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silverarmedassassin · 4 years ago

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Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

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It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

#bucky x reader #actor!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #actor au #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic

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suituuup · 4 years ago

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pieces - chapter sixteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rating: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

Chloe woke up sometime mid-morning. She was a bit drowsy, but memories of what had transpired earlier that day quickly sprang back to mind as soon as she tried to sit up and a blinding pain shot through her stomach.

She couldn’t feel her legs, and she had a catheter put in.

The c-section felt like a surreal out-of-body experience. Despite being awake, Chloe couldn’t seem to grasp what was actually happening. It felt like a bad dream, and her brain couldn’t grasp it as reality.

Twisting her head to her left, she caught sight of a note and winced as she grabbed it. A soft smile curved her lips, and she reached for her phone next, seeing three photos and a video from Beca.

All of Bean, along with a message dating from three minutes ago which made Chloe smile with relief.

Beca [11:04am]

Bean is doing good. The nurse told me she’s doing well with feeding. Strong like her Mama.

The day was long, as Chloe could do nothing besides laying there or pumping milk. Beca visited every couple of hours, but Chloe would rather have her keep Bean company while she couldn’t. She texted her parents and the girls to tell them Bean was born but still in the NICU, and facetimed with Aubrey. She slept some more afterward, but towards the end of the day, she started feeling anxious to meet her daughter.

“You should go home and get some rest,” she told Beca when it pushed ten pm.

Beca stifled a yawn. “I’m okay.”

Chloe gave her a pointed look. “You look exhausted, Bec. You haven’t slept in over 36 hours. I’m fine. Bean is doing good, and the nurse told me she'd keep me posted frequently throughout the night. Besides, they won’t let you stay at the NICU all night.”

Beca seemed to hesitate, eventually relenting with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll keep my phone on though, so call me if there’s anything.”

“I will.” She smiled when Beca bent down to kiss her forehead, leaning against the contact. “Night, Bec.”

Despite her anxiousness, Chloe managed to catch a handful of hours of sleep. As promised, the nurse had kept her posted on Bean’s health, and nothing alarming had popped up. Beca was back at 6 am, armed with a coffee and a bagel.

“Oh man, I love you,” Chloe mumbled, taking the coffee from her. The one from yesterday was cold by the time she woke up, and she appreciated that first sip in close to seven months.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?” Beca teased, smirking.

“The coffee,” Chloe replied, sticking her tongue out. “Did you manage to get some sleep?”

“Yep. Seven hours.”

“Ready to go see your baby?” The nurse asked as she breezed inside Chloe’s room with a wheelchair.

Chloe beamed. “Yes, more than ready.” She sat up with a grimace and turned, letting her legs hang off the side of the bed while she waited for the discomfort to pass. Then, with Beca’s help, she shrugged on her robe and lowered herself in the wheelchair.

Her heart picked up with anticipation as she was rolled down towards the NICU. She thoroughly washed her hands, as did Beca, and Beca took over with the wheelchair pushing duties, slowing it to a stop in front of the right incubator.

Tears filled Chloe’s eyes, but she managed to blink them away so they wouldn’t blur her vision as she took in the sight of her daughter for the very first time. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed out, reaching out through the hole to touch her hand.

“Hi, Bean. I’m your Mama,” Chloe choked on that word, tears spilling down her cheeks despite her best attempt to make them go away. “Hello. You’re okay,” she soothed when the newborn scrunched up her face and kicked her legs. “Mama’s here.”

The NICU nurse standing by observed the scene with a smile. “Do you already have a name for her?”

“I do,” Chloe replied, unable to tear her gaze away. “Marleigh June Beale.” June was her grandmother’s middle name, and Chloe wanted to honor her in some way. “Aka MJ. Or Bean.”

“I feel like Bean is going to stick around,” Beca commented with a soft chuckle.

“I’m not able to hold her yet, am I?” Chloe asked the nurse as she wrote down Marleigh’s name on a small board.

The woman shook her head. “Not until she’s stable enough.”

Chloe nodded, pushing her disappointment away. While she was aching to hold her, she felt grateful enough that they were both okay after that huge scare.

“She’s so small,” Chloe repeated to Beca when the nurse left. Marleigh’s tiny fingers wrapped around her pointer one and Chloe smiled. “That’s right, Bean. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

Except she obviously had to during the night, but she was right back as early as she could, gazing at her daughter for hours on end. The odds were looking good, with Marleigh gaining weight every day and her lungs getting a bit stronger, too. She was switched to a C-PAP ventilating machine instead of a tube down her throat on the third morning.

