#tilt scooters

[disneyprincemuke]

in the name of friendly racing * fem!driver

a simple race on their scooters flips the entire paddocks upside down

pairings: liam lawson x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver

notes: hello everyone i know i haven't posted a vr piece and it's all because i couldn't fully grasp the fact that femdriver and logan are not together in this universe but i took a break from them and yes i'm coping well, but no i will not stop tearing up about their love story k? anyway, i think this is MID compared to other crack fics i've written but i'm trying i promise

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

she holds up the scooter in one hand, the other on her hip as she leans into the tablet in liam's hands. "what's the route again?"

"are you stupid?" logan asks.

"no, do you want to not join us?" she asks quickly, lifting her head to glare at the american across her. she darts her arm out and shoves logan back. "i'll disqualify you right here, right now. you wanna spend your afternoon in your driver's room like a loser like the rest of them?"

"he sent it to the group chat, how can you still not know the route?" logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes down into a glare.

"i'm just making sure!"

"relax," liam mutters, holding a hand up in an attempt to break up the fight that he's sure would happen if he doesn't interfere. "i'll disqualify you both."

"just tell me the route," mick sighs, shaking his head. he steps forward and tilts his head to try and get a look at the screen under the scorching sun above them. "no cheating, okay?"

logan huffs. "tell that to her."

she throws her head back and rolls her eyes. "god, logan!" she winds her arm back and darts an arm out to grab logan's sweatshirt. she bundles it up into her hands and tries to yank logan towards her.

"okay!" mick cries out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from logan. he carefully, finger by finger, removes her hand from grasping his sweatshirt and pushes her back. he then guides logan two steps away. "the race hasn't even started yet!"

oscar pops his head between the girl and liam. "are you sure you should be doing this?"

"of course," liam mutters, glancing at oscar. "why are you here? i thought you didn't want anything to do with us if we went through with this?"

"yeah, but i'm curious. so i know which places to avoid - i wouldn't want to get run over by road rager over here," he gestures to her and then at logan, "and mr. beating-(y/n)-is-my-life's-mission over there."

"she can't possibly be beating me at every single thing!" logan cries, throwing his arms in the air, and pointing over at her.

"sore loser!"

"okay, so we're starting here," liam points at where they're standing. "we start at williams."

"are you guys going to the pitlane?" oscar questions.

"no, are you crazy? do you want somebody to kill us?" mick scoffs. "i'd get my scooter rights taken away from me!"

"yeah," liam agrees with a nod. he throws oscar a judgemental stare, absolutely bewildered at the thought that they would be racing at the area where literal cars could be driving out. he looks back down at the ipad. "anyway."

"we zip between the racing homes," logan mutters, tracing the map of the paddocks that they'd pulled up from the internet. "and then we make a round around the interview table and the finish line is back here. don't forget to zip through the racing homes again."

"exactly," liam nods. "everyone aware of the rules?"

"you guys had the time to come up with rules?" oscar laughs. "seriously?"

"no shortcuts," mick says, turning his head to look at the younger girl. he grabs her wrist. "have you got your watch on so we can track the route everyone takes for the race?"

"yes. i'm a fair racer, above all," she scowls, retracting her arm from mick. "and we stop for everyone who calls us, yes? especially the fans."

"easy," logan nods, a smirk stretching his lips. "suddenly i'm kind of thankful nobody really likes me."

"what? don't say that," she grunts. "i like you. we like you."

"break it up, lovebirds. we are not friends, we're competitors," liam mutters. "you guys got the glasses (y/n) stole from seb's office?"

"i didn't steal them. we're borrowing them!" she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "don't break them - seb doesn't know i took them from his office."

"oh, i'm pretty sure charles would have let you borrow his if you asked," oscar whispers. when she turns her head to glare at him, oscar lifts his arms up to surrender. "but, you know. what do i know?"

"well i'm not sponsored by rayban - my glasses aren't here yet. i get when everybody else gets them," she frowns. "and, i don't wanna bother charles. it's okay."

"so you snuck into seb's office instead."

"it's not sneaking in if the door was wide open," she laughs, rolling her eyes. "duh?"

"ah, is that why you needed me to keep a lookout in the hallway?" logan says.

"shut up. i'm going to beat you," she mutters, pointing at logan with a threatening finger.

"okay, so are we clear about the rules?" liam puts the ipad down and looks around. "we've literally tried to make it as foolproof as possible. there's no way you guys can find ways to cheat, right?" he turns to her. "right?"

"i don't know why you keep looking at me - i'm a fair racer! you should be asking mick if he's going to be honest about this one!"

"why me? isn't logan desperate to keep the paper mache cup that we made three nights ago?"

"in my defence, i still believe i should keep it even if i lose because i worked on it the entire night. all you fuckers did was play overcooked and scream at each other in mick's hotel room."

"okay, shut up and race," oscar mutters, flailing his arms in the air to dismiss their huddle. "are you guys ready? can i start the race for you?"

"for someone who doesn't want to be a part of this, you sure are pushy," she mutters, turning on her heel to hop onto her scooter. "are we ready? apple watches and rayban glasses on?"

she takes the sunglasses that have been resting on the collar of her blouse and puts it on. she turns to her left and points at logan. "i'm gonna crush you."

logan pushes the sunglasses up his nose, looking ahead and doesn't spare her another glance. "sure."

"okay, okay," oscar cheers, clapping his hands. he reaches into his back pocket and reveals a red handkerchief. "turned your scooters on? everybody got their smart watches and smart glasses on?"

"start the race, cunt!"

oscar's lip twitches. "anyway. be safe, you guys. we have a race this weekend."

"i don't," mick smiles. "stay safe, though."

"start the race before i do it myself, bitch!"

"liam, shut the fuck up!" she shrieks, stepping off her scooter momentarily to whack him on the arm.

"god!" liam screams, his arm darting out to whack her as a response. "the race is going to start and you're not going to-"

"go!" oscar shouts, waving the handkerchief into the air. he darts to the side to get out of their way with a giggle.

almost immediately, logan and mick have already pulled back their handles, darting away from the williams racing home. she shrieks and shoves liam, causing him to lose his balance slightly, hops onto her scooter and drives away.

"oh, liam!" a deep voice calls. "i've been looking for you everywhere!"

"fuck's sake," liam sighs, shaking his head as he turns to see christian walking up to him. but he smiles as he is approached by the team principal. "yeah, christian?"

up ahead, she frowns to herself as she watches mick and logan racing head to head. there's no way to catch up to them on these scooters - it's simply not like an f1 car. she can only bank on the fact that someone, somehow, will stop them to give her some sort of window to pass them.

with the little number of people in the paddocks on a wednesday for the weekend proves that they should have done this early in the afternoon on friday. there could have been more obstacles and distractions for them.

if only the boys had listened to her.

she shrieks when she sees george flagging mick down ahead of the alpine racing home, forcing mick to come to slow stop. she screeches loudly when she passes mick, her hair being blown back by the wind and speed she's going at.

"thanks, george!" she screams, momentarily waving at the brit as she passes the mercedes pair. she can see logan ahead of her, speeding and manoeuvring around the crowd flawlessly by the ferrari home.

surely, somebody will recognise him and pull him to a stop, right? if nobody does, she can only hope that alex is somewhere in the paddocks wondering where his rookie has gone.

the race, objectively, is going fine for her. logan was momentarily stopped by a williams engineer. she passes them screeching, also thanking the nameless woman and waving at logan smugly as she accelerates her scooter.

when she does that, her eyes widen when she sees mick also passing logan. she has no idea where liam has gone, or if christian has even let him go from their conversation at the back of the paddocks.

she does get stopped, once, by susie who stops her to ask her a question. it was a simple question that she easily had the answer to and susie let her off in seconds. she excitedly presses a kiss on the older woman's cheek and quickly accelerates away, shocked that mick is suddenly riding next to her.

behind them is logan trailing shortly, and liam's conversation with christian is actually short. so behind logan is liam, held back by a couple of seconds only.

it's just that christian had overheard them whispering earlier that day about their race and he had lurked by the williams racing home to mess with his driver.

she, unfortunately, does get stopped another time, by a fan that was being brought around for a tour of the paddocks ahead of the race weekend. she grumbled under her breath when the three boys passed her: mick mimicking her shrill screech, logan passing her with his fingers in an 'L' shape, then liam simply ignoring her.

the race is short. suddenly they're all at the final stretch, now circled back at the ferrari racing home as they aim to make it to the finish line where oscar sits in a plastic chair, hunched over as he texts his girlfriend.

she screeches when she sees mick come to a stop right by the aston martin home. it's then questionable when she sees logan stop, and then liam. and suddenly she's getting flagged down by liam.

she rolls her eyes and ignores them, clearly being sore losers that she is now destined to win their little race. she goes right past them, slowing down slightly since it seems that she is the only competitor left in the race.

"(y/n)!" she hears a familiar accent. her eyes widen as she looks back, seeing sebastian with his hands on his hips, surrounded by her friends with the guiltiest expressions on their faces.

it all happens very fast. she had all intentions to slow down and go back to where they were, but she hadn't seen the rock up ahead.

if only she'd been looking ahead.

the front wheel of her scooter is caught against the stone, sending both her and the vehicle flying forward. "fuck!" she screams, her arms stretching out to try and break the fall.

"oh, my god!"

"that's going to hurt."

"are you stupid?"

"are you okay?"

she stays in her spot for a couple of seconds as she tries to digest the events of what just happened to her. one second, she had been on her scooter, the next she's knelt on the ground with her hands planted into the ground.

then it hits her: all of the pain from her fall.

she removes her hands from the ground and blinks rapidly, allowing the blood to seep from her now wounded palms. she feels it in her knees, surely scraping her favourite pair of pants when she had skidded against the floor. one of sebastian's pair of raybans is strewn not too far from her on the ground.

her scooter is ahead of her, which oscar is now bent over and pushing it upright.

she looks up, meeting logan's eyes with a hand over his mouth.

"it's not funny!"

"it's a little funny," logan shrugs before he bends down to meet her. "are you okay?"

tears immediately well in her eyes. she stretches out her hands and shows logan her injured palms. "i hurt my hands!"

"we can see that." mick is the next to kneel next to her, taking her hands into his. he moves her hands about and tries to assess her wounds. "we should get you back to your room and treat these."

"where are my glasses, you fucking- seriously, (y/n)?" she hears sebastian mutter. she lifts her head and watches sebastian pick up the pair from the ground and turn to her. "seriously? a race on the scooter i had to beg to get you?"

"it was liam's idea!" she cries, wiping her eye on the sleeve of her blouse. "he challenged me!"

"it was premeditated!" liam screams in an attempt to defend himself. "she said we would race once you got her scooter approved!"

"shut the fuck up!" she screeches, reaching out to push liam. "i told you not to tell on me!"

"okay, enough fighting," oscar sighs. he bends over and is the only one to think that she should not let her wounds be against the dirty ground for too long. "come on, let's get you all patched up."

"but my knees!" she cries, sniffling as she looks down at her scraped jeans. there's a small hole on both of her knees, the edges seeped with blood and small matching wounds on either. "i can't-"

"enough crying, drama queen," logan mutters, already hunched over and tapping his shoulders. "i'll carry you back. stop crying."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicore @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @inejismywife @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @love4lando

[devils-dares]

you know i had to get a little lewis home celebration blurb out

cw: sexual themes, mentions of sex, bruises (all consensual)

MDNI or i'll swing a metal scooter at your ankles and shins

-----

"kneel. get on your knees, let me see you." you keep your eyes on him as you kneel, the grout lines in the tile digging into skin and bone, but you pay it no mind.

he steps behind you, and you hear a pop, something's been uncorked. "suppose i should share some victory champagne. tilt your head back." you do as he says, closing your eyes as he takes his place behind you with a hand on your chin, keeping your head tilted back. you open your mouth obediently, and he pours the champagne in too quickly. it bubbles over your chin and soaks your lingerie. he tuts. "messy, messy girl." he stops pouring and helps you stand.

"lay on the bed, on your back."

he crawls over you, licking up the spilled champagne on your skin. "you know i love you?" you nod.

"good, cause i'm gonna fuck you like i hate you. you'll be a good girl and take it f'me, yeah? you'll be so quiet and good for me, not a single whine comes out, you hear?"

-----

he'd ravaged your body as promised.

he lay in bed next to you, chest heaving. your tears roll from your eyes into your hair. he glances at you before getting up and pouring himself a fifth. a few sips later, he's calmed the buzzing in his body down enough to care for you.

"hey, love. you alright? i hurt ya too bad?" he asks, and you only have the strength to shake your head. he leans down to your bare hips, littering kisses over the bruises his fingertips and his lips had left behind. "was rough with ya, yeah? poor little baby, pretty skin all bruised, just makes me wanna hurt ya a little more."

he starts to graze his teeth against the marks, and he feels your hips try to angle away. he laughs gruffly against your skin, kissing from one hip, over your mons, to the other. he trails down, kissing between your thighs to soothe the ache that lay at your core, before coming back up. "should i run a bath, hm? or maybe i should just let you sleep."

you look at him, eyes glazed over with some kind of submission, and he smiles. "you just wanna be near me?" you nod. he kisses and nips at your skin a little more before sitting back on his haunches. "let's get you cleaned up, okay? and then i'll dry your hair and we can take a nap. you don't gotta do anythin', not while i'm here."

after the bath, he dries your hair and applies cream to your bruises, and massages them. you whine a little in discomfort and he laughs. "hush, bird. you'll be okay. just a few bruises. you're strong, taken a lot more pain from me for a lot less." he gets you dressed in his clothes, kissing the crown of your head. "get some rest, birdie. can darken those bruises once you're awake and present." he chuckles at his own words.

[dreamsoflightvalley]

Two of Skates (James P Sullivan X Reader)

Summary: You’re an introvert who isn’t too keen on attending one of Roar Omega Roar’s famous ragers, if anything you’d rather attend one of Oozma Kappa’s small gatherings. You prefer good times and pizza over goo pong and crazy stunts… Oh, and of course your crush on Sullivan plays a part in the decision too.

Content: Completely SFW, romance, introverted reader, gender neutral reader, copious amounts of pizza, overall wholesomeness and good times! Also, skating.

A/N: Was thinking of Total Eclipse of the Heart while writing this (specifically the Nicki French cover). Enjoy!

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Monsters University, one of the most prestigious scaring schools out there, was not immune to the party culture that prevailed in just about every college.

Every other week like clockwork RΩR would throw a rager that was open to the entire campus, and it’d keep going well into the night. Exams had just ended, so naturally all of the top scarers in that house were partying. Every house was to attend the party, but standout group Oozma Kappa was definitely uninvited.

You watched as your dorm buddy did her makeup in front of her vanity while rubbing your arm. “You’re coming with us, right Y/N?” Your friend turned to you, tilting her head.

��I dunno… Isn’t there any other house throwing their own party?” You asked, looking out the window to see students in droves flooding into the RΩR house. You couldn’t stand half the members in that group, they were so full of themselves and didn’t hesitate to pick on you for not having a pedigree like them. So what if your parents weren’t top scarers? So what if you didn’t make all A’s? That kind of stuff shouldn’t matter, but to them it did. It also didn’t help that Johnny Worthington had a penchant for singling you out specifically.

“Well, OK or whatever their house name is, is having their own party. They’re going to a roller rink or something,” She scoffed with a smile, turning back to the mirror. “The short squishy one handed me an invitation earlier, it was kinda cute… And also kinda sad,” She chuckled, clearly having no intentions to abandon a big RΩR party to go hang out with a bunch of dweebs at a roller rink.

Oddly enough, that sounded right up your alley.

“Where’d you put it?” You asked.

“Oh, it’s in my backpack. I was gonna throw it away, but I’d feel bad doing it right in front of the little guy,” She admitted sheepishly.

You went over to her backpack and scrounged through it, finding the hand drawn pamphlet rather quickly. It had a little drawing of all the members inside alongside a date, time, and address for the party. Free rides are being offered to anyone who needs them, yadda yadda… Oh, and pizza too?

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss out on a Roar Omega Roar party for that!” She folded her arms, giving you a stern look.

“Oh, come on! It sounds like fun! Besides, you know I can’t stand Johnny. He picks on me even with you around,” You grabbed your thoroughly worn jacket off the back of your desk chair, shrugging it on.

“You’re just saying that because you wanna hang out with your lover James.~”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

You grabbed the scooter by the door and stuck your tongue out playfully at your friend, and she returned the gesture.

“You know I hate going to parties without you,” She watched as you grabbed your ita bag, pulling the strap over your shoulder. “But I guess I can manage,” She sighed dramatically, leaning back and closing her eyes. It only took her a few seconds to open one to see if her attempts to stop you were working.

“I know you will,” You reassured her, twirling your keys in hand. “But at least you won’t have to stand with me by the snack table the whole time anymore, you can go and play goo pong with the girls… Maybe make a move of your own on that Crystal chick you’ve been diggin’,” You scooted out of the door before your friend could scold you for teasing, popping your headphones on so that you could drown out the nearby music.

You managed to weave through the gaps in the crowd with relative ease, the noise canceling allowed you to follow the beat of your own music and ignore the bass that rumbled through the ground as you passed the noisy fraternity. The OK house wasn’t too far from campus, not on scooter at least. Right as you arrived you could already see the members boarding into an old van, you were just barely on time.

Of course Sulley was the one to notice you scooting towards them, a heavy hand resting atop the car. He was about to duck into the back seat but he saw you and perked up immediately— so fast that he bumped his head on the roof of the car. He shook it off as he stood up straight, raising a curious brow at your arrival.

“Y/N?”

You took your headphones off and paused your music, breathing a little heavily as you fished into your back to pull out a slightly crumpled up invitation. “I heard you guys were throwing your own party…” You held it out to them shyly, still scared of rejection despite the fact that they were the definition of the rejects.

Squishy approached you and took the invite from your hands, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. “You… Actually showed up?” He looked up at you for confirmation, eyes bigger than usual. “Well of course they showed up, they’re right in front of you!” Mike gestured towards you, happier than he’d like to admit. He was in disbelief too, since literally no one would turn down a Roar Omega Rager the way you just did. “Niiiice, stickin’ it to the man!” Art wasn’t one to look a gift pig in the mouth, so he was quick to accept you aboard. “N-No one’s ever come to an Oozma Kappa party before, no one outside of us at least! This is gonna be awesome!” Terri jumped excitedly, forcing Terry’s half of the body to also move with him. “Not to be that guy, but we’d better hurry up before the pizza gets cold. No one wants to eat cold pizza,” Terry put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. Just then, Squishy’s mom piped up from the front seat.

“Come on now, kiddos! That rink isn’t gonna skate itself.”

You waited for everyone else to enter the van, unsure of where you were gonna squeeze in. Squishy climbed into the front seat, Art, Terri, and Terry were in the far back, leaving the middle row to you, Mike, and Sullivan.

Mike got the window seat on the left side, and since you didn’t want to get between the two Sulley sat in the middle without complaint, only because it meant he got to sit next to you.

You closed the door on your side and quickly realized how cramped of a ride this was going to be, the moment the door shut you were walled into the corner by a dense wall of warm, teal fur. In a weird way it was cozy, and you did get to get a nice whiff of him from here…

Sheri turned on the radio as she started to drive, and there was some quiet idle chatter among the others…

“So…” You began, trying to get over your shyness. “You remembered my name..?”

“Hmm?” Sulley looked over at you, though you were hard to see compared to his shoulder. “Oh, your name. Yeah, of course I do. I have a great memory.”

You found it odd since the two of you never really interacted much. You were sure that you introduced yourself, during class but you didn’t expect him to actually… Remember. The encounter was so brief after all. Since then you’d occasionally run into each other (mostly due to you looking for him), but he always seemed too busy for you.

“That’s a bunch of malarky! You have terrible memory. You know how many study sessions we’ve had and you still can’t remember the name of New Eekland’s first prime minister?”

Mike butt in the first chance he got, he had a right to after how viciously Sulley used to tease him when they were freshman.

“When am I ever gonna need that information, history is boring! I don’t choose what I get to remember, I just trust that whatever my noggin thinks is important and retain that.”

Oh, so you were important enough to remember? Interesting.

“Keep thinkin’ like that and you’ll only remember sandwich ingredients, and maybe a few scarers if you’re lucky.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, their friendship never ceasing to amuse you. It was clear that they chided each other out of compassion, if they didn’t like each other they definitely wouldn’t be here right now.

The conversation started to liven up as the drive went on, and for the most part you were simply enjoying the friendly environment and listening to the others talk. Only when the group settled down at their own booth did you get the chance to talk about yourself.

“My friend wanted to go, but honestly? This is so much better than whatever they could possibly be doing right now,” You nearly salivated at the sight of the stringy cheese still clinging onto the pizza for dear life. “I’m not really crazy about big parties like that. They’re so…”

“Loud?” Terri asked.

“Disorienting?” Art chimed in.

“Jock centric?” Mike rolled his eyes.

“Annoying?” Terry groaned.

“Chaotic?” Squishy was the last to finish the chain, since Sulley had nothing against parties. If anything he liked that kind of environment, so when everyone looked at him all he had to say was “What?”

“Uh, yeah, that!” You licked the grease off your fingers after you finished your first slice, already going in for another. “I’d rather be in a small group with nice people I kinda know than be in a den of strangers with only a friend or two, y’know… Quality over quantity.”

Just then, Sheri and Don came back with arms full of skates, each to your respective sizes and foot shapes. Don did a lot of the carrying thanks to his suckers. “We got yer skates, now let’s hit the floor!” Don’s energy was refreshing, but you wanted to stay at the table a little longer. “I think I’ll eat a little more first, after all it uh… Seems like you guys ordered quite a bit,” You glanced at the boxes upon boxes of uneaten pizza, stomach growling loudly.

“Yeah, I’ll hang back too. Y’know, to help,” Sulley shrugged, looking back and forth as he rubbed the back of his head. Sheri caught on immediately, but didn’t say anything. “Alright, we’ll leave you to it,” She guided Don and the others away before he could say anything, giving the two of you a wink and thumbs up as they walked away.

