#the only reason the last two are splash pages is i. cough. wanted to go to sleep before 3 am tonight

[hexxingcode]

i call this one "god damn it jesus christ i was just doing this to wind down from my other comic why did it take like 2 days to finish" and also "therapists don't take style points so i guess this'll do" and also "i cant fucking use the knuckleblaster it makes me mad" and finally: "bowing back to v2 in the first fight is funny so i illustrated it. theres some other stuff in there too i guess."

[childrenofthenightt]

only the black rose (chapter 8)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: big nsfw warning, drinking, jimmy being himself, fluff

words: 3.6k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: so. layla’s a freak in the... well... not necessarily the sheets, i guess? more stressy hands because they're my weakness, and just... please savour the last bit of happiness you get here. that is all. (two more chappies to go!!!) hope you enjoy :) feedback as always is so very welcome!

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

———

As she’s checking over the stage, ensuring the lights and speakers are set to do their job, Layla’s thoughts roam. After the chaos at the hotel pool, while everyone was asleep, Layla had been anything but. Her tossing and turning had disturbed Jimmy, who had pulled her further into his arms with a tired grunt. She lay there for another hour, her conversation with Jonesy running through her mind over and over. It was obvious she’d have to go back to her own time, and she missed her friends. She missed her mom. She missed everything.

Layla couldn't help, though, but think that maybe she didn’t want to leave.

 She had made friends that meant the world to her, and… she’d found Jimmy. The guitarist had changed her life, and had shown her what it meant to love. She’s falling for him, and it’s not long before she hits the ground. It’ll be worth it, she thinks, for someone like him. Jimmy Page is a rare gem, precious, and she knows that she would spend her life trying to find her way back to him.

A throat clears from behind her, and, looking over her shoulder, Layla spots Peter Grant standing a few feet away. Soft smile resting upon his lips, he steps closer, placing a large hand on Layla’s shoulder.

“Layla, I trust everything’s going well?”

“Yep! Lights and sound are looking good, and the stage is set up. Anything else you need me to do?”

“No, this is perfect, dear,” Peter shakes his head, smile morphing into a smirk as he continues. “Though, you’ve been requested elsewhere. Follow me, Layla.” Leading her through the venue, Peter stops in front of a closed door, a laminated sign next to it reading, “Dressing Room: Led Zeppelin”. Turning to Layla, he holds out an arm, beckoning her to take it.

“Shall we?”

“We shall, Peter.”

Arm in arm, they walk into the room. Robert, lying elegantly across the comfortable couch pressed against the wall, has his eyes closed. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but his voice is hoarse, and he has a terrible cough. Knowing these boys as well as she does, Layla suspects that nothing will bring them down. The show must go on, after all. Bonzo is next to him, Robert’s feet in his lap. The drummer speaks quietly to the sick man, who answers in the voice of a 20-year smoker. Jonesy speaks in hushed tones to Jimmy, eyebrows pinched in worry. Jimmy, Layla realizes, has his finger in a bowl of what looks to be ice water, if the cubes of ice scattered across the table are anything to go by. From the doorway, Layla can’t hear what’s being said, but by the downwards tilt of Jonesy’s lips, she can assume Jimmy’s stubbornness is on full display again. Her entrance with Peter hadn’t been noticed, until Robert’s eyes open to slits and he sits up, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Peter! Ah, look, if it isn’t my favourite little dove…”

“Hey, Robert. How are you feeling?”

“Better, better,” Robert smiles, and stands up to pull Layla into a hug, hands splayed across her back. “All thanks to you, Layla. Seriously, thank you for taking care of me.”

Layla grins in response, waving at Bonzo as she passes. He lifts up a hand, as if to splash the woman, and her face lights up, a giggle flying out past her lips. Layla walks over to Jonesy, and he gives her an uncertain look, beckoning her closer. Leaning close, he whispers into the woman’s ear, a worried glance at the guitarist beside him following.

“He was in a lot of pain, even with the meds, so he, uh… found a bottle of Jack’s and… Layla, he won’t listen.”

As if on cue, Jimmy takes a pull from the large bottle of whiskey that rested next to him on the table. Layla hadn’t noticed it, walking in, but it stuck out like a sore thumb now.

“Hey, petal,” Jimmy slurs slightly, bottle in hand as he sends the woman a lazy smile. Injured finger in plain view now, Layla can see how the nail is completely black, the skin around it still dyed purple from the force applied to it. Layla shakes her head, eyes downcast, as she walks closer to Jimmy. She grasps the bottle of alcohol in his hand, replacing it with her own, a warm palm meeting his.

“Jimmy… you can’t just…” Layla drifts off, not wanting to argue with him this close to showtime. They can always talk about this later, after all. Jimmy, noticing her internal battle even through his alcohol-fueled haze, pulls her into his lap. Jonesy, confident that Jimmy is in good hands, nods at Layla before giving the couple a moment to themselves. Jimmy brings a finger to the apple of Layla’s cheek, stroking it almost hesitantly, as though she would break under a stronger touch. Layla’s eyes, once meeting his, drift to his plump, pink lips. They shine in the artificial light, as he swipes his tongue across to wet them.

“Layla,” Jimmy starts, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks at her dilated pupils. She knew he had caught her staring, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What is the meaning of life? Please, answer seriously. This is important.”

“Jimmy, I didn’t peg you as someone who indulges in drunk philosophical discussions.”

Jimmy huffs a sigh, and leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. Pulling back, he looks at their joined hands, before meeting her eye once more.

“Humour me.”

“Well—”

Before she could answer, Peter floats back into the room, telling the boys to follow him backstage. It’s showtime, and Layla doesn’t want her guitarist to leave yet. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, green eyes searching her face as though the answer to his question was written in the curve of her lips.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” she says, squeezing the hand in hers, passing courage from one to the other. “We can continue this after the show.”

Jimmy nods, and releases her hand slowly, not wanting to break the contact. Layla hops out of his lap, and helps him stand. Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, as she presses their foreheads together. Their eyelashes flutter against each other, and the scent of citrus, tobacco and pine was ever-present, invading all of Layla’s senses. Jimmy pulls away first, and walks to the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She smiles at him, adrift in the empty dressing room, and he smiles back, walking out the door.

“Good luck, angel.” Layla whispers, voice swallowed up by the silence of the deserted dressing room.

Making her way to the familiar lip of the backstage area, Layla’s hands wring together, her lips bitten red. Robert hadn’t sounded well at all earlier, and Jimmy… It seemed like he was deteriorating right before her eyes. The mixture of codeine and Jack Daniels killed the pain, sure, but he was no longer the sharp, pragmatic man she was falling for. He was too caught up in the burn of the drink down his throat, a way to forget the agony rushing through his hand like a current. Bringing her attention back to the stage, she spots the boys, who share a loaded glance. Robert takes a deep breath, and launches right in. ‘Rock and Roll’ passes without a hitch, save for some voice cracks. If anything though, they add to the authentic performance, the crowd electric as usual. ‘Sick Again’ stuns, followed by ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, and all is well, until ‘How Many More Times’ rolls around.

It was small. Insignificant, really. If Layla hadn’t been searching Jimmy’s face, entranced by the way his brow furrowed as he got lost in the music, she wouldn't have noticed. Breaking apart from the rest of the band to complete a complicated lick, Jimmy’s fingers trip up on the fretboard. To the audience, the only consequence is a slight dead note in the midst of heavenly riffs. Gazing over at Jimmy, however, Layla could see the discomfort in the downwards tilt of his lips, and the pain stiffening his shoulders. She could see the anger flaming in his dark eyes. Jimmy recovers well, delivering attack after attack, though his solos, from that point on, tended to go a little off-track. Whether from nerves or self-doubt, Layla didn't know. But she knows him. She knows the guitarist will let it cloud the entire night. She knows he’s gonna pick the show apart, minute after exhilarating minute, looking for the smallest flaw. Layla knows that she’ll be there for him through it all.

No matter what.

----------

With a hoarse thank you and a flourish directed at the audience, Robert finally leads the band off-stage to voltaic cheers. Robert, ecstatic as ever during the concert, seems to deflate the second he gets off. With a nod and a soft smile at Layla, he disappears into the depths of the backstage area. Jonesy and Bonzo pass by with tight-lipped smiles, clapping her on the shoulder as they follow Robert. Jimmy is the last to appear, and the reason for the rhythm section’s warning glances becomes apparent immediately.

Jimmy scowls as he approaches, eyes glassy, as though she were looking into a clear stream. Layla can see herself reflected in them; can see the worry reflected in her own gaze. Slipping a hand around his bicep, she steers Jimmy into a corner. He refuses to look at her, even as her hand tilts his face upwards softly.

“Jimmy, love, that was—”

“Shit.”

“No, not at all,” Layla steps closer, a hand finding the familiar spot on his cheek. “It was a great show. You saw the audience, Jim. They loved you guys!”

“It was shit, and everyone knows it. If I could just—”

“Jimmy, come on…”

“—be good enough, this would have gone differently.”

Layla’s breath catches, eyes as wide as saucers as she steps closer to the guitarist, who turns away. His gaze at the floor never wavers as he paces, muttering to himself.

“Jimmy, look at me,” Layla stops him in his tracks with a hand at his back. His shoulders heave with deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “You played a good gig. It doesn’t matter if you missed a note or two. You came to play a great show, and you did.”

“But it isn't enough. These people came here for an extraordinary show and we couldn't deliver. I couldn't deliver, and—”

“Hey—”

“—if my finger wasn’t broken, we would have been as good as we’ve always been. This is my fault.”

“Jimmy, this isn’t on you. You did nothing wrong.”

Jimmy’s hands fly up to land in his hair, as he pulls at it almost unconsciously. Layla grips his cheek lightly, as the other hand comes to rest at a thin wrist, pulling it away from the dark locks it had latched onto. Jimmy averts his eyes from the woman’s earnest gaze and turns his back once more, treading a hole in the wooden floor of the backstage area. Layla’s palm rubs soft circles into the fabric of his cardigan, patches of whispering dandelions catching on her fingers. From her place behind him, she can see the way he’s beating a fist into the palm of his injured hand repeatedly, perhaps a way to atone for a mistake that hasn’t been committed.

“I fucked up this tour. It’s my fault. I can’t do everything I know I can do, and that’s on me. I just…”

“Jimmy…”

“I can’t do this anymore!”

Layla shrinks back slightly at the exclamation form the man, who is shaking like a leaf. His head drops, long hair hiding his face once again. Recovering quickly, she spins him around carefully to face her. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her lips to his. His eyes flutter closed and he immediately reciprocates, a hand pressed to Layla's hips; his new favourite spot for them. Jimmy lets out a whine of pleasure, and Layla pulls away, looking into his tired eyes.

“Jimmy, listen to me. You did play well. I am so, so proud of you. Okay?”

“...Okay. I’ll… work on trying to believe you.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

If Layla sees the sparkle and shine of tears on the man’s cheeks, she doesn't mention it as she grabs his hand, leading him to an empty room, locking the door immediately.

Finally away from prying eyes, Layla unfurls the guitarist’s hands from their clenched position, bringing the injured one up near her mouth. Gazing up at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room, she presses a chaste kiss to each finger, slowing as she reaches the one painted shades of purple and black and blue. Jimmy nods, exhale shaky, and she presses the softest of kisses to the tip, hoping to cause pleasure rather than pain.

Jimmy’s hands slide lower from their place on her hips to cup her bum lightly, in case she was uncomfortable and wanted to slip out of his grasp. Her lips find his again as he pushes her against the large table in the middle of the room. Layla lets out a whimper, swallowed by the mouth against hers, as Jimmy’s tongue laps at her bottom lip, asking for entrance. He’s always been soft with her, but this new side of the dark-haired guitarist excited her. The kiss was over as soon as it began, Jimmy pulling away to stare at her, close enough still that their noses touched.

“Petal, I… We were gonna take it slow, and we will, but if you're ready…”

“I’m ready.”

Jimmy smiles, crashing his lips against her quickly, passionately. Pulling back once more, Jimmy smirks as Layla chases the high the feel of his lips gave her. Pressing into his space again, she frowns, which makes Jimmy chuckle. Layla’s hand reaches up, twisting in his hair.

“Angel,” Layla starts, a light tug on a mussed ebony ringlet following the nickname. His mossy eyes were dark with desire, and he placed his lips on her neck, kissing a trail down her jaw, stopping at her collarbone. Slipping the sweat-soaked cardigan off his shoulders, she traces a line down his cheek, eyes glued to his blush-red lips. “Can you lie down on the table for me? Please do try not to break any other body parts.”

“Haven’t I told you I’m afraid of heights?”  Jimmy laughs, and with a small smile thrown over his shoulder, he hops up onto the table.

“You overlooked that, love,” Layla says, unbuttoning her blouse ever-so-slowly, surely teasing the guitarist, who leans back on his elbows. His eyes follow her every move as she takes off the rest of her clothing. “Now, I feel like you might have too many clothes on, Jim. We need to be even, after all.”

Slipping his pants and underwear off in record time, he reclines back, already hard. Fully exposed now, Layla climbs up onto the table as well, straddling the man’s lap, before sinking herself onto him. A calloused hand lands on her hips, helping her find the perfect position, until a soft groan rang through the near-empty room. Jimmy’s hands move up to her breasts, toying with the woman’s nipples, much to her delight. Layla grabs onto his chest for support, craning her head back in pure euphoria at the sensation, the hollow of her neck exposed as Jimmy raises up to nip at it. Grinding her hips to the rhythm of the man’s soft groans, she trails hickies up his chest and neck.

“Something to remember me by.” she says, looking at him with dark eyes, a haze of lust filling them. Hand gripping Layla’s ass tightly, he brings her ever-closer, a mumbled “fuck” leaving the woman’s kiss-bitten lips. The guitarist’s face is creased with absolute exhilaration, as he rocks back and forth to the movement of Layla’s body on his. The couple didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Ecstasy fills the room, and whispers of praise flow like music from lips bruised and bitten.

“You did so well today, angel. You’re incredible.”

Jimmy raises up once more to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, a hand raking through the woman’s hair roughly, landing on her throat. Jimmy squeezes it lightly, warningly, and presses his lips to Layla’s once more, swallowing the shriek of pleasure she gasps out.

“You liked that, petal?” Jimmy’s hoarse voice reaches Layla’s ears almost belatedly, too caught up in the pleasure of his hands on her, though she nods as if her life depended on it. Panting hard now, Layla quickens her pace, noises of pleasure growing louder. With the friction of his hand on her, roaming everywhere it could reach, Layla felt divine; heavenly in this embrace. Leaning down for a heavy, passionate kiss, Jimmy’s hand finds her hair again, and he tugs on it hard. The pain elicits a moan from Layla, as she reaches her peak.

With a stuttered breath, Jimmy releases as well, gasps leaving his lips as he looks at Layla reverently. The wetness from her core rushes over him as she lays back down beside him, spent. Back arching as she pants, her head turns to face him, faces painted with bliss.

In a post-coitus haze, Jimmy has his arms wrapped securely around Layla’s shoulders, as her head rests on his chest. Layla giggles tiredly, as her breaths ruffle the dark hair on Jimmy’s chest. Looking up at him, she’s pleased to see him looking right back at her.

“That certainly cheered you up, didn’t it?”

“You’re the best at cheering me up after all. This, of course, was just a bonus.” Jimmy noses at her messy hair, smelling a combination of fresh linen, sweat and her shampoo; hints of strawberry and mango tickling his nose.

“We should get up, the boys are probably looking for us,” Layla says, dragging light fingers across his stomach, watching goosebumps appear on the pale skin. Whether it’s from the sensation or the chill of the table, Layla didn't know, but she’s comfortable in his embrace, in danger of drifting off.

“What if we just… stayed here forever. They can find another guitarist.”

“You’re pretty irreplaceable, Page,” Layla whispers, reaching up to press her lips to his jaw. “I mean, who would the boys chaperone if you were gone?”

“Chaperone? I’m not that bad. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Right, so Robert was lying about the time you refused to sleep for 5 days out of pure adrenaline? New York, 1973, I believe it was?”

“...”

“That’s what I thought. We need to have a serious talk about your habits, Jimmy.”

With a chuckle from the guitarist, the two lapse into a comfortable silence, as Jimmy presses a kiss to the top of Layla’s head, nuzzling it with his cheek.

“Hey,” Layla shifts to look up at him, eyes filled with adoration. She felt as though she were looking at a star. Beautiful and shining, but out of reach, as much as she wished for the opposite. She knew this couldn’t last, though she’d savour every last minute of it that she could. “I need to… tell you something.”

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. It’s… kind of the opposite, actually.”

Jimmy tilts his head in confusion, turning on his side to face her. He looked like a puppy, hair wild about his head, and Layla couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“S-So,” Layla shifts, nervous all of a sudden. Jimmy grips her hand in his, and nods when their eyes finally meet. “Do you remember what you asked me earlier? About the… meaning of life. You might not remember, you were a little out of it, and—”

“I remember. You’re rambling, petal. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s… it’s love. The meaning of life is… love. Jimmy, I…um…”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I’m… I guess... What I’m trying to say is,” Layla says, taking a deep breath as she looks into the eyes that captivate her, and make her smile, and set her on fire. “I’m falling in love with you, and I just… Yeah.”

Jimmy grins brightly, surging forward to capture her lips in a kiss bursting with joy. He laughs into it, as their noses brush together, his finger tracing nonsensical designs across her side.

“Very eloquently put, Porter.”

“Oh my God, I just confessed that I’m falling for you, and you focus on—”

“I’m falling in love with you too. I thought that may have been obvious, considering the state of this poor table.”

“W-Well,” Layla stutters, blushing crimson as Jimmy’s plush lips tilt up in a picture-perfect smirk. “Put your clothes on, Page. The boys are probably waiting for us.”

Jimmy laughs, but redresses in his stage clothes, turning to stare at Layla as she slips her jeans back on. Buttoning up her shirt and flattening her hair, which frizzed up like a halo around her flushed face, she gazes over at Jimmy. Crowding into his space, she put a hand to the back of his neck, up on her tiptoes to peck at his lips once more. He slips a hand to her cheek, and deepens the kiss. Pulling away to glimpse the golden smile that rests on Layla’s lips, he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Arm in arm, they walk out of the room, twin smiles nearly splitting their faces. Jimmy glances over at Layla, and can’t believe just how lucky he is.

Screw falling in love, he thinks.

This is love, and he knows it for sure, now.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso (let me know if you want to be added!)

[thewatermelloncat]

The Show Can’t Go On

Summary: With strict parents Rosé is subject to going to theatre rehearsal while sick. Denali thinks it’s a stupid idea and takes matters into her own hands.

Author’s Note: I originally didn’t plan on posting this because I sometimes feel like I write too many sickfics but some lovely people on AO3 encouraged me to write more.

Warnings: None

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

Being in the room feels uncomfortable. But Denali knows that no one there is as uncomfortable as Rosé. Which makes sense because it’s uncomfortable because of her.

Not that it’s her fault. The poor girl had taken the day off of school, struck down with a bad cold, only for her parents to bring her in after hours for theatre rehearsal.

There is no doubt that she should still be in bed, where she had texted Denali that she had wanted to stay as she was driven over. But her parents being very influential in the theatre community would have their daughter show up to every rehearsal, regardless of it only being a final read-through of the script – especially seeing that their daughter holds the lead role.

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

School rules state that any student on campus should wear their uniform but their teacher hadn’t disciplined her when she’d come in a little late bundled up in hoodie with a jacket thrown over.

Rosé had mumbled a hoarse apology as she made a beeline for a desk at the back of the room. Denali had been a little hurt by her not wanting to sit in the desk she’d saved next to her, but she understood why she’d want to sit alone.

“How are you feeling, Rosé?” Ms Visage had asked her. Rosé’s parents having called to let her know the situation.

“I’ll make it through” she had tried to smile convincingly but it hadn’t worked.

Ms Visage nodded but looked even less convinced than Rosé. Though she said no more on the subject. Rosé’s parents being promenient benefactors of the school’s theatre program, she didn’t find it in her best interest to speak out against their wishes.

From across the room Denali had flicked her what she had hoped to have been a welcoming smile since she hadn’t seen her all day, but it ended up being a tight-lipped smile of sympathy.

Rosé had tried to smile back at her as she pulled out a chair, it was no more convincing than her first. Her eyes sad and tired.

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

After Ms Visage had outlined the plan for the afternoon and answered questions, they got straight into it, flipping open the pages of their script.

The majority of the cast had memorised most of their script by now and just had them as a backstop in case they forgot. It was light hearted with people laughing when someone messed up their lines before they were encouraged to try again.

Though no one struggles as much with their lines as Rosé.

The girl who could recite a paragraph back to you after only reading it once wasn’t in the room that day. Denali could tell how out of sorts she was, reading most lines from the script despite having recited them to Denali flawlessly without prompt a couple of lunchtimes prior.

Her voice wasn’t so great either. Cracking and at times barely above a whisper before she cleared it behind a fist before continuing through her lines. Though the cast could understand her well enough if they read along the script as a guide while she said them.

“… that’s nothing to sneeze at” –

“Hmpt’chh!”

A cast member’s line is interrupted as Rosé stifles a sneeze between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’m so sorry” she smiles sheepishly as she sniffles against the back of her hand and the room laughs at the irony.

As the laughing continues, Rosé is passed a box of tissues handed over through the cast from Ms Visage’s desk. She nods appreciatively to the last person who handed them to her before taking a few and blowing her nose softly.

“We all right to continue?” Ms Visage calls out when the room is settled. Mostly directed at Rosé who nods.

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

Really, she wasn’t all right to continue.

From there it only got harder for her to deliver her lines effectively. Sneezing and congested breaths beginning to interrupt her almost constantly. Denali could tell she was getting frustrated as she was forced to stop her lines midsentence to regain her composure.

“Now that’s a deal that seems worth taking” – Rosé pauses to sniff into the back of her hand. “But I guess… but I guess” she repeats the line before her breath hitches and she turns into her elbow, “hih’chh!”

She sniffs as she turns back to the page, immediately starting to read again. “I’ll leave that up to you” she barely gets the line out before she turns away to sneeze again. “Heh’mph,…” she stays shielded behind an elbow, waiting, before she convulses forward again, “hih’tchh!”

“Do you need a minute, Rosé?” Ms Visage interrupts the read-through, concern in both voice and expression.

Rosé nods quickly before pushing herself out of her chair, muttering out a quiet “thank you” as she swiftly exits the room.

Denali’s stomach twists uncomfortably as the door closes behind her and it’s a few seconds before Ms Visage gets the cast back on track.

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

Three minutes and Denali’s final line for a while goes by and Rosé still hasn’t come back. Worry starts to sink deeper into Denali’s stomach as she fidgets her fingers while staring at the clock. After watching the second hand tick past another minute her eyes move over to meet Ms Visage’s and she is fixed with a particular look.

Denali nods as she knows it’s her go-ahead to follow after Rosé. Without a word she gets up from her desk and makes her way out the door to the bathroom down the hall where she knows Rosé will be.

“Rosé?” she calls out when she steps into the tiled room.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be out this long. I’ll be back in a minute” Rosé explains quickly, looking away from where she had been staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“Rosie” Denali’s sympathetic tone invalidates Rosé’s sentence as she shakes her head at her.

“Denali” Rosé reflects, turning toward her friend with a helpless expression.

“You’re so sick, Rosie” Denali points out although it’s obvious.

Part of Denali had expected Rosé to shake her head and deny it like her parents had taught her to do. So, it shocks her a little as Rosé shakes her head for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t want to do this” Rosé bites at her lip.

“You shouldn’t have to do this” Denali steps forward as tears well in Rosé’s eyes. She’d seldom seen her friend cry and knows that it’s the illness and exhaustion getting to her.

Rosé sniffles as she steps into Denali’s embrace. “I feel really horrible” she admits quietly next to Denali’s ear.

“I know” Denali runs a hand up and down her back to comfort her. “I know.”

Rosé sniffles again as a tear splashes onto Denali’s shoulder.

“Do you think your parents would pick you up if you called them?” Denali asks then pulls away when she feels Rosé shake her head.

“They have some networking thing over drinks that they’re going to” Rosé explains to Denali’s expression of confusion. “They’re going to pick me up on the way back.”

“Do you have a key?” Denali asks.

Rosé nods, brushing the remaining tears from her eyes.

“I’m going to take you home.”

“Denali, we need to stay and” – Rosé is quickly cut off.

“Rosé, you” Denali makes a point of announcing, “need to be in bed.”

Rosé opens her mouth to argue but instead of her introductory breath turning into words, she turns to sneeze heavily into an elbow. “Hih’ishchew!” it bends her double and sets her immediately coughing into her sleeve.

Denali fails to bite back a quiet moan of sympathy. “That just proves my point.”

Rosé says nothing but sniffles as she walks over to the paper towel dispenser and pulls one out to blow her nose. With it thrown in the bin, she leans both her hands on the counter top, closing her eyes and breathing exhaustedly.

“Come on, we’ll go tell Ms Visage” Denali steps up beside her, taking her by the arms.

Rosé sniffles again, not raising her eyes from the floor, and this time listens to Denali and lets her lead her along.

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

They step back into a near empty classroom, the rest of the cast let out for a brief intermission. When the door shuts behind them Ms Visage looks up from her desk and Rosé opens her mouth to speak but coughs behind her wrist instead.

“I’m going to take her home” Denali says before Rosé can try to speak again.

Ms Visage nods acceptingly and eyes Rosé worriedly.

“I’m sorry” Rosé rasps before sniffling, pushing both her hands into her pockets.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did well for even trying to come here today” Ms Visage dismisses. “I’ll call your parents and let them know that I sent you home.”

“Thank you” Rosé says appreciatively, knowing that her parents wouldn’t accept her going home for any other reason.

“Go get your things” Ms Visage sends her off.

Rosé nods with a thick swallow before she makes her way to pick up her script and clear the tissues off her desk. Meanwhile Ms Visage talks with Denali about what she needs to go over in the second half of the script, while Denali grabs her own things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Denali nods a goodbye, shouldering her bag.

“I’ll see you then” Ms Visage agrees as the two students make their way to the door. “Oh, and Rosé?” she calls out, making them both stop in their tracks. “I’ll give you an extension for the drama assessment next week. Make sure you get some rest.”

Rosé can’t think of any words to say but she smiles appreciatively with a nod before she and Denali step out the door.

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

“All set?” Denali turns toward Rosé in the passenger seat as she sticks the key in the ignition.

Rosé nods as she clicks her seatbelt in.

“Hold on, look at me” Denali instructs, noticing a growing flush on Rosé’s cheeks.

She does and Denali reaches out to place the backs of her fingers against her forehead. Making a sound of pity at the heat of her skin, “you have a fever.”

Rosé purses her lips in tight smile as she looks away again.

“Are you cold?”

“Little bit, yeah” Rosé says faintly as if she is just realising the fact.

Denali nods and adjusts the heating at the control panel. “I’ll have you home soon.”

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

“Here we are” Denali announces as she pulls up against the curb beside Rosé’s driveway.

Rosé inhales deeply, taking her head away from leaning against the window as Denali slows to a stop and activates the handbrake with finality.

“Home sweet home, yeah?” Denali tries to get a smile out of Rosé and it only just manages to work.

Rosé nods tiredly as she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides out of the car, pulling her keys out of her pocket. With a shaky grip it takes a few goes to insert them into the keyhole and by the time she’s done it, Denali has caught up with her from locking the car.

“How long until your parents get back?” Denali asks.

Rosé stops in the doorway, pulling out her phone to check the time. “Maybe an hour?” her last word is choked out in a cough before she covers some more into an elbow.

“Inside” Denali prompts, whether or not Rosé hears her or not. Taking her by the shoulders and guiding her through the entryway into the kitchen.

By the time they reach the bench, Rosé has regained her breath and moves off to fill a glass of water at the sink.

“Are you crashing in your room or on the couch?” Denali asks as Rosé tentatively sips the contents of the glass.

Mid-swallow, Rosé doesn’t verbalise an answer but she nods her head in the direction of the stairs, signalling to her room. As Rosé puts her glass down, her phone buzzes from the bench and she picks it up.

Habitually Denali’s eyes travel towards the sound but she only gets to read Mum before the good angle of the screen is gone. Then her eyes move to study Rosé, her expression dropping further, before she clicks the lock screen and it goes black as she puts the phone down.

“Denali?” Rosé asks hesitantly and Denali already thinks she knows where this is going. “Can you stay with me… just until they get back?”

“They not happy?” Denali doesn’t even have to guess.

Rosé shakes her head in confirmation, averting her eyes away from her.

Denali purses her lips sadly. Rosé’s parents were a strange kind of strict, lovely people but a bit hard on their daughter when they shouldn’t be. Over time they’d found that they were less so when Rosé had friends over, so Denali’s answer is a no brainer.

“Of course,” she accepts and Rosé smiles appreciatively. “Let’s get you to bed.”

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

She didn’t think they’d be angry, just disappointed, and she isn’t in the mood for a lecture. That is what Rosé had told Denali as she got her settled into bed and tucked beneath the covers. After that it hadn’t been long until she had drifted off to a fitful sleep, waking herself up coughing every now and again. While Denali had settled next to her atop the covers, reading a book that she had found lying at the end of the bed.