Chloe was discharged on her fourth morning, and once visiting hours were over at the NICU, she reluctantly left Marleigh’s bedside and drove home with Beca.

“You alright?” Beca asked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Chloe nodded, wiping a tear away. “Yeah. It’s just-- weird to leave her behind. I know we’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, but… it’s not the same.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Beca agreed, reaching over to hold her hand.

It had been three days, but Chloe was still extremely sore from her c-section. Simple things such as getting out of the car by herself were difficult, and she found herself in a pickle as she stood in the bathroom, unable to take her clothes off.

“Bec?” She called out over the sound of the shower running. “Can you come in here for a sec?”

Beca popped her head inside a few seconds later. “What’s up?”

“Can you lower my leggings for me?” Her nose scrunched up. “I can’t bend over.”

“Yeah, of course,” Beca said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. She slid them down and Chloe stepped out of them, then undid the last few buttons of her shirt and shrugged it off. Her incision looked pretty raw, and she was sporting a five-month bump, but that didn’t bother her. She knew it would deflate with time as her uterus went back to its normal size. “Can you um, do you mind getting in with me?” Her cheeks heated up over the request. “I can’t raise my arms at all.”

Beca smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, of course.” She stripped down to her underwear and a sports bra while Chloe stepped under the hot spray in just her underwear.

It wasn’t anything Beca hadn’t seen before, and she really needed to get her nipples rinsed off after pumping.

“Oh my god, this feels amazing,” she gushed as soon as the spray hit her sore muscles. It was her first actual shower in over three days, and Chloe felt gross. She felt the loofah against her back, rubbing in slow circles, and bit back a moan. While Beca did her back, she was able to wash her front and her face with slow, calculated movements so she didn’t strain her incision.

“Shampoo?” Beca asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Tilt your head back a bit if you can.”

Chloe did so, holding back another sound of satisfaction as Beca massaged her scalp, working the shampoo through her red curls. She stepped back under the spray to rinse it off, then turned the water off.

“I’ll go get you a towel,” Beca said, stepping out and reaching for a large towel under the sink. She wrapped it around Chloe’s body, then grabbed another one for herself. She wordlessly helped Chloe dry off and once in her bedroom, helped her dress once more and towel-dry her hair because it turned out being able to raise her arms was handy for a lot of things.

“How you feelin’?” Beca asked ten minutes later when Chloe padded to the kitchen.

“Better,” Chloe said as she poured herself a glass of water. She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Anxious, though. I don’t like being so far away from her. I just hope she’s okay.”

Beca nodded. “They would have called if she wasn’t.”

“I know.” Chloe cleared her throat. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly, but you were my rock during the c-section. I was terrified, but having you there with me and knowing you were looking out for her after… it really helped. So thank you.”

“Of course,” Beca murmured. “I’ll always look out for my favorite girls.”

Chloe smiled and stepped up for a loose hug. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Chlo.”

Chloe was greeted with great news when they reached the NICU the next morning. Marleigh was deemed stable enough to spend some time outside of the incubator, which meant Chloe would get to hold her.

“Skin-to-skin contact is very beneficial at this age, so you’re welcome to open your shirt to lay her directly on your chest,” the nurse told Chloe as she opened the incubator and fiddled a bit with the wires.

“Okay,” Chloe said, taking a seat on the chair in the corner and undoing her buttons. She gasped when the nurse gently transferred her into her arms.

Marleigh fussed for a bit while the nurse adjusted the CPAP over her head, then settled down, curling up against Chloe’s chest.

“Hello my sweet girl,” she whispered, brushing a kiss to her red hair. Her heart felt fit to burst, and happy tears stung behind her eyes as she gently rubbed her back. “I love you so much.”

“Smile for the pic, Mama Chlo,” Beca requested as she held her phone up. Chloe looked up and did so, finding it hard to keep her eyes away from Marleigh more than a few seconds at a time. “Can I send it to the group chat and your parents?”

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed out, her gaze flickering back down to Bean. She cleared her throat and started to sing softly.

“She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face

She takes me away to that special place

And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry…

Whoa, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine.”

It took another ten days for Marleigh to be taken off the ventilator. Chloe spent every day at the NICU, holding her, singing to her, reading her stories, or simply holding her hand. Beca wasn’t there all the time, tying up loose ends at the studio so she could take four weeks off whenever Marleigh got to go home. She still made it to keep Marleigh company while Chloe headed to her NