#the trouble with gran

[grandma-battle]

propaganda below !!

Gran | @doomedtobeloved

(The Trouble with Gran is that she's an alien, actually and that she gets her family in all kind of trouble because she's a bit... showy, let's say ?) Anyway, she eventually saves the day. Also, she's an alien !! Who wouldn't want a cool mischievous alien grandma ?

Granny | @phoenixdellaverita

Because. Look at her!

[only-lonely-www]

So basically ATLA brain rot has hit me like a truck

[figureskatingcostumes]

Wenjing Sui and Cong Han's free program costumes at the 2021 Gran Premio d'Italia, 2022 Olympics and 2021 Skate Canada. They skated to Bridge Over Troubled Water.

(Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5)

[spaceumbredoggos]

Conservative Boomers need to fuck off. I’m not saying Yes Sir or No Sir or Yes Ma’am or No Ma’am. Had enough of that bullshit from my dad and his dad. And what if they’re not a sir or a ma’am? What if they’re like me? That’s fuggin traumatizing when little would say yes ma’am to you when you’re not a ma’am or a sir. What’s wrong with Yep, Yeah, Yes, Yee, Sure, Affirmative, Yeppers, Non’t, or just nodding your head if you don’t feel like verbalizing your agreement? And while we’re at it, what��s with the whole eye contact shit? You’re starin’ into my fuggin soul. It creeps me out.

[saint-cecilias]

Tomorrow marks 3 years that I lost my precious Gran. I’ve been trying to distract myself so I don’t have to think about it but that tactic is not working as the day draws nearer and nearer. When she made her transition to an ancestor, a part of me left with her.

There is not one day that goes by that I don’t miss her. It’s like an ache that will never ease. I would give anything to hear her voice again. See her again.

She was one of the kindest, gentlest and most loving human beings I’ve ever met. I am so proud to have been chosen to be her granddaughter. While I know she is always with me…on days like these, I wish I could call her up and just talk to her.

I miss you and love you forever, Gran.

[cringefailwritherage]

[musings-by-certified-bi]

Zuko of course ends up being permanently shuffled along to where ever the kids are. The women of course would not have let this group of strangers (especially armed, controlling men) near their children anyways, but Zuko acts as a perfect deterrent, since even if you like kids you probably don't want to hang out with the shouty walking teenage angst that is Zuko. The men never realize that keeping him with the kids is the perfect excuse to keep him out of any meetings, and away from any actual questions of how he got there. After all it's not like the men are inclined to include him in the hero fantasy they believe of themselves.

So he's elbowed into being called something else and is waved away as a child from another village they took in. Pakku doesn't even seem to notice how he resembles the exact missing boy Iroh asked the white lotus to keep an eye out for, because he's too busy giving Kanna reasons to finally snap and end him. His attempts at reconciliation are not going well, especially not after he told of her grand kids without masking his annoyance at Sokka's... everything.

Most of the men stay in the rebuilt walls of wolf cove, with a few stragglers leaving to reach out to the other tribes. When the men arrive, the women are well into prepping for winter and while men means more hunters, it also means more mouths making comments on the food. More clothes that need repair (and wearers with no respect for the labor that takes). More interruptions when the storyteller is speaking and not the curious interruptions of the children (including more recently a certain teen) nor the rude interruptions of an indignant prince who somehow chafed less because for all his disrespect he never laughed at them for being silly little girls who couldn't get the details right to simple tales, never mind this is the version their tribe had told for generations and held dear. It means more than a few of the married women without kids get rudely hit on, with the excuse being the lack of betrothal necklaces, followed up by snide comments at their husbands' ability to provide... the same husbands that actually went to fight in the war for their tribe's future.

In little and big ways autonomy from the women was taken away bit by bit. And the children kept asking why. Why not fight back, demand respect? After all the oldest among them know that their fathers didn't act like this, all of them remember Sokka, and even the prince treated them like people (he just happened to be an ass to a lot of people). How do you tell children for all the talk of sister tribes, that this was nothing more than an occupation? Sure one with seemingly good intentions on the surface, but doesn't that just make it worse?

During all this Zuko is sitting in his corner doing chores, with at least one child hanging off him. He of course is baffled at why the same women who had no trouble putting him in his place aren't doing the same now. Until finally one of the women simply asks (after the children are in bed) how that would work. The men are better armed, more trained, not inclined to listen, and it's not like they can leave their home just as winter hits. And suddenly Zuko is reminded of all the times he was told to pick his battles. Every insult Uncle took, every slight at his mother, every time his sister laughed at someone doubting her. Of course he still isn't any good at keeping his mouth shut, and he doesn't agree but he gets it the point she's making. He also is less inclined to try and start arguments once winter hits and Agni is barely present. He learns the hard way how one determines when the day starts during months of dark. The answer is being pushed out of bed by a surprisingly strong old lady, as to not be in Kanna's hut when Pakku swings by.

Eventually Agni returns and Pakku and some of the men leave. The women are unimpressed when no one says why. Clearly something is happening given he got mail before hand. Zuko mentions the comet and a few realizations occur. The most pressing is that this probably means some sort of escalation of the war (hopefully the end of it, but that's a hope that's been shrinking for decades). The other realization is that their fire hazard is going to be extra fiery and despite the amount of times men have walked in on Zuko heating water or giving of steam, somehow they haven't noticed he can fire bend and it's probably best to keep it that way. Which starts the debate of where to put him. Quite a few different suggestions are made but eventually it's decided they'll just leave him in Kanna's hut since Pakku isn't around to try and swing by. There are several close calls during this, but the children come through. They aren't willing to loose their personal heater. Zuko is not apart of the debate and doesn't realize his bending is a secret. Just his origin.

As spring truly arrives the tension finally burst. Hakoda arrives home with his children, his crew and (ugh) Pakku, to find the new wall has had a chunk fire bended out of it, at least 3 northerners knocked out, a water bender dueling a fire bending teen (he assumed the teen Pakku mentioned was... a water tribe teenager and not a clearly trained fire bender) with the children lobbing snow balls and rocks at the fight.. and surprisingly not aiming at the fire bender. He finally gets the fight broken up, asking what in the world is going on. To which Kanna replies that the fire prince was kindly letting their northern guests know that their welcome had worn itself out.

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[tinycoffeeroom]

treat you better | carlos sainz

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Could I request a Carlos smau where another driver breaks your heart and he’s there to pick up the pieces and make you whole again? Please and thank you ❤️

cw: cheating, bad guy charles, mentions of unwell family members, cursing

a/n: charles and alex i love u guys i promise this is just for the au <3

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November

👤 charles_leclerc liked by fan, fan, and 78,283 others

f1gossip Trouble in paradise for Charles and Y/N? Charles Leclerc was spotted on a long walk on one of Monaco's more secluded islands with a mysterious brunette and his and Y/N's dog, Leo, this weekend. Sources say the pair were often looking to see if there were cameras around, the two of them giggling as they held hands and played with the puppy. Y/N L/N, Charles girlfriend of 2 years, is currently said to be on a trip home to see family, we wonder if the two have broken up or if Charles is back to his old ways?

fan f1gossip tagging charles is so shady i love it

fan when i catch you charles

fan no bc remember when a fan said they met y/n in her hometown and she was visiting her gran bc she's not doing too good? charles u fuckin suck bro ↳ fan wtf really???? oh i hope his tyres stick to the road next race ↳ fan kmag you know what you need to do ↳ fan we put our hopes and prayers in the paddock terror 🙏🙏

fan ok but the girls gorgeous ↳ fan THAT'S YOUR TAKEAWAY FROM THIS? ↳ fan im just saying damn

fan this is not what i meant when i said i wanted silly season to get more interesting

fan *looks around* wow i'm so surprised... not like charles has a bad rep with women or anything

fan i hope y/ns ok... my heart is hurting for her ↳ fan the paddock adore her, charles has got a big storm coming next week

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liked by kellypiquet, carmenmmundt and 25 others

y/npriv my gran is doing so much better (nothing can keep the old girl down), my hometown is still as gorgeous as always and my sister got me a cake :)

kellypiquet my girl :((( i'm so happy your grans ok 🤍 ↳ y/npriv thank u kelly bear 🤍 ↳ kellypiquet did i have to physically hold max back from going after he who shall not be named?? yes... did i consider letting go?? very much so ↳ y/npriv 😭😭 hes not voldemort babe 😭 you should have just let him go ↳ kellypiquet now is that really how you feel? ↳ y/npriv ... no but i wish i did ↳ maxverstappen1 she has to go to sleep at some point, then i shall be free ↳ y/npriv thats so ominous you strange creature (i appreciate you)

carmenmmundt me and george have been keeping your gran in our prayers angel 🩷 ↳ y/npriv i love you carm 🩷 ↳ georgerussell63 and me? ↳ y/npriv i tolerate you :)

flavy.barla esteban nearly joined max ↳ y/npriv love him dearly but este's about as intimidating as a teddy bear ↳ estebanocon ?? hey??? ↳ y/npriv sorry king xo there's a reason your nicknames estie bestie ↳ estebanocon let it DIEEEEE ↳ y/npriv never 🫶

schecoperez I am glad your gran is ok, y/n. Let me or Carola know if you need anything x ↳ y/npriv thank you checo :( give the little ones and carola a big hug from me x ♥️ schecoperez

lilyzneimer he shall d word at my hands ↳ y/npriv i fuckin love you lily

lewishamilton he will never know peace next year. ↳ lewishamilton i am however happy to hear your gran is well x ↳ y/npriv lewis 😭 thank you x

francisca.c.gomes pierre has been shouting at Him on the phone for like an hour... ↳ y/npriv 😭 ... what are they saying ↳ francisca.c.gomes a lot of french and things i don't want delicate eyes (yuki) to read... ↳ y/npriv pierre i appreciate you ↳ pierregasly i'm gonna kill him ↳ y/npriv ok maybe tone it down frenchie

lilymhe alex is setting his zoo on him ↳ y/npriv that's how you know it's serious wow ↳ alex_albon tinky's gonna boot him in the head

sebastianvettel i am very glad to hear your gran is ok, y/n, sending her and you all my love x ↳ y/npriv thank you seb :( miss you x ↳ sebastianvettel come and see us soon! the kids miss you x ↳ y/npriv you got it! x

danielricciardo he's a cunt ↳ danielricciardo and i don't mean that in a nice aussie way ↳ y/npriv DANIEL ↳ oscarpiastri no he's right, in the nasty aussie way, he's a cunt ↳ y/npriv oscar i did not raise you to talk like this ↳ oscarpiastri we are literally like 4 years apart in age... ↳ y/npriv kicking a girl when she's down WOW oscar ↳ oscarpiastri ... i am sorry mother dearest ↳ y/npriv that's better

carlossainz55 hermosa, he may be il predestinato but to me he is carne morta (dead meat) ↳ y/npriv carlos 😭 ↳ carlossainz55 also i'm glad to know your gran is well, send her my love ↳ y/npriv she already fancies you enough as it is ↳ carlossainz55 my plan is working :) ↳ y/npriv what plan? are you seducing my family members??? hiding my mum as we speak ↳ carlossainz55 something like that ;)

yukitsunoda0511 happy to see your gran is ok! and i am sorry about the other thing :((((( ↳ y/npriv yuki my angel you have nothing to be sorry about

kevinmagnussen i know what i have to do ↳ y/npriv kevin NO you're like 2 points away from a race ban!! ↳ kevinmagnussen worth it :) ↳ y/npriv nicohulkenburg pls talk some sense into your teammate ↳ nicohulkenburg unfortunately y/n i too will be joining kevin in his "defense" ↳ y/npriv haas i am so sorry

landonorris i may have done a thing... ↳ y/npriv i am terrified... ↳ landonorris i'll text you :)

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📍Monaco

👤 landonorris, carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes, kellypiquet, lilymhe, lilynzeimer, flavy.barla, carmenmmundt liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 87,902 others

y/nstagram angel baby, dumb and dumber and my girls 🩷

Comments on this post have been limited

carlossainz55 ... am i dumb or dumber ↳ y/nstagram do you really want to know? 🤨 ↳ carlossainz55 for my own sanity im saying i'm dumb ↳ landonorris why am i dumber????? ↳ carlossainz55 do you really want to know? 🤨

carmenmmundt don't forget about lunch today xx ↳ y/nstagram been looking forward to it since i boarded the plane 🫶

landonorris you're welcome for the lift and the room btw 🙄 ↳ y/nstagram my saviour xx ↳ landonorris and for stealing leo for you ↳ y/nstagram I NEVER ASKED YOU TO STEAL HIM???? 😭 ↳ landonorris well i did because i'm an amazing friend and am willing to sacrifice all my bloody furniture ↳ y/nstagram you leave the baby alone, he was probably stressed :(

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FEBRUARY

(estrellita - little star) (uy, quécarechimba - ugh, that dickhead)

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📍Shanghai

👤 carlossainz55, landonorris liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 89,028 others

y/nstagram did y'all think i would miss the first race week?? ft dumber and roomie x

fan mother has returned!!!!! ♥️ y/nstagram

fan if looks could kill, carlos would be six feet under ... charles was FUMING ↳ fan given the way his girly hid when y/n appeared i would say he has no right to be mad at all ↳ fan if the girl i cheated on rocked up to my teammates garage whilst i was with my side piece i quite frankly would walk onto the track midrace ↳ fan how do we know charles cheated? they've not said anything ↳ fan exactly. if they had been broken up surely they would have put out some sort of announcement to clear things up ????

scuderiaferrari always good to see you in red, y/n ❤️ ↳ y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE!!!!!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

carlossainz55 i hate this new nickname ↳ y/nstagram what else should i call you? ↳ carlossainz55 yours ↳ fan CARLOS I SAW THAT????????

landonorris i have been demoted from bestie to roomie... this is the thanks i get... ↳ y/nstagram thanks roomie xx btw bins go out on tuesday :)

lewishamilton now you're free of your ferrari obligations, you should come across to mercedes next time ;) ↳ mercedesamgf1 we would love to see you over here y/n! ↳ mclaren um no us next?? ↳ alpinef1team no us!!! ↳ redbullracing come to the winning team :) ↳ scuderiaferrari y/n will always be a ferrari girl, back OFF 🤺🤺🤺 ♥️ carlossainz55

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charles_leclerc added y/nstagram added to their story to their story

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liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 20 others

y/npriv that bitchass man... idk how he thought he was gonna spin that story but not on my watch

oscarpiastri did you really have to use my meme though? ↳ y/npriv yes it was funny and otherwise i was gonna call him a cheating lying bastard on main so 🤷🏻‍♀️ ↳ oscarpiastri understandable, please continue

danielricciardo lando was laughing so hard i think he bust a rib ↳ landonorris it still hurts to breathe but holy shit y/n i love u ↳ y/npriv love u too stink :) also don't forget to pick up leo's food from the shops ↳ landonorris you do know you can text me this stuff? ↳ y/npriv yeah but reminding everyone we're roomies is funny to me

maxverstappen1 walked past ferrari hospitality and fred was PISSED ↳ y/npriv 👀👀 carlossainz55 can you confirm? ↳ carlossainz55 oh, absolutely... i was worried he was going to have a heart attack or something

francisca.c.gomes ok but did he not even think to talk to you first before posting that? it's literally been months ↳ y/npriv apparently not 🙃 texted him about it and suddenly he was sorry ↳ francisca.c.gomes men 🙄 ↳ pierregasly ???? ↳ francisca.c.gomes i stand by what i said ↳ y/npriv yeah is there a problem gasly? ↳ pierregasly no problem at all ma'am, as you were

scuderiaferrari we had no knowledge charles was going to post that. we love you y/n ↳ danielricciardo FERRARI? why are you on y/ns priv? ↳ y/npriv me and the social media intern are besties xx

carlossainz55 estrellita, lets go for dinner, you deserve it ↳ y/npriv 👀 are you paying? ↳ carlossainz55 of course, i am a gentleman ↳ y/npriv pick me up in an hour :)

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liked by fan, fan and 40,718 others

f1gossip Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N were spotted at dinner last night. The two enjoyed a meal before taking a stroll along the Monaco pier front where, as pictured, the pair were in high spirits. We're happy to see Y/N looking so happy following the revelation that her ex-boyfriend, and Carlos' current F1 teammate, had cheated on her. The two were then joined by Y/N's current roommate and F1 driver, Lando Norris, who then whisked them off to a local nightclub. We continue to send Y/N our support and hope to see more of her happy side.

fan i don't think i've ever seen y/n laugh like that, we love to see it

fan this coupled with the photos of charles and his girly arguing in the paddock 🤭🤭 we know who won the breakup

fan why do i kinda think carlos and y/n would be cute together ↳ fan woah, she's only been broken up with charles for a few months and under really shitty circumstances, she needs time to heal ↳ fan ofc ofc!!! i just mean when she's over ch*rles, the two would make a really good couple

fan happy y/n and happy carlos, my two favourite things ❤️

fan y/ncarlos fans we rise!!! ↳ fan he would treat her so right ↳ fan the entire time she dated That Man, carlos has always been so nice to her, i wonder if he secretly fancied her all along 👀 ↳ fan or maybe he's just a good guy ↳ fan that too 🤷🏻‍♀️

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APRIL

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📍 Australia

liked by y/nstagram, landonorris and 890,274 others

carlossainz55 swipe across to see me and oomf Another Carlando podium! We know what you guys wanna see and we love to deliver! The car drove like a dream today, shame we couldn't get more points but it's always nice to celebrate a great race with some champagne showers!

