucky wouldn’t dive too deep in self-pity and would let you decide whether or not you wanted to continue whatever relationship there was between the two of you.

“I can’t, punk,” he mumbled and looked at Shuri. “You’re not from here, who are you?”

“I’m Shuri, and I come from Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes,” she smiled at him, and he simply nodded, even though he had no idea where this Wakanda was. But it sounded like it was far away.

“Can you cure me?”

Shuri frowned and thought for a bit. “I think I could if you were with me in Wakanda where I have all of my technology.”

Bucky just nodded and stood up from the chair. But Steve put an arm on his shoulder, which made Bucky look at him.

“Bucky, she wouldn’t want you to run away from here. Give her a chance to make up her own mind.”

Bucky scoffed and laughed bitterly. “She won’t ever want to see me. I hurt her for a lifetime, Stevie. I think it’s for the best that I clean myself out of the way. I’m ready whenever you are, Shuri.”

She nodded and smiled sadly at Steve, not wanting to fight neither of them and just complied with Bucky’s request.

Steve stood there in the small cinema, watching his best friend leave to Wakanda with a heavy heart. He was almost 100% sure that you wouldn’t blame him, you weren’t afraid of Bucky when he was choking you, you still looked at him lovingly. He just didn’t know how to tell this to Bucky. He sighed and walked out of there, walking to Tony’s office, trying to take his mind off of the recent events hoping you’d wake up soon enough for you to fly to Wakanda and show Bucky what an idiot he’s been.

/Next Chapter >

After All:

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Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @waiting4inspiration​ @caswinchester2000​ @mogaruke​

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 28

Wolffe and I spoke casually as we made our way towards the bridge. Not a lot had happened since I’d been gone, the Pack had mostly been assigned extractions, rescue missions and patrols among other things. The clone commander didn’t show his feelings on the lack of battlefront action, but then again, I was still his superior and it might have looked like he was complaining to some. He was glad I was back, I could tell that much. Wolffe might have looked like an emotionless steel blast wall, but the man was still a sentient, and sentients interacted with the Force. It was a quiet, tame feeling he allowed himself in the confines of his mind, but he would never allow it to show. Clone Commander Wolffe was many things, emotional was not one of them, even if he did feel things deeply in the privacy of his soul.

Like Obi-Wan, he felt safe because he was strong and reliable and fiercely loyal. But my Master at least allowed himself to show feelings to those he cared for and trusted the most. Wolffe was the kind of person that didn’t open up easily even to his closest friends, regardless of how deeply he felt about things. It was the kind of self control and discipline only extensive training and programming in a Kaminoan facility could grant. I was pretty sure Master Plo and I were the only ones that had an idea of how Wolffe felt about certain things, and it both felt like privilege and like I was intruding on something deeply personal. Those were things the Force told us about him, not things he had volunteered himself, so Master Plo and I had come to the silent agreement that we would not speak about them until he volunteered the information himself. It was both heartwarming and sad to have such a close, intimate look into a person such as him and not be able to share them because at the end of the day it would have been very intrusive.

That is how I knew it hadn’t been the 104th who had gifted me the vibroblade, it had been him. That is how I knew he was annoyed at the celebration the 212th wanted to throw for me. That is how I knew he liked my older armour best, because it didn’t have a wide, loud orange stripe. That is how I knew Art hadn’t been completely dishonest when he told me Wolffe was a little too protective of me.

And now, walking side by side, finally having a moment to ourselves in what seemed like years, I could feel how at ease he was. The Force around him flowed naturally, almost visible in how bright it felt, and yet, to the naked eye, he looked no different. His back straight and his pace leisurely, face relaxed as he spoke of his brothers’ shenanigans. He was so at peace, and for a moment there I didn’t realize that very peace was being reflected within me.

I was so lost in the feeling of the Force around him that I missed the question he asked me.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what was that?”

Wolffe cleared his throat and repeated the question, never taking his eyes off the corridor ahead.

“I was wondering about the new robes, Commander. They suit you.”

I looked down at myself. Right, the new robes. Last time he’d seen me I had been wearing a style that resembled Tusken robes. They had soon proved to be quite inefficient when I’d accidentally caught fire twice.

“Oh, right. I thought that since my armour represents who I fight for, who I fight with; then my robes should tell a story too. Where I came from, where I am, where I’m headed.” I answered truthfully.

“But, Commander, you don’t have the insignia of the Republic on your-” said Wolffe, confused for a second until his mind clicked. I could see the realization in his eyes. “Oh- don’t let anyone know that.” he added seriously, taking me by the arm and guiding me towards the wall for privacy. He looked in every direction before looking me dead in the eyes and saying the next words. “Some could call that treason, Commander.”

I smiled at him and put a hand on his bicep.

“You are not anyone, Wolffe. I trust you. You know I fight in this war because I have to, but I am not a soldier. I fight so that the Dark Side doesn’t win, I fight so that innocents don’t suffer, I fight because I can’t bear to see the Jedi commissioning an army of slaves and do nothing about it. I’m not blind, Wolffe, clones aren’t free, the war has hit you the hardest and until you are free to do your own will, the least I can do is keep you alive. This war cannot last forever.”

Wolffe was not one to show emotion, but I knew stoic when I saw it, and I had the Force. He wanted to disagree with me, he wanted to tell me he was a free man and that he fought because it was the right thing to do, but he knew that was not true. He wanted to tell me he was not a slave, he wanted to tell me that his brothers and him did not need protecting, that they did not need pity or saving, but he knew it wasn’t true.

He wanted to be angry, to contradict me, to defend the system, the very people that had created them, he wanted to say that without the war they would not exist. But existing to fulfil somebody else's purpose, to die for that cause that wasn’t his own, to know his life had no meaning of its own, that was not living. His eyes were conflicted, his soul tormented, his conscience raging because he wanted to fight, but he didn’t know how much of that will was his own.

In the end, all he could do was take a deep breath in to try and calm the storm raging inside of him and say:

“We will not betray your trust, Commander. I will not betray your trust.”

…

I had an entire week off with the Pack before our next deployment, and I spent every single moment of it catching up with the boys. After a disastrous night bar hopping in Coruscant, I promptly decided the Jedi had the right idea when they said alcohol was no good. One hangover was enough to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. I spent the day after napping on a cot while Art worked on my left shoulder blade, and only got up to sip on my water bottle -which Boost, Force bless him, refilled every time I emptied it- and to go to the refresher. At some point during noon, Twitch brough Art and I lunch from the mess hall and stayed to chat before going off to do some reading of his own. It was a very lazy day, and so were the ones that followed. Except for the evenings when Headfirst came to drag my ass to the training facility and made me do my lightsaber drills while he did his own thing. We would wrap up the day with a spar which, to be completely honest, wasn’t always a fair fight. Since I had the advantage of Jedi training, Headfirst had gotten into the habit of playing dirty. We had to agree on a new set of rules when he decided trying to get me angry with misogynistic comments was a perfectly good idea. He had a black eye for the next two days.

Once our week was over, briefings and preparations for our next mission to Khorm started. It was the first mission I would be in command of, Master Plo was being held up in Coruscant my Council duties and would not be coming with us. So the mission was technically in my hands -even if I did have Wolffe and Vero Zapal, our admiral. The situation in Khorm was unknown to us. Like in Orto Plutonia, the republic had lost contact with a clone division stationed there. The entire overview looked, at first glance, like a re-living of Orto Plutonia, since Khorm is also a frozen planet, but something felt terribly off to me. I told Wolffe and Zapal this, and that we would be going in to investigate with the utmost caution. Things never happened the same way twice, and I doubted the universe was going to go easy on me on my first command.

I was going to take every precaution and plan every last second of the mission, and prepare at least one contingency plan. I knew from experience that battles had a knack for throwing plans out the garbage shoot but it paid well to be prepared. Every maneuver, every flight route, every entrance, nook and cranny of the facility was taken into account; and every plan I made, I ran by both Wolffe and Admiral Zapal for their opinions.

It’s safe to say I didn’t really sleep well that week, not because of nightmares or resurfacing memories, but stress and anxiety does have a knack for making sleep restless. I meditated more during that week than I had before any battle I’d faught up until that point. I practiced mindfulness every morning as I woke up and tried my hardest to keep the Force as close to me as I could.

I tried to keep my appearance as neat and put together as I could, and tried to do the same to my quarters, but the amount of holomaps and  datapads on my desk were too many to keep in a neat pile. I didn’t want any aspect of my life to be neglected during that time, because neglect leads to darker places and I would not allow myself to be distracted in any way. Lives were at stake.

My friends helped in any way they could when they weren’t busy making their own preparations. Some sat with me during lunch, even when I was too busy reading to talk to them, others forced me to exercise or to take recreation breaks, others simply checked on me at night to make sure I wouldn’t stay up too late reading. It warmed my heart, even when I couldn’t tell them how thankful I was for taking care of me.

I also fell into the habit of performing my lightsaber drills every morning and every night. The funny feeling I had about the mission only grew as our departure date neared and something told me I needed to be ready. In any other situation, I would have considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, but we were at war against a very real enemy. It was only paranoia if they weren’t out to get you, and our enemy was.

It was almost time for lights out when Wolffe walked into the training facility. Only a section of it was lit up, the one that I was still using. I repeated form after form, one, two, ten, forty times until I was satisfied with it. I felt him approach me from the darkness, but I didn’t acknowledge him until he stood a few feet away from me, watching, waiting for me to stop. I didn’t.

“You should turn in for the night, Commander.” He said finally, never shifting his posture. Straight, solid, face and body language betraying nothing as he stood with his hands at his back.

“My forms aren’t as good as they should be, I’m staying for at least another 50 reps” I said, never stopping, my pace never dwindling. “Go to bed, Wolffe.”

He said nothing, but he also didn’t move. Wolffe just stood there, watching me move through the forms once, twice, three times. He wasn’t annoyed, I knew that much. He wasn’t pitying me either, he was simply there to make sure I didn’t work myself to exhaustion. He didn’t even feel resigned, it felt like he knew me well enough that he didn’t expect me to stop when he asked me to. He felt determined, like he knew the only way to get me to listen right then would be waiting for me to be done. There were times to insist and times to wait, he had known me long enough to identify each of those instances and react accordingly.

Wolffe knew I was nervous and doing my very best so that everything went smoothly. He knew the thing that stressed me out the most was the fact that his brothers’ lives, my friends’ lives might be in danger. He knew I would blame myself for each and every loss we suffered, and he knew this was my way of getting ready for that. Because we would lose men, we always did. But up until that point, I had never been the one in charge, I had never been responsible for the cones’ deaths, not really.

So Wolffe stood there, silent and strong and reassuring. Because he knew nothing he said would make me feel any less responsible, because he knew the best thing he could do was to be there for me.

[green-writes-sanderssides]

Love and Lies

Chapter 1 - Remus: Two Truths, One Lie

Pairings: Romantic DLAMP, Queerplatonic Demus/Dukeceit

Warnings: Cursing, typical Remus talk

Summary: Janus finds that his heart has much more capacity for love than he originally thought. With the support of Remus, his queerplatonic partner, he decides it's time to go after that love.

Tumblr Mobile likes to screw up my formatting, so please either read in a browser or on Ao3!

     “Remus?” He creaked open the door to The Duke’s room with care, knowing Remus could be doing a number of horrifying things. He was used to it, of course, but this conversation made him… more hesitant than usual.

     Fortunately, he wasn’t doing anything that would warrant worry - unfortunately, Janus had woken him up from a rather cozy-looking nap. “...Janny?”

     “Apologies. I didn’t mean to-”

     “Deedee!” Remus sprang from his bed as fast as he could, running up to Janus and greeting him with a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you all day! Haven’t been hiding from me now, have you?”

     “Of course not.” He wasn’t sure if he was lying or not, not that it mattered; Remus wasn’t as skilled as recognizing Deceit’s lies as Virgil was.

     Remus kept his arms around Janus’s shoulders as he backed away and, as always, gave the snake a genuine smile. It always managed to cheer him up, at least a little. “Good! You wanna join me in some napping and cuddles?”

     “Uh, in a bit, maybe.” As much as cuddling up with his queer-platonic partner sounded amazing at that very moment, there were much more important matters at hand. “Actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

     “Oh. Oh!” Remus lightened up with a look of realization, before giving Janus a sly smirk. “I know what this is about.”

     “Do you, now?” he responded with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow.

     In turn, The Duke simply grabbed his gloved hands and dragged him to the side of his bed to sit down. The whole situation was making Janus’s nerves spike up in a rare occurrence. He had no idea what Remus was about to say, but it surely wouldn’t be-

     “So you want to fuck my brother.”

     “Wha- Christ, Remus!” If he was drinking anything, he would have surely choked on it. Instead, he lightly pushes Remus down on the bed. “Yes, because my asexual ass wants to, as you put, ‘fuck’ anyone!”

     The Duke giggled and sat up on his elbows. “I know, I know, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. You’re so tense!” He moved to sit up completely, wrapping one arm around Deceit’s waist. “The point is, you are in love with my brother. And Virgil and Patton and Logan but I’m more interested in how you fell in love with my brother, of all people!”

     “I- well I wouldn’t say in love, necessarily- uh…” Remus responded to his stutters with a cross of the arms and a raise of his brow, unconvinced and unimpressed. “How did you even know?”

     “The same way I knew you wanted to be closer with me. Different kind of close, of course, but same principle.” He flopped down back on the bed with hands resting behind his head. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Double Dee.”

     Janus buried his face into his gloves and groaned. “What am I supposed to do, Reem?”

     “I don’t know, kidnap them? Bury them alive and pretend they never existed? I don’t know why you’re trying to ask me for love advice.”

     “Who else am I supposed to ask?!” He groaned once again and flopped down next to Remus. He felt absolutely pathetic, falling in love with all of them. They may be okay having him around now, but how could they ever…? “Is it too late to take you up on that cuddling offer?”

     “Aww, c’mere Janny.” Remus adjusted himself against his pillows, opening up his arms for Janus to fall into them. He took the offer without hesitation and sighed into his partner’s chest. “Y’know,” he twirled a strand of hair on top of Deceit’s head, his hat discarded to the side. “Roman always smiles when I mention you. I think he’s quite fond of you.”

     Janus moved his chin up to look Remus in the eyes. “Even if that were true, which I highly doubt, that’s only one out of four.” While he’d be pleasantly surprised to have even one of them like him back, he’d rather be with none of them than not all of them. “You seem to be dwelling on Roman a lot. Are you not…?”

     “Oh, no no no, I just find it hilarious. No one expects the dragon to fall in love with the prince, do they?” The dark side moved one of his hands to scratch at his neck. “Well, it was admittedly weird at first, but I got over it pretty quickly- Anyway, What makes you think the other three can’t like you too? Morality adores you!”

     He huffed and rolled his eyes. Besides Roman, Remus still often called the other sides by their titles. He could only assume it was to keep a level of distance, which saddened Janus just a bit. “Patton ‘adores’ you as well now. Are you going to go around claiming he’s in love with you?”

     Remus immediately grimaced at the claim. “Can’t exactly argue with that one, though I do think it’s quite different. What about-”

     “Don’t even try to argue that Logan would like me. We are constantly butting heads.”

     “So did him and Roman, and now they’re probably butting something else right at this moment!” Janus gave him a furrowed brow, a look of ‘ what the fuck does that even mean, Remus,’ which only managed to make him chuckle.

     He sighed and buried his head back into his QPP’s chest. “And that leaves one.”

     “...Right.” He just barely catches Remus’s mumble, feeling his body stiffen just slightly. “He… I mean, you two are good now, right? He forgave you.” That one hurt the most. Remus avoided using any names or titles for Virgil, instead opting to just refer to him in pronouns only. Calling him by his name would hurt Remus, but calling him by his title would hurt Virgil.

     “Theoretically, yes.” The anxious side had even apologized to him; even though Janus had hurt him first (and had continued to do so), he admitted he might have been overly harsh to him as well. Janus appreciated it, but he also didn’t agree with the notion that Virgil needed to apologize in the first place. “But I could never expect him to trust me.”

     There was a pause, before Remus settled his chin into Janus’s hair. “There was always something special between you two.” There was a sting in Deceit’s heart at those words. They weren’t close in the traditional sense, but… they looked out for each other. And Janus ruined that. “I don’t think that ever really left.”

     “And when did you become such an optimist?”

     The Duke gave a gasp of fake offense. “Me? An optimist? Why, I’d never!” At Janus’s chuckle in response, he gave a quick ruffle to his hair. “I just know anyone would be a fool not to love you. I can’t say if it will be the way you want it or not, but they will love you.”

     From the bottom of his heart, he wanted to believe that. He was all too familiar with not getting what he wanted, and the others loving him as a friend would be more than he could ever ask for, but even that was just too good to be true. He wasn’t supposed to get a happy ending - but, then again, that’s exactly what he fights for every day. He breaks the code and forces what Thomas wants. Why couldn’t he do the same for himself?

     He couldn’t force someone to love him, but he can fight for it. He can try.

     “...Thank you, Remus. You are okay with this, right? If anything were to actually happen between them and me, I mean.”

     “Of course! None of my business what you do with that snake tongue of yours.” Before Deceit could express his distaste, he noticed Remus’s form tensing up once again, his face looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Just, uh… If they’re not okay with us--”

     “You’re my first priority,” he interrupted him. “I was with you first.”

     Remus moved to rub at his neck, a sad sort of smile on his face. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your love life like that. That wouldn’t be fair of me.”

     “Bullshit.” Janus couldn’t believe he would ever suggest such a thing. All Remus ever wanted was to be heard and cared for, yet he was willing to let that all go for him. He’d never allow that to happen. “You are a part of my love life, Remus. It isn’t romantic, but it isn’t any lesser, either. You really think I’d throw you away like that?”

     He was happy to see Remus’s smile turn genuine, but he didn’t have much time to think about that fact as he was tackled back into a hug. “No, I was just testing you.”

     “I can tell when you lie, Reem.”

     “And I can turn your scales into exposed tissue, but I’m choosing to hug you instead.”

[ashesonthefloor]

you are an angel (or maybe you could’ve been) - part four

summary: Ashton is still working on coming to terms with having an angel, and the moral dilemma of whether or not thinking he’s cute is morally okay. Michael and Calum make that a little bit more difficult, part three found here, ao3 here