You and James locked eyes for a moment before you shyly looked away.

“Dunno what that was about,” He played dumb, a purple tint washing over the fur on his face.

“Y-Yeah, me neither,” You aired out your collar slightly, trying not to make things awkward.

A silence had settled between you as you ate for a little while. Truthfully, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in the rink since you had no idea how to skate whatsoever, but you acted like you were staying behind for the food. Why Sulley stayed behind is beyond you.

“Honestly… I’m no good at skating,” You admitted as you filled your plate once more.

“Oh yeah?” He smiled crookedly, filling his own plate at the same time as you.

“Yeah…”

He looked around as he scooped a slice into his mouth, making sure no one could hear but you. “Me neither.”

You smiled up at him, surprised that a mighty Sullivan would acknowledge something he couldn’t do. It was rare that James would admit to a fault of his, so even something this small was special. He had to like you at least a little bit.

The noise from the rink caught your attention, and from where you sat you could see Art spinning around in the middle while he held Terri and Terry up in the air. Sheri and Don held Squishy’s hands between them, helping him skate while Mike slipped and slid clumsily.

“You know, maybe if we skate together we’d be alright,” He folded his arms and leaned back, looking at you from the side of his eyes as he tried to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.

“What? You mean like… Two bad skaters come together to form one halfway decent skater? Our talent will balance itself out?”

“Something like that,” He shrugged.

You looked down at your loaded plate and then back at the rink, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to finish all that pizza.

“You know what… Why the heck not,” You stood up and grabbed your skates, offering your hand to him.

“Heck?” He echoed as he took your hand, finding it funny that you didn’t say the other word.

“Yeah, heck! Hay is for horses.”

As the two of you made your way to the rink after putting your skates on, you held onto each other’s hand tightly. When one of you lost balance the other would make up for it, which was surprising given how large Sulley is.

You slowly stretched a leg into the rink, a love song playing over the speakers almost as soon as Sulley joined you. The colored lights shifted from blue and green to red and pink, the DJ sensing the spark between you two. It didn’t seem to matter to either of you though, since you were too busy trying not to fall onto your butts the whole time.

“H-Hey, this isn’t so bad!” You had to admit you didn’t think the idea would work, but as the two of you skated in circles you realized that struggling together made the process a lot easier than struggling alone. “I told you it’d work,” He smirked as he used his tail to grab Mike by the hand, steadying his balance. “How you doin’ back there little buddy?”

“Just peachy!” Mike’s knees were shaking like a leaf, but he wasn’t falling like earlier.

“Good, cause Y/N has an idea and you’re gonna help us!”

Before you put your skates on earlier, you mentioned the idea of giving out the pizza to everyone else who was there. Even if it was taken home for leftovers it would surely go bad, and if Mrs. Squishy got mad you’d be willing to pay her back… And James was nothing if not a risk taker.

Before Mike could even question it, Sulley dragged him screaming from the rink and back to the booth. You had a stack of pizza boxes on your free hand, as did Sulley… Mike, unfortunately, had them balancing on his head.

“Alright, who wants free pizza?” Sulley shouted, holding up the boxes with you as the crowd cheered.

All three of you skated around the building giving free boxes to anyone who wanted some, feeding the entire place better than the cooks did… And yes, even the cooks and cashiers got pizza breaks too.

As the mid-90s Europop song faded, you and Sullivan returned to the booth with some pizza to spare, reclining into the stiff seats as though they were the highest quality massage chairs the world had to offer. James had to pick and limp Mike up by the wrist and sit him down too.

All of you caught your breath together, but even after burning off all that energy you still kept your hands clasped together. You looked over at his palm, his grip softening ever so slightly. He was worried for a second that you’d want to let go, but when you squeezed his giant hand in yours he felt relief wash over him.

“You know… We should do this again sometime…” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah..?”

“Yeah…”

You shuffled a little closer to him, resting your head on his arm. In response he rested his head on top of yours, his bushy brows lowering over his eyes.

To Johnny’s surprise the next day, the school papers replaced the usual column going over the events of his parties with a new blurb on the “Cutest Couple on Campus,” the sight m causing him to spit his coffee out of shock.

“Wh-What the—?!”

[reigningqueenofwords]

It's Not My Fault

Pairing: past Dean x Reader, past Reader x Mitchell (OC) Word count: 2,479

Read on AO3

Part 4 of It’s Not Mine

Two days later, Danny was over at John’s for a few hours. You had a meeting with your lawyer, and you asked John to watch him. He’d easily agreed. Dean was home, having the day off. While John played with Danny in the living room, he was making lunch while talking to Sam on the phone. “So, yeah.” He sighed, having told Sam most of the talk that he’d had with you the other night. “Hardest night of my life.” 

“I’m still shocked she’s the reason behind your first arrest.” Sam told him. “I mean, I thought it would have been speeding and then mouthing off to a cop.” 

“Ha ha.” Dean replied. “It had to be done. Not only did that dirtbag put his hands on her, I felt guilty. Had I not been an ass, she wouldn’t be going through all this. I’d beat his ass all over again, even with getting arrested. It was completely worth it.” He said proudly. “And I told her I want to step up and be Danny’s dad. Even if she doesn’t tell him I’m his father for years. I’ll wait.” 

Danny giggled as he won at Candy Land. “Can I get a juice box?” He asked John. 

“Sure thing.” He grinned. “I’ll shuffle the cards so we can play again. Deal?” 

“Yes!” He got up and ran to the kitchen. 

“-be Danny’s dad. Even if she doesn’t tell him I’m his father for years.” He heard Dean say into the phone, his back to Danny. 

“You’re my daddy!?” Danny gasped, making Dean whip around. He dropped his phone in the process. Danny’s eyes were wide as he stared at Dean. 

Dean picked up his phone. “Uh, I’ll call you back, Sammy.” He told his brother before hanging up, not letting him reply. 

Danny was bouncing on his feet. “So, you’re my daddy?” He asked, hopeful. 

“Shit.” He groaned. You were going to kill him. 

“GRANDPA! Dean said a bad word!” He yelled, making John come to the kitchen, laughing. 

“You used to do the same thing, Dean. Used to rat me out to your mother.” He was amused. “Why the long face?” He asked, confused. 

Dean sighed. “He walked in while I was talking to Sam about being his dad. He knows.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Y/N is gonna be so upset.” 

Danny tilted his head. “Why would mommy be mad you’re my daddy?” He asked, clearly confused.

John lifted Danny up. “The answer to that is boring grown up stuff.” He told him. “I’m sure your mom will be the best person to explain that. Okay?” 

He sighed. “Fine.” He didn’t want to hear boring grown up stuff. “Can I have my juice box now?” 

Danny was playing on his scooter on the sidewalk while John watched from his porch. You’d texted that you were on your way home, so Dean was hiding inside. As soon as Danny spotted you, he dropped his scooter and ran to you. “Mommy! Is Dean my daddy?!” He asked, hugging your legs. 

“Um, what?” You ran your fingers through his hair. “Where did you hear that?” Did Dean tell him? 

You glanced over as John made his way over. “He heard Dean on the phone with Sam apparently.” He explained. “Then told on Dean when he said a ‘bad word’.” He chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. “Dean’s worried you’re gonna be really mad, so he’s hiding.” 

“Of course he is.” You sighed. Moving to crouch, you took Danny’s hands. “Yes, Dean is your daddy, baby.” You didn’t want to straight up lie to him now that he was asking. 

“Does that mean I can call him daddy?” He asked sweetly. 

Swallowing, you shrugged. “We’ll have to ask him, but you can’t be upset if he wants you to keep calling him Dean, okay?” You wanted to slap Dean upside the head for talking about this where Danny could hear him. 

Danny nodded. “Why wouldn’t he want me to? Doesn’t he like me? Why hasn’t he been my daddy before?” He sounded sad. 

You were not ready for this. You currently felt like saying a bad word. “He loves you.” You heard John tell him. “Want me to get him for you?” He offered. 

“Please. Tell him we’ll be in my backyard.” You lifted Danny, holding him close as you carried him to the back. This was happening so much faster than you’d thought it would. As soon as you were in your backyard, you sat down in a chair. “Dean was working hard, and mommy was in school.” You started. “And before you were born we had a big fight, and it took a long time for us to not be mad.” That was honestly the best way you could put it. It wasn’t a lie, but was a much softer version. 

You shot Dean a glare when he walked into the backyard. “It’s not my fault.” He started, holding his hands up. “He snuck up on me.” He defended himself. 

Your glare faded and you sighed. “I know it’s not your fault.” You rubbed Danny’s back. “I just wasn’t expecting to come back to get asked by him if you’re his father, if he can call you daddy, and then when I said he’d have to ask you…he asked ‘why wouldn’t he want me to?’, ‘doesn’t he like me?’, and ‘why hasn’t he been my daddy before?’.” You leaned your cheek on the top of Danny’s head. “I was just taken by surprise. I told him that you were working, I was in school, and we had a really big fight and it took a long time for us to not be mad.” 

Dean moved closer and sat on the chair next to you. “Danny?” He got the little boy’s attention, smiling when he looked over at him. “Your mom’s right. We had a fight and were mad at each other, but I’m here now. If you want to call me daddy, you can. But if you want to keep calling me Dean, that’s okay, too.” He assured him. 

Danny perked up, wiggling off your lap, to run to hug Dean. “I wanna call you daddy!” He said happily. 

You watched, tears in your eyes. “Hey, Danny? Why do you go ask Grandpa if we can order pizza for dinner?” You suggested. 

“Can daddy stay for dinner?” He asked, hopeful. 

“Sure.” You nodded. 

“Okay!” He happily ran to the backdoor, disappearing inside. 

Looking at Dean, you let out a sigh. “Hurt him and I’ll be the one arrested for assault.” You warned him. “But…prove to me you’re going to be the best father he can be before his next birthday, and I’ll put you on his birth certificate.” You felt both options were fair. 

“I have a feeling you’d make sure I was never found.” He shook his head. “And his birthday is Valentine’s Day, right?” He asked. 

“Yup.” You smiled softly, turning to the door when you heard it open. “Pizza for dinner?” You asked Danny as he came out. 

“Yeah, he’s going to ask Grandpa what he wants so he can come eat dinner, too.” He told you before going to play with his little soccer ball. 

Dean’s court date was a week after Danny found out about him being his father. Which made it that much harder when you got told that Dean would be serving 30 days in jail. You had a restraining order against Mitchell, and Mitchell had one against Dean. You’d dealt with the legal system more in the past couple weeks than you had your entire life. To lessen the blow, you’d taken Danny out for ice cream. Sitting across from him in the ice cream parlor, you watched him for a moment. “Danny?” 

“Yeah?” He looked up from his bowl of ice cream. 

“You know how you’ve been really liking having your daddy around?” You asked, earning a nod. “Well, we’re not going to be seeing him again for a month. He got into trouble and has to go to a really long time out.” 

He gasped. “That’s a long time out!” His eyes were wide. “I’m going to miss him.” He sagged. 

“I know, baby.” Danny always looked forward to spending time with Dean. “How about we make him a lot of pictures for when he comes home? So he knows how much you were thinking of him?” You suggested. “After this we can go get lots of craft stuff at the store.” Part of this felt like you were bribing your five year old, but if this helped him cope with Dean being gone…so be it. 

“Okay!” He agreed. “I’ll make him a picture of the Impala.” 

You chuckled lightly at that. “He’ll love that.” 

You had a small bin of pictures for Dean for when he came home. It would be any day now, and you also planned to buy him a pie. You’d attempted to learn to make one, but you decided it was a better idea to trust the professionals. The local bakery was good enough! 

Your dad was watching Danny while you were at work and John went to get Dean from jail. You got a part time job working at the grocery store as a cashier, and while it wasn’t the best job, it was a job. Your goal was to move out of your dads in the next couple months, before Danny started school. 

Getting home that day, you made your way inside and smiled when you heard Danny, your dad, Dean, and John goofing off in the living room. Danny’s laughter turned to a squeal laugh, making you chuckle. You moved to lean on the living room door frame, bag with the pie in hand. “Welcome home, Dean.” You smiled. 

He grinned at you. “It’s good to be home, sweetheart.” 

“I come bearing gifts.” You held up the bag. 

“Grandpa says we’re gonna go out to eat to celebrate daddy being home.” Danny told you. He was on Dean’s back, holding on to him. 

“Then, I guess I’ll put this in the fridge and then go change. Do I have time to shower?” You hoped you did. 

John nodded. “Of course.” They were in no rush.

Dean carried Danny out of the diner, Danny’s head resting on Dean’s shoulder. He yawned, making you chuckle. “Can I have a sleepover with Daddy?” He asked. 

“That’s up to him, baby.” You told him. “Why don’t you plan for a night you can play a couple board games or something? You’ll be asleep before we get home.” 

“So? He can sleep on the floor in my room and we can play in the morning.” He countered. 

“Can’t fault his logic. That’s what we used to do.” Dean told you. “I don’t mind sleeping on his bedroom floor if that makes him happy.” 

Your dad and John hung back a bit, watching the pair of you. “I bet you they’re together within a year.” Your dad said to him, low enough you couldn’t hear. 

John chuckled. “I give it 6 months.” He countered. 

“I don’t know. Mitchell did a number on her, and she still doesn’t fully trust Dean.” He pointed out. “It’s gonna take her time to get through everything, and I can’t blame her.” 

He nodded at that. “True. I think him beating the shit out of Mitchell helped. So is how he’s taken to Danny, and how Danny has taken to him.” They both knew Danny was the most important part of your life. 

“So, see you at my house after you get some clothes? I can warm up your pie.” You offered as Dean put Danny in his booster seat. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way over.” 

John was the first to pull out of the parking lot, followed by your father. You were next, and finally Dean. Dean headed in the opposite direction, wanting to grab something at the store first. 

You’d gotten Danny’s teeth brushed after he changed into his pjs (with some help, he was so tired), and then gotten him tucked in. You were worried that you still didn’t have a text from Dean. Had he changed his mind? 

Running a hand through your hair, you took the hamper of dirty laundry from his room and went to get yours. If Dean wasn’t going to come over, you might as well get something productive done. “Dad, do you have any laundry?” You knocked on your father’s door where he went to read. 

He opened it and shook his head. “No, and you should relax.” He told you. 

“Putting a load of laundry in isn’t exactly stressful. If anything, it’s the least stressful household chore. I can put it in, and forget about it while it does its thing.” You pointed out. 

“Promise to relax while it ‘does its thing’?” 

“Yes, dad.” You chuckled. 

“Good.” He kissed your forehead. 

You’d just turned the washing machine on when Dean finally texted you. Coming over now :) 

Sighing, you went to meet him at the front door. “I was starting to think you bailed.” You told him as he got closer. 

“Sorry, I had to make a stop at the store and got distracted.” He chuckled, pulling flowers out from behind his back. “A thanks for letting me be there for Danny.” 

Blushing, you took them. “Oh, wow. Thank you. You didn’t have to.” You told him as you let him in. “You got distracted in the flower section of the store?” You teased. 

He chuckled, shutting the door. “Uh, no. I went to the toy department. Wanted to get him something, but then realized I couldn’t decide on what. There were board games, card games, summer toys, cars…So many toys.” 

You giggled at that. “What did you decide on?” 

“I got us some summer toys.” He told you as you put the flowers in the biggest cup you could find, and made a note to get you a vase. “I got super soakers and a sprinkler thing for now.” He set the bags of plastic goodies on the counter. “Figured it’s been warm enough out, so might as well get something to cool off with.” He sounded a lot like a proud kid, which was adorable. 

“He’ll love that. You two will have a lot of fun.”  “Two? Sweetheart, I bought five super soakers.” He grinned. “We’re all gonna have a good summer.” 

You raised an eyebrow, an amused look on your face. “We didn’t have super soakers as kids, so you’re living through our son, aren’t you?” You teased. 

“...I may have asked my dad for one every summer until I was 12.” He admitted, making you chuckle. “But! I believe I was promised pie.” 

“Let me heat it up.” You chuckled. “Dork.”

Tagging: @s0urw00lf

[moonshynecybin]

short fic! once again maïna got me.... her original post here, this one's like 800 words about marc hitching a ride from vale back to the pits... nebulously established relationship they are being very sweet !

“Are you trying to kill me?” Is what Vale says when Marc trots up to where he’s spectating on the side of the track, camped out like a king in some shady place where the crowds can’t get to him. He’s on his feet, hands on his hips and a frown on his face beneath his hat and sunglasses, staring Marc down as he approaches. He’s worried—he usually is, when Marc’s on the bike— but the crash wasn’t terrible, just a slide into the gravel. He shouldn’t be too mad.

Marc brushes some dust off of the ass of his leathers. The marshals are bustling around them, righting his bike and wheeling it past him and Vale. There’s no sense of urgency though, it’s too late in the session— that’s FP1 done for Marc, now he just needs to get back to the pits. Luckily, he knows a guy.

He flicks a gloved finger at Vale’s cheek, and Vale catches it, brings it to his mouth to kiss his hand, sweet and playful, a moment of connection just for them, letting Marc know he’s not actually mad. Marc can’t help but grin under his helmet.

“I’m okay.” He reassures, keeping his voice low, tilting his head a little. “I saw how lonely you were out here and just wanted to say hi.” He’s joking, but if he had to pick a place to crash, next to Vale isn’t the worst place in the world.

“Not funny,” Vale lets go of his hand to wave a finger in his face, eyebrows jumping, and Marc laughs, big and loud.

“No, it isn’t. I wanted P1.” It’s a bad joke— most of his are— but Vale smiles at him anyway, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“P2 for you, I think, if you’re done trying to kill yourself.” Vale gestures at the scooter behind him. “You need a lift?

“You offering?”

“I mean you can walk, but that would be less fun for both of us, I think.” Vale says, swinging a leg over the scooter and rummaging for the keys.

“The Valentino Rossi taxi service.” Marc says, climbing onto the back as Vale buckles on his helmet. He leans forward until the enamel of their helmets makes contact, an affectionate bump. He decides to settle his hands on the familiar, narrow space of Vale’s hips, glove catching on the fabric of his shirt.

“For you? I charge double.”

“I can afford it, my husband’s rich.” Marc says, and is rewarded with a bark of a laugh from Valentino and an affectionate slap to his thigh as the ignition catches and they start to move.

Vale pulls away from the track and starts to maneuver towards the pits, scooter rumbling along. Marc closes his eyes, enjoying the ride and the solid weight of Vale in front of him, the way he can lean on him a little, torsos pressed tight. It’s not often he can loosen his control during a race weekend, and it’s nice to not have to focus for a few minutes— to let Vale unwind Marc in that way only he knows how. They don’t get too much alone time on days like these, and Marc lets himself get warm— basking between the sun on his back and the stretch of Valentino in front of him.

It’s over too soon.

“Thanks for the ride,” He says, when Vale slows to a stop in front of Honda’s pit area. He pulls of his helmet.

“Yeah— you be safe, eh?” Vale says, catching Marc’s elbow when he clambers off the scooter. Vale lifts a hand to thumb at Marc’s cheek, and Marc has to lean down to kiss him, soft and sweet, lingering. It’s not the best time for it —he has to get back to his box, there are probably thousands of cameras pointed at them right now, and he has about eight different ideas for the bike setup to iron out with Santi— but right now he doesn’t care. He kisses Vale again, hand on the column of his neck.

“I love you,” He says when he pulls back— he really does have things to do. He grabs his helmet and starts to move away. Vale smacks him on the ass as he goes.

“If you crash again, I will not drive you back next time!” Vale calls as Marc winds his way towards the Honda garage.

“Yes, you will!” Marc calls back, not even turning around. He’s grinning as he ducks around the corner.

And it’s true. It’s something he knows for certain— knowledge that’s sewed itself into his bones— as factual and immutable as the sky being blue, as the sun rising in the morning. If he falls, Vale will be there to catch him.

It’s as simple as that.

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

All of this, for a phonograph? - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After having an odd dream and unexpectedly getting a promotion, you head down to the Underworld in some weird journey of self-discovery that ends up in a whole lot of chaos.

▸ Genre(s): fluff, angst

▸ Word Count: 16.6k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions, violence, mentions of blood, crying, emetephobia tw, having to wake up early,

A/N: IM SO FUCKINGN TIRED.

I was not expecting to surpass my word count record. Anyways, sorry for the initial jankyness. I don’t write in present tense often

MOSSBALL MASTERLIST (psst more gepard here)

Sitting at a desk in front of a window, accompanied by a stained brass lamp and an old family photo you were certain had been lost (during the evacuation of Rivet Town), you watched the people of Belobog mill about the Alexandra Plaza beneath the setting sun.

You smile softly to yourself, laying your tired fountain pen to rest beside a variety of parchments that contained pictures of flowers you had never seen, and writing that didn’t quite make sense.

Something tugs at the corners of your mind to make you rise from your seat and tiptoe down the hallway towards the kitchen.

It was your kitchen, presumably.

The mahogany floorboards creaked softly in protest, but they were covered by the sound of the familiar sound of music coming from the phonograph you’d had as a child. It got louder the closer you got to the end of the hallway.

How you missed those old songs. You used to sit by the fireplace with a warm cup of milk, listening to the music while the flames flickered at you.

From the kitchen, golden light peeps through the doorway at you. Warm and comforting, it drips over the paintings and vases decorating the hallway.

It was so strange. This place felt like home, yet you had never seen it before in your entire life.

As you push open the door, your heart leaps and lodges itself directly in your throat.

Oh. It’s Gepard, you think, surprised.

He stands in front of the kitchen sink, a bright blue apron adorning his waist and shoulders, with dishwashing gloves to match. Bubbles from the soapy water floated around him while he worked, and then sank to the tile floor, where they disappeared with a few soft pops.

The oven light illuminated something resting on the top rack. You lick your lips; it was always a joy whenever Gepard decided to cook.

“Ah, good evening, honey,” Gepard says, discarding his gloves and resting them on the counter. “Are you finished for the day?”

Honey?

Something about that struck an odd note.

“Yep! All done,” you say, not quite knowing what you’re talking about. “I can rest easy now. Thanks for taking care of the dishes,”

You smile and bound over to his side in your slippers.

“I’m happy to hear that. The pie is almost done, are you feeling hungry at all?” He asks. He unties his apron, (which, you might add, looks very good on him) and pulls two plates out of the cupboard. You have two of everything, from spoons to mugs. It makes your heart flutter like a herd of butterflies.

“Um… gosh, this was unexpected. But pie sounds great!” You reply while bending down to peer through the oven door. Its crust was a wonderful golden color, just like the sun. “What kind is it?”

“Apple,” Gepard replies. He sidles up next to you until your shoulders are touching. You had a decent view of the hair on the back of his neck from here, which was slightly darker than the hair on top of his head. Definitely cute, you think.

The captain smiles gently at you, almost puppy-esque in the way his eyes search yours for approval. He tilts his head downward and—

Wait a moment. Why was he so close? What was going on?

—to slowly and tenderly place a kiss on your cheek.

Your heart threatens to reach escape velocity.

Whoa there, scooter. Keep it cool, now, you scold yourself.

“You’re always so generous,” you compliment, cupping his cheeks with your hands. You shut your eyes, and this time, kiss him gently on the lips. It felt so right, the way you combed your fingers through his hair and how you knew exactly what to do.

Gepard’s cheeks burn pink as you pull away. The color contrasted his blue eyes, which resembled rich, deep sapphires with icy blue highlights at the bottom. You stared at them dreamily, when suddenly a strange ringing invaded your eardrums.

Oh, that must be the pie.

You pulled some oven mitts that were the size of cookie sheets out of your pockets and turned back to the oven— which had, for some reason, been very curiously turned into a washing machine.

You whip around again, and this time your husband(?) is dressed in full military regalia. Gepard takes a few steps back and throws himself out of the open kitchen window, saluting you as he goes.

You were certain you lived in a two-story building.

And oh, the ringing. It was getting increasingly louder. You clamp your hands over your ears indignantly while scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Can we not do this right now? You thought. I just wanted some pie,

Gravity seemed to be playing tricks on you as the fog began to lift, pulling you out of your deep sleep.

You blinked. The strange building had been replaced by the wooden ceiling of the Eversummer Florist you were used to.

Phonograph… I need to get my phonograph so Gepard and I can—,

Groaning, you limply smacked the phone on your bedside table with your arm and turned to tuck the blankets back under your chin. But the damn thing rang again as if to mock you.

Huh. I don’t remember setting two alarms, you thought. You clicked your tongue on the top of your mouth, cringing at the dreaded taste of morning breath as you sat up slowly.

You picked up the phone, hazily coming to the realization that it wasn’t yours. The alarm’s label was titled, “surprise,” which was ironic, considering it was quite the unpleasant one. A picture of Artem, from the hit novel, Tale of the Winterlands, was set as the lock screen.

There was no other person whom it could belong to.

The old wooden door to your dorm swung open, slamming into your armoire, which you were grateful was already chipped at that point. The sounds of streamers and confetti poppers blasted through whatever peace of mind you previously had, and a group of people, all wearing green berets, invaded your room. They were waving party wands around like it was the last day on Jarilo-VI.

Speaking of Vaska, she was busy pushing her way through the gaggle of people. She squeezed her body out of the fray to stand right over you, her green eyes staring straight at you unblinkingly, like some sort of lizard.

“Congratulations, (Y/N)! You’ve been promoted!” She cheered at you through cupped hands. Before you had realized it, you’d shot out of bed in surprise, flinging your covers everywhere.

“What? Really??” You asked, your jaw agape. You were still in your pajamas, but you were far beyond the fear of being seen in them.

“That’s right,” Meg, your boss, remarked. She was strict, but rather kind. “You’re now the general manager of the Eversummer Florist!”

She did have some odd ways of celebrating, though.

“Unless… you’d like to turn it down, of course,” she teased with a shrug.

“WAIT—! No, there’s no need. I would like the promotion, please,” you blurted. Vaska chuckled as she watched you scramble to put on your slippers,

Meg planted her hands on her hips sassily. “As I thought. Now, can you give everyone a thank you for giving you such a lovely surprise?”

“Thank you, everyone,” you gave them a toothy grin. A few whoops and cheers erupted from the back of the crowd.

“There’s a cupcake for you downstairs,” your boss added. “Pick it up whenever you like. Anyway, have a nice day off, kiddo. You deserve it more than anyone,”

“Aww, thank you so much!” You exclaimed. A cupcake sounded wonderful.

Meg tuned right around and whisked herself out of the door from whence she came. Everyone else followed suit in a single file line, like a group of ducklings. That made you chuckle.

You opened the blinds and peered outside. Icicles coated the power lines and hung from the roofs of houses, announcing the upcoming Solwarm Festival with their appearance. Meg probably had an ulterior motive, seeing as Belobog hadn’t held a Solwarm Festival in years— and Vaska had a particular penchant to break down under pressure. She could probably use another person to help ensure the festivities went smoothly.

You scoffed confidently at the challenge. With you and Vaska on the job, there was nothing on Jarilo-VI that could take you down. It would be a good way to show off your newfound skill at the job as well.

But as you stood there, woozy from the forceful wake-up and experiencing the overwhelming need to pee, your brow furrowed.

What exactly do I want to do from now on?

The question came hurtling entirely out of the Snow Plains, punching you right in the nose.

Yes, you had moved to the surface and become some sort of flower tycoon. And you were as sure as you could be that you liked your job. Plus, you had even gotten a promotion. To the position of general manager, of all things!

But had you really put any thought into what your future might be? You had been given the opportunity to move to the surface by the ADCS (or Administrative District Civil Service), and you had taken it.

After a year of living here, you now had a few more things to consider. Did you want to move back home? Surely not after getting a promotion. Your boss would kill you.

Additionally, you weren’t necessarily homesick. Life in the mines was largely nomadic. Where employment was, you would follow. You didn’t miss the hacking cough you’d develop during the winter from the rock dust building up in your lungs.

Friends didn’t stay too long either. You all had to eat in some way or another, and work wasn’t always guaranteed for people who traveled together.

Maybe you could help expand the flower business? Or even get an apartment of your own? Perhaps officially studying mechanical engineering might be the way to go…

All these thoughts made your brain feel like it was going to split. You sighed, plopping back down on your bed before you remembered Meg had given you a pile of flyers to hand out two days prior. They advertised the Solwarm Festival and its details, a good source of information for anyone who wasn’t privileged enough to have experienced the festivities.

You had meant to give one to Natasha, since you weren’t sure how well news travelled from one floor to another. Plus, since Rivet Town was mostly safe again, you could probably pick up your phonograph from your old home.

Rats, you thought. So much for my day off.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

The streets and buildings of Belobog’s Administrative District had a light dusting of snow on them, much akin to the powdered sugar they put on the pastries they sold at the local café.

Alexandra Plaza was certainly filled with things to do, including, but not limited to visiting the Neverwinter Workshop, seeing a play at the Golden Theatre, and taking a tour of the Belobog History and Culture Museum. It was nothing short of incredible. Of course, there were a fair amount of activities in the underworld too; they would just be considered less than legal to the people up here.

You munched on your cupcake as you meandered your way to the rail car, the one specifically tasked with bringing denizens of Belobog from one level to another as thoughts flowed through your head. They’d fly in like birds, then disappear without a trace, so you had no time to dwell on them. Ones about your future, your old home, and the expectations you had for yourself.

What is it that I want, exactly?

You weren’t quite sure. You shuddered. That dream earlier had really shaken you up.

They say people dream about what they want the most, you wondered. But was it realistic in the slightest? You didn’t think so at all.

A cloud of frosty air rose in front of your face as you let out a heavy sigh. As you were reaching the ticket gate, you rounded a corner and nearly knocked heads with an older woman. She wore a maroon leather jacket trimmed with brown mink fur that brought attention to the hood and sleeves.

She glared daggers at you, pulling her tote close to herself and mumbling something about “soot-dwellers.” Meanwhile, you did everything in your power not to let your eyes roll out of your sockets.

Straightening your back, you hopped onto the rail car, leaving the Overworld and your worries behind you.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

As the rickety screeches of the elevator subsided, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

The underground was as familiar as the back of your hand. Although you’d spent a fair bit of your years as a vagrant in the mines, Boulder Town had an air of nostalgia to it as well. The miners used to gather there for a meal and a drink after a long day’s work (although it was mostly for a drink, if your memory served you correctly).

Soot and iron flooded your nostrils in waves as you walked around the northeast corner of town. The faraway shouts of the Fight Club arena, along with the hearty laughter from the miners in the tunnels, could be heard.

And how you missed this feeling! The sighs, the smells, the feeling of belonging. It all brought memories flooding through your brain. You missed singing and dancing around a campfire with other workers— arms around each other’s shoulders, mugs of bread soda in hand— while also competing to balance as many items as you could on Peak, the lazy miner (the record was 17).

A common saying from the old folks was that Geomarrow could make your blood run hot. And honestly, you believed them. One glance around the city hammered in the impression of hot-blooded community you felt. Geomarrow was the lifeblood of Belobog, and you were proud to be a part of it every step of the way.

Surface-dwellers could never understand it, you thought to yourself smugly. But you would never say that aloud.

You blended in seamlessly here, no mannerism you’d learned as a child going forgotten. You fell back into your usual swaggering gait, patting the backs of every old friend you came across. There was Seele, arguing with some poor member of Wildfire right next to the grocery stand; Hook, who was running at full speed alongside two other children, and you could’ve sworn you spotted a flash of someone with dark blue hair and green eyes before they vanished into a dark alleyway.

Old neighbors and colleagues greeted you, which made you smile. In the Underworld, there were no formal titles that you had to remember. Nobility? Never heard of it. If you were self-made down here, it was no joke.

Speaking of self-made, Miss Natasha was the real deal.

After nailing a good amount of posters to the walls, you dusted the soot off of your hands and headed towards the local clinic. The shopkeeper’s bell rang as you entered.

“Hi there, Miss Natasha!” You waved, the fliers pressed tightly to your chest.

The clinician smiled gently at you. “My, my. It’s been a while, (Y/N). How’s life been treating you?”

She stood front and center of the small, cramped room. Only a few cots were occupied; your favorite one next to the Geomarrow heater seemed to beckon you to come and have a seat.

“Quite well, as a matter of fact,” you chirped. “How about you? It looks pretty empty in here… although I guess that’s a good thing,”

Natasha chuckled softly. “I’ve been healthy, thank you kindly. One of the miners actually had a baby last week,” she placed down the vial she had been holding onto a nearby table.

“That’s wonderful!” You responded, clasping your hands together. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

One of the flyers slipped out of your arms and floated slowly to the concrete floor.

“Shoot. Actually, I came down here to give you this,” you said, sheepish about your faulty attention span. You handed her a flier, which had an illustration of a bright orange Solarflower bouquet.

Natasha let out a gasp and placed a hand in front of her mouth. “My goodness. They haven’t held a Solwarm Festival in many years. I didn’t think there would be one ever again,” she beamed at you. “I would be honored to attend, (Y/N),”

You bounced happily on the balls of your feet. Somewhere in the background, the shopkeeper’s bell rang, but the noise was quickly submerged by your other thoughts.

“I’m so glad!” You jabbered on and on. “Make sure to stop by the florist’s for some free suncakes. We partnered with a local bakery this year, so hopefully we can draw in lots of business. And—,”

Natasha’s red eyes flickered towards the clinic entrance behind you for a split second, which made you pause and turn your head slightly. And oh boy, were you glad you did.

Because standing in front of the clinic door was none other than Captain Gepard of the Silvermane Guards, surrounded on both sides by armored soldiers.

The captain locked eyes with you for a moment before you decided the Geomarrow heater in the corner of the room was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen in your life.

Gepard’s eyebrow raised at you quizzically.

“Miss Natasha,” said Gepard. “The Fragmentum monsters in the southernmost part of Rivet Town have been taken care of. Is there anything else you’d like us to attend to?”

He shot another glance at you. There you stood— hands behind your back while bouncing from one foot to the other— decidedly not looking at him. You prayed to Qlipoth he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from his position.

It felt decidedly strange running into him like this. You stood on one side of the room in front of a few raggedy cots, and he stood on the other, soldiers ready to back him up at a moment’s notice less than a foot behind him.

Just like the day you came to the overworld, you felt completely out of place.

Natasha pressed her hands together with a pleased expression. “Wonderful! I believe you’re all set to go for today. Thank you all for your service,”

Her smile practically lit up the room. Gepard nodded. “It’s the least we could do, Miss Natasha,”

You took the opportunity to take a small sidestep towards a rack of scrubs to hide behind.

Natasha, almost certainly sensing your jackhammering heartbeat, turned towards you, effectively gluing you to where you stood.

Shoot! She’s like an apex predator,

“So… Captain. Have you met (Y/N)?” She inquired casually. “They were one of my biggest helpers back in the day, in fact,”

You jumped in, a hint of nervousness present in your voice. “Yes, yes. We’ve met before. We’re well acquainted— and um, friends, I guess?”

You muttered a quiet, halfhearted “yeah” under your breath. You couldn’t see the soldiers’ eyes under their metal visors, but you could guarantee they were eyeing you with major secondhand embarrassment. They probably had no idea you two knew each other. Or maybe they thought that some weirdo from the underground was cozying up to their captain. Decidedly awkward, you thought.

One of them let out a raspy cough, which brought you back to your senses.

“It’s really best I get going,” you told your old caretaker. “I have to pick up an old family heirloom at my old place. Nice seeing you, Gepard,”

You smiled as best you could, but to Gepard, it appeared as if it were made of ice. Compared to how much you usually talked, the room felt frigid in the absence of your chatter.

The captain wondered what the reason could be for such visible uneasiness. But he forced himself to keep his lips shut. Now was not the time.

Natasha gave you a reassuring pat on the back as you floundered around in your head. Better to let the youngsters sort themselves out, she thought. It was about time you learned, anyway.

“Oh, before I forget,” Natasha added. “Be sure to take care around that area, dear. You may need clearance to enter. Maybe you should bring someone along with you?”

“Right, sounds good,” you replied, glossing over the last half of what she had said. You wanted to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. But Gepard’s incredible generosity could not be thwarted.

“Perhaps us guards could come with?” He offered.

You punched yourself mentally at not hightailing it out of there earlier.

“I’m sure its fine. There’s really no need to trouble yourselves—,” you said, waving your arms about.

Gepard didn’t falter in the slightest. “The leader of Wildfire herself said it may be dangerous, and it is imperative to us that the safety of Belobog’s citizens is ensured. We’d like to help if we can,”

Ouch. He was right on the money. Natasha’s powers of suggestion were seriously unmatched. The instructions her smile hid were very, very thinly veiled.

Your shoulders fell as you deflated. “Okay, fine,”

Gepard dipped his head, and all the Silvermane Guards tapped the butt ends of their halberds on the floor in unison, causing the ceiling to shake. A ceramic vase tipped over, causing the flower inside to meet its unfortunate end. You looked at it mournfully.

“Wait—,” you paused. “How many of you are coming, exactly?”

“As many as you need,” Gepard replied, tapping his fist to his chest.

You felt a wave of panic rising in your throat at the horrifying vision of being surrounded and jostled around by an entire squad of soldiers. “Oh, there’s no need for you all to come. Just one or two is fine, thank you,”

You imagined your old neighbors peering out their windows at you and gasping at the notion that you had been arrested.

“…you know what? Maybe just one is fine,”

“Understood,” said the captain. “You four may go back to your posts. I’ll accompany (Y/N) to Rivet Town,”

You cursed the goddess of fortune for choosing this exact moment to smite you.

Normally you’d be happy to see him, but all of these soldiers standing around were giving you a major freak-out. To make matters even more stressful, each of these people directly served the Supreme Guardian.

Of all people to have a gigantic crush on, why’d it have to be one of Belobog’s most incredible and amazing people?? You sighed. Why couldn’t you have fallen for that weird guy who stood by the Everwinter Monument every day? He was waaay closer to your league.

You gave Gepard a queasy thumbs-up.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

Humming an old mining song was the only thing keeping you distracted from Gepard’s shining presence beside you.

Now that the other guards were gone, it should be alright, you thought. But you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation for some reason.

Easy now, (Y/N). Yes, the object of your unrequited love is walking right next to you. But it could be worse. It could be an automaton Direwolf!

So why was it so damn hard to talk all of a sudden??

He didn’t look like a Direwolf, even though he was as tall as one, you thought. You narrowed your eyes at him as you walked to double check.

Gepard glanced down at you with a questioning “hm” that almost made you keel over.

Curses. This was overwhelming.

Additionally, your original hypothesis was proven correct a few months ago. Gepard was a big softie at heart. He’d even get down in the dumps when his flowers would inevitably die (which hadn’t happened recently, thanks to you.)

You wondered if he ever worried about other people’s opinions. He was so kind and considerate, it pained you to imagine him getting the brunt of public backlash as such an influential figure.

Knowing him, he probably didn’t. But if he did, he would likely hide it to avoid burdening others. He wasn’t exactly the type to expose his soft underbelly, after all.

You hoped that if anything came up, he’d consider reaching out to you. The man who was Belobog’s iron defense always went above and beyond for the people. But he ought to have someone looking out for him, too.

Scoffing at yourself, you shook your head. Gepard really brought out a slew of worries in you. You did your best to swallow down the lump in your throat when suddenly, you were hit with the nostalgic smell of your old favorite food cart.

Was that grilled olm?? Your mind kicked into high gear. Your stomach let out a loud growl as if to protest the fact that you’d only had a cupcake for breakfast.

You turned to your companion with a pleading look in your eyes. “Oh man, I’m starving. Gepard, would you mind if I made a stop for some grub real quick? I promise it won’t be long!”

“Not at all,” he responded. Without a second to waste, you took off running towards the corner of town where all the food stalls were gathered.

Gepard looked from afar with a pensive look on his face. You’d always held a sort of confidence in the way you walked, but here, in your second hometown, you flitted from stall to stall with an aura of familiarity he had never seen before. You had no problem dodging obstacles that cropped up from nowhere; Gepard, however, felt like his limbs were made of wood as he tried in vain to catch up to you. His eyes had widened hilariously as he stepped into a pothole and his arms went flying in the air.

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaimed while offering your arm out to him for balance. You bit back a laugh at his flushed cheeks. “Would you want to sit down while I wait in line?”

He accepted your offer graciously, and took a seat at one of the low-seated tables by a chain link fence.

You gawked as you watched the Silvermane Guard Captain willingly plant himself at a kiddie table. Gepard could barely fit his knees under it, making him stick out like a giant rock crab.

But you were rudely jostled from your thoughts, as just when you were about to order, two men shouldered right in front of you. You recognized the red leather jackets they wore, symbolizing they were fight club combatants.

Ugh. Scott’s boys. Many knew all too well about his unsavory business practices. Some got involved because they had no choice. Others joined because they wanted the power. You had stayed far away from the institution, preferring to run with a more respectable crowd.

One of the men had chopped brown hair and messy stubble, while the other had blonde hair cut in a mullet. Although you couldn’t tell he was blonde at first, because almost every strand was coated in coal dust. You pinched your nose shut at the smell of motor oil and grease.

They were busy chatting up the vendor with no hint of shame at what they’d done. Your eyes narrowed as you saw one of them shoot a glance at you out of the side of his eye.

They knew damn well what they’d done.

You weren’t going to take this shit from a couple of Luka wannabes, you decided.

Before the brown-haired man could finish ordering, you rapped him on the shoulder harshly. He paused for a short moment to turn his head towards you.

“Excuse me,” you said with a hint of disdain. “I couldn’t help but notice you happened to jump the line,”

The man turned without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. “…and a plate of Belobog sausages with extra sauerkraut—,”

Your eye twitched.

“Hey, you,” you interjected, tapping him again. “The line starts back there. Have you considered getting your eyes tested?”

“It’s just food, love,” he replied. The man paused for a second to spit a glob on the ground next to your shoe. Your lip curled in disgust.

“I see your mother never taught you manners,” you hissed.

The people behind you were starting to murmur.

You clenched your fist at your side as you stared him down, but before you could break his nose, you remembered that Gepard was still sitting by himself at the kiddie table.

You sighed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get into a fight in front of a refined young noble such as himself. He might have a heart attack.

Unfortunately, the brown-haired man wasn’t finished with you. He grabbed your coat collar and yanked you towards him as his companion snickered. You could make out every scar and every bead of sweat on his face.

Sheesh. Overkill, if you ask me.

“Look man, I’m sorry, okay?” You scowled. “Cut in line all you want. You’re the big man. Happy now?”

Okay, you had to admit that wasn’t the best apology in the world. But you would’ve vomited had you made it any nicer.

He snorted, reaching a calloused hand towards your messenger bag. “Yeah? Well, I oughta teach you not to—,”

You scraped the front of his shins as hard as you could with the inside of your steel-toed utility boots.

The man roared like a wounded bear and released your collar, enabling you the opportunity to push yourself away. As he fought through the haze of pain, he readied his stance to fling himself at you, when Gepard’s metal gauntlet pushed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Do we have a problem here?” Your companion asked.

His blue eyes narrowed threateningly at the man, who was currently fighting Gepard’s iron grip. If the captain had let go at that moment, he would have absolutely torn you to shreds.

Murmurs began to erupt from the crowd, such as, “Why is the captain here?” And “serves him right,”

The man snarled again, frothing at the lips. This time, he went for Gepard, wrapping both hands around his throat. You witnessed his expression contort in surprise, and your hackles raised higher than they ever had.

Thinking on your feet, you grabbed the nearest plate of food— which happened to be Frostweave Salmon with cocktail sauce— and threw a large fillet at the man. It hit him square in the face, temporarily stunning him. Sure, it wasn’t a taser, but it was the best you could do.