True to Rosé’s estimate it was around an hour before the sound of a car pulls into the driveway. At the covers moving beneath her, Denali looks down at Rosé beside her, eyes now open as she shifts nervously.

“It’ll be alright, Rosie” Denali assures her softly. “I’m right here.”

The words of reassurance seem to work as Rosé hums quietly and her eyelids slowly fall closed again. Though they don’t stay closed for long.

A minute later after the sound of footsteps stop climbing the stairs, the door pushes open and more light floods into the dimly lit room.

“Rosé?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rosé opens her eyes and shifts her head to look at her standing in the doorway.

“I know you were worried about your voice not holding out, but you could have stayed to observe” and there is the tone of disappointment Rosé had been expecting.

Before Rosé can even think of a reply, coughs bubble up in her chest and she raises a fist out from her blankets to shield them behind. At her friend sounding so miserable, Denali places a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, tracing small circles with her thumb.

“Oh Denali, didn’t know you were coming over” Denali’s sudden movement is met with a tone of surprise.

“Hi, I’m not staying. Just until you got home” she says brightly before speeling off a partial truth, not taking her hand away from Rosé. “She really isn’t doing well so I wanted to make sure someone stayed with her. I’m surprised it took Ms Visage so long before she sent her home.”

At Denali’s words Rosé’s mother seems to reassess. “Why didn’t you tell us how bad you were feeling?”

“I did” the amount of bite in Rosé’s tone just breaches over subtle.

Her mother cocks a brow at the tone but moves onto address Denali quickly. “Did you want to stay for dinner? It’s a bit late but we’ve brought some back.”

“No, it’s okay” Denali dismisses, shuffling off the bed. “My mums got some waiting for me at home.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am, but thank you” Denali smiles as she picks up her keys from Rosé’s draws.

“Nali, stay” Rosé begs weakly.

“I don’t want to be a hassle” Denali says hesitantly, but still places her keys back on the draws.

“We wouldn’t offer if we didn’t mean it” Rosé’s mother says and Denali smiles but bites back a laugh, knowing that Rosé would have been about to say the exact same thing.

“Text your mum and I’ll bring something up” the decision is finalised before Denali can speak and Rosé’s mother leaves back down the stairs.

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

Before Denali knows it, she’s holding a bowl of noodles, sitting cross-legged on the bed, making small talk with Rosé’s mum as she sits at the edge of the mattress. Waiting for the thermometer to beep so Rosé can finally get her dinner which she hadn’t been allowed until her temperature had been taken.

At the shrill tune the thermometer is taken from Rosé’s mouth before she can move and her mother announces “38.2°C.”

“It’s not bad” Rosé notes quietly.

“It’s still a fever, Rosé” her mother warns seriously. Raising a hand to her forehead before Rosé bats it away. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone” she relents before she stands and leaves the room.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Rosé asks Denali, not really in the mood for making conversation.

“Yeah” Denali says, reaching down to pick Rosé’s laptop off the floor beside the bed. “What one?”

“I don’t know, you choose.”

Denali nods as she types in Rosé’s password which she had told her awhile ago and she somehow still remembers. “This one?” she asks, hovering the mouse over a movie that she thinks they’ll both like.

Next to her Rosé nods and Denali presses play.

While the movie plays on the screen Denali has no problem quickly polishing off the rest of her dinner while Rosé slowly chips away at hers. When she’s done, she places her bowl on top of Denali’s on the bedside cabinet before leaning tiredly against Denali’s shoulder. Feeling her friend’s arm wrap around her.

“Sometimes I wonder if people in movies have brains?” Denali mentions after a character makes an obviously bad decision.

“Hmm” Rosé hums as she shifts to pull away from Denali, who won’t let her. “Denali, I’m gonna sneeze” Rosé warns and Denali finally lets her go.

“Hih’akshew, ik’shew... ik’sheww” Rosé directs into a handful of tissues she just had time to pull out from the box beside her. She sniffles congestedly before blowing her nose. “I’m sorry, this is so disgusting.”

“You’re sick, Rosie” Denali says, wrapping her arm back around her. “You can cough and sneeze as many times as you like.”

“Except I don’t like any of it” Rosé sniffles before they settle back into silence.

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

“Should we switch it off, Rosie?” Denali suggests, noticing Rose’s eyes fighting to stay open.

Rosé would have protested because the movie is nearly over but she knows she isn’t going to hold out much longer, so she nods instead.

Wordlessly, Denali stops the film and closes the laptop lid. Then helps Rosé pull the blankets over her shoulder as she settles down before hoping off the bed and grabbing her keys from the draws.

“Thanks for dropping me home, Nali” Rosé mumbles half into her pillow as Denali makes for the door.

“You know it’s not a problem” Denali stops walking for a second. A sympathetic smile appearing on her face as Rosé’s eyes slip closed. “Sleep well my Rosie.”

[robron1609]

Robron Week 2021 - Day 1

Meet-Ugly + "That's not an explanation."

New Beginnings

(ao3 link)

Aaron’s eyelids fluttered like a candle in the wind, the hustle and bustle of the city pecking away at his head with a sledgehammer. The bitter taste of ale, the fruity taste of wine and all the combined spices of every spirit known to man were stagnant on his tongue as he peeled his damp limbs off the leather sofa beneath him.

He let out a dry cough and it felt like someone had shot him in the brain during his sleep. But other than that, he was as right as rain.

It took him longer than he would care to admit to remember that he did, in fact, not own a single item of furniture that had even an inch of leather on it, and he lived in the in the middle of bloody nowhere where the only thing (apart from his mother) that made him shake a leg in the morning was the bellows of Moira’s cows when their troughs were being topped up.

So, there’s that.

His brain caught up and he bolted upright, his whole face moulding into a sculpture of what, where, when, how and why. He took in his brand-spanking-new surroundings; a lavish penthouse overlooking London’s skyline, decked out from head to toe in a fusion of ultra modern and industrial pieces. Not really his style, to put it nicely. It looked like something straight off the front page of one of those overpriced interior design magazines on the top shelf of David’s shop that no one ever bought.

Aaron could only hope that whoever lived here was some bloke he’d pulled in the haze of last night, if it wasn’t then… what the actual fuck was he doing here?

When the room had stopped spinning on all its axis and Aaron was eighty-nine percent sure that he would be able to hold his vomit in if necessary, he braved the hallways in search of other life. He detoured to stand in front of a back-lit mirror that had beckoned him over, and he was introduced to his reflection. It gawked right back at him, dressed in nothing but a pair of neon yellow boxers and a Scottish flag that he was wearing as a cape. The flag was fastened loosely around his neck with a frayed shoelace and there was a big tear down the centre of it.

Jesus fucking shit. Absurd didn’t even begin to cover it.

Sweat dripped down his top lip when he heard a deep voice through the wall. He teetered around the corner until he was close enough to pick up most of the words.

“I won’t be in today.” There was a pause. “Does it fucking matter?” Nice manners, then. “Look, unless you want me hurling all over the new contact, I suggest you grow a pair and attend the meeting without me.”

Aaron gripped the glossed door frame, his clammy hands squeaking on the wood as he snuck a look at who the voice was coming from. The man was stunning. He was all sun-kissed skin, choppy blond hair, and a gorgeous mouth that dipped dramatically in the corner.

“Shit!” With a jolt, the blond dropped his phone and it landed on his face with a mocking smack.

“Sorry-”

“Why are you in my house?!”

“I’m Aaron.” No shit, Aaron.

“That’s not an explanation!”

“Sorry.”

Aaron cringed. All of a sudden he was big on apologies, apparently. Blondie was now sitting up, scratching the fluff on the nape of his neck as he shuffled out of bed and adjusted his duvet accordingly whenever it slipped below his waistline. He just glared at Aaron, waiting to hear something that made sense.

“I was kinda hoping you could tell me,” Aaron said, using all of his self-control to stop his eyes from drifting downwards. “My head’s mashed. I remember being on the train with Adam and Vic, and then-”

“Vic as in my sister Vic?”

Aaron just stood there, catching flies. “I- I dunno, I think so. Sugden?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ohhhh, Robert Sugden. Aaron finally put a name to the face and felt like giving himself a pat on the back.

…..

“Here you go. Extra strong.”

"Ta."

Aaron warmly accepted the cup of coffee, the steam flying off it and dissolving in his pores. He used the piping hot liquid to swamp down some paracetamol before tightening the strap on the dressing gown that Robert had lent him a little earlier with a side-eye and a grumbled, “Make sure you give it back.”

With the current cycle rumbling the machine into the ground, Aaron glanced at the digital timer displayed on the appliance. Just forty-eight minutes until he could grab his screwed up clothes, slap them on, and leg it to the underground with his tail between his legs. The longest forty-eight minutes of his life, no doubt.

Hoping to make a crack in the ice, Robert led Aaron to the scene of last night’s crime. Through the sliding doors, across the patio and up the spiral stairs, secluded in the corner and illuminated by the steady flicker of the firepit. Robert was surprised that it hadn’t burnt out in the early morning under the April showers.

The rooftop terrace was what sold this place for Robert. It was his haven, complete with everything that made his superficial heart weep. This morning, however, it looked how he felt.

He absorbed the aftershocks of his party (shards of glass littering the outdoor table, remains of finger foods welded to the deck, and a pair of nude stilettos abandoned on the bar) and sagged. Turning thirty was dismal enough without having to clean up after his colleagues. Or, as he liked to call them, a bunch of wound up, hoity-toity pen pushers who didn’t even know his middle name—just a sniff of free booze and they were squeezing into a Ralph Laurent polo that still had the label on, and patting him on back with a bout of boisterous laughter as if they were best mates.

Wow, he was in dire need of some proper friends.

Aaron propped himself up on the bar. “Bet you don’t get tired of this,” he said, looking out at the sparkling city.

“It’s a great hangover cure,” Robert said, nursing his Americano and watching the ripples dance over the surface as he lightly blew it. “It can be lonely, though,” he admitted, unsure as to why. This handsome and hungover stranger was just waiting for his ticket out of here, he didn’t want or need to become Robert’s agony uncle to fill the time, that was for sure.

“Why’s that?”

Oh. Perhaps Aaron, for one reason or another, cared. Or he’s got nowhere else he needs to be and Robert’s left him with no choice but to sit and listen because it's the polite thing to do. Aaron looked at Robert all doe-eyed and Robert wanted to stay here until he’d told Aaron every single intricate detail of his life up until this point. But that seemed a little crass.

“Don’t know, really. I just… don’t like to be alone with my thoughts, I suppose. And being up here, well, it’s a whole lot of that.”

“I know what you mean,” Aaron said. “How long have you lived here?”

"Nearly two years on the whole." Robert calculated, Aaron giving him an amicable nod in response. Robert licked the coffee froth off his lips, clearing his throat. "I've lived in London a while, though. Since I left the village, pretty much."

"And you never thought about going back?"

"I couldn't." That would mean looking back. And after the trail of destruction he'd left in his wake, that was never going to happen. They were better off without him. Or at least his Dad and Andy were. Vic and Dianne never stopped reaching out, however, offering their support through texts and unanswered voicemails.

Aaron changed the topic, sensing that Robert's internal trip down memory lane wasn't a smooth ride. "You heard anything from Vic and Adam?"

"They were both flat out in the spare room last time I checked," Robert answered. He'd been less than pleased to find them entwined together on top of the duvet, dead to the world as Adam slobbered away on the satin pillowcase like an excited dog, and Vic let out a mishmash of unconscious sounds from sniffles to whistles, her makeup crusty and her outfit dishevelled by a night's sleep in it.

"Vic had a whole itinerary planned. Some museum, Leicester Square, and then this ridiculous hipster coffee shop near the station," Aaron said with a dreary eye roll. "Even though our train leaves just after two."

"She's just excited. She doesn't come here often."

"'Suppose not."

"Anyway, I recommended that coffee shop so you better not miss it," Robert said. Aaron snorted because of course he did. "Come on."

Robert rose, perking up a bit as he stretched his arms until they clicked with satisfaction. Aaron followed in his footsteps, literally, but they stopped in their tracks, coming face to face with a rumbled Victoria.

She looked dead and alive all at the same time as she swung her phone about. "There they are, the newly engaged couple."

Robert choked on air and Aaron gave him a splash of side-eye before snatching Vic’s phone. "What are you on about?" And Aaron had to check that the digital date displayed in the top left corner of the screen wasn't April the 1st. Nope, it was indeed the 23rd. And under that was a Facebook post on his profile; a blurry, backlit photo of him and Robert flashing the camera with two rings that didn’t even match, accompanied by a slurred caption.

yayy ENGAAAAAGED! whoop whoop!! hears to many many many many many year <3

Aaron groaned, throwing his head back in sheer embarrassment when Vic grabbed a hold of his and Robert’s left hands. Sure enough, the rings were still there. “Oh my God,” she cackled, her voice like a siren in the middle of the night. “This is brilliant. A few more of those cocktails and you’d be halfway to vegas, ey?”

Robert massaged his temples, kneading roughly at his dry skin. “Whatever’s in them is lethal,” he grumbled, peering over Aaron’s shoulder as he watched him scroll through the comments and squeeze his eyes shut in disbelief at each one.

“It’s your bar, mate. You should know what it’s serving,” Aaron said. He had a point. “Let’s just pray we left it at cheap rings.”

(Aaron couldn’t even begin to fathom at what point during the party he and Robert had fled the penthouse and ended up at a jewellers of all places. Who’d thought a proposal was the perfect end to a not-so-perfect night? Who’d taken that photo? And who in their right mind was selling giant fabric flags in the early hours of the morning? It would be a miracle if he becomes sober enough to answer at least one of those questions.)

Robert pouted. “That’s a shame. I’ll cancel the tickets to Vegas, then,” he teased.

“I dunno, I could do with a holiday just to get over the shame.” Robert grinned at the younger man’s flirty tone.

“Cheers,” Robert scoffed. Aaron handed the phone back to Vic who watched the pair with a knowing glint in her eye, her head bouncing back and forth between them.

“Only joking,” Aaron said. “Could be worse.”

Vic pocketed her mobile with a yawn and tightened her ponytail. “Right, I’m gonna drag my lump of a boyfriend out of bed and start gathering our stuff. I’ll leave you two to plan the wedding of the century, shall I?”

Vic left the rooftop, her flats scuffing all the way down the metal staircase. Robert gulped down the remains of his coffee and turned to Aaron with a smirk.

“So, fiancé,”–Aaron shot Robert a fiery glare which, if Robert didn’t know any better, would leave a bruise on his ego–“I know a great place where we can get some brunch. Why don’t we ditch Vic and Adam and I’ll drop you off at King’s Cross after.”

Aaron pulled a face. “ Brunch? I’m not paying £8.99 for a plain scone.”

“My treat.” Robert offered, hoping that would seal the deal.

“Like a date?”

“If you want it to be.” Aaron paused for a beat, not that there was ever much to contemplate.

“Fine.” Robert didn’t miss the bashful smile taking over Aaron’s face. Robert bit the inside of his cheek when Aaron began to descend the stairs. He crammed his hands in his pockets, his heart going into overdrive as he kicked his feet into gear.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Trust Issues

Summary: Virgil and Logan are internet friends. Can they be something more? Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, analogical. Mentions of abuse.

Word Count: 3,784

Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01​​ @spoopy-turtle​​ @lizluvscupcakes​ @more-fandon-than-friends 

Virgil kept everyone at arm's length. He knew it wasn’t fair to himself but he didn’t care. It was the way he had been since high school. He was half way into college now and doing fine. That was, until he met someone online. They got along well, having similar interests and Virgil enjoyed talking to him. He didn’t realize that he was letting his walls down until it was too late.

He was trying to study for an important exam when he got the request for a call. Sighing, Virgil rolled his chair over to the side, reaching into his loft bed to grab his phone. He accepted the call as he rolled back, turning the music coming from the laptop down. 

“Salutations, Virgil.” The almost musical voice came from his phone.

Virgil was still out of sight of the camera and allowed himself a large smile before sobering and propping the phone where he could see it and be seen. “Hi, Logan. Did you need something?”

“I wanted to spend time with you.” Logan said as if it was the most logical thing in the world to call someone up simply to spend time together. Which, for most people, it probably was. Unfortunately, Virgil wasn’t most people.

Virgil scoffed as he jotted down a note. “Sure, because you’ve got nothing better to do.”

Logan sighed, already used to this from him. “Virgil, I can see you multitasking. Is it not possible to conceive that I might also be capable of doing the same? Is it a truly impossible idea that I simply wanted your company, whether we discuss topics or not?”

Virgil’s hands stilled, pausing in his thought process to look at the small screen housing Logan’s face. “No, I guess it isn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, oblivious to the amount of graphite on the side of it. “Sorry, I’m just stressed out right now.”

Logan smiled. “Take a deep breath. Now, do you want help, or a listening ear?”

“A listening ear. I’m trying to study for my second to last exam but it doesn’t feel like I’m remembering any of it.”

Logan nodded. “Okay, maybe it’s time to take a break. It seems that I called at just the right time.”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you with this. It’s stupid and not even like it’s the class with the most credits right now. I think I’ll just switch to a different subject and work on that.”

Logan’s voice took on a dejected tone. “Alright. I’m here if you need me.” He turned away from his screen and Virgil got a look at his surroundings. Unlike Virgil who was in a dorm, Logan seemed to be in at least an apartment. He was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen with a few mixing bowls behind him.

Logan turned to the bowls, grabbing a bag of flour from off screen and started measuring out ingredients. Virgil rested his chin on his palm, elbow placed on the desk, and let himself watch for a few minutes as Logan whipped up a batch of cookies by hand and placed them in the ove, setting a timer before turning back to the phone, obviously surprised to see Virgil spaced out in front of him.

Virgil startled out of his thoughts when Logan called his name. Eyes focusing again, he found himself looking at Logan’s face with a soft smile resting upon it. “Virgil.” He called again, voice impossibly gentle. 

Virgil lifted his head. “You need something?”

“You spaced out for a bit. Anything on your mind?”

Virgil shook his head, removing his pencil from behind his ear and looking back at the scratch paper in front of him. “Just the math problems.”

“Okay. I’m gonna read a book for a while so just say if you need anything.”

Virgil gave a thumbs up to the general area of his phone and hoped Logan saw it. After a few minutes of quiet music and no sound from Logan, Virgil needed more auditory stimulation. So, he rolled back in his chair and pulled out a drawer that housed his headphones. Plugging them into his laptop, he turned the volume up just enough that he could finally think. 

His thought strayed from his work to the man sitting nearby but so far away. Looking up, Logan’s phone was positioned against what Virgil assumed was a lamp that allowed him to read and still have the phone within his sight line. Virgil sighed quietly as he directed his gaze back to his page and started to doodle in the margins.

He knew what was happening, had known for a few weeks now. He was terrified of the consequences of these feelings that were beginning to bubble up inside him like a freshwater spring in the mountains. While he wanted to live by the spring and drink deeply of it every day, he knew he was doomed to be a nomad and was scared to fill his water bottle from the spring. 

He knew he was falling for Logan, knew he could confess and have a good chance Logan felt the same. He also knew the chances of him turning him down and cutting off all contact with him. Virgil didn’t think he could stand that again. He looked up when he heard a sound, only to find Logan staring at him with another smile in his eyes.

Logan mimed taking headphones off and Virgil did as requested. Pausing the music, he turned his full attention to the beautiful human on the other side of the screen. “You need something?”

Logan coughed. “Well, I actually did call you for a reason.”

Virgil nodded, letting his pencil fall out of his hand and roll across the desk. “I’m all ears.” His heart was in his throat and was pounding a mile a minute. There was no other sound in his room as he turned his undivided attention to him.

Logan smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing major, I assure you.” Virgil nodded, heart rate slowing just the slightest. “I have to go away for a week or two and I won’t have access to the internet or service. I’ll essentially be radio silent for the foreseeable future.”

Virgil nodded in understanding even as the feelings he had been dreading the most clawed their way into his throat. He forced them back down, telling himself he would deal with it at a later time that would never come. “Okay. Are you just informing me out of courtesy?” He was surprised by how nonchalant he managed to sound as he started looking around the desktop for the dropped pencil.

“I know you worry to the point of excess at times and simply wanted to inform you so you don’t freak out when you can’t get into contact with me.” He paused. “Virgil, are you alright?”

Virgil was leaning away from the camera. “Yeah, just looking for my pencil.”

Logan sighed as a timer went off in the background. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m fine. Go check on the cookies.”

Virgil finally sat back up, pencil in hand. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes even as he swallowed them. ‘He’s just going somewhere for a while.’ He thought. ‘He’s not like him. He’ll come back, there’s no reason to panic.’

He watched Logan stand and walk off screen before his head dipped back down, looking at his paper through blurry eyes as a tear splashed onto the problem he was working on. Sniffling, he rolled away to grab the box of tissues that his roommate stole. He blew his nose in case Logan was within hearing range before swiping at his eyes a bit too hard. He cleaned his face up before blotting the water drop on his page. 

Logan came back into view and picked the phone up, holding it away from his body. “Are you alright? I thought I heard something from here?”

“Yeah, I just have a stuffy nose right now due to the weather.” He rubbed his hands down his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Hey, I really need to focus on this right now. I don’t know if I can call you back later so I’ll talk to you in a few weeks.” Virgil purposely kept his voice light, almost cheerier than normal. “Bye!”

He ended the call, head falling to rest on his desk. First it was the stress of having homework to do on top of studying for a test he was sure he was going to fail, then he was sure he was coming down with a cold, now Logan initiated a long bout of not talking. He knew Logan wasn’t going to abandon him, but it hurt just the same.

Remus came back a half hour later to find him in the same position. “Yo, dude. What’s wrong?”

Virgil grunted, not bothering to move.

Remus’ voice softened as his footsteps approached. “Hey, you wanna talk about it?”

Virgil’s hand shot up, showing Remus the bird. Remus just snorted. “I get that enough from my brother, you don’t scare me, emo. Come on, what’s wrong?”

Virgil finally lifted his head, allowing Remus a glimpse of his red, puffy, and bloodshot eyes. “My life is going to hell faster than you are.”

Remus nodded, ignoring the last part of the sentence. “Okay. That’s not new. Tell me what happened this time.”

Virgil stood from his chair, crawling into his bed and hugging his pillow. “Logan just told me he wasn’t going to be able to talk to me for about two weeks and now I’m having past trauma creep up. Nothing too major.”

Remus sighed, climbing into the bed next to him. “Do we need to move your appointment up so you can talk about it with Dr. Picani?”

Virgil shrugged. “Probably. I don’t want to bother him with this though.”

Remus laughed. “You do realize that this is the exact thing you started going to him to help with, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Virgil leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. “So, how was your day?”

So, Remus distracted Virgil from the tempest raging inside him, talking on and on about the things he learned and got to experience in his mortuary science classes. That night, Remus helped Virgil bump his appointment to the day after next.

When it was time to go, Remus offered to drive Virgil but he opted to walk instead. He got there and checked in with the receptionist, Remy. They chatted about what kind of coffee Remy was drinking today and his current recommendation before he was told to go ahead and go on back. Dr. Picani came in shortly, skipping the theatrics and going straight to the nitty-gritty.

“So, something's bothering you?” He asked as he sat down.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . .  something happened recently that caused me to go back into the mindset of a few years back.”

Emile nodded. “So, your abandonment issues are back?”

“Yeah.” Virgil sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, almost ashamed to have brought this to him. “It’s something so stupid too.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to this. Now, what caused this?”

“A friend that, for the past two years-”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Logan. We keep in contact regularly, always chatting at least three times a week, sometimes more.”

Emile nodded. “He’s good for you.”

“Well, he says he has to go somewhere for the next few weeks and won’t have any service or access to wifi. In his own words, he’s going radio silent for one to two weeks.”

“I can see how that would be distressing to you. What feelings does it bring up? Honestly, please.”

“Honestly? Inadequate, too much, like I was stepping on his toes and wasn’t told of it until just now. Most of all, it hurts to know that I’m falling for him but have no courage to confess or even bring it up. I don’t even know if he’s into guys.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly.

Emile made a note. “So, you feel like when your ex left you?”

“Put plainly, yes. I’m back into the loop of wondering if I did something wrong only this time I have the knowledge that Logan communicates enough to let me know if I did something wrong. He would have no reason to lie to me. Then again, he was baking cookies while we were talking.”

“He is not the baker type?”

“I’ve never seen him use that much sugar in all the time I’ve known him.” Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m probably just being paranoid.”

Emile hummed. “You are not paranoid, but you are probably overthinking this. If you have a way of texting him, maybe do that to cope. If nothing else, write him letters when you want to talk to him.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s a really good idea, thanks!”

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, Virgil needing a refill on his medication anyways. Over the course of the next few days, Virgil bought a small notebook that he started filling with random thoughts that he thought Logan would enjoy or things he really wanted to tell him. Maybe he would tell him parts of it but much of it was something he would die of embarrassment if anyone found it. 

One night, Virgil was sitting at his desk while trying to do some research for an essay when there was a knock at his door. Groaning, he stood up. “Remus, you’ve gotta stop leaving your key here.” He said as he opened the door, not even looking at who was at the door. Afterall, who else would be knocking on his door at two in the morning? 

“I did not know I possessed a key.” A familiar voice that definitely wasn’t Remus answered.

Virgil whirled around, only to see Logan standing in his doorway, a suitcase in one hand and tubberware in the other. Logan raised his eyebrows. “Do I need a key to enter?”

Virgil shook his head, brain not actually connecting what was happening at the moment. Logan smirked as he stepped past the doorway and shut the door behind himself. “Are you alright?”

Virgil nodded. Legs giving way under him, he collapsed into his desk chair. His eyes were wide as they followed Logan. Logan slipped his shoes off and placed them by Virgil’s near the door before setting his suitcase down and handing the tupperware to Virgil, who took it and placed it on his desk.

Another minute passed as Logan got a good look around the room before Virgil finally got his brain cells working again. “What are you doing here?”

Logan laughed, pulling Remus’ desk chair over to sit at Virgil’s eye level. “I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes were soft and voice fond, leaving Virgil a figurative puddle of feelings.

Virgil blinked but had enough presence of mind to close the journal he’d been writing in, making it look like he was just tidying up his desk. “Why?” His voice was filled with bitterness directed at himself. He wasn’t sure why Logan went through all the trouble of coming all the way here.

Before Logan could answer, the door was flung open. “Emo, I’m hoooome!” The word ‘home’ was sung out like Remus was in some sort of sitcom.

Virgil sighed, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, stinky.”

Remus looked over at him. “Oh, who’s this? Is this that boy you’ve been talking to for the past three years?” His eyes were bright with mischief. Or maybe that was alcohol.

Logan stood, holding out a hand for Remus to shake. “I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet Virgil’s roommate.”

Remus looked at the hand before taking a few steps forward, close enough that their noses were almost touching but not quite. Before he could do anything, Virgil spoke up. “Bad Remus. Go to bed.”

Remus pouted but climbed into his loft bed, rolling to face the wall and putting his headphones on. Virgil sighed, standing to give him a water bottle before turning back to Logan. “He tends to lick new people.”

Logan rubbed his cheek. “Lick?”

Virgil nodded, chuckling. “Yeah.”

Logan nodded, a relieved expression crossing his face as he sat back down. “So, how have you been? We haven’t talked in a little while.”

Virgil nodded, grabbing water bottles for himself and Logan out of the minifridge before sitting back down, handing Logan his. “I’ve been okay.”

Behind Logan, Virgil saw Remus roll over and raise his eyebrows in a way that Virgil had come to know as, ‘You wanna tell him or should I?’ Virgil waved a hand at hip height, something Logan would miss but Remus would know as, ‘Leave it.’

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You seem unsure of that.”

Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair before taking a sip of water to avoid the question. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue he realized that the last time he drank something was an energy drink a few hours ago and chugged half the bottle. When he came up for air, Logan looked concerned. “Do you want the honest answer?” Virgil asked, capping the bottle.

Logan’s concern turned to surprise. “I thought we were always as honest as possible.”

Virgil nodded, hand subconsciously reaching for his fidget cube. “I’ve not been doing so well.” His hand went through his hair again, tugging slightly.

Remus laughed. “That’s an understatement!”

Logan turned to look at him. “Would one of you care to explain?”

Virgil gestured at Remus, who instantly swung his legs over the side of his bed, not caring that he didn’t have a railing. “So, Virgil has a past. Because of this, he’s got such things as abandonment issues and an anxiety disorder. He’s going to therapy for both but had to bump up his appointment due to you going radio silent.”

Logan held up a hand, turning to face Virgil. “Is this true? Why did you need to change the appointment date?”

Virgil nodded, fingers pressing the buttons harder than he meant to but the clicking was calming. “I needed to get a refill of my meds as well as needed to talk to my therapist about it.” He shrugged, his hoodie being pulled tighter around him. “My ex would often be abusive before going radio silent. I got used to the connection to the point that he could just go radio silent and I would wonder what I did wrong. I haven’t seen him in years but old habits die hard.”

Logan’s face crumpled in sympathy, leaning forward to put a hand on Virgil’s knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Virgil shrugged. “That’s cause I didn’t tell you.” 