See 98,072 other comments

fan WHO TAUGHT CARLOS WHAT OOMF WAS??? ↳ fan either lando or y/n 100% 😭

fan CARLANDO PODIUM!!!!!!!!! WE DREAM OF DAYS LIKE THIS

y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE !!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎 congrats winner 🥳 ↳ carlossainz55 i think i was right when i said you would be my good luck charm 😉 ♥️ y/nstagram ↳ fan oh they're so sick for this ↳ fan y/ncarlos'ers we're so winning

charles_leclerc congrats ↳ fan ik for a fact he was forced to comment

landonorris carlando are back baby!! ↳ landonorris also cant believe im either oomf or roomie... ↳ y/nstagram stop leaving your smelly socks in the bathroom and maybe i'll change the nickname ↳ landonorris oh that was mean

fan "shame we couldn't get more points" carlos you shady shady man

fan who else cheered when kmag pulled through and took * out of the race

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liked by carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes and 21 others

y/npriv oh we eating good tonight

kellypiquet i'm sure we are 👀 ↳ y/npriv KELLY???

landonorris carlos is so sexy ↳ y/npriv real ↳ landonorris back off my man??? ↳ carlossainz55 i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this lando... ↳ landonorris WOOOOOOW.... i see how it is carlos

carlossainz55 gorgeous as always ↳ y/npriv you can't even see my face in that photo carlos 🤣 ↳ carlossainz55 don't need to see you to know you're gorgeous ↳ maxverstappen1 i hate to say it but that was smooth ↳ danielricciardo they don't call him the smooth operator for no reason

scuderiaferrari power (soon to be (fingers crossed)) couple ↳ carlossainz55 😉 ↳ y/npriv not from the main acc damn

francisca.c.gomes need you biblically ↳ y/npriv come here then babe xx ↳ flavy.barla lemme join ↳ y/npriv i got two hands babygirl ↳ oscarpiastri estebanocon pierregasly you gonna let her snatch both your girls? ↳ estebanocon unfortunately there was a clause when they agreed to date us and it was that y/n is wifey, we are simply the Others ↳ pierregasly ^^

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liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe and 25 others

y/npriv decided to put him out of his misery :)

carlossainz55 and who is that sexy man? ↳ y/npriv idk but he keeps speaking spanish to me even though he knows i dont understand it 🙄 ↳ carlossainz55 but do you like it? 👀 ↳ y/npriv i think you know i do x

francisca.c.gomes AND YOU DIDNT UPDATE THE GROUPCHAT??????? ↳ lilymhe FR!!!! I LITERALLY SAID TELL US AFTER YOU KISS HIM ↳ y/npriv SHUT UP RN ↳ carlossainz55 no do go on ↳ lilymhe what happens in the y/n gf's gc, stays in the y/n gf's gc

carlossainz55 estás muy guapa, vuelve a la cama cariño ❤️ (you look so pretty, come back to bed sweetheart) ↳ maxverstappen1 we have the translate function on ig you horndog ↳ y/npriv don't be mad i snatched ur man ↳ maxverstappen1 ... he'll never forget the redbull days

landonorris RUE WHEN WAS THIS?????? ↳ y/npriv hiiiii lando... um so.... 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ ↳ landonorris GET BACK HERE U RAT EXPLAIN YOURSELF ↳ landonorris carlossainz55 WHAT ARE U DOING WITH MY ROOMIE ???? ↳ carlossainz55 i mean i could tell you but instagram does have guidelines ↳ landonorris ew ew ew that's so gross i dont even wanna know ↳ landonorris happy for you guys or whatever but ew never tell me anything remotely sexual about y/n or i will vom ↳ y/npriv lando wtf???? ↳ landonorris you're like my annoying sister i'd have to remove my skinsuit if carlos opens his fat mouth ↳ carlossainz55 hey? ↳ y/npriv you're so fuckin weird ily

danielricciardo HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!!!! ↳ carlossainz55 you were right, they don't call me the smooth operator for no reason ↳ y/npriv you were literally giggling and kicking your feet after i kissed you ↳ carlossainz55 y/n :(((( my reputation :((((((

lilyzneimer wait do was taking the photos? ↳ y/npriv ... self timer ↳ lilyzneimer down horrifically bad wow

scuderiaferrari OH Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE WON!!!!! ↳ y/npriv admin 😭 not u too ↳ scuderiaferrari not even sorry i've been WAITING for this one!!!

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liked by francisca.c.gomes, fan and 30,892 others

f1gossip A surprise twist in the Charles and Y/N drama? Following Sainz's back to back victory in Australia and then Silverstone, Y/N and Carlos shared what looks like a loving kiss. Eagle eyed fans then spotted Charles on camera arguing with a Ferrari employee in the garages following the Y/NCarlos moment. Finally, Carlos was spotted outside where he was soon joined by Y/N, the two leaving the circuit hand in hand. It is noted Charles' new beau was nowhere to be seen.

fan Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE SO WON!!!! ♥️ 10,829 others

fan she upgraded wowow

fan charles throwing a hissy fit was so funny i was cackling watching it

fan kika in the likes... what do you know queen? ♥️ francisca.c.gomes

user not her being a homie hopper 🤢 ↳ carlossainz55 can't be a homie hopper if we're not homies :) ↳ fan CARLOS????? ↳ fan oh he ate them up ↳ fan carlos has not been fucking with ch*rles for a WHILE, even before all the drama

fan y/n's face... she looked so happy my heart is so full ❤️

fan queen y/n we trust your judgement

fan ik the entire grid is cheering rn

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📍 England

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 105,018 others

y/nstagram carlando podium again!!! anything else interesting happen at Silverstone? :)

fan the carlando bears 😭 her boyfriend(?) and bestie 😭 ↳ landonorris roomie* ↳ y/nstagram you love me shut up

fan she's so unbothered im giggling

francisca.c.gomes the last slide... ↳ y/nstagram don't worry baby, he was just dropping me off for our date x ↳ carlossainz55 all i am to you is a glorified taxi driver

landonorris couldn't even post a photo of me for my podium... see how it is ↳ y/nstagram don't want your ugly mug messing up my feed ↳ y/nstagram also grey bin needs to go out on tuesday ↳ landonorris you're on bin duty this week? ↳ y/nstagram actually i'm gonna be on a boat in spain soooo ↳ landonorris i hope y'all break up ↳ fan LANDO ? ↳ y/nstagram he's joking dw he did the whole "big brother" speech with carlos, was kinda funny knowing carlos would flatten him in 2 seconds flat ↳ landonorris oh now i really hope y'all break up

fan y/n please we know you have bf carlos pics... i only ask for one thing ↳ y/nstagram i'll post some soon x ↳ fan the most unserious soft/hard launch

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👤 carlossainz55 liked by carlossainz55, lilyzneimer and 98,017 others

y/nstagram my boyfriends so hot, do you guys mind if i chew on him a lil?

carlossainz55 please don't chew me??? ↳ y/nstagram it's internet sla- never mind, ok mr sainz

fan her captions are always so real i love her

fan unhinged y/n is back, we missed you best friend ♥️ y/nstagram

scuderiaferrari HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH LETS GO Y/NCARLOS'ERS!!!! ↳ y/nstagram i love u admin ❤️ ↳ scuderiaferrari our ferrari girl, forever ❤️

landonorris i hate this ↳ fan your ex and your roomie 😔 ↳ landonorris you get it 😔 ↳ carlossainz55 stop calling me your ex 🙄 ↳ landonorris you dare deny the love we shared?

francisca.c.gomes never mind him, can i chew on you a lil? ↳ kellypiquet ^ ↳ lilymhe ^ ↳ lilyzneimer ^ ↳ flavy.barla ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ y/nstagram everyone grab a limb x ↳ carlossainz55 please don't chew my girlfriend

fan thank you for the pic y/n! sorry for interrupting your holiday 🥺 ↳ y/nstagram don't be silly!! it was lovely to meet you <333 dont forget to send me the link to the dress!! ↳ fan on it!! ↳ fan omg how was it meeting them? ↳ fan they're honestly so sweet, they were just holding hands and walking around and carlos was yapping away and the way y/n was looking at him 🥺 they're endgame fr ↳ fan could actually cry?? ↳ fan also when they were on the beach, carlos twirled her around and they started dancing to the music playing from a nearby bar... it was actually like a movie scene 😭😭

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👤 y/nstagram liked by y/nstagram, scuderiaferrari and 505,287 others

carlossainz55 dicen que ver una estrella fugaz da buena suerte, y tenían razón, mi estrellita ❤️ (they say seeing a shooting star is good luck, and they were right, my little star)

See 198,017 other comments

francisca.c.gomes that first picture... i love my girlfriend ↳ carlossainz55 can't even have peace on my own hard launch ↳ francisca.c.gomes you snatched y/n from her girlfriends, you will never know peace.

fan he bagged a baddie wowow

fan the caption??? oh hes in LOVE ♥️ carlossainz55

y/nstagram 🥺 carlos..i'm so grateful to have you in my life ❤️ ↳ carlossainz55 i am the one who's grateful ❤️

scuderiaferrari heyyy y/n *with rizz* ↳ carlossainz55 even my own teams admin wow... ↳ scuderiaferrari not my fault your girlfriends hot

user homie hopper ↳ carlossainz55 eat glass :) ↳ y/nstagram CARLOS ↳ scuderiaferrari we love that you're happy but please carlos this is still your official account

lilymhe y/n i could treat you so much better ↳ carlossainz55 back off i've waited years for this ↳ y/nstagram YEARS??? ↳ carlossainz55... 🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️ ↳ y/nstagram you're literally sat right next to me ... ↳ y/nstagram he just got up and ran away... ↳ fan this is so fucking funny sddjsdhdk ↳ landonorris danielricciardo what was that about him being a smooth operator? ↳ danielricciardo hes also fucking dumb

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a/n: hope everyone enjoys! i am working hard on part 2 of girlfriend of the enemy so we can have some happy charles <3 also 2-3 posts in one week who AM I? (i'm gonna be busy w work so i'm trying to give u guys some food in case i have to disappear)

[silly-witch]

I LOOOOVE waking up at 7am anxious

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[bravo666]

john price who gets retired out, discharged when he gets some shrapnel in his knee, but he’s still a soldier at heart and needs to scratch some kind of itch. living out an idle retirement simply isn’t an option. with combat of any kind off the table, he picks up a random job as a census worker to occupy his time. government bureaucracy and paperwork, his old enemy—but better the devil you know, right?

it’s not a job he enjoys, as dull as it is, but if john price is anything, it’s not being a quitter. he’s thanking his stars that the season’s nearly done and wondering if he might be able to pitch in at the local carpentry shop when he’s sent to go meet a truant form-taker, some big house a bit of a ways out of town that hasn’t responded to the mail to fill out the census. big, old, and clearly falling apart with an overrun garden and a cracked drainpipe and a trampled, rotted fence.

he’s expecting a pensioner at the door given the state of the place, but when he knocks his big fist and the peeling door swings back, a pretty young thing is standing behind it. he explains why he’s there and the poor bird nearly bursts into tears with apologies. she’s so sorry for the display, she says, she’s just been very overwhelmed lately which is why she forgot to fill out the form and doesn’t mean to cry. the place used to be her gran’s, and apparently she’s in way over her head with the repairs and renovations.

john pokes his head in the door and takes a look at what he can see. bit of water and smoke damage on the walls, a bucket kicked under a leak, musty carpet, some stairs that could definitely use a good replacement on the planks. what he doesn’t already know how to fix, he knows how to figure out, and if push came to shove, he knows for sure he can handle wrangling a contractor better than the sweet woman before him; she’d probably get taken advantage of by some mean, leering electrician, and that just won’t do.

so he smiles at her, blue eyes crinkling up and mustache bristling against his cheeks as he leans back. tells her that they can do the paper census form now together and that he’ll keep her ‘out of trouble’ with the government in his books, and hell, afterwards he can show her how to fix that stubborn leak in the kitchen sink, and insists that the only repayment he needs is a cup of tea.

if he’s a bit hasty in checking off the ‘married’ box on the form when she’s busy fussing over the kettle and imagining the sound of tiny feet running up and down those stairs, well, that’s his business.

[paishowhitelotus]

Rewatched book 1 after watching the live action and here is a list of everything that wasn’t in the live action that I think should have been :

Sokkas war paint

Saying the words “hair loopies”

Barely seeing the boomerang

Katara being able to calm down aang during the avatar state

The comet

Importance of mastering all 4 elements

Sokka dressing in kyoshi warrior clothing and learning the strength of women (removing and growing from his sexist beliefs)

Zukos honor /destiny (think it’s mentioned once?)

Mouthfoaming guy

Aang water bending

Roku manifesting and telling jeong jeong to teach aang firebending

Aang trying fire bending too soon and burning katara which leads to him being hesitant on learning firebending in book 3

Katara finding out about her healing abilities

Aang being selfish by keeping location of Sokka and kataras father from them

Aangs crush on katara

Aang doing everything he Can to heal his friends in the swamp

"Miyuki, did you get in trouble with Fire Nation again?”