His blonde-haired companion, having a better sense of self preservation than he did, yanked him backward and away from Gepard. One downward glance at his plethora of medals told him all he needed to know. He signaled at his friend to retreat for the time being, and they slunk away, shooting glares full of venom at you as they went.

You snuck a peek at the vendor, who was currently cowering behind the condiment station. She motioned to you with her hand:

Just go.

Slipping a few shields on the counter for the trouble, you sped off towards Rivet Town once more.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Want one?” You asked Gepard. You held up a limp fillet about 20cm away from his face.

“No, but thank you for the offer,” he declined politely. Your cheeks were still flushed with heat from the subsiding chaos.

“I appreciate your help, by the way,”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, in usual Gepard fashion. The captain’s forward gaze didn’t waver in the slightest.

You soon reached the Rivet Town checkpoint run by two automaton hounds and a few vagrants with shovels. After quickly looking over your papers, they allowed you to enter the premises.

Ever since the disaster, the town had remained eerily silent. Even though it was safe, the only noise you could pick up was your own footsteps. You were so used to the background noise of gears grinding and metal squealing loudly, that the fact that you could hear your own breathing made a chill creep up your spine.

The creepy ambience aside, the salmon was awfully bland, you thought, while munching solemnly. The texture was that of something that had been frozen and thawed multiple times. You were disappointed the quality had dipped so low since you’d left.

“(Y/N), are you feeling alright?” Gepard’s voice rang out of the blue.

You nearly choked on a chunk of fish. “What? No, why?”

He looked at you with horror in his eyes. Realizing your mistake, you jumped in faster than you could say “chicken and mushroom skewer.”

“YES. I mean, yes! I’m okay, why do you ask?” You crammed the rest of the salmon in your mouth and tossed the empty plate in the nearest dumpster.

“Please excuse me for being intrusive, but you’re usually… a bit more talkative, perhaps?” Gepard said, scratching his chin. He had an instinctive desire to rest a hand on your shoulder, but you seemed farther away from him than usual, both physically and emotionally.

“I guess I do, huh?” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m okay, just a little tired, I guess. Thanks for worrying, though,”

Gepard’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, but he didn’t want to intrude.

Meanwhile, you lamented at your emotional communication skills rivaling that of a five-year-old’s. You’d better pick up the slack before he started to suspect something.

As you continued on your not-so-leisurely stroll, you came across an open clearing, with nothing but a single food cart in the middle. It seemed to be fully operational, with steam still rising from the griddles.

The sight completely baffled Gepard.

“What reason would a food cart have to be all the way out here?” He asked.

“Oh, that?” You said, turning to look at the cart. The sight would’ve appeared completely eerie to a normal person; the cart had no wheels, and yet there weren’t any visible marks indicating it had been dragged from somewhere. “That’s Belobog Burritos, of course!”

“Belobog… Burritos?” He wondered aloud.

“Yep. It’s a food stall that’s kind of an urban legend. Been here as long as I can remember,” you shrugged. “It sits there every day, no owner or anything, but there’s always freshly made food. Even when the town went under, it was still up and running,”

You waved your hands in his face in a vague gesture that he assumed was supposed to be spooky. His irises made a concentrated effort to follow your every motion.

“…or so I’ve heard,” you continued. “Apparently, if you get something from the stall, you have to pay in full or some seriously bad stuff starts happening to you,”

Gepard cast a stiff look back at the cart, feeling his blood run as cold as ice. He suppressed a shudder and continued walking. But the thought kept weighing on his mind as he walked. He felt as if there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from breathing in all the way.

Jeez, he looks pretty shaken up, you thought as you stole a glance at him after a few minutes. His face was a few shades paler than it had been previously, and his neck was all stiff. It looked like he was trying his best to not be scared (and failing miserably).

Maybe you could hold his hand to make it less scary, a part of you whispered slyly.

You beat that internal voice with a sledgehammer as soon as it surfaced.

I guess I’ll check if he’s okay,

You tried to lay a hand on his deltoid, but completely missed and firmly patted his lower back— which was much more intimate a gesture than you’d attempted. Gepard’s shoulders flew upwards in a flash as he curled them in towards his chest, and his eyes blew wide open.

“Gyeep!” He let out a strangled shriek through clenched teeth.

Your jaw fell open.

“Oh, shit!” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, are you alright?”

His armor rattled with how heavily he was breathing as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Sheesh, you had never seen him this shaken before.

Gepard’s face burned like a furnace. “I’m perfectly fine. Just ill at ease,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dabbing at his forehead with it.

That didn’t do much to convince you that bringing him had been the right idea. You sighed. Gepard really was too kind for his own good.

Holding out your elbow at a right angle, you made a small offer to reassure him.

“Want to hold on to me until we get there?” You asked. “It’s okay if you’re scared, you know,”

You glanced around at the old, ruined buildings, which were surrounded by barbed wire and rubble. The whole area felt hostile, even to you.

“I don’t blame you, honestly. This place is pretty freaky,” you said with a short laugh.

“Okay,” Gepard paused. “If it’s alright with you,”

You smiled warmly at him. “Go ahead,”

He raised his arm and gingerly placed a hand on your bicep, curling his fingers slightly around it for a better grip.

“There! You have nothing to fear now,” you said reassuringly. Gepard blushed. He wanted nothing more than to beat himself up for falling apart in front of you in such an uncouth manner.

You continued walking towards your destination; this time, his heartbeat felt a bit more relaxed with you at his side.

After a short while, the ruined structure of your old home appeared looming from the dark. As a monument to the destruction, the skeletal building almost seemed to reach towards the false sky above.

“Quaint, isn’t it,” you joked, turning towards Gepard. Looking at the house in its entirety, the shutters were missing from the windows, the roof was nonexistent, and the chimney had been mostly reduced to a pile of bricks. It was entirely unsalvageable from a realist’s perspective.

The captain studied your features carefully— you showed no traces of hurt or anger that would normally be present at such a scene.

It puzzled him, how you were able to maintain such a cheerful demeanor when a building that was supposed to represent comfort and safety was torn completely to shreds. He was filled with admiration at how well you had held yourself together.

“Let’s go in,” you said. You nudged away the splintered wood door with your elbow and stepped into the building— you really hoped it hadn’t been ransacked while you were away.

Gepard’s hand dropped reluctantly to his side. He followed suit, scanning the interior for any structural instabilities.

“What are you searching for?” He inquired.

You were busy bending down over a fallen bookshelf with books scattered in its midst. You analyzed the wreckage; a few ceramic teacups and saucers lay crushed under the impact zone, which you took care to avoid.

You brushed a few coal-black cobwebs out of your way that made you want to pull your skin off. “Just an old phonograph. It meant a lot to me as a kid, so I figured it was time I went back for it,” you said, not bothering to mention the dream you’d had that morning.

As much as you wanted to deny it, it almost felt like the phonograph was the one part of the dream that could come true. Hearing the music you listened to in your childhood again wasn’t a hard thing to accomplish, but that lovely, soft feeling that had blanketed your heart when you had realized that Gepard was waiting for you in that kitchen— you didn’t think you could recreate that.

Considering your dream would never, ever happen.

You felt disappointment form a hard lump in your stomach.

When did I start believing in a pipe dream? You wondered. Natasha would scold you for chasing such nebulous goals.

“I got a promotion recently too. I was actually considering moving out and getting an apartment instead of staying at the florist’s. It gets crowded there sometimes,” you said offhandedly.

“You got promoted?” Gepard replied, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about this, even with Serval serving as the best grapevine around.

“Yeah, I did!” You said happily. “I totally forgot to mention it because—,”

I’ve been avoiding you since we went to the museum, whispered your inside voice.

“I… wanted to surprise the others,” you drabbled, your shoulders drooping the slightest bit. But you picked them up as fast as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “You have my sincerest congratulations,”

That sent another pang of guilt through you. He was so incredibly earnest. And here you were, lying straight to his face in order to keep him at an arm’s distance. All because your own feelings were too much to handle.

You needed something to take your mind off the situation, and quickly.

“Hey, check this out!” You said with a little more artificial enthusiasm than you’d intended. “This photo is practically ancient!”

You hoisted an old sepia photo of you and your grandmother in front of your chest. You were watching her lift a tray of cookies into the oven in the kitchen. There was a huge variety of sweets, including chocolate buckeyes, and coconut macarons. You missed her baking more than anything.

In the picture, your grandma wore a simple lilac apron, decorated lovingly with white lace around the edges. It was incredibly well-made; you’d had trouble finding one of similar quality ever since (even though the goods were supposed to be super high-end in the overworld).

Gepard, however, had lost all ability to speak, completely blown away by the piece of your past you had so voluntarily let him see.

You looked so joyful as a child, completely free of expectations that would have been bestowed upon you had you been raised as a noble, like him. That wide, toothless smile held treasures he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“So cute…” you muttered softly. You quietly removed the picture from its frame and slipped it into your bag, where you felt it rest alongside your old pickaxe that you brought with you everywhere.

Running a quick check in the tiny hall closet, you thought you heard the high-pitched sound of ice cracking in the kitchen.

Weird, you thought, poking your head around the corner to take a better look. But what you saw nothing short of baffled you.

An ice-type Fragmentum creature, donning the damaged apron of your beloved grandmother, stood in front of the oven range. The kitchen itself was mostly intact, save for a few boxes of grains scattered about and a few appliances knocked over.

“Oh,” you started. “Son of a—,”

The creature let loose a gurgling sound from its throat and charged at you.

“Shit—!” You yelped as you scrabbled around for the nearest weapon. All reason leaving you, you completely forgot about the pickaxe in your bag. In the few seconds before it reached you, you took notice of a rusty frying pan hanging from a holder on the wall. Mimicking Gepard, you swung it with every drop of strength in your body and landed a forceful whack on the side the monster’s head.

The sound of metal on metal rang out all through the house. Bits of ice fell off the creature, sizzling with eerie smoke as they hit the tiled floor.

The figure struggled to regain its balance, reaching its icy claws toward your face. You could feel the icy chill radiating off of them, stealing your heat away.

That’s my heat, you bastard!

Gepard, having certainly heard the commotion, came speeding into the room like the cheetah he was named after. You were clinging onto the back of the monster, which was bucking you around like a Voidranger in a futile attempt to dislodge you.

In a sudden burst of effort, it flung you backwards and sent you careening into one of the cabinets. Bits of rotten wood showered on you from the impact, and a stray spice bottle hit you on the head. You disgustedly spit out the sawdust that had snuck into your mouth and caked your tongue.

The captain desperately scanned the room for something to use. The kitchen was far too small to activate his shielding device, so he wrapped his arms around the nearest table and hurled it straight at the icy foe (all while praying you wouldn’t be furious at him afterward for ruining your kitchen).

Thankfully, the table made an excellent weapon. It sent the monster sprawling across the floor with a creaking groan. Gepard then launched himself at it and pinned it to the floor with his arms.

Unfortunately, the enemy hadn’t quite given up yet. It wrestled one of its arms free of Gepard’s grasp and reached its clawed hand to slice at his lower legs. In a strange fit of ingenuity, you grabbed your pickaxe out of your bag, wedged it under the Fragmentum creature’s head, and just like a bottle cap— you twisted its head clean off.

Letting out a sickening crack, the monster’s head rolled leisurely across the floor and bonked into an open cabinet door. You nearly vomited at the sight.

Now unoccupied, Gepard rushed to your side. “Are you—,” he started.

“Yeah,” you choked out. “I’m okay,”

You clutched your chest while letting out wheezing gasps.

The captain glanced around the area worriedly. “I think it’s best we get going. There could very well be more monsters around here,”

“Wait—,” you gasped, scrambling to your feet. “I think— I think I found it,”

You peered into the cabinet that had been violently smashed o pieces. Something glinted at you from the debris— but a grinding sound came from outside that made your hair on your neck stand completely on end.

Bending down, you brushed away the wood chips from the spice cabinet and successfully uncovered the old phonograph. It was in decent condition, aside from a few screws missing, and your family’s record collection lay right beneath it.

“Ah, classic gran,” you said aloud. She did have a habit of putting things in the wrong places, after all. That saved you from having to check the upstairs floor.

“Okay, now let’s go,” you declared. You crammed as much of the device as you could into your bag, the horn still handing out of the flap, and made a mad dash for the front door. Gepard’s armor rattled as he followed suit.

We better tell the guards about this, you thought while your feet pounded against the pavement. Your breath condensed in large clouds as your throat burned with the taste of iron.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to see if Gepard was still following, just in time to see his eyes widen in horror.

Your boots left long marks in the dirt as you skidded to a halt. There you stood, aghast, as you realized what greeted you wasn’t the exit— but an automaton Direwolf.

It stood tall and menacing, with steam pouring out its joints and pistons that fired like a heartbeat. As a piece of technology from the old world, no one fully understood how they worked, not even denizens of the Robot Settlement, who modified and repaired them for a living. It made dealing with hostile ones a living hell.

“By the Architects,” Gepard swore. “(Y/N), find somewhere to hide, quickly!”

You obliged, opting for the nearest shelter that happened to be a pile of crates and barrels to the right of him. You crouched like a bear cub with your knees pressed to your chest as you tried to get a grasp on the situation from your location. Your companion was gearing up to ready himself for battle.

Shit. I need an opening to activate Earthwork, Gepard thought. He hoisted the barrier-device-slash-guitar-case defensively. I have no one to cover for me here,

The aggressor made of meshing cogs eyed him ominously through its crosshair. He eyed it back, the gaze of a predator in his eyes. He refused to falter, even minutely. Doing so would mean death for the both of you.

It raised its one chainsaw arm with a thundering roar, and the battle began.

The earth shook tremendously with every step as it sped forward, full-throttle. Gepard’s heart thrummed as he tried to consider all his options, but it was closing the distance faster than he could formulate his thoughts. He couldn’t roll right or risk giving away your position, or dodge too much and risk leading it towards the settlements. But a solid hit to one of the leg joints would slow it down considerably.

The automaton Direwolf swung ferociously at the captain, cutting large glowing divots in the nearby boulders that sizzled as they touched the surrounding air. Steam hissed, loud and high-pitched in your ears, bringing out a type of instinctual fear from within you.

A grimace crossed Gepard’s features. Direwolves were built for speed, so there was no chance you could both outrun it. Additionally, there was nothing that could escape the gaze of its optical sensor with so little cover around. He was going to have to fight it head-on.

It raised its mechanical arm to strike once more. The captain grasped his battering ram firmly by the handle, and swung it in a large arc. It landed a solid blow in between the metal plates that comprised its abdominal area, and sparks showered in the air, suggesting a sufficient amount of damage had been dealt.

The now open wires sizzled as the automaton staggered backwards. Gepard wasted no time seizing the opportunity; he was relentless in his following sequence of attacks, aiming for the most vital points concealed within the machinery.

He ducked under its flailing limbs and struck a heavy blow on the machine’s back. But it swiveled its torso around unexpectedly, without moving its legs even a millimeter, and swung at him again, leaving deep scores in the earth. Gepard skidded out of the way, leaving his cape billowing wildly behind him with the following dust cloud.

Your eyes flickered around the area as clangs and thuds rang out around the clearing. You reached a mitten-clad hand out tentatively to slink along the ground, but retracted it as white-hot sparks showered your exposed forearm. You had to make your next move, and quickly.

There was no way Gepard could win a battle of endurance. Not even with his superhuman amount of stamina. You almost called out to him, but halted when you realized it could easily draw the Direwolf’s attention to you. And you had nothing but your old pickaxe in your bag to defend yourself with.

You had to get help. It made no difference if it was the vagrants with shovels or the entirety of the Silvermane Guards. You had to make sure Gepard got out safe.

You ran a quick scan over the area; there were a few other piles of debris that were sizable enough to stay out of the monster’s field of view. If you could just make it to the exit, you’d be free to call for help.

Ducking your head, you sprinted to the closest pile and dove behind it. You snuck a quick peek at the scene. Gepard was still holding his own. Good.

This time around, you hid behind a barrel laying on its side. A patch of metal lattice fell over with a loud crash due to the shockwaves of the fight, but the machine paid you no mind.

Finally, you resorted to shuffling on your hands and knees to crawl just out of view behind a tarp that was almost threadbare. By this point, your pants were ripped and your knees were bleeding, picking up bits of rocks and glass that stuck to your sticky skin. But you ignored it. You were in the homestretch. The guards couldn’t be too far away now, they had probably heard all the commotion and—

You heard a loud thud that made your limbs completely freeze over.

Trembling, you turned ever-so-slightly behind you. You caught sight of a stray barrel rolling over to bump itself on your foot, followed by a pained groan that stole your breath right from your throat.

Gepard?

In the dim lighting, you could vaguely make out a figure clad in silver and gold, laying limply against a wall, a few broken crates on each side. Fire flickered in the background, illuminating the barrier device laying discarded on the ground, just out of arm’s reach for him.

You noticed something drip down slowly from the top of his head and soak into his fur collar, staining it a bright crimson. His eyes were closed, and he was showing no signs of moving.

Blood… that was definitely blood.

Time seemed to grind to a halt around you. Your knees threatened to give out, and you could only vaguely make out the sound of your own voice— screaming, wailing— something that wasn’t quite words. The sounds from the enemy machine sounded muffled, as if they were deep underwater, in a world different from your own.

Shaking profusely, you became aware of just how much fear had saturated your body. But you had to keep moving. The captain was alive until proven otherwise.

And you would hang on until the very end.

You ground your teeth together and made a quick sweep of the area. There was a package of dynamite that miners used to blow apart piles of debris to your right, but you had nothing to light it with. Even if you did, you didn’t trust your aim enough to keep Gepard out of the blast radius. To your left lay some books, a radio, and— an oddly shaped rock?

Whatever. It was just the right size for throwing.

You stuffed it in between your arms and pushed aside another book just in time to spot one of the old flares the miners used to use.

Yes! That could be your saving grace.

Your arms wavered so much that you thought that they might fall out, but you had to keep going. Gepard’s life was on the line.

You whipped back around and cranked your arm back far as it could go, when suddenly, you felt something whir and vibrate in your palm— and a strange mechanical voice rang out in your ear.

“Hello,” said the voice, which seemed to be coming from your palm. “I am Findie, model 17703 of the home-finding series. Please input your instructions, and I will locate whatever you are looking for!”

You whipped the rock(?) in front of your face. One of the gears rotated, as if it were waving “hi” to you.

“What the FUCK??” You roared in surprise.

A rock was a rock, no matter how much it yapped, you decided. You twisted the cap off of the fuse, wound your arm up, and chucked the rock with the fury of a blizzard.

“Over here, asshole!” You screamed. Your fear tore through your body like a tornado, threatening to tear you apart.

Fury rolled off of you in waves as you held the fuse high above your head. Clouds of red smoke rose into the air and billowed around you, swirling around your dust-covered face.

The rock landed square on the machine’s metal head with a loud tang.

The machine turned towards you menacingly for a short moment, but immediately refocused on the prey directly in front of it.

Shit. That was bad.

You scrabbled on the ground for anything you could get your hands on. A lantern? That would do. A plank of wood? Why not. Who gave a shit at this point??

Anything that would get you out of there and safe and sound. You’d promised you would help Serval with an invention later that week, and you weren’t one to break your promises.

The items bounced off of the machine one after another. It would halt its movements every time one made contact, but you were running out of things to throw.

Tears and ash clogged your eyes, but you wouldn’t let up, even for a second. Not until every bone in your body was forcefully broken and you were bruised and battered into next month.

“Get your GRUBBY HANDS off of him!” You roared. Tears and snot were streaming down your face now, and your entire body screamed at you to run, escape, anything. But you forced your feet to stay rooted to the ground where they were.

Gepard’s head lolled weakly to the side. You choked as you assumed the worst had come to fruition, and you felt as if the world was crumbling around you.

You were in the middle of chucking a portable radio at the thing when you heard the smattering of feet heading in your direction. You gasped as a wayward antenna poked you right in the eye.

Soldiers. And a lot of them, at that.

Guards in Silvermane uniforms stormed the clearing, waving around halberds, cannons, and muskets galore. Without wasting a second, the cannoneers let out a barrage of attacks that nearly blew both of your ears off.

“Backup is here, Captain!” One of the soldiers announced. You spotted a slight movement from the spot where he lay.

Another wave of firing went off. Cannonballs embedded themselves in the joints of the machine, inhibiting its movement— it began to creak and sway on its feet. Evidently enough, it realized that the most imminent threat came from the squadron of soldiers that had arrived, rather than Gepard, who was likely unconscious.

The main soldier continued issuing orders. You watched him, completely enraptured, from behind. You hardly noticed as a Silvermane gunner snuck up from behind you, and shuttled you somewhere out of harm’s way.

Soldiers had successfully managed to surround the automaton, impeding its movement. The Direwolf stamped its feet in confusion at the sudden commotion.

Shots rang out once more, and several nets weighed down by iron balls wrapped around the machine— along with a grappling hook that tied its legs together with a cord. But the machine sliced through the feeble wires with little effort.

As you took a step back, something clanked against your thigh from inside your bag. You gasped, turning to the soldier beside you with a realization.

“You have to disable the control panel,” you said, recalling your previous knowledge of when you worked in the mines.

“We’re more than aware of that,” he said curtly. He turned back to the battlefields without as much as another word.

“Yes, but the door to the panel is impervious to attacks. Could you take out the optical sensor on its face, maybe?”

The guard sighed, but shouted to the nearest cannoneer to aim a shot towards its face. An explosion burst from the area where the attack had landed. The automaton was now twitching violently with its sensors disabled.

Gepard, who was slowly regaining consciousness, sensed the sudden halt in activity. It was far noisier than it had been previously, the shouts of men and the clanging of metal made his head throb with pain. Sticky red liquid coated his falling eyelids, staining his vision red. The captain ignored the pounding in his skull and forced himself to his feet.

I… have to… I’m… still.. needed…

His body groaned with effort. He fought through the haze of pain and commanded his eyes to focus.

Earthwork was just a hair’s breath away. All he had to do was grab it.

Qlipoth… give me strength!