Logan nodded. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. No one should have to go through that.”

Virgil nodded. “I guess.”

“Hey!” Remus called. “It’s late and I want to sleep! Get out!” 

Virgil playfully gasped. “Remus! You don’t even know if he was planning on spending the night here!” Virgil turned to Logan, hope in his chest but practiced indifference in his eyes as he struggled to build his walls back up brick by brick. “Were you?”

“No. I was going to get a room in the hotel down the road. Although, I should be going now as it’s quite late.”

Virgil nodded, standing with him. As he rested his hand on his desk to stand, it fell on the journal he was writing in earlier. On a whim, he picked it up and held it out to Logan. “Take this with you. You know, for some light reading.”

Logan smiled as his hand gently closed around the book, slipping it into his suitcase. “I will, thank you.” Virgil ignored the way Remus was making kissing faces.

Logan left and Virgil had a hard time getting to sleep. Eventually, he did. Sleep crept in like a thief in the night, noticed just as quickly and caught even slower. When morning came, he was just drifting off to sleep but had to get up to go to class, grumbling all the way.

When he was getting out of his last class, Virgil got a text from Logan that said to wait in front of the dorm building. When he got there, a car was already parked outside. The window rolled down to show Logan in the driver’s seat. “You got time?”

Virgil smiled and nodded, getting in. Logan sped off gesturing to the stereo. “I don’t know the local stations and this is a rental.”

Virgil sat forward, hand poised to change the station. “What are we looking for?”

Logan shrugged. “Anything you like, really. I’m not that picky when it comes to music.”

Virgil smirked before changing it to the one station that was eternally stuck in the early 2000’s. Logan smiled. “I missed this music.” He muttered.

Virgil sat back and let himself get lost. He didn’t care about the destination, just focused on the music around him. Blocking out all thoughts except for the music, he started to hum along to songs he knew. Eventually, he started to sing to them. Logan just smiled and turned the music up.

When the car stopped, Logan turned the music down and all Virgil’s worries came back. He remembered the book he gave away last night, which he now noticed was sitting on the center console. Logan turned to face Virgil, who started to play with his hood strings.

Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to hold one of Virgil’s. “I want you to know I read the whole thing.”

Virgil wished the car had an eject button or that the ground would open up and swallow him. 

“Honestly, reading that gave me confidence and made this infinitely easier to do.”

Virgil squeezed his hand, reminding himself Logan wouldn’t have come all the way over here just to tell him he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

“I want you to know that I feel the same way.”

Virgil’s gaze shot up from their joined hands, looking at Logan and feeling like a house was being built by the spring. “Do you mean it?” His voice was quiet, hesitant.

Logan smiled, thumb idly rubbing on the back of Virgil’s hand. “I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. I made cookies to butter you up, for goodness sake!”

Virgil giggled. “You’re a dork.”

Logan leaned forward, his smile turning into a smirk. “Can I be your dork?”

Virgil nodded, leaning in to close the distance and kiss his dork.

[cosmicstxrdust]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,244

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

 1  | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

Pt. 4- Waking up to Ash and Dust

Lola didn’t know what woke her but she groaned and opened her eyes, lifting her head from where her cheek stuck to the page she’d been writing on before she’d fallen asleep. The basement was pitch-black, her candles having been burned out while she’d been resting. Unbothered, the brunette stood, stretched, and made her way to the wall where she knew the light switch was. After patting the guessed area, her hand hit on the dimmer and flicked it up. Nothing happened.

She moved it up and down several more times and the room remained completely dark. Frowning in confusion, Lola guessed that they’d lost power during the night for some reason. With no windows in the basement, it was impossible to tell what time it was or if a weather event had happened. Shrugging, she stepped twice to the right and placed her hand on the banister to guide her steps up the stairs. Only- she hit her head even halfway up.

”Ouch!” the girl yelped, rubbing the sore spot on her head. What the hell? The ceiling was never this low before! There were fifteen steps from the door to the bottom of the basement. Lola had only gone up ten.

She pushed on the supposed ceiling tentatively. No movement, “hey, guys? Mom? Dad?” she called, hoping someone would hear.

There was no way the ceiling was caved in, right? How would that even be possible? Maybe her uncle was pulling a prank on her and had stuffed obstacles down the stairs so she couldn’t come up.

“Uncle Ed? You’re really very funny! Haha!” she tried, hoping it would convince him to help move the stuff.

Then, something shifted and movement by her feet made her jump, causing her to yelp. There’s no mice down here, idiot. Her mother would never allow that, so what had fallen by her foot?

Still in pitch-blackness, Lola made her way back down the stairs until the was on the last one. Gripping the banister carefully, she moved her foot into the empty space below the final step until she hit what had fallen. Bending over, she was surprised by the weight of the item.

Lola moved the object between her hands, feeling the roughness and shape of it. It wasn’t any sort of object used for a prank, she determined. It felt like a part of her house. But how could that be right?

Stay calm, Lola, she told herself, there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe mom decided to renovate the upstairs, started this morning, and forgot you were down here? That seemed a little far-fetched. What about school? Her mother always checked the basement if Lola wasn’t in her room and it had to be around the time she had to get ready.

Dropping the loose object, the girl made her way back up until her head brushed the blockage again, “MOM? DAD?” she yelled again, straining her ears for an answer.

What the hell happened last night? Or early this morning, she supposed. She called for her parents several more times, all of which went without response. Turning, she sat down on the seventh step and buried her face in her hands, the sudden coverage of her eyes making no difference with the black of the room.

Okay, she thought, you know the basement. What could you use to help you?

There were drills and electrical cords so she could drill herself out but she’d never used the tools before, her mom would go nuts and there seemed to be no power. She had candles, so she could burn her way through but if it was mostly cement on top of her that wouldn’t help. Paint was useless and so were light bulbs. She doubted there was something useful in the holiday section. Did they have a pick axe? Those couldn’t be so hard to use. Or maybe an anvil and a hammer.

That would take longer but didn’t require electricity and her mom might be more okay with that.

What if it caves in on you, though? she considered, biting her lip as she tried to puzzle around it, what did people use to prevent cave-ins? Some type of support, she supposed. Did they store plywood in the basement? Was that even strong enough?

Stay calm, Lola, you can do this. And besides, she was jumping ahead of herself. Surely her parents would notice and dig her out? Maybe there wasn’t even that much blockage and it just seemed like a lot. It probably just was a rotten prank her Uncle Ed had cooked up but she couldn’t see her mother being okay with her being late for school because of it. Still, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions so she stood and made her way back up the stairs, calling as loudly as she could, “MOM? DAD? UNCLE ED?”

--

There was no telling how much time had passed but no answer came as Lola’s voice tired out. After her 839th call, she gave a final cough, turned, and sat down, bending her head slightly to accommodate the small space. What now?

Surely it was past school’s starting time. Her uncle and father would be at the store and her mother would be at the library starting her shift. Lola sighed and strained her eyes into the blackness, hoping it would reveal an answer of what happened. It didn’t, of course, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. Maybe her voice wasn’t loud enough? The thought suddenly occurred to her and part of her favorite, well-memorized story came back to her: Liesel hit the lid of a paint can. Maybe her paint cans weren’t as useless as she thought.

After sliding down the stairs feet first and lowering herself carefully by her hands, she stood and made her first step to the left. Suddenly, she was very glad she was a counter. There were exactly twenty-seven and a half steps to the paint section of the shelves from the bottom of the stairs. Carefully counting them out, she arrived in the correct place and took the top paint can after feeling around for the handle. Then, with another fifteen steps, she made her way to the hand-held tools and felt along the second shelf for a hammer, pleased when her hand grasped the worn, wooden handle.

Turning, Lola counted the total forty-two and a half steps back to the stairs and went up again to the blockage. Placing the paint can on the last available step, she swung the hammer down, hard, on the lid. It let out a resounding clang which was loud in the dark stillness and made her flinch in surprise. Shaking off her prickle of fear, she repeated the action several more times.

--

The girl jumped when something slightly wet splashed on her and she gingerly felt the spot where it landed on her shirt. Oops.

The lid had dented after so many hits and now it had finally given, the most recent contact had splashed the sent the wet paint flying. She swallowed nervously. How many paint cans did they have? How long would she be stuck here? Clearly, no one was coming to help. Lola supposed she should have waited until her parents would actually be home but the thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. Besides, who knew how long it had been?

The thought made her shudder slightly, the idea of days passing without being released not sitting well with her. She loved the basement but even she didn’t want to live out the rest of her days here. I need light, Lola thought, slightly frantically.

She shook herself and took a deep breath. As well as she knew the space, losing count of the steps wouldn’t help her. She descended the stairs again and stepped left, this time counting out eleven steps. Her hands found the candles and matches blindly, relieved when she felt that there were twenty-five in all. She would still conserve the light, though. Just in case.

Lola repeated her path in reverse and sat on the third step, carefully holding one slim, long candle between her legs as she prepared the lighter. There was a spark and the match caught, causing her to quickly set it to the wick and shake it out, relieved to keep some of the darkness at bay. Holding the light aloft, the brunette stood from the stairs and in twenty-one steps she reached the far wall where a wine cellar of sorts stood embedded into the cement. The space was tiny and hand-dug, extremely cold in the winter and less so in the summer but was an additional food storage area for long-term items. They didn’t usually keep it very full but there were several packages of canned drinks, two tubs of ice cream, some frozen dinners and a case of water.

The girl now took stock of the items, checking that each one she thought was in there actually was and was reassured that she would be able to survive down here for some time, if it came to that. She hoped not. Lola had zero practiced survival skills and what she knew only came from books like Hatchet which wouldn’t truly help her here.

She wasn’t an idiot; rationing her food should start immediately and she needed to go as long as possible without eating or drinking to make it last longer. Going to the bathroom would be a challenge, but she’d dedicate a spot and hope for the best.

Stop it, idiot, Lola thought suddenly, you’re acting like you’re stuck down here. You probably aren’t.

Still, she couldn’t help but think what if she was? At least the couch could act as her bed and the rest of the time would be spent trying to free herself.

She sighed and exited the food storeroom, at least you don’t have to worry about homework right now. Your teachers will understand if you miss because you’re trapped in a basement. Hopefully.

Okay, she thought, if worst comes to worst, you’re pretty well off. There’s definitely no need to panic. Nope, none at all. Think: what would Liesel do? WWLD? She wouldn’t panic- well, she did at the sight of her dead-

STOP. Don’t think like that. The point is, she didn’t panic when she was trapped in her basement. People came to help. The same will happen for you. You’ve always wanted to be like her, remember? Now’s your chance.

“At least this will make for an interesting section in my autobiography,” Lola commented aloud and instantly shook her head, stop it, talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity. It had only been a few hours at most, probably eight.

The uncertainty of exactly how many made her shudder slightly.

--

The next day- or what she assumed was the next day- she tried the same routine, calling her parents’ and uncle’s names for as long as she could before her voice gave and then resorting to banging on a paint can until it, too, gave. Lola used some of her light to count exactly how many paint cans she had, which were fifteen. A little over two weeks and she’d used two already.

They could help her keep track of the estimated days. To keep herself busy, she also partitioned out her food into servings so she wouldn’t eat a lot at once, even if she was really hungry. Her stomach was already starting to growl but she pushed through knowing it could get worse.

Another obstacle she realized she had was that there was no running water, not that the basement had a sink. There was no way to keep her hands clean or wash herself and she cringed at the thought of becoming disgustingly dirty.

--

The next guessed day came and Lola was entertaining the idea that something had gone very, very wrong outside. She’d sat for several hours next to the cave-in and heard nothing. She allowed that the pile on top of her was too thick to let sound through but it seemed that she’d hear police sirens or something as they swarmed over the collapsed house.

The thought made her heart twist in her chest. What about her parents? Were they hurt? The only explanation that there could be was the house collapsed, but surely they hadn’t been inside when it happened? They were probably worried out of their minds right now about her. Lola wished she could send them a message that she was okay.

An idea had crossed her mind that she could tap out an SOS out on her paint can lid but she didn’t know Morse code and had tossed the idea aside. The brunette was glad that she had rather weak olfactory senses and couldn’t easily smell herself but she was sure that after three days of not showering, she must stink.

You stink to high heaven! her mother would say. Lola had never missed her as much as she did right now and she wished she could have been more understanding about her mother’s reasoning for things. The next time she gives me chores or scolds me, I won’t ever complain again.

--

Two more days passed without much change. Lola still lived in darkness most of the time, worried about running out of light. It was surprisingly easy to stick to food rations. She’d never been a big eater but she wasn’t a small eater either. She chalked it up to the fact that she could count each serving.

Her first time going to the bathroom without a toilet had been awkward and messy but luckily they did store toilet paper and trash bags on the lower part of one of the shelves so at least she could clean up. The couch was a fine sleeping place and only creaked a little when she shifted around.

After spending her obligatory hours trying to get help, Lola would then shuffle, shuffle, shuffle her cards, over and over again to keep the panic at bay, the action familiar and comforting. In the dark, she would try magic tricks which proved to be difficult as she couldn’t see the result. Then, she returned to counting all fifty-two of the cards, reassuring herself that they were all there. Her writing fell by the wayside as she focused on keeping herself calm and definitely not panicking.

--

After approximately one week, Lola was starting to feel the affects of being stuck in the dark for so long. Sleep had become more difficult and she instead lay awake for hours, staring into nothing as she lay on her side on the couch, the cushions pressed against her back. It was easier to operate without light now, too. She still counted her steps whenever she moved around but her ears seemed sharper- the ringing of the paint can lid proved that- her touch seemed more sensitive and it seemed like her smell had improved, too, because she was definitely stinking.

Lola wished she had a change of clothes at least, but she was out of luck. The only possibility of new cloth was Christmas tree skirts and that wouldn’t help her since she didn’t have needle and thread- not that she was even a fashion designer, but she could have figured something out.

Sometimes, when she stared at nothing for long periods of time, bright spots would enter her vision or strange, geometric shapes would pop up. Then, she would blink and they would disappear. The thought of seeing things terrified her and Lola made an effort to keep her eyes physically closed instead of just peering into the darkness.

--

By the beginning of the second week, sleep had suddenly come back. Lola thought she was just closing her eyes in short spurts but in reality, they were closed for many hours. The paint cans helped keep her from misjudging how many days she’d spent in isolation and the food rations did too, slightly.

The panic that had threatened to overwhelm her had ebbed, only poking at the back of her mind every so often. Lola could feel that her body had become weaker, too, even though she spent many hours pacing the edge of the space, counting out all 900 steps. It was clear that no one was coming to help her but she couldn’t bring herself to stop hoping. Even as she lost everything else, something told her to press forward and keep believing someone would come.

She’d been speaking to herself more and more too, to cover up the awful silence that persisted in the darkness. She’d often just recite parts of her autobiography, sang song lyrics she'd memorized or she’d spend several hours reciting The Book Thief as a way to help calm her as her panic increased. One time, in her rotations, she’d turned on the third corner and had stopped for a moment, eyes wide, as what looked like a monkey on a unicycle juggled in front of her, complete with flashing circus lights and music.

Lola’s mouth had dropped open and she’d let out a crazy, slightly maniacal laugh before she rubbed at her eyes furiously in disbelief. The darkness had promptly returned, leaving her to shiver fearfully on the spot.

--

On the twelfth day, according to her paint cans- not that she actually knew for sure anymore- something changed. Lola hadn’t been expecting it, of course, and had gone on with her usual routine. Then, in one of her circuits of the basement, she heard something, out of the ordinary from the sounds she was used to- not that there were many. Her pulse picked up. Was someone trying to kill her?

“No, stupid,” she said aloud, her voice raw and hoarse from the hours she spent yelling, “you’re dumb. There’s no one alive. I think we’re alone now.”

The words didn’t make sense but then nothing much did these days. When had she started speaking in plural? Still, the shifting continued.

Creeping slowly up the staircase, the brunette paused next to her already set-up paint can. It certainly sounded like someone was out there. The girl looked down the dark staircase, thinking about her remaining food and liquid supply which was now rapidly dwindling, her shrinking amount of candles, paint cans and matches, her wrinkled, used deck of cards and came to a decision.

At first, her banging went unnoticed on the surface until the shifting stilled above her.

“Hello?” the sound was faint and muffled, clearly she was hearing things.

Lola continued her banging, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t.

The shifting resumed but it seemed more purposeful now. The sound came again, “hello? Is anyone there?”

Bang, bang, bang came the answer, the brunette continuously hitting the lid. A chink of brilliant light appeared above her head, making her shut her eyes in pain.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” it was definitely a voice, a young one, too.

Then, the hole opened wider, wider, and wider until bright light came pouring into the dark space. Turning up her face but closing her eyes, Lola tried to look up at who had come for her. Maybe she was dead and the light was from heaven.

The answer was the exact opposite as the voice spoke again, this time disbelief clear in the tone, “what the hell?”  

[sabraeal]

Happiness Is Just Around the Corner

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist for her birthday! This was...not the fic I thought I’d be writing, but this is where this subplot needed to start >:3c

There is an improbable amount of fireworks on the lawn.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure none of it’s legal,” Kiki assures him, taking a long drag of her Sam’s Summer. “Shiira took his ducklings up to New Hampshire yesterday, and they came back with two coolers worth of...something.”

Zen coughs on the dregs of his Magic Hat. “What? Should we even--?”

Kiki’s flat stare is more effective than a hand over his mouth. “You really think we’ll get in trouble.”

His gut instinct is yes, because there’s not a day in his life where his brother hasn’t caught him with his pants down just to prove a point. It would be just like him to send a cruiser around so that he could experience the heart-stopping terror of being on the other side of a two-way mirror. Sure, Haruka would be down at the station before he could even ask for a phone call, and all of this would slide off his permanent record like water off a duck’s back, but still-- trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. He takes a deep breath, thinks. It’s quiet here on campus. They’re rowdy, sure, but it’s just the frat there, not some rager with Omega Delta Nu. The campus cops are probably bored out of their skulls, but they’re not going to nail the honor’s frat for a light show.

“No,” he admits, begrudgingly. “Not unless they light something on fire.”

Her mouth twitches, following the spark in her eyes. “Well, there’s a non-zero chance of that.”

Ugh, of course Kiki would be excited by the prospect. “Well, as long as we don’t get--” Obi crosses the lawn, aviators looming over a wide smile, and hovers just at Shiira’s shoulder, perusing the goods. “UH.”

“Fuck.” Kiki hops off the porch, straight down into the landscaping. “I’ll handle this.”

Zen settles back against the porch swing and sighs, taking another swig of Magic Hat. “Yeah, please do.”

Kiki’s already halfway across the lawn by the time he’s finished talking, so quick that when Obi picks up a particularly patriotic package of pyrotechnics, she’s there to snatch it out of his hands. Even from here, Zen can see the jut of his pout, hear the faint whine of Ms Kiki on the air.

Mitsuhide’s lighting up the grill, surrounded by a crowd convinced cooking works by consensus. He takes a handkerchief out of his back pocket-- stars and stripes, stuffed there early this morning as Obi solemnly announced, you are America’s hat today, big guy-- and wipes the sweat beading on his forehead. Zen can’t tell whether it’s from the heat or from the effort needed to withstand six guys offering advice on proper grilling technique.

A cool breeze tumbles through the porch, carrying the muted voices of a dozen conversations. Zen closes his eyes, letting the smell of smoke and the heat of the day wash over him, the swing rocking gently on its chains.

It’s nice, having all this. People he can anticipate. People he can depend on. Friends. The real kind, not just kids whose parents went to the same prep school as his.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A year ago that would have sent him scrambling-- last minute tickets and crumpled up itineraries paired with the crushing guilt of never being enough. But now--

Now he knows this is where he wants to be. And there’s only one person to thank for that.

“Hey.” His eyes slit open, and there she is, brilliant smile and bright hair, peeping around the post. “Enjoying yourself?”

Zen drops his legs from the rail to make room. “I am now.”

Shirayuki’s mouth slants, playfully wry, and his heart strains against his sternum like a dog testing its leash. “It looked like you were before too.”

“Well, sure.” He wishes he had Obi’s obnoxious aviators right now, if only so she couldn’t see the eager way he watches her as she comes up, tucking herself neatly onto the opposite end of the swing. “But even more now that you’re around.”

Freckles disappear behind a bloom of pink, settling in on either cheek.  “Ah, w-well,” she stammers, staring at her bare toes. “It’s good to know you don’t regret staying here.”

“Instead of being with my family?” He laughs, incredulous, draping his arm over the back of the swing. His fingers just barely brush the freckles on her shoulder. “More like I’m thankful for the excuse.”

Her smile dims. “Oh, um, right. You and Izana...”

She hesitates. There’s a wealth of ways she could end that thought, but instead she says, “It must be nice. I mean, the place your family has, not...”

The fraught relationship you have with your brother. She doesn’t have to say it for him to know exactly what she means.

“It’s all right, I guess,” he allows, wishing she’d sit closer, that she’d give him a good reason to put his arm around her for real, and not just let him awkwardly hang here. “I mean, it’s just a house. The beach is nice though. Private, of course.”

That doesn’t stop his mother from inviting the paparazzi if she thinks it will make a good photo op. Last year he’d made the cover of the Inquirer, face scrunched and unattractive as Izana has splashed sea water in his face, with the words Final Frolic for World’s Most Eligible Bachelor? There had been a two-page spread inside, dedicated entirely to the relationship rumors Izana had accrued since Valentine’s Day.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that this year. No paparazzo was going to stake out a college frat to take pictures of an illegal fireworks show. Now Haki could deal with having her picture slapped across the tabloids because mother thought candid shots made for better family photos.

“Ah, right...” Her laugh stutters out, awkward and endearing. “That sounds...good?”

Shirayuki’s still next to him, the heat from her skin humid against his fingertips, but she’s never felt so far. He grunts, frustrated, shifting closer.

“There’s an old carousel on the island too,” he offers, haltingly. He’s not sure why the impulse takes him to tell her; why he thinks she, specifically, might like it, save that when he looks at her it’s the same as when he saw those hand-carved horses the first time, well-loved and shining beneath antique lights.

“Oh!” She blinks. “My grandparents took me to one of those, once! Back when we visited...”

Her mouth works silently for a moment before pulling tight, the bittersweet twist making her smile more grimace than grin.

“Well, you’d love this one,” he assures her, sweat pricking at his palms. “It’s the oldest in the US. But it’s still really nice! I’ll take you next--”

His words slam to a stop, running headlong into the barrier of his teeth. She’s staring at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted, and-- and what can he say? I’ll take you next year, when my brother suddenly approves of you.

Yeah, he knows better than to hold his breath for that.

“I’m glad, anyway.” She folds her legs up on the swing, one arm hooked around her knees, and tilts her head back. “It’s nice for all of us to be here, together.”

Her eyes are closed, face serene in the evening light, like she could just sit here forever, breathing into the twilight. His heart flutters just looking at her, at the way she relaxes next to him, content with the slow rock he eases them into. No one can just be the way Shirayuki can.

“It is,” he agrees softly, because anything but a whisper might break this moment, might let the rest of the world in. “It’s going to be weird when you...”

He tries to stop himself, but her eyes fly open before he can. Of course, the one moment he’s gotten her to himself, and he’s gone and ruined it by bringing that up.

“I just mean...” He laughs, tipping his head back on scroll of wood behind his head. “It’s going to be strange when you and Obi are gone next year.”

A month from now, really. It looms over him, a ticking clock that chimes every evening, telling him he’s wasted another day if it wasn’t with her.

“Oh!” Her head snaps upright, cheeks flushed. “I-- I guess. I didn’t really think...” She bites her lip; he wants to kiss it. “Mitsuhide won’t be here either!”

He blinks. It’s true, but he’s never actually thought about that. Mitsuhide has always been in the house, it seems, never the president but a calming influence just to the side of him, and now--

Well, it’ll just be him and Kiki next year. And the rest of the frat, of course, plus all the new pledges.

Still, the future is distinctly more lonely than he’d like.

“He’ll be close, though,” he says, if only to hear the words out loud. “Harvard is a bit of a drive from here, but now that him and Kiki are, you know...”

Banging. That’s what he means to say at least, what he would say if he didn’t, last minute, remember who he was talking to. The last thing he needs is to get a scolding about taking feelings seriously and supporting their friends. Especially when he’d rather be talking about another relationship entirely.

“...Together,” he settles on, and she hums, approving.

“I’m glad that happened.” She rests her chin on her knees, surveying the lawn. Kiki’s abandoned the fireworks committee, instead shooing away the flock of fraters that have congregated around the grill. “They’re good for each other.”

“Made for each other,” he agrees, tickling her shoulder with his thumb. She squirms, a giggle bubbling out from her lips. “Just like...”

Us. He wants to say it, so bad it’s almost an ache, but-- it’s not fair. Not when they’re not really anything, when they can’t be anything, because--

I don’t know if being with me like…like that will be…good for you. I don’t think either of us are ready for that sort of…of attention.

-- Because everything about his life makes things complicated.

“I’m...happy for them,” he says, because he is, because there’s no two people in the world who deserve every bit of goodness they can wring from life more than they do. Even if that leaves him on the outside, again.

“Me too.” Shirayuki smiles, soft and fond, and it’s impossible to believe it’s barely been ten months since he met her, that she isn’t someone he’s known his whole life, not when she just slips seamlessly into every part.

Her hand reaches out, taking his, cool in the evening breeze. “I’ll miss you too.”

His breath catches in his chest, painful. Maybe she feels so familiar because he’s been waiting for her his whole life, too.

“I-I mean, all of you, of course,” she stammers, pink flooding her cheeks, and oh, he wishes he could just lean over now and kiss her, like he was some normal boy with a normal crush and normal expectations of privacy. “I’m excited to go, but...it won’t be the same without everyone.”

Good. He smothers a grin. This whole trip is a great opportunity for her, he knows that-- how could he not, when Izana keeps reminding him about the connections she’ll make-- but--

Two years seems excessive. After a year, she’ll realize that too. And then she can come back for senior year, live in the frat, graduate, spend the summer with him in the Vineyard, and--

“We should do something together,” she says, fingers knotted around his, shoulders rounded shyly.

“Yes!” he blurts out, squeezing way too hard. “Definitely”

“All of us!”

“Ah...” That wasn’t what he thought she was going for. “I mean...”

“One last big adventure.” Her lips spread giddily. “Just the five of us. For now, of course,” she adds, “we’ll be coming back.”

“Oh, ah...” He blinks, staring down at where her hands are tangled with his. She has little over a month left here, and what he really wants is to be doing this, this whole...being together thing, but--

But it’s not like this is going anywhere either. Two years is a long time, but they’ll be sitting here just like this when she gets back. Well-- with more kissing, he hopes.

He can wait. He’s not the only one who will miss her. “Yeah, that sounds...nice.”

His eyes flick up, catching her just as she sinks teeth into the soft pillow of her lip, leaving a dent that begs to be soothed. Zen swallows, hard.

Well, a friendly getaway will have its opportunities for some, ah, private time too. He just has to create them.

“I was thinking,” he starts, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair, trying to be, you know, casual. “What if we--?”

“Hey.” Kiki perches herself across from them with a deftness that says she’s been hanging out with Obi too much. “Burgers are off the grill.”

“Great,” Zen grits out with a glare. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Kiki hums, brow raising dubiously. “What are you two up to out here?”

“Nothing.” He glowers at her, wishing she would just take a hint. “Just talking.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitches. “I see.”

“We were just talking about taking a trip!” Shirayuki blurts out excitedly, red-faced and glowing. “All of us! One last adventure before me and Obi go to Lyrias.”

Kiki blinks at that, cocking her head. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” A giggle burst nervously from her as she smooths the hem of her shorts over her thighs. “We hadn’t really gotten that far.”

All right, it’s time to drag this conversation back on track. Zen clears his throat. “Kiki, doesn’t your dad have that house in the Berkshires? We could go for a weekend, maybe take in the--”

“Why? We’re already in western Mass. What will a forty minute drive get us?” She wrinkles her nose. “It isn’t even peak foliage season.”

Privacy, he wants to say, but he knows how poorly that idea would fly with her. For someone who always seems to find time to be alone with her boytoy, Kiki’s awfully invested in seeing that he never has any with his girl...thing.

“Hm, I wasn’t really think a trip-trip either,” Shirayuki admits, crushing his dreams of a nice afternoon alone in a hammock, just the two of them and their bathing suits. “But something like an, ah...activity. Like an amusement park.” She perks. “Do you have something like that out here?”

“Six Flags!” he blurts out before he can even consider what he’s saying. “It’s only a half hour away, and the coasters are supposed to be some of the best. I mean, if you, ah, like that sort of thing.”

Which he doesn’t, but there’s really no need to mention that. Not when she lights up like she does, hands clapping together over her heart.

“That sounds perfect! I’ve never been to one of those.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “Opa always got vertigo on the Turkish Twist.”

He may not know what that thing is, but it sounds gut-wrenching enough to keep in head in the trash for a good ten minutes. Zen plasters a smile on his face, steadfastly ignoring the arch look Kiki gives him-- god, that’s the last thing he needs, Kiki deciding it would be funny to tell the story of when they rode the Tower of Terror in middle school-- and says, “I’ll go on any ride you want.”