Rokus dragon

Aang dealing with the guilt of leaving the southern air temple and all his people getting killed and not accepting his role as avatar

Sokkas intuition for recognizing Jets deceit

Sokka being a natural inventor (it’s barely even touched in the live action) Sokka is smart and creative

Katara’s dedication to learning water bending by stealing the scroll

Katara’s jealousy of aang being able to bend and learn faster than her

Kataras fierce determination and her take no shit personality

The cruelty of the fire nation by imprisoning earth benders into work camps (this is just one example)

Katara’s selflessness and bravery by getting herself imprisoned in the war camp and saving all the prisoners shows how much empathy Katara feels for people and always wanting to help those who can’t help themselves

Showing how master jeong jeong and others left the fire nations army because of its cruelty (fire nation people can be good and recognize the evil in their own ranks)

How aang feels upset about the disrespect and condition of the northern air temple/legacy of his people but accepts it in the end knowing they need this temple as their home

Using the fallen war balloon to create a fleet of airships in the final battle with Ozai

Appa being a badass and also fighting to protect aang multiple times

Iroh and his white lotus tile (this is important foreshadowing for later seasons)

The healer in the northern water tribe recognizing the betrothal necklace and realizing it belonged to her friend and kataras grandmother, kanna, who was engaged to master pakku of the northern tribe but left to live in the South Pole

Katara confronting pakku and telling him “I’ll be outside if you’re man enough to fight me” ( the challenge is off screen in live action, dumb choice tbh just glad we got to see the physical fight at least)

Pakku finding the betrothal necklace and talking about kanna and katara saying her gran left because “she wouldn’t let your stupid tribes customs control her life” which in turn makes pakku reconsider and start teaching katara waterbending

Pakku complementing kataras skill saying she’s has advanced faster than any other student he has trained (this shows how great and powerful of a water bender she truly is)

How strong the water benders are at night especially during the full moon

How the moon was the first water bender

Zuko kidnapping aangs body while he is in the spirit world

“You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun”

Not showing emotion to koh cause he’ll steal your face

Zuko talking to unconscious aang telling him how everything always came easy to his sister, she’s a firebending prodigy. Ozai telling Zuko that azula was “born lucky while Zuko was lucky to be born” (another instance of ozai’s cruelty as a father)

Talking about how iroh has been to the Spirit world

Zuko trying to challenge katara during a FULL MOON” “Here for a rematch?” “Trust me Zuko it’s not going to be much of a match” and then her kicking his ass in 5 seconds

Aang showing compassion to Zuko by saving him again despite Zuko kidnapping his body

Iroh staying with katara Sokka and yue after the moon spirit is killed (this shows his heart)

Yues body disappearing and her spirit kissing Sokka and her saying “I’ll always be with you”

The ocean spirit grabbing zhao and dragging him into the sea

Pakku wanting to help rebuild the southern water tribe

Pakku Calling her Master katara and saying she’ll train aang from now on

Azula appearing at the end and Ozai sending her on a task because Zuko is a failure and iroh is a traitor

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST TRAILER

Uptown Girl (Part One)

Summary: When your high society life comes crumbling down around you. You are left to deal with the inherited mess your father's love of the casino tables had landed him in, and the gangster he had settled his debts with. Mr Thomas Shelby. But when heads butt during your first encounter with the notorious gang leader over the deeds to Arrow House. You both stubbornly refuse to back down, begrudgingly accepting each other as an unwelcome housemate. With your future on the line, and the arranged union you want to be free from rapidly approaching. You come to the quick realisation that if you can't force the blue-eyed squatter from your house, then you would drive him out. One way or another.

Warnings: Language, angst, mentions of death by suicide

Word Count: 4535

Authors Note: £200-£300 sterling pound in 1924, was worth between £10000-£15000 in todays value.

"So it's agreed then, Miss?" the smartly dressed man with hungry eyes questioned you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he greedily beamed down at the delicate diamond necklace sitting on the plush red velvet cushion below it. "£200 for the Elysée necklace, and it's matching earrings?"

"£250 for the necklace alone, Mr Burton" you quickly corrected his value of the precious jewel sat in front of you. The last of your mother's cherished collection gifted to her on her wedding day.

" £300 for the lot" his eyes narrowed in on the lustrous stones adorned with a cluster of diamonds weighing down your ears. He would have the full collection, or nothing at all.

" Scandalous! " your Granny's voice quivered as she sat in the corner of your father's office. Exceedingly displeased with the intentionally low estimation of your family's jewels as her satin gloved fingers clutched tightly around her walking stick.

" It is but business, Mam" the Jeweler replied with an avid, gold-toothed smile. His arms flamboyantly hovering in the air as he bowed to the former Duchess of Arrow House with anything but the respect she was once shown.

" Hm!" your dear Grans voice hiccuped as she turned her head in displeasure to the gentleman who was a far cry from the considerate businessman he claimed to be. But rather, that of a man who had fallen upon a family's suffering through yet another death brought on by the woes of a troubled mind.

" £300 it is then" you announced with your head held high, removing the last remaining item of value you possessed from the soft lobes of your ears to join its sister necklace.

With reluctant hands, you gracefully placed each earring onto the cushioned fabric. The tips of your fingers brushing over the passing memories of you sat as a small child on the edge of your mother's bed. Mesmerised by her beauty as you watched her adorn her gown with each jewel that would accompany her on a soiree of dancing and champagne. They will be yours one day, my darling girl, her voice whispered to you like a passing summer breeze as you closed your eyes. The grief you still felt for her loss now weighed down with that of your father's recent death.

" Wonderful!" the Jeweler's voice snatched you away from your cherished memories. Snatching the precious stone from under your fingers and replacing them with a stack of King George banknotes." Pity old George couldn't help you out, hm?"

" Pity? Pity?!" your Granny's voice rose to a squeaky pitched tone of offense as her stern expression honed in on the jeweler that was about to get a good old-fashioned telling off. " Well I never. If you were any the wiser, Mr Burton. I would take your insolent, blithering..."

"Yes, thank you, Granny. Good day to you, Mr Burton" you interrupted your Grans inevitable barrage of flustered insults as you ushered the jeweler from the study. Saving him from not only her sharp words but your family's faltering reputation from another scandal you wished to avoid.

" Oh, how the mighty have fallen" the Jeweler's teasing words echoed back to your Gran still perched on the small cushioned chair, outraged by the sheer cheek of the man, when your brother loudly made his unwelcome appearance through the foyer.

" Mighty, and of good stock!" your brother cheered back, having heard only a portion of what was more of an insult than any compliment his far away thoughts had understood. " Oh, I say..." your brother's eyes widened at the large stash of banknotes stacked in a pile on the polished desk as he entered the room.

" Johnathan. What are you doing here?" you impatiently asked, snatching them away and swiftly making your way across the room to Frances waiting with your brother's shotgun he had lumbered her with by the door after a day of hunting stags on the property. " For the wages, and upkeep" you discretely whispered, handing the money to your most trusted employee with only one banknote remaining for your father's impending funeral.

" Oh sissy, how dire" your brother said upon seeing the lonely note being folded in your hand and safely into the pocket of your dress as he sat down, puffing on what was left of his cigar while eyeing up anything he could sell, having already squandered his estate on the inherited trait of your father that had gotten you into this mess. Gambling. A mess which was now, your burden.

With only a penny left to his name, your father played his last and final hand in the backstreets of London's grottyest alleyway. Foolishly putting all his remaining hopes on the copper coin to win back his wasted fortune. But when the dice turned against his favour, sealing his losing fate. Your father slumped to the muddy ground, removing his gun and shooting himself point-blank in the side of the head. Left to die alone in the dark, penniless. Your father had succumbed to the very thing he had wasted his life on.

" Again Johnathan, what are you doing here? Or rather, what do you want?" you sighed with crossed arms, kicking his muddy boots from the ottoman in front of him.

" Why is everyone so glum, and in black?" your brother huffed, looking around the solemn room that was once filled with gold ornaments and neatly categorised books you would spend your time reading quietly on the feathered cushioned settee as your father mulled over the odds for his next bet at the races.

" Our father still lies cold on the morgue table, Johnathan" you scolded your older brother. Ten years older, to be precise.

Wise beyond your years, an old soul. That's what those dearest to you would say. In reality, you were nothing of the sort. But rather forced into behaving for both you and your idiotic brother, who was intent on staining the family's name with his seedy lifestyle.

" We're in mourning Johnny, my dear" your Granny looked upon your brother with an unwavering sigh of both love and tolerance that only a grandmother would show for her half-witted grandson to whom she was forever bound too. " And preparation. For a dark day has come to Arrow House" she dramatically finished as she turned her head away in disbelief about the morning's unfolding events.

" Preparation for what, exactly ?" your brother asked obliviously, or rather ignorantly to everything that had unfolded in the weeks prior to your father's death.

"Preparation for him. Mr Thomas Shelby." Your grandmother's voice rose as she turned to her eldest grandchild. " The gangster!" her voice pitched to an even higher note as she clutched her chest in horror at the situation her son, your father, had landed you in with the Birmingham gang leader your Granny could only envision to be like that of the viscous darkly creatures she had read in her nightly novels.

" A gangster, you say? How thrilling. This place could do with a little fun" your brother replied, flicking a dusty lamps weathered shade next to him. His need to live life further on the edge than what he was already precariously sat on, horrifying your Grandmother for a second time. "Does this gangster happen to drive a Bentley?"

" Oh god, he's early. Why is he so early?" You panicked at the approaching sound of a car on the gritted drive as your flustered fingers fidgeted with your pearl necklace.

" A gangster with good time keeping, sister" your brother smirked as he watched you smooth down the front of your dress, your lips silently mumbling your practiced speech.

" Johnathan, would you please shut up and stop calling him that. Would you like to get us all shot, and join Daddy in the morgue?" you huffed as the irritated former child in you made an appearance to your only sibling, who was enjoying, as he always did, purposely annoying you to the point of a foot-stomping childish outburst.

" And he brings two accompanying gangsters with him. What a burly looking lot" your brother's eyes narrowed in on the three men exiting the car behind the tempered glass.

" Johnathan! Shu..."

"Children please. I'm far too close to my own deathbed to withstand your bickering. Must I endure it until that very day?" your Grandmother sighed as she slowly approached you, her hand closing reassuringly around your jittery fingers. " Head up dear, don't let him see you falter" your Granny encouraged you, patting your hand and any lingering doubts away. "Stand firm. You'll leave this manor in grace and class" she stated, head held high as her cane came down to the floor with a thud in a show of both strength and dignity as she took your brothers' steadying arm, and he led her into the foyer.

You'll leave this manor in grace and class, your Grandmother's guiding words sat with the uncomfortable lump of deception now forming in your throat as you followed behind her. For the days events were about to take a very different turn than planned. A plan in motion that neither your Grandmother nor this wretched gangster Mr Shelby could have ever envisioned. One that was imperative for you to escape the dreaded wedding arranged since your birth to the brute of a man you were promised to in one month's time. Cal Astor.

"Here she is, boys" Tommy said, stepping out of the car, lighting a cigarette as he looked at his newly acquired stately home. " Let's hear it then. What do you think?"

" Got nothing on Small Heath" Arthur sniffed as he squinted to the very top of the sturdy bricked mansion, cautiously weighing up its threatening statue. "Nah, give me Watery Lane"

"The mud and shit too?"John asked, twisting his toothpick between his teeth as his face scrunched up at the elaborate fountain of a large busted woman spouting water from her nipples. Your brother's only, and soon to be discarded, ghastly contribution to Arrow House. "Bloody toffs"

"Especially the shit" Arthur replied, checking the imposing house's stability with a firm slap to the bricked wall. "Go on then Tom, tell us aye. What poor bastard did you fool into giving this up?" he said before tipping his hat to one of the many garden staff now scurrying off to safety in fear of his kneecaps being blown off. The result of another mighty tale from your Grandmother's overactive imagination, that had undoubtedly stirred the staff of Arrow House into a dizzy.

"A rich old bastard who had reached the bottom of his pockets" Tommy replied, blowing a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"Well, where is the poor fucker then? No grand welcome?" Arthur asked, offended the red carpet and all its thrills hadn't been laid out for their arrival for such a grand home.

"Dead" Tommy flatly stated as he approached the towering wooden door, ignoring any of his brothers assumptions that he was the delivering hand of that untimely death. "Right come on lads. Best behaviour, eh?

"Jesus, bloody, Christ" John huffed, flicking his toothpick into the neatly cut grass, wary of what his brother had gotten them into this time.

Stood in the foyer with your only two remaining family members, and the staff under your employment orderly lined up beside you. You waited. Listening to the footsteps of the man you had yet to meet, slowly approaching.

" Mr Shelby, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding..." you quietly rehearsed under your breath when a loud, heavy fisted knock rattled the foyer door. Startling both you and your Grandmother.

" Must he be so barbaric? This house does possess a doorbell! your Grandmother fussed as you nodded to Frances to open the door and have you face the inevitable you could no longer delay.

As the door slowly opened, a low, gravely voice greeted your housekeeper. Accompanying it, three smartly dressed men, each one sporting a peak cap. As your eyes darted from the youngest of the men in front of you to the tallest with a large moustache neatly trimmed above his top lip, they finally came to land on the man stood in the middle. His steel blue stare instantly locking with yours. It was him, Thomas Shelby.

A painfully awkward silence suddenly settled in the air when all thought drifted mutually from your minds. Embarrassingly halting either one of you from saying or doing anything. Leaving everyone present in an uncomfortable shared state of confusion of darting stares as they stood silently in the foyer.

Uncomfortable for all but two, that was. For something far more intriguing had unexpectedly sparked in the silence between the daughter of high society and the Small Heath boy from the hardened streets of Birmingham. A spark neither one of you expected to be ignited that day as your shared gaze remained fixed on the other and time suddenly seemed to dissipate, with everything and everyone around you blurring into nothingness.

That was until the echo of your Grannie's cane booming on the marble floor brought you and Tommy back to the present world.

" Mr Shelby..." you began, clearing your throat as you watched him remove his peaked cap, when your intended words escaped your thoughts once again to the man stood before you. A man not hardened faced, loud and savage like your Grandmother would have you believe. But a man with striking features and a magnetic, demanding stance. Quietly stood observing you. Patiently waiting for formal introductions like any gentleman from your world would do.

"Mr Shelby, welcome to Arrow House" you unexpectedly greeted him with a politeness you had been adamant on guarding as you tried to compose yourself after your state of, confusion.

Did you come with the house too?, Tommy thought to himself, as a curious hint of a smile etched on the corner of his lips for the woman that had suddenly captivated him. Oblivious to who you was, and the pounding headache you would soon create for him.

"I'm afraid...I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding, Mr Shelby" you said, having finally recomposed yourself as you held your head high. Unwilling to, as Granny said, falter.

"Misunderstanding?" Tommy's brow furrowed as he cautiously stepped closer, sharply aware of your Grandmother's sudden snap of her head in your direction.

" I'm here to inform you, that the arrangement you had with my father is void" you cleared your throat, watching your unwelcome guests eyes pierce through the guard you had quickly shielded yourself with as he learnt of your connection to the former owner of the house he was stood in.

" Void..." Tommy scoffed, cocking a brow. His patience with you dancing around the subject and what you really intended on saying becoming tiresome.

" Yes. Void" you firmly stated, defiantly crossing your arms in reaction to his less than pleasant tone of voice aimed solely at you. Both of your unexpected allure with the other suddenly evaporating, and swiftly being replaced with a mutual irritation for one another as the bricked walls of control over the matter began to both mutually stack themselves high. "Arrow House was not my father's to give, Mr Shelby"

" That right, eh?" Tommy chuckled, as he looked back to his brothers shared amusement for your firm, but endearing stance." Then who's is it, sweetheart?"

" Mine" you coldly gave the delivering blow, severing his entertainment before turning on your heel and making your way up the long winding stairs as the staff and your flustered Grandmother accompanied by your brother hastily scattered from the foyer. Leaving Tommy's brothers in a fit of laughter while he glared at you from below on the marble floor as the overseeing eye of the iron-clad documents of Arrow House emerged from an adjoining room.