The captain mustered every ounce of courage in his body, bracing his arm against a nearby wall for support. Blood dripped down his face with even more fervor, but he wiped it off with his glove, sending a few small droplets smattering to the ground.

“The captain— he’s alive!” One of the men cheered. You gasped as you saw him stagger to his feet.

Gepard willed his muscles to move and dove in between the machine’s legs. He snatched his weapon and spun, quickly smashing it in one of its knees. The Direwolf lost its footing and toppled over immediately.

“Captain, use this!”

Gepard swiveled, surprised to hear the voice coming from not one of his own soldiers, but you.

Your pickaxe sailed through the air and clattered on the ground at his feet.

“Use it to break into the control panel on its chest,” you instructed with a shout. “There should be an emergency off switch right in the center!”

He grabbed the tool, but instead of using it to pry open the door to the circuit breaker, he punched it repeatedly with the metal gauntlet on his right hand until the steel door crumpled like a piece of paper. Your jaw dropped in shock at the sheer ferocity of the sight.

Clinging to the machine’s torso, Gepard scanned the machine’s chest cavity for the switch. But bundles and bundles of wires blocked his view.

The gigantic machine began to rumble. Gepard had to act, urgently. There wasn’t enough time to search for the switch, but he had to do something.

As thoughts fired through his brain like lightning, he had an idea. He could use the pickaxe to hook under the wires and pull them out. If he used his hands, his metal gauntlet would likely act as a lightning rod and thoroughly fry him, but the pickaxe’s handle was entirely made of wood. It was a decent shot.

The captain held the pickaxe with both his hands and used it to dig under the nest of wires, using his legs to anchor him to the machine— and yanked backwards until the threads snapped. He did it again, this time winding them around the pickaxe like spaghetti before pulling once again.

The machine fizzled and popped, its lights flickering before finally succumbing to the damage and collapsed, leaving enormous dust clouds in its wake. You covered your mouth with your shirt to avoid breathing them in.

Gepard’s chest heaved with great effort, and three guards hurried to his side, immediately, shouting things like, “Captain, are you injured?” And “Captain, we were so worried!” You were surprised at just how much emotion the usually stoic guards’ voices held when dealing with their leader.

The young noble let out an enormous sigh of relief. As soldiers practically swarmed him on all sides, one offered their shoulder for him to lean on, and they hobbled back towards the Silvermane Guard camp together.

You were barely aware of the sensation of someone throwing a blanket around your shoulders (even though you were still sweating buckets), and leading you to another location. You figured this was the secondary location of the Silvermane Guards’ camp, reserved for dealing with the public.

Said location was farther than Gepard than you had hoped it would be, but you couldn’t afford to be picky at this point. You were dropped off at an inconspicuous tent that was complete with snacks and apple juice to await further instructions. You felt much like a lost child.

The tent had a few tarps and blankets on the ground to shield you from the cold, hard ground, which would suck the heat out of any living thing that it came into contact with. It also included a stack of down pillows in the corner, which you readily surrounded yourself with, stacking a few to prop yourself up like a makeshift recliner. They definitely weren’t the softest things in the world, but they offered a welcome respite for your aching bones.

Although the tent’s canvas was reasonably thick, voices still managed to make their way in from outside. Bits and pieces of conversations, mostly about the incident and how you were faring. You wish they’d just ask you, honestly.

The next time you heard someone’s voice, you took the opportunity to creep out of your tent and ask them how Gepard was doing. The recipient of your questioning was power-walking with a few rifles in their arms that were likely being brought back to the barracks.

You lifted a hand to get their attention. “Excuse me, is Gep—,”

You bit your tongue. The sheer amount of guilt that welled up in your throat was utterly stifling. You didn’t have the right to address him with so little respect after what he’d been through.

“Um…” you continued, fighting through the anxiety that threatened to close your windpipe. “Is the captain okay?”

“Captain Gepard?” The soldier turned to face you. “Yes, he has a few injuries, but he will survive,”

You let out a wheezing sigh of relief that made your knees shake. “Thank Qlipoth. What kind of injuries?”

“Well— he got his brains jostled around a little bit when his head got bashed against a wall,” the soldier mused. He had an air of casual-ness about him. “He has a few lacerations from some shrapnel as well. Did you see the one on his head? That one was real nasty,”

Nothing had prepared you for the way the ground wriggled beneath you or how your stomach flipped inside out and backwards. You couldn’t breathe for a moment as your diaphragm heaved uncomfortably. You staggered over to the scrap metal pile, where you proceeded to vomit up the meal you’d gotten from the food stall earlier.

The soldier watched as you wiped away the vile liquid dripping from your chin and turned back around.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Why the hell would you say it like that?? You glowered at him internally. He shuddered, feeling your gaze on him.

At that moment, you wanted to be anywhere else but there.

“I’ll uh— I’ll get you a cup of tea,” the soldier said apologetically. You took a seat on a wooden crate, bracing yourself by gripping its edges so tightly you thought your knuckles would freeze that way.

They came back in a heartbeat with a steaming cup of tea, as promised. It was the type commonly used in the Silvermane Guards’ rations. You drank it gratefully, elated to finally be rid of the taste of vomit in your mouth.

After you’d finished, you asked if there was anything you could help with around camp. The guard looked at you like you’d sprouted an extra head.

“H-help out? Why?” He asked. “We couldn’t possibly ask you to help out all you’ve been through, Mx. (Y/N),”

After all I’ve been through, huh?

You barked a dry laugh.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you said plainly. “You all have done so much for me. I feel like I owe it to you all,”

You clenched your fist to quell the slight bitterness that was eating at you. “Besides, the only reason I made it out of there alive was because the captain saved me,”

The soldier sighed, loaded with uncertainty at your statement. “I’m not sure, since it’s technically against protocol to enlist the help of citizens without proper reason. But firstly, you should go see the lieutenant—,” he said, resting his hand on his chin. “—I believe he wanted to obtain an incident report from you, but there’s a chance he’ll have a job for you to do afterward,” he pointed you in the direction of the tent, which had a large dark blue banner flying above it.

“Right, okay,” you acquiesced. You set your cup down, dusted off your tunic, and waved the soldier goodbye. He waved back, with a slight air of confusion about what had just happened.

Meanwhile, guards milled about everywhere you went. You soundlessly slipped into the tent you had been directed to, awaiting your sentencing, sitting down in a foldable metal chair in front of a desk with a quill and an inkwell. You flinched at how cold it was.

The tents here weren’t the most comfortable thing ever, but they were much neater than the ones in the vagrant camp, where people hoarded every scrap of metal they could get their hands on. This led to tents looking more like portable junkyard balloons.

A breeze of air whisked its way inside as the tent flaps peeled open, and the lieutenant’s metal visor glowed like a flame in the lamplight. The man had to duck a fair bit so as not to act as an extra support pole inside the tent.

He set down his hefty shield with a clunk, all while sitting down in front of you. A sheaf of papers also made its appearance from his bag, and he shuffled through them with incredible dexterity (considering he wore clunky metal gauntlets on both hands).

“Hello,” the man said, raising his hand in greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Thrace Hawthorne of the 4th Division of Silvermane Guards. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You must be (Y/N), I presume?” He asked as he extended his other hand towards you.

You took it cautiously, keeping a close eye on his body language. “Yes, that’s me. I was instructed to come here by another guard,”

He gave you a firm handshake, but squeezed your knuckles in a way that made them throb with pain. Air hissed thinly through your teeth. “Yes, and I thank you for being here as we intended,”

You retracted your arm, eyeing the man up and down suspiciously. You couldn’t discern his facial expressions with that stupid hat in the way.

“—you are aware that the Silvermane Guards do everything in our power to maintain a safe environment for the people of Belobog, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied obediently.

“And, in order to keep the Guards as safe as possible, we need as much information as we can get,”

You nodded.

“Good,” he said while dipping the pen nib into the inkwell. “So, I will be asking you a few questions about what happened down here today. Is that alright with you?”

You agreed, albeit not too enthusiastically. Something in your gut told you that you didn’t exactly have the option to refuse.

“I’m glad we have an understanding,” he replied smoothly. “So, what kind of business were you two conducting in Rivet Town earlier today?

You paused, scratching your chin. “I went to retrieve an family heirloom from my old home. Captain Gepard was merely accompanying me at that time,” you explained. “We intended to be in and out in less than half an hour,”

The man across from you scribbled down a few notes. “Were you aware that it was a dangerous area at the time?”

“I was not. We had been told it was largely safe,” you responded. “Threats that severe shouldn’t have been lurking there, as far as we knew,”

Lieutenant Hawthorne tutted, which rubbed you the wrong way. Just his presence made you want to itch. “Where or from whom did you receive this information?”

“No one in particular. I’d just heard word on the street,”

“Any particular people that come to mind?”

“No, sorry,” you shook your head. You’d seen far too many people on your way to recall accurately who had told you what.

“Okay. And why was Captain Gepard accompanying you at that time?”

“I was visiting Natasha, and she had said that it might be best if someone came with me, because it might not be particularly safe,”

“Ah… that Natasha,” The man mused. “Wildfire’s leader,” he said, flipping the page over. You pursed your lips at him as something twisted in your gut. You didn’t trust this man as far as you could throw him and his stupid gigantic shield.

Don’t you dare say her name like that, you hissed.

“The captain himself volunteered to go,” you jumped in quickly. “That’s just the way he—,”

You froze, realizing you’d given away more than you’d intended to. Your emotions had gotten the better of you.

Hawthorne’s gaze was unwavering through his silver visor. “Interesting… on the other hand, what is Miss Natasha like?”

This time, you thought through your words carefully. “She’s— she’s a kind woman and one of the hardest working people in the underworld. She takes care of people at every possible opportunity,”

“What’s her relationship to you?” He inquired.

“She’s the local doctor. Everyone knows her,” you said bluntly.

“Does she have any strong opinions about the Guards that you know of?” The lieutenant asked.

“Not that I’m aware,” you shook your head. “She’s never refused their help or spoken badly of them,” you explained. “She has the best intentions for everyone, no matter their background,”

Unlike you, you slimy bastard, you whispered internally.

Lieutenant Hawthorne asked you a few more questions, mostly about the automaton and the rescue, such as what color it was, if there were any discernible features, etc., before asking completely out of the blue,

“Are you romantically involved with Captain Gepard?”

“No??” You shot a look loaded with incredulity at him. “With all due respect, where did that come from, sir?”

“He’s never mentioned you before,” Hawthorne stated. His voice was like unbending steel. “An affair is unlikely, but not impossible,”

Who in their right mind would arrange a secret rendezvous in RIVET TOWN?? You snorted. This officer wasn’t worth a lukewarm bottle of rye bread soda.

“Then what is your relationship with him?”

Hah. As if I knew, you scoffed. You tried to formulate an answer as best you could.

“We’re friends. And I assume that, like most people, Gepard likes to keep his work and his life separate. That is all,” you said, your tone as flat as a sheet of paper.

“I can tell from your tone that you did not particularly enjoy those last few questions,” the man said, resting his hands on the table. “But this incident was incredibly serious. The guards may suspect some sort of foul play,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You clenched your fists at your sides so hard your knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry for asking something so intrusive. But, a word of advice, (Y/N)—,” the lieutenant said, motioning towards you. “I suggest you keep your distance from the captain for the time being. As a witness of such an alarming incident, you wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself,”

I know that, you gritted your teeth. I’m not stupid,

“Especially considering how he was outside of his usual territory. Some might think you lured him there on purpose,”

You bit back tears, pinching the bridge of your nose to hide your quivering jaw. “Sure. I’ll keep your advice in mind, thanks,”

Turning away so that he couldn’t see your expression, you pushed aside the tent flaps with barely controlled anger.

You knew he was right. All you ever did was get Gepard into odd situations that he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Guilt crashed over you in waves. You were a bad influence, dragging him everywhere without a spare thought for his job or reputation. And he was probably too kind to turn you down otherwise.

Did he even really like you?

You knew this thought was ridiculous, but maybe, just maybe, you had deluded yourself into believing it. It sent sharp jabs of pain through your chest that wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to think around it.

You walked in circles around camp in an attempt to calm yourself down. But it didn’t work. Finally, you ran across the same soldier that had given you tea earlier, and pestered him politely enough that he finally revealed Gepard’s location to you.

You had to get word from the man himself, or you’d never find peace.

After a few minutes of walking around, you spotted a tent that had a few more soldiers milling about it than usual.

Not knowing whether or not their eyes were on you, you approached it cautiously. You crept in even though your mind wasn’t sure if you really deserved to be there.

The medical tent was dark— you had to scrunch your eyes up a fair bit to adjust to the lighting. But, using the small sliver of light filtering in from the inside, you could faintly make out the shape of Gepard lying motionlessly on a cot.

You quietly pulled a metal bin up next to his right side to serve as a shoddy chair. It was then that you realized the true extent of the damage you had done.

The captain’s head was wrapped in bandages that partially covered his left eye. A pad of gauze with adhesive tape on each side was stuck to his chin, and there was a pillow on each side of his head to keep his neck in place, along with one under him to keep him supported. Most of his armor, such as the metal breastplate and his medals, had been removed and set aside, save for the metal arm armor he wore. You wondered if someone had forgotten to remove it.

You noticed his cape hanging torn from a metal rack, and stared at it with a plaintive expression for a few. You didn’t think there was anything you were capable of doing to make this situation any better.

Sighing, you rested an elbow on your knee while tracing the outline of his hand with your free arm. He was resting so peacefully— albeit his eyebrows were a bit furrowed— maybe it would be best if you let him rest for now and came back later?

You rose to your feet quietly like a mouse. But even with a severe head injury, the captain’s perception hadn’t dampened a bit. He began to stir.

“Mmm… Franz? What is it?” He croaked weakly, his brows furrowing the slightest bit. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Franz, is that you?” The captain asked again, a little bit stronger this time. You flinched as he wined in pain. He was definitely feeling the hit he’d taken. You returned to your seat on the frosty metal bin.

“No, sorry,” you said softly. Your stomach churned like butter just looking at him. “…it’s me,”

You patted his hand gingerly, willing your tears to go away.

“(Y/N)…”

Gepard opened his eyes to get a better look in the dim lighting of the tent. You leaned over the cot, your eyes filled to the brim with guilt and ash covering your cheekbones.

“I’m… glad that you’re safe,” he rasped. The captain cleared his throat painfully.

“That’s my line, dummy,” you smiled at him, slightly relieved. But your voice was loaded with pain.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. “There was a lot of… blood… as they were carrying you out,”

“I received a fairly bad cut right above my left eye,” he said. “They gave me a few stitches for it. I did hit my head pretty badly, but it’s nothing life threatening, thankfully,”

“Thanks the architects,” you sighed. “Your armor looks pretty beat up too. Are you gonna get it fixed?”

“It did its job,” Gepard replied. Lantern light hit its surface and it glinted, as if it was agreeing. “My rib cage could have cracked otherwise,”

He patted one of his ribs with his gloved hand to hammer the point home. You felt another twinge of guilt in your chest.

“R-right. Is there anything you need? Like water, y’know,” you murmured.

“I’m satisfied for now. Franz got me everything I needed earlier,” he cut you off.

“Okay,” you chewed on your lip in silence. Your hands fidgeted with nothing, as if searching for something to do.

You could tell Gepard’s eyes were trained on you, but you kept your own focused on the ground. A few chunks of dirt surrounded your feet where they had broken off from your boots that drew your attention.

Tears kept threatening to well up in your lower eyelids, but Preservation be damned— you were not going to cry right in front of him.

You rubbed your face with your sleeve, which unfortunately still smelled like bile, and feigned a cough to make the action less conspicuous.

“Y’know… I wanted to thank you for saving me back there,” you paused, staring off into the distance. “I got off with nothing but a few scratches because you kept me safe,”

Gepard hummed in acknowledgment, for he was unable to nod with his head and neck incapacitated. What you couldn’t hear, however, was how the inside of his head had whispered to him that if you had gotten injured, he would never have forgiven himself. The captain couldn’t say it outright— but he hoped that the way he gazed at you so longingly would get the message across.

With your nerves ticking at the fact he hadn’t said anything, you added, “They asked me like, a million questions before they let me go,” you chuckled lightly. It felt misplaced, but it was the best you could do to cheer him up.

Gepard didn’t seem to find the humor in it, though. His eyes stared back up at the ceiling. “Is that so?”

“Y-yeah,” you twiddled your thumbs slightly. “Some guy named Hawthorne— he sat me down for an hour or two earlier. He seemed kinda shady,”

“Oh, Lieutenant Hawthorne?” Gepard pondered. “I know of him. He may come off as a bit cunning, but he means well. Hawthorne lost his brother during the quarantine of the underworld. He just wants to keep the guards safe from any threat, so that no one has to go through the same experience he did,”

“Really?” You gasped in shock. “I guess I owe the guy an apology then,” you said, resting your head in your hands as your chest twinged with embarrassment.

“…I really jumped the gun on that one, huh?” You sighed.

“I don’t blame you,” Gepard replied. “Trusting your gut is important. And you would have more than enough reason to harbor some animosity, given the way the guards treated you all here previously,”

Something about his voice— although it wasn’t outright comforting— soothed your nerves a bit. Only someone so level-headed could reassure you so well, you laughed inwardly. Which was impressive— considering he was lying exhausted and halfway dead in front of you.

Maybe you didn’t have the right to be scared, because this was just the nature of his job (you know, the one he did every day for a living). But he was supposed to fight valiantly for Belobog’s people,

Not a single, worthless vagrant like yourself.

You kept inhaling a preparatory breath to speak, but each time the words would vanish right as they were about to exit your lips.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to spit it out.

“Gepard… I have a question to ask you,” you paused. “It’s kind of weird— but is that okay?”

The young noble’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Surely it wasn’t— no, it didn’t look like it.

That wasn’t the face of someone who was about to confess. He scolded himself mentally. This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about it. Instead, every hill and valley of your expression was laden with worry and pain. He wished he could sit up and take you into his arms, so he could whisk all of that pain away.

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s just—,” oh Aeons, this is so embarrassing, “Why is it that you hang around someone like me? If I’m being honest, I really don’t understand,”

Gepard’s mouth went dry.

“Someone like you? What might you mean by that?” He inhaled sharply.

“I’m just a troublemaker,” you replied, smiling sadly at him. “And you’re a guard. We’re as different as winter and spring,” you were taken aback almost disbelievingly.

“You’re hardly a troublemaker,” Gepard retorted. “At least, not in Serval’s sense, where she deliberately makes things harder for me,”

Okay, well, maybe not deliberately.

You grimaced. “That may be true. But, I cause you problems in other ways. Like, that time at the cafe tables. You’re a public figure, for Qlipoth’s sake! What was I thinking, pulling you up there in broad daylight?”

You clamped your mouth shut before you ran entirely out of breath. “My presence also puts a strain on your reputation. I’m from the underworld. We’re supposed to be lazy and dishonest, y’know,” you scolded. “I hear old ladies whispering about it all the time,”

You kept yammering, “Hawthorne even asked me if you were off horsing around with me because I brought you out there today,” you groaned frustratedly. “All I do is get you into weird situations,”

You were a centimeter away from pulling all your hair out.

“That’s not entirely true. I get into plenty of weird situations myself,” Gepard protested. “For instance, Serval—,”

“Stop throwing your sister under the bus!” You barked, proceeding to pinch him in the thigh.

“Agh—!” He flinched with a yelp. “As I was saying— that isn’t true in the slightest. Yes, we may have ended up in a few strange situations. But those are a rare minority of the times we spend together,” he shot back.

Gepard reached out and rested his gloved hand on your knee reassuringly, a new look coming across his face. Your heart twirled in your chest.

“Did you know that before we met, my days were largely routine… just like clockwork?” He asked.

“But you brought excitement into my life,” he declared. “Being friends with someone unaffiliated with the guards has been incredibly beneficial in terms of my own personal happi—,”

The captain cleared his throat before he gave away anything more. His cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. “A-anyways,” he sputtered. “The benefits of being your companion far outweigh any drawbacks you think you might have,”

A noise of surprise escaped from your throat as you felt your face begin to heat. Wow, he sure had a way with words. But you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“I— well, what are the guards going to think about you nearly getting killed over a stupid piece of junk?!?” You blurted out, your voice breaking. The phonograph in your bag bumped against the cot at the sudden outburst.

Gepard searched your eyes in vain for what you might be feeling, but he came up completely empty. His chest fell at your distressed face.

“It’s true that the guards are tasked with many important duties,” he began, enunciating each and every word slowly. “Such as defending the union, serving the people, and enforcing the orders of the Supreme Guardian… I believe my help today would fall under the ‘serving the people’ category,”

You tilted your head at him as if to beckon him to explain further.

“We get called to track down lost pets or put up posters quite frequently, in fact. It may not be the most exciting job, but it is an honor to help the citizens of Belobog in any way, shape, or form,” he said stubbornly. “And you are one of the people, are you not?”

He defiantly exhaled through his nose. You were left looking at him, slack-jawed. He’d left you almost no room to argue.

“But— I’m not a technically a citizen of Belobog. I’m just a random vagrant from the mines!” You argued. It was a dumber point than you wanted to push, but you knew no other way to fight back.

“Belobogian creed dictates that we treat the people with respect, no matter where they should live,” the captain said without a hint of doubt. “It’s true that the previous Supreme Guardian sanctioned efforts to close off the underworld, but it was framed in the light that it would ensure the safety of the people on the surface. But it was wrong,”

Gepard sighed, feeling the weight of your words squeezing his chest. “It was my understanding that we were all just trying to survive the Eternal Freeze… but in any case, it would have been disrespectful to ignore Miss Natasha’s request to accompany you—,”

Okay, now that’s stretching it a bit, you blanched.

“—and let you go by yourself. In fact, Article 4, Section 5, Line 2 of the Silvermane Guard handbook states that—,” he blathered on. It honestly impressed you. You were helpless to do anything besides stare in disbelief as words poured from his mouth like a waterfall.

“But wh-what about the higher ups and the old folk? Won’t they get angry at you if they find out you’re hanging out with someone of my standing?” You jumped in the moment he stopped to take a breath.