Kiki makes an unearthly noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke, and he braces for it, for the you know, Zen can tell you the location of every trashcan in Hollywood Studios--

“When were you thinking?” she says instead, mouth just barely twitching at the corner. “It’s going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki’s eyes round, matching the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t have to be right now. Maybe in another...week? Or so?”

Kiki whips out her phone, flicking through with one finger. “How about...the seventeenth?”

“Ah...” Shirayuki squints, eyes rolling upward like her brain is an open book she can skim for answers. “Y-yes. I think that’s all right.”

Zen stares. “Did you just...pick a random date?”

“No.” Kiki clicks her screen off, slipping it back into her pocket. “This weekend will still have traffic from the fourth. Next week we’re supposed to submit our paperwork to the student affairs office for this semester, and I know you haven’t started. I don’t want to go during a weekend rush, and Thursday is far into the week where if we have any last second problems with student affairs, we won’t have to reschedule.” She holds out a hand, ta-da. “The seventeenth.”

It’s not fair how she can just...do all that. “W-well, all right. But we still have to make sure that Obi and Mitsuhide--”

“Hey, Obi,” Kiki calls out, catching his attention as he cuts across the lawn toward them. “What are you doing on July seventeenth?”

In full sunlight, in the view of every member of the frat, Obi stumbles over absolutely nothing. “W-what?”

“July seventeenth.” she repeats archly as he slinks up beside her, arms resting on the rail. “Are you doing anything.”

When he thinks of Obi at rest, he thinks of languid limbs, of a frustratingly canted smile and glittering eyes, but--

He’s not any of that now. His troublesome mouth lays in a tense line, the corners of his eyes creased and wary. “Why?”

“We want to go somewhere, all five of us,” Shirayuki informs him giddily, mouth stretching from ear to hear. “And Zen suggested Six Flags--”

“Oh no.” He holds up his hands, shaking his head. “No way. Hard pass. I don’t do amusement parks.”

Kiki arches a brow, unimpressed. “Is that so.”

“Yeah.” He tosses his head, mouth straining towards casual derision and falling short. “Not my scene.”

“Oh really.” The mild look Kiki levels at him had leveled lesser men, but Obi only flinches. “Too cool for them, huh?”

His shoulders twitch. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Ohh,” Zen grins, enjoying the way Obi squirms like a cat with his head caught in a fence. “So you mean that’s not really the reason? You have some other secret, terrible Bugs Bunny trauma in your past, maybe?”

“Well, I have to tell you,” Obi says loftily, “I’ve never really cared for Yosemite Sam.”

Shirayuki frowns. “We really don’t have to--”

“I think we all know this is just to obscure your Lola Bunny fetish,” Kiki deadpans.

“Excuse me?” Obi presses a hand to his chest, aghast. “Space Jam is a formative experience. To say any of us don’t owe Lola Bunny--”

“Hey.” Mitsuhide hops up the steps, wiping the sweat pouring down his neck. Zen valiantly doesn’t notice how Kiki stares. “The burgers have been done for a bit. What’s keeping all of you?”

“Obi is allergic to fun,” Kiki informs him, earning a shocked gasp from Obi.

“That’s not it!” he protests. “You just want to go to Six Flags--”

“Oh, Six Flags!” Mitsuhide’s mouth break into a guileless grin. “I love amusement parks.”

Obi stares, jaw slack. “Big Guy, don’t do this to me...”

Zen grins. “I dunno, Obi. Looks like you’re outvoted.”

Shirayuki shifts beside him, wringing her hands. “Oh no, I don’t think-- if Obi doesn’t want to go, we can just pick--”

“Nah.” Obi waves her off, one hand clasping at his shoulder. “You guys can do what you want. I’ll just sit this one out.”

“Obi--”

“I better check in on Shiira,” he says, stilted. “Don’t want them blowing up the front forty by accident.”

Shirayuki half stands, but it’s too late, he’s already sauntering away, laughing at he calls out to the brothers on the lawn.

“Don’t worry, Shirayuki.” Mitsuhide assures her with a clap on her shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“I...” Zen watches the way her mouth sets, too knowing, a grim white line cutting through the flush of her face. “I don’t know about that.”

[ottomations]

A giant iron vault door, the cosmetic aspect of it was intimidating to say the least.

Sounds of the redstone, hard at work, poured through the gaps of the blackstone and obsidian walls wherever it could. The many doors and platforms were all designed for the prison to be at maximum security.

Tapping of boots on the ground, one was more metallic and the other was the soles of regular sneakers— squeaking every now and then on the smooth surface.

The warden, guiding the visitor through the process, led them to the aquamarine lamps that shone dimly underneath the black-tinted glass.

Raising the sharp, fire aspect axe, Sam spoke behind his mask,

“Punz, I’m going to have to do a manual check for Items— to make sure you’re not carrying anything into the cell.”

“Alright, got it. Do what you need to do,” the hooded blonde responded, icy eyes blinked to the tip of their shoes as they held their arms loosely to the side.

It was a quick inspection. The burning lingered lightly as the poison seeped into the visitor’s skin, the cold water caused it to finally fade away.

The sounds of the ink swirling in the small, glass pot and the quill writing on the page of the forms was the only sound other than the running lava to both of their lefts. Each of the signatures were neat for a person like them, reading out ‘Punz.’

Punz blanked out for a few of the next parts in the process, mainly remembering the hot lava on his skin feel like a warm, summer day instead of the inferno of the nether.

He was now just staring at a curtain of lava, The Warden filled the silence every minute or two with a reassurance that the lava, “takes a moment to clear away.”

The curtain fell, revealing a horned man with hair that resembled Captain Puffy’s. He seems scared of who was going to visit him, pressing his body against the back wall of the cell. After seeing the blue eyes and platinum hair, Dream calmed and relaxed— seeming relieved.

The brick platform below Punz’s feet moved towards the prisoner, the bubble of the lava resonating in their ears. Stepping off the contraption, they felt the floor of obsidian— regular and cracked. There were scratches and chips in the walls and floor accompanying different spots and marks of dried blood.

The curtain falls, the barricade is lowered.

Silence, a mumble here and there from Dream.

Punz sighed, walking closer as they grasped the right sleeve of their hoodie with the opposite hand, “Dream, are you still...” he paused, collecting his voice with a cough as he took a deep inhale, “are you mad at me?”

Not replying, the prisoner grazed his swollen, bruised cheek. It definitely seemed new. Punz was worried, making a stride closer to Dream and reaching out their hand to wait for a reaction.

“Dream,” they called again, the other had no reaction— again.

Sigh, “Dream.”

The stern tone and the ‘woosh’ in the air caused the ram child to look up. Punz’s arm came down to their sides, stiffly.

“I’m... I’m sorry, truly I am... there’s... stuff going on and—“ the innate rubbed his eyes, dark circles have accumulated from the lack of cushioned resting grounds, “I’m like... glad you came— I’m glad i swear.”

“Well...” the blonde looked around before refocusing on Dream, “While we’re getting this out of the way, i’m a.. a huge dick for- for just excepting the offer from... tommy and stuff...”

Dream gestured for them to sit down on the floor, each doing so.

“And I’m... I’m also sorry for... you— I was really split on the decision between your side and.. his.”

The prisoner nodded slightly and slowly in response, blinking back the moist feeling in his eyes.

“It’s my... my fucking fault for even paying you like... the amount I was, it was such a bad accommodation for what.. what you were doing.”

Punz didn’t reply, being silent for a period of time as Dream continued to stroke and rub the cuts and bruises on his body. They were concerned, although it didn’t seem like a good segway to just ask what they were.

“So how has been your time in... the prison?”

“Definitely... Definitely could be better... I’ve been visited by Tommy... Bad... Sapnap... Ranboo— I think...” eyes closed as his Adam’s apple bobbed, “Quackity has been visiting.. every day...”

“What... what does he want?”

“Well... Tommy was... revived... the information went around... fast— a-and he wants to.. wants to know the secret to revival and stuff...”

Punz started to connect the dots, Quackity? This? To Dream for crying out loud??

“Did... you tell him?”

“N... no— well— he did first ask for the book, but I already... burned it. After... refusing to give information...” streaks of warm tears ran down his face, the emeralds of his irises disappeared as the eyelids closed shut.

Dream unzipped the shirt of the orange outfit that he wore, taking it off to a mostly ripped, white tank top. The rips and tears revealed large scars and cuts in his torso that were definitely not there before his imprisonment. Some were still bleeding or open, the scars haven’t formed at all.

Punz gasped at the sight reaching to lightly graze their fingertips on the wounds— causing a reaction of pain in Dream’s face, drawing in air through his gritted teeth. They lifted and pulled the hood off of their head.

Dream couldn’t help but inspect how the other changed from their last interaction, their back hair was kept in a tight bun that sat at the crown of their head. Bangs still hung forwards and swept right to keep out of Punz’s eyes

Speaking of his eyes, there was a specific glisten that wasn’t in them anymore. It reminded Dream of contacts. What could he be hiding?

“I’m.. so sorry for you. I didn’t think that this would happen...”

“I knew it was bound to have someone yearning for the information... but I didn’t think torture would be one of the options... I don’t...” the taller sniffled as his knees curled to his chest, careful to not touch the tender skin.

Both of them paused to recollect their thoughts.

“So Punz... how is... how is the uh... outside,” Dream asked, the hunt for an answer commenced.

“It’s alright, that... th-the... egg... is... w... wonderful, it’s great!” They responded, seemingly in a trance.

“Punz... please, are you okay?”

“Yep! no... I’m perfectly fine, everything’s weird...” a heavy sigh, hands reaching up to their eyes to take out the contacts.

Ruby red.

“I don’t... I know I’m.. Not... I’m fine— No...” they tried to cover up the controlling voice.

“Hey, I don’t know if you can properly speak to me, but I respect your decision. Hopefully you... achieve your goals!”

Punz stood and walked over to sit next to Dream, leaning their head back on the wall. They took a heavy sigh after a while, crossing their legs and moving their head forwards to stare at the floor. Dream put his arm around Punz’s shoulder, causing a slight jolt.

Both of them leaned into the embrace, Dream took another step and undid the other’s hair bun. It fell down quite gracefully with a few ruffles of his hand, some strands shone like lightning as they reflected the glowstone’s gleam.

The pair stayed like this for a while, taking in the warmth of the other. Before Punz really knew it, there was a hand that rested palm to palm with the prisoner’s. The arm on their shoulder was interlaced with the hairs on their scalp.

Punz moved his head, wanting to look at the other’s eyes. Dream was absurdly close, he blinked in surprise as the other made eye contact.

The inmate looked away to his bare feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that— If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Punz moved their free hand to cup the other’s cheek, turning Dream’s head to face him again. The freckles on his face better emphasized the peachy glow.

The shorter chuckled, blonde hair brushed their shoulders at their length, “Your face is pink, Dream. You thinking about George or something?”

“Nah, I’m thinking about someone else, they’re nicer to me and have better hair for me to grasp when I want to kiss them,” the responder cooed.

“What a charmer,” Punz smirked, “I could’ve sworn he was a child torturer.”

Dream scoffed, “I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or you were being serious. Either way, you’re for some reason into that shit.”

“I’m my defense, I was being paid,” They paused, “In second defense, the torturer is good lookin’.”

Both of them laughed, rustling around in their positions as each hid their flushed faces.

“I can’t tell if you’re glad that we’re flirting or mad that you enjoy it—“ Dream smiled, looking at the other with a smile.

Punz giggled, “Both— but I think it’s mostly the first option.”

“Heh, I’m glad. I’ve liked you and what you do.”

“Mmh... yeah, I have too...”

Dream paused, turning his body to face Punz.

“Do you want to... maybe...?”

“Wait like... actually, you want to?”

“Yeah... just...”

A message appeared in the chat, Punz pulled up his menu to read the alert from The Warden, Sam.

‘Punz, your visiting hours are over. Please tell me when you’re ready to leave by the next 5 minutes or I will force you to leave.

Dream also read the message, “You... you need to leave...”

“Yeah.. I’ll see you later, Dream. I had quite a bit of fun talking with you about our lives,” Punz replied as they put their contacts back in.

The prisoner didn’t want him to leave, it wasn’t a proper ‘goodbye’ and he wanted to do what he’s been wanting to do for a long while. They made amends and had shared feelings, why now?

“I’m ready to leave, Sam...”

Punz had already gotten into the water, the Warden continued to give instructions as they readied to be ‘splash-potioned’ out of the cell.

“Punz—!”

“Huh?”

“I have something to give to you before you leave,” Dream stood up and jogged over to the water, going into it and held Punz’s head with his hands.

“What are you doin—?”

But Punz was cut off from finishing their sentence, cut off with the feeling of the other pressing his lips against their own. It was slightly chapped, but filled with the love and happiness that they shared that evening.

They responded, pressing into the kiss with lust. Their hands reached up and around Dream’s shoulders, grasping tightly and pulling him closer to his body. The taller shared the tight embrace and his hands moved down to the other’s waist.

Before they knew it, it was over. Punz woke to see Sam at the other side of the room with the levers behind him.

“So, how was your visit?”

“It was... good, yeah.”

Punz wished it lasted longer though. Maybe he could visit another time to continue what Dream and them had.

Upon exiting the prison, they visited their home and tended to their bees. They changed into something more comfortable as the night shone ever so bright in the sky. Making their stride to a lectern, they got out a book and quill.

Lighting a candle, ink dropped off of the tip.

Punz started to write a letter to the arctic,

“Dear Technoblade,

I believe you owe us a favor...”

[cas-kingdom]

She’s a Lady

A/N: Because you all love the sister!Shelby fics. <3 (Yes, the title is a Tom Jones song!)

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: She’s a Lady

Summary: You want to cut your hair, but Tommy won’t let you.

Words: 1919

“Can I cut my hair?”

Tommy rose an eyebrow from where he was sat behind his desk, reading a book during a rare moment of peace. You’d traipsed into his office a little after he’d began to read and unceremoniously dumped yourself in the chair opposite him. He hadn’t paid it much mind; Arthur and John were out on business, Michael was busy in the accountant’s office, Polly was shopping for new shoes with Finn, and Ada wasn’t due back from London for another two weeks. It was simply to be expected that you’d eventually grow bored with whatever you were doing and seek out your only free sibling.

He hadn’t said anything when you’d sat yourself sideways in his chair, instead simply pushing a book he’d thought you’d possibly be able to entertain yourself with for the next hour or so over to your side of the desk. Nevertheless, apparently a book was not enough to alleviate your boredom… which he couldn’t quite understand, seeing as he hadn’t seen you lay your eyes on it once.

“What do you mean?” he answered, spinning slightly on his chair but not lifting his eyes from the page he was currently absorbed in. Books were a relief, he found, in his line of work. There weren’t many days he got off, but during the ones he did he was almost always found nose-deep in a story. He’d hoped at least one of his siblings would follow after him in that – namely you – but was deeply disappointed to find that they all would rather do something else. You seemed to like painting, though, and he figured that was close enough. At least someone in the Shelby family had a possible future that wasn’t to do with the company.

“My hair. Can I cut it?”

“You’ve just had it cut.”

Tommy couldn’t see, but he would have bet his entire business on the idea that you’d rolled your eyes at that statement. “I know that,” you said. “But that was a trim, Tom.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Why do you want another haircut?”

“Because I want it shorter.”

The man reached over to sip at his glass of whiskey. “How short?”

“Like… like Ada’s!”

The whiskey made a splash as Tommy coughed and the liquid came right out of his mouth again. He glanced up, feeling the burn in his throat, and rose both eyebrows. “Ada’s?” He coughed again and shook his head. “No, not that short.”

You frowned. “Why not? I like it.”

“Yeah, well.” Your brother cleared his throat. “I don’t.” He rested his eyes on your beautiful, long hair, falling about your shoulders like wild waves. Why you wanted it cut, he had no idea. Having short hair nowadays was a sign of maturity and adulthood. Finn had gotten his obligatory Blinders haircut when he’d turned sixteen, and though he had no problem with that, it was only because the boy was exactly that. A boy. You, on the other hand, were a girl – his girl, more specifically, and he had a distinct feeling that you would be getting the cut Ada, Lizzie, and all other girls in Birmingham above the age of eighteen had at a much later date, if he and his brothers had anything to say about it.

Tommy had learnt to braid in that hair, and he’d put one in every morning whenever Polly wasn’t around to plait you a better one. He’d spent countless smiles on watching John playfully tug on your long locks whenever he passed by, and he’d even helped wash out flour and egg and whatever else he’d caught you and Finn throwing at each other that one awful time… and he knew Arthur would be greatly upset by the massive loss of hair he’d have available for him to run his fingers through the next time the Shelbys had a quiet night together and you routinely made your way to your eldest brother’s lap.

A hair cut would most definitely affect your brothers more than it would affect you yourself, no doubt about it.

“You can’t control how I look!” you said indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest. He noticed you weren’t looking at him, though, something you did if ever you believed you may have crossed a line with something you’d said.

Of course, you hadn’t. Fortunately for you, Tommy understood your – in his opinion, appalling – want to cut your hair; you lived in a world where children did not have the ability to stay children for too long. It was natural for you to feel the need to grow up, and though cutting your hair seemed a strange way to grow up, it was, in actuality, what you’d be doing. As soon as he allowed you to cut it, many more things regarding adulthood would follow, and in no time at all you would no longer be the little girl your brothers would have you stay forever, if they had their say in it.

He sighed, marking his page with a bookmark and placing it back on his desk. “I’m not having you walking around Birmingham with short hair.”

“Why not?”

“Because all the men will think you’re a woman, and you’re not.” He rose an eyebrow, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.

“I am!” You spun your legs around and sat up straight in the chair, giving your brother a look as he drew the cigarette up to his mouth and puffed. His eyes locked onto yours, sending a clear message without him even having to open his mouth, and you sighed, leaning back against your seat. “Almost.”

Tommy chuckled. “Wait until you are. Then we’ll talk about it again.”

It was silent for a moment, with you thinking to yourself and Tommy puffing at his cigarette. He had half a mind to pick his book back up, but those thoughts diminished as soon as you spoke yet again. “Ada said I’d suit short hair. So did Lizzie.” Your voice was quiet, and he wasn’t totally sure of the reason behind that, but he sighed nevertheless and answered.

“Of course they did. But they don’t know much about what it feels like to be an older brother, believe it or not.” He gave you a soft smile, hoping you weren’t going to go off on a tangent with this and take it all the wrong way. Of course you’d suit short hair. You’d suit anything. You were a pretty little girl who took after your mother in every way possible, and Tommy knew that, when the day did come that you deemed yourself old enough to make your own decisions based on your hair, you would look no less or more beautiful than you did with it long. Nevertheless, his point still stood. Short hair was a symbol of everything he did not want you to be at this point in time, and it almost pained him to know that you probably only wanted it so you could feel more of an adult. “This is a man’s world, Y/N,” he continued, “and we’re just lucky enough to have women in it. The moment you cut your hair to Ada’s length, you’re not a kid anymore.”

You nodded slowly, making a face. “So… you don’t want me to cut my hair…?”

“I’d rather you not, yeah.”

“… because you want me to stay a kid?”

Tommy smiled, shaking his head. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk, looking straight at you. “For as long as possible.”

You knew he was giving you that look to try and make you happier about the situation; he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that it wasn’t always easy to be the odd one out. Every day, you were around women with short hair, and you simply wanted to be like them. Seeing as it was definitely one of those rare moments in which Tommy was actually smiling, you gave him one in return. “Fine,” you said, “but the moment John tugs on it again I’m grabbing a knife and cutting it all off.”

The man chuckled and took another puff of his cigarette. “Yeah, and I’ll have you wearing a wig until you’re thirty.”

“Sixteen, Tom! Finn got his when he turned sixteen!”

“Finn got some hair cut off the sides and layered up a bit on top. It doesn’t look any different to how it used to.”

“It looks nice!”

“Yours looks nice, Y/N. You’ve got beautiful hair. Don’t wish it all away.” He rose an eyebrow and you heaved a sigh. Truthfully, you did love your hair, but every woman you saw out on the streets had theirs cut into short little bobs. They framed their faces perfectly and there hadn’t been a single lady you’d seen, yet, that didn’t suit the look. You hardly doubted you’d be that one. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for my baby sister to cut all her lovely hair off, okay?” He narrowed his eyes at your lack of response. “Okay?”

“Yes, yes, Thomas. Fine.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, and your brother couldn’t help but see the image of another reason he could not quite imagine you with a mature haircut like the ladies’ of Birmingham. You weren’t there, yet, on the development side of things, and he hated the fact that fifteen-year-olds – both girls and boys – like you were forced to act more and more like the grown ups they weren’t these days. He’d be damned if he took away those last few years of freedom and innocence from you before you turned into a young woman. 

“And I’m telling Ada that, too, in case you want to go up to her and say that Tommy’s told you it’s fine to get your hair cut so can she arrange an appointment to do so, please.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“’Course not.” Your brother shook his head, reaching for his glass of whiskey and draining the last few drops before glancing up as the door opened and John walked in. He rose an eyebrow. “Don’t we knock anymore, John boy?”

John gave the older man a look. “Seriously?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“Trouble down at the Cut. Someone pushed Isaiah in the water and now they’re all arguing. Won’t listen to me so I said I’d get you down.” You could clearly tell he was trying hard not to laugh at the situation as he leaned casually on the back of your chair, attempting to maintain a serious facial expression while he looked at his older brother.

You snorted. “Should’ve pushed you in the water while they had a chance.”

John made a face and reached down, grabbing a few locks of your hair and pulling. Your head jerked to the side. “Ow!”

“Yeah, that’ll make you think twice, you little shit,” the man said with a grin. Nevertheless, you didn’t turn to him, instead sending a pointed look at Tommy. He sent one straight back in return, but John could easily decipher it to be one of warning. Before he could ask any kind of question, you shot up from your chair and ran straight towards the door.

“Fuck!” Tommy leapt out of his own seat, whacking his brother ‘round the head as he passed, before following straight after you. “Don’t you dare, Y/N!”

“Michael! I need that knife you were using earlier!”

Peaky Masterpost

[echoeternally]

If Alakazam and Machamp Survive Together...

Balancing the votes between Machamp and Alakazam in the Hero’s Second Wind poll will bring them into the next story together. Those potential scenes are found on this page!

Brief descriptions and scene titles will be included below!

Fair warning: There is some content dealing with death below as well.

Second warning: This post is long to depict several developing scenes!

... ... ... ... ...

Cave of Wonders

At the conclusion of their battle, Alakazam was barely able to Teleport himself and Machamp to safety. They discover that they’ve healed, and wonder if they can place where they’d arrived.

...

His eyes snapped open, and Alakazam grasped at Machamp, who jolted awake as well. He quickly grabbed at Alakazam and scrambled to the surface.

Gasping, Machamp lurched forward, coughing a bit. He pulled up on Alakazam, who gasped, coughed, and sputtered. Both stared at one another, panting as they steadied their breathing.

Alakazam quickly patted at Machamp’s chest, and they looked down. No stab wounds were on him. While Machamp glanced around the cave, Alakazam held his hand out, telekinetically lifting his spoons back out.

“How did we…?” Machamp returned his attention to Alakazam. “Did you bring us here?”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” determined Alakazam. “We’ve never been here…”

“Wait, but even if you did, that last Teleport should’ve killed you!” Machamp splashed water out as he scooped up Alakazam’s hand. A soft orange glow lit up around their wrists. “…Your…pulse is fine…”

“And you made a remarkable recovery as well, yes,” pointed out Alakazam. “None of this makes any sense, unless…”

“This can’t be that place, can it?” Machamp brought Alakazam closer into him as he paddled over to the nearest ledge. “You remember the legend about the hidden lake that we read about?”

“Now that you mention it…” Alakazam studied the cavern as Machamp gently lifted him to the land, and then pulled himself up. “But how…can it really be…?”

... ... ...

Charting the Waters

As they proceed with climbing the mountains of the monarchy, Machamp takes a moment to talk with Samurott about some potentially developing feelings.

...

“…So…” Machamp slid over to Samurott, who slashed at a rock. “That Typhlosion pal of yours, huh?”

Samurott sighed and rolled his eyes. “What about him?”

“When did you start liking him back?”

Jerking back, Samurott spun around to Machamp, whiskers standing on edge. He pointed his blade at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“What? I wouldn’t tell him anything!”

“No, I’m not going over this with you, ok?”

“From what I was told, he gave you some clear moments that you could’ve talked to him about it,” reasoned Machamp. “But you’re holding back, because you already screwed up a few times, didn’t you?”

“Just what do you think you know?”

“Well, if you tell me that I’m right,” started Machamp, “that’ll be good to work with, because I went through the same problem with Alakazam.”

“…Wait, you two weren’t always…?”

“Us? No way!” Machamp laughed. “We needed help from your friends to sort our own feelings out!” He sighed and rubbed behind his neck. “A while ago, I, uh…I messed up with Alakazam pretty badly.” Machamp smirked. “We try not dwelling on it, though, because we’re really happy together nowadays! But…I could go over it with you, if you want.”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling,” admitted Samurott as he sheathed his blade. “I just can’t sort it out, and I don’t think your little story would help any.”

“Maybe not, but you’d be surprised.”

Silently studying Machamp for a moment, Samurott sighed and nodded.

... ... ...

Battle Harmony

During a battle trial to prove their worth to the monarchy, Alakazam and Machamp outshine rivals from the mountains kingdom, with unrivaled pairing skills in combat.

...

“There’s no way they can be this good! …Can they?” Krookodile fumbled back. He glanced at Audino, who blankly shrugged to him. “Come on! We’re in a band together! It’s literally our job to synchronize and harmonize!”

“Being a band doesn’t really mean that you two are that close,” contested Machamp, as he folded his lower arms. “And it’s got nothing to do with your battle prowess.”

“What would you know about that?!” Krookodile folded his arms. “I bet your boyfriend over there is the one with all of the tactics.”

“Me?” Alakazam chuckled and shook his head. “I only know the tactics that Machamp has extensively taught and practiced with me.” He cupped his hands together and charged energy between his spoons. “The tactics that you’re dealing with are all his ideas, not mine.”

“Seriously?!”

“Aw, listen to you bringing me up.” Machamp beamed to Alakazam as he lifted the ball of green energy. “Don’t mind if I do!”

Alakazam waved to us, and then winked as Machamp pulled his fist back. “Always here for you.”

Orange energy focused around Machamp’s hand as he swung forward, slamming the orb at their opponents. Audino clapped as Krookodile grabbed her and dove aside.

He glanced back and watched the energy ball burst, with leaves scattering around the impact, and orange ashes coating them. Grinding his teeth, he twisted back to the pair.

“What the hell kind of combination is that?!”

“You mean you don’t have attack combinations?” Machamp grinned. “You’re only proving how much more we’ve got going on over here!”

“Bah!”

Krookodile lifted his foot and slammed it to the ground with his tail. A tremor ripped across the earth and toward the couple.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to test this.” Alakazam slid in front of Machamp. “Ready, darling?”

“Always!”

Concentrating on his lower hands, red energy crackled from Machamp’s fingers, as he cupped his hands around Alakazam’s waist. Alakazam outstretched his arms, with his spoons levitating out from them.

Clapping his hands together, a fuschia aura lit around them as Alakazam pointed them to the ground. As the ground split open, his spoons, glowing with both energies, slammed into the earth and forced a heavy bubble between them.

... ... ...

Stoking the Flames

As a midpoint in their journey and after a show performance, Alakazam picks up on Typhlosion’s wavering interest in Samurott and decides to lend him some advice.

...

“Do you want to talk about your feelings regarding Samurott?”

Alakazam folded his legs as Typhlosion deflated and stared across the table to him. He lowered his head and plopped it down.

“There’s nothing else to talk about,” mumbled Typhlosion. “I told him months ago how I felt, and he…doesn’t like me the same way.”

“Has he ever actually told you that he doesn’t like you?”

“Does he have to?”

“Probably.”

“If he has by his inaction and disinterest, shouldn’t that count?”

“Not necessarily, considering that he’s likely struggling with sorting out his own feelings regarding the matter,” assessed Alakazam. “In all honesty, his mannerisms and hesitation around you seem to indicate that he has interest in you, particularly after your little, ah, performance back there.”

“Can we not talk about that?”

“Ha, you didn’t see how he watched you, and how he scowled at the crowd,” teased Alakazam. “Machamp guards me with that same underlying ferocity, so if he’s not romantically inclined to you, then that’s still a supremely excellent friend.”

“If he still even sees me like one…”

“Without a shadow of a doubt, he certainly cares for you,” reassured Alakazam. “Even when Machamp and I weren’t getting along years ago, he would always defend me.”

“Hold on, what?” Typhlosion picked his head up. “You and your boyfriend didn’t get along? I thought you were childhood sweethearts.”

“That’s not quite the story.” Alakazam sighed. “To tell you the truth, you and I are quite alike. My emotions twisted my thoughts up miserably, and I thought Machamp wasn’t as interested in me as I was in him.” He gazed down at his hands on the table, twirling his spoons around one another. “It was actually because I caught his mind off at the wrong moment, or uh, several times, really, but…I just repeatedly misinterpreted his love for me as curiosity and lust.” He sank down in his seat. “And lust for someone else, but I’d rather not get into that part.”

“But you’re both so…” Typhlosion sat up. “Now you’re both so inseparable!”

“Absolutely.” Alakazam grinned. “Your friends helped us come together, and we’ve stayed that way happily since.”

... ... ...

Echoes of the Apex

Near the conclusion of their journey, Machamp and Alakazam must face off against Mega Garchomp once again.

...

A heavy roar erupted from the rainbow light as it faded, and Mega Garchomp lowered his head, wildly grinning at the couple.

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t miss that psycho smile,” muttered Machamp. “Now what do we do?”

“Last time, we were throwing ourselves at him to defend our home,” pointed out Alakazam. “We were stuck with putting ourselves on the line because if he crossed it, everyone else would have died.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re falling right back into that scenario,” pointed out Machamp. “Just not at our home, but we’re not going to let innocent people die, are we?”

“Not at all.” Alakazam smirked. “But, unlike last time, we can’t give up breaking through to him.” He frowned. “Also, we don’t have you get too close to him.”

“Definitely not planning on a full repeat performance,” agreed Machamp. “So if you’re trying to get to his head, what do I do?”

“Keep me alive.”

Machamp twisted around to fully face Alakazam, who softly smiled to him.

“Yes, I would absolutely leave my life in your hands,” Alakazam answered Machamp’s thoughts. “And we’ll need to once he comes across the way to us.”

“Alakazam, we can’t—I can’t!”

“Would you rather just find a way to kill him, after what we nearly died discovering about him?” Machamp paused before he shook his head. “Good, because I’d rather not either.” Alakazam searched the mountaintop, and spotted the green dragon. “As a matter of fact, I have a few ideas on appealing to him this time.”

Following his eyes, Machamp spotted who Alakazam focused on. He grinned as Alakazam turned back to wink at him.

“Ok, I think I can follow.” He picked up Alakazam’s hand and kissed it. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Just…let’s be very careful this time.”

“Absolutely.”

... ... ... ... ...

(Remember, these are scenes in development. However, this is what you can look forward to, should the vote tallies of Machamp and Alakazam be close enough together! See if you can get their combined return for the stories!)

(Head back to the poll here!)

(Still not sure or want to read more? Check back here!)

[dracoqueen22]

[Critical Role] Coming Clean

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Set in the Xhorhouse Characters: Caleb Widogast/Caduceus Clay Rating: K+ Description: Caduceus only meant to help Caleb to relax. He hadn’t known it would lead to something surprising for the both of them.

It's not hard to coax Caleb out of his research room. One simply has to have the right timing. Such as late at night, when the rest of the Mighty Nein are asleep in their beds and not prone to being nosy. When Caleb has spent far too long awake, nose pressed to his books, determined to glean every last bit of information from every last page. When he's skipped dinner because he didn't want to lose his place, but mindlessly snacked from a plate Nott left by his elbow. He's predictable, their wizard is, and Caduceus finds there's a certain comfort in predictability.

Caduceus hums as he fixes up a tray, placing a pot of tea and two cups upon it, along with a plate of heartier snacks. The tea is a special blend -- the Temis' he thinks -- one that tastes better once it's cooled, which means it'll be perfect for an afterbath meal. Caleb works hard, far too hard, and doesn't care for himself in the manner he should. Caduceus understands that there are reasons, things which weigh heavily on Caleb's heart and conscience. But Caleb lets those things swallow him up, inform too many of his decisions, and he wallows like a pig in the sty. He needs to get out of his own head, and Caduceus means to help him do just that. He picks up the tray, and at the last minute, adds a small vase with a few cut flowers from his personal garden, just to give it a splash of color. Caleb will appreciate that, he thinks. Caleb is one to notice the little things. The Xhorhouse is still and quiet. Nott and Yeza retired early, and Caduceus is no longer so naive as to be confused why, he's simply glad for them. Yasha is on her balcony, sword balanced across her knees, staring into the night sky, perhaps hoping for a storm. Jester and Beau are both asleep; Caduceus had paused outside their room, heard Beau's telltale snoring, and Jester's quiet murmur of sleep-talking. Fjord's asleep in the common room, knocked out on a couch, one arm dangling off the side. He’d had a book on his chest, but Caduceus had gently extracted it, saved Fjord's place, and covered the half-orc with a blanket. Lastly, Caleb is in his research room, burning the past midnight oil, and in need of a break and relaxation and some stress relief. The trick will be to convince Caleb he is in need of them as well. Caduceus shifts the tray to one hand and raps his knuckles against the door. There's a moment of startled pause before Caleb's voice comes through the wood. "Yes?" "Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Caleb," Caduceus says as he slips inside, balancing the tray with care. "I thought I might convince you to take a break and join me in the bath. I think it'll do you some good." Caleb rises from behind his desk, sleeves pushed up to reveal the scars on his arms, coat shucked aside, hair loose around his face, dark circles under his eyes. "No matter what Jester tells you, I bathe on the regular now, Mr. Clay." Caduceus chuckles and rests the tray on the desk, hoping the enticing aroma will waft Caleb's direction. "I meant a soak will relax you, not that you are dirty." "Oh. I see." Caleb's gaze slants toward the tray. "You brought this for me?" "For us to share." Caduceus holds up a hand. "But only after a soak. They are best eaten when one is at ease." Caleb chuckles, quiet and dry, and it's such a rare sound Caduceus' chest blooms with a delighted heat. "Very well. If you're going to bribe me, then I suppose I have no choice." Caleb casts a glance at his work before purposefully moving around the desk, rolling his sleeves back over his arms. "To the bath then." Caduceus grins widely. He picks up the tray once more and follows Caleb through the Xhorhouse, to the bath they've installed for their own use. There's something to be said about a private bath. It's always clean and fragrant and only needs a touch of magic to be the perfect temperature. The privacy is also nice, though Caduceus has never bothered much with modesty. A body is a body, what's there to be concerned over? He sets the tray on a shelf and starts to disrobe, throwing his clothes over a nearby chair. Caleb is much more neat about it, removing each article and folding it. He's lean and pale, arms striped in scars, and others across his body. There's a knotted one on his chest which looks as though he's been impaled, and countless signs of battle. His skin is a landscape of struggle, and Caduceus finds himself curious of the stories behind each one. He looks down at himself. He'd been pristine once. Unmarked. Now the evidence of an adventuring life has started spreading across his own skin. The pucker of burns from Nott's exploding arrow. The long, thin lines of claw marks. Little knots where contusions have left permanent bumps. The only injuries which haven't left visible scars are the times of near-drowning. Those scars he feels in a thick smoke or when panting from exertion, when his lungs threaten to seize, and he’s taken by a coughing fit. His ear twitches at a faint splash. Caduceus looks up in time to catch Caleb sinking beneath the water, until it laps at his shoulders. His face reddens from the heat, his freckles standing out in sharp relief. He emits a soft sigh, the lines of stress in his face and across his shoulders starting to loosen. "You were right, Mr. Clay. Sometimes a break is necessary." Caleb splashes his face with water, scrubbing around his nose and brow and chin especially, where new growth peppers his jawline. Caduceus smiles and grabs a bar of soap before he joins Caleb in the water. "I find a calm mind often opens new avenues we may not have seen before." "Very true, though a calm mind is something I rarely have." Darkness shades Caleb's face for a moment. He ducks his head under the water, soaking his hair, before he rises again, pushing it up and out of his face. Caduceus hums and rubs his fingers over the soap. "You just need to learn to relax," he says, and he tilts his head. "I could help, if you want." Caleb blinks at him, and red paints the bridge of his nose and the top of his cheeks. "Eh, help? I don't... um... " "I could wash your hair," Caduceus clarifies, gesturing with the soap. Sometimes, he thinks every member of the Mighty Nein doesn't get enough physical intimacy, something he himself has been missing since the last of his family left. "My sister says I give great scalp massages." "Oh. Yes. That makes sense." Caleb coughs into his hand, and the tips of his ears turn a bright red. Perhaps the water is too hot. He stands, the water swirling just above his hipbones, and comes closer to Caduceus before turning to present his back, and a new array of scars and bruises. He heals so slowly, despite the magic they pump into him. He’s the squishiest member of the Mighty Nein, according to the others, and times like these, Caduceus agrees. Though he is not by far the weakest. Truthfully, Caduceus does not see any member as a weak link. They all have their skills and talents most useful in particular situations. Just as they all have their weaknesses where they must rely on one another to overcome them.. “Let me know if I hurt you,” Caduceus says as he lathers up the soap and threads sudsy fingers through Caleb’s hair. Standing, he’s a good two heads taller than Caleb, so it’s no trouble to work a good lather into the ginger strands. A low groan is Caleb’s response, but it’s not one of pain so Caduceus grins and rubs his blunt fingernails over Caleb’s scalp. A shiver runs across Caleb’s skin, but it can’t be because of the water’s temperature. Low curls of steam rise from the surface, bringing with them the fragrance of the oils Jester keeps dumping into the water. “This is far from pain, mein freund.” Caduceus chuckles as Caleb leans back toward him, body going visibly limp. “That’s what I want to hear.” Caleb hums, a sound not unlike Frumpkin’s purring, and tilts his head into Caduceus’ fingers. He lapses into silence, a companionable one, occasionally sighing with satisfaction as Caduceus finds a particularly troublesome spot. He scrubs his fingers lower, scratching through the finer hairs beneath the longer strands, and Caleb’s head tilts forward, exposing his nape. There are more scars here, hidden behind Caleb’s hair. Whisper-thin lines. What could have caused these, Caduceus wonders. He doesn’t dare ask. He’s worked too hard to encourage Caleb to relax. Queries about scars turn into reminders about the pain which caused them, and might cause Caleb to tense all over again. Caduceus files them away for another day. “Still okay?” Caduceus asks. Caleb groans, soft and quiet. “Your sister was right.” Caduceus laughs and his fingers drift lower, massaging at Caleb’s nape before fluttering out across the top of his shoulders, thumbs digging into knotted muscle. Caleb turns to jelly beneath him, and Caduceus chuckles again, pausing and resting his hands on Caleb’s shoulders. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want you to sink into the water and drown.” Caduceus takes a step back, finds the underwater shelf and sits, his tail flicking to drape across his thigh. He pulls Caleb back another step, between his knees, and resumes massaging the tense upper shoulders. They are of a height with Caduceus seated, and sudsy water dribbles from Caleb’s soapy hair. “I may fall asleep like this, Mr. Clay,” Caleb murmurs, and there’s a sleepy, unguarded quality to his voice that fills Caduceus with pride. “Then I’m doing my job right.” Caduceus finds a particularly stubborn knot and digs the heel of his thumb into it, until it unfurls beneath him and tension melts out of Caleb’s body. “Schiesse, that hurts,” Caleb says, and he grabs Caduceus’ knees under the water, fingers digging in as if to hold himself upright. “A good kind of hurt though, right?” Caleb sways back toward him. “Ja, it is.” Caduceus grins and grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. “Might wanna dip down real quick, Mr. Caleb, before that soap gets in your eyes.” “Yes. Of course.” Caleb hums to himself as he sinks below the surface for a moment, and then rises again, water cascading across his bare skin in a bubbly fall. It’s fascinating, to watch the various trails the water takes, before Caduceus shakes himself out of distraction and gets back to work. He gets lost in his own head sometimes. Less so, now that he has people to speak to rather than himself, but every once in a while, old habits rise up. Caduceus buries his fingers in Caleb’s hair, working the soap from the silky strands, fingers dragging behind Caleb’s ear to get a few stubborn soap-slicks. “One more time,” Caduceus says. Caleb nods and dips down, long enough for Caduceus to help him rinse the last of the soap free, before he stands again. He wobbles briefly, catching himself once more on Caduceus’ knees, until he catches his balance. “Better?” Caduceus asks. “Much.” Caleb drags his fingers through his own hair, scraping it back from his face, behind his ears. He draws in a long, steadying breath, and the air around him lacks the distinct tension he tends to carry like a physical weight. He looks younger, less burdened by the pain he carries. Caleb is a handsome human on his own, but relaxed and soft like this seems to make him seem even more so. “Good.” Caduceus sweeps up his own hair, pulling it over his shoulder, finger-combing it in preparation for washing. “You have my thanks,” Caleb says as he turns to face Caduceus, his lips pulled into a gentle smile, mouth still framed by a shadow of scruff. “And you were right. I did need this. You always seem to know these kinds of things.” “People’s needs aren’t all that complicated. It’s not hard to guess,” Caduceus says, reaching for the soap, but Caleb’s hand closes gently over his, warm from the bath, a few scars roughing the skin of his fingers. “Allow me,” Caleb says, slipping the soap out of reach. “It’s only fair.” “If you insist.” Caduceus leans forward, so that it is easier for Caleb to reach, and hums when a cupful of water splashes over his head and hair, trickling down the sides of his face. There’s something soothing about the slide of water over skin, something meditative. Caleb's hands then sink into his hair, and Caduceus melts, a groan rising in his chest. Caleb is gentle as he scrubs around the base of Caduceus' ears, but firm when he drags his blunt fingernails against Caduceus' scalp. He works a fine lather, the floral scent of lilac and berry filling the air around them, mingling with the oils of the bath. Caduceus hums a satisfied noise as Caleb breathes a laugh, smoothing the pads of his fingers into the base of Caduceus' head before dragging them up again. "It seems I am not unskilled myself," Caleb says. Caduceus smiles though Caleb can't see it behind the curtain of pink hair. "You have very talented hands," he agrees, and sinks a little further, surrendering to the relaxing scrub of Caleb's fingers, especially as they scratch through his undercut. "It is good to know they are useful for more than burning things," Caleb says, his tone light and offhand, but an edge of self-deprecation beneath. "We are the sum of our parts," Caduceus says slowly, taking care to choose his words, lest Caleb flee and shatter the moment. "And we're all capable of great deeds as well as terrible ones." "Yes. This is true." Caleb's hands wander around the base of Caduceus' ears, ever so gently, and Caduceus sighs happily. There's nothing quite like the soft touch of another in such a delicate spot. It never produces the same result as scratching them himself. "This is a good spot then, ja?" "Yeah." Caduceus' head sinks a little further, baring his nape entirely. Caleb hums a laugh. "Good to know." He gives the ears another gentle rub before his hands remove themselves. "Close your eyes, Mr. Clay. Time to rinse." He obeys and focuses on sensation as warm water courses over his head and hair, dripping down with suds, splashing into the water beneath him. Caleb works each cupful through his hair, until there's not a trace of soap remaining. By Melora, Caduceus shall sleep well tonight. "There. I think I've got it all." Caleb gathers up Caduceus' hair, twisting it into a loose braid off to the side. Caduceus waits for the last few drips to leave his brow before he opens his eyes and straightens, Caleb's fingers tucking the last of the braid in place. "If not, a little soap never hurt anyone," Caduceus says. Caleb chuckles. "Yes, so Jester tells me. Frequently." He cards fingers through his own hair, no longer slicked down to his head, and he gives Caduceus a suddenly keen look. "Mr. Clay, I am going to do something, and if it's not... eh... acceptable, please tell me." Caduceus tilts his head to the side a bit, the braid slipping over his shoulder. "All right." Caleb nods, as if to himself, and his tongue flicks over his bottom lip. He brushes a strand of hair from Caduceus' forehead -- escaped from the braid -- and he leans in. It takes a moment for Caduceus to connect the dots, to read Caleb's intent, before their mouths collide, and Caleb kisses him, his lips chapped and warm. He rests one hand on Caduceus' knee, the other on his shoulder, to brace himself. The kiss is gentle at first, a bare brush of lips, but when Caduceus doesn't immediately pull away, Caleb returns with a firmer pressure, a flick of his tongue to the seam of Caduceus' lips. It’s brief and testing and over far too soon. Caleb pulls back. There is wariness in his eyes, and the red flush has reappeared on his nose and cheeks and the tips of his ears. Caduceus licks his lips, which seem to tingle in the aftermath, echoing with the slight scrape of Caleb's mouth against his. "Was that all right?" Caleb asks. Caduceus examines the warmth flooding his belly, the flush of joy and satisfaction spreading out from his thumping heart. "Yeah," he says, and he smiles. "That was nice." "Nice?" "Well, to be honest Mr. Caleb, I don't have many points of comparison," Caduceus admits, though his inexperience isn’t something to be ashamed of. He's aware, however, that it might provide some clarification. "I did enjoy it." Caleb blinks, and then laughs, quiet and genuine. He briefly knocks their foreheads together. "I suppose as long as I haven't offended, then I'm okay with 'nice'." "No offense," Caduceus reassures, and the wariness in Caleb's eyes still concerns him. "But you know, Mr. Caleb, you don't have to -- I mean, I offered this because I care for your well-being. Don't think you owe me anything in return." Caleb squints, his brow furrowing. "You think I kissed you out of no real desire?" Again, his inexperience betrays him. Caduceus steadies himself with a long, slow breath. "I don't know. I'm not very good at this." "I've noticed." Caleb squeezes the back of his own neck, a touch of tension returning to him, ruining all of Caduceus’ hard work. "To be fair, neither am I. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to have interest and express it. It's no secret that I'm a mess and I probably shouldn't, but..." He trails off, shakes his head, and his weight shifts away from Caduceus. He captures Caleb's hand before the wizard can fully turn, threading their fingers together. "We're all a mess," Caduceus says, because it's true. The Mighty Nein is composed of broken people, but all their edges fit together and make a functional whole. "You don't know the things I've done," Caleb murmurs, and there's something aching in his voice, something dark in his eyes. Caduceus needn’t even feel the hum of warmth at the nape of his neck, the whispered caution Melora offers him, because he’s well aware. "True. But I know the things you're doing, and some of the things you're trying to do, and that's good enough for me." He brushes his lips over Calebs knuckles, tastes the spiderweb thin scars. "I can't fix you. Only you can do that. But I can hold your hand if you'd like." Caleb sighs. "You are too good for us, Caduceus." The sound of his name on Caleb's lips makes a quiet joy bubble in his heart. "I don't think there's such a thing." Caduceus kisses Caleb's knuckles again before laying his other hand over it, sandwiching Caleb's between his. "Now we should enjoy the tea and snacks." As if hearing Caduceus and wishing to agree, Caleb's stomach audibly growls. He covers his face behind his palm. Caduceus chuckles. "Or maybe something more substantial." "No, no. I'm sure what we have here is fine." Caleb backs away, untangles his fingers, and clambers out of the bath, water streaming behind him. Caduceus averts his gaze, because it seems the thing to do, until the swish of a robe settles around Caleb's body. Only then does Caduceus climb out as well, twitching his tail to flick away excess moisture. Caleb, he notices, stares boldly at him. Not that it dissuades Caduceus in the least. He stands there dripping, letting Caleb look his fill, before the wizard fumbles for a robe and thrusts it Caduceus' direction. "You never cease to surprise," Caleb says. Caduceus laughs. "Are you referring to my behavior or my physique?" "Both." Caleb's voice has a ring of humor to it, teasing. He’s not filling the air with self-deprecation, so Caduceus considers that a win. Caleb sweeps up the tray before Caduceus can, pot and cups and plate rattling upon it. “What do you think? To the kitchen? The dining room? The--” He pauses to wrinkle his nose in an adorable expression which cuts years off his face. “--happy room?” Caduceus chuckles and squeezes the last of the water from his hair. He gathers up their clothes in each arm. “The kitchen. Easier to leave the dishes in the sink when we’re done.” “I’ve never known you to leave the dishes in the sink.” “Why save for tomorrow what I can do today?” Caleb tosses a smile over his shoulder, and something flutters warm and happy in Caduceus’ belly. “That sounds exactly like something you’d say.” “Well, I did just say it.” Caleb laughs, and it’s irrepressibly charming. They set up in the kitchen, around the small table that is really only sized for two as they tend to take their meals in the dining room. It’s quiet and intimate, and Caduceus soaks up the companionship as he sips his tea and leaves the snacks for Caleb. “You know, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says as savors the sweetness of the tea, “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this, if you’re worried. I’m not in any hurry, and we’ve got a lot of things on our plate to add complications.” Caleb wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth and fiddles with the handle of his tea cup. “It would not bother you?” “It is what it is, not a burden or a stress, but a source of comfort and joy without expectations,” Caduceus says as he lowers his tea to the table, resting his hands around the cup. Caleb is silent a moment, contemplating the shade of his tea perhaps, hiding behind the cup, before he nods as if confirming something to himself. “All right,” he says. “That is fair and reasonable.” He smiles and rakes hair out of his eyes. “Would you feel better if we had a contract?” Caduceus teases, and is delighted by the flush of pink spreading over Caleb’s face. He snorts a laugh and puts down his empty teacup, swiping the last cookie from the plate. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Caleb stands and circles the table, leaning in toward Caduceus. “I do, however, think I should sleep now.” Caduceus lifts his chin, looks up at Caleb, and chuckles as a few crumbs hangs on the corner of Caleb’s mouth. He sweeps them away with the pad of his thumb. “Sleep well,” Caduceus says. “I think I will. For once.” Caleb leans in, brushing their lips together, and Caduceus hums into the kiss, the faint scent of tea and cookies flavoring it. “Goodnight,” Caleb murmurs with a parting kiss to Caduceus’ brow, and then he’s gone, munching on the last of the cookies as he leaves. Caduceus finishes his tea, gathers up the dishes, and sets them in the sink. He contemplates leaving them for a brief second before he realizes he can’t, and washes them first. He chuckles to himself, thinking of Caleb commenting on it, and touches his chest where a warm blossom of unexpected delight has taken up residence. This is not the way he expected his night to have gone, but he’s not disappointed either. Life is an unexpected, complicated series of little moments, and while he might not know where this one is heading, he has faith it will take him to wonderful things.

****

a/n: I’d love to know what everyone thinks! This is my first time writing this pairing. :)

[evesbeve]

boundaries mean nothing

Summary: It doesn't matter if Klaus is having his afternoon bath — Ben will show him his new book right here, right now. In other words, this is how you fuck up a perfectly fine Diego Hargreeves. 

(Read this on AO3 + FFN)

____

Ben's favourite thing about being alive was reading all the books he had missed out on during the last decade.

To be fair, he did read some of them while he was a ghost. However, it was hard to get Klaus to cooperate and turn the pages for him — as he literally couldn't do it himself — so he'd consider his new books a win.

There were so many great authors, and the stories were endless. Unfortunately, Ben's time wasn't.

Although there wasn't really a need for the siblings to get jobs — their father happened to be the largest billionaire out there — Ben had tried running some errands around the city, to make some pocket money.

He found himself spending all of it on books, and Klaus — being the voice of reason for once — told him to get to the library instead. Which he did, by the way, but nothing beat the joy of holding your own physical copy of Eleanor & Park.

But Ben also loved fantasy novels.

When they were little kids, he used to tell Vanya all about them. His favourite scenario was when Vanya had read said books too, and they talked about all these magical worlds together.

Ben missed being that person.

What he definitely didn't miss was cliffhangers in books.

He almost threw his most recent read out the window when it ended like that. It was such a beautiful story, with well-written characters and breathtaking scenery — Ben could see the mythical world right in front of him — but there was more to it, and it made Ben feel simply unfulfilled.

He had to tell someone.

"KLAUS!"

He didn't even think about it twice when he rushed out his room with his book in hand and entered the bathroom at the end of the hallway without even knocking.

Klaus, who was apparently having the best bubble bath of his life, didn't even flinch. He was buried by millions of bubbles, steam coming out of the bathtub's hot water, and blinding the mirrors in the room.

Ben knew Klaus had noticed him. That smug grin on his face fooled no one, regardless of how much he tried to avoid eye-contact.

"Do I have to run down the hallway again for you to notice me?"

At that, Klaus turned to Ben's direction slightly, faking a gasp. "Ben! I did not see you come in here, my dear brother. How may I be of-"

"Cut the crap, Klaus, this is serious," Ben said, ignoring his brother's jokes. "I finished The School for Good-"

"-and Evil, yeah, yeah, I've heard you say the title, like, ten million times," Klaus finished for him. "You almost had me convinced it's an emergency this time."

"It is an emergency!" Ben said. "You'll never guess what happened at the end."

Klaus turned to his side, resting his head on the bathtub's edge. "Unless Sophia and Cthulhu started dating, I'm not interest-"

"For starters it's Sophie and Agatha, not Sophia and Cthulhu," Ben interrupted him. "And second, they kinda did?"

Klaus coughed, eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously!" Ben said. "Sophie was basically dying — long story — and Agatha just leaned in and kissed her? And then they disappeared out of thin air, and I don't know where, the book didn't say!"

Klaus somehow sat up, facing Ben. "Wait, wasn't there like, a prince that was into one of them?"

"Yeah, he-"

Klaus burst out laughing at this, much to Ben's annoyance. "He's stuck playing third wheel to a pair of lesbians! That's a low blow-"

"No, a low blow is that I have no idea what happens next in the book," Ben interrupted, but couldn't help but smile while speaking. "Let me read the ending to you-"

"Oh come on, you don't have to-"

Ben cleared his throat, trying to suppress his urge to laugh. "The kids gathered around Sophie, who-"

"Beeeeeeen-"

"-Sophie, who was-"

It all happened too fast; Klaus splashed a little more water than needed towards Ben, and Ben reacted a bit too late, resulting in the book being soaked wet.

Ben squealed.

"Oops."

"Klaus, you asshole, I borrowed that one!" Ben said, his heart shattered at the sight of the book's ink giving out.

"Oh come on, the library loves you, I'm sure they won't mind-"

"From Five."

"Fuck."

Mutual panic was shared between them, Ben blowing on the book's pages and Klaus almost tripping while getting out of the tub to find some towels. Ben pretty much snatched them out of his hands, wrapping the book in them.

Both of them sighed in relief, sitting down on the soapy floor.

"That was a close one," Ben said out of breath. "I mean, the book is still ruined and I still went through the biggest panic attack of my life, but at least-"

"Wait a second," Klaus stopped him. "Five reads fantasy novels?"

Ben had never even thought about it.

"First of all, rude," Ben said, "and second, holy shit?"

"How did you not notice?" Klaus gestured in confusion. "If Five ever handed me something that's not an empty cup of coffee or an old scarf, I would have flipped."

"A scarf?" Ben asked. "Five wears scarves?"

"Holy shit!" Klaus exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "I guess we really don't know Five!"

"Okay, what the hell is going-"

The two brothers turned towards the door as it opened, revealing Diego in his nightwear, who screamed as soon as he laid eyes on them.

"WHAT THE HELL, WHY ARE YOU NAKED, WHAT-"

Diego shut the door closed. Ben had never seen him look so terrified.

"Relax, Diego," Klaus silenced Diego's screams. "Ben was just telling me about his new book."

"Five's book," Ben corrected. "Which Klaus absolutely destroyed, by the way."

"In my defense, I couldn't see how much water was underneath these bubbles."

They heard a pound on the door, and Ben was almost certain it was Diego banging his head against it. "How do you not see anything wrong with this," Diego half-whimpered. "What is wrong with this family?"

"When Ben here was dead, and I was out of juice-"

"Just say drugs, you don't want to make Diego cry even more-"

"-and I was out of juice," Klaus repeated himself, making Ben shake his head, "Ben would talk to me while I was in the shower to distract me from the bad boos!"

"In my defense, he spends like, four hours soaking in water, and there's not much to do while you're a ghost. I was so bored, you can't even imag-" Ben stopped himself, backtracking in the conversation. "Did you just say bad boos? Please never say bad boos again-"

"Anyway, things got out of hand, I went out of the tub to find towels, and alas, we saved the fantasy novel! Woo!"

"Yeah, barely," Ben added. "How am I going to tell Five-"

"Five reads fantasy novels?" Diego asked through the door.

"That's what I said!" Klaus clapped his hands in joy.

"Whatever, just-" Diego sighed. "Put on some clothes and go to bed, it's late."

"You got it," Ben said, getting up.

Klaus reached for the towel in Ben's arms, and Ben pulled away before he managed to touch it.

Klaus tilted his head in confusion, a fake smile on his face. "Ben. I need this to leave the bathroom?"

Ben shook his head. "No way, I want to make sure all the water is soaked out of the book."

Klaus stood up too, opening his arms. "Ben. I need this towel."

"You brought this on yourself Klaus," Ben took a step back as Klaus approached him. "No way, you are not hugging me in the nude."

"Beeeeeen~" Klaus teased, stepping closer.

In an attempt to get further away, Ben slipped on the soapy floor, falling back and into the bathtub, that was still filled with water.

Needless to say, it splashed everywhere.

Ben coughed, grimacing as he spit the soap out his mouth. "Klaus, I'm going to end-"

But it was too late. Klaus had taken ahold of the towel and wrapped it around his waist, heading for the door. "Have fun cleaning up, Benny!"

And just like that, Klaus disappeared. At least he had left the book on top of the radiator, safe from all the water. Well, the remaining water, that was.

Ben leaned back, hating the feeling of water on his clothes more than anything.

Maybe reading books wasn't Ben's favourite thing about being alive; planning his revenge on Klaus was. But first, he had a mess to clean up, and a sequel to borrow.