word count: 7,011

A/N: okay so! I am finally back from my (admittedly short) break from tumblr and wow, guess I got super inspired for this fic! I try and keep the chapters on the shorter side most of the time, but this one sort of needed some length. you’ll see why if you read it! as always, please let me know what you think! this is my (not so guilty) pleasure and I always need an excuse to scream about it <3 thank u to ms @calumcest for letting me Scream and for her big brain thots and for gifting me an Idea a million years ago ily. this is a continuation of part three, and happens right after they get home

~~~~~~~

Ashton started dinner after they got home. He was just doing easy foods still, since Luke was wary of silverware. He figured tonight they could at least try with a spoon. It was worth a shot. So he was making Mac ‘n’ cheese, which he hadn’t actually eaten in ages - despite the very small fitness-and-health-motivated part of his brain screaming about all the carbs, and how unhealthy he was being.. “There’s a couple more Cokes in the fridge,” he said as he tossed the macaroni in to boil, pulling out the cheese for the sauce. “If you want one.”

He didn’t have to see it to know Luke smiled, hearing the fridge open. He approached Ashton with the bottle, still incapable of opening them himself. Not that Ashton minded. It was kind of sweet that he had to ask, in a weird sort of way. He didn’t mind doing it for him. He was aware how domestic they’d gotten. He was cooking for Luke, while Luke sat at the island and watched him, every bit as curious now as he had been on the first day. 

“Which song was your favourite?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder.

There was the predictable pause as Luke considered his answer, a little longer this time. “The one we danced to, I think,” he decided. “I liked dancing with you. You’re very good at it.”

Luke had so much faith in him, it was precious. “Thank you,” he said, chest feeling warm. He didn’t know how normal it was to feel so fond of someone so quickly. Or if the warmth he felt when Luke did something adorable, or complimented him, was a universal experience. Or if it was a weird angel thing. “We can always do it again sometime. There are lots of songs, and ways to dance. I’d be happy to show you.”

“I’d really like that. Thank you.” He could hear the smile in Luke’s voice, and it just made him smile in turn, stirring the macaroni.

The moment was broken by a knock at the door. Ashton frowned, turning a little bit. Who the fuck would show up at his house- oh no. There were only two people that ever needed him enough, or had enough lack of boundaries, to do something like that.

“Ashton?” He heard one of them - Michael - call through the door. “Dude, we know you’re here. Let us in or I’ll have to use the emergency key.” He knew that the only reason he hadn’t was because Calum was with him. Michael had used it before to come in and tell Ashton he was sad, he was lonely, he needed breakfast, and he wanted to nap on the couch in peace. All on separate occasions. And Ashton - damn his love for his friends - had let him. 

“What Michael means is that we’re worried about you,” Calum added. He could practically see Calum elbowing Michael for his lack of tact.

Luke gave Ashton a slightly worried look and, yeah, Ashton had thought about that too. Poor Luke probably wasn’t ready for the terror that Michael and Calum could be. They’d be overwhelming for the poor angel. But there really wasn’t a way to make them leave. They were worried, so they’d end up staying for dinner, and interrupt his time with his angel. He dumped the rest of the box of macaroni into the pot before sighing and heading to answer the door. He stopped by Luke for a moment. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “They’re loud and kind of stupid sometimes, but they don’t mean any harm. You can always go wait in my bedroom if you’d like-”

But he was cut off by the sound of the front door opening, Michael and Calum’s voices loud and clear in the kitchen.

“You didn’t give him enough time! What if he was naked and trying to cover his junk?” He could hear Calum ask.

“It’s not like we haven’t seen it before,” Michael quipped back. “Unimpressive. And besides, who the fuck would be naked right now? No one even showers at this hour. It’s, like, seven, so why he would be naked-”

“Maybe he’s a nudist! I might be, if I didn’t have someone over all the time because ‘his apartment is too cold’-”

“Well it is! You know your apartment is better anyway, mate, it’s rude not to share.” Michael seemed to be getting closer now, having paused their bickering to find where Ashton was.

Ashton glanced over at Luke just as Michael and Calum wandered into the kitchen. 

“Where the fuck is- Ashton!” Michael said, grinning at the other man before noticing Luke. He frowned slightly, looking at Calum, who seemed to share the same confusion, though he was far more subtle about it. “Who’s this?”

“This is Luke,” Ashton said simply, already steeling himself for the millions of questions. He wondered whether it would be better to tell the whole truth or just lie. He wondered what Luke would prefer to do. Probably tell the truth. He didn’t think lying would suit Luke too much; he already struggled grasping human concepts sometimes, creating an intricate lie to explain his uncertainty and innocence and existence in the first place might be a bit too over his head. (“He’s Mormon,” could be one lie, or “he had brain damage/amnesia and I’m taking care of him,” another. Though he doubted he’d use either.)

Michael’s nose crinkled slightly, gaze darting between Luke sitting at the island, mildly confused expression still on his face, and Ashton, standing in front of the counter with what he hoped to be an innocent look on his features. “Luke?” He repeated, a little bit hopelessly, lacking the bite of sarcasm that he almost always had. 

“Luke,” Ashton agreed, turning to give the macaroni a stir before starting on the sauce. “He’s staying with me for a while.” He turned back around just in time to see Calum and Michael exchange a look. They were, understandably, of course, worried. But Ashton really didn’t know how to explain without just explaining. Which would take a lot more work and leave all three of them needing therapy that they’d never get. Ashton knew exactly how it felt knowing that angels were real, and knowing there was no way to push for more answers. He had to give Luke time to not overwhelm him. And Calum and Michael showing up was definitely not part of the plan. 

Michael and Calum exchanged another look before Calum was stepping forward, brows drawing together in that very familiar ‘I’m worried about you’ expression that he got whenever Ashton pushed himself too hard, or stressed out too much over something that wasn’t worth it. He knew where Calum was going even before he opened his mouth. “Can we talk?” He at least had the decency to ask softly, head tilting slightly in the way that had always reminded Ashton of a puppy. “In the living room, maybe? I’m having some personal issues, and need some advice.” He wasn’t. He wanted to get Ashton alone and was being an amazing fucking person and came up with an excuse to put the blame on himself so, if Luke was a normal person, he wouldn’t be so upset. But Luke wasn’t a normal person, and Ashton was fine. 

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at Luke. There was no way to deny Calum without worrying him and Michael more, and he really just wanted to calm them down. “Does Michael also need advice?” He raised an eyebrow at Calum, who in turn turned back to look at Michael. They seemed to have a quick conversation with nothing but minute facial expressions and quirks of the mouth. A talent they’d developed a long time ago. Ashton, too, was capable of holding the same lengthy, silent conversations with either of them. It just felt weirdly intimate to watch the two of them. It had felt like that more and more over the past couple years. Like the two of them were forming their own thing, with Ashton right on the outside edge. Which was fine, he knew they liked each other, even if they wouldn’t admit it. But it still stung. 

“Yes,” Calum finally decided. “Michael also needs personal advice.”

Ashton shook his head slightly, setting the towel he’d had on his shoulder on the counter. “Fine. Go to the living room and I’ll be there in a moment to give you two some fantastic advice.”

Calum gave him a slightly dubious look, only expressed through the creasing of his brow and downward tug at the corners of his lips. Then it was gone, and so was he, tugging Michael gently back down the hallway into the living room. 

Ashton turned to Luke. “Okay. You know Michael and Calum, right?” He asked, keeping his voice down so that hopefully the other two didn’t hear him in the other room. He came over to the island, standing across from Luke and leaning against it slightly so they were closer in height. Luke nodded at his question, curious gaze staying on Ashton’s face. “Right. They’re...wondering why you’re here. As you probably know, I haven’t really been dating or anything, and I don’t have the widest circle of friends. They know pretty much everyone I know, anyway. So they’re curious about who you are. I’m going to go talk to them and figure out what to tell them. You just...sit here, okay?”

Luke blinked at him. “Okay. You can always tell them the truth. It’s the easiest.”

Ashton chewed his lip. “Sometimes, yeah,” he agreed, unsure how to get into the nuance that came with whether lying in this specific scenario was easier, since it involved not only explaining the concept of guardian angels being real, but heaven, and his guardian angel actually being on earth. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Luke’s shoulder, unsure whether it was to comfort Luke or himself, before making his way into the living room. 

Michael and Calum were in the middle of a whispered conversation, turning to look at Ashton when he entered. Calum at least smiled, and greeted him warmly. “Ashton! Hey. Sorry to barge in, we didn’t mean to interrupt. You just sounded a bit off on the phone last night, and we wanted to check and see if you were doing okay.”

“Who’s the twink in the kitchen?” Michael asked, ever so subtle. 

Calum gave Michael a look, though neither him nor Ashton were really that surprised by the question. Michael was always kind of like that, blunt and a little rough around the edges. And way, way too honest at inappropriate times. That said, it didn’t stop the slight bolt of terror that went through him at the question. Even with the stupid phrasing. So, with a stroke of ingenuity, he just said “He’s not a twink.”

Michael snorted, rolling his eyes slightly. “Okay, who’s the twunk in the kitchen?” He asked instead, raising an eyebrow. 

“Way to be pedantic,” Ashton said as he tried to think of a better way to explain without them just dancing around the actual answer to the question. They wanted to know who Luke was; Ashton really didn’t want to answer. Luke was his angel, his secret. He didn’t really know what the two of them would do if he told them. Have a crisis, probably. Ashton got really close to having one any time he thought too much about the situation at hand, any time his mind lingered a little too much on the concept of Heaven and guardian angels, and less on Luke himself as a person. Which was what he tried to focus on, otherwise he was pretty sure he’d have a nervous breakdown.

“He’s either a twink or a twunk, Ashton, I don’t make the rules-”

“That’s really not the point,” Calum cut in, shooting another look at Michael who just grinned, unashamed. “We’re wondering who your friend is. Luke. That’s all.”

“He’s just…” Ashton trailed off, grasping for something to say that wasn’t the truth. Lying was made much harder by the genuine love and concern on Calum’s face. He should’ve focused on Michael instead. “He needs a place to stay for a while, so he’s crashing here.”

“Okay,” Calum said, brows drawing together and lips pulling down into the slight pout they always did when he was confused or thinking or worried. “But who is he, Ash? He had to come from somewhere.”

Was this what drowning felt like? He was pretty sure this was what drowning felt like. The truth was much harder to explain than any lie would be, but his brain wasn’t functioning enough to come up with a half decent one. He was distracted, both by the sudden appearance of his best friends and their just as sudden - though justified - interrogation, and the memory of Luke’s hand, warm in his own, his happy giggle when he twirled him around-

“Hello? Earth to Ashton,” Michael said with a frown, waving a hand in front of Ashton’s face. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

Calum’s concerned expression didn’t shift. “Should we sit down?”

“Yeah, mate. Do you need to sit?” Things were bad if even Michael was being concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ashton insisted. He was the furthest thing from fine. He was going to have to tell the truth and he was going to seem absolutely insane. He’d have to trust that they wouldn’t go running right out the door as soon as he told them the truth, wouldn’t immediately try and get him in to a therapist-

“Okay. So who’s Luke?” Michael asked.

“My guardian angel,” Ashton answered bluntly. Their reactions were pretty much what he’d expected, both of them turning to look at each other, expressions caught between concerned and bewildered.

“Your what?” Michael was first to speak, eyebrows pulled together in surprise and alarm. He seemed about as dubious as Ashton would expect.

“My guardian angel. Look, I know how it looks, okay? I sound crazy. But he showed up the other day, and proved it, and I’m not going to doubt-”

“Ashton,” Calum interrupted, voice soft and steady, resting a gentle but reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re tired. Do you want a nap? I think you’ve been pushing yourself a little too hard lately, and it could do you some good.”

“No, I don’t need a nap, Cal. I’m fine. Really. I’ve been sleeping perfectly fine.” Why was Calum such a good person? It would be infuriating if he didn’t love him so much. 

Calum was not swayed, glancing at Michael for a split second before his warm brown eyes were back on Ashton, soft, loving, and concerned. “Do you want me to drive you down and you can sign in for a seventy-two hour hold? There’s no shame in it, Ash, especially if you think your mental health is suffering.”

Ashton frowned. “What? No, I’m fine. I’m serious, he’s an angel, he proved it and everything.”

Michael exchanged a quick look with Calum before fixing his level gaze on Ashton. “So prove it.”

Expecting to argue further, Ashton was taken aback. “What?”

“You said he proved it,” Michael said simply. “So have him prove it.”

Ashton blinked. That would probably help his case a lot. But was it really better to have them lose their minds and have existential crises than think he was crazy? Probably not, but he didn’t want to lose their friendship. “Uh. Okay.” 

Calum carefully removed his hand from his shoulder. He’d appreciated the gesture, really, and that Calum was just trying to offer him comfort, but he was glad to have it gone. It had just made him antsy.

He led both guys back into the kitchen, unable to stop the soft smile that came across his face at the sight that greeted him. Luke had, at some point, gotten up and gone over to the stove. So now he was stirring the macaroni with a look of concentration on his face, brows drawn together slightly, and lips pulled down into an almost pout. And in that moment, Ashton felt absolutely, ridiculously, fond. 

“Luke,” he said softly, almost sad to break his concentration and pull him away. The blonde looked over and gave him a sweet smile, clearly pleased to have him back.

“Hi,” he greeted, voice just as soft, but happy. “Sorry, it seemed like I needed to, um…”

“Oh shit, did it boil over?” Ashton frowned, making his way over and gently nudging Luke with his hip to get to the pasta, fitting in next to him with ease. He turned the heat off and moved the pasta off the burner since it seemed done, and hopefully they’d be eating soon.