"Mr Shelby. A word, perhaps?"

" In her name?" Tommy confirmed, clenching his jaw fiercely together as he hunched over what was, for all intents and purposes, his desk.

" Correct, Mr Shelby" your newly acquired lawyer mumbled, nervously shifting his eyes to the two brothers stood uncomfortably close behind him.

" I saw the deeds myself. Watched the lying bastard put them in my name" Tommy lifted his head, pointing his finger accusingly at the lawyer he was now convinced was trying to pull one over on him, and delay his move.

" I don't doubt you, Mr Shelby" he stepped closer, and away from the two pitbulls breathing unnervingly down his neck. " You see, before the recently departed Duke died. The late mother of Miss Y/N Y/L/N made sure the deeds to Arrow House, and its land, were put in her name"

Your beloved mother. Born into a life of poverty not so different to that of Tommy's. She too, had worked her way up the precarious ladder of wealth, further cementing her future after accepting your father's proposal of marriage. But a life of financial worries had not escaped her when she began to learn of her husband's burning pockets, and his love of the casino tables.

In a desperate last attempt on her deathbed, and to guarantee you financial security, sparing you from a life of chains beautified with gold and satin ball gowns she never envisioned for you. Your mother, the fellow owner of your childhood home, had the deeds of Arrow House signed over into your safeguard, and away from the high rolling hands of your father and brother.

" For fucks sake..." Tommy mumbled with a hefty sigh, slouching down into his chair having realised the predicament he now found himself in.

" Really landed yourself in it this time, aye Tom?" Arthur couldn't help but give his younger brother an overdue sibling ribbing.

" Fuck off, Arthur" Tommy huffed in response, earning a snigger of laughter from both his brothers, who were more than happy to see him take a spectacular fall in his climb for the finer things in life.

" There is...something though, Mr Shelby. Something I could look into. For the right price, that is" the lawyer mused, his greedy fingers perching on the edge of the desk, now summed up on who the man was in front of him, and the depth of his pockets. No matter how tainted they may be. " There is a missing signature on the papers the late Duchess had filed before her death. The Dukes, missing signature. It will take some time to look into the documents' validity, but..."

" Get it done" Tommy interrupted the lawyer, ushering with his hand for him to leave before falling back into his chair with a chesty breath. Arrow House was his, he would make it so. One way or another.

After stewing over the predicament he found himself in for the better part of an hour. Tommy sat silent, weighing out the pros and cons of his next unexpected move as his stare honed in on the bronze statue of a stallion on his deck.

" What the bloody hell is he doing?" John impatiently mumbled to his eldest brother, who he himself was lost on what exactly it was Tommy was waiting for. " Tom, what..." John began to say when the office door flew open, and you came charging through. Your own patience with the head of the Birmingham gang's presence in your home wearing precariously thin.

" Mr Shelby, you've spoken with my lawyer. You know the terms of the deeds. Now I would ask you, kindly, to leave" you huffed crossed armed as you walked through the office collecting any remaining items of value in your arms. Cautiously aware of keeping them away from the three men's reputable light fingers.

" Y/N..." Tommy began as you sauntered past him, throwing the curtains open he had closed to dull the buzzing pain rattling in his skull you had welcomed him with.

" Miss Y/L/N" you were quick to correct him as Tommy ran his fingers down his face. His emerging eyes unable to divert from your swaying hips and flowing dress brushing past his leg, capturing his attention for a second time.

Watching you walk away was now, far more pleasant than having your angry frown storm towards him, Tommy thought to himself, clearing his throat as he looked at the pitiful lack of whisky in the decanter beside him. If you didn't have such a stubborn mouth, he'd be inclined to let your pretty face hang around, his petty ego nagged him. Irritated by the fact, he had lost himself in your beauty and allure in a brief moment of confusion earlier that day.

" Mr Shelby. Please" you gestured to the door as you stood defiantly in front of your father's mahogany desk, watching him brush his thumb over the muzzle of the ornament he had taken a liking for. " Mr Shelby..."

" I'm not going anywhere, love" Tommy finally spoke, looking up at your raging face as he picked up the weighty statue in his hand. " There seems to be a slight error on the deeds, Miss Y/L/N. A missing signature. Your father's signature" Tommy raised a brow as he pointed the ornament in your direction, unable to hide the triumphant smirk behind the smugness sitting on his face as he watched the realisation of your rapidly crumbling plan start to fall apart on your flustered face. "So until the deeds are reviewed..." he paused, turning the bronze horse to look at him. "Looks like you'll have to put up with me"

For the second time that day, you were left speechless by the stranger in front of you. This time, however, with a good dose of irritation spurring it on.

"Like hell I will!" You blurted, without a second thought for just how unladylike your reaction and the following response would look, when you reached over the table grabbing hold of the horse in Tommy's hand, and a childish tug of war ensued between the both of you.

" Fine" you huffed, blowing a lock of hair from In front of your eyes as you let go.

" Good" Tommy replied adjusting his tie as he sheepishly looked over to his smirking brothers, having witnessed the entire, amusing display.

"Keep it. A small souvenir" you pouted, pointing to the ornament gripped in his hand as you turned to leave, pulling a small cushion from under the bum of the youngest gangster as he sent a wink and cheeky dimpled grin your way.

" Enjoy your brief stay, Mr Shelby. And have no doubt. My lawyer will be urgently looking into your claims" you warned, clutching the handle of the door as you watched him rise from behind your father's desk and approach you.

"He already is, love. Paid him a nice sum of money to help speed things up" Tommy said standing uncomfortably close as he looked at you from head to toe, his eyes lingering on your plush lips.

A power unmatched. Money to buy his way through life. Something you knew would be dangerously futile in fighting with your lack of current funds.

" So be it, Mr Shelby" you succumbed to the situation with as much boldness as you could muster as you turned to leave. If you couldn't force him out, you would drive him out. One way or another.

Five days later...

" Good morning, Frances" you cheerfully greeted your housekeeper as you descended down the stairs in your nightie with a hop in your step, a bounce of your hair.

" Good morning, Miss" Frances swallowed heavily as her eyes darted to the grand clock ticking loudly in the corner of the entrance. Five days and counting. Five, obscenely early mornings, you had woken up earlier than the minutest chirp from any bird that had ever lived on the grounds of Arrow House.

" A little Beethoven this morning, perhaps?" you asked, perching yourself on the stool in front of the grand piano you had the staff conveniently move to the foyer. A spot that just so happened to be within close proximity to a certain someone's bedroom. " Any suggestions?"

"Fur Elise is a lovely piece, Miss. And you play it so well" Frances encouraged the mellow tune as her eyes darted to the top of the stairs, wary of the sleeping occupant only a stone throw away.

" It is. But I feel something a little more...rambunctious is needed to start the day. "Don't you think?" you smiled, turning the page to Symphony no5 as an amused smirk played on the corner of your lips whilst your hands hovered teasingly over the ivory keys, and you began to play. Loudly.

As the sound of your enthusiastic musical skills reverberated through the walls of Arrow House, a grunting Tommy stirred in his bed at the unwelcome shrill of the piano below him.

"Fuck sake..." Tommy mumbled incoherently, awakening from a deep sleep as he rolled from his stomach to his back. His eyes slowly opening, his ears tuning in. "Shut the...!" He grumbled, shouting the rest of his less than gentlemanly choice of words through the pillow he had grabbed to muffle the early wake-up call as he regained full consciousness. "FUCKKKK!" He roared from the pits of his lungs, when your continued playing only increased his irritation to a heightened, heavenly high.

Looking up at the landing stairs, a satisfied smirk grew on your face, hearing the beautiful barrage of curses from the unwelcome squatter in your home for the fifth day in a row as your fingers glided over the cool ivory.

Throwing the covers from him, Tommy grabbed his gun from the cabinet side table as he scrambled for his trousers, pulling them up as he stomped to the door.

" Seems Mr Shelby's awake, Frances" you spoke above the piano, as your loyal housekeeper nervously smiled to you, nodding her head. Readying herself for the fury of a thoroughly pissed off Tommy heading your way as his booming strides beckoned closer.

Encouraged by the sound of Tommy's door slamming shut, you continued your endeavour. Unbeknownst, that Tommy's hunched shoulders were looming over the banister. Gun in hand as he positioned his arm on the metal railing, aiming the end of the barrel directly at the woman whose sole purpose in life was to wake him up every morning with an insufferable racket.

"Don't move, darling" Tommy teasingly whispered as his eyes narrowed in, his breath steadying whilst he watched your fingers dance along the keys as he adjusted his shot.

As the sight of your lonely digit lingered over the next key, Tommy squeezed the trigger, shooting off the finishing note before you had the chance to give your triumphant end.

Leaping from the smoky crater now forever embedded in your grand piano, your eyes shot up to see your unwelcome roommate looking down at you with a cocky smirk as he shoved his gun against the naked skin between the waistband of his trousers.

" Morning, love"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

[bonus-links]

Commentary on the update? 🥺

YEAHH

i sketched this page forgetting that the SS Linebeck was gonna be visible at the dock and even went to the trouble of drawing the other side of Outset in the distance on one of the panels before i realized HAHA and then proceeded to grudgingly draw the side of the ship over and over

sorry about the lack of Ayrll lines, there just wasn't much opportunity with everything else I needed to get through this update. we'll see more of her I promise o7

i was convinced to keep the "he frow up" and "link's fuckass sword" gags in so i'm glad everyone's enjoying those HAHA

The waterfall BG in the panel of Tetra recognizing the sword is the same one as the stone Ganondorf from pt. 3. You might also notice that tiny Wake from Tetra's last memory of the sword has a bloody eye. Wonder how that happened

Everyone joking abt Linebeck rizzing Gran Gran last update I was like wait. just wait

Lots of ppl interpreted Slate introducing himself as Link as him not getting the social cue, which I think is a great way to interpret it lol. but also consider: he totally noticed and just decided not to lie anyway.

I tried to fill gran gran's house with pictographs Wake might have taken and little gifts Wake might have brought back for her from his adventures (within reason, all these backgrounds were a lot of work HAHA). There's Wake and Ayrll on Ice Ring Isle, and Gran Gran's even got her own korok pinwheel!

that's all!! this was a fun update, I love reading everyone's comments :-)

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 6

Check out part 1 here. AO3

John texted memes. Something about that surprised you. He presented as such a straight-laced demeanor that the silly text images added a layer of intrigue to the man who already took such care not to share more the bare minimum.

He sent his commentary about his ‘muppets’ as he called the men under his command. The image of a man in suspenders, a tie, and a coffee mug in one hand with the text “If they could just not…” followed by any number of pictures of Jim Hensen’s muppets. It always prompts you to ask for the cleansed version of their nonsense. John had confirmed that the men who had come in asking about him were the men under his command. They were still under orders to leave you and your shop alone. When he mentioned that in the first week of texting you were surprised.

>I can hold my own in my shop John, release them to come by for fixes on anything you haven’t already stolen from their bags.

When he didn’t reply within a few hours you followed it up with.

>Your Scotsman seemed pretty excited about getting a family kilt fixed. Let them come by John. I don’t scare easy.

Halfway across the world, John squints at his phone in the darkness of the safe house he and Johnny are waiting for exfil in.

“What did you say to my girl Soap?” Price questions in the quiet.

Soap jerks from his nodding-off sleep in the corner where he had settled down.

“What’s up boss,” he asks sleepily.

He turned his phone to show Johnny the message from you.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Soap squinted through the brightness blasting his eyes.

“Dinne do nothing Cap. Alls I asked about was a kilt repair. Me granddad’s kilt was given to me when he passed, I want to get it fixed up is all.”

Soap lacked the guile to ever pull off being an undercover agent. John turned the phone back to himself, frowning.

“Fine. You can go visit her. Spread the word, but if I hear any of you gave her a bit of grief?” He let the warning linger unspoken behind his words.

“Got it. Can I go back to sleep now?”

John harrumphs and pulls out a cigar, lighting it up as he contemplates how to reply to you.

<:Rolling eye emoji: Fine, but you let me know if they give you any trouble.

>You reply with a gif of someone giving a salute with the text aye aye captain below it.

Physically rolling his eyes this time John settles in to watch the sky and think of you.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Christmas had to be the most peaceful one you had ever experienced. Laughing with your aunts and eye contact across the table with your cousins when someone said something wild before taking a sip had never been the norm. Every Christmas season meant spending time with your Mum’s family and her resentful sniffs when Pop would inform you of the times when his sisters might be passing through so you could see them. You think Mum hated that you had real conversations with the other side of your family. Everything on her side sat stilted in past hostiles and clothed in niceness for the sake of Gran who still watched with a sharp eye.

You hadn’t expected any gifts but the highlight had to be the scarf from your favorite cousin. It sat light and delicate on your neck. When you said goodbye to everyone and headed up to the spare room your Nana had set up for you. Settling onto the bed you fired off a text to John.

<Merry Christmas! Did you have a good holiday?

>Decent.

>Merry Christmas.

Attached was a photo of John with what looked like egg nog in his mustache with an arm around a man and woman who also had white streaks along their upper lips. Standing so close together you can see they share the same eye-crinkling smile.

<Aww! You look so cute with your egg-nog mustache! Did someone spike it before cups were passed around?

>But of course, can’t discuss childhood stories without a healthy glug of whiskey. Added enough of a kick that even the scary stories were told with a laugh.

>How has yours gone? You mentioned you would be with extended family up north this year.

<It’s been a blast. Best Christmas I can remember for a long time. I am spending the night with my Nana before driving home tomorrow.

<You have any fun plans between now and New Years?

>Other than deep cleaning the mold from my fridge?

You laugh out loud in the empty room. He probably wasn’t kidding. John had mentioned that he can be called for a job at a moment’s notice and sometimes it leaves him with some nasty surprises when he eventually got home.

<Yes you silly man, other than that.

Those dots went on and off for a long time. When the message finally comes through you are disappointed.

>Nothing crazy, mostly catching up on my shows.

<What like The Golden Bachelor?

You can imagine him fighting down a smile as he contemplates a reply. He isn’t that much older than you, but the way he mothers his men has them calling him ‘Old Man’. John complains about it but always with love.

>The muppets would like to you if you would like to join them for New Years.

>I told them I had plans with you but they insisted and are watching for your response.

Smirking you fired off one last response before starting your bedtime routine.

<Should I wear jeans or a pretty dress?

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Stepping from the cab you wave your thanks and turn to the building. John is standing at the glass door, waiting for you to get close enough that he can welcome you in. You smile at him, excited for his reaction to your dress. It is mostly visible through the undone buttons of your long coat. You had made it yourself, hands cramping late into the night with the number of times you have had to pleat the skirt to sit exactly right. Ironing the piece flat each time you wanted to pleat it slightly differently had been deeply frustrating work.

The black dress wrapped around, sending one tie through the side piece to stretch across your back and meet the other tie to create a bow. The long sleeves and v of the crossing front gave you an excuse to pull out your push-up bra and put the girls on display. You had chosen a long skirt. Reflective swirls of gold shined in the light from your skirt. It brushed the top of your shoes each time you took a step. Jewelry you kept simple; gold hoops and a single pendant on a long chain. Some light eye makeup and a lip stain are all you did for your face today. You would forget to wipe it off when you got home and refused to deal with the breakouts that overnight in your makeup would provide. Thankfully your hair cooperated and sat neatly in a sleek bun.