The distant sound of Pogo scolding Klaus for all the yelling only satisfied that need.

[feminarrie]

ice and tanqueray - one

warning(s): this series contains smut (18+)

[ masterlist ] / [ story tag ] / [ niall tag ]

The First Glimpse

The spitfire attitude that she had upon their first meeting hadn’t disappeared even after Y/N accepted the position of Niall’s personal assistant. Niall had seen the target upon his chest shift to overly flirtatious athletes and some particularly rude staff members from the second floor. Though, Niall likes to think that she’s a bit softer on him now that she’s gotten to know him a little better over the past six or so weeks. She no longer rolls her eyes at him when he laughs at his own jokes during some meeting with an athlete and their legal team. Niall could swear he’s seen her smile down at the minutes she’s typing up on her laptop. She’s even had his regular coffee order (two creams and three sugar) sat at the edge of Y/N’s desk, still hot, by the time he has arrived on more than one occasion.

When he arrives today, there’s no coffee sat neatly on a coaster atop his desk. But, the lack of the caffeinated beverage isn’t why his eyebrows furrow and a huff of air is expelled from his nose. The desk that sits just outside the heavy double doors of his office is empty of its occupant and the black handbag that served as both her purse and backpack.

It’s unlike Y/N to be late, as far as Niall knows. She could have certainly come in late on the days that he’s played golf before coming into the office a few hours later. However, he doubts that Y/N would do such a thing. She’s there earlier than he is, most days, with a notebook splayed out on top of one textbook or another. Sometimes with some acoustic playlist that he wonders how she hears through all the rustling and turning of the pages.

Niall’s putting his phone to his ear when he hears the elevator chime with someone’s arrival. The silver doors open to reveal a disheveled Y/N rummaging through the contents of her bag to find, what Niall assumes to be, her phone. Her free hand brushes a few loose tendrils behind her ear when they fall in front of her eyes. Her brow remains furrowed as she continues the search for her phone. Niall thinks he can hear a soft hmph from where he is standing, a sure sign of Y/N’s building frustration.

Y/N looks up when she sees the pair of black Chelsea boots Niall wears on the more casual days at the office. She gives up the search for her phone then and shifts her attention to pulling a tissue from her bag. With a quiet sniffle and a quick swipe of the crumpled tissue, Y/N allows herself to make eye contact with Niall. Though, Niall is momentarily distracted as his eyes take in her appearance even further. A chapped nose, nostrils and tip tinged pink, and eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Niall cannot help the slight dip in his brow when she finally opens her mouth to speak.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Horan.” Y/N says, a cough following closely afterwards. It’s a terrible, painful noise that comes deep from within her chest. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Don’t mean to be rude, pet. But, you look a little worse for wear.” Niall says, a sympathetic smile on his face. “You didn’t have to come in if you’re ill.”

Niall expects a snarky remark to follow his words, but instead he’s met with Y/N’s lips settled into a pout. Her lower lip is jutted and her nose twitches when she sniffles once again. The look on her face remains even as she quite literally drops her bag on the floor without any regard to the contents inside it.

“I’m already two days behind on my summer course work. I can’t afford to fall behind at school and work.” Y/N frowns, plopping down in the black faux leather computer chair that rolls slightly with the sudden weight.

Niall’s not so far removed from his time at university that he’s forgotten just how hard it was to be a student. Even with his father’s legacy and support—fiscal or otherwise—he had worked hard in his studies to be where he is today. Remembers the inconvenience and added stress of taking courses during what should be a time of rest. So, maybe that’s the reason why his eyes turn soft and he’s shaking his head as Y/N begins to unpack the contents of her bag. Pulling crumpled and used tissues from her bag and tossing them into the garbage as she sifts through to find her notebooks. Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s been on his mind ever since Grace and Niall’s wedding. Mostly innocent, but he’s not too keen to admit that he’s thought about her when he’s getting off.

“Go home, Y/N.” He says, voice softer than Y/N has ever heard. “Get some rest.”

Even though she can feel the way her lungs struggle to inflate and can hear the wheeze that the action causes, she shakes her head. She knows she literally cannot afford to skip a day of work if it means she wants to maintain a roof over her head and a tummy full of chicken noodle soup when she’s ill.

“I’ll leave to get myself a tea and your coffee in a minute,” Y/N rasps.

Niall’s chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh.

“It wasn’t up for debate.” Niall orders, voice stony with authority. “Go home.”

Y/N heaves a sigh, but immediately regrets it when it catapults her into a coughing fit that rips at her throat. Though it’s short lived, it leaves her throat feel more raw and swollen than before. She struggles to speak, each word falling silent as they claw their way up and finally settle on her tongue.

“Can’t.” A single syllable is all she can muster.

Niall crouches down before Y/N, tipping forward onto the balls of his feet. His thick and freshly manicured hands are plucking up creased papers and frayed notebooks to put into her bag. He nestles them between textbooks with post-it flagged pages and her wallet. Y/N watches him with narrowed eyes, a pout reappearing on her lips.

“Put that lip away, Y/N.” Niall says when he glances up at her. “Go home and rest.”

Y/N had remained sedentary in her bed for the next four days. Wrapped tightly in a quilted blanket and reruns of Grey’s Anatomy playing quietly in the background as she slept. She’s been asleep for the majority of those ninety-six hours and plenty more ill than she had even realized. And as much as she had balked at Niall sending her home on Wednesday, she was grateful that he had insisted. So grateful, in fact, that she’s attempting to balance a plate of freshly made banana bread and his regular coffee order in one hand while calling the elevator with the other.

She doesn’t actually know if Niall likes banana bread or if he’s allergic to the finely chopped walnuts that are scattered throughout. So, in theory all of her efforts could have been for absolutely nothing, but she tries not to focus on that. Rather turns her attention to the woman at her side and kindly asks if she would press the button to take her to her designated floor. The woman, whom Y/N assumes is a professional athlete based on her height and toned physique, presses the shiny plastic of the button without further acknowledgment.

The bell sounds sooner than Y/N had anticipated and startles her. The coffee that is nestled in the crook of her elbow slips from where its held and splashes against the black and gold marbled floor.

“Fuck!” She exclaims, both in frustration and at the hot liquid that has splashed at her feet.

Y/N glances over at the woman next to her, noting the splotches of brown that have begun to stain her stockings and the disgruntled look on her face. A string of apologies and promises to buy a new set of heels for her falls from her mouth before she can stop herself. Far before she’s noticed the red bottoms of the velvet, pointed-toe shoes that once were a pristine burgundy.

But, Y/N is a woman of her word and doesn’t shy when they exchange details as they step outside of the elevator. The tall blonde with stained shoes and lips pressed into a hard line holds the doors ajar as Y/N types her number into her phone. She receives a text message seconds later with the woman’s name and ‘red velvet Pigalle Follies’ written in capital letters.

A few more whispered apologies fall from Y/N’s lips until the doors are sealed and she’s left alone in the large foyer. Her steps sound sloshy as she makes her way toward her desk, the bottom of her kitten heels sticking to the ground before lifting with a distinct noise that makes her frown deepen.

She had every professional and personal intention of thanking Niall for being as kind as he was. But, she feels deflated as she places the plate of banana bread on her desk and tosses the now empty coffee cup in the waste basket beside her desk. The thought of time wasted and the hundreds of dollars that she will inevitably have to drain from her savings weigh her down. The weight teeters on her shoulders as she quite literally drops into her seat.

A shaky sigh and the wrinkling of her nose suggests that frustrated tears are just around the corner. The thought of crying at work, where Niall could walk in at any moment to see her in such a state, only frustrates her more. Doesn’t really like the idea of other people seeing her cry.

She does what she can with sticky fingers and blurry vision, to clean up any coffee that had managed to splash onto the plate sat on her desk. Scrubbing until the sticky residue is gone and the weight on her shoulders is replaced with a feeling of satisfaction.

(Tidying has always seemed to clear Y/N’s mind. She doesn’t know if it’s a distraction from the rest of the world or if a clear space really does help to declutter her brain, but she’s grateful that such a small act of self care can bring her clarity).

Niall is two hours late when he finally arrives back in his penthouse office. A navy suit jacket is draped over his bare forearms, the sleeves of his baby blue dress shirt rolled to the crease of his elbow. The tie that once sat expertly tied beneath his collar is now loosened and the top two buttons beneath it are open.

Y/N glances at him while she converses with someone on the phone, but returns her attention to the open planner in front of her to write yet another appointment down. She’s sweet with her words as the call comes to an end, one of the first genuine smiles since her day began.

“You’ve got another benefit this weekend. It’s for the Tomlinson Foundation.” Y/N says, quite literally dotting all of her “i’s” and crossing her “t’s” before she moves onto her next task of opening up Niall’s office doors.

“Louis call you himself?” Niall asks, though he knows the answer. Their seven year friendship had made him feel a little like an expert.

Y/N nods as she kicks triangular door stops beneath both doors and juts her chin toward the plate of banana bread left on the coffee table to the left of Niall’s desk.

Niall raises a brow at the bread as he walks behind his desk to drop his jacket over his chair. He asks which company or agent had sent over the plate, prompting Y/N to smile widely at him.

“I made it,” she beams, picking up the plate and bringing it to him. “Would’ve had a coffee for you, but that’s mostly stuck to the elevator floor.”

Niall’s eyebrow appears to be permanently arched even when he reaches for a slice, but his features soften when he takes his first bite. Y/N’s eyes are wide and expectant as he swallows.

“S’really good, Y/N.” He says, taking the plate from her hands and setting it on the left side of his desk.

(He had to skip breakfast and knows he’ll be picking at it for the remainder of the afternoon).

“I just wanted to thank you for sending me home last week.” Y/N says, “I really needed it.”

Niall waves a hand at her dismissively as he sits down behind his desk. He leans to set his right elbow on the armrest of his chair and looks at Y/N. She’s standing in front of his desk, a hand lightly clutching the back cushion of a chair. He notices the chipped polish in passing, paying little mind to it as he makes eye contact with her once again.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says. “You’ve just got to take better care of yourself for me, pet.”

There’s no flutter in her stomach at Niall’s words, but a warmth does settle in her tummy. It’s the second time in two weeks that he has treated her so gently. A gentleness that implies that he cares for her as more than just his personal assistant. A bittersweet sentiment for someone as independent and in control as Y/N.

She airs on the side of sweet, though. Because Niall’s gentle dominance forces her to relinquish some of her control and breathe for a moment. Something that she hardly experiences between work, university, and commitments that she was too kind to say “no” to. Something that she knows she needs to work on, but isn’t entirely sure how.

[nijiirorhyme]

Hello fellas! SO I posted this fic a while back, BUT I re-read it and I ended up being pretty dissatisfied with the final results of it. I also decided not to make part of a series anymore, so now it’s just a stand alone! Alternatively, it can be read here! I hope you enjoy!

Title: A Mundane Morning

Pairing: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 3609

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Cooking

Summary: One morning, Hinata and Kageyama attempt to make pancakes. What could go wrong, right?

Just like his name and fiery personality, Hinata awoke when the sun had already started its slow— yet steady rise in the sky. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside him, it was exactly 9:30am. This was the usual time Hinata arose on weekends, as he liked to sleep a few more hours those days instead of getting up at six o’clock sharp to commute to school, and so did his boyfriend. He turned around to face the man that was laying in bed behind him, who was snoring gently, chest steadily rising and falling with every breath he took.

It was these moments that Hinata loved. The relaxing days they would both stay in bed and unwind after the week’s gruelling volleyball practices. Even though they were both bundles of endless energy, they still needed to recharge once in a while, and their bodies thanked them for it. He shifted his weight to rest on top of the latter, giving him a little peck on the cheek, receiving a grunt from him in return.

“Tobio,” Hinata whispered gently into his ear, like he always did when he woke him up. “WAKE UP!”

Kageyama instantly jolted awake in surprise, which was followed by rolling off the bed and face planting into the cold hardwood floor beneath him. He clawed his side of the bed, gripping onto the bedsheet as leverage to help himself up. His chin, forehead, and nose were a scarlet red from the impact, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Did you have to yell dumbass?!” Kageyama shouted. He was angry, but that was the usual Kageyama when Hinata did this to him anyways and every single time, he would fall for it.

Hinata snickered, covering his face with his hand. “I’m sorry, Tiredyama.” His words dripping with sarcasm. “Do you want me to kiss it to make it feel better?”

Instantly, Kageyama stopped in his angry tracks. His face was still red, but for a completely different reason. He sputtered out a reply, “Y-Yea actually…” This was so unlike the usual, uptight, yelling-in-Hinata’s-face Kageyama, that Hinata was actually taken aback. Who knew his boyfriend could be so timid and adorable?

With a spring in his step, the orange haired boy bounced to the other side of the room. On his tippy-toes, he closed his eyes and puckered his lips, when suddenly THWACK, an equally as thick skull collided into his. He lost his balance and fell ass- first onto the floor.

The shorter man held his head, which was throbbing in pain. He looked up at his boyfriend, who had a smirk plastered on his face.

“What’dya do that for?!” Hinata winced. That was definitely going to bruise over. Some said Hinata had a thick skull, but in his opinion, Kageyama’s was ten times— no, twenty times thicker.

Kageyama outstretched a hand. Hinata accepted it, allowing Kageyama to pull him up. “Good morning, Shoyou. Do you want me to kiss it better?”

-

Although the two of them had no intention to step foot outside of the house today, which they had all to themselves as Hinata’s mom and sister ran errands, they changed out of their pyjamas into their lounge wear. Hinata looked around his messy bedroom for his favourite shirt and a pair of shorts. After a quick glance with no sign of them, he searched through the pile of clothing in the far corner of the room. He stuck his hands into the pile of dirty laundry, sifting through it until he found what he was looking for. He pulled both articles of clothing out of the pile, slipping on the oversized pastel yellow t-shirt that he obviously stole from Kageyama and his favourite pair of shorts he received from Oikawa for his birthday last year. They weren’t particularly his style—with little alien heads scattered around them on top of a navy blue background speckled with tiny stars— but he was honoured that the Grand King would even give him a gift in the first place, seeing how he was dating the underclassman who was a complete pain in the ass to him.

It was time for breakfast and Hinata was ready to eat. His stomach growled violently in hunger, making its voice known through the loud rumbles that came from it. So, he made his way into the kitchen, where Kageyama already was.

“What are you looking at?” Hinata came down the stairs to find his boyfriend squinting at a piece of paper taped to a cabinet door at eye level.

Kageyama stopped what he was doing and looked up at his short boyfriend, who skipped the last step of the staircase by jumping from the second last. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He asked, squatting low to open the cupboard below the one with the piece of paper. He pulled out a large metal mixing bowl, “I’m making breakfast.” he stated matter of factly. 

Hinata furrowed his eyebrows. He was skeptical. This wasn’t the first time Kageyama had tried to make breakfast from one of the recipes in his mom’s cookbook that she always left in the kitchen. For starters, neither of them knew how to cook and every time they tried to, the dishes they made would end up tasting horrible. Secondly, Kageyama only had a certain amount of patience when it came to cooking. The second whatever they were cooking hit the pan or pot they were using to cook it with, the temptation to turn up the heat in attempts to speed up the cooking process was too great for Kageyama. He always gave into it, which usually resulted in billowing smoke clouds, burnt food, and the both of them running around the house to open every single window so the fire alarm wouldn’t go off. All in all, it wasn’t Hinata’s favourite thing in the world to do, but he admired his boyfriend for giving it his all. It was the thought that counted, not how it tasted in the end.

“Let me give you a hand at least.” He lightly bumped Kageyama out of the way with his hip so he could see the recipe. It was a very simple pancake recipe. It clearly and thoroughly listed every ingredient they would need and every direction they needed to take in order to create perfectly delicious pancakes. Hinata’s confidence in his cooking abilities swelled as his eyes continued reading down the page. If he and Kageyama screwed this up, they would be the biggest idiots in the entire world— no, universe.

Kageyama nodded in approval. Since he was grabbing every kitchen utensil they would need to make these pancakes, Hinata started on grabbing the ingredients they needed. He looked at the recipe again, reciting the ingredients they needed out loud to remember, “Flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, milk, two eggs, and vanilla extract.” He bounced around the kitchen, setting each ingredient on the island in the center.

Once everything was assembled, the two got to work. Hinata rolled his sleeves up to his shoulders. “Where do we start, Chef Kageyama?”

Kageyama’s face flushed a bit at the title he was given. He took the recipe down from the cupboard, cleared his throat, and read out step one word for word, “‘In a bowl, mix together all the dry ingredients.’ Sounds simple enough.”

Together, the two boys poured all the dry ingredients into the plastic bowl with less than accurate measurements. Hinata started to mix the concoction of powders together until Kageyama took the metallic whisk from his hand, tsking.

“You’re not mixing it enough. Here.” He motioned Hinata to hold the bowl down for him. The shorter man braced for impact.

Kageyama took the whisk in his dominant hand and as if he were using the might of Zeus, he stirred as fast as he could. Clouds of powder puffed up into the air as the contents of the bowl splashed over its rim.

Hinata coughed as he inhaled particles of it that were hanging in the air, “You’re stirring too fast, Idiotyama!” He grabbed Kageyama’s forearm and wrenched the whisk from his hand and said, “You have to make it more like zoom!”

Hinata kept the bowl steady by placing it between his stomach and his arm. At the same pace, the orange haired boy mixed at the exact same speed as his boyfriend, more powder further splashing out of the bowl and onto the counter. 

“No dumbass!! It’s more like whoosh! Give it to me!” Kageyama gripped the bowl and tried to tug it out of Hinata’s grasp.

“No!” Hinata put the whisk down and tugged against Kageyama, who was also pulling the bowl in his direction. “It’s like zoom!”

Kageyama, “Whoosh!”

Hinata, “Zoom!”

“Whoosh!”

“Zoo-”

The bowl slipped out of both of their grasps, it was airborne. All they could do was watch as it started its descent downward. It was as if the bowl was falling in slow motion-- their mouths agape at the spectacle. As it plummeted to the floor, a plume of the rest of what was inside blasted upwards, covering the two in a powdery mess.

The two coughed violently, the powder making its way into their lungs. Hinata’s mom was going to be pissed. Usually, she had the patience of a saint since her son and daughter were possibly the most energetic children known to man, but Hinata could already imagine her patience thinning upon seeing the disaster of a kitchen they left in their wake.

The orange haired boy looked around, there wasn’t a single spot around them that wasn’t dusted with powder; even his feet were covered with an avalanche of it.

“... That’s what happens when you go 'whoosh’ instead of ‘zoom', Idiotyama.” he added.

-

After trying to clean up the powder as best as they could, they measured out all of the ingredients and tried again. Instead of going ‘whoosh’ or ‘zoom’, the two compromised with a more moderate mixing speed, which they now dubbed in their language of onomatopoeias as: ‘zwhoosh’.

“What’s the next step?” Hinata asked curiously as he looked into the bowl at their combined dry ingredients, satisfied that none of it ended up anywhere outside the bowl.

Kageyama read out loud, “‘Make a well in the center and pour in the milk.’”

A simple instruction that could be carried out by a child, except, “What do they mean by ‘well’?” Hinata asked, picturing an actual well that people used in the olden days to get water from. How would they fit an entire one of those in their bowl?

“I think they mean something like this…” with caution, Kageyama carefully scooped all of the ingredients into the middle of the bowl. He cupped one hand around the mountain-like pile and used the other to carefully dig a hole in its center.

“Woah! You’re a genius, Kageyama!” Hinata exclaimed, sparkles in his hazel eyes. Even if Kageyama could be a dumbass, Hinata loved how smart he could be sometimes. “You stir as I pour the milk in.”

Not wanting to mess up like last time, Hinata followed the instructions to a T, pouring the milk into a measuring cup before plopping it into the bowl. The recipe called for one and a quarter cups of milk and to mix until it was lumpy, so Hinata added as much as they needed to get to that consistency, reaching his goal with careful precision. Then, he threw in a little bit of vanilla extract in and cracked two eggs, disregarding the little bits of shell that fell in as he did so. Step two was done and Hinata was proud that they made it one step further this time.

“What’s next?” Hinata asked, clapping his hands together to try and get the rest of the flour off of his hands. He took a whiff of the batter in the bowl, the light aroma of vanilla extract drifting into his nostrils. His stomach growled in response to the delicious smell of the batter. “Mmm, it smells good.” he thought aloud.

Kageyama didn’t take any further glaces at the recipe. “We cook them.” He simply said. He walked to the wall near the stove, taking one of the larger frying pans that hung off the rack and put it on the stove. He turned the knob of the burner and with a click, the burner ignited, gradually heating up the pan. He took the bowl of batter in one hand, then grabbed the ladle beside it and moved both beside the stove. Kageyama then scooped a whole ladle full of the chunky substance onto the pan.

“Oi! Wait, Kageyama! Don’t you have to butter the pan before you-”

Ssst. It was too late. The batter from the ladle pooled in the pan slowly, making a perfectly round pancake in the center.

“You idiot! It wasn’t non-stick!” Hinata exclaimed. He ran to the stove and turned it off, grabbing the pan as he did so to bring it to the sink. Using a bit of elbow grease, the orange haired boy tried to get the pancake off the pan, but to no avail. Pancake remnants were already caked onto it. If the incident with the first step was bad, ruining his mom’s favourite pan was even worse. Hinata turned to Kageyama, his face pale from the thought of his mom getting mad.

“L-Let’s use another pan…”

-

Hinata’s right arm hurt from scrubbing, but he managed to get the pan looking almost as good as it looked before they had first used it. He went over to the appliance rack, and took down a shabbier looking pan, handing it to his boyfriend, “Here, use this one.”

Kageyama put the pan on the stove and turned the heat up. This time, he buttered the pan and laid down the second pancake, the satisfying sizzle from the pan made Hinata’s stomach growl fiercely. These pancakes were taking ages to make.

Hinata took a spatula and lifted the edge of the pancake, glancing at its golden underside. It was time to flip it, but they weren’t going to take the easy way out. They wanted to flip it like professional chefs do.

The two looked at each other and as if they could read each other’s thoughts, nodding at each other in mutual agreement. Kageyama moved out of the way, feeling Hinata’s desire to flip the pancake emanating from him. Hinata took the handle of the pan in both of his hands, jostling it to shake the rest of the pancake free. With a flick of his wrists, the pancake lifted off the pan and spun in the air. Everything was perfect about it; his form, his technique, even the spin, except... that it didn’t land back into the pan. The pancake’s unpredictable course found its destination the wall behind the stove. It slid down the wall, well out of their reach. The two looked at each other again, an apologetic look making its way onto Hinata’s face. He laughed awkwardly as he ruffled his own already tousled hair.

“Whoops.”

Followed by the standard Kageyama insult, “Hinata, you dumbass!”

..

The easier method with the spatula it was.

-

After what felt like hours of struggling trying to make these pancakes, the two finally made a stack of pancakes that would sate their monstrous hunger.

Hinata was so hungry he could eat a horse. Looking at the golden brown pancakes that stared back at him, he licked his lips and reached over for the maple syrup. It was hard to wait for Kageyama, as he preferred to clean up before eating, but he got the “okay” to start eating first since he knew Hinata was hungrier.

He popped open the lid and poured a generous amount over his breakfast, watching the amber coloured syrup dribble over the sides of the massive stack of pancakes and pool onto the plate below.

“Thank you for the food.” He mumbled. Using his fork, he cut out a small triangular piece and lifted it to his mouth. When he popped it into his mouth, Hinata’s eyes went wide as if he were experiencing an outer worldly experience. His mouth was instantly met with the lightest pillow-like texture. The pancake’s flavour was subtle, yet effective as it danced across Hinata’s taste buds with the rich flavour of the maple syrup as its complementary dance partner. He never knew it, but the fruit of his own labour tasted twice as yummy. Not too sweet, not too dense, looks like they weren’t the biggest idiots in the entire universe after all!

“Are they good?” Kageyama appeared from behind him, resting his head on Hinata’s shoulder, a glass of strawberry milk in hand. Did strawberry milk even taste good with pancakes? Never mind. He wasn’t going to question his boyfriend’s love for the beverage.

Hinata nodded excitedly as he cut his boyfriend a slice. He brought the fork to his boyfriend’s mouth, which he accepted without hesitation.

Kageyama nodded in approval. While it wasn’t enough to make his eyes sparkle like Hinata’s, it was enough to remind him how worthwhile it was to make something for yourself. He turned to look at his boyfriend, whose smile was plastered so wide against his face as he ate another piece, savouring it. The sheer bliss on his face was something Kageyama savoured more than the pancakes. A small smile made its way onto his face as he sat down in the seat opposite of Hinata, joining his boyfriend in eating breakfast.

The rest of the meal went on without much conversation. Once they were done with their initial reactions, the two scarfed down the pancakes at an abnormal speed. Kageyama was eating so fast, that he almost choked on a piece of pancake. He smacked his chest in a fit of coughs to ease the painful sensation of swallowing a large piece too quickly, accompanied by downing his entire glass of strawberry milk.

-

Once the two of them were full, they relaxed on the couch, listlessly watching TV together. Hinata rested his head on Kageyama’s lap, as the latter languidly thread his fingers through his bright orange hair. The drowsiness of eating too much was heavily weighing on both of them as sleep slowly pulled at their eyelids. A comfortable silence settled over the two.

Hinata looked up at Kageyama, whose head was already drooping with sleep. He smiled. It was mundane days like these that Hinata loved the most. He wouldn’t trade anything in the world for them.

Hinata turned over so his head was facing towards Kageyama’s torso. He inhaled deeply, the delicate scent of lavender detergent coming from his dark blue t-shirt comforting him on his way to dreamland. With the soft mumbling coming from the TV in front of them and Kageyama’s scent, it was the perfect recipe for Hinata to fall asleep.

And just like that, the two of them did.

-

“We’re home!” His mother announced,

“Onii-chan!!” a bundle of energy took off her shoes with haste and ran through the house. “We’re home! Let’s play- Huh?” his little sister Natsu stopped in her tracks once she stumbled upon their sleeping forms. One of Hinata’s arms and legs were hanging off the side of the couch, snoring loudly with his other hand placed on top of his stomach. Kageyama didn’t move much in his sleep, his head craned downwards, mouth open wide with a long string of drool dangling down from one corner.

“Natsu, let them sleep. How about you help me make dinner?” her mother said softly, putting her index finger up to her lips.

“Okay!” Natsu beamed back quietly. She tiptoed into the kitchen with her mother, ready to help make a delicious meal they could have all together when the two of them woke up.

-

A Small Epilogue: What happened to the Pancake that went behind the Stove?

It had been a month since Hinata and Kageyama had attempted to make pancakes.

The sun shined on a bright and early school morning. “Shoyou! It’s breakfast time!” his mother called from the kitchen.

The orange haired boy pushed his blankets off of him and made his way downstairs to where he smelled an awfully familiar scent. It was the scent of pancakes.

He plopped himself in the nearest chair, yawning as he scratched an itch on his chest. “Good morning.” he slurred.

“Good morning, Shouyou.” his mother greeted him.

“Good morning, Onii-chan!” Natsu greeted him enthusiastically, bits of pancakes spewing from her mouth with every syllable. When was she not an energetic ball of sunshine? Sometimes Hinata thought that she had even more energy than him.

He went through the same process of drizzling the pancakes with sweet maple syrup and brought a piece to his mouth. It tasted great, as expected of his mom, who had several more years of experience cooking under her belt than him and Kageyama.

“Are they good?” She asked, turning off the kitchen fan to halt its humming. Right as she stopped the fan, an unpleasant stench wafted into Hinata’s nose. It almost smelled like rotten eggs, but with something else in it that Hinata couldn’t quite decipher.

Hinata’s mom audibly sniffed the air, but upon doing so, covered her nose in disgust, “Ugh, what’s that smell?”

Suddenly, it all came back to him. He remembered the pancake that he flipped that went behind the stove. He put his fork down and stuttered out, “A-About that…”

Thus, that was how pancake that was never heard from again declared its presence once more.

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 37: Taking Control

Thanks for joining me on this next chapter of Only Make Believe, I hope you enjoy it. No major warnings for this chapter, though it is a little nsfw towards the end. As always, also uploaded on AO3 for those who prefer that format. AO3

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January 3rd

Josephine and Dorian weren’t due to arrive at Varric’s until the early afternoon, yet Nevena was a nervous wreck all morning. Whenever a car happened by it took all her willpower not to leap out of her seat and run to the window to see if it was parking up. The anxiety swirling within her was driving her to distraction. Images on the television and words on pages all blurred together, and sound just became white noise. Cassandra couldn’t distract her with a full cooked breakfast, and even Cullen was struggling to get her to relax.

Not wanting to be rude, Nevena poked and prodded at the breakfast Cassandra prepared for her. Being out of the living room and away from the front of the house at least meant she was less likely to hear cars. Cullen helped Cassandra with the washing up, the two of them talking at the sink where he washed, and she dried.

Nevena couldn’t make sense of it.

All Josephine and Dorian were doing was bringing what information they had found out about her mother. Her birth mother. The birth mother she only discovered existed about a week ago. Even when she learned she was adopted, she never wondered what her birth mother was really like. It never came into question or bothered her that she didn’t know… it was something she put from her mind given everything that followed after Christmas that year. She almost forgot about it, or perhaps blocked it out, so she could better focus on herself and getting out of her situation with Rick.