Michael cleared his throat, still not anywhere close to subtle. Not that he’d ever been, in their almost lifelong friendship. So it wasn’t like Ashton was surprised, exactly. But he was buzzing with nerves, unsure where this situation was going to go or what was going to happen. And Ashton really hated the unknown, hated not having any sort of control. This situation was his absolute nightmare. He was pretty sure he’d woken up in a cold sweat over much less than this, anyway. Trying to explain the unexplainable, at risk of losing himself, Luke, and both of his closest friends? Horrible. 

“Right. Luke, you’re an angel, right?” He asked, looking at Luke instead of their audience. Either way, he could still feel Michael and Calum’s stares, heavy on his very soul.

Luke looked marginally confused before nodding. “I am,” he confirmed. There was a stretch of silence after he spoke before he added “A guardian angel,” just for clarification and good measure.

“Right,” Ashton said again. “Can you...prove that? To them? Please?”

Ashton tried to keep his gaze on Luke’s face, even as Luke looked over at him, mild confusion on his face, before he nodded again. He stepped forward, putting a bit of space between him and the counter. Between blinks, his wings seemed to materialize, blindingly white even in the soft light of Ashton’s kitchen. Ashton stepped forward to stand next to Luke. Only then did he turn his gaze to his two best friends.

As predicted, they looked like they were in the throes of two separate but parallel existential crises. 

“What the fuck?” Michael asked, eyes glued to Luke’s wings. “Are they- they’re not, like, real are they? You got- you two are just fucking with us?”

Luke shook his head, only seeming to exacerbate Michael’s misery. Good, some part of Ashton thought. Revenge for being overbearing. But then the rational part of him overrode that, reminding him that they just loved and cared about him. They’d been concerned. And now Ashton would have to repay the favour. 

“I’m sure you have a bunch of questions. So I’ll tell you what I know. This is Luke. He showed up three days ago in the pouring rain and told me he’s a guardian angel. He’s staying here for the foreseeable future, since there’s a rule about angels not visiting us. And for good reason, since I’m gonna bet you’re feeling the same way I did. Anyway, he’s staying here now. He doesn’t know a whole lot about humans, but he’s still a person with thoughts, feelings, and emotions and I’ll kick your ass if you’re rude. No, you can’t argue with that. No questions for him at the moment.” He paused, trying to think of anything else to add. “He says guardian angels are there to watch out for us and make sure we stay okay, basically. Which means I guess all of us have guardian angels. I don’t know a whole lot more.”

Both of them just stared. “So…” Calum finally started, gaze shifting to Luke’s wings, eyeing where his left one kept brushing Ashton where they stood almost shoulder to shoulder. “They’re...real?”

Ashton nodded. “Yeah. They are.” He turned to look at Luke. “Can I touch them?” It was better, he thought, to ask and make sure. They seemed very sensitive, and personal, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. 

Luke nodded again. “Yes, you can.”

“Can you turn around for me?” He asked gently, stepping back to give him room to do so. He wanted to show Michael and Calum that they were, in fact, connected to Luke’s body. Once Luke did, he brushed his fingers lightly over the back of his wing. He smiled slightly when it fluttered beneath his fingertips. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I know it tickles.”

“It’s okay,” was Luke’s equally soft answer. “I like it.”

Ashton grinned despite himself, warmth blooming again in his chest. He was glad his back was turned to his best friends, or he’d likely be mocked for his clear fondness. Or they’d be too distracted with the earth shattering information he was giving them. They’d never know. He ran his fingers closer, turning his body a little so the other two could clearly see as he ran his finger down to the base of the wing. “See?” He said, turning to look at Michael and Calum. “They’re real.”

“I guess so,” Michael said after a minute, eyes still on where Ashton’s hand lingered on Luke’s wing. Ashton pulled back after a moment, resting his hand on Luke’s shoulder gently to turn him back around.

“I told you,” Luke said, wings fluttering slightly. Maybe with nerves. Ashton couldn’t tell if he enjoyed all the attention on him. “I’m an angel. Ashton’s angel.”

“Do you know my angel?” Michael blurted out, breaking one of the only rules Ashton had actually set. He seemed to say it before he even really thought about it, if the pink tint on his face afterward was anything to go by.

Luke tilted his head, considering the question. “Yes,” he said after a moment, with a nod. “I do.”

Michael blinked, looking ready to ask him another question before Calum cut him off. “Do you know mine?” He gave Ashton an apologetic look - though clearly not apologetic enough if he still asked the question.

Again, Luke considered the question. “Yes,” he said again. “ I do. I know both of your angels.”

“What’s mine like?” Michael asked before Ashton could shoot him a warning look. He did it anyway, figuring he’d probably want to ask another stupid question. “Are they nice?”

Luke tilted his head. “He is, in a way,” he answered simply. “Very laidback most of the time. Enjoys conversation.”

“What about mine?” Calum asked, again way too eager for the apologetic look he sent Ashton’s way. He didn’t spare him from getting a look anyway, even if he was curious about Luke’s answer. And this really just solidified Luke as an angel. There was something...wrong, almost, about him standing in his kitchen, wings out and looking every bit the angel Ashton knew he was. He was wrapped in a glimmer, kind of, something not really perceptible that wasn’t there in the same way when his wings weren’t out. Ashton decided to stop thinking about it.

“He’s sweet. Not very loud. I got along with him when I saw him.”

Michael crinkled his nose. “Are there not any women angels?” Ashton shot him another warning look, though, yeah, he did kind of have a point.

“There are,” he conceded. “But gender matters less to the higher ranking angels. There are only ‘men’ archangels, but that’s how it was when Heaven started, so it has become tradition. Tradition doesn’t get changed.”

When Michael started to ask another question, Ashton was quick enough, this time, to cut him off. “I think that’s enough questions for today. I think we all have enough to think about without dealing with more.” He shivered slightly, feeling Luke’s wing brush against his back when he shifted. “Right. So. I made extra Mac n cheese, if you guys are interested in dinner.”

Michael glanced at Calum before nodding, always easily bribed by food. He grinned a little, still clearly shaken by the onslaught of information he’d just gotten. “Do we have to say grace if there’s already an angel in our presence?”

Calum snorted and Ashton gave him a look. Luke just looked at Ashton with a confused expression. “Grace is asking God to bless your food before you eat it,” Ashton explained before he had to ask. He’d never said it, which was probably why Luke was confused. He really didn’t know how an angel of all people was confused by the idea of grace, but he wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m not really religious, so I don’t say it. And I don’t think I actually ever have.”

Luke nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. His wings fluttered slightly again, feathers brushing against Ashton’s back.

“Right,” Ashton said into the silence. “Michael, Calum, why don’t you, uh, grab food first? Then I can grab some for Luke and I afterward.” He took Luke’s hand to move him forward, towards the back kitchen wall, letting Calum and Michael move around them to the counter. Calum glances over at him, expression only slightly confused, before he was stepping up to grab food, him and Michael very quietly murmuring to each other. 

“You can put your wings away now,” Ashton said, voice soft and gentle. Luke glanced over at him and, somehow, when Ashton blinked his wings were gone. “They’re pretty, but I don’t want to freak them out too much.” He nodded towards his friends, still keeping his voice down so they didn’t hear him. 

Luke turned a light shade of pink. “Thank you.”

Ashton convinced himself that he felt absolutely nothing about it. He was completely neutral, and his stomach wasn’t flipping aroundin a weird out of control sort of way. Luke was probably just...cold or something. Though he was still holding his hand - why hadn’t he dropped it yet? - and he could attest that he was very, very warm. 

“Are we sitting at the table?” Calum asked, turning to look at Ashton. 

“Uh...yeah. That’ll work well. You guys take a seat and we’ll be there in a second.” After Michael and Calum exchanged another look, speaking to each other silently with nothing but quirked eyebrows, they left for the table. 

Ashton gently moved Luke up to the counter with him. And that was when he realized something that he probably should have earlier. Not that he was still holding his hand, but that Luke really didn’t know how to use silverware. And they were eating Mac n cheese, something that definitely required silverware. And that would definitely freak Calum and Michael out. He couldn’t very well eat it with his hands. He’d need help. Which had been the point in the first place, but it was less about teaching him now, and was more of a hindrance having to feed and help him in front of an audience. He felt his face heat up a little at the thought. 

Luke’s gaze was, as usual, heavy on his face. “Ashton?” He said, tilting his head. And that was enough to snap him out of it. 

“Yeah?” He asked, looking at Luke. 

“Just checking,” Luke said, as though that explained anything at all, and turned his gaze to the macaroni, sparing Ashton. 

“Right.” He gently let go of Luke’s hand, going ahead and dishing up some of the food for Luke and handing the bowl to him before serving himself some. “This is Mac n cheese. We eat it with a spoon. It’s...there’s no good way to eat it with your hands. I can help you with it, though.” They’d just have to ignore Michael and Calum. 

Luke nodded a little bit, seeming to just go along with what Ashton said. At least he seemed to understand it, so he was spared from trying to figure out another way of explaining. He led him over to the table, sitting down and getting the two of them situated. 

“So you said he’s been here three days?” Michael asked, eyeing Luke before looking at Ashton, since he was the one he’d actually been asking. 

“This is really good, Ash,” Calum said, not unused to being the peacemaker. Only because Michael had the fabulous talent of pissing off everyone except Calum. Even Ashton, who was fairly patient. Or he liked to think he was, at least. It was only because Calum was so smitten with Michael that he let him be a dick without much consequence. 

“Thanks,” Ashton said, deciding to answer Calum first. “It’s homemade. And yeah, Michael, he has been.”

Michael nodded and, for once, fell silent. Ashton shifted his chair to help Luke with his spoon. It only took a couple tries - and a demonstration - before he started trying to use it himself. He was just...mildly apprehensive, which Ashton chalked up too him having an audience while trying to figure out how to be human. It was probably not the most conducive environment to learn. 

They fell into quiet silence after his tutoring, all of them content to just eat. Luke leaned against him a little, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It was sweet. 

“So he’s been living here?” Michael finally piped up, eyes on Ashton. 

“Yes, Michael,” he said, finally starting to get just a little exasperated. “He has been.”

“So where’s he been sleeping?” 

Ashton looked up, catching the cocky, coy smirk on Michael’s face that made it clear he thought he’d won something. He turned light pink, trying to figure out a half decent answer. 

“So he has been in your bed,” he said triumphantly, grinning with the discovery. He was like an eight year old gloating over figuring out his parents were married. It was ridiculous. Calum seemed to agree, since he gave him a look. 

Ashton - and Calum, for that matter - didn’t even have time to come up with a witty remark before Luke was speaking up. “It’s okay,” he reassured, blue eyes landing on Ashton. “He’s jealous.”

Michael’s expression soured immediately. “I’m not fucking jealous-“

“Don’t fucking curse at my angel-“ Ashton cut in immediately, giving him a look. 

Luke continued, seemingly unbothered. “He just wishes Calum loved him back.” 

And that had all of them falling silent, three pairs of eyes landing on Luke. Who, to his credit, seemed miraculously unaffected and just continued to eat his Mac n cheese. 

“What did you say?” Calum asked, only slightly flustered. 

“Michael loves you.”

“I-I mean, yeah, Calum’s my best mate,” Michael said after an awkwardly long stretch of silence. His face was just a little too pink for him to be believable. Not that Ashton would’ve believed him anyway. He’d watched the two of them run circles around each other for years. Apparently it was so obvious that even Luke, who didn’t understand anything human, could notice. 

Luke shook his head a little, leveling his gaze on Michael’s pink face. “No. Not like that.” Ashton had been on the other side of Luke’s unwavering gaze before. It was no wonder Michael was squirming a little under its weight. 

“Yeah, like that. How would you know anyway?” Michael grumbled, starting to take on that sullen tone he got when he didn’t get his way. Like when Ashton insisted on eating anything other than pizza. 

“Because I know what you need. I can feel it.” Luke’s gaze dropped again, freeing Michael, as he turned his attention back to his Mac n cheese. He seemed more interested in that than the earth shattering revelations he was giving. 

“You can feel what people need?” It was Ashton’s turn to ask, bewilderment clear on his face. He’d had an angel for three days and still knew almost nothing about him. Maybe he should say fuck being nice and taking things slow and gentle and actually start asking him questions. 

Luke looked over at him for a second. “Yes.” He took another bite of his Mac n cheese. “This is good.”

Ashton just looked at him. “Thank you.” He paused for a moment, mind moving a little too fast for even him to keep up with it. “What do I need?” He asked, regretting it almost as soon as it left his mouth. Though, to be fair, he probably couldn’t feel any more embarrassed than Mikey, who was slumping down in his seat, face still pink.

“A hug,” Luke said simply, still completely unaware of the effect he was having on everyone else. 

And it was Ashton’s turn to blush - though he’d vehemently deny it if anyone tried to ask about it. “A hug?”

Luke nodded. “A hug.” He took another bite of his Mac n cheese. 

“You said Michael wants me to love him back.” Calum had been silent until now, expression thoughtful and serious. His voice was soft, and it was clear he was still thinking everything over. “What does that mean?”

Luke looked at Calum, now, tilting his head just a little. It made his curls shift. Ashton shoved away the automatic impulse to tuck them behind his ear. “He loved you. He wants you to love him back.”

“Can we stop with the stupid love talk?” Michael asked, though his voice was high pitched in the way it got every time he was thoroughly embarrassed, trying to hide behind his ‘nothing bothers me’ persona. His face was red, and it was clear Luke was on to something. 

“Mikey, it’s fine,” Ashton soothed. “Really. None of us care. It’s not a big deal.” And that was probably the wrong thing to say. 

“I care,” Calum said, still in that thoughtful, soft tone of voice. 

“Fuck this.” Michael shoved himself back from the table, making his way out of the room. 

Calum watched him go. He spared barely a glance for Luke and Ashton before he was leaving after Michael, though much quieter and without making a scene. 

Ashton and Luke sat quietly for a few moments before Ashton spoke up again. “You can really sense what people need?”

Luke nodded and took a bite of his Mac n cheese. Ashton would have to make it for him again, he seemed like he really liked it. “Yes. I know when you need sleep. Or food.”

“Or a hug,” Ashton added, since that was what he’d said to him earlier. 

Luke looked over at him. “Or a hug,” he agreed.

Ashton still didn’t really think he needed a hug. Or anything else, for that matter.  But he wasn’t going to argue with Luke’s divine wisdom. Or whatever it was. “I’m going to go ahead and start cleaning up. I doubt they’ll be back anytime soon. If at all. You go ahead and keep eating.” 

He stood and started picking up the other dishes. He absentmindedly ruffled Luke’s hair and, oh, he’d have to do that again. Just because of the way Luke’s face lit up a little, his fair skin going light pink, before he ducked his head down and busied himself with his food again. Ashton grinned to himself and made his way over to start putting the dishes into the dishwasher. 

“So what else can you do? As an angel, I mean,” Ashton asked, glancing over at Luke. 

There was a long pause before his answer. He was used to it, though. “I don’t know. Things are different down here.”

Ashton nodded a little, continuing with what he was doing. “I guess that makes sense. Being here rather than in heaven probably changes things. But hey, it’s not a big deal. We can figure it out as we go.” He gave Luke a smile, pleased to get one in return. 

“That sounds nice.” Luke finished his food and brought the dishes over to Ashton, who rinsed them out and stuck them in the dishwasher. There was a pregnant pause as Ashton mulled things over in his mind. 

“You really knew Michael was in love with Calum?” It wasn’t difficult to notice. But Luke wasn’t the most perceptive, since he didn’t really understand humans very well, and social cues were not his strong suit. 

Luke nodded. “All he wants is for Calum to love him back the same way.”

Ashton smiled. Just a little. “He’s been like that for years. Been pining after Calum. They’ve both been kind of awful, really. They’re not very subtle. So sometimes being around them feels like third wheeling, even though they’re not officially together.” He didn’t know what had him revealing personal things like that. Something about Luke just...invited honesty. He felt like he could tell him almost anything. Almost. “How’s Calum feel about it?”

Luke’s gaze stayed on his face, giving Ashton the slightly unnerving feeling of him staring straight into his soul. Like he knew exactly what he was thinking, and feeling. And, since he apparently knew what people needed, there was the possibility that he did. “He loves him too.”

Ashton smiled a little, leaning against the counter. “That’s good. At least they have each other.” He fell quiet, looking over at the doorway leading out towards the living room, and the door into his apartment. He wondered just how well their conversation was going. He hoped beyond all hope that they could work it out, that that information being dropped on them by a third party didn’t hinder them at all. He wanted them to get together, really. 

There was some part of him, though, that was selfishly wondering about himself. What about happen to him once - if - they got together? What would happen to their friendship? It would become Michael-and-Calum and then Ashton. He couldn’t blame them - of course not, he supported them - but he was worried. A tiny part of him always had been since he’d realized they liked each other. He’d just done well at suppressing it. 

He startled a little, yanked out of his thoughts, when Luke wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in close. “What are you doing?” He asked, unable to keep the surprised tremor out of his voice. 

“You seemed like you needed a hug,” Luke replies, soft and sure of himself. He held him close until Ashton wrapped his arms around him in turn, letting him be wrapped in Luke’s warmth and the calm that came with it. He didn’t know if it was an angel thing, or just a Luke thing.

It took a moment before Ashton really let himself relax into it, melting into the comfort that was Luke. He was surprisingly good at hugging for someone who held himself so awkwardly half of the time. Luke didn’t lean in, the way he normally did, but gently tried to reverse them so Ashton leaned, letting Luke support his weight. It didn’t work out so easily - Ashton didn’t think he needed a hug as badly as Luke thought he did, though deep down he knew he was just being a dick and the hugging was really nice - but it was sweet. 

Ashton didn’t know how long they stood there like that, with Luke holding him gentle but firm, like he was trying to take away everything that had ever hurt him. But eventually they were interrupted by a cough. One that was clearly fake and meant to announce someone’s presence. 

He turned to look, (reluctantly) loosening his hold on Luke. And there was Calum and Michael. “So you two worked it out, then?” He was glad. He was hoping they would. 

Calum was the one to speak first. “Yeah. We did. I think...we’re going to go now, though.” The rest was left unspoken. It didn’t have to be said; they were going to go figure out what this meant for them. “I just didn’t want to leave without saying something.”

“I told you he could’ve figured it out,” Michael grumbled. Ashton didn’t hold it against him; he was embarrassed, so he was being a dick. He’d always been like that. At least he didn’t say anything about Luke hugging him. 

Calum just shushed him, nudging his shoulder against his in a quiet reprimand. “We’ll see you soon? We’ll have to do dinner again. I think Michael will want to show Luke pizza.”

That had Michael lighting up a bit. “He’ll like it. There’s absolutely nothing better. Literal heaven on earth.” He grinned, pleased with his cheesy, ironic joke. Calum, like a good friend, snorted. 

“Yeah. I’ll give you a call later, Ash,” Calum finished. 

“Sounds good. Talk to you later, then.” It wasn’t final. It didn’t sound final. But things would be different when they were together again. He only hoped it would be different in a good way. 

When Calum turned to leave, Ashton didn’t miss the way he took Michael’s hand, lacing their fingers together to pull him along with him. His heart ached, just a little, for familiarity like that. 

“They love you,” Luke said, gaze still on the empty doorway where they’d just been standing. “And they’ll always love you. They just need to be able to love each other, too.” He turned his brilliant blue gaze, ever so knowing, to Ashton’s face. He tried not to show any reaction; he didn’t even know how to react to that. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, meeting Luke’s gaze. “I know.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, gaze lingering on his face. “Okay,” he said simply. Ashton honestly didn’t know what was going on in his head. “Is it time to sleep?”

Ashton just nodded a little. It was early still, but there was no harm in getting a little extra sleep. Maybe it would do him some good. “Yeah. I think it is.” He turned back to Luke and gave him a smile, yanking himself out of his thoughts. Getting lost in his head now wouldn’t do either of them any good. Besides, whatever happened, happened. All he could do now was focus on his angel.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 32

Life as a human guinea pig is a strange thing. First of all, there's the questions. The same questions over and over, to the point where the machines and medical doodads and the noise that became almost normal for me, but the questions became the irritant of the day.

"How are you feeling today, Dr. Taylor?" As I'd squint into the bright light being forced into my marrow it seemed. A muttered reply from me, and honestly the same answer in varying degrees of annoyance or acceptance depending upon the day and how many times I'd been asked it so far. "Uh huh, and are you feeling warm? Is there tenderness in your abdomen?" While they poked and prodded, testing skin, muscle, bone and eventually blood.

Did you know the average human adult has around 1.2-1.5 gallons of blood which equals roughly 10 units? I know this because I wanted to be certain that I'd have enough after all the blood testing. Research would either be the way I kept sane or what finally pushed me over the ledge into complete madness, mark my words.

Billy visited, as often as he could, and every single time he'd greet the head poker in residence with his own version of the repeated question game. "How is she? What's the bloody progress?" At which I would inevitably check the arm that seemed to be their favorite vessel for bloodletting. "How much longer?" And then he'd meet my gaze and focus his attention on ME, rather than on my medical condition.

Yes, I was calling it a condition. If I let the reality of my situation fully grip me, then I'd scream. And I had moments of it, trust me.

How would you feel if every single time the man you loved walked in and spoke about your person as though you were a petri dish experiment before reminding himself, through sheer force of finally SEEING you, that you were in fact the woman he loved?

Now take that feeling you just got from that scenario and add the annoyingly taunting voice of the caped asshole who caused this whole fucking irritating bullshit situation reminding you that you fell in love with a man for whom hatred of supes is as natural as inhaling. Feeling just a hint of discomfort? Just add the sound of beeping, buzzing, and dripping to remind yourself of the fact that this was all happening while I was being held hostage as a "let's see what happens if we try this mixture to counteract the demon juice flowing through her veins" was tried over and over.

Strained. My nerves, body, and brain felt strained. Even after the feeding tube was gone and Billy could kiss me. Even after I was given the go ahead to work from my hospital bed. Frayed would be a kind way to say how absolutely on edge I felt.

And the worse part? I felt like I was missing something. Something important. Something paramount. Just out of reach and as though, even surrounded by my laptop and notes, something that was keeping me out of an important loop.

The longer that I stayed in the 'undisclosed medical' location, the more that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Literally anywhere. I started to yearn for Bolivia and the Black Ops team that had gotten caught up in the web of a rogue agent and 'died' implicated in a massive fuck up of epic proportions.

When a rational woman who knows how the inner workings of other people's brains and behavior follow reliable patterns starts thinking fondly of the heat of a tropical place where she had to wade through more red tape than most people would assume humanly possible to unravel the truth, all while hearing the type of rumors about the men she was trying to clear and resurrect from faked death, then shit has hit epic levels of horrible. It did remind me to contact that team to see how their return to their former lives had worked out, and wonder if their leader had gotten over his own tragic ability to attract murderous women.

I wanted to go further than the small courtyard deemed safe enough for me to explore, and near enough to make them taking me off the dialysis machine after another fun round of 'clean her blood again' reasonable. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and watch television at my discretion without interruptions for another round of the questions and poking I wanted, in short, to be back to normal already.

I might have been empathizing with Billy's urge for the Vought wankers (his word, I swear) to find the magic solution so life could go back to the routine we both wanted a return to. Or I might have been trying to only see the positive outcome, since there was a creeping feeling that maybe, just maybe there wasn't an easy fix or a fix at all.

A month passed, with my cabin fever slowly increasing by the day, and with it my internal and external temperatures. Oh yeah, that's right, I might have forgotten to mention that while the steaming was at bay, now it was just my actual body temperature that would fluctuate and freak every single fucking person all the way out. When Billy said I nearly went "nuclear" he hadn't been joking, apparently I could have fucking exploded like a goddamn human time bomb and I didn't want to consider just how fucking messy that would have been for the janitorial staff.

Finally, maybe because I wanted some type of control about the questioning, I started asking some probing ones of my own. And what I found, when they would meet my eyes and answer me as fully as I wanted, was that that creeping feeling was growing more likely.

The issue wasn't simply that they didn't know which variation of Compound V that Homelander had me infected with, it was that as they broke down the components and addressed each one, my body didn't simply fight their attempts, it attacked itself. The asshole, it would appear, had basically chosen the self destruct version, and it was trickier than any puzzle these 'real doctors' had ever come across. I was truly feeling the confidence of having a toddler performing my brain surgery with this knowledge.

Oh and that wasn't all, even IF they figured out how to 'neutralize' the formula inside of my bloodstrain, then there was a probability that I could pass it on to any future children. Isn't that some kind of amazingly poetic bullshit to hear after you chose to evict a foreign invader from your uterus? That the one stabilizing agent I'd had scraped and dumped was the ONLY one that I would ever get to actually be allowed to experience. Remind me to send Homelander a HUGE fucking thank you card, would you?

Early into my first true consciousness, before I found out just how fucked the pompous dick had made my entire existence, Billy had told me that my parents had visited while I was knocked out. Apparently near death experiences make even the weirdest of families reunite. And mine was no different.

Mom became a regular visitor and I was shocked by how much I started looking forward to her visits. She was strangely comforting, and tried to keep my spirits up, she even made peace with Billy. Dad was less frequent in his contact, but Mom told me it was difficult for him to see me look like a shell of myself.

And I did. I looked like a ghost that's haunting what was left of my body. The feeding tube had kept me nourished, but my muscle mass had suffered from the amount of time I was forced to spend in bed. I was constantly tired, my work hours going from nine to six to an hour here, a few minutes there, and the amount of napping I did would make most house cats jealous. The gowns that I wore hung from my frame, my appetite was scarce and I felt like this was the LONGEST goodbye letter ever to be written.

As the days passed, one merging into the next without me taking stock of how much I missed, how much that puzzle of what I was missing had bothered me early on, the negative ideas started creeping in. Homelander's voice grew louder. His smug question about Billy and me and what my condition would mean for the two of us in the end kept pushing through my attempts to distract myself.

I was sitting in the soft chair they'd brought in for me by the window, staring out and thinking of my options when Billy came in for his visit. I heard him, in the background noise of beeps and whirls, ask his questions. I felt him when he was nearer to me, but my eyes stayed on the 'view'.

He started to greet me, but my mouth opened and the question came out without me thinking about it. "How will you do it?" I watched a leaf, one missed by the obsessive groundskeepers, dance in a breeze I wish I could feel. He was confused, his reflection showed that much. "When you kill me, how will you do it?"