Looking John over as you approach you are pleased to see him in a suit. The juxtaposition of his winter beanie will never not make you smile. You hadn’t seen this one from him in all his times of coming by. You would tease him about the belt he needed to keep them up later. Perfect you could poke and prod at him tonight to confirm that you had the right size for his Christmas present. It sat in the back of your shop, waiting for his next visit to confirm the dark blue suit would contrast beautifully with his eyes. Double vested with a double vent, because something about that cute bum being covered just so gave you butterflies. The pants should cling to his thighs barely and give him a nice long silhouette

John took you in from top to bottom and back up again. You thought him unaffected until he took your hand as he opened the door and pulled you directly into a hug. Hugging him fired off a spring-loaded batch of emotions. Between the subtle smell of his cologne and the heat of his hands searing through the back of your coat, you’ve never wanted a New Years kiss more than now.

God. You had to say something. Fuck it all. You opened your mouth to say anything really but John beat you to it.

“You look stunning tonight,” he pulls back, hands still settled on your spine. He looks from your hair to your cleavage and back, a warm smile growing on his face.

“Thanks, you look pretty spiffy yourself,” tugging on the lapels of his jacket you continue, “But this doesn’t fit quite right, and was that a belt I saw? How could you keep something like this from me, John?”

His smile got impossibly wider. Joy spread through you like the first drink of a warm liquor.

“I wondered if you would notice. Gaz mentioned to wear a suit and when I went digging through my closet this was all I could find.”

John released you from the hug, one hand sliding from your back and down your arm to catch your hand. He holds it all the way up the elevator. When the elevator deposits you on the 26th floor you let John lead. Number 2607 he opens without hesitation.

All his muppets are present, some even have dates. Kyle stood at the island, cutting cheese for the board. The woman who you assumed to be Kyle’s girlfriend floated around the room. Charms weaved into her braids and a sleek body con dress matched her beautiful smile as she offered you and John both a drink. You were surprised to see that Gary was a blond. His choice of date made much more sense than his hair color and makes you smile. Sharing a look with John he nodded once; Gary had a thing for goth women. Johnny and Simon sat at a table, deep in discussion. Neither had a date to be seen.

“Simon doesn’t surprise me but why doesn’t Johnny have a date?” You turn to question John, wary of letting your voice travel in the open space.

John takes a sip of his drink, “They would have a date if either of them would buck up and ask the other.”

Your eyes widened as you snapped your gaze back to the men.

“You would not make a good agent,” he chuckled. “Johnny come hold this for me.”

Johnny pops up and out of his chair without question, closing the distance to take the drink John is holding out. John then takes your drink and passes it off to Johnny as well. Shivers assault your body as John’s rough fingers slide the coat from your shoulder and move away to hang it up.

“Miss Seamstress!” Johnny leans in and places a kiss on your cheek as he passes your drink back. “It is good to see you. How is your shop going?”

“Good, almost too good. If my space were any bigger I would bring on another seamstress full time. As it stands I might still hire someone to help with the simpler tasks.”

“What counts as a simpler task in a shop like yours?” Johnny cants his head to one side.

“Mostly ironing, unstitching simpler items, phone calls, running the register, things like that.” John appears at your side, a finger catching your pinky. You curl it tight to acknowledge his presence.

Movement over Johnny’s shoulder shows Simon and Kyle both heading toward you for a greeting. Kyle gives you a kiss much like Johnny did and Simon nods. When Gary sees everyone is saying hello he abandons his date for a rib-crushing hug since both your hands are busy.

The night flows on, laughter and food flowing more freely than the drinks do. You end up chatting with Kyle’s and Gary’s girlfriends about Pilates and how funny it would be to see the men try. They jump from history to space to fashion and beyond. Midnight sees Gary and Kyle kissing their girlfriends. Johnny and Simon stare at each other’s feet in abject longing and John places a kiss on the back of your hand, much to your chagrin.

As John had nursed his single drink all night he drove you home after one, passing through a sobriety checkpoint with ease. The conversation never stopped flowing with John, teasing and jokes kept your spirits lifted until you arrived at your flat. He walked you to your door, hand firmly in yours.

His thumb brushed against your knuckles as you stared up into his eyes, hoping, praying for a kiss.

“Thank you for coming. I left your gift at home since I didn’t want you to have to lug it about. When can I bring it by?”

“You’re gift is at the shop, so tomorrow maybe? About noon?”

“That would work fine. I had a lot of fun tonight and I know my guys like you.”

“They are important to you, it makes sense you would want someone in your life to get along with them.”

“And do you,” he paused here, eyes searching your face, “What to be part of my life?”

Desperately. More than anything. Fuck yes.

None of those words passed your lips. All you could do is nod.

With his free hand, John cradles your face, pressing his lips to yours.

It had to be the best first kiss you ever had because you can’t remember a damn second of it. When you finally blink John is halfway down the hall and turning back to see if you are okay since you haven’t moved.

Sending him a sheepish smile and a nod you fight with your key to get your lock open and fling yourself inside. Once the door finds its home you squeal as quietly as you can and happy dance like a dork.

Part 5 | Part 7

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

[zara-renata]

And hope to die | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: A continuation of the 'wholesome apple boy' Caleb fics I started before he was released. I'm still getting the hang of his voice. You wake up from your reoccurring nightmare about Caleb dying, only to find that he's alive, but you keep having trouble trusting that this isn't all still a dream. Caleb takes care of you, through your anger and your disbelief. Your boyfriend drops by, and Caleb is on his best behavior in sending him back on his way. Caleb x mc, Caleb x f reader. This story contains: angst, fluff, a traumatized and deeply angry mc, codependent Caleb and mc, nightmares involving serious bodily injury and Caleb's death, nsfw sexual content, cheating [mc may or may not sincerely think it's just a dream, sorry nameless boyfriend, you can't help not being Caleb].

It’s always the same.

No matter the season. 

You are falling.

Not flying.

You are falling. 

The fall is endless.

The terror of hitting the bottom never lessens.

There is never relief, never growing numb to the sensation of plummeting, of the imminent end.

You fall through rain

You fall through snow.

You fall through cherry blossom petals.

You fall through sun drenched, blindingly blue skies.

You fall, and there is nothing, and no one, to catch you.

Until you fall into his body.

As always, it is he who catches you.

You sit up, panting, big chest heaving. You feel the strength in your arms, your powerful thighs. You smell your own sweat.

You turn, and you see yourself. You, not the Caleb you, the body you’re currently in.

You look wrong. Small, fragile, vulnerable. That’s not you. You’re indestructible. You can survive anything.

You hate that this is how he must see you, as you look at yourself through his eyes.

You turn. Look out the window. A bright, sunny day.

You’re at the dinner table, there is news on the TV. Explosions throughout the city.

You’re worried about Gran, you’re worried about Pipsqueak, her new, dangerous job.

You’re carrying secrets that even though you’re inside him, he won’t reveal to you.

The dinner continues. You watch yourself respond to your Hunter’s watch, you follow yourself out the door, concern rising, frustration that your help is being rebuffed. You send yourself into the cornerstore. You buy vinegar, condiments, what you demanded he buy to keep him busy. You return to the bright, sunny day.

You argue with yourself. You snap at him, cut off his complaints. Lie to him. You’re so frustrated with yourself, why won’t you just listen to him? Let him continue to shelter you, as he has done for the only part of his life that matters to him?

You turn, lead the way back to your childhood home. You say something cutting, sarcastic to him, trying to create more distance, keep him at arm’s length, he who is you, whose body you’re in. 

Your heart hurts, beats painfully. You go in first, as you have been ordered to do by your princess. 

It happens so fast, but there is still pain. So much pain. And then—

You fall into your own body. You wake up, slowly, painfully. The fire is raging, consuming the carcass of your childhood home. 

You’ve been here before.

But this time, he’s outside the house. Instead of his necklace, it’s his big body tossed over the walk leading up to the house. He looks intact, whole in way that you know is impossible.  

You crawl to him, hope surging, despite the impossibility. Maybe this time, it’s different.

Maybe this time, there will be a different ending.

You crawl to him—everything hurts. You push yourself up on your arms, lean over him. 

He’s so beautiful. He could be sleeping. His sweet eyes, closed. His long, straight nose. His full lips slightly parted. You just need to wake him up.

Caleb.

You call to him. You call to him, softly, and then loudly, as he doesn’t respond. You reach up, caress his cheek, as you remember him caressing yours so often when you were younger.

Open your eyes, Caleb.

He doesn’t move. 

You’re desperate. You’re yelling now, screaming. Your throat hurts.

Caleb. Caleb. Caleb.

You’re desperate. You let yourself do something you’ve never allowed yourself to do before.

You lean down. You lean down and press your trembling, panting lips to his.

You kiss him. A soft press, first. Then harder. 

Wake up, you say against his lips. Wake up.

Wake up, you beg.

You frame his cheeks with your hands, touch him tenderly, fingertips drifting along his skin as you kiss him, over and over, untethered from gravity. 

Wake up.

You kiss him for a lifetime.

Finally, he opens his eyes.

You make a noise in your throat as he opens his eyes, and he kisses you back. His lips meet yours, press for press. Soft and alive.

You stare into his pretty purple eyes, the pink shimmering in the flames of your childhood home.

You could fly, with the relief, the realization that he’s not dead. That he’s fine—he’s fine, and he’s kissing you back.

You draw your hands from his cheeks, slide your fingers into his soft, soft hair, pull him closer.

He smiles against your lips.

You can pull harder, if you want.

You grin, laughing breathlessly. You’re overcome with relief, with desire. You slide your hands further into his hair, around the sides of his head, toward the back of it, to cradle it in your palms.

Your fingers don’t meet. They meet air instead.

Empty air.

You pull back. Stare into his face. He smiles at you one last time, before closing his eyes again. Before going limp. You tenderly turn his head in your hands, reluctant to pull your gaze from his beautiful profile. But you do. You have to.

You let your eyes drift, over his soft brown hair, the curve of his precious ear. To where his hair, his bone ends.

You stare at the back of his skull, no longer intact—you stare at the gaping wound of where his mind, his brain, the core of him should still be.

But it’s empty.

You start to scream.

It’s always the same.

You wake up screaming.

It’s always the same.

Sweat-soaked. Heart broken, and yet still pounding so hard in your chest it feels like your ribs are breaking, all over again.

Again, and again, and again.

You hate falling asleep. You hate waking up.

It’s why you’ve never spent the night at your boyfriend’s.

You meet him somewhere, out. Surrounded by other people. Have nice, pleasant dinners. Take in a movie. Go back to his place. He makes love to your body with his body that doesn’t remind you of Caleb because he’s shorter, less muscular. He smells wrong. 

Not bad. 

He’s just not Caleb.

But he was there, in the blurry haze of the aftermath of Gran and Caleb’s deaths. A nice, inoffensive presence, across the bar. 

Normally you wouldn’t have accepted his offered drink. He didn’t look enough like Caleb. Sure, he was tall, handsome. But not tall enough, not handsome in the right way. He would have done nothing for you before.

But after Caleb dies, you can’t stand to be reminded of him, when before, you tried to find him in everyone you met. Poor facsimiles, but enough for one night of fantasy in your head.

When you tried not to call the nice guy back, after the first time you went home with him, he persisted. For weeks. Sending cute, self-deprecating texts. Flowers to the reception of the Hunter’s Association. When can I see you again?

He was dogged in his pursuit of you, as you left him on read. As you accepted the flowers, gave them to Tara, to Nero, to Simone.

One day, the pain was simply unbearable. You needed a distraction, from your twisting, racing thoughts. From the same nightmare, every time you went to sleep. 

You called him back.

But you still never slept at his place.

Now, you wake up from the nightmare, as you always do, with your throat raw, your heart wreckage on the ground, knowing that you are simply moving from one nightmare to the next.

The nightmare of reliving what happened to Caleb, and the nightmare of waking up to a world where he’s dead.

It’s always the same.

Except this time it’s not.

There are arms around you. Warm. Big. A scent you’d know anywhere, in any lifetime, fills your nose. You want to cry. You’ve learned not to trust these aftershocks of the nightmares. Where you’re so desperate for the world to still contain him, that you hallucinate he’s here with you, holding you tight. You can’t believe it. You squeeze your eyes shut, tight, tight, tight. 

You try to roll yourself into a ball, a little shrimp, he used to call you, but the strong arms don’t let you. He holds you fast against his own body, where you’re lying… somewhere. It feels too cramped to be the bed.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. Open your eyes,” a boyish voice you’d know anywhere, in any lifetime, murmurs in your ear. Even as he grew huge, worked so hard to gain heavy muscle, his voice stayed so cute.

A cheek, rough with stubble, against your own.

You can’t. You can’t, only to find this is not real, again. This has happened to you, so many times before.

“It’s not a dream,” the voice says. “Open your eyes, let me prove it to you.”

You want to cry. But you do as he says, every time. How can you not?

You open your eyes and see Caleb looking down into your face—his expression soft, warm. Everything you remember of him.

You feel like time has stopped. You’re disoriented, on your couch. Faint, orange-tinted light pours in through the windows of your apartment. As if the sun is setting. It’s always this way, waking up from a nap, the rare times you have time to actually fall asleep during the day. As if you’re coming from another life, from such a great distance. But now it’s even more disorienting, as the dream of Caleb alive and warm underneath you feels so, so real.

“Caleb.”

It’s all you can say.

“That’s right,” he says, full lips curved in a soft smile, eyes crinkling at their edges. “It’s me.”

He’s stretched out on the couch, one arm bent behind his head. His chest is bare, as it was before you fell asleep. You’re lying on top of him, head lifted from where you’ve been resting it against his big pectoral. He runs his metal thumb languidly across your lower lip as you look up into his face, as he looks down into yours.

“You’re dead,” you say, your heart pumping, pumping, painfully in your chest. The nightmare is still with you. You’re afraid to believe him when he says he’s here, that he’s real. That the nightmare is over.

“I felt like I was, for awhile,” he says gently, letting his thumb fall away, moving his new arm across your back, his big, hard hand, clutching your hip tighter. The pressure is a little too hard. You like it. Maybe it will leave a bruise. “But I’m not dead. Check for yourself,” he invites you. His hand releases you.

You sit up, straddling him, his hips. You stare at him. Let your eyes drink him in. The healthy curve of his intact arm, leisurely bent behind his head. The soft dark hair in his exposed underarm.

“You can do more than look. Why don’t you touch me, if that’s what you need? I’m right here, and I’m real.” He sounds amused, teasing. As if the past year is something you could ever joke about.

You can feel the anger, the fury, close under your skin. But you’re not ready to release him yet. You’re not ready to punish him yet. You’re not ready to retreat again, as you have done for years now, ever since he left you stranded on the ground amidst the wreckage of his broken promises. Right now, in this orange-soaked, suspended moment in time, you can’t resist accepting his invitation. You’ll be mad at him, soon. You’ll make him suffer, soon.

You can’t help it. It’s in your nature. He should know. He’s the only one who knows.

You trusted him with everything, with all of you, and he left you, and then he let you think he was dead.

If he’s actually alive. If this all isn’t still just the cruelest nightmare you’ve ever had. You don’t think you’ll be able to survive waking up and finding him in the ground again.

You shake your head, the feelings inside of you so big, your body can hardly contain them. You can’t bring yourself to decline his invitation. You need to touch him again, to feel him. After so many years of your hands being empty, even as you were touching other people.

But you have to carve out an escape route, even as you accept his invitation.

You will never leave yourself exposed, vulnerable, like you spent years being with him, again. Only in this moment, hanging suspended, spinning lazily between the nightmare and the truth, will you let your heart finish what it starts every time you wake—you allow it to jackhammer through your ribs, crack them open and allow him to see inside.