Now? Now that truth, that knowledge was hours away. Soon it would be looming before her and she had the opportunity to learn something about the woman who carried her for nine months. About the woman who tried to care for her. The woman she had no memory of and no image of, except an aged photograph currently sitting in her wallet in her bedroom.

Thinking about it made her stomach turn, and she pushed her plate away, her food barely touched.

“Not hungry?” Cullen asked, picking up the plate with a troubled expression.

“I’m sorry,” Nevena lowered her head. “It’s not the food, Cassandra, I promise. I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cassandra replied, a little terse but Nevena was starting to learn that was just how Cassandra spoke. “At least you ate something.” She began to scrape away the leftover food into the waste disposal and then dropped the soiled crockery and cutlery into the sink.

“Maybe you’ll feel hungrier a bit later.” Cullen added, glancing back over his shoulder as he continued to wash up.

Nevena nodded, forcing a small smile. She stared down at her hands in her lap, tracing the fading scratches on the backs of them. There was a tension in the air between them. There had been since the night before. Cullen never woke her during the night, so he either slept soundly or he elected not to disturb her. She wanted to believe it was the former. That for once his sleep remained peaceful, she doubted that was the case though, and that he simply chose not to fulfil her request.

Perhaps he thought he was doing her a kindness by letting her rest undisturbed given the last few days and nights. Nevena didn’t have the heart to bring it up with him and feared what he might say if she did. The night before she didn’t just tell him ‘no’. She screamed at him and shoved him away, as though he was attacking her. As though Cullen was the one who, in the past, had pinned and held her down. As though it was Cullen who enjoyed her tears, who enjoyed her whimpers, and her pleading to stop.

The sudden sensation of bile rising up her throat choked her, and she swallowed it down with a deep gulp of air slipping off the island stool. While Cullen and Cassandra chatted at the sink Nevena darted from the kitchen and into the downstairs bathroom, closing the door forcefully behind her. She wrenched up the toilet seat and doubled over it, retching as her stomach convulsed and she gagged, though nothing reappeared.

She coughed and sputtered, willing herself to vomit until a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Nothing. She sighed heavily, leaning her forehead on the freezing, white porcelain breathing hard and forcing back the tears that squeezed from the corners of her eyes. She would never, ever be truly rid of the years she spent with Rick and the years he plagued her steps like a skulking shadow. Never be free of his grasp and the pain he put her through, the torment she lived with day in and day out while her family – those she was supposed to be able to rely on – all adored him. Even now, with the possibility of a new relationship cusping over the shadow of her life like a hazy dawn, he had kept a tight hold on her.

Flushing the toilet, Nevena rinsed her mouth out and spat several times for no other reason than it gave her something to do with her hands. She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her skin was pale, and as she pulled down the collar of her roll-neck jumper, she could see the faint bruises still present on her throat. Brushing her fingers over them, the moment from the Chantry flashed in her head. Rick in front of her, his fingers pushing and grasping around her windpipe while he held her arm behind her back and used his body to pin her to the wall. Her senses flooded with the smell of him, the feel of cold, chapped lips on her jaw and sticky, warm breath fanning over her face.

The image of him flashed in the mirror as real to her as her own reflection. Nevena span around throwing her arms out to push, only to find no resistance and empty air. Her eyes stung as she closed them and clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that escaped her.

How could she move forward now? How could she look to a future when her past was always so near and so real? How could Cullen look at her and see someone he wanted? Someone who was worthy of him, and who he said he loved? How could he love someone so damaged and broken, like she was? How could he see beyond the cracks to the woman she was trying so hard to be? The woman she believed she had become, despite the hardships. The woman, she realised now, who was nothing but an illusion, shattered by Rick’s reappearance and Ineria’s venom.

Nevena leaned on the wall, her mouth still covered and tears leaking down her cheeks. She clutched her stomach, concealing the sobs that shook her down to the core until a light knock at the door disturbed her. In an instant, she swallowed back the tears and started to rub her cheeks.

“Coming.” She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face again in the hopes it would rid her skin of the redness. When she opened the door, she expected to see Cullen waiting for her; that worried expression creasing his forehead and the space between his brows. Instead she saw Varric.

“Let’s talk, Nevena.” Varric placed a gentle hand on her back and guided her through the living room to his office. Nevena didn’t have the heart, or the energy to resist and allowed him to steer her through the house. Once in his office, Varric sat her down in his large, leather chair and handed her a box of tissues. “It’s alright to cry about what happened the other day, y’know?”

Nevena tried to say words, but her voice caught in her throat. She was crying again. It was like Varric simply saying something had given her the permission she felt she needed to show how deep Rick’s reappearance impacted her. Her shoulders trembled, and she hugged herself as tears dripped off her chin and into her jeans. She wiped her nose with a tissue, then another, and more, dropping each soiled one into the wastepaper basket. At some point, Varric hugged her. A tight, warm, comforting hug and she clung to him, like a child to a father.

“It’s okay, Freckles… It’s okay…”

“I was so scared!” Nevena cried into his jumper, her fingers curling tight into the material. “I never wanted to see him again, and there he was, ruining everything!”

“I know…”

“All I could think about was that he was going to take me away,” Nevena pulled back from the hug, sucking in short breaths between sobs. She blew her nose and Varric sat in another chair nearby. “He threatened to do it before— tr-tried to drug me.”

“Cullen mentioned it. In passing.” Varric said. “He put you through hell. There’s no shame in the fear you’re still feeling. The shit he put you through… anyone would be terrified if their abuser turned up out of the blue like that.”

Nevena blinked and tears welling up in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. “He’s ruined everything. Ruined me.”

“Oh no, Freckles, no, he hasn’t…” he took one of Nevena’s hands in his. Varric’s skin was warm and for the first time Nevena realised how cold and clammy her own flesh was. She tried to retract her hand, but Varric held her fast in a gentle grip. “Nothing’s been ruined, least of all you.”

“Look at me, Varric…”

He shrugged, “I see someone who is processing trauma.” He offered a crooked half-smile. “And you’re tryin’ to do it without getting Curly involved, I get that.”

“He’s dealt with so much. H-he never asked for this. N-never—”

“And you never asked for his nightmares, and the shit that comes with the lyrium withdrawal.” Varric told her, gently. “No one ever knows what they’re in for when they meet someone new and get involved with them. Case-in-point, Cass lost her brother and the grief of that still rears its head from time-to-time. And my own brother tried to kill me and is in a psychiatric institution. Everyone has baggage, but you gotta share it when it gets too much for you to handle.”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” Nevena’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, “it’s all I ever am. At least that’s how it feels.”

Varric shook his head, “maybe that’s how people around you have made you feel, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.” He sighed, releasing her hand and running his own back over his hair. “I haven’t known you long, and I don’t know you well, kid, but I trust Cullen’s judgement, I trust Cass’s, and I trust my own, and believe me when I say that you are a much better person than the people around you would have you believe.”

Nevena glanced up at him from the torn tissue in her lap. His face was drawn into an expression she had seen only twice before. Once, when he was witnessing the unfolding drama between herself, Rick and Cullen, and a second time when she called on him and Cassandra to help with Cullen’s night terror. It was so different to his usual half-cocked smile and gave his face a more severe look.

“Shitty people usually project their own short-comings on to others. Try to make themselves feel better about themselves and feel bigger by making others feel small. Your family… from what Cullen has told me, they sound exactly like those sorts of people and, you’ve been subjected to those kinds of mind games for so long that you’ve been brainwashed into believing it.”

“Brainwashed?” Nevena quirked an eyebrow.

“Sure,” he shrugged one shoulder. “Brainwashed. Manipulated, call it what you want. The point is, you believe it because it’s hard to erase that kind of negativity. You start believing that all the bad shit in your life is what you deserve, because you’ve been conditioned to believe you’re a bad person. Curly didn’t deserve to be tortured and held captive for trying to help people, and you don’t deserve to feel scared your whole life because of some twisted asshole.”

His bluntness coaxed a short bark of laughter from Nevena, and she pushed her fingers through her hair. The severity in his expression receded a little, a smile – still serious – replacing it. “It’s easy for me to say, harder for you to believe. I can’t say some magic words and make everything true and make all the shit go away, that’s something you’ve gotta work on, but you don’t have to do it alone.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, “you have people around you who’ll support you. And who love you.” He lifted a brow and his smile became a more knowing smirk, “hell, I think he’d walk through fire for you.”

Nevena laughed again, a light chuckle this time and drew in a deep breath while fighting the warmth rising up from her chest. “I don’t want him to do that…” she sighed. “I also don’t want to put more on him. He’s already so stressed out, and he’s been so… wonderful, this whole time.”

“Then tell ‘im that.” Varric said, “tell him you appreciate him. Tell him all the honest thoughts you want to tell him. The more you two talk and the more honest you are with each other, the better you’ll both feel about things. It’ll alleviate some of the stress. Trust me.”

She did trust him. Maybe it was his age, or the gravelly tone to his voice, or simply the look of raw honesty in his eyes, but Nevena did trust and believe the words he said and the conviction behind them. Nodding, she wiped her cheeks and got to her feet.

“Thank you, Varric.” She hugged him, tight. “I didn’t expect to be given a therapy session when I met you.”

He shrugged as he released her, “consider it a tiny thank you for enjoying my first publication when I was still a struggling author.” He grinned. “But seriously, even when you’re back in Denerim, if you need to talk about something, or just shoot-the-shit, you can drop me a message or call me. I’m always looking for a distraction from writing.”

She hugged him again and they both left the office. Nevena checked the kitchen and glanced into the garden to see if Cullen was around. He wasn’t, and Cassandra was in the living room engrossed in a book. Varric joined her on the couch greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, and Nevena hurried up the stairs. The door to Cullen’s room at the end of the hall was open, and she paused a moment watching him dig through his bag looking for something. Summoning up a bead of courage, she took a breath and crossed the threshold, brushing her fingers over his shoulder to get his attention.

As Cullen turned, she closed the gap between them, sliding one hand up into his hair and pushing herself onto her toes to kiss him. She placed her free hand on his right arm and was grateful to feel his own arms envelope her once a moment or two of surprise wore off. His lips moved against hers, warmth tingled in her chest and spread out down her limbs and he drew her closer until their bodies were touching and there was no space between them.

Nevena was the one to pull away, her breathing quicker and Cullen pressed his forehead to hers.

Cullen exhaled, “Nevena, I…”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, grasping that small flame of courage she had summoned before. “Thank you for… for just being there for me during this whole thing. Not just what happened with Rick, but before. With everything in Haven, my dad, my sisters. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Nev—”

“Let me finish, or I’ll never get this out.” She put a hand on his chest. “I… I appreciate that you didn’t ask for this. All the baggage I carry with me, all the stuff that’s been put on you, that you’ve had to deal with. I know you never asked for it, never wanted it and that it’s put more stress on you than you deserve, but I want you to know how grateful I am that you haven’t just ditched me. That you’ve stuck by me, and… accepted it. You didn’t have to. I never would have expected you to, but you did. And more than that, you made me feel like a person. Not a thing, not a burden, not someone to be ashamed of. You’ve made me feel wanted, and heard, and respected and… desired for the first time in… in maybe by whole entire life.” She was speeding through her words, saying whatever came to mind with a raw honesty that made her chest ache. Cullen’s expression was passive, hard to gauge as the words spilled out of her, an unstoppable torrent.

“I can’t promise that I’ll never be afraid, or never be doubtful. I can’t promise that I’m going to be like… this, bold and honest with my feelings, all the time. Things are going to crop up, but when we’re back in Denerim I really want to make a go of this with you, if you still do, too. I think you’re amazing, and wonderful, and so patient and kind and… I just… I needed tell you how much I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me. So… here I am… doing that.”

Her courage fled, leaving her breathless, flushed and feeling vulnerable with everything she just said now hanging in the air and Cullen silent. She held his gaze, wanting to shrink under it the longer the silence went on. She could almost see and hear Cullen’s brain going over what she said, filtering out the waffle and picking out the important phrases. His expression brightened, and he smiled, the scar of his lip wrinkling as he did so.

“Come here,” he pulled her into his embrace, a hug so tight it was as though she was being wrapped in a warm blanket. She buried her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin and his clothing while winding her arms around his shoulders. Cullen’s nose pressed into the curve of her shoulder; his breath warm on her skin. His fingers curled into her clothing keeping her close and his lips brushed her neck when he spoke. “Thank you for saying that.” He murmured, drawing back enough so they could look at each other, “truly. It means… an awful lot to hear that from you. I was beginning to think…” He stopped himself and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. Just, thank you.”

He drew her into his arms again, his body protectively enveloping her in warmth and security. Nevena buried her face into his chest, tears – happy ones this time – starting to well up in her eyes. Cullen was better than she deserved, and while Rick would always be a part of her history, he didn’t have to be a part of her future. And though she would probably have to repeat to herself and to Cullen all the things she had said multiple times over the coming days, or months, or years, it would never lose its meaning or it’s truth.

Cullen did make her feel all the things she said, and more. He didn’t just listen, he heard what she said. He wasn’t just patient; he was patient for her. He waited for her to be comfortable, and ready and he respected her boundaries and her quirks. He was as good as she said he was, and more. And on his rough days, she would help him remember and believe it much the same way he did.

“Here,” Cullen released her from the hug and invited her further into his room. He put his bag on the floor leaving the bed vacant and the two of them climbed on top of the covers, both lying on their sides facing each other. His forehead pressed against hers, breaths mingling while they said nothing but basked in comfortable silence. Nevena snuggled in as close as she could, intertwining their legs and draping an arm over Cullen’s body. He kept her close, one arm snug over her waist, the other beneath her head and his fingers winding back through her hair.

“Josephine and Dorian will be here soon.” Nevena said after a while, releasing a long breath and fighting off the urge to fall asleep. The past few days had left her exhausted and craving rest. Cullen’s warmth, the safety he provided, and the soft covers beneath her were a panacea for her tired limbs.

“An hour or so, probably.” Cullen replied, his lips on her forehead. “Are you worried about what they might have discovered about your mother?”

“A little.” She made a gesture like a shrug, “in a way I’m hoping they only found very basic and uninteresting information. Her birthdate, where she went to school… Things like that.”

“Oh?” Cullen shifted and in doing so caused Nevena to move and meet his gaze. “Why’s that?”

“Well, if everything my dad said is true, then the death of my brother was covered in the papers and he said she was vilified by the media…” She took a slow breath to settle the worry that rose in her stomach, “I don’t know how I would handle that…”

“Hm,” Cullen’s expression grew thoughtful for a few moments and then he sighed, “let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said. “Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

Nevena curled herself up against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. Cullen adjusted his hold around her and his own position for comfort, “just this.” She willed her eyes to close, to rest a little before she put herself through more turmoil, but now her mind was quiet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was just after two in the afternoon when Josephine’s black hatchback pulled up in the driveway. She and Dorian were bickering back and forth, only pausing to greet Varric on the steps of the house. Their heated conversation resumed, Josephine’s melodic Antivan accent becoming more intense the more Dorian annoyed her, and Dorian’s sentences being peppered with the odd Tevinter phrase or curse.

Varric, the consummate host, led them into the kitchen where Cassandra already had a freshly boiled kettle and several mugs set out, with an assortment of tea and coffee. Nevena hung back in the kitchen, not wanting to interrupt and still feeling a little dopey from her impromptu nap with Cullen in his room. He also looked a little weary, the brief rest he managed to grab throwing him slightly off kilter. He stayed near her though, an unwavering presence which was matched by his steady hand on his hip.

“And that is why you’re wrong!” Josephine bit out as she sat, her tone giving a sense of finality to the argument between herself and Dorian.

He simply laughed, smoothing the thumb and forefinger of his left hand over his neatly trimmed moustache. There were several ornate and lavish rings adorning his fingers. “It’s so adorable that you think the Antivans – of all people – discovered that the stars were other galaxies. It’s been proven that the ancient Tevinters were discussing this long before the Antivans even crawled out of the ooze.”

“Dorian, dear,” Josephine spoke to exaggerated sweetness, “you must stop believing your homeland is so superior to everywhere else and jumping to its defence when you are wrong. Which you are, horrifically, in this case. There are documents and scriptures written by Antivan philosophers that predate those discovered in Tevinter by three hundred years, at least.”

“I think this will have to be another debate for the history books being marred by scandal and gossip.”

“You always shelve these things when you’re wrong. But, very well, I accept your defeat.” Josephine turned her attention to Cassandra who stood at the opposite side of the central island counter. “I’m so sorry Cassandra, Varric – we were having quite a heated discussion on the drive down and it simply could not be left waiting.”

“Sounds like a fascinating conversation.” Varric poured two spoonful’s of coffee granules into a mug and poured hot water over them. “Way over my head, I’m sure.”

“Don’t be so modest, Varric.” Dorian dumped a leather satchel he was carrying over his chest on the floor. “You’re probably the cleverest person in the room. After me, that is.”

Varric snorted, “modest as always, I see.”

Dorian shrugged and took the mug Cassandra handed to him. He inhaled the steam wafting off the mug deeply, “This is from Minrathous.” He took a sip and gave a contented sigh after a few moments, “smells just like home. You certainly know how to play good host, don’t you Cassandra?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled behind her own mug, taking a drink. Her eyes flicked to Nevena across the room. “You remember Nevena and Cullen from the New Year’s Eve party?” Cassandra gestured for them to come forward.

Dorian glanced over his shoulder while Josephine slipped off her chair, “of course!” Josephine took Nevena’s hand when she offered it after wiping her palm on her jeans. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to make it to the Ostwick library, but hopefully what information we’ve been able to find will be enough for now.”

Nevena’s smile felt more like a grimace. The fear of what she might discover had returned tenfold and clamped around her stomach. “I-I’m sure it’s more than I could have found on my own.” She leaned against Cullen and his hand squeezed her waist. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, actually.” Dorian grabbed his satchel off the tiled floor and retrieved an off-white coloured folder from inside it. Several pieces of paper stuck out of the top before he shuffled them all back in. “Finding details about a relative is quite easy when you have a decent starting point. Trevelyan is quite an usual name after all.” He handed the folder to Nevena. “Everything is in chronological order staring from her birthdate.”

“Thank you.” Nevena held the folder in both hands, treating it as though it was both a precious and cursed object. Things she was desperate to know and things she desperately feared were contained within, in her grasp and now available to her to discover. Her hands were trembling around the papers and she flexed her fingers to try and stop the shaking.

“You can use my office if you need some privacy, Freckles.” Varric said, smiling from across the island counter. “Take all the time you need.”

Nevena nodded, “thank you, Varric.” She swallowed hard on what must have been a stone in her throat. She turned and went to the living room, pausing a moment when she realised Cullen was a step or two behind her. She faced him and realised she was already breathless. “Do you mind if I look at this alone first?” she asked, hardly daring to lift her head and look at him. Would he be hurt by her request? Or angry? “J-just so I—”

“Of course,” Cullen placed his hands on her shoulders and moved his thumbs in circles over her clothing. “Take your time.” He kissed her forehead. Nevena’s stomach squirmed a little. “I’ll be here. Shout if you want me.”

“I always want you.” Nevena teased, trying to break the heavy atmosphere with some mirth. Her attempt managed to make Cullen chuckle.

“The feeling is mutual, but if things get too much… You know where I am.”

“Mhm-hm.” In silence, she entered Varric’s office and placed the folder down on the desk. She sank down into his leather chair, leaning against the seat back and stared at the blank cover before her.

It loomed in front of her. Such a simple thing. Plain, innocuous, and somehow ominous. A simple object possibly containing within it answers to many of her questions. Or, perhaps it contained nothing of the sort and all there was inside was basic information. Miranda’s maiden name. The day she was born. Nothing special to anyone, except Nevena. Information that would bring her the tiniest bit closer to the mother she never knew.

She wrung her hands in her lap, eyes beginning to strain the longer she stared. Her breathing grew a little quicker with each passing second and she struggled to control it, forcing deeper inhalations between the shorter ones. Reaching out with her left hand, she saw it was trembling as it hovered over the cover of the folder. She retracted it quickly back into her lap, wringing again. Nevena stood, pushing Varric’s comfortable leather chair away from her. Her legs were heavier. She walked away. She went to view the prints of his book covers all framed on the wall. She looked at them, seeing only the colours all smearing together rather than the detail or any actual picture.

Glancing back at the folder on the desk, she quickly averted her gaze. The pictures frames, the way Varric arranged his bookshelves, even the cream carpet acted as a momentary distraction. Chewing her bottom lip, Nevena rocked on the balls of her feet and slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Why couldn’t she simply open the damn thing and just look? Why was this so fucking hard?! This was what she and Cullen came all the way to the Free Marches for, wasn’t it? To learn about her mother. To learn about Miranda Soloman. And there the information was! Literally within her grasp and she was hesitating.

The nervous energy racing around her body scared her and made her jittery. It didn’t make sense. Her whole life was a lie. The people around her she should have been able to trust all kept this secret from her. A secret that was eventually used as a weapon. Factual truth was sitting on a desk less than ten feet away from her. Truth that might fill in gaps in her history she didn’t know she had… And yet, the thought of opening it, of reading the contents terrified her. Just contemplating it caused a cold sensation to ripple up her spine making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her palms were sweaty, her throat was dry, and every time she swallowed her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth feeling too big to fit behind her teeth.

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To have answers. To know something about the woman who carried her for nine months. The woman who tried to care for her for the start of her life. This information, sought out by people who didn’t know her and owed her nothing, was her whole reason for coming to Kirkwall. She wanted to learn if everything her father told her was true. She wanted to know her mother from beyond the grave, didn’t she? So, why was she so afraid? Why was there such a heavy weight in her stomach and a deep sense of dread tickling at the back of her mind? Why was her whole body reacting as though the folder was a ravenous creature with slavering jaws, that had her cornered?

“Get a grip!” Nevena growled to herself, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of one of Varric’s frames. “It’s just newspaper clippings and public records. Stop being such a baby and take some initiative.”

Steeling herself, clenching her hands into fists at her side, Nevena went back to the desk. She moved the chair to one side and leaned both hands flat upon the surface. Her hair fell forward as she stared down at the unmarked folder. She thumbed the edge of it, lifting the cover a few centimetres. A bead of cold sweat trickled down the middle of her back. Nevena’s mind went fuzzy, and a warm, sickly feeling burbled in her stomach and threatened to rise up her gullet. She swallowed hard, letting the cover fall closed.

“Shit…” she bowed her head placing her hands, palms down on the desk. She was weak, and frightened… and something inside her refused to allow her to open the cover and examine the contents inside. Whether that something was fear, or a deeper mental blockade trying to protect her somehow, she didn’t know. Nevena only knew she needed air. Her mind was confused, and it was like there was cotton wool in her ears. Even the quiet of Varric’s office sounded… off. Sounded distant, and there was a faint buzzing underneath even that silence.

Nevena left the office without glancing back at the folder. The living room was empty and as she entered the hall, she noticed everyone still in the kitchen. Cassandra caught her eye for a moment, but did not say anything, nor did she gesture. Maybe there was an expression on Nevena’s face that gave away her inner turmoil. Whatever it was that stopped Cassandra from calling out for her, Nevena was grateful. She unlatched the front door and went out into the cold. Trudging down the front steps, she walked past the cars in the driveway and onto the street.

She did not know Kirkwall, not like the way she knew Denerim. In Denerim, Nevena could text and walk; her feet knew automatically where she was going. Here, she simply walked, and chose directions at random. It was cold. Bitterly so, with a sharp wind that bit through her jumper. Everyone else she saw was bundled up in thick coats, hats and scarves. She caught a few shocked glances at her lack of outer wear but kept walking. She wrapped her arms around her body and rubbed them with her hands to try and generate some warmth. Snow had come to Kirkwall. The salt of the sea air prevented it from settling too thickly, though it still clung to Nevena’s eyelashes, and settled in her hair.

Her mind was empty. All her focus was on walking. Putting one foot in front of the other and just moving. It was a pleasant respite if nothing else, to have a quiet mind for a little while. To be able to think of simply moving in one direction and then another when she came to a crossing or a turn in the street. Hightown was a confusion of cobbled pedestrian streets, old stairways, and small winding alleyways. Nevena allowed herself to get lost in them, ignoring the glare from shop windows and the bright lights of Christmas decorations yet to be taken down.

Here she was again; running away.

Her cowardice winning out against any bravery or courage she pretended to have. She ran away from Rick. She ran away from Ineria. Ran away from Haven, twice. And now she was running away from this. Her mother and the truth of the woman she was.

Maybe there was just something wrong with her? To have something she wanted so close and yet be unable to grasp it. Anyone else would have relished the opportunity to know more about their past and about a missing piece of it. Nevena even thought she would be… excited to know about her mother. Now though… Now?

Was she ready?

After walking what might have been an hour or so, she came to a stop. She wasn’t sure where she was. Still in Hightown, but no where near Varric’s house. She was on a corner, surrounded by picturesque houses with rooves covered in snow desperately trying to settle, and streetlights with a haze around the illumination. Opposite her was a park, almost empty except for a couple of families with their children battling against the cold. Nevena went and sat on one of the vacant swings. She wasn’t cold anymore, or perhaps she simply couldn’t feel the cold anymore. Not that it mattered.

She stared at the ground; hands clasped around the freezing metal of swing chains. Her feet brushed the floor, kicking up what little snow managed to settle. The weight in her stomach had lessened now, and she could no longer feel that fear squeezing around her rib cage.

Her mind drifted back to the folder sitting on Varric’s desk. The contents, and what they might tell her. Maybe… Maybe the fear wasn’t irrational. Maybe, despite her desperation to know something about Miranda Soloman, she simply wasn’t ready and her need to retreat was, in fact, her brain trying to protect her. So much had been thrown at her over the last few weeks. So many revelations, so much pain, and hurt, and anger. Too much. Too much for any one person to handle in so short a space of time. Even someone with a rock-solid support system would struggle. Maybe this was just her brain’s way of telling her to stop. That one more hit would be one too many. That if she ventured too close to this, she would be like Icarus flying too close to the sun, and she would finally crash and burn out. Mentally exhausted by everything she recently learned.

There was more there, too. The longer she thought about it with a calm and clear mind, the more clarity she was able to gain.

Right now, at that moment, Miranda Soloman could be anyone. Nevena knew only a few things about her. That Miranda was born. That Miranda was married and divorced at some point. That Miranda got mixed up with her family due to unfortunate circumstances. And, that she had a tragic end to her life. Everything else between those milestones was a mystery. Nevena could make her whoever she wanted. Miranda could be anyone. And while Nevena did not believe Miranda was a genius, or a forward thinker, or someone of fame or infamy, she could at least imagine that the time between those milestones was happy. If she read the documents enclosed in that folder that would no longer be the case. She would know more. Too much. Maybe more than she wanted or even needed to know.

Why couldn’t the life of Miranda Soloman remain shrouded in mystery for a while longer? It wouldn’t hurt anyone to indulge in fantasy and ignorance a while longer. Miranda had no impact on Nevena’s life for almost thirty years – did she really want to change that so soon? Did she really want to put herself through the potential of more pain, and more confusion and more… Just more. She was tired. In a few days she would be back in Denerim and life would return to some form of normality. What would be the point in spending those last few days in turmoil? Who would it serve to carry around the weight and the angst of Miranda’s truth? Would it be a benefit to anyone?

The more Nevena thought about it, the more her resolve grew. No. There would be no benefit to her or to anyone to uncover the truth of Miranda Soloman’s life. Her life ended tragically. The parts of her life Nevena knew about had been hard and unforgiving. She had been an innocent party who was made a public enemy by media - all because of the Trevelyan family. Wasn’t that enough? Hadn’t the Trevelyan name tarnished that of Miranda Soloman enough now? Shouldn’t she be allowed to rest in peace? Her ghost undisturbed and her memory left as it was?

Snow started falling heavier from the dark grey clouds above, and the wind picked up causing it to lash against Nevena’s face. Her clothing was damp from where the snow melted, and she was shivering. When she opened her eyes, she saw the park was now empty apart from her. Her lips were numb, and so were her fingers. And her shoes were soaked through making her toes freeze. She needed to move. To get back to Varric’s before it became too dark and too dangerous. Her limbs were tired, her joints ached when she moved. If she sat a little longer, she would be able to gather her strength and her wits and retrace her steps.

It was a while, ten, maybe twenty more minutes before she realised not only was she still sitting on the swing, but that she was no longer alone. A figure approached through the growing blizzard armed with clothing. Cullen was sensibly bundled up against the cold and the wet. His scarf was pulled up around his mouth and nose, but Nevena could see his cheeks were bright red. He squinted his eyes against the wind, draping a scarf around her neck wordlessly.

“Hi…” Nevena managed to say, finding her voice cracking through lack of use.

Cullen slid a woolly hat onto her head. He pried her frozen hands from the chains of the swing and slid thick gloves on after easing Nevena’s fingers into a more open position. He helped her to stand and helped slide her thick winter coat on over her arms. He zipped it up to her chin and pulled the hood up, all but smothering Nevena’s head and face.