"Veronica," I could hear the pain in his voice, the fear hiding behind it. "I wouldn't-"

"Frenchie then?" I tilted my head considering. "MM? Hughie barely managed to make the choice with-" I stopped and took a breath. "Kimiko?" I sighed and pulled my legs up onto the chair, hugging my knees. "I hear she makes quite a mess of her prey." My voice wasn't loud and it didn't sound anything more than resigned, and I was a little curious. "If you can get Starlight to do it, you could make it seem like self defense? Or," I sighed, and bit my lip, "it would finally give you a reason to take her out too."

"Ronnie, love, that's not gonna-" I turned and he flinched when he saw that I was serious and not the least bit upset. "Ronnie?"

"Billy Butcher, I wrote the book on you." My smile felt wrong to me, but right at the same time. "I know you inside and out, or at least I think I do." I had the research on the flash drive that was hooked into my laptop on the bed. "You are single minded in your focus and your focus has been on eliminating supes from the world for a very long time." I turned back to the window, staring past the view and at the reflection of the room behind me. "It was one of the things I found the most attractive about you, I think. That you could see a goal and pound away until you master it." He sat in the chair close to me, but at a distance far enough that he'd have to work to touch me. "So, how will I die, Billy?"

"You'll die safe and sound, of old age in our bed, Veronica." I smiled sadly at this pipe dream of a fairy tale he wanted so badly to believe. "When you're sick of me, remember?" I could hear how badly he wanted it to be true, how much he wanted to hold me and it to all be a terrible dream.

"Never took you for a nursery rhyme and fairy stories fan," my eyes were still on the window. "This isn't going away, Billy, what he put in me isn't going away. And you will start to look at me like you look at him." My eyes found his, and face to face I wanted to force him to see it. "You will. And then, just like you, Frenchie, and Hughie brainstormed about Translucent and the best way to end him, you'll start to consider my pressure points." I gave a harsh, humorless chuckle. "And the funniest part is that Homelander built mine in for you, all you have to do is take me off the blood cleanse for a day and my own body will do it for you." His eyes tightened at the reminder of how many close calls I'd had. "Oops, I guess I just planned it for you."

"Please don't." He was begging me to let him pretend it wasn't the truth, that he wouldn't lose me too, and because of the same supe as Becca's cause of death. "Don't do this."

I smiled sadly, knowing he knew, even without me telling him, what was going to happen next.

[weaselsmuses-aa]

Typhoon Island Villager HCS [final]

Emma

Age: 21

Island occupation: Island Representative. Though she’s called a shady representative by many.

Sexuality: Bi.

Friends: All of her villagers of course! (though she does have her favorites, namely Punchy, Antonio and Bamikins.)

Very hard working. Is almost always running form one side of the island with new ideas for how to improve things

When she isn’t terraforming, pathing or planting, she’s hanging out with Punchy and her friends.

A gracious host, according to her. She wants all guests to check in with her first and foremost. Gets a little grumpy when someone doesn’t follow that rule.

Terrorizing Isabelle is her hobby, gets her through the day.

Loves rain, storms and fog the most.

Favorite season is winter. (Totally not because she can make the whole month of december about her.)

Has been bickering with Isabelle so long she’s accidentally befriended her. (easier to torment her that way)

Rumored to be good friends/has close ties with Redd. (How else did he get here?)

House has an incredibly ominous vibe. Something about it just isn’t quite right.

Is a great asset when you’re friends with her, when you aren’t though....

Almost always with Antonio and Bam (Three musketeers vibe) or Punchy.,

Doesn’t get along with Julian too well. Almost always yelling at him/swearing at him under her breath. 

Misses sloppy furniture damnit.

“ I don’t know about the missing people or the blood, stop asking about it.”

Bellionare.

Punchy

Age: 23

Island occupation: Professional Slacker. (sometimes he’ll help Emma garden and clean the beach though)

Sexuality: Bi at best.

Friends: Bob [bff], Kid Cat, Beau, Antonio, Weasel, Stitches. && ofc Emma.

The FavoriteTM.

Representative’s Pet.

Probably dating Emma

Absolute precious sweetheart

Naive, lazy, but can be sarcastic and snarky when you know him well enough.

Huge heart.

Snacks on snacks on snacks on snacks

Can be a cry baby at times.

Very affectionate with his friends

Usually seen in his yard, by the playground or in Emma’s orchard.

Favorite color is blue, Favorite activity is sunbathing and naps

You look in his home and you’ll be able to tell how much of a favorite he is.

Has nothing but good things to say about Emma. (Seriously shes all he talks about.)

Kind of scared of Bam. He doesn’t get along with him well, for ...obvious reasons.

Popular but didn’t ask to be. He’s just sweet and easy to love!

Really loves cherries. A lot. Seriously. Fastest way to the little kittys heart.

Also pretty good friends with Monsun key’s Lapis, asks about her sometimes.

Bam

Age: 20

Island Occupation: Has a part time job at the museum dusting and helping out with the fossils. 

Sexuality: Pretty het.

Friends: Emma, Ky, Swiss, Antonio, Kid Cat, Beau, Cheri, Getting to know Lucky.

Big brother vibes with a pretty bad temper if you know how to strike a nerve.

Best friends with the Island Rep and Antonio

Seems to be the island’s favorite target for teasing.

Gets along well with everyone …….except Punchy and Bob.

Avidly and openly does not like Punchy, its most likely due to jealousy. It’s also rumored the reason his his very blatant crush on Emma

Only person he likes less than Punchy is Bob as he is quote ‘an asshole’. (Its usually just Bob returning the favor though for Bam being a dick to Punchy).

Usually seen working out on the Beach, doing Yoga in the square, or taking walks. Really loves the Light house, the orchards and the Playground.

Known to be a little overbearing with his attitude problems when he doesn’t like someone. (He’s been seen walking around punchy’s house,and has hit him on a few occasions)

Is either your friend and super nice, or doesn’t like you and can be a dick.

Hangs out with Cheri and Beau a lot when his two right hand pals aren’t available.

Secretly wishes Brewster would come open a shop.

Beau

Age: 22

Sexuality: Pan.

Island occupation: Got a part time gardening position from Lief. Also helps the nooklings arrange their shop displays.

Friends: Topaz, Emma, Ky, Punchy, Bam, Stitches, Lucky, Julian

Sleepy eyed sweetheart.

Very Peaceful and kind, doesn’t like to see anyone fighting and wants everyone to get along.

Definitely the type to always say yes.

Rustic mountain town vibe. Really likes nature and long hikes.

Favorite season is winter.

Best friend’s are Topaz, Punchy, and Bam.

Talks to Blathers and Celeste a lot, very interested in natural history and astronomy.

Goal is to be good friends with everyone on the island. The only one he’s having trouble with is Antonio. He can’t quite figure him out yet.

Likes to have Tea with the island rep on Sundays.

Always wanted to be like the reindeer he’s seen on TV. He admires the lifestyle and aesthetic despite being an antelope.

Has a baby blanket he’s very attached to.

Loves kids, and babysits Kid cat and stitches often, he thinks they’re very sweet.

Plants trees, flowers and shrubs a lot. He really wants to make the island feel more woodsy.

Favorite spot is the museum, orchards and star gazing spot.

Julian

Age: 28

Sexuality: Gay Trans Icon.

Island occupation: He worked at the able sisters for a little while but they had to let him go because he went overboard and tried to control everything. He’s thinking about applying at brewsters. 

Friends: Kyanite! Topaz, Beau, Cheri, Punchy & Bob (sorta)

Narcissitic, Dramatic and self obsessed.

Only thing he loves more than himself, is a good book and singing.

Really loves to look good, and is constantly indecisive about what he wears.

Has an aesthetic and will NOT let you mess with it. Seriously, don’t give him furniture, he’ll give it away.

BFF is Ky.

He also gets along with Beau and Cheri. He can appreciate Beau’s simple pleasures in life, and his kindness. Cheri and him relate on pop culture and music.

Gossips constantly, cannot keep a secret to save his life, and only wants to know your business to talk about it.

Very loving friend once your’e close to him, and will likely only break his ‘peaceful’ face, for a friend. Pissing him off is hard to decipher most of the time, as he finds it beneath him to show ‘savage’ emotions.

Claims to be magic, but no one knows if he actually is, or he just uses his species to say that.

Usually seen in the square seeking attention, following others to eavesdrop, or at home either inside, or in his yard reading or writing.

Doesn’t seem to get along with Spinel too well. He tried to be friends with her but when it didn’t work out he just decided to mess with her for fun.

Dreads double visits from Ky and her girlfriend. As they mess with his lights until they break. Blames Spinel for encouraging it.

Very curious about Lucky and Stitches but kind of creeped out by them. He snoops on them when given the chances to do so though.

Loves the stargazing spot and Ky’s picnic area. He does enjoy a good stroll on the beach too when he isn’t shopping for stuff.

Cannot be without attention for too long, he will shove himself into your conversations, your day, and the town square and tell you gossip or start singing.

Wishes there were more people on the island that he could relate to.

Cheri

Age: 22

Sexuality: She like gurls

Island occupation: Has a part time job doing island clean up for Tom on the weekends. Thinking about asking the nooks to get her a part time job at the shop.

Friends: Pearl (Monsun key), Marina (Monsun key), Emma, Lapis (monsun key),  Weasel , Bam, Bob, Julian, Punchy (they bonded over music recently), Lucky (slowly but surely shes giving her lots of gifts and being in general sweet and cheri cant okay.)

Zero bullshit tolerance.

Sarcastic, snarky and loud, but a very loyal friend

Rap, Rock and Metal are her life

House so red you will forget what other colors are.

Rumored that she’s got an album, no one on the island knows if what she says is true.

Good friends with Bam, Bob and Julian.

Usually in the square Jamming or  Hanging out on the Beach.

Pretty good friends with the Island Representative, isn’t really into all the  gossip about her.

Thinks Kid Cat is cute, but also isn’t big on watching kids, so you know.

Good friends with Weasel, likes to talk to them every once and a while.

Literally don’t start an argument with her, you WILL lose.

‘ im a bad bitch, you cant kill me’

What the hell is stitches? What the fuck happened to lucky? IS anyone going to actually acknowledge how fucked up this is?? hello???

All concerns aside, she thinks both stitches and lucky are very sweet but seriously wtf.

Rapping in the square with her friends is the shit for her okay. She loves it. Has asked Emma to throw a rapping party to which she replied ‘eh.’

Leather jackets and cool clothes are just as important as looking cute as hell!

Talks about Raymond moving like it was the best thing to happen to mankind, and his existence on typhoon island like a bad dream. (she still holdin a grudge)

Antonio

Age: He....wont tell. well guess 25

Sexuality: Doesn’t talk about it.

Island occupation: Typhoon Island ditch digger.......he digs the graves. At least thats his supposed job. He’s seen some shit. Surely.

Friends: Emma, Bam, Swiss, Bob, Stitches, Lucky, Ky

One does not simply get rid of him

Is he all there or is he not?

Vacant stare

Either ramblings of insanity or way too meddling

Everyone calls him crazy but….he knows all the dirty laundry.

Usually in the square….listening..and watching

Favorite Song is K.K. Dirge

Digs the graves for the grave yard and probably puts up the missing signs.

Always seems to pop up out of nowhere. At the most..unnerving moments.

One of the least social, yet most involved somehow.

What are you hiding antonio?

Bob

Age: 24

Sexuality: Bi.

Island occupation: Doesn’t have one. Works booorring. Give him some games and food any day.

Friends: Punchy (BFF), Emma, Lapis (Monsun Key), Weasel, Kid cat, Stitches, Lucky, Beau is okay

Absolute Meme-er

BFF is Punchy

Constant jokes, no matter his mood. Is he serious? Is he not? good luck figuring that out.

The popular kid on the island, but he doesn’t really care.

Also good pals with Swiss.

Give him a dare and he will do it. Every time

Older than the island rep and talks about it alot like its a personality trait.

Play fights you.

Sarcasm for days.

Affectionately bullies you softly

Annoys Antonio for laughs

Pisses Bam off on purpose (they dont get along)

Favorite spot is the playground , the pool and the beach.

Thinks stitches and lucky are super friggin cool. So what if they’re a little weird? That’s what makes them so awesome.

Affectionately messes with cheri when shes’ trying to sing or rap in the square.

Kind of avoids julian because he doesn’t like how he talks down to him

Got kicked out of nooks cranny a couple times. Who even knows why.

Kid cat

Age: 12

Friends: Stitches, Emma, Weasel, Ky, Punchy, Bob, Bam, Antonio, Lucky, Beau, Cheri. (So like everyone.)

Is, as his name would suggest, A kid.

Absolute trash heap of a house. Like He actually lives like this?

The island rep felt bad for him and built him a nice bed. He’s very attached to it.

Best friend’s are Bam, Kody and Weasel.

Sees Bam as a big brother.

Wants everyone on the island to be friends.

Considers himself a super hero, always wants to be the one to save the day and help people with their problems.

Hangs out on the playground, claims the jungle gym as his ‘base’.

If he isn’t there he hangs out in the square trying to spread his ‘heroisms’

Wide eyed optimist

NARUTO RUNNING AROUND YOU.

Is probably going to stay up past his bed time. Whos going to stop him

Claims the ninja turtles live under his house.

Misses Raymond. Says the island is ‘missing its dad’

Stitches

Age: Ageless, but comes off as a 6-10 year old

Island occupation: Doing whatever Emma tells him. 

Friends: Emma, Punchy, Topaz, Kid Cat, Weasel, Beau, Lucky, Bob

A mash up of many different bears and animals before him. All of whom met an untimely end by the hands of the creature.

Is not aware of how he came to be, and it is in Emma’s best interest to keep it that way. She will make sure you don’t tell him.

Can’t see very well, and can’t speak. Instead is telepathic, and can speak in sign language if need be. You will be able to hear his voice, but his mouth will never move.

Doesn’t come out of his house too terribly often, and is not allowed out after dark.

Favorite activity is playing pretend! He loves his toys and his blocks, and sometimes will go over to kid cats or weasels to play pretend with them.

Refers to the island representative as a mother, which .....disturbs and disconcerns most.

really close with lucky. They relate on a lot of....similar misfortunes. They can also speak to each other privately through mystical means without interruption or eavesdropping from others.

Is as name would suggest, stitched up. Sometimes the seams come undone and his stuffing comes out. (Yes hes actually full of ...just stuffing.) stuffin’!

Seems to be alive by sheer paranormal means. There is nothing in him keeping him ticking biologically.

Wants to be friends with isabelle, but notices he frightens her, so he avoids town hall.

Favorite spots are his room, the picnic by kys house, and the playground. (He wants to learn the monkeybars!)