But he needs to know that this moment is a clumsily drawn card, slipped into his pocket. Caleb’s right to a time out in a fight, valid until the end of the day of its use. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you say. “You’re a stranger to me still.”

His face falls. He looks so hurt, for such a brief moment. But then he takes a breath. His eyes soften. You recognize their indulgent affection from when you were younger, and trusted him. “Whatever you say, Pipsqueak. I’ll accept it, whatever you need to say to yourself, for however long you need to say it,” he murmurs.

You reach forward, cover his pretty, gentle eyes with your hands. “I mean it. Don’t look at me like that.”

He laughs, and it sounds infinitely sad. “I’m just lookin’ at you like I always do. I can’t help it.”

You run your fingers over his face, trace his thick, dark eyebrows. Let them drift across his forehead. You take your thumb, and smooth the frown there. He closes his eyes. 

You move your hands, sending your fingers into his soft, silky hair. You let your blunt nails drag across his scalp, and you feel him shiver underneath you. 

You swallow, terrified. Pause your hands in their trajectory that you know you must follow in order to reassure yourself that he’s here, that he’s okay. That the nightmare is finally over.

But you’re so, so scared.

You’ve been here before. Your hands in his hair. Moving towards the back of his skull.

“Caleb,” you plead.

He opens his eyes. The colors of a rainbow oil slick, the colors of his evol, the colors of your dreams. 

You clench your teeth. You’re trying so hard not to cry in terror.

His eyes drift from your face to your neck. 

He reaches up with his silver hand, slips his index finger through the silver chain around your neck. His necklace slithers from underneath your shirt as he pulls. He keeps pulling, gathering the excess length of the chain in his palm, the faint clinking of the metal necklace against his metal hand loud in the quiet room. When he has most of it fisted in his hand, he continues pulling, gently.

You don’t try to resist—you let him pull you down to him. You rest your forehead against his, your hands still clutching his hair.

His breath is warm, sweet against your lips. 

You’ve had this dream before. Your heart is racing, in terror, in response to his proximity, after being so far apart for so, so long.

“Caleb, wake up.” You can’t help it. The plea comes out of you without thought, without effort, like it always does.

Your hot tears hit his cheeks, despite your clenched teeth, your effort to keep them in your eyes, where they belong. He has no right to see them. He never had any right to see them, even when you trusted him.

“I’m awake, baby,” he says against your mouth. “I’m right here. I’m right here, and I’m never going anywhere again.”

He’s promised you before. Promises you’re not sure he ever intended to keep. “You’re dead,” you whisper.  “You’ve been dead for so long.”

“I’m not,” he insists, for the first time sounding a little desperate. A little impatient. As if he has any right to feel impatient. As if he has any rights at all, if he’s actually alive. If he’s actually here, under your hands, and this isn’t the same nightmare it always is, with a more bitter flavor. “I’m not dead. Touch me. Keep touching me,” he urges, softly. “Until you’ve convinced. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Take all the time you need. Just touch me.”

You let his words fill you. You let him nudge against your cheek with his nose as he asks this of you, let his breath in through your parted lips.

You clench your teeth again, brace yourself. “I’ll never forgive you, if you’re lying again.”

He laughs, breathless, eager. “But you’ll forgive me, if I’m telling the truth?”

You tighten your fingers in his hair, hear a little gasp pulled from his lips, puffing against yours. “You’re in no position to negotiate. All I said is that I’ll never forgive you if you’re fucking dead,” you bite out. “If I wake up from this, and you’re still dead, I’m going to take a bulldozer to the cemetery. I’m going to reduce your headstone to rubble. I’m going to gather the gravel in a big fucking sack, along with everything of yours I still have, every last scrap of paper, piece of fabric, your stupid little model planes, the tiny, pathetic number of things salvaged from the fire, and I’m going take my friend’s yacht to the deep ocean, and I’m going to weight the lot of what remains of you. I’m going to fucking sink it. I’m going to make sure that the last bit of you is as far as you can get from the sky as possible, forever.” You breathe. You breathe, and you whisper, “And I might have to tie it around my neck, and go down with it, if you’re fucking lying. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He stares into your eyes, and you’re too close to tell what the rest of his face is doing. He doesn’t blink. 

You take a deep breath. Let it out. You don’t care if your breath stinks from your nap. He’s probably fucking dead. And you’ve felt dead, for longer than he’s been dead. What does he care? What do you care? “So no, I won’t forgive you if you’re telling the truth. But I won’t bury you as deep as I possibly can if you are. You can fuck back off to your precious, wide open sky. In either case, you don’t get to haunt me anymore.”

In the silence that follows your promise to him, there is only your breath. His breath. Your heartbeat, and his. The city outside your window is just a quiet ocean you’d like to drown your dead brother in, the cars are waves breaking on the shore.

“You have to keep living,” he finally says, as if nothing else matters to him. “You can have everything else. But you don’t get to die.”

“You don’t get to decide what I can, or can’t do anymore, Caleb Xia,” you snarl, and your anger gives you the courage to force yourself to send your fingers further into his hair, curving around his precious head.

You let out a sob when your fingers meet each other at the back of his head, with his hair, his scalp, his skull intact underneath. 

“Caleb,” you keen, and he finally moves. 

He surges up, taking you with him, your hands still buried in his hair, clutching the back of his head. He wraps both of his arms around you, metal and flesh, and squeezes you so, so tightly. You bury your face in his neck, and you wail like an animal.

“This doesn’t change a fucking thing,” you sob. “You’re not dead but you’re dead to me, do you understand? I don’t give a shit where you’ve been, or what you’ve been doing. Fuck you, Caleb. You let me believe you were dead for a year.”  

He holds you even tighter, absorbing all of your fury, all of your hate, all of the feelings inside you that are too big for your skin, like he has always done. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.” He lifts his left hand and holds the back of your head, gently, gently, and rubs the other along your back, up and down, up and down. He listens as you rip yourself open and let all your venom out, soaking him in it, and he holds you, and he soothes you, and he takes it all.

The daylight has drained from the world while you were exploding in his arms. The lights from the city are the only illumination in your otherwise dark apartment, as you finally slump against him, utterly exhausted. 

“Feel better?” he asks, turning his head, nosing along your temple.

You refuse to answer him, even as you try to snuggle closer to him.

He just laughs softly at your mutinous silence, your traitorous body that refuses to let space come between yours and his yet.

“How about a shower? Might make you feel better.”

“Nothing will make me feel better,” you grumble. You sniff his neck, savoring his warmth, the familiar smell of him, and then deliberately rub your snot and your tears into his skin. 

He just laughs, like he’s ticklish, when you know he’s not. Or like he likes your snot and your tears all over him. 

“Idiot,” you say.

“Hey now, be nice.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “C’mon, Pipsqueak. A hot shower, and then a hot meal. I’ll make you whatever you want.”

You sigh. “I don’t have any food, remember?”

“A hot shower, a trip to the grocery store, and then a hot meal,” he amends the evening itinerary.

“Sounds like work,” you complain. “It’s my day off. I don’t do any work on my day off,” you lie. Because you often work on your days off. It’s another thing that bothers your boyfriend.

Shit, your boyfriend.

You remember the events from earlier today. Seeing Caleb through the crowd. Leaving your boyfriend behind. Letting Caleb take you home. Even though you have no idea how he knew where you live, how easily he got here, without looking at his navigation system while he drove. He has never been here before. You never invited him after you moved in.

You stiffen in his arms.

“I’ll do all the work” he interrupts your racing thoughts. “You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of everything.”

You pull back, feeling like your face is twice its normal size, your eyes puffy and raw from all of your crying. “I promised my boyfriend I’d call him later today.”

There’s another flash of emotion on his face, there and gone again before you can decipher it. “It’s not every day you reunite with your closest friend back from the dead,” he says carefully. “He’ll understand, right?”

You stare into his eyes. He looks so earnest. He sounds so reasonable.

You don’t miss how he still refuses to refer to himself as your brother.

Closest friend.

Tara has never taken weeks to respond to your texts. Has never missed an important event for you.

Xavier has never made you think he was dead for a year.

Sylus has never broken a promise to you.

Rafayel responds to your texts immediately.

Zayne disappeared for years, but didn’t make you think he was fucking dead. 

You wonder who your closest friend is, now. 

You wonder who your brother is, now. What he’s been doing, the time he’s been gone. 

What else he had to pay, to attain his resurrection.

You think about retrieving your phone from your coat. Calling you boyfriend. Answering his questions about Caleb that he probably has.

But you don’t want to. 

You’re a liar to the world, but you’ve always had a hard time lying to yourself. You’re not quite ready to face the outside world. You want a little more time to indulge in the focal point of your inner world, so warm and solid beneath you, his arms around you, before you toss him back to the outside world and never speak to him again. He’s still dead to you, like he was before he died. Even though he’s alive.

He’s alive.

“Caleb,” you say, helplessly.

He smiles in response. “Yeah.”

Now that you’ve been emptied, for now, of all of your rage, your grief, your resentment, the relief is so big. It’s filling you, like helium. You could float away, without Caleb’s evol, you’re so full of it.

Caleb’s alive.

You don’t want to stab yourself yet, to pop the helium-bouyant balloon of your heart by tearing yourself from him, insisting that he leave, returning to the life you’ve made without him.

Is it so wrong to fly with him, for just a little longer? 

Caleb’s right to a time out in the middle of a fight.

“I’m tired,” you grouse. “The bathroom’s too far.”

When he realizes you’re conceding, he makes a little helpless noise, in the back of his throat. You feel his big chest expand, contract, as he sighs, closing his eyes. Then he smiles, opens them again.

 “Aaaall right, message received.” His voice takes on a customer friendly tone. “Wait one moment, please. Caleb’s personal delivery service is activating.”

You laugh as he shakes his body, and yours, while making brr brr noises, like an engine revving and shaking the chassis of a car. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, the motor’s too loud,” he says cheerfully, standing effortlessly with you still in his arms, your legs tucked around his waist. He carries you through your spartan apartment, to the bathroom. He nudges open the door with a foot, surveys the small space.

“You have a bathtub,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“And you have eyes,” you snark.

“I do have eyes, thank you for noticing, little puffer fish.” He smiles down into your face.

You scowl at him. “Puffer fish?”

“You cried so hard that you puffed up like one.”

You glare at him. You know your face and eyes are swollen from crying, but he has no right to tease you for it. “And whose fault is that?” you accuse. 

He lifts his left arm from under your ass and runs his hand over your hair, tucks a lock behind your ear. “All mine, Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, and his voice is filled with such familiar, sorrowful affection that you immediately deflate. “How about instead of a shower, you take a bath? That would be more relaxing. I’ll give you a massage, after.”

He’s been gone for so long. He’s not dead. He’s alive. You can’t say no, right now. Not yet. You want everything from him, like when you were younger.

Before he left you in pieces on the ground.

“I want bubbles.”

He laughs, caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Then you’ll have bubbles.”

You lean into his palm before resting your head on his metal shoulder.

He looks down at you in surprise. “Why not choose the soft shoulder?”

“Hard or soft, doesn’t matter,” you mumble. “It’s you.”

Inexplicably, his face flushes. He blinks, and then shakes his head. “One bubble bath, comin’ up.”

He sets you on the closed toilet before turning to the bath, fiddling with the knobs. He paws through your bath products along the edge, and then underneath the sink. He then turns to you, hands on his hips. “You have a bathtub, but no bath bombs? You only have shampoo and shower gel, you don’t even have stuff specifically for bubble baths.”

“Already breaking another promise?” you ask, softly, before you can stop yourself.

His teasing smile fades. “No, baby. You’ll get your bubbles.” He turns, and you watch his broad back, the muscles shifting under his soft skin—he’s right here, healthy, if no longer whole in the same way as before, with his metal shoulder shining under the soft bathroom light. His cargo pants are slung low over his hips. You can see the dimples of his lower back, the meaty curve of his ass before his pants begin. You want to touch him. You want to bury your face against his ass, use him as a pillow.

Your mouth feels empty.

He bends down and grabs your shower gel. He pauses, stares at the label. As if seeing it for the first time.

You feel your cheeks become warm, but he doesn’t say anything.

He shakes his head, squeezes the bottle. The viscous liquid forms a long, slow drip into the rushing water. 

Caleb’s scent fills the small room.

The bubbles build.

He turns around. His eyes are a lovely, dark indigo. His face is still serious.

He looks like the Caleb you remember. Mostly.

He was big then, but he’s even bigger now.

His arm is different, of course. 

He has that same angry, hungry look you remember that he’d sometimes get before he left for the DAA.

But there’s something else now, another layer to the complicated expression on his face. He’s looking at you with intention, in a way that you never remember seeing.

He squats down before you, looks up into your face.

“You’re going to undress now,” he says, voice low.

You swallow. Your heart is racing. “Am I?”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah, you are.” 

You stare into his beautiful eyes.

Part of you, the currently drained angry, abandoned, grief-filled part, wants to tell him no. 

That part of you wants to tell him to fuck off. He has no right to order you around. To tell you what to do.

That part of you wants to tell him that you have a boyfriend, and that when he’d help you like this when you were younger, it was unhealthy. Codependent. Dysfunctional. 

But he’s here, right now. He’s alive. After so, so long. You are filled with helium, looking into his beautiful, serious eyes. If you flicked an unlit match against the metal of his arm, you’d explode.

“Do it for me,” you order him.

He smiles, and it’s a smile you’ve never seen before. You can see his sharp canines, glinting like his arm.

He reaches forward with one big hand, and it envelops your foot. He pulls it into his lap, and he slowly, slowly peels down your sock. He sets it on the floor, and then pulls off your other sock.

He then slides both of his hands, the metal one cool, his other warm, even through the fabric of your tights, up your calves. He parts your knees, runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. 

Your heart is racing, so, so fast.

You gasp, when he lifts his hands right before his thumbs would meet where your thighs do, and instead gently hooks his fingers under your waistband. “Lift,” he tells you.

You lean back, place your hands on either side of the toilet seat, and lift your ass.

He stares into your eyes as he pulls, peeling your tights, your underwear, off of you in one long slide. By necessity, you close your knees again to ease his way.

The tights pool at your feet.

He doesn’t look away from your eyes.

He lifts his left hand, slides it between your knees, parting your legs again.

He still doesn’t look down.

He stands, takes a step forward, to stand between your now open legs.

His hips are at your eye level. Your eyes widen as you see the big outline of his dick, clearly hard, beneath his cargo pants. It looks painful, trapped down his left pant leg.

Your mouth feels so empty.

He looks down at you. “Lift your shirt.”

Your mouth is dry. If you could hear anything over the gushing water of the bath’s faucet, you’d probably be able to hear it clicking as you swallow again.

But there’s only the water, your heartbeat, his command in your ears.

“Do it for me,” you counter.

His skin, beneath the soft brown fur trailing down his stomach, sweeping across his big pecs, is flushed.

He leans down, gathers the fabric of your shirt in his hands, and lifts.

You raise your arms, and he gently pulls the shirt off your torso, letting it join your tights at your feet.

There’s only your bra, now.

He doesn’t look away from your eyes. “Take off your bra,” he murmurs, and you barely hear him over the water.

You lean back on your hands. Widen your legs. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, between your legs.

“Do it for me,” you say, one last time.

His nostrils flare as he exhales. His eyes look so dark. 

He leans down again, but this time, he runs his hands from your hips, up along your sides, until he’s holding you firmly along your ribs. He lifts you to himself, pressing your hips against his, your breasts against his chest.