“If people want to trouble themselves with our relationship, which is in fact, none of their business, I say we let them,” Gepard responded. “It is of no concern to me unless it affects you negatively. In which case, I would step in,”

He tightened his grasp on your leg. “I did not reach the station I am at by trying to please those types of meddling figures. Your background has never once concerned me, not even for a second,”

The captain locked eyes with you in such a way that you thought you’d evaporate if you averted your gaze, it was so intense.

“You are not some kind of vermin,” he proclaimed. “It pains me to see you talk about yourself like this. You are one of the Eversummer Florist’s most capable workers, and first and foremost— you are my friend,”

He finally clamped his mouth shut. Aeons, the man in front of you had no clue how much those words meant to you. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“I promise you, (Y/N). What people think will not come between us in the slightest. I will be your iron wall, whenever or wherever you may need me,” he vowed with every fiber in his body.

And that’s when tears came pouring down your face.

They streamed down your cheeks and soaked into the collar of your coat. Your body shook with sobs, your shoulders shuddering every time you drew in a breath.

It happened so fast that Gepard was completely at a loss. He stammered out a few words, horrified that he might have caused something, but all that came out were a mess of vowels.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Short cries escaped your throat that you tried to stifle with your hand, and you gripped your knees tightly, trying to still your shaking body. But it wouldn’t stop. Your chest felt tight, so tight.

“(Y/N),” Gepard said gently from his position on the cot. “(Y/N),” he called again.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered. “I’m here for you,”

All of those feelings flowed out of you like a dam had broken. He wove his thumb in circles around the fabric of your pants in a comforting gesture, easing your aching soul.

You grasped his hands suddenly with both of your own and held it to your cheek, letting the warmth of his skin through his glove calm you down. You nuzzled into the palm of his hand mournfully, tears continuing to trickle down your face, until they finally slowed to a stop, your cheeks and eyes still wet.

After the crying had subsided, leaving only the occasional hiccup, Gepard pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pant pocket and handed it to you. You blew into it loudly, giving him a congested apology afterwards.

You threw your head back to look up at the tent ceiling while blinking away any remaining tears. Willfully scrunching up your face, you let out a calming breath and returned to looking at the captain. He had a relieved look on his face.

“Okay,” you breathed. “I’m okay now. Thank you, Gepard,”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, placing his hand back down on the cot.

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “But it was more than enough,” you mustered up the best smile you could in order to reassure him.

“Um, about what you were saying earlier—,” you brought up. “If— if you say so. But the higher ups, would they withhold a promotion from you or because you were hanging out with me?”

He smiled gently at you, capturing your soul effortlessly with that simple motion. “I’m quite satisfied with being the captain of the Silvermane Guards, thank you. My deeds as a soldier stand as a testament to that,”

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your coat jacket. “Hah, I guess I was worried for nothing then,” you said with a hint of frustration. “How silly of me,”

Gepard reached up and patted your head reassuringly, causing your eyes to widen. “The fault isn’t all yours. I appreciate you being so considerate, but it’s not your job to protect me,”

He put such meaning into every word he said. Such an admirable way of life.

You swatted his hand away lightheartedly. “Yeah? Well, it’s not your job to protect me, then,” you sniffed. You stuck your tongue out at him as far as it would go, which elicited a short laugh from Gepard.

Aeons, that smiling face was priceless. You could just lean over and kiss him right on that cot.

The smile faded from your face, replaced with something else now. You reached over him and wiped some stray hairs from his face using your single clean glove, watching them fall back into place with a satisfied look.

As you were retracting your arm— much to your surprise— he gently lifted one of his hands and placed it to yours, palm-to-palm. His fingers were slightly bent, so they wrapped around to the back of your hand. A smile danced on your lips; your face and neck much warmer than previously.

You clasped your hand entirely around his, admiring his soft smile. It was so warm and dreamy, a rare ember in a world as cold and hard as Jarilo-VI— a planet so unlike its namesake.

Just when you were stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, you heard a deep rumble (or maybe it was more like a growl?) from your companion’s stomach region.

Gepard went as red as a tomato.

“Captain… I thought you said you didn’t need anything?” You squinted your eyes at him accusingly at the realization.

Gepard internally cursed himself.

Sighing, he said,

“…maybe some porridge will do, thank you,”

BONUS:

“Ugh,” you grunted. “C-captain, you’re heavy! Franz, can you help me get him up real quick?”

Lieutenant Hawthorne, who was walking by the tent at the time, heard shuffling and something that sounded like a grunt of protest from the captain.

“Truly, (Y/N). I can sit up by myse—,”

“NO,” exclaimed both your and Franz’s voices loudly. Hawthorne stopped in his tracks.

“May I at least hold the spoon?” Gepard pleaded. Hawthorne could see your silhouettes from the lantern light cast upon the tent’s walls. You had your hands on your hips as Franz held a bowl and a tray behind you.

You snorted. “In your dreams. I got you all banged up, so it’s my job to take care of you. If I leave you be, you’ll just overwork yourself until you pass out again!”

“May I remind you, that was but a singular instance when—,”

“Lalalalala!” You sang obnoxiously. “I can’t hear you!”

“(Y/N), I beg of you. I must maintain my dignity,” he implored one last time.

“Here comes the Astral Express!” Hawthorne heard you shout, completely overshadowing the captain.

The tent went silent for a moment.

“It’s good, right?” You asked after a short pause.

“…yes,”

Th lieutenant chuckled to himself and continued on his way.

BONUS 2: Belobog Central Hospital

“…and as long as you take care of yourself, you should be good to go in about two weeks,” said the head nurse to Gepard, who was just finishing up giving him the synopsis of his condition. “We’ll be monitoring your condition for the time being, okay? Head injuries are nothing to joke about,”

He agreed. The captain lay in a hospital bed with a neck brace and one leg elevated with a foam wedge, which, frankly, he thought was overkill, considering he was able to walk to the camp.

A vase of fake flowers lay on the bedside table. Gepard smiled to himself. You’d mutter under your breath and call it a waste of a good vase.

After half an hour, the pain medications they had given him finally kicked in, and he’d drifted off to sleep.

He dreamt about making you a rye bread soda iceberg, your eyes lighting up as he placed it in front of you. Maybe once winter came around, he’d make you a pie, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He snoozed softly, when suddenly he was awoken in the middle of the night by a scratching sound at the hospital window.

Gepard lifted his body as much as he could to get a better look, when he spotted the tops of two blonde heads along with a purple-haired one.

The tufted ears on Lynx’s hat wobbled. Serval’s blue eyes peered above the windowsill and they narrowed into crescents as she grinned. Meanwhile, Pela was looking around frantically, making sure no one spotted them.

His elder sister reached up with the multi-tool you had bought her, and fiddled with the lock. The latch came open with a clean pop. And true to her name, Serval slunk in gracefully, her heels clacking on the laminated floor.

“Hi, little bro,” she smirked. “Are visiting hours over?”

He looked at her incredulously. “I think you know the answer to that. Why else would you be breaking in?”

“Breaking in is a stretch,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Like I said, we’re visiting— just outside of the intended time!”

Gepard sighed. “I cannot believe you managed to drag the other two into this. What if you get caught?”

“Actually, it’s three,” your voice piped up. It came from somewhere under Pela. You spoke again. “And we won’t, I promise,”

The captain’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

That’s right. He was on the second floor.

Lynx hoisted herself up, and Pela began to follow suit.

“H-how?” He blurted. “How did you get in here?”

“There’s a dumpster out back that we used to elevate ourselves,” Pela said, not wavering in the slightest. “It could only hold about two people, so (Y/N) is currently holding me up,”

She hoisted herself entirely into the room and beckoned the others to come hoist you up. Gepard spotted one mitten, then the other. And then the rest of you came into view. And you were holding a basket with a blue silk ribbon tied to it.

“We brought you a gift basket!” You whisper yelled. Gepard’s face lit up like a spotlight at the sight of you.

You hopped over to his side and leaned over him with a smile, showing him the contents of the basket. “We’ve got flowers, and cookies, and— hey! Are those fake flowers?” You snapped your head towards the flowerpot indignantly.

You put the basket down and scoffed. “That’s a waste of a good damn vase if I’ve ever seen one,”

Whisking yourself towards the sin against botany, you yanked the faux flowers out and tossed them aside. Then you replaced them with a few stems of white tulips from your basket and filled the vase with water from the nearby sink.

Gepard smiled. You’d said it all almost word-for-word.

And so you stayed a while, talking well into the night. And you were all so tired that no one showed up to their jobs the next day.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

[hyukassubi]

🍪 02 | Of Roses And Cookies

♡𓂃 Pairing -> (Former) Knight! Huening Kai x Seamstress! Reader

♡𓂃 Synopsis -> Growing up, you never believed in purpose, nor destiny. Simply following the path of life, becoming a royal seamstress didn't at all seem like a bad idea. Only thing is, it wasn't your idea.

Your best friend who just so happens to be the crowned prince knows what it's like to grow up having limited choices, and Prince Kang Taehyun doesn't want the same happening to you. The commander knight, in turn, has other plans for the future. After Huening Kai closes a profound chapter of his life, he seeks refuge from the chaos of his past, opting for a cozier lifestyle instead.

... And it just so seems that those plans wouldn't be fulfilled without you.

♡𓂃 Wc -> 628

Tabby hands, scrappy clothes, Mary Janes strapped to your feet where ever you go.

Unlike Taehyun, just like Hueningkai, you did not grow up with a royal background.

Two high school sweethearts that started off as a fling had an accident, that accident being you. Your parents didn’t give up in raising their happy little accident, though. Sure, marriage wasn’t a privilege they had until way later, but you had a great time staying over at your mother’s bakery and your father’s florist nonetheless.

You always did.

The kids at preschool kept talking about the way you smelled.

How, every day, you’d be smelling of sugar and frosting, chamomile and roses, cookies and flowers. Seatmates betting on whether or not that girl will come in smelling like chocolate today, or perhaps pistachio, but then they get it all wrong and the room starts fuming of a lavender haze.

The attention was nice until you begin to notice how talk was all talk and no one really talked with you.

Except for one person— Kang Taehyun.

Boba-eyed, impressively pearly white grin, the face of a baby pumpkin, three year old Kang Taehyun was too adorable to be real.

The baby prince who, to everyone’s surprise, landed in a montessori preschool for toddlers who can barely spell their names instead of a high class Royal Academy for Babies. A small boy like him hadn’t yet any responsibilities bared upon him, anyway. There was absolutely no need to learn basic etiquette nor book-balancing on the top of your head at four years of age. And so, lucky was Taehyun for eating mud in playgrounds and zooming past the teachers in scooters when he should be tucked in a pillowed-up rectangular cribs for naptime.

For now, he was surrounded by village toddlers his age with sacked diapers and snot all over their faces. So, yes, perhaps the girl in the corner of the room dressing up chewed up barbies was a refreshener.

Taehyun whiffs the air, nose pointing to the ceiling, nostrils flared like volcano craters. “You smell nice.”

She looked at him for a second, and then went back to putting paper eyelashes on dolls in skirts and clay blobs for shoes.

Taehyun tilted his squishy-cheeked pumpkin head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in adorable concern. “Do you talk?”

No response.

“Don’t be shy, I think you should talk more. To me.”

You sat quietly for a moment, and… snuck a cookie out of the pockets of your denim overalls.

You split the huge chocolate covered goodness into two uneven excuses of semi-circles.

You gave the bigger piece to the baby prince.

You had always liked keeping the bigger piece to yourself.

The baby prince looked at the cookie, and then you, and then his relatively clean toddler hands, and then back at the cookie.

He grabbed it.

He never left your side since.

You thought you had to get on your knees and bow too after dismounting the carriage to meet the King and Queen at the corridor of the Grand Palace like your parents did.

And then Taehyun said, “It’s okay, a ‘Hello’ is enough for us. And no need to call me ‘Little Crowned Prince Kang’. ‘Taehyun’ is what I go by.” ‘Taehyun’ is enough.”

“What he said.” The King patted his son on the shoulder.

He must’ve been proud.

Your parents did not move.

You had no idea who you were, or what you want or could’ve been besides being the daughter of a florist and baker and the walking aroma therapy in your kindergarten, but you knew the prince had a warm heart and his actions might’ve left you feeling touched.

“Okay.” You replied. “Hello, Taehyun.”

The little prince smiled, and happiness never left him since.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

♡𓂃A/n: My personal favourite line: baby Taehyun sniffing the air and his nostrils puffing up like volcano craters.

What the little toddler reader saw that day:

FJKHKAUJJEHFOAI I cannot wait for you guys to devour the following baby reader chapters because they're sooooo cute

♡𓂃Tags: @sweetheartsaku @imcringebutimfree @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pengningie @marloree @stormy1408 @blossommi

Reblog & review if you like my work !!

[popodoki]

I saw (and heard) a really cool motorcycle on my way home today, and well you know how it goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Different first meeting Catwin AU that nobody asked for, featuring school teacher Edwin and wannabe bad boy Cat King. (SFW)

The thrumming hum of the motorcycle’s engine is driving Edwin absolutely crazy. Not to mention, it’s distracting his students.  The boys who sit near the windows are attempting to subtly glance over their shoulders, get a peek at who drove a motorcycle into their school’s parking lot, the ones sitting too far to get a glimpse are glancing at each other instead, whispering.   

It wouldn’t have been such an annoyance if the damn thing would just leave, but whoever stalled it has been sitting, engine running, for five straight minutes. During study hall, five whole minutes feel like an eternity.   

Edwin knows if he doesn’t get his class under control, they’ll be jittery, distracted for the rest of the period. He has to put a stop to this.  He stalks to the window, pretends not to notice the hurried scrambling of students pretending to be fascinated by their coursework, peers down at the parking lot. The man in the distance, leaning on his motorcycle, is studying a road map. Not a care in the world for anyone else’s peace and quiet.   

"Return to your studies," he tuts at the boy, leaning near comically out of his chair to sneak another peek. Not like Edwin blames the children, a motorcycle was not something you saw every day in this town.  Scooters, maybe.  The occasional Vespa.  Not real motorcycles.   

"Stay seated, class."  Edwin orders as he leaves the classroom, fully aware that they won’t.   

He thinks of all the things he’s going to say to this rude man, all the curt phrases and serious demands he can make of a complete stranger.  He’s no shrinking violet, he’s not intimidated by confrontation (some would venture to call him very confrontational), but the inherent danger in approaching a stranger with a complaint, does make his heart beat just a little faster.   

It’s a beautiful mellow spring day, perfect day for a ride on a motorcycle, Edwin has to admit to himself.  The temperature is perfect, trees beautiful to look at, air smelling crisp, cool, clean. It does absolutely nothing for his current mood. By the time he closes in on his target, he’s got a good snippy energy built up, and this inconsiderate ass will feel the brunt of it. 

The man, still seated, inspecting the road map like it will lead to buried treasure, doesn’t hear Edwin approaching from behind him.   

"Pardon me," he begins, wincing in annoyance at the deafening putter of the bike’s engine. "Excuse m--” Edwin falls silent with a sigh. It’s clear that a polite introduction will not suffice. Desperate times, and all that follows. 

He reaches out, taps the man rather hard on the back, feeling the hard muscle of the man’s shoulder, even through the thick black leather motorcycle jacket.   

The stranger jumps a mile, letting out a short, sharp exclamation of surprise, although it’s barely audible over the engine.  He gives Edwin a glare that could freeze over a hot spring, grips his chest with one hand while he turns off the engine with the other.   

The horrific noise abates, only to be replaced by the man’s low voice. 

"Good grief, sweetheart, you nearly gave me a heart attack, appearing out of nowhere like that. Anyone ever tell you that you can’t just sneak up on a man like that, what are you, some kind of ghost?"   

Edwin quietly mouths ‘sweetheart .. ghost?’ to himself, then shakes his head with a little frown, rids himself of the distraction from both the other’s man’s lilting voice, and the reason he came out here in the first place. 

"Well, that brings me to why I came out here.  Your motorcycle was disturbing my students. I would ask that you keep it turned off, until you’re ready to leave." 

The stranger tilts his head. "Your what?" 

"My students. This is a school you’ve parked in front of." Edwin gestures behind him, speaks slowly, as if to an infant.   

"School?  I thought this was the Allcott estate…" The man looks back at his map.   

"No, that would be about 5 miles away.  You haven’t gotten there yet, though if you continue on the main road, you should get there in just a few minutes."  Edwin rolls his eyes. This is all taking far longer than he thought it would. 

"What sort of accent is that, ghostie?  You’re not from here."  The man folds his map, seemingly content to believe Edwin’s directions.   

"I could say the same thing about you." Edwin snips, ignoring the ridiculous nickname. Immediately reprimands himself internally, feeling like he’s just taken bait.  

"From America myself. Taking a little road-trip," The other man beams, pats the motorcycle’s seat.  "Crossing the pond for the first time.  Seeing the sites, meeting the people, sort of an adventure, you know."  He looks absurdly proud of himself, Edwin can’t help but notice the meager possessions the man has rolled up and secured to the back of the bike. 

"Hm, fascinating. Yes, well. I must get back to my students—" 

"Where’d you say you were from?" 

Edwin sighs, choosing pointedly to not halt in his turning, ending halfway with a sideways gaze at the stranger. “I didn’t. London. I am from London, if you absolutely must know. I teach in this school,” he gestures again, “and I truly must get back to my students, if you don’t mind.  I only came out to ask that you turn your engine off.” 

"What do you teach?" 

My god, the man could absolutely not read social cues.  “English literature.  Now, Mr…” 

"Thomas.  But my friends call me The Cat King."  He holds out a gloved hand and Edwin shakes it, with no small amount of reluctance.   

"I’m sure they don’t call you that," he tuts.  "My name is Edwin, and I must be going.  Goodbye."  He turns on his heel, stalks back towards the school. 

"So long, ghostie."  He hears Thomas call after him.  He nearly whirls around, ready to ask just what was meant by that nickname, but the other man is already kickstarting the engine back up.   

He roars out of the parking lot with a wholly unnecessary flourish, speeding down the road at an alarming speed until he’s gone from sight, leaving only a small rubber burn on the pavement. 

"Fool is going to kill himself, driving like that on these roads."  Edwin grumbles.  He glances up, sees all 14 of his students bolt from view from where they had previously stood, peering out the window to eavesdrop on the exchange. 

[imongkoneho2]

Red Days

Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr X Reader

[Y/n] pookie gets her period.

Shark week, the curse, that time of the month, period and Red Days. Other words to call 'Menstruation'.

"My stomach feels like hell." [Y/N] mumbles as she hugged her knees, sitting on the couch next to Gwen. The blonde look at her with a knowing look, "I heard if you massage your stomach, it helps with cramps. Never tried it though." She explained, munching on a chip.

Taking Gwen's advice, the girl placed her fingers on her stomach - rubbing it in circles, up in down, left and right, whatever makes the painful feeling leave. Gwen stood up, walking away, as Miles sat down beside her, stretching his limbs and placed his legs on the table infront of them.

He faced [Y/N] with a smile, and nodded. "'Sup, Mami." She gave a small smile in response. Her, Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr were planning on watching a horror movie but hadn't decided yet.

So, Hobie and Pavitr were huddled up in the corner scrolling through one of their phone's searching for something to watch. While Gwen grabbed everyone snacks out of the kindest of her heart - but probably only grabbing some for [Y/N].

The air was comfortable, everyone was happy and peaceful. Despite the pain the girl was clearly going through - she ignored it and took a deep breath. Realising that Miles was actually talking to her, she whipped her head and nodded acting like she was listening.

Until -

Drip.

She froze. Did - did her blood just seeped on her - she panicked. "M-miles." "Then, Peter was- what?" "Can you...can you check my butt real quick?" The girl who's soul was about to fly away said, in embarrassment.

"What." Miles said, jaw wide and absolutely taken a back. "Just do it!" [Y/N] kicked her phone off the table on purpose, making it an excuse to stand up, bending over to pick it up.

Miles, closed his eyes. Placing his elbows on his thighs - having an existential crisis. He wasn't a pervert, no. But was it really perverted when a girl asked him to? He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes to look at her bottom.

"W-what am I supposed to see?" He whispered, panicking "Is there a stain?" She answered, voice laced with frustration and worry "...No..!?" [Y/N] breathed a sigh of relief and sat down.

"Miles! You pervert! You were looking at [Y/N]'s ass!" Pavitr said, his mouth opened wide. Hobie was looking at the two, his arms over his head and he whistled.

"W-what!? No! I was-"

------

'You five are incharge of buying groceries. I trust [Y/N] will keep all of you in line.'  Miguel ordered, with his strong voice and threatening demeanour.

"Next on the list?" Pavitr asked, looking around the isle as Miles, Hobie, Gwen and their lovely friend followed behind him. Hobie was pushing the cart and riding it like a scooter as Miles was staring at the grocery list. "Uh.., toilet paper."

They continue walking as Gwen spoke up. "We're just going to get some other stuff." She said, holding the girl's shoulders, smiling. Pavitr's eyebrow shot up, curiosily. "You got money?" "I'll pay for it myself!" [Y/N] interrupted and dashed away along with her blonde friend beside her.

"What's up with them?" Miles questions, scratching his head. When they got back to the headquarters, without causing any trouble - thankfully. They all sat down the  couch and a conversation sat up.

Pavitr, who was beside the girl, tilted his head closely to her with a curious look. "Are you okay?" "Mhm? What's up, Pav?" She responded, confused. "You've been acting weird." "Am I?" She pouted, concerned as she looked at the others for confirmation.

Gwen only shrugged at the question, while Miles nodded, thinking back to the times she acted real weird. "You've been jumpy, luv." He said, with his cockney accent, legs on the table and an eyebrow raised.

"I'm just.. going through, girl stuff." Gwen chuckled at the comment. "Girl stuff?" Miles asked. "Whatcha' mean? Like you got dumped by your boyfriend?" Hobie followed. "I'm..on my period, and I don't have a boyfriend." Y'know, it's kinda weird telling people you have the thing. Especially boys.

But, she trusts them and - they're not creepy anyways. "The fuck is a period?" "What?" The three tilted their head, face contorting to confusion. Gwen lowered her phone with a face of disbelief.

"Am I- seriously surrounded by Idiots!?" Miles pulled out his phone, searching it up. Hobie and Pavitr moved next to him, squinting at the random article. "Uh- wait, I found it. A period is a release of blood from a girl's uterus, out through her vagi-"

Jaws on the floor (Hobie was still looking at the article, unable to take his eyes off it), they looked at the girls in utter shock. "We go through it every month. Not that big of a deal." Gwen said, nonchalantly.

[Y/N] nods in agreement. "Every month!?" "Do...does it hurt?" Pavitr and Miles asked, both stunned and curious. "Sometimes we get super painful cramps." Their friend answered shrugging. "How long does it take?" Hobie finally spoke up, a look of curiosity on his face.

After that, the boys started to pitch in and help. Surprisingly. They were very mature. Pavitr would always serve her Chai, telling her how he found out that it helps with the pain.

While Miles told [Y/N] some advice given from his mom who was a nurse. "You..told your mother that I'm in my period?" She asked in embarrassment. Miles smiled, apologetically.

She was thankful, though.

------

Walking around the carnival, Pavitr went to get tickets for a show, while Gwen was on her way and Miles was getting drinks.

Hobie and [Y/N] were left standing and waiting for everyone. "Man it's so bloody hot." He complained, crossing his arms. "Do you want to go on that ride after the show?" The girl pointed at a cute teacup ride.

Hobie smiled, amused. "Anything you want, luv." She beamed in response and immediately shifting uncomfortably as she looked around. Having a period during a hot day is not the best thing in the world.

She pulled out her phone, only to drop it clumsily. She groaned and bend down, Hobie who's whistling to keep himself occupied, was bored. His eyes wondered a little too much and moved to [Y/N]'s ass.

And saw a red stain. He winced.

"Hey, uh. Love, you've got a lil' problem" Hobie points at her bottom as the girl whipped her head to him and quickly straighten up. "Oh no- I don't have extra clothes!" She panicked, and rambled on about how her day was ruined and how she was so embarrassed.

The punk, sighed. "You ain't gonna die." He removed his large black jacket and gave it to the panicking girl. She looked at him with teary eyes, threatening to break down infront of him.

"Is being a crybaby a part of period symptoms?" He joked and the girl sniffled, thanking him and wrapping it around her waist, the jacket thankfully covered her behind and the red angry stain.

Hobie grinned, wrapping a hand around her and pulled her closely to him. "I'll text Gwen for ya' let's go to the bathroom."

Requests r okay!! Don't know when I'll finish them thoughh!