Really looks up to Punchy, and wants him to help teach him the ways of the world....though punchy may NOT be the best rolemodel.

Afraid of Bam and Antonio, but is put under their care often.

Lucky

Age: ......we aren’t sure. Shes been dead a while. The only one who might know is emma.

Island occupation: Haunting the island after dark. (She’d help out if anyone would hire her.)

Friends: Stitches, Emma, Bob, Beau, Swiss

Is as ‘luck’ would have it, dead. She’s a spirit.

Rumored first victim of the typhoon island serial killer. She’s been dead a while, as her house would show, she’s not had the privilege of living for quite some time now.

Her bandages are a permanent feature, and theres a rumor floating around that without it, there wouldn’t be much left to her---besides those piercing haunting eyes of course.

Has a very sweet, soft spoken voice. Almost as quiet as a distant whisper. 

Very good friends with Emma. Follows her around almost....an unnatural amount. Almost as if...she’s got some sort of attachment to her.

Has a grave in her back yard, which was not naturally there prior. Seems to have dug it herself. A comfort thing perhaps since to present knowledge she was never given proper burial.

A very kind dog, and very helpful if you give her the chance and look past her....otherworldly appearance.

Loves stitches like a baby brother, almost always hanging out with him more than anyone else, will protect him feircly.

Self conscious about her state of being dead, just wants to make friends and live a happy afterlife since hers was taken from her.

Loves gardening, though all her flowers turn into black roses....or die.

Favorite spot is the graveyard, the forest, and Emma’s orchards.

Thinks her and Isabelle would get along good! If....Isabelle didn’t run away from her.

Really loves K.K. Slider concerts. Always wants to be the first to attend them. Can he see her though? She’s not sure sometimes.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Something to Remember

Took a few days to write this, it’s long cause I’m a sucker for detail!

Summary: Arthur Morgan was a video game character who you enjoyed playing, up until that same character appeared in your house one day without any explanation. Two weeks later, he’s still learning things about the modern world.

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Very light angst, unrealistic expectations of the male refractory period

A soft whisper of your name rouses you from your comfortable sleep. You groan and open your eyes, first glancing at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was 6:30 am.

Annoyance washed over you. You hated being woken up early, especially on your day off.

Your room was washed in the faint glow of the morning light as it was just starting to peek over the horizon.

You hear your name again, this time a little louder. You glance toward the source of the noise, noticing your door stood ajar with a face peeking out at you.

Arthur Morgan.

“Arthur?” You sat up, your voice plagued with a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

He opened the door more, hovering within the doorway. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to disturb ya.”

You observed him silently. It’d been two weeks since this man had somehow appeared into your life, and you mean that in a literal sense. One night you were sitting at your TV, running a mission on your game, and somehow something had changed. You remember waking up to an odd sound elsewhere in your small house, and you hurriedly ran out of your bedroom thinking your cat had gotten into something. Nope. Instead you saw the cowboy, dressed as how he appeared in your game, complete with the custom-made weapons that adorned his hips and back. He was just as wide-eyed and confused as you were.

So far, the last two weeks had been interesting. You weren’t sure as to how a character from one of your PlayStation games had come to life, although there had been no indication or intention of him being returned to said game. Trying to calm the riled up outlaw was one thing, when jumping a hundred and twenty years into the future and being surrounded by unfamiliar technology wasn’t something that was covered in any class you took at school. You couldn’t explain to him that he was a character from a video game. You couldn’t even explain whatever strange force brought him to life, to your house out of all places.

He was still adjusting, that’s for sure. You remember how he reacted to your phone ringing, nearly jumping out of his own skin like a damn cat. He was already on edge, and you had to calm him down before anything else would further set him off. Somehow you’d managed to do so, although keeping a wary eye on the pistols that sat in their holsters.

You’d somehow convinced him to stay here at your house, knowing that he’d more than likely run into trouble or BECOME the trouble had he ventured out into town. Despite this he couldn’t help but to touch literally everything in your possession. It was like watching a toddler, and it felt like it too. Intrigued by the TV, your Bluetooth stereo, and even your stove – electric – his blue eyes widened in awe as the surface lit up before him and instantly getting off heat. The microwave fascinated him too, same with the fridge- he could not keep his hands to himself the first day.

At some point you had to run out and buy him some actual modern clothing, although sticking close to his style just to keep him comfortable, you can thank the local Tractor Supply for the abundance of flannels and worker jeans. He watched in absolute fascination when you placed his original clothing into the wash, mumbling about how much better it was than river water.

Things started to ease after that day. You decided to take him out to town after a long conversation as to why it would be a bad idea to walk around in public with his multiple firearms. He didn’t like it but heeded your wishes regardless.

During the car ride, he was surprisingly quiet. He mentioned it was no different than taking a carriage somewhere, aside from the very obvious modern technology and the lack of horses. He loved the stereo, although confused by your choice of music. Fast paced and loud, it took him a while to understand the lyrics.

The first bite of a fast food burger blew his mind, and he promptly wolfed the rest of it down, along with the fries, exclaiming that was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

The local bar caught his sights and he immediately made a beeline toward it, and you hadn’t noticed for a moment. You finally realized he was not trailing behind and you see him disappear behind the door. You quickly find him gawking at the bartender, completely baffled by the fact that a shot of whiskey cost four dollars.

Despite everything else, it began to feel normal coming home to him. After painstakingly making sure he wouldn’t accidentally blow your house off the face of the earth somehow, you would leave for work. The worry that plagued your mind would ease as you walked in the door to find him on the couch, drawing contently in his journal while your kitten napped next to him. It was definitely a sight to see.

Somehow he’d learned how to use your kitchen, and the past week the smell of delicious food would grace your nose as you walked across the threshold. You knew he could cook; how many times have you had him roast oregano or thyme spiced venison in the game? But man, you didn’t know he could cook. He’d lay a plate in front of you, even though you mention that it wasn’t necessary. He only shook his head and said it was the least he could do for giving him a place to stay.

Every night it felt as if you were dreaming, and that you’d wake up the next morning without a trace of him. Every morning you’d feel happier when you saw him already up, bustling about and wondering what to do that day in particular.

“Mind if I come in?” He asked, noting your silence.

Snapping out of your trance, you nodded. He smiled and stepped in completely. He stood there silently, almost awkwardly, his broad frame only just visible in the dim dawn light. “Need something?” You asked, your curiosity beginning to pique.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away for a moment. “I, uh, just wanted to say thank you for everything. Can’t be easy puttin’ up with my dumb ass.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “You’re anything but dumb, Arthur,” you responded. “Besides, I would be in the same way had I been sent over a century in the future.”

He made a small noise between a chuckle and a sigh. It’d fallen silent again, and you observed his stance. Something seemed off.

“Are you okay?” You asked. He didn’t answer, and you scooted from underneath your blanket toward the edge of your bed. Patting the space next to you, you added, “Come tell me.”

Arthur let out another sigh and took your offer, albeit hesitantly, taking the spot next to you. He was wearing one of the outfits you bought for him, a dark blue flannel and lighter blue jeans. His hands were adorned with the fingerless rifleman gloves. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned, allowing a little bit of chest hair to poke out. His hair, cut into the fade style that you loved, shone a dull gold within the growing sunlight behind you.

You were too busy caught in his appearance that you almost didn’t realize he began speaking again.

“I miss my family,” he murmured, his gaze fallen to his hands. “I reckon they’re all dead now. Hell, they definitely are,” he glanced up at you. “Dutch, Hosea, Charles, Lenny… I even miss Uncle complaining about his Lumbago.”

You frowned as your heart sank. You knew this simply wasn’t true; they never existed in the real world. Technically they were alive, if you were to boot up your console and show him yourself. However your PlayStation currently sat in your closet, determined for him not to accidentally discover the video game, if it even worked without its main protagonist.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m sure they were great.”

“I grew up with them, ya know,” Arthur continued. “Dutch n’ Hosea took me in when I was still a kid. Taught me everything I know.” A small, sad smile played at the edge of his lips.

Your heart sank further into your stomach. Whatever force brought Arthur to you, you briefly wished there was a way for him to see the Van der Linde gang once again. You then banished the thought, contemplating on how difficult it would be if you could fit another twenty-odd people in your living room.

“Well, if you can’t get back to your time, then you have all the time to make new friends.” Your feeble attempt to cheer him up didn’t seem to work as he let out a huff of disbelief.

“I ain’t a good man, Y/N. Don’t think nobody wants to be friends with someone like me.” There was a dark tone to his voice. Self pity.

The poor man had no self esteem. You knew this from how many times you’ve heard him disregard any kind comments towards him. He was always surrounded by the gang. You remember the distinct few times where a woman would hail him down in camp and have a personal discussion on what plagued his mind. He was such a complex, well-written character that despite his demons, he was surrounded by people that cared about him. Now, he was alone. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his torso for a brief hug. It was the first time you were this close to him, and he tensed from your touch. As you drew back, he looked at you with slight confusion.

“The hell was that for?” He asked, his voice shook with a humorless chuckle.

“You sounded like you needed a hug.” You simply said. “Sorry, did it bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, just…surprised you’d do that. I ain’t worth it.”

More of the self-pity. You groaned at that. “Mr. Morgan,” you started, shoving your hands to your hips. “I don’t want to hear none of that now! You’re the coolest man I’ve ever come across. So stop this self-hating bullshit, its unhealthy!”

He blinked, surprised by your sudden outburst. It seemed like it took him a moment to understand what you were saying. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze shifted downward once again. “You care that much, huh?”

“Course I do,” you responded proudly. “You show up in my living room from some sort of time warp and have been camping out on my couch for the past two weeks. How else am I gonna make sure you’re living and breathing?”

He let out another laugh, a lighter tone that made you smile. “I ‘spose that’s fair. Don’t find much hospitality back where I’m from unless ya pay for it. Can’t really imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t ended up here. You’ve helped me a lot.”

Your heart fluttered slightly against your rib cage as your face flushed from the compliment. Your smile grew as you placed your hand on his shoulder. “I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. You definitely have made my life more exciting since you’ve arrived.”

“Excitin’?” He repeated.

You nodded. “Who else can say they have a 19th century outlaw chilling at your house?”

“Chillin’,” he snorted. “I still ain’t used to the way you speak sometimes.”

Now you had to laugh. “You’ll get used to it, cowboy. Besides, you’ll have a place to stay until the day you get back to your time. You can count on that.”

He smiled now. A small, warm smile on his full lips. “Thanks Y/N. You know, even though I miss the gang, you make this place feel…like home.”

Oh, darn that Arthur. You felt the heat surge to your cheeks again. “Well, Mr. Morgan. I’m glad I can do so.” You said softly, your eyes never leaving him. His pretty blue eyes were bright as they met your gaze. His smile never left his face. You observed every feature, from his hard jawline to the stubble that graced it. The weathered look to his cheeks highlighted the hard years of his past.

Good lord, why were you falling for a video game character?

Truth be told, you thought Arthur was good looking before, the graphics did wonders on his character model. But now he sat before you, as real as day. He was even more gorgeous now. It was silly to think about, but damn if the Universe didn’t give you an opportunity.

It’d been a while since you’ve been with someone, anyone, in the romantic sense. You’d broken up with your last significant other almost a year ago. You were too busy to consider entering another relationship, yet your mind began to wonder…

You leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. It was quick, and you pulled away before he could react. Your heart hammered as you looked for his response, his eyes wide and the shock plain on his face.

“Uh…”

Shit, maybe that wasn’t the right move.

“Y/N…”

“Sorry!” You spluttered. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking,” you placed your face in the palm of your hand, the embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall. “Please forget that happened…”

You waited for him to say something, to tell you off for the attempt, or even just getting up and leaving. The silence ticked on, blood rushing through your veins as your heart hammered wildly in your chest. You wondered what was taking him so long, when you felt the brush of fingers on your cheek.

Surprised, you looked up at him. His face was soft, not angry in any way. You blinked in surprise, and his hand moved from your cheek to your chin. He guided you closer until his lips met yours. The relief that washed over you was quickly replaced as you kissed him back. His lips were soft against yours, his hand still held you there as his other moved to rest gingerly on the small of your back.

You leaned closer, feeling the heat radiate from his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, resting against his broad shoulders. It’d been so long since you felt the affection of another, so much that your craving overtook all other thought. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a little voice screamed at you for even thinking of such a thing. Yet the rest of you did not care. Carefully, you shifted your position to climb into his lap, straddling him between your thighs.