His cool, silver arm is a steel band across your back, as he fumbles with the clasp of your bra with his other hand. You share his breath as he looks into your eyes as his hand works.

Finally, you feel the relief that only comes when you take your bra off after a long day. He gathers its fabric in his fist and gently tugs. You lean back in his arms, and he lets the straps fall from your shoulders, along your arms. 

He pulls you back to him, pressing your breasts back against his chest, skin on skin. He lifts you, like a princess, turns with you in his arms, and then slowly lowers you into the steaming water of the bath. The bubbles envelop you, come up to your neck.

He turns off the faucet, and the ensuing silence leaves your ears ringing with your ever-present tinnitus. Then he stands next to the tub, looking down at you, as if from a great height.

“Soak,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m going to the store for dinner stuff. When I get back, you better still be in this bath. I’ll help you wash your hair.”

In the warmth of the bath, surrounded by the smell of Caleb’s shower gel, pinned by his intent gaze, you can only nod.

“Oh, before I go,” he says. He flicks his hand in a lovely, graceful gesture, and his necklace lifts from your neck, caught in a shimmering, rainbow haze. Your hair is caught in the same weightlessness, floating around your face, allowing the chain to drift over your head without obstacle. Once the necklace is free, your hair gently falls back down. Caleb catches the necklace in his hand.

He bends down again, offers it to you. “Put it on me,” he says, an echo of a playful order from so many years ago. This time, he sounds authoritative. Like he’s used to giving serious orders.

Time compresses. You are laughing with him on a sunny day, heartbroken that he is leaving, hopeful that you’ll see him again soon.

You are looking up into his dark, stranger’s eyes from the bathtub, heartbroken, missing him, mourning him even as he’s standing right in front of you. You’ve already lost him, all of your worst fears come true.

“Don’t you have hands?” you ask, quietly. 

He snorts, softly. “Yeah, yours.”

He stares at you, waiting.

You suddenly realize you’re scared that if he walks out the door, you won’t see him again.

“If you want it, you have to come back to get it.”

“No,” he says.

You look away. Clutch the tag of the necklace in your wet hand. “Then, no,” you mirror him. As you always have.

“Look at me.” His voice is softer, now.

You refuse.

“Be a good girl, and look at me.”

You swallow again. Feel that familiar warmth in your chest, between your legs, when he calls you that.

When he used to call you that.

You obey him. Look back at his face, filled with that sad affection again. He’s so handsome, it hurts. You missed his face so, so much.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a reward. 

You want to cry, it feels so good to hear him praise you again.

“Put it on me.”

You reach up, the bubbles sliding over, down the naked skin of your arms. He leans down further, turns his face to run his nose along your cheek as you focus on closing the clasp shut at the back of his strong neck. When you’re done, you rest your palms on the sides of his neck. You feel his thumping, living heartbeat under his skin. He presses his lips softly against your cheek  before standing again.

You look up at him, as he looks down at you.

“I don’t need the necklace as an excuse to come back. I’ve come back, from very, very far away, because you are enough to pull me from the dead.” His soft, silky brown hair falls over his serious, furrowed brow. “I’m going to make you believe that I will keep every promise I make, from now on.” His full lips are set in a determined line. “Starting now. I promise I’ll be back in less than half an hour, to wash your hair. Okay?”

Despite the sincerity in his words, you don’t trust him to come back. You’ve been here before. He was sincere, before. Or so you thought. You don’t want him to go. Not yet.

“Caleb,” you say. 

“Yeah, Pipsqueak.” He smiles down at you, and its warmth reaches his eyes.

You stare at him. You tell yourself that you’re going to toss him back to the world soon, anyway. What does it matter, if he leaves you here again, right now, instead of you kicking him out at the end of the evening?

At least this time, if he breaks his promise and doesn’t come back, you’ll know he’s not dead.

Maybe it will be even easier this time, if he doesn’t come back. You’ll survive, if he never comes back, as long as you know he’s in the world.

“Hurry up,” you say. Instead of, Don’t go. Instead of, Don’t ever leave me again. Instead of, Kiss me before you go.

His eyes drift over your face, and he rubs his left hand thoughtfully over his chin. “I can tell that you don’t believe me.” Before you can scoff at him, argue, lie, he continues. “I’ll just have to prove it to you. I’ll prove it to you, as many times as I have to. Until you trust me again. Be back before you know it.” He turns, and he walks out the door.

You want to scream.

You shove your hand in your mouth instead and bite down, so hard that you can feel your skin breaking.

You don’t make a sound.

You hear your front door shut.

The bathwater is hot. Your bathroom is filled with steam. You draw your knees to your chest, wrap your arms around them.

You think about the dream, and remind yourself that his head is intact. You think about your memory, and remind yourself that he survived the fire, despite everything. That he’s alive, if not entirely whole, anymore.

You want to get out of the bath. You want to crawl into your bed and pass out. You want to wake up, ten years from now. Maybe that’s enough time, to no longer miss him this much.

But he told you to stay in the bath.

So you stay.

You refill the hot water, each time the water begins to cool. 

He’s still not back. You hug your knees.

Your neck feels empty, without his necklace around it.

Your mouth feels empty.

Just as you’re deciding to accept that he’s not coming back, you hear your front door opening again.

You turn so fast in the tub, the water sloshes over the side. “Caleb?”

“Still in the bath?” he calls from your hallway. You can hear him smiling.

You want to throw something at him. How dare he smile, while you sat here, terrified he wouldn’t come back?

You hear rustling in the kitchen. Your fridge door opening, closing.

And then, there he is, in the bathroom doorway, filling it like he always does. He’s so big.

“Ready to wash your hair?” he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. He’s wearing a shirt again.

“Caleb,” you repeat.

His eyes soften. “Yeah, it’s me.”

He walks over to you, squats next to the tub.

You can’t help yourself. You throw your arms around him, soapy and wet. He makes a surprised little “Oomph” sound, but he hugs you back.

“You’re gettin’ me all wet, Pipsqueak.”

“You were gone for so long,” you whisper.

He pauses. Seems to hear what you’re really saying. “But I’m back now. And I’ll never leave you alone that long again, okay? Cross my heart, and hope to—”

“Shut up,” you choke out. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Okay,” he says, indulgent. “Then I’ll just say, I promise.”

You’re not satisfied.

You’re so pissed.

“Is your arm waterproof?” you ask.

It takes him a second to respond. “Yeah. Why–?”

Before he can finish, you use all of your strength, all of your hunter’s training to brace your legs against the side of the bathtub for leverage, and pull.

He was already a bit off-balance, squatting awkwardly as he leaned over the tub to hug you. You successfully drag his big, stupid body into the tub with you. Water sloshes over the side.

“I want to drown you,” you huff, as you pull him down on top of you, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Well don’t drown me before we get your hair washed, or before I make dinner. That would be a waste of today’s perfectly good Caleb’s personal delivery service, wouldn’t it?” His voice has a sing-song, teasing quality to it. Its familiarity, its playfulness, makes you ache.

You clutch him to you. “That’s the only reason I haven’t done it yet,” you lie.

He laughs softly. “Sure,” he murmurs, pretending to believe you.

Eventually, the water cools again. He sits up, his sopping wet shirt clinging to his defined chest, his soaked pants outlining his big dick, still hard.

It has always been like this. His body, reacting to yours. His complete disinterest in acting on it.

He never said anything about it, so neither did you.

You used to think it was just normal for guys to constantly be hard, until you started fucking them.

He kneels above you and then strips his t-shirt, letting it hit your bathroom floor with a wet splat. He watches your face as he unzips his pants, as he shimmies out of them, water splashing over the sides of the tub again. You’re going to have to use up all your towels to clean up the mess.

Finally, he’s just in his soaking, plain black boxer briefs.

Your mouth feels empty.

He leans over you again. His necklace dangles in the air between you, dripping water. You want him to lean further down. You want to pull the tag of his necklace into your mouth with your tongue and suck.

He makes another little helpless noise, deep in his throat. Breathes through his nose. “Let’s wash your hair, Pipsqueak.”

You let him clamber out of the bath. You melt, as he runs his fingers along your scalp, as he shampoos your hair just the way he always did. You close your eyes, and just savor the feeling of his hands on you.

Instead of moaning, like you want to, you ask, “Where have you been, Caleb?”

His fingers pause. And then resume making you feel so, so good. “Skyhaven.”

It’s like a punch to your chest. He’s been so close, this whole time. 

So close, and so far. 

You want to cry. “This whole time?”

There is only the sound of the water, rippling against the sides of the tub. A droplet from the faucet, splashing. His smell, all around you. From his own body. From his shower gel, the shower gel you’ve been using ever since he left for the DAA.

“Yeah,” he finally answers.

“What have you been doing?” you ask, through clenched teeth. You don’t want to cry again. You want to ask him why.

But you don’t want to know why, yet.

“I got a new job. I’ve been working.”

You have a million questions. You’re too exhausted to ask them.

“Do you still get to fly?” you ask, instead of What happened to you? Why didn’t you come home? Why didn’t you tell me you were alive? Why now? Why not six months ago? A year ago?

He huffs in disbelief. “You’re worried about whether I can still fly?”

“Your only dream was being able to fly. It would make me sad, if you couldn’t anymore.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, before he takes the handheld showerhead and gently rinses the product from your hair. All you hear is the water trailing through your hair, past your ears. He sets the showerhead back in its holder. “Flying wasn’t my only dream.”

You open your eyes. He’s looking down at you, but he’s leaning over you, so his face is upside down in your field of view. “It wasn’t?”

“No, baby.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

You’re too tired to ask.

He finishes caring for your hair, like he used to. When he’s done, he wraps it gently in the type of towel you always use for your hair. He helps you out of the bathtub, but his eyes never leave your face.

He wraps you in a towel. Lifts you in his arms, like a princess, and carries you to your bedroom. He sets you on your feet.

You meet his gaze, as you let the towel fall, plop softly onto your bedroom rug. He refuses to look at your body, but he makes that noise again. Like he’s in a little bit of pain.

You turn, dive under your duvet. He tucks the edge of it under your chin. “You still use my old sweats as pajamas?” 

“Yeah,” you yawn. Your stomach growls.

He laughs, heading into your closet. “I’ll start dinner before we finish your hair. Just rest while I take care of everything.” You can hear him opening drawers, searching for his sweats. After a few minutes, he emerges, wearing only the sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He’s clearly not wearing underwear anymore. You try not to stare at how big he is.

You lift your eyes back to his handsome face, trace his long, straight nose with your gaze. “Caleb,” you say.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “It’s me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He approaches the bed. Stands over you.

Time compresses. You are a kid again, and he is watching over you, making you feel infinitely safe in a world that taught you that nothing and no one is safe.

You are a teenager, and he’s lifting you from your bed after a nightmare, he’s clutching you to his chest, tucking you into his own bed, singing you lullabies in his breaking, teenage boy voice.

You are an adult, dreaming that he’s still alive, that he’s finally come home to you. But you know that when you wake up, the nightmare will begin, all over again.

“I promise,” he says, as if he can read your mind, just from looking at your face. “Dinner’ll be ready in a jiffy,” he says, turning, walking out of your bedroom.

You lie there, listening to him in the kitchen. Cabinets opening. Burners flaring to life. The fridge opening, closing. You fall asleep to the safest sound you’ve ever known.

It doesn’t take long for Caleb to orient himself in your kitchen. You have the absolute basics. A couple of pots, pans. Mismatched plates that look thrifted. Glasses that are clearly just jam jars repurposed for drinking.

He pauses, stares at a lovely set of crystal wine glasses that is jarringly incongruent with the rest of your things. 

He wonders who gave them to you.

Then his gaze catches on the world’s best hunter mug he had gifted you, after you had graduated. You had taken it with your fake smile. He was convinced at the time that you had gone home and immediately thrown it away.

He holds it in his hand, notes how its rim is chipped. It has faint rings of tea stains that are really hard to get out by just hand scrubbing. 

He looks inside your other mugs. They’re all pristine.

You wash his mug by hand, and you use it a lot.

He smiles.

No matter how angry or betrayed you feel, you still use his shower gel. You were wearing his necklace. His clothes are still in your closet, even though you had never invited him to your place, after you had landed your position with the Hunter’s Association. You clearly use his mug every morning, to—he grimaces at your half-empty jar of instant coffee—to drink your tea and your shitty morning coffee.

He lets his mind drift as he measures out rice, washes it, gets it cooking in your little rice-maker. As he pulls out your one, crappy plastic cutting board and sets it on the counter. As he takes your pristinely sharpened kitchen knives, and begins chopping vegetables. 

He’s secured his place as Colonel in the Far Space Fleet, as he was ordered to do. Things should be stable for him, for a while. Which is why he finally gave in to the desperate need to see you again. To weave himself back into your life, after being ripped from you a year ago. Long before a year ago, really.

Caleb Xia is a liar. 

He’s not going to let you keep him out this time. He was lying when he said he’d accept anything you said you needed, including acting like he’s dead to you, except your death.

He will accept nothing less but your hand in his, and your moans against his mouth. Your genuine smile, directed at him. 

He knows better than anyone how quickly circumstances change. How even on the sunniest, calmest of days, your plane can be knocked out of the sky. Each day is all you, he, anyone has, really. He’s not going to waste any more time. It’s a lesson from the book he used to read you. He had to leave his rose, for awhile. But now he’s back, and he’s going to give her everything she needs, whether she wants it or not. He should have learned this sooner. He wants to look at the world with the eyes of a child, instead of the eyes of a responsible, societally proper adult.

He has always been childishly selfish. He’s just not going to fight it anymore.

He looks around at your empty apartment, remembers the spoiled girl he used to know. But he can’t find her in this stark, deprived existence. He’s going to fix this too.

He’s a selfish child, and he’s a man with a plan.

It’s simple, really.

He’s going to prove to you, day in, and day out, that he’ll keep his promises to you. That he’ll show up, and be there for you, when you need him, and when you think you don’t.

He’s going to start with feeding you, and then a trip to the grocery story and the mall tomorrow. You need a full fridge and shit-ton of bath bombs, now that he’s back in your life.

The doorbell chimes.

He looks up, frowning.

He sets the knife on the counter. With his evol, he doesn’t need it for human threats.

He pads, barefoot, to your hallway entrance, checks the video feed next to your front door.

Ah. 

The minor obstacle in his plan.

He pauses, activates the cloaking function on his arm. He looks like a normal guy again, now. Nothing mechanical about him at all, not him, nope. He opens the door.

Your boyfriend is fidgeting on the other side, focused on his nice monk-strap shoes. Nice shoes, for a nice guy who works in a nice office.

Caleb knows that you need more than nice to be happy. That you need more than nice to be safe. Protected. Satisfied. Filled.

Despite his carefully cultivated mask, Caleb is not a nice guy.

But based on everything Caleb has been able to dig up on this guy, he’s a nice guy.

He’s just not the guy for you.

The guy lifts his gaze, eyes growing wider as he takes in Caleb’s sweatpants, his naked chest. “Oh, I must have the wrong—” he starts, but then he finally meets Caleb’s eyes, and his voice dies in his throat.

Caleb smiles at him. Wide and genuine. With that little slip, this asshole has revealed that he has never even been to your place before. Incredible. Caleb hasn’t even been back a day and he already has one over on this dude. “Hey, man.”

The guy swallows. Looks like he’s been hit by a truck.

Caleb just keeeeps smiling at him, letting him squirm. He’s certainly not going to be the one to break the silence. He’s got all the time in the world, on this side of your apartment doorway. He leans against said doorway, folding his arms. He doesn’t mean to flex his big biceps in the process, really.