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Request: Yes or No

Please check the poll imma put up after reading this!

~~~

The bright sun shone down on the land, bringing about much-needed light as workers cleared out fallen branches and debris tossed around by Hurricane Agatha the day before. (Y/N) had already spent half of his morning clearing out the yard and driveway as well as making sure the water hadn't risen too high. Once work had been finished at home, he had made his way over to the Cameron Residence. It came as no surprise to see workers already there helping the family clean up the mess outside.

(Y/N) watched as two men worked on cutting a fallen log in half before a battle cry brought his attention back to the blonde. "Leave the animals alone, Sarah!" He hollered, an amused grin pulling at his features as Sarah leaped toward the seagulls with a tennis racket in hand. She swung it around aimlessly, nearly losing balance on occasion. Her blonde hair stuck out just about in every direction, chest and shoulders rising as she panted. 

"But the mice, (Y/N)! It's not their fault!" She shouted in response, making another short jump into the air and missing another bird. (Y/N) crossed his arms over his chest and continued watching her run around frantically, making leaps she'd surely regret once her legs began to ache. Shaking his head and snickering softly under his breath, the teen turned his head to look at Ward as he approached with a woman in tow. The older man stared at his daughter with furrowed brows and squinted eyes as if attempting to figure out what exactly she was doing. 

"Morning, Mr. Cameron."

"Please, (Y/N). You can call me Ward." Ward smiled fondly at him, reaching out to place a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder. A grunt from his daughter as she jumped up pulled his gaze away from him and onto her. "What is Sarah doing?"

Snorting, (Y/N) turned back to his girlfriend, watching her nearly trip over a branch. "Saving the mice." 

"Oh, Jesus," Ward sighed, dropping his hand and placing it on his hip, an exasperated look falling over his features. The older man stepped forward and, quietly apologized to the woman behind him before raising a hand to his mouth and calling out, "Sarah! I have an actual human being who needs you right now!" 

Whirling around and stumbling slightly, Sarah blinked at them and hurried over. (Y/N) chuckled softly and extended his arm, letting the blonde crash into his side. His girlfriend took in a big gulp of air, switching the racket to her other hand before reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "I'm so sorry, I'm Sarah."

"Guys, this is Lana Grubb, Scooter's wife. Now, you two were storm-prepping with him, right?" Ward questioned.

"Yeah, he helped us latch the cabin on the Druthers," Sarah answered with a nod, glancing back at the yacht as she wrapped an arm around (Y/N)'s waist and settled comfortably at his side. 

"Last night?"

"Yeah." Sarah breathed, brushing back some strands and furrowing her brows at her dad. (Y/N) slipped his arm around her shoulders, eyes sweeping over the workers on the property. Some were familiar faces, others were strangers but he couldn't help but notice the man in question wasn't amongst those present, and adding that to the fact his wife seemed upset made his stomach drop.

"Did something happen? Is he okay?" At his words, Sarah perked up, brown eyes widening when Lana glanced at her father desperately, the frown on her face deepening. Ward quickly placed his hands on the woman's arms, rubbing them comfortably and nodding his head to keep everyone from panicking further. 

"He is absolutely okay. I'm sure he's just hunkered down somewhere. We're gonna find him." Ward assured, slipping his hand to Lana's back and beginning to guide her away, murmuring comforts to the distressed woman as they rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Sarah took another gulp of air, still recovering from leaping and running around. She tilted her head up to look at her boyfriend, lips forming a small worried pout.

"What do you think happened to him?"

"He was probably heading home but got stuck somewhere. The roads are covered in all sorts of shit right now. I'm sure he'll pop by sooner or later, Sarah." (Y/N) assured softly, lifting his hand to push his fingers into her hair, combing down the strands sticking out. Sarah pursed her lips and nodded, leaning away from him when the seagulls began squawking again. She tightened her grip on her racket and took a step toward the bank but (Y/N) quickly hooked his fingers into two of the pant loops on her shorts and pulled her back toward his chest. "Leave the seagulls alone, Sarah."

"But-"

"The mice are gonna be fine, I promise. The seagulls aren't gonna eat all of them." (Y/N) assured her with a chuckle, releasing the pant loops and instead wrapping his arms around her bare stomach. Sarah huffed softly and squinted up at the sky, shoulders sagging in defeat. Planting a swift kiss on the nape of her neck, (Y/N) began walking backward and away from the birds, in case Sarah had a swift change of mind. Sarah went limp in his arms, forcing the teen to begin dragging her away as she slowly began sliding out of his arms and toward the ground. Raising his brows at her, (Y/N) released his grip and watched Sarah fall onto the grass with a squeak and soft thud. 

"Babe!" She whined and pouted again, lifting her arms and wiggling her fingers for him to help her up. "I'm tired, c'mon!"

"And whose fault is that?" Dropping her arms down over her stomach, she shrugged her shoulders innocently, a cheeky smile appearing on her face in response. (Y/N) rolled his eyes and shook his head, offering her his hands and pulling her back up onto her dirtied sneakers. She wiped wet grass and dirt off her arms, crinkling her nose and reaching over to wipe her hand on his shirt, snickering when she heard him scoff softly. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to plant a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Carry me?" She pleaded, tilting her head and batting her lashes.

"You're spoiled." (Y/N) murmured, pressing his fingers against her thighs. Laughing with glee, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting a middle finger in her little sister's direction when the younger girl made a loud gagging noise at the sight of them. (Y/N) chuckled softly and walked around the pool, stepping inside the clean, air-conditioned mansion. Sarah released a sigh of relief at the feeling of cold air against her warm body, head drooping down to rest on her forearm as (Y/N) headed up the stairs and toward her bedroom. 

Pushing the door open with his foot, he entered the room and approached the bed, abruptly dropping her down on the mattress. The blonde released a soft 'oof' but melted against the bedsheets, pulling her fuzzy blanket over her body and dropping the racket onto the floor. She ran her hand over the blanket, head craning to watch (Y/N) sit down at her desk and bask in the cool air flowing in through the vent. Pressing her lips together, Sarah propped herself up onto her elbows.

"Do you really think Scooter's okay?"

"He's a tough guy, Sarah. He'll be alright." 

"Lana seemed really worried." She frowned, pushing herself up and crossing her legs, fingers toying with the white fuzz. (Y/N) lifted his arm to gently squeeze the side of his neck, sighing softly and pushing the chair toward her. He could understand her concern completely. Scooter had been working for the Camerons' for a while, so much so he could be considered a friend by the family. While he had questionable qualities, the man was overall a good guy. 

Placing a hand over Sarah's knee, (Y/N) rubbed his thumb back and forth over her slightly tan skin. Feeling his phone vibrate in his back pocket, he lifted his hips briefly to slip his phone out and look at the text message. For a brief second, he hoped to see a text from one of his parents, but the hope disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Humming softly, (Y/N) tapped on the message. "There's a party down at the Boneyard. Topper and the others are going-"

"Let me shower and get dressed!" Scrambling off the bed, Sarah collected some clothes and slipped into her bathroom, the worries that had been hanging over her head disappearing at the prospect of a party. Chuckling, (Y/N) responded to the text and leaned back further in the chair, listening to the sound of the water running as he waited. 

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

Sarah took off as soon as her feet hit the sand, a stream of giggles escaping her as she raced toward the red buoy that had washed up onshore. Her boyfriend and their friends trailed behind, taking in the familiar beach. Large branches and logs had been scattered across the sand, providing seating for those at the kegger. Teens happily took in the luxury of freedom after being stuck inside during the hurricane with their families. 

"You sure she should be climbing that? What if she falls?" Topper questioned, eyeing Sarah as she climbed the buoy and sat comfortably at the top. (Y/N) glanced at his blonde acquaintance with a knowing look, hands resting in his pockets as they walked toward the buoy. Topper Thornton's crush on Sarah had been growing ever more obvious since she had begun dating (Y/N). Sure, Sarah had her fair share of boyfriends but most got dumped within a week or two. However, her relationship with (Y/N) had been going steady for a while, to the point the Camerons predicted they'd be welcoming him into the family after they graduated; an honor most people on the Outer Banks would kill for. And with Ward's approval of (Y/N), Topper had to resort to hoping Sarah would view him in a more romantic light.

"Come down before you give grandma Topper a heart attack, Sarah!" (Y/N) called up to her, stepping onto one of the logs and offering her his hand. Sarah laughed, gazing out toward the ocean one last time before she leaned down, took his hand, and carefully climbed down off the buoy. Topper huffed softly, glaring at Kelce when the teen laughed loudly and gently bumped their shoulders together. The group made their way toward the crowd, greeting other Kooks and eventually finding a spot to settle down at. 

Night fell quicker than expected and Sarah linked her arm with (Y/N)'s, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Maybe we should grab a drink and take a walk." She said quietly and (Y/N) nodded, standing up and taking her hand in his. Topper jumped up at the chance and grinned at them, nodding toward the keg where drinks were being poured for anyone who walked over. (Y/N) exchanged an amused look with Sarah, following Topper toward the keg until JJ stepped in front of them with a wide grin.

"Sarah! Can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?" He questioned, holding up the red solo cup. 

"No, thanks." Sarah dismissed with a shake of her head, prompting the blonde to tilt his head, his eyes flickering to the two Kooks with her. If any Pogue was quick to pick an argument with a Kook, it was definitely JJ. The blonde had no problem throwing the first punch and getting a talking-to from the sheriff. 

"Come on, is it not fancy enough for you?" He pushed further and his friend, John B, laughed at his antics. 

Before Sarah could respond, Topper cut in and stepped toward him. "You know what? I'll take it. Thank you, man. I appreciate it." 

"That's nice, but I didn't ask you. Now, if you said pretty please, then maybe. But you didn't." JJ shrugged his shoulders, his grip on the cup tightening slightly. Heads began turning in their direction and Sarah pressed herself further into (Y/N)'s side, quietly trying to get Topper to back off but JJ's words only ticked him off further. (Y/N) gently grabbed Topper's arm but he shrugged him off and moved closer to JJ. "So, Sarah, if-"

"She doesn't want it." Topper sneered, smacking the cup out of his hand and causing the beer to splash on JJ. The blonde quickly reacted, snatching him by the collar but before any punches could be thrown John B and (Y/N) got between them, pushing the two away from each other.

"Drop it, Topper." 

"You gonna let these dirty Pogues-" Before Topper could finish his sentence, John B whirled around and shoved Topper back, causing him to stumble backward. Pope and his other friends pulled him back with Pope desperately whispering to him. Topper clenched his jaw, fingers curling into fists as he stared at Topper. 

"Topper, don't-" (Y/N) reached out to grab him but Topper moved quicker than he expected, reeling back his arm and punching John B hard enough he fell down on the wet sand. Sarah and the others gasped loudly and Pope held JJ back from stepping in as Topper kicked the fallen boy, causing him to fall back again into the water, completely soaking him. The crowd began chanting, encouraging the two boys to fight and Topper seemed to back off after another kick but as he began stepping away, John B staggered to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist, bringing him down into the water.

"That's enough!" (Y/N) called to the two, voice mixing in with others trying to get the boys to stop and others continuing to encourage the fight between them. The two stood up from the water, completely soaked and they quickly got entangled, throwing punches and trying to wrestle each other back down. (Y/N) kept his arm out in front of Sarah in case the fight moved further up the beach. They could only watch the fight from the sidelines, both sides knowing that if anyone else got involved it'd encourage more bystanders to join the fighting. The two broke apart for a moment and began circling each other with their fists up, throwing punches and shoving each other down onto the ground until Topper eventually pinned John B down, holding his head down by the waves. 

"Topper, stop! Do something, (Y/N)!" Sarah pleaded, grasping her boyfriend's arm desperately. Cursing softly under his breath, (Y/N) stepped forward only to stop as JJ quickly approached the two, something shining in the moonlight. His stomach dropped, feet keeping him planted in the sand when JJ pressed a gun to the back of Topper's head. At the sight of the gun, people began shouting and running to get away from the armed Pogue. Calls for Topper to stop quickly shifted into pleading for JJ to put the gun away.

"Kie, can you check your psycho friend, please?" Sarah called to her former friend, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Her voice pulled (Y/N) back and he swallowed, lifting his arms and slowly approaching them. JJ watched him closely, only pointing the gun away from Topper when (Y/N) grabbed him and pulled him away from John B. He winced upon hearing John B gasping for air and coughing, hands tightly gripping Topper's arms and dragging him back toward Sarah.

"Everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" JJ shouted into the night, firing off two warning shots in the air, the sound alone sending more teenagers off running to safety. Pulling Topper along, Sarah and Kelce followed, frantically glancing back at JJ and his friends in case he decided Topper needed a harsher lesson. Moving through the trees, (Y/N) listened to the sound of teenagers leaving the area as quickly as possible until he reached his jeep and threw the door open, practically throwing the stammering Topper inside.

"H-He had a gun-" Cutting Topper off by shutting the door, (Y/N) sighed deeply and faced the two, motioning for them to get in the car. (Y/N) opened the driver's side door and climbed in, turning the car on and waiting for everyone to settle down before peeling off, the tires kicking up sand and trash. Topper continued to stammer and talk, switching between defending himself to calling the Pogues psychos and dangerous. (Y/N) reached for the radio, turning up the music to tune him out, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel as the adrenaline in his veins began dying down, leaving him with exhaustion. 

Dropping Kelce and Topper off at their places, (Y/N) finally lowered the music and glanced at Sarah, taking her in. She had lowered the window sometime before dropping the boys off, letting the cool night air blow in her face and mess with her hair. She toyed with the end of her short dress, leg bouncing and teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "You okay?"

"After all that?" Sarah breathed, lightly shaking her head. "I can't believe Kie hangs with them."

"Topper was trying to drown him, Sarah. JJ could've gone about it much differently but it did stop the fight. I doubt Topper will be messing with them again any time soon." (Y/N) pointed out, pulling into the Cameron driveway and coming to a stop by the front doors. His gaze lingered on them for a moment before he turned to look at her. "Want me to come inside for a bit?"

"I'll be fine," Sarah said, lips finally forming a smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, leaning back slightly and gently bumping her nose against his. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow." (Y/N) smiled, watching her hum and lean back, pushing her arm against the door as she opened it. Hopping out, Sarah closed the door and rounded the jeep, lifting her arm to wave at him before stepping inside the mansion. (Y/N) stepped on the pedal, driving down the other end of the driveway and back out into the street. The streets were dark, apart from the glow of some large houses casting out onto the road. (Y/N) neared his house, sighing deeply at the sight of it. No cars in the driveway, no lights on, and no parents waiting for him to get home to eat dinner together. 

Pulling into the driveway and shutting the engine off, (Y/N) slumped back in his seat and peered down at his discarded phone in the cupholder. He pressed his lips together and picked it up, turning it on and tapping on the screen. Looking at his message, he felt his stomach twist when he had to scroll to find the last conversation he had with either of his parents. Finding one and tapping on it, he hummed softly. His last message remained unread despite having been sent weeks prior and neither one of his parents had called to check in after Agatha. 

"Home sweet home." (Y/N) whispered, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of his car. Shutting the door and putting the alarm, he strolled toward the front door, finding no urgency in stepping inside the empty, lonely house.

 At least in the Cameron household, he was treated as family. Always a spot at the dinner table for him, always a hug ready for him from Ward or Wheezie, and even Rafe checked in on him from time to time. So, when he opened the door and stared into the darkness inside, the only thing he wanted to do was get back in his car. But he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and flickered on the lights.

[anitalianfrie]

San Lorenzo ||| pecco/luca, 680 words

Pecco remembers well that night. They are fifteen or sixteen - no, they're fifteen, because when they were sixteen they went out clubbing. They're fifteen, and it's Luca's birthday. Everybody has already left- Luca's garden full of abandoned chairs and scraps of wrap papers that they used as ammunition to throw at each other.

It's late, but not that late. It must be around ten, half past ten at maximum, and they are sitting on the side of a hill, on the grass, a few meters from the road, where they left Luca's scooter.

When Pecco arrived in the morning, a heavy backpack on his shoulders and his dad's hand pressing against his upper spine, the scooter was the first thing Luca showed him. It has a hole in the silencer and it gets up to 130 kilometers per hour. Him and Vale worked on it together for a couple of days, while he was home from the races.

Pecco isn't sure where they are. Luca took turn after turn, the engine roaring under them, avoiding the holes in the asphalt and opening the throttle every time the road got straight for more than twenty meters. Pecco still remebers how he didn't know where to place his hands to hold on, and on how he settled to grab the metal side bars that kept slipping under his sweaty hands.

It's hot. Not as hot as it get back at home, in Turin, where the air gets unbreathable and sticky in his lungs, where sometimes he has to lie on the bed only in his underwear to catch a breath. But it's still hot, and sweat runs down his arms. Pecco wonders if his deodorant will hold.

They're sitting there, and the grass is green and soft, even if it shouldn't be in the torrid hotness of August, no rain to be seen. Maybe he doesn't remember it right, with all the times he went back to this memory, wore it down and stretched it thin. Maybe he does.

There's barely any light, and Pecco sinks his hand in the dirt, hot and burnt by the sun. Luca's hand is near his, the skin dark and tanned, the fingers long.

They're supposed to be there to see shooting stars.

Pecco looks to his right, out of the corner of his eye, without turning his head, and Luca's nose is tilted up to the sky. He looks lost in it. Pecco can feel his heart beating in his throat. He doesn't know why.

The only thing he can hear is the sound of crickets. It feels like they are alone in the world, the scarce and few lights of the houses lighting up the horizon, far away.

"Do you think there's something up there?" asks Luca, breaking the silence.

Pecco shughs. "I don't know", he says, Luca making a small noise in agreement, or pondering maybe, as a reply.

The silence returns, and with it the sound of crickets. Pecco's skin feels sticky with sweat and the autan that Luca's mother forced them to spray on themselves before letting them go out.

Pecco scratches the dirt under his hand with the bitten nail of his index.

"Look!" exclaims Luca, breaking the silence once again, one hand up in the air pointing to the sky, to the stars.

Two small twinkles of light are running in the sky, one following the other.

"Come on, make a wish! What do you want?"

What does he want?

He wants to be a champion.

He wants to win and feel the champagne running down his face on the podium, like Valentino did.

Pecco looks dow again, to his hand in between the blades of grass, near Luca's, at the contrast between their skin. Their fingers are so close they are almost touching. It would take only one, single, small move, and they would be.

He wants-

When they get back, Pecco drives, even if he doesn't have a license. Luca circles Pecco's waist with his arms to hold on.

Pecco still remembers the pressure of Luca's knees against the back of his own's.

(in Italy the night of tenth of August, or "la notte di San Lorenzo" is traditionally the night where it's easier to see shooting stars. The stars were believed to be the tears of the saint, or the embers of the pire on which he was burned alive)

[extra-stout-stories]

The Weight Clinic

A fat man who's unsure about losing weight signs up for a very unusual treatment program led by a dominant doctor with an agenda of her own. (SSBHM feedee, SSBBW feeder, implicit XWG. CW: Dubious consent, drugs, medical and deathfeedist elements.)

This story was written swiftly in response to an ask on my old blog: "A man signs up for a blind study of a weight loss drug (he doesn't want to lose weight, but you know how society is.) Unfortunately for him, it's run by a less than honest BBW scientist who decides to fatten him up instead." When I read that, I had to immediately sit down and transcribe the thunderbolt of inspiration before it passed. This could easily turn into a much longer story, and now that I've created this little fictional universe, I might come back to it some day. The dubcon is because I wanted to write a dommy mad scientist feeder, but if the story continued, our protagonist would definitely come to enjoy it and realize that she was right all along.

(April 2024: This is by far the most popular story I've written, and I'm moving it here so I can centralize likes/reblogs and deactivate my defunct account. I'm slowly working on a sequel as the inspiration strikes me.)

Please read the content warnings. If dubcon and medical/deathfeedist themes upset you, please don't click.

If you like it, on the other hand, please reblog.

--

He sighed inwardly as the receptionist led him past the double doors and into the medical suite of the clinic.

He didn't want to be doing this. Being fat had never bothered him. He had been fat since childhood, and as an adult he embraced the freedom of eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. In fact, there were times when he secretly enjoyed being fat. There was something profoundly satisfying about the way his belly was soft and heavy in his lap when he sat, the way his double chin was like a cushion when he tilted his head. Lately it seemed like he was inching closer and closer to 400 pounds whenever he stepped on the scale, and sometimes a part of him even looked forward to it.

But he was getting sick of how the rest of the world treated him. At Thanksgiving dinner, after he had gone back to the side table for a fourth helping of mashed potatoes, his parents had given him a fierce tag-team lecture about how his weight was out of control and he was overdue for a diet. Buying new clothes was getting expensive. And while the thought of 400 seemed strangely intriguing sometimes -- that's only a hundred pounds away from a quarter ton, he thought to himself -- he worried that if he got any bigger, he'd become one of those fat guys who was so big that they had trouble walking and had to use a scooter or wheelchair to get around.

There was a wheelchair in the corner of the room that the receptionist led him into. He couldn't help notice its gigantic width. "This is the suite where you'll be staying." The room looked like it was outfitted for a patient much bigger than he was. The king-sized bed was equipped with a bariatric Hoyer lift, and in addition to the usual IV bags and oxygen tanks, there were all sorts of medical machines he didn't recognize. The door to the bathroom and shower was only a few steps away from the edge of the bed, and he noticed a stainless steel railing to allow someone to steady themselves as they walked.

Noticing his expression, the receptionist continued. "You'll be staying here in the regular suite, since you don't have any serious mobility issues. Further down the hallway there's a second suite for larger patients. Both rooms will be kept operational during your stay in case there are any complications. As we discussed earlier, you'll be forbidden to leave the premises for the duration of the study. We can't have you going out to eat and breaking your diet."

He sighed inwardly again. He was already thinking of his usual Friday night meal, nachos and mozzarella sticks followed by a hamburger and fries at his favorite diner, washed down with a milkshake or two with each course. I guess I am a binge eater, he thought to himself sadly. This isn't going to be fun, but if I don't get myself under control, I really am going to end up weighing 400.

As if reading his mind, the receptionist gave a prim smile. "I hope you'll find the results of the study to be satisfactory. Dr. Moore is excited to be taking you on as a patient. Come back to the front desk with me and we'll get your paperwork finalized."

They returned to the waiting room through the double doors and he sat down on a double-wide chair to review the clipboard full of paperwork. HIPAA, check. Records release form, check. Insurance card, check.

After several more signatures, he came to the final document on the clipboard. Consent to Experimental Treatment, the header read. He skimmed through the legal verbiage, trying his best to take note of anything significant. The clinic was a private enterprise, he read. Dr. Moore had affiliations with several prestigious universities, but he waived his right to hold them liable for treatment outcomes. No guarantees were made as to results. "The Moore Clinic program is designed to help patients reach a satisfactory body weight through the application of both physiological and cognitive-emotional treatments. To ensure accurate data collection and clinical efficacy, all care will be taken by the clinic staff to prevent external influences from interfering with treatment. Patients acknowledge that for the duration of the study they will be under the exclusive supervision of Dr. Moore. Her permission will be required before patients can contact outside parties via phone or Internet."

He thought to himself for a moment. Well, I'm no good at sticking to a diet on my own. I might as well give this a shot. He signed his name on the last page of the form.

"Congratulations." The receptionist smiled as he turned over the stack of forms. "We're glad to have you here. I'm sorry Dr. Moore couldn't be here to welcome you to the first night of the study, but she had another engagement. These are our nurses, Sandra and Kevin. They'll help you get settled."

Soon he was being ushered into the hospital suite by the two nurses. Sandra was short and curvaceous, Kevin tall and stocky, and he couldn't help notice that neither of them was skinny. Both of them were chubby, in fact. Chubby verging on fat. They gave him a hospital gown and a plastic bin to store his belongings in, then drew a curtain around the bed and waited patiently while he changed.

Naked beneath the loose-fitting hospital gown, he couldn't help being aware of how fat he was as the two nurses drew the curtain aside and began to prep him for the treatment. He could feel the softness of his belly against his thighs, the subtle motion of his rolls quivering, as Kevin attached electrodes to his moobs and belly. A fold of his fat upper arm brushed against his elbow as Sandra straightened his arm and swabbed to insert an IV. I'm going to miss all this, he thought to himself. If this works, I'll be just another skinny guy in a size M. I might even have abs. And I'll probably never eat mozzarella sticks again. As the drugs in the IV began to take hold, making him woozy and disoriented and sleepy, he couldn't help wondering if waking up skinny was going to feel like a nightmare.

--

"Well, well. My patient has finally come to."

From the slant of the light in the hospital suite, it was late afternoon. He lay in bed, still naked beneath his hospital gown, the IV tube still in his arm, the electrodes still on his chest. Staring down at him from the foot of the bed, an appraising smile on her face, was a fat woman. A very fat woman.

She wore a crisp white coat over a snug set of scrubs that did little to conceal how gigantic she was. Her stethoscope bounced against her enormous belly as she stepped around to the bedside and lowered herself onto a double-wide chair next to the IV bags. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her triple chins swayed and quivered as she craned her neck slightly to take a readout from one of the machines beside the bed, then bent her head down to type some notes on a tablet.

"Welcome to the clinic. I'm Dr. Moore."

He couldn't help but be baffled by her size. A private clinic specializing in weight loss, and she was the doctor in charge? She must have read the expression on his face, because she immediately burst out laughing. "Yes, I'm really Dr. Moore. And I'm very excited to have you as my patient." She scrolled through the tablet, her eyes moving rapidly as she reviewed his case file. "You're here for morbid obesity. You say you struggle with binge eating. And you're concerned that your weight is continuing to rise."

He nodded, feeling suddenly hazy. The anesthetic had worn off, but whatever else was in the IV was still taking effect.

"Tell me." Dr. Moore's voice was suddenly stern. "Did you come here to lose weight?"

"Yes." His throat went dry as he began to speak. He realized with a start that he was dreadfully thirsty, and something in Dr. Moore's tone made him nervous. "My primary care doctor says my goal weight is 180 pounds. I've tried a couple of different diets, but nothing worked."

"One hundred and eighty pounds?" Her voice was full of disbelief. "Oh, no, no, no. That won't do at all. I'm going to write you a new prescription."

His heart was suddenly pounding. He didn't like the way she was talking to him. "I think your goal weight should be… five hundred and eighty pounds. For a start."

He tried to speak but no words came out. His throat was terribly dry. Dr. Moore turned the tablet to face him. "See? Goal weight five hundred and eighty pounds." There it was on his patient chart, as clear as day. She smiled. "I think you must be disoriented. Did you know you've been under anesthesia for four days? The treatment takes time to take effect. I'm going to get you something to drink." Without rising from her chair, she reached to open a refrigerator by the side of the bed. He had seen it during his tour and had assumed it was full of syringes and dry ice, but it was full of… cups? Giant cardboard cups with straws, the kind a fast food restaurant might use for a soda or a milkshake. She reached out and grabbed two.

"Drink. This will help settle you down." He wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked eagerly, feeling a cool, sweet, creamy liquid flow down his throat, soothing the dryness. It was a milkshake, he realized. Then he realized that he was ravenously hungry.

"Yes, that's your appetite coming back. Or rather, coming to. It never left, but you've been getting your nutrients intravenously while you were under. We call that one the 'feedbag.'" She gestured to one of the IV bags that fed into the tube leading to his wrist. In the color scheme he had already come to recognize as the Moore Clinic's branding, it was stamped with the words: "HIGH CALORIE FORMULA."

His heart was still pounding, but he was feeling more relaxed now. He heard a rustling behind him and realized that Sandra, the nurse, was busy adjusting the proportions of the IV bags.

"Yes, that's a sedative." Dr. Moore smiled. "I thought it might help put you at ease while I explain the details of my treatment program." Her voice took on a firm and didactic tone, as if she were giving a lecture to an auditorium full of med students, but underneath it he felt that he could hear something almost… flirtatious?

"The Moore Clinic takes an unorthodox approach to the treatment of obesity. As a dual-certified endocrinologist and psychiatrist, I bring a unique perspective to both the metabolic and biosocial components of extreme weight gain." She paused. "Sandra, another high-calorie bag. Thank you." As the nurse replaced the now empty bag of formula, Dr. Moore continued. "Many of my patients arrive with deeply disordered cognitive attitudes towards body weight. They are unduly susceptible to social influences, preventing their full psychological individuation as a mentally well, hedonically satisfied obese person. They regard themselves as suffering from morbid obesity instead of enjoying it." She reached out to pat his belly. "I'm afraid you're a textbook case."

He could feel himself getting hazier and hazier until the world seemed to shrink to himself, the milkshakes and Dr. Moore. He couldn't tear himself away from her gaze as she continued to speak, her triple chins and dimpled fat cheeks quivering hypnotically as her eyes seemed to pierce right into him. "This is why the use of psychotropic drugs is a key component of my program. To fully undo the traumatic effects of societal fatphobia on my patients, I must be prepared to use the entire arsenal of modern psychopharmacology."

Sandra laughed, catching a hint of the shock on his face. "It's a real cocktail in these IV bags, honey. If Dr. Moore tried to sell this stuff at a nightclub, she'd be arrested."

The doctor smiled at her nurse. "That's right. Some of these are experimental drugs, and Federally scheduled. I'm fortunate to have a license, and a substantial research grant which pays for high-grade laboratory synthesis. And the same is true for my metabolic work."

She reached out and slipped a hand under his hospital gown, grabbing ahold of the fold of one of his moobs and squeezing playfully. Even through the increasingly powerful haze of the drug cocktail, he could feel himself blushing. "The other vector of cure," she continued, "is to address the body itself. Too many patients labor under the delusion that the unfortunate medical side effects of morbid obesity are somehow a reason they must lose weight." Her voice grew stern. "Nothing could be further from the truth. Obesity is not a disease. It's a lifestyle. And it's beautiful."

"But sometimes," she continued, a frown on her face, "my patients resist. This is why I require a minimum of four weeks' supervised stay at the clinic. The setting here accustoms my patients to the possibility of living with bariatric equipment as a full-time lifestyle." He looked around the room, suddenly seeing it with new eyes. "And while my patients get used to the pace and challenges of their new lifestyle, my metabolic treatment can do its work."

Despite the sedatives, his heart was pounding faster than ever. Her words seemed to move as slowly as molasses, her chins swaying back and forth like a pendulum, as her eyes gazed into his. "There's more than just calories and party drugs in those bags, you know. There's drugs to shock your system, break down your metabolism, destroy your body's resistance to gaining ever more weight. Even if you left the clinic right now, all the diets in the world couldn't fix your metabolism. My treatment has taken you to the point of no return."

Just barely, as if fighting his way through a slowly moving fog, he managed to gasp out a single word. "When?"

"When?" Dr. Moore threw her head back in laughter, exposing a beautiful smile, her cheeks and chins quivering with mirth. "Darling, I told you -- you were under anesthesia for four days, and my treatment works quickly. It's already happened."

He tried to protest, but before he could speak another word, the fog seemed to close around him and he drifted into a deep anesthetic sleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed of being fatter than ever.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [41]

chapter forty-one, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

August 12th 2017

Phoebe stands awkwardly at the door to Tommie’s bedroom, and she raises a brow as she steps from side to side. “Hey.”

Phoebe nods and Tommie laughs as she pushes Button to shift closer into her side, then she taps the spot beside her in bed.

The American singer hesitates before finally settling there and pursing her lips.

“Everything alright?”

“Um yeah, I just-” Phoebe sighs and just finally decides to come clean, “Remember that song you wrote a few months back? The one you showed me?”

She raises a brow, she’s shown Phoebe a lot of songs. “Which one?”

“The one you said you were gonna keep for the band. The one you wrote for me?”

Tommie nods with a hum and turns to Phoebe to give her more attention.

Phoebe and Tommie have become very close since meeting two years ago. They’d become sisters, and Tommie knows that in the past few months if Phoebe wasn’t in her life she wouldn’t have survived.

From giving her a place to say to holding her hand as she left the clinic after her abortion. Phoebe has been there for everything, more than anyone in the band, more than any of her family.

Tommie’s never been good with her words, with speaking them, she struggles to put her emotions into words for people to understand. So she wrote Phoebe a song, which happened to be in her beloved lost notebook.

“Yeah, but I lost my book, so if you wanted to use it-”

“No, it’s that, um…”

Phoebe sighs, she hates beating around the bush, especially with Tommie who she knows would prefer her to be upfront and honest. 

“Dirty Delights released their first single with Scooter Braun today and it’s that song.”

“What?”

Phoebe winces at the loud volume of her screech as she stands from the bed. Button’s head is tilting as she stares up at her.

“It was released this morning. And if it makes you feel better it’s shit.”

She scrambles for her abandoned laptop which is open as she was watching Barnyard (Button likes the little mouse on it and she loves Biggie Cheese).

She’s on spotify, searching Dirty Delights. The band image has her cringing, they look like a My Chemical Romance Tribute act, with caps not fully on their heads and their boxers sticking out of their baggy jeans.

She clicks on the song, its title different from the one she had chosen in her book. ‘You are Mine’.

“You are Mine?” She scoffs, “It makes it sound possessive, that’s not the point. The point is that I love my best mate and you’re my best mate.”

Phoebe’s hand rubs her back lightly as she hovers the mouse over the play button.

You are mine, I've been drowning in you You fracture light again Beautiful, please don't cry, don’t cry When you leave, I cry on the inside

I wake up, love you, so I love you, so I love you, love you, love you Then when you leave, I cry I wake up, love you, love you, love you, love you Then when you leave, I cry

We're supposed to leave by half-past eight You wait a while, for me to come home, again Tired again, I've been dying to meet you You fracture light again (ooh)

I love you, oh, I love you When you leave, I cry on the inside Oh, so I love you, so I love you, so love you, love you, love you, love you Cry Oh, I love you, love you, love you, love you, love you We're supposed to leave by half-past eight

“He changed the lyrics, it sounds fucking shite!”

Phoebe nods, “And the guitar solo is shocking, how’d Braun give way to that?”

Tommie groans and falls face first into the bed, Button’s nose nudging her cheek gently.

“Surely you can do something? Release it as your own.”

Tommie groans again, even louder, “I’ll have to call Jamie.”

Phoebe nods, “I’m sure he can get some good lawyers involved, have them take it down.”

“Not the point, I don’t want to talk to him, he’ll ask me if I’m ready to come back. Then try to convince me to talk to Matty then he’ll pass the phone to Adam ‘cause I’ve been avoiding him and- it’ll be a mess.”

“I’ll call him, pretend you don’t know yet and I’ve let him know first, it will give you at least a day or two to prepare yourself.”

She shifts on the bed to wrap her arms and legs around Phoebe like some kind of red headed koala. “Fanks yew.” Her words are muffled in Phoebe’s hoodie and the singer pats the back of her head. 

“I’ll call him now, let him know.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

August 16th 2017

“Seriously?”

Tommie does what can only be described as a screech as she throws her phone across the room. Luckily it lands on the arm chair opposite.

Button trots over and sits patiently with her cow teddy in her mouth, waiting for Tommie to roll over and give her attention.

But before she receives a pat on the head there’s a knock on the door and Button whines.

Tommie passes her hand over Button’s head as she gets up, quickly complaining about Phoebe forgetting her keys again.

“Pheebs-”

“Are you okay?”

Adam’s there, stepping in when she opens the door and turning to look at her with that brotherly concern on his face.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on tour.”

“We finished the tour ages ago, we’re all back home now. The moment Jamie told me what happened I flew out to see you.”

“I’m fine, Ads, Jamie’s sorting it.”

“Why didn’t you call? Or-or text, I would’ve come.”

“I know you would’ve, Ads, that’s why I didn’t call.”

She sighs and sits back on the sofa rubbing her hands down her face, “Have you talked to him? Called him and asked him to give credits?”

“He’s blocked me.” She scoffs, “If I just kept my mouth shut, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“What? Keep your mouth shut about what?”

“I-” She pauses and looks up as he sits on the arm of the sofa beside her, hand rubbing between her shoulder blades. She shakes her head, “We argued and I just- said a bunch of dickish stuff.”

She leans into his side and he wraps his arm over her shoulder, “Why don’t you come home? If you don’t want to be alone you can stay with me and Carly until tour kicks off again.”

She shakes her head, “Phoebe’s album is two months away, Ads. I promised I’d be here with her.”

Adam shrugs, “I’m sure she’ll understand-”

“No, I’m not abandoning her at one of her most important moments. This is her first album, her debut, she’s my best mate-”

“I used to be your best mate.”

She pauses and looks at the soft look on his face, “Ross, G…” He opens his mouth but cuts himself off. They both know the final name he was going to say.

“I haven’t talked to any of you in weeks.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

He doesn’t have that motherly look on his face that she turns to when she’s scared. His eyes are staring right into her soul, and his lips are set in a straight line, no curve, no wrinkles. 

He sighs and gives in within no time, he always gives in when it comes to Tommie. “I worry, To-”

“Yeah, well I’m fine alone. You should stop worrying.”

Adam’s brows raise as he looks at her, “What’s wrong with you?”

“You- you and your need to be- be breathing down my neck constantly.”

Adam keeps his face straight, trying not to show her outburst is getting to him, “You treat me like a kid, Ads. Always trying to protect me, but I’m not- I’m not a kid-”

“I know, Tom.”

“Then treat me like an adult, stop-”

“What’s this about?”

She pauses to shake her head at him, “What?”

“This little thing you’re trying to do. This speech. What’s it about?”

“I want to be respected.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not, and I’m tired of it.”

She stands and moves away, “I’m taking care of everything, Ads,” She grabs her phone and checks for damage again, “You don’t need to worry.”

Adam’s brows furrow, “Just because you’re not a part of the band anymore doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”

She purses her lips and looks away, “I’m not stupid, Tommie. I know what you’re trying to do. It didn’t work when we were kids and it definitely won’t work now.”

She shrugs, “I don’t know what you mean, Adam.”

“Trying to push everyone away. Trying to have this detox of people in your life. Make sure you cut out the right ones, not the ones who care about you.”

He grabs his discarded wallet and phone from the kitchen counter as he starts his way out, but he pauses just before he gets to the door. “This isn’t me walking out, this is me giving you space. If you call, I’ll pick up. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[dont-blame-it-on-the-kids]

7. "Why did you do that?" Lin & air baby of your choice. 😁

Had to go with Ikki. Fucking love Lin and Ikki and how much Ikki has a way with the Beifongs.

Lin saw as Ikki came up quickly on her air scooter and she snuffed out the cigarette she had been smoking so hopefully the smoke would dissipate before the young girl got too close.

Ikki stopped next to her and her head tilted to the side.

“Why’d you do that?” She asked curious, she very rarely saw anyone smoking, especially on the island.

“I put it out so you wouldn’t get second hand smoke.” Lin said simply.

“Oooh why is it bad? Will daddy be mad? Does it smell bad? Will it make me cough like when there’s too much incense lit during meditation?” Ikki rapid fired questions and Lin couldn’t help the chuckle.

“It is bad for you and your father will be upset if he hears you coughing.” She smiled gently. “Go on now, keep playing I think Korra is winning the race.”

“Oh! The race!” Ikki said and hurried to go catch up to the others her short cut now putting her behind with her questions.

[ttomm1357]

some fun trivias about Nymphia wind:

16

Nymphia actually owns a “score chicks” scooter, that it tilts up a bit n the ones at the backseat will have to hold her tight

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

I got my travel permit for my mobility scooter today. 😀 "To travel on Dublin Bus with your mobility scooter you must have a permit. This is because some mobility scooters are too big to fit on Dublin Bus buses. To find out if your scooter is the correct size and to arrange a permit, contact Dublin Bus’ Travel Assistance."

Travel Assistance Scheme in Dublin https://www.dublinbus.ie/accessibility/travel-assistance-scheme

I had another lesson today in getting on and off with my mobility scooter. This is a lot harder than my electric wheelchair which has a much tighter turning circle. There are loads of hand rails that can get in the way of turning (people on foot probably wouldn’t notice them). If you know the angles and spots to go to it is much easier. Though you still will need sometimes to ask people to temporarily move particularly if they have a buggy on the opposite side to the wheelchair spot. Also there are different types of buses on my routes with different internal layouts.

I'm going to have one more lesson but he is confident I could do it myself now.

As it says above, you need to get approved to use a mobility scooter on Dublin Bus. But even for powered wheelchair users, it's a great free scheme to build up confidence and realise for example that you may need to ask people to get up temporarily even if they're not in the wheelchair spot itself. It's like getting free driving lessons.

A lesson just to clarify is where they accompany you on the bus. So they meet you at the stop or in your home and you get on one live bus and get off it at the next stop and then get on another live bus, etc. Alternatively, as we did when I first started with my electric wheelchair: we got on a live bus (I was totally confused what to do as I didn't even know the spot or that you have to face backwards but the travel assistance helper sorted me out). Then we went to a bus terminus and practised getting on and off when a bus driver was on their break tilt I built up more confidence.

There is also a Travel Assistance Scheme in Cork https://www.buseireann.ie/inner.php?id=757 .

I heard before they hoped to start them in other parts of the country such as Galway and Limerick.