He stiffened again, and you parted the kiss to look at him. “Is this okay?” You asked quietly.

He stared back at you, his eyes dark. It seemed as if it took him a moment to consider, and then he nodded. His hands took their place on your hips.

Smiling, you kissed him again, pressing yourself harder against his mouth. He complied and kissed you back with equal force. Your lips parted as his hot breath mixed with yours. One hand left your hip and made its way to your hair, tangling his fingers within it. The gentle tug sent your thoughts into a spiral of madness, the carnal urge beginning to rise within you.

Do you dare?

Your own hand slid down his body, slowly, marveling the planes and peaks of his muscles. He didn’t seem to mind as he gave a soft groan from your touch. Your fingers hovered over a button, and you slowly undid it, testing the waters. With no negative reaction you worked down his shirt, one by one, until the fabric fell completely open as he shrugged it off the rest of the way. Although you couldn’t see it, you remembered how he looked. You ran your palms along his chest and abdomen, allowing your nails to lightly scratch his skin. He twitched from the sensation, and you could feel his breathing slightly quicken.

A hardness made itself known against your inner thigh. You knew what it meant, and wasted no time in beginning the exploration below his belt. As you started to undo his jeans, only then did he pull back from you.

Your eyes bore into his. Your face was burning from the intensity, your own breathing was erratic as your heart hammered. Did you go too fast?

“Darlin’…” he began, a sadness reflecting on his face. “Are you sure? I don’t think you want to be with someone as ugly as me.”

You bit back a sigh as that self hatred reared its ugly head again. You inwardly cursed whoever kicked his self-esteem in the balls so you could return the favor. Instead, you placed your hand tenderly on his cheek. “I’m sure, Arthur. Plus, you’re the opposite of ugly.”

The look on his face told you that he didn’t exactly believe you, yet he didn’t argue. Without an indication of wanting to stop, you decided to go further. Your other hand pressed against the warm hard line in his jeans briefly, eliciting a groan from him. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, allowing what his underneath to be partially freed. It stood stark beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. Working around the fabric, you were able to free it completely from its confinement.

His size was impressive, you had to admit that. Bigger than average yet not frighteningly long, with quite the girth on him. He was uncut as well, remembering that circumcision was uncommon during that time period. The veins that spidered along his length stood prominent through his skin. Wrapping your fingers lightly at the base, you pumped your hand slowly.

A moan escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. As you worked your touch along his length, you could feel your own heat making its presence. As much as you wanted to pin him down and ride him, you staunched your desire for now. Placing pressure on his chest, he fell back onto the bed as he gave you a curious look. Scooting up to be eye level with him, you gave him a sultry smile and slowly inched down. Your eyes scoured his body as you leaned down to place kisses along his torso. Every blemish and scar was brushed by your lips. You took your time, listening to his shallow breathing. You wanted to make sure he knew you loved his body.

Placing one last kiss below his navel, you shifted to kneel in between his legs.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, the bewilderment strong in his voice as you leaned toward his manhood.

Of course, the poor man probably never had a blowjob in his life. You wondered if he was even familiar with the act. Either way, it was time to change that. “Making you feel good.” You whisper, leaning forward to place a kiss on the head before taking it within your mouth, languidly working your tongue. Keeping eye contact, watching his face flush as you earned another moan. You took your time, working further and further down his length, swirling your tongue against his hot skin. He melted from underneath you, his murmurs of pleasure was like a sweet melody in your ears. It’d only gotten better when you began to bob your head.

Immediately, his hand found the back of your head. The slight pressure prompted you to go faster, allowing him to reach to the back of your throat. His hips quivered as if fighting the urge to buck further into your mouth. He groaned your name along with explicit sinful utterances, all which could drive you wild.

You continued, keeping a steady pace. A moment or two passed when he made a small noise when his hand suddenly moved. You glanced up at him again when he exclaimed your name. “I’m about to-!”

You deep throated him once more, which seemed to do the trick as he was cut off mid-sentence with a guttural groan. He bucked up once as you felt the heat spill into your mouth. You held yourself still as he emptied himself completely. As his muscles relaxed from underneath you, you slid yourself up and off, popping your lips as you swallowed his load. You didn’t mind that he was quick to finish, but you felt proud for your ability to pleasure him in such a way.

Catching his breath did not stop him from gawking at you, completely dumbfounded. You smiled at him, unable to help the giggle that escapes just by seeing his reaction alone.

“Christ, woman,” he breathlessly grunted. “You’re definitely somethin’.”

“I take pride in my work.” You laughed.

He rubbed his face and sat up, a smile stretching on his lips. “Mind if I, uh, return the favor then?”

Now it was your turn to blush, yet the pulsation that originated from your core eagerly awaiting allowed you to nod. “Have you done that before?” You asked.

Shaking his head, he responded, “Never in my lifetime. So…I’ll probably need a little guidance.”

How cute was he? Before you could reply, he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you toward him. The action made you fall back on the bed, letting out a short laugh as you did so. He took the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties, exposing your hairless mound to him. You watched as he lowered his mouth to you, his eyes never leaving yours. His tongue slid down your slit, you welcomed the hot wetness with a shudder.

His mouth was fully against you, his scruff tickling you in a pleasant way, and he took no time in finding your bud. The movement was slow at first, careful strokes from him as he learned your body. You murmured to him, guiding as he followed effortlessly. He triggered a certain spot that released a loud moan from you. And this man has never eaten a pussy before? Upon your reaction, he repeated it, expertly using the tip of his tongue to make you squirm. He certainly was a quick learner.

He continued to please you, still with some breathless guidance from you. It felt like a dream, floating in your own bliss. He was slow and steady for you, knowingly observing how your body reacted. You moaned his name quietly, your hand finding its way to his head, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His hands roved your sides, pushing up your tank top and admiring your curves and smooth skin. His calloused fingers, as rough as they were, felt good against you. “Finger me.” You moaned.

He did so, without a pause in his current action he slowly inserted one in, exploring your inner walls. The sensation felt even greater, fighting hard to keep yourself from grinding into his face. He inserted another, soon finding that special spot that nearly sent you over the edge. You couldn’t help but to buck your hips up, feeling him startle from your movement. He soon realized what it meant and fervently brushed his fingers against the spot again.

You uttered his name again, louder this time, feeling your peak coming quick. Keeping yourself still to prevent from bucking again, you gripped onto Arthur’s hair. “Fuck…” you gasped, just seconds from the edge now. One last combination of his tongue and fingers and you lost yourself immediately, coming undone in his grip and leaving you in such ecstasy. Panting slightly, you let go of his hair and peered down at him.

His eyes met yours, and even you could see the pride within him. Prideful that he just did that to you.

“You can eat some pussy, ya know that Arthur?” You murmured, your breathing still shallow.

He chuckled at that. “Is that what you call it? Either way, I’m glad I am.”

You giggled and sat up, grabbing his hands to pull him closer to you. “You’re a fast learner, Mr. Morgan. I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

His face reddened slightly, casting his eyes downward in slight embarrassment although the smile never left his face. “It’s been a while, Y/N. Hope I don’t disappoint ya.”

“Then let me take over.” You purred, kissing him again. You could taste yourself on his lips as you overtook him again, allowing him to lay back on the bed. Pulling down his jeans and boxers completely, you straddled him once more. He was hard once again, and you briefly wondered how long he’d last now. You hovered yourself over him, just barely letting your folds slide across the head of his dick. You teased him and he shuddered between your legs, his fingers trailing up and down your thighs. The look in his eyes pleaded and told you the patience he had was beginning to wear thin.

You lowered yourself onto him. Almost painstakingly slow, you held the urge to thrust down and start riding him wild. His hands took their place once again on your hips as he stretched your inner walls in the most pleasant way. You buried him completely within you, watching his face contort in bliss as he let out a low groan.

You made the first move, rolling your hips carefully against his. The movement was slow and steady, the feeling absolutely amazing. He squeezed your flesh, his nails slightly spurring you. Your moans were continuous, tilting your head back as you continued to ride him. He groaned your name in between sinful whispers, his grip on you tightening. You felt his torso quiver below you before he thrust upward, earning a loud gasp.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel amazing.” He rasped, bucking up into you again.

You didn’t respond, too caught up in your own ecstasy. You began to ride him a little harder, letting him deeper within you. His hands moved from your hips, trailing underneath your tank top, pushing the fabric up completely to expose yourself to him. He took a hold of your breasts. You shuddered as he massaged them slowly, soon beginning to tweak your nipples between his fingers.

“A-Arthur…” You whined, the stimulation almost too much for you. You kept your rhythm, even when he occasionally thrusted into you-letting out a gratuitous moan from you-lost in the complete pleasure that radiated from your core.

He continued to murmur, uttering your name every once in a while. His calloused hands explored every part of your body, moving from your breasts to your sides and to your midline. His slid his hand down to your bud, his thumb beginning to massage it. You shuddered at his touch, biting your lip as it only added to the amazing sensation. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, and he peered up at you with confusion.

“I don’t want to, not yet.” You sighed to him. He nodded once, placing his hand back on your waist. You wanted to prolong this, make it sweet for the both of you.

His hands moved to the small of your back, and before you could react, he pulled you down into a sweet kiss. You responded immediately, moaning into his mouth as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and took control, thrusting easy and deep within you. It wasn’t long until he rolled you over into your back, taking place on top. He parted the kiss to place his hands on either side of you. You gazed into his baby blue eyes as he smiled. He whispered into your ear, asking if that was okay. You nodded silently, and elicited a whimper as he drove deep within you. He was getting more confident with himself.

He continued to thrust deep, keeping it slow and steady like you were. He wanted to prolong it as well. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails scratching his strong back. He winced slightly and threw himself forward even rougher than before. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips flush with yours, burying him to his root.

He groaned out, cursing in your ear before nipping it slightly. He buried his lips to your neck next, kissing and nibbling along the front and collarbone. Your skin erupted into goosebumps wherever he trailed his mouth, and you knew you were going to have marks later, not that you minded. You were leaving marks of your own as your nails endlessly scoured his back, your whines none too quiet.

He had his face buried in the crook of your neck when he uttered, “I ain’t gonna last much longer, Y/N.” his breath hitched as he spoke into your skin. He reached in between you two to play with your nub again, this time you welcomed it, wanting nothing more than the sweet release yourself. His breathing became shallower as his thrusts quickened, although still reaching far within you. His fingers danced little circles on your clit.

Digging your nails hard into his muscles, it didn’t take too long for you to hit the height of your peak, calling out his name was you came undone underneath him. He didn’t cease his thrusting although removing his hand to wrap his arms tightly around you-using the leverage to quicken his pace. You had to refrain from yelping out loud, biting onto your lip as he relentlessly pounded into you. He grunted utterly filthy words to you, causing you to blush immensely. You couldn’t respond, out of breath yourself with no chance to recover from your own orgasm.

It wasn’t much too longer when he thrust into you one last time, holding you tight against his body, releasing a long groan as he finally emptied himself into you. It was quiet for a moment, nothing but the sounds of your combined breathing filled the air. His tense muscles relaxed as he gently released his hold on you. Your gazes met, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over. His lips parted as he took short breaths, yet it didn’t stop him from closing the space between you to give you a loving kiss. You held him to you, your arms still around his neck. It was only a short moment before he pulled back slowly.

As he pulled out of you, a slight shudder took your body as his cum dripped from you. He blinked in realization, and a look of guilt shot across his face.

“Oh, Jesus- I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have pulled out.” He sighed, sitting up straight and ducking his head low in shame.

Oh, what a sweet, sad man. Of course he wouldn’t know the miracles of modern world contraceptives yet. “Arthur,” you started. “It’s okay, I’m protected.”

He gave you a look of confusion.

“A lot of things have changed in the sexual world,” you explained. “And I’ll explain better when I’m not tired.” You emphasized your latter statement with a yawn. The sun was higher in the sky now, illuminating your room in the bright morning glow. Yet you definitely could use a nap, and patted the bed space next to you.

The confusion was replaced by curiosity, although he didn’t ask any further questions. A smile slowly appeared on his face as he took the spot next to you. At first he didn’t do anything, until his arms slowly slinked around you.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked quietly.

“Arthur, we just fucked,” you reminded him as you giggled softly. “I think you don’t have to ask to cuddle me.”

He chuckled, not hesitating to pull you closer, feeling his solid chest against your back. He felt comfortable and warm, and the fatigue washing over you. “Guess there’s much more I gotta get used to.” He drawled, his own voice heavy. He placed a small kiss on the back of your neck, and his touch was the last thing you felt as you drifted off to sleep.