Your boyfriend’s eyes flicker to the necklace that Caleb has the feeling you’ve never taken off since the day he died.

It occurs to him that this guy has fucked you while you were wearing his necklace. His augmented hand forms a tight, painful fist, without his permission. Sometimes he loses control of it, when he’s upset. He forces himself to focus on the fact that now the necklace is around his neck, and your boyfriend is staring at it. His fist relaxes. The pain in his arm recedes to its normal, low hum. Like a constant, distant bruise. The pain in his heart, on the other hand, throbs.

Your boyfriend frowns, shakes his head a little. “I’ve been texting. And calling. But she hasn’t picked up. Can I come in?”

“Oh, that’s my fault. I’ve been keeping her really, really busy,” Caleb says, cheerfully. “I wore her out.” He doesn’t mean to make it sound like an innuendo, honest. “She’s in bed, asleep. I’ll tell her you dropped by though.”

Your boyfriend’s frown deepens. “We had plans tonight.”

“Did you?” Caleb asks, eyes wide, innocent. “That sucks. But it’s not every day that you reunite with the closest person in your life after being separated for a year, you know? Can you maybe cut her some slack, take a raincheck?”

Your boyfriend sighs, runs his hand over his mouth. “I just… I just want to make sure she’s okay. She’s been really messed up, since you…” he pauses, looks at Caleb strangely. “Since you allegedly died.”

Oooh, he’s pulling out his fancy legal jargon. Caleb nods. “Well, as you can see, I got better.” He chuckles. He’s just a harmless idiot, after all. A meathead soldier boy. “And she’s fine. Just tired. She’ll call you when she’s ready. I’ll tell her that you dropped by,” he lies.

Your boyfriend stares at him for a moment longer. Caleb can tell how desperately the poor asshole wants to say something about how fucking weird this whole situation is. But he’s too polite. Too nice. He still cares about social conventions, and appearances. Obviously, he cares more about these things than he cares about you.

Because if his and Caleb’s situations were reversed, Caleb would have already torn the door off its hinges and removed this guy, permanently, from his path to get to you.

But right now, Caleb is inside your home, and this idiot is outside of it. And if he just disappears this perfectly nice guy now, you’ll ask questions. You’re a Hunter now. Which means you have to uphold the law and worry about optics. You’d probably be mad at him when he inevitably tells you the truth, because he can’t resist your cute, pouting face. Or your scary, angry face.

He can’t resist you at all, really.

He just needs to show you that this guy isn’t worth keeping.

All Caleb cares about is regaining your trust, and showing you the one fundamental truth of his universe.

You are his. And he is yours.

The world can end tomorrow, for all he cares. As long as you’re in his arms, nothing else matters.

The guy you’ve been using as a distraction for the past six months is nothing, in the trajectory of your life with Caleb, his life with you. A blip on the radar, after a little turbulence.

Now, he looks doubtful about Caleb’s reassurance that he’ll tell you that your boyfriend dropped by, so Caleb smiles even wider. “I promise I’ll let her know. Cross my heart, and hope to die.”

The guy winces at the reminder that you’ve been grieving Caleb for the last year, and seems to accept that he’s the one who’s being callous in this situation, as opposed to you, for not following through on the plans you had with him tonight. Then he nods in resignation, and he leaves.

Caleb smiles with teeth, shutting the door to your place.

He pauses at your coat, fishes your phone out. 

He snorts. Apparently he didn’t like the text Caleb sent saying that you’d be busy with him for the rest of the night. He sent a bunch of texts, sounding increasingly irritated about you flaking out on plans with him, and called five times. But the texts don’t directly reply to Caleb’s terse message blowing him off. The guy just comes across as unreasonably aggressive.

Caleb smiles. Leaves the messages and the calls untouched in your phone. He slips the phone back in your coat pocket, still on silent.

He whistles as he returns to the kitchen. He sautés the vegetables. Sets everything out in covered bowls, on a wooden tray he finds in the back of one of your cabinets.

Time to wake up his princess and feed her.

He grabs the massage oil he picked up at the corner store along with the food and heads back to your bedroom.

You’re out like a light. So, so pretty. He sets the tray on the floor next to your bed. He gently removes the towel from your hair, which is still damp but drying really prettily even without much effort from him.

He pulls down the duvet, and you make a soft noise of protest at the cool air hitting your naked skin. He stares down at you for a few moments, just drinking you in. 

You’re so, so beautiful. He feels his body reacting, like it always does, to your proximity, your lovely skin on display for him.

He gently nudges you onto your stomach, sits down down next to you on the bed. He pours some of the oil into his hand. It smells really good—it has arnica oil in it, for your no doubt sore muscles. He knows how hard your job can be on your body.

He places his left hand on your back, and it looks so big, against your smaller frame. He slowly rubs in the oil, smoothing his hand over your muscles along either side of your spine. Between your shoulder blades. Up the line of your graceful neck.

You whimper softly, shift a little.

He loves you like this. 

He loves you when you’re telling him that you want to drown him. When you’re telling him you want to bulldoze his grave.

And he loves you when you’re liquid under his hands, letting him move you however he wants.

He leans down, presses his nose into your damp hair. He presses his cheek against the back of your neck, not carrying that he’s getting oil on his face.

He keeps rubbing you with his warm, living hand, savoring your skin he can feel under his fingertips.

You wake slowly from a dream. A dream, where Caleb was alive.

You had tested it and everything. For the first time, Caleb was intact under your hands. It wasn’t his necklace on the sidewalk, or his empty skull under your fingers.

He was alive, and breathing, under you on the couch. Over you in the bath.

It was such a lovely dream. You’re so grateful for this reprieve, after an entire year of night terrors.

Your body feels so good. He’s rubbing your back, like he used to do after track practice. His big hand slide leisurely along your sore muscles.

You must still be dreaming your lovely dream.

You roll over, turning to look up at him. He makes a surprised little noise as you open your eyes, smile up at him.

“Caleb,” you sigh.

“Yup. It’s me,” he says, watching you carefully, but speaking with an upbeat note in his voice that rings false to you. “Delivering your massage, as promised.

You’re naked in the bed, the duvet only coming up to your waist. “What a lovely dream,” you say, reaching for him.

He lets you, his big body pliant under your hands as you rest your hands on his shoulders, pull him down to you.

“It’s so nice to dream about something else, for once,” you tell dream Caleb. “I always kiss you, but in the end you’re dead.”

Dream Caleb’s lovely lilac eyes widen, and he makes that cute little whimper in the back of his throat.

“Does it have to be a dream, Pipsqueak?” he asks, his lips hovering above yours, as you’ve pulled his face down to yours.

“You never kissed me in real life. It will always only be in my dreams. At least this time, you’re not fucking dead. Hurry up. Kiss me.” You’re getting impatient. Who knows when you’ll wake up, and he’ll vanish under the harsh morning sun? “My mouth feels so empty.”

He hesitates. “Do you still smoke, baby? When you’re anxious, or drinking?”

You nod. “I know you hate it. That it’s not good for me. But you never offered me anything else that I actually wanted to replace it with. And you’re fucking dead now, so you don’t get a say, anymore.” You sound mulish. Petulant. You don’t care. You’re mad at him, even in this lovely dream. He left you, over and over and over again.

“I’m not dead. I’ll prove it to you.” He leans down, runs his warm, wet tongue along your lips. “And this isn’t a dream.” 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” you say, laughing softly, because otherwise you’d cry.

He smiles against your lips. “You don’t have to trust me yet. I’ll prove it to you, as many times as I have to. Open your mouth.”

You part your lips obediently. He lifts his necklace with his silver hand, places the tag, the apple charm on your tongue. “Suck.”

You close your mouth, wrap your tongue around the pendants. You suck, as he tells you to.

“You fucked your boyfriend wearing my necklace,” he says, nosing along your cheek. He caresses your cheek with his warm left hand, then lets it glide along your jaw, down your chin, over your throat. Over your clavicle.

He rests his big palm between your breasts.

You nod. 

“Why?” he asks.

It’s just a dream. It doesn’t matter what you say, whether it’s a lie, or the truth, because Caleb isn’t actually here to receive your answer. He hasn’t been, for a long, long time.

He gently tugs the necklace from between your lips. He puts the wet pendants in his own mouth and sucks, as if savoring your saliva.

You tell the truth. “It’s the only way I could stand for him to touch me.”

He opens his mouth, lets the necklace fall from his lips, swing into the space between his body and yours. The pendants hit the back of his hand, where it’s resting on your sternum “Why are you with him, if you can’t stand his touch?” He sounds so, so sad.

“What does it matter? You’re dead. I’ll never have who I want touching me, now. He’s nice. He cares about me. There are very few people left who do, anymore.”

You don’t want to talk about this, in the precious few moments of this lovely dream. “My mouth feels empty,” you complain. You want him to hurry up, do something. You want him to help you.

“Because you were such a good girl and answered my questions honestly, I’ll give you a choice.” He leans down again, kisses you softly. Your first kiss from him on the lips, ever. What a lovely dream. You’re full of helium. You’re surprised you’re not lifting the both of you off your bed. “You can have my thumb.”

He kisses you again. The strands of his dark hair sweep across your forehead.

“My tongue.”

His lips are so soft, as they press against yours yet again.

“Or my cock.”

You want all three. Everything. You want everything. His thumb, fingers, hand, wrist, fist, his tongue, his ear, his cock, his balls. For years, you’ve wanted everything of his. “Don’t make me choose. I don’t want to have to choose. I want you to choose for me.”

He pulls back from your lips, lilac eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, and back again. “All right, Pipsqueak,” he says indulgently. “But first, you have to admit this isn’t a dream.”

You scowl at him.

“It is a dream,” you insist. “Because you’re fucking dead.”

He frowns in turn, brows furrowing. “I’m not dead. I know you don’t trust me not to break promises anymore. I’ll spend as long as it takes proving to you that you can trust me not to leave you again, but it’s time for you to admit that I’m not dead.” He sounds stern. Your big brother, lecturing you to stop doing things that aren’t good for you.

“This is just a dream,” you insist. He doesn’t get to tell you what’s real and what’s not, after so long. He never accepted his big brother role, anyway.

“Fine.” He looks angry, hungry. “Then you only get my tongue, until you admit this is real.”

He leans down, licks your lower lip. You glare at him. He reaches up with his left hand, slides his thumb between your lips. You taste the massage oil, bitter. He opens your jaw, gently. “I know you can’t bring yourself to continue denying me,” he says, sweetly. “Let me in,” he coaxes.

You open your mouth wider, and he licks into it. His fingers fall away from your mouth, drift down your body, to one of your breasts. 

He makes that same helpless noise, as he thumbs along your sensitive skin, squeezes. As he rolls fully on top of you, chest to naked chest. He presses you into the mattress as he kisses you deeply, as his tongue fills your mouth. You suck on his tongue, curl your arms around his broad back, put your hands back in his silky hair. You shift your hips underneath his. 

He’s so big and hard—the only thing between your body and his, the gray sweatpants.

He bucks his hips, once, and you moan. He pulls back, tongue leaving your mouth. You make a little noise of protest. “Caleb.”

“Pipsqueak.”

“Why’d you stop?” you demand.

He looks sheepish. “I’m gonna come really fast in my pants if we keep going.”

“Then come, dummy,” you lean up to kiss him again. You want his tongue in your mouth again.

He looks frustrated. “This is our first kiss, and our first time making out. It’s not every day that I get to kiss you for the first time. I don’t want to just come in my pants within two minutes.”

You laugh. “What, Captain Caleb doesn’t have any stamina?” You run your hands down his back.

He hangs his head. “Not when it comes to you, no,” he mumbles.

“I won’t hold it over your head forever and ever,” you tease him, reassure him. “It’s just a dream—”

He leans down, shoves his tongue in your mouth before you can finish. He pumps his hips, and his big dick presses between your legs in a way that makes you feel as empty as your mouth was feeling earlier. You whine. “Caleb,” you plead, around his tongue.

He reaches down, slips his left hand between your legs. “I’m not gonna lie, Pipsqueak, I’ve dreamt about this before, yeah. But this is real. You’re so wet. Fuck.”

He pulls his hand back, stares at it, the wetness glistening along his fingers. He snaps them.

Rainbow shimmer bursts, soaks your body and his. 

You both begin to float. He leans down, kisses you again. Slips his hand back between your legs. Two big fingers slip inside you, and his thumb presses into your most sensitive spot.

“Caleb,” you whisper, moving your hips as he moves his hand. He pulls his hand from your body again, and you whine, but it’s just to flick his wrist. He fills you again.

Time slows.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, and his forearm flexes, as his fingers, his hands make you feel so good. Your pleasure builds, so slowly. His hand moves languidly inside you, his fingers in your wet, slippery places, but the pleasure doesn’t lessen. It keeps building, and building. He grasps your neck in his silver hand, squeezing just a little. Like he’s afraid of squeezing too tight, and is overcompensating by making his touch as light as a feather.

You float together, caught in a cloud of your pillows, your duvet, his shimmering evol. He slides the hand holding your neck down your back, until he has a handful of your ass, and he presses your body securely against himself, rubs himself against your thigh through the soft sweatpants.

The slow trajectory of his hand moving feels like it takes hours, as he continues to work his hand between your legs.

Hours. Days. A month.

He has slowed time using his evol, in order to make you feel as good as possible from just his hand on you, just his tongue in your mouth. You laugh a little, because you suspect that he's probably also trying to to make up for the fact that he's on a hair trigger right now just from touching you. But he seems to take your laughter as a challenge.

“Caleb,” you gasp, as his thumb presses harder, circles faster against you, as he adds a third finger inside you. You forget everything else except how good you feel, and with a graceful flick of his hand, his thumb, you come with a muffled cry, deep in your throat. The pleasure feels like it lasts a decade.

He does something with his fingers inside you, a subtle gesture that feels really, really good, an aftershock of climax, and then time speeds up again.

He jerks his hips into your thigh a few more times, his hard cock rubbing through his pants against you, and then he groans. 

He pulls his fingers from inside you, lifts them to his own lips. He shoves them in his wide mouth and sucks them clean, while holding you tight.

"No fair," you complain. You grasp his shoulders, push away from him a little. He looks at you like a kicked puppy, but then furrows his brow as you gently pull him up, up, until you’re floating, face level with his big hips. You pull down the band of his sweatpants, down past his still-hard dick, sticky with his come. You lean forward, and lick him with the flat of your tongue. He smells so, so good. Like Caleb, clean sweat and clean laundry, but also bitter, salty, a secret part of him you’ve never smelled, tasted before. You lap at him, and he groans again. You take him in your hand as best as you can despite how big he is and lick him clean, like a lolly pop, as he bows over you, gently palming the back of your head with both of his hands, as you both drift in the air above your bed, caught in the shimmering net of his evol.

You pull away after the silken skin of his firm cock is clean again. He pulls you up to him again, body flush against yours, and kisses you, tongue plunging into your mouth. You taste yourself, and you taste him. He rolls your bodies in the air, until he’s under you, and then he snaps his fingers again.

You both fall back to the bed in a soft thwump of duvet and pillows. His body cushions your fall, and the mattress cushions his.

You rest your chin on his chest. Smile at him. “What a lovely dream,” you say.

He frowns at you, like he’s in pain, eyes a dark indigo. He wraps his arms around you, palms the back of your head as you rest your cheek on his chest. “It��s not a dream, Pipsqueak,” he says, but he sounds resigned.

“Promise?” you sigh, but you’re already yawning. Drifting back to sleep.

You don’t hear him say, “I promise. Cross my heart, and hope to die.”