“It’s freezing.” Cullen said. Though only half his expression was visible, Nevena could see a mixture of worry and irritation in it. “You could have caught hypothermia. What were you thinking leaving the house without the proper clothing?”

“I…” Nevena shook her head looking around the park. “I didn’t think I would be gone long. I only meant to walk… To clear my head. I…” she turned back to Cullen. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His expression softened, slightly. “I wish you’d at least taken your phone. I’ve been out looking for you for the last hour.” He adjusted her hood and lifted her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, brushing her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Sorry…” Nevena said again, “I… I was being selfish. I should have said something.”

“You need to warm up before the cold really sets in and you get sick.” He took her right hand and she walked with him in tandem. There were a surprising number of people still out of the streets and the snow gave each illuminated window an almost ethereal halo of light. Cullen led them to small café Nevena didn’t remember passing. It was an old building with a fire crackling and popping in an original feature brick fireplace. Cullen gestured to Nevena to grab a table near the fire, he queued to get them something to drink.

She shed her other clothes. Her jumper was sticking to her skin, but the fire was warm and feeling started to return to her extremities. She leaned close, holding her hands out towards the flames. A large orange tabby cat was lying on a chair nearby, yellow eyes half open to look at her, before closing again. Nevena straightened when Cullen set down a tray in front of her. It was piled up with brownies, a couple of chocolate muffins, a teapot, two cups and a milk jug. Nevena poured herself a cup without speaking, aware of Cullen watching her every move. When she was done, she held the warm mug between her hands, blowing away steam as she put it to her lips. It warmed her insides as it slid down her throat. She began to thaw.

“So…” Cullen said after a lengthy silence. He picked the chocolate chips off the top of one of the muffins eating them one at a time. Nevena met his gaze from across the table. It was like being at Red Jenny’s again. “You didn’t read the documents about your mother.”

Nevena took another sip of her tea. “How did you know?”

“The folder was closed on Varric’s desk. I would have assumed had you read anything, it would have been open, and the papers would have been unclipped from the paper clip.” Cullen smiled for the first time since he found her. He reached across the table and took one of Nevena’s hands. “Why not?”

She took a breath, running her thumb over his fingers and committing the texture of his skin to her memory. “Because… if I learn more about her, it’ll make it real.”

“Real?”

“Right now, she’s just a name, a woman in a photograph, and a few facts. Tragic facts, but facts none-the-less. Aside from that information I know nothing. She can be… whomever I imagine her to be. A rocket scientist, a struggling actress…” Nevena shrugged, “or just an average person who got mixed up with my family due to unfortunate circumstances and because fate intervened. If I look at that information, she’s suddenly someone who was real. Tangible. I’ll know about her life. Where she went to school. What her likes and dislikes where. Who her parents were. Who my grandparents were. I’ll know that she was a person. A real person who took her own life because… Because life dealt her a rough hand.” She paused, closing her eyes and centring her thoughts. The words were there, sitting on the tip of her tongue and yet she couldn’t seem to articulate them the way she wanted. “I… I suppose it’s selfish. That I’m selfish. I want to linger in ignorance a little longer… Does that make sense?” She gazed at Cullen from across the table.

He released her hand, a thoughtful look making home on his handsome face. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his seat, brow furrowing. Nevena watched him mulling over her words. She took a bite from a chocolate brownie. The fire crackled. The orange tabby stretched its front legs out, adjusting its position. There was a low hum of conversation.

“Do you want to know more about her?” asked Cullen, his position relaxing.

“One day, yes.”

“But not right now?”

“No.”

“I did wonder why you were so… determined to know more about her. I appreciate coming here was my idea, but I didn’t mean to… I suppose, force you into trying to learn more about her.”

“You didn’t.” Nevena leaned across the table to touch Cullen’s arm. He took her hand. “You didn’t force me. Coming here was a good idea. I met Varric Tethras and I did want to learn more about her. I still do. But… not yet. Not right now.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“She’s been through enough. She deserves to rest in peace. And I’ve been through enough. I will look at this, learn more about her, when I’m ready. Stronger. Better equipped to deal with whatever I may or may not learn.” Nevena sat straighter, her unwavering eyes meeting Cullen. “So much of this whole situation has been out of my control. Even learning about her, her name, was taken away from me. It wasn’t something I chose to learn. It was thrown in my face as a weapon by Ineria.”

“I know.” Cullen squeezed her hand.

“So, I’m taking control of this.” Nevena said, “I’m going to choose when I learn more about her. I’m going to decide when I’m ready to know more about my mother. It’s my history. My past. It should be my choice. Something I have control over. Not someone else.”

“I agree.”

“I guess I’m taking a stand of a sort. Kind of…” Nevena quirked her mouth to one side, half-smiling. “I want to learn about her. I won’t let Josephine and Dorian’s time to go waste. I just want to do it when I’m ready. And I’m not ready yet.”

“No?”

“No. I thought I was. I thought I would be able to handle it. I thought I could open the folder and gain some closeness to her by reading her history. But… I don’t think that’s going to be the case. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Cullen moved his chair closer. “What changed?”

“I couldn’t open the folder.” Nevena sighed, “couldn’t open it, let alone read the contents. I thought it was just… nerves. Just my mind being unfair, but then, while I was walking I… I started to wonder if it was my brain trying to protect me somehow. Maybe my brain saying: ‘enough is enough.’ My brain protecting me from the potential of more heartache and more pain. Right now, I can make believe that she had a happy life between the hard times. I won’t be able to imagine that if I dive headfirst into those documents and discover her life was mired in tragedy.”

There was a beat of silence, then Cullen rose from his chair opposite her and came to sit in the one nearest. He leaned in, kissing her forehead and curling hair behind her ears. “I’m proud of you.”

Something caught in Nevena’s throat. A tightness and heaviness of feeling she couldn’t place. A vacant space suddenly filled and overwhelming her. Her eyes began to water. “Why?” she asked, pushing back the tears that beaded in the corners of her eyes.

“So little of this whole thing has been in your control.” Cullen said, dabbing away the tears with his thumb and a soft smile on his face. “You’ve been courageous and strong this whole time, pushing through everything that’s been thrown at you. I’m proud to hear you say enough. I’m proud to see you taking control of what you want.” He cradled her face, kissed her and brushed his nose against hers when he pulled away. “You are an incredibly strong woman, Nevena. I’m glad you could recognise your limit.”

Nevena swallowed back the tears and the happiness she now recognised was in her chest. She never expected to hear that. To be told she made someone proud. She wrapped her arms around Cullen’s shoulders, burying her face into his neck. He returned the embrace, smoothing a hand over her back. She loved this man, and the unwavering support he offered her during this trying time. For however long their fates remained entwined, she would do her utmost to be worthy of him.

Cullen pulled back from the hug first, kissing her forehead again. “We should get back, before Varric and Cassandra send out a search party.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After returning to the house Nevena drew herself a bath to warm up. Josephine and Dorian left while she was gone as neither of them wanted to risk the drive back to Ostwick in the snow. Cassandra offered to tumble dry Nevena’s wet clothes while she bathed – an offer she accepted – and also offered some candles and lavender scented bubble bath for her to use.

The hot water, the low light and the fragrance all worked together to soothe Nevena’s body and mind. She lay back, relaxed, and allowed herself to almost fully submerge in the water. It felt like it had been another long day in an endless month of long days, but it also felt as though the long and trying days were coming to an end. Soon, she would be back in Denerim. Normality and life would resume. She would be out of the reach and the grip of people who wanted to cause her harm and instead would be surrounded by familiarity and friends.

She was less worried about the resolution of her relationship with Cullen now. She had told him, without hesitation that she wanted to make a go of things with him when they returned to Denerim, and that was the truth. They had not confronted the words he said in the ruins of Kirkwall’s chantry but maybe that was for the best right now. Confronting it might put too much pressure on him. On them. And it was best to allow things to progress naturally. If Cullen broached the topic, then Nevena would talk about it. If not, she would remain silent. It was for the best.

Relaxed by the warm water and the low lighting, Nevena allowed her mind to drift and slipped her eyes closed. For the first time in days her mind didn’t immediately turn to the confrontation in the Chantry with Rick. His face didn’t appear before her, and his voice didn’t resonate in the back of her mind. There was no ice-cold fear that clutched at her heart and no panic that drowned her senses.

Instead it was Cullen’s voice in her ears, and his face before her. The expression she saw him wearing that night they were together after the New Year’s party. She had thought little about it given it was over-taken by shadows rearing up. Now, though… Now she thought back to it and remembered the pleasantness of him between her legs. She remembered the sound of his breaths as she rode him, partially clothed. She recalled the way his skin flushed, and how his stubble tickled, and the way his kisses were hot and uninhibited. That night, they didn’t hide from each other. She was open and honest with him in a way she never had been with anyone else in an intimate sense, and that feeling – now she could recall it – was an intoxicating one.

A stilted breath passed from between her lips as a heat, warmer than that of the water and pulsing, settled in her abdomen. Eyes still closed, Nevena could practically feel Cullen’s body behind her and her back against his broad chest while they matched the rhythm of their breaths. She moved her hands over her body, one gently sliding over the curve of her breasts, the other stroking lower over her stomach and along the inside of her thighs, but at the same time she imagined they were Cullen’s hands. Bigger, the texture a little rougher, but gentle and reverent. His caress sent a wave of tingles humming below the surface of her skin. Even in the warm bathroom, her flesh rose in prickles where it was exposed to the air.

She tipped her head back, resting it against the lip of the bathtub. A soft moan escaped this time as her fingers found their way between her legs. The heat inside her moved lower. It throbbed, instead of pulsed now, insistently begging and reminding her of the attention she craved. The release she yearned for. Her insides grew heavy. Her fingers passed over the patch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. She recalled Cullen’s fingers doing the same in Redcliffe. She imagined him, ­felt him, part her lower lips and move his middle finger along her heat before circling her clit, applying a deliciously dizzying pressure. Her hips moved, bucking and displacing a little water over the edge of the bath. Biting her lower lip, Nevena squeezed the mound of her right breast, sliding her thumb over a peaked nipple just above the water’s surface.

That need inside her grew more ravenous. She began to rock her hips into her own hand, her mind conjuring Cullen’s there instead. Her breaths grew shaky as she moved her ring and middle finger over her clit, drawing the length of her fingers along it before she resumed circling. Sticky residue of her arousal coated her fingers and mingled with the bath water. Nevena flared her nostrils, her voice rising in staccato gasps. She stroked down over her ribcage, with her free hand, traced her abdomen and lifted her hand back to her breasts again, pushing her weight down into her lower body and pressing back with her fingers, increasing the pressure she applied. Arching her head further back, the sensation of kisses on her neck broke through the rising pleasures coursing through her veins. Cullen’s lips. His tongue on her skin, his breath fanning over her cheek while he whispered words of encouragement to her, urging her to let go. His hands on her flesh, gently massaging her breasts, his fingers sliding and teasing her hardened nipples. Between her legs, his fingers moving steady and fast over her clit and easing inside her, leaving his thumb to work its magic.

Nevena formed incoherent words between her breaths, only vaguely aware she was making sound. Her mind was blank, except for the ecstasy cresting inside her. The movement of her hips grew more frantic. Release was close, budding and about to bloom. Her cheeks were hot, and she licked her lips not sure where Cullen’s hands began and hers finished. She was on the precipice. Her stomach tightened, and the muscles in her legs grew tense. Her toes curled and she came apart with a strangled groan rising from deep within her chest.

Pleasant little shocks rippled over her body as she began to come down from her orgasm, breathing hard. When she opened her eyes, it took a moment for them to adjust to the low light of the bathroom. She realised after some small confusion; she was alone. That the hands on her were her own, and that Cullen was nowhere to be seen. The bubbles were all gone. The bathmat was drenched. Nevena’s body was enjoyably tingly and lucid. She laughed to herself, stretched her arms out and sank down into the water until she was fully submerged.

Once she was done in the bath, Nevena changed into comfortable pyjamas and tidied up the mess she left. She joined Varric, Cassandra, and Cullen downstairs where dinner was almost ready and Nevena’s now dry clothes were folded neatly at the bottom of the stairs. When she met Cullen’s gaze, her chest tightened, and her face grew hot, but she smiled and joined him at the table feeling lighter than she had in several days.

The evening passed pleasantly. Cassandra asked what the plans were for the following day, going over what time Cullen and Nevena needed to be at the dock to catch their morning ship back to Ferelden. Varric and Nevena talked over what she managed to read of his first draft, and he teased her mercilessly with possible outcomes for the characters. By half-ten, Nevena was yawning. The day had been long; full of mixed and… conflicting emotions. The morning was a hard one, but her troubles had given way to a kind of contentment through talking to Varric and later Cullen. She went up to bed first, content to give Cullen the choice of sleeping alone, or joining her. She heard him come upstairs around eleven and he went to his room.

She didn’t mind so much, though couldn’t help the worry that gnawed at the back of her mind. She pushed him away the night before, after all. Not only pushed him but screamed. It wasn’t his fault. She hoped he knew that. He was probably concerned about pushing too far or too much, especially after their run in with Rick, and seeing what coming across him again did to her. Nevena lay awake for a while, her mind turning over everything that had transpired since she met Cullen. All the truths that came out. All the brutal honesty they had both endured. All the fears they both faced, and the joys they shared. She didn’t want him to doubt that she wanted him. She didn’t want him to think she was frightened of him, after everything they went through together, how could she be?

Around one o’clock in the morning she sat up in bed, hearing the loud click of the bathroom light turning on or off. Getting out of bed, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Light streamed out Cullen’s open door. He was coming from the bathroom, dressed only in his grey sweats. He looked at her as though he wasn’t surprised to see her. Nevena didn’t see any of the signs that he’d awoken from a nightmare. No sweat on his face or body, no increased breathing pattern. He looked calm and collected, if a little tired.

“Can’t sleep?” Cullen asked.

“No.”

“Me neither.” He half-smiled, shifted on the spot and took a step towards her. Nevena did the same, the two of them moving closer until they were barely a foot apart and she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The tension between them was electric and palpable. Nevena’s heart throbbed at the back of her throat while she looked up at him. At his warm honey-brown eyes, and the softness in his smile. A softness that seemed reserved for her. She wanted to fall into him. Wanted to open herself up to him and be as vulnerable and naked as someone could be with the person they loved.

“I was thinking about you,” Nevena told him, surprising herself with the words. If Cullen was surprised by her admission, he didn’t show it. If possible, his gaze became more affectionate and he leaned towards her.

“Were you?” he took her hands, smiling. “You’d best come and tell me what you were thinking then.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move to lead her to his bedroom. He stood, waiting for her to confirm or deny the request hidden in his comment. Where their hands were touching, there was an almost imperceptible spark of desire and need that passed from him into her.

Nevena nodded, taking several steps towards his room. “I’d like to.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yeah... So. I hope those who wanted to know more about Nevena’s mother aren’t disappointed? Honestly, I agonized over this choice for a while, but this felt right. It made sense to me. Nevena’s been through the ringer, and this... made sense. She’s taking some control, she’s deciding when she learns about something that was hidden from her and then thrown in her face. And she’s also taking control of her body and what she wants.

At least that’s what that random little scene is meant to illustrate. Whether it does or not... That’s up to you guys.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you think is coming up? I hope you have the next chapter up at the start of July - fingers crossed and all that.  Let me know your thoughts and feelings in the tags, comments or in reblogs. And next chapter will be up soon. <3

As always, if you enjoy my writing, I do have a ko-fi account you can donate to if you’re so inclined. No pressure, only if you want to. :]

[wearejustvisiting]

I wrote something!!!!!!!!!!

It has 2,990 words! 

It’s an actual story! 

With original characters!!!!!

I don’t know if it’s good, this is the first draft, but I’m excited and I want to share it with you!

It’s called ‘Gina and the Rain Fish’, it’s about this character named Gina who I’ve been developing for years. 

Gina Brennan blinked lazily, staring out of the glass sliding door that separated her from the rain pouring down from the bewilderingly gray skies. Rain on the shore of lake superior was different than rain anywhere else in the country, Gina figured. Not only did the sky go gray, but the entirely lake was a sickening black-green, and the beach itself reflected the gray of the sky. The only things that weren't turned gray were the trees too low to get wet, or the houses too bright to be anything else.

Gina absolutely hated the rain. It meant she couldn't sneak into the lighthouse, she couldn't go to the roof, she couldn't even climb trees. And what is life in the woods if you can't even climb a tree or two? Rather boring, if you asked Gina. It being the weekend meant the 14-year-old had nothing better to do with herself, so why bother doing anything but waiting for the rain to stop?

“Ugh...it just goes on forever...” lamented Gina, to no one in particular.

“It's been thirty minutes,” answered Gina's father from the second floor, sat at his computer, “It'l be plenty dry tomorrow, birdie.”

“I wonder if an oak sturgeon is out there...” Gina said, looking up to the staircase as she heard her father coming down.

Gina's father came down, speaking in a rush as his big glasses reflecting the gray sky from the windows, “Gina, you are not going out in this weather to look for sturgeon.”

Gina rolled her eyes, her own glasses falling onto her eyes as she crossed her legs, “Dad, I wouldn't have to go any further than the beach! You'd see me the whole time, just...just a quick walk, that's all!”

“No.” Gina's father said, his arms at his hips, “This rain is only going to get worse, and the wind is going to pick up.” He said, walking down to the coat rack by the door.

“Why do YOU get to go out, then?” Asked Gina, crossing her arms and pushing her back into the couch.

“Not that I get to,” her father replied, pulling a large orange jacket off of the coat rack, “Have to. Paul said the waves are gonna get bad, and I'm the one with the keys to the boat door. So I've gotta go unlock it. Then I'm gonna take my shift early.”

“Wait, what?” Gina beamed, getting up, “I could go with you! We could go together, you know I've always wanted to look in there, and maybe you could teach me how the doors work, and-”

“Regina, NO.” Her father quickly put an end to Gina's new found enthusiasm, “Maybe some other time, but not today.”

“Why not?” Asked Gina, indignant, her eyes squinting at her father, “you do it all the time, you always go out in the rain and the wind and-”

“REGINA,” Her father bellowed out, his eyes wide and his face stern, his angry expression not hidden well by his short graying beard, “It's done.” He said.

Very few things could tip the temper of Gina's father, but one of those things was his daughter's safety. Gina knew that he didn't mean anything hurtful by it. That he was just looking out for her, and that his yelling about this meant that she would be in serious danger…but it was rare for her father to yell. The sound of it was still jarring to her.

Gina just nodded gently, looking down, “...okay, dad...”

Gina's father walked closer to her and hugged her. “I'm sorry, Birdie. It's just...” Her father bent down to look at her face, “The storm's going to get bad. The wind is gonna be a mess...” He said.

“yeah, yeah, I...I get it, dad.” Gina said, sighing, “just...I can take care of dinner tonight.”

“I just don't want to-”

“To lose me like you lost mom, I GET it.” Gina said, slowly backing away from her father, “We've been through this a million times.”

Gina's father looked to her, a sad expression, once again visible through his beard. He went to the door silently, opening it, the sound of rain splatting to the ground apparent.

“I'll be back around midnight.” He said, before leaving the house and shutting the door behind him. He was gone. At least, for now.

As she heard her father drive off, Gina stormed upstairs to her room. She avoided looking at the pictures on the wall, the ones of her mother...she'd seen plenty of pictures of her mother two years ago when she went missing, and even more pictures when she was found on Mackinac island. Gina's father had a bad habit of holding onto memories.

Gina flopped down on her bed, facing the plum purple ceiling. The dark walls and dark skies provided little light, but Gina didn't need it. Every drop of rain tapping her window was a reminder. She hated this kind of weather. The cold was fine, and rain was lovely, but rain this hard and cold this bitter weren't good for walking. And the wind was picking up...not the most assuring noises. Gina assumed, at this point, it wouldn't be long until…

The power went out.

“UGH! THIS SUCKS!” Gina threw her pillow at the wall as she bent over digging for a flashlight. She figured she might as well get some reading done while she was here…

Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amadic Creatures...Gina must have read this whole thing 100 times. It was a gift from her grandfather. But she read it anyways. All the newer books were downstairs, and she didn't really want to bother. She turned to the page on Oak Sturgeon, hoping to glean some information she'd forgotten.

“The Northern Lake Oak Sturgeon is a large megafauna inhabiting the northern lakes of the North America and Western Europe. While they look similar to Great White Sturgeon, it is important to note that healthy Oak Sturgeon are a brighter hue of white than most Great White Sturgeon. The Oak Sturgeon is most likely brighter in coloration due to its lack of natural predators; even humans have trouble hunting them, as they are considered extremely dangerous. Oak Sturgeon prefer cooler weather, and are often seen by the surface when it rains heavily, though there is no known reason for this behavior. Because of this behavior, the Oak Sturgeon is commonly known to many as a Rain Fish or Rain Whale.”

Gina happened to glance out of her window, out at the lake. The rain was pouring harder and harder, and the sky was darker. It was as if someone had said something about the storm, and it was responding with anger. Gina, somehow, looked past that...and saw it.

The large pale mass in the water, near the surface...it was massive, at least the size of a school bus. Gina forgot what her father said, as well as managing to forget the weather….she quickly threw on her hiking boots, a pair of black cargo pants, wool gloves, a thick black sweater, and threw a large orange coat over that. She grabbed a plain green ballcap and put it on her head, stuffing her thick, wavy, sepia hair into her jacket.

As Gina got downstairs, she ignored the power flickering back to life, as she grabbed a pocketknife and her camera, putting a bit of a protective case her father had made her around it. Just a plastic shield, for the rain. Gina promised herself she would only stay on the hill above the beach. No closer. She promised...she ran to the door and opened it, shutting it behind her.

The wind was the first thing that hit her. Smashing into her like a wall, the wind was loud and coarse. Then, the cold, like little splinters hitting her face, soon turned to a large mass finding its way into every space of her clothing that it could to get to her body. Last, the biting rain, bad enough that she was glad her hat had a rim, and bad enough that she had to throw the thick hood of the jacket over said hat.

It was when she tried to walk that Gina knew this wasn't her best moment. The wind was whipping hard, and it was hard to move forward, but if that Sturgeon did what she thought it would this close to the shore, she knew she had to be there to document it. No one believed her when she said it, but she knew…

She knew those things could jump. And she was gonna get a picture.

Gina got to the beach, the massive waves bearing down on the beach as she got closer. She huffed, finding it hard to breathe through the amount of rain falling down. She was constantly using her gloves to wipe her glasses as she got to the wet, packed sand. She looked out on the lake, now big and black and terrifying in its size and speed. It moved like an angry, wretched beast. As if it wanted to consume Gina in her entirety. Gina saw not the white breakers, but gnashing teeth ready to swallow her whole if she got to close. She was dumb enough to go on the beach in this weather, but not stupid enough to get that close…

Until she caught sight of the white mass in the water, moving faster...she knew it it was going to happen, it was going to be soon. She grabbed her camera, getting prepared. She could have just done this from inside. She could have just waited for a day where the wind wasn't so strong that the sand was blasting her in the face. But she was out here now, and she was closer to the water than she should have been.

Gina had broken her promise to herself big time. Now her toes were getting licked by the surf as she followed what she swore was a fin. She snapped a photo, just a picture of the fin and back of one would be worth keeping. She followed it. “Come on,” she whispered to herself, “Jump for me...jump...” She said.

She huffed, coughing and sputtering after having breathed in some water from the lake as it splashed near her. The water was rising. She didn't care. “Come on...jump...jump!” She got the camera ready as she saw the fin disappear into the water…

“Jump for me….please?”

As if on cue...The Oak Sturgeon rocketed out of the water, straight up, and fell back into the water. Gina got a few pictures, including one of it spearing into the air out of the water. She couldn't contain her excitement, jumping and dancing, jumping almost as high as the Sturgeon did. She laughed, waving her arms, her eyes closed in joy…

Then, she looked at the water...and there were those gnashing teeth.

Ready to chomp down and devour her…

“Gina?” Her mother beckoned from downstairs. “There's a surprise for you down here!”

An eleven-year-old Gina Brennan walked down the stairs. Her birthday had just passed, and she was still clutching her favorite present to her as she walked down. Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amaldic Creatures had been gifted to her by her grandfather that year. But her mother promised that she'd be getting a gift from her this year as well.

“What is it?” Asked Gina, still a bit miffed that her mother's promise had yet to be fulfilled.

“Look!” Gina's mother held up a cardboard box, shaking it a bit. “It's your present. Came in the mail today.”

Gina beamed, taking the box. She hugged her mother tightly, “Thanks mom!”

“Wait until you open it first! You might not like it, it was Dad's idea.” Her mother whispered, jokingly.

“I heard that!” Gina's father interjected, to the delight of all present...”Go on, Birdie, open it up!” He said. “And...happy birthday.”

Gina ignored her father's hand ruffling her hair as she opened the box, gasping as she saw what was inside. “Oh my gosh!”

Gina lifted the box out of its package...a beautiful camera…

Gina's father spoke, “I know you like taking pictures, and I just figured you'd like to have your own. And to stop stealing mine.”

Gina put the box onto the couch next to her and turned around, hugging both her mother and father. “This is the best present ever!” She said, laughing as her parents hugged her tightly.

Her mother smiled, getting to eye level with Gina. “Now Gina, you promise to be careful with this? Make sure that it doesn't get damaged too badly?”

“Promise, mom.” Gina eeked out, beaming. She could barely talk when she was excited, trying her hardest not to whoop and holler so close to her mother's ear.

Gina's father clapped his hands together, “I bet you I could make something that'll waterproof that camera, but don't get it wet right now, alright?”

“I know, dad!” Gina mocked, hugging him fully and tightly. She then turned to the box, lifting it and rubbing the top of it.

“I promise to take good care of you...and to use you to capture unknown animal behavior so we can become FAMOUS!” She said. “...and I promise not to fully submerge you, even IF dad makes me that waterproof caseamathing, because that would just be rude.”

Gina opened her eyes...bleary...she couldn't see. Her glasses were gone. She rubbed her eyes, breathing heavily as she tried to regain her composure. All she felt was a biting, bitter cold. She dug her hands into the sand, blinking. She could see right in front of her, and the vague bleary outline of her house. She dug her left, then her right, then her left, then her right…

Her camera. It was missing. She couldn't find it, even looking back. She saw a black splotch floating in the water...and she stood up, letting a wave toss it to her. Gina grabbed her camera, falling on her back as she was once again knocked over by the wave.

She used her legs to push herself back away from the water, still too cold to bring herself to her feet. The rain was slamming into her, as if it were a million tiny daggers piercing every pore it hit. She slowly got to her feet, clutching the camera as a mother clutches a child, before walking in the direction of her home's outline.

Gina could barely feel. Hypothermia must have been setting in. She closed the door to her home and threw the clothes she was wearing off onto the brick floor of the foyer before taking a painfully hot shower to revive her dying nerves. It was painful. It was awful. She was sobbing. As every bit of scraped, scratched skin was hit with near scalding water, she felt every single cell of her body cry out in pain as it was brought from extreme cold to extreme heat.

But Gina Brennan lived. He sobs subsided, her weeping waned, her pain stopped. And for a brief moment, there in the shower, with the water off, there was nothing. No water. No rain. No sand. No cuts. No Sturgeon.

Just an aching silence. The kind Gina usually hated, but right now, loved more than anything. She stepped out, dried herself off, and dressed herself in black pajamas, sitting in her room with her camera and a spare set of glasses.

With her lights on, the decoration of the room was more apparent. Posters of bands and pictures of her and the places she'd been, anatomies of Amadic creatures on long posters in the room, and a flag on the ceiling, bearing the emblem for the organization which she wished to be part of some day; The Northern Department of Amadic Creatures…

Gina was focused on none of it. She was focused only on her camera...it would charge, and it would turn on. But how did the memory fare? Was she able to actually pull pictures from it? Was she able to see the proof of what she knew was true?

Gina's face rose into a large beaming grin as she saw the pictures on the screen of her computer...she couldn't help but do a little happy dance in her chair, despite the fact that she was definitely in pain. She laughed a moment, then sighed, looking at the pictures…

She paused. She knew they were there, and she knew she could see them...they were real. They were there. And yet...she looked at her hands, scraped from sand and water, once near frozen, brought to near burning. She sighed as she looked at them. Were those pictures worth it? Was being right really worth the pain she'd put herself through? Forty-five seconds of joy for nearly an hour and a half of misery and pain?

She slowly rose out of her chair, looking out of the window. It was Nine at night. Gina hadn't eaten, but she figured at this point dad wouldn't be too disappointed if she just ordered a pizza and left it at that.

Gina hid her clothes, wincing when she touched them with her raw hands. Walking to the ground floor of the house, she stowed her clothes away near the laundry, where she'd deal with it later. She slowly made her way back to the living room, stretching and cracking her joints before gripping the phone and sitting at the couch.

Before Gina ordered, she looked out of the glass sliding door...the wind died down, and the rain had become a drizzling pitter-patter on the glass once more. She looked, for a long while, out to the lake. It seemed it had calmed down.

The lake had won this fight, and it was satisfied.

And as Gina thought of what to order, she looked to the lake, and realized that despite losing, she was satisfied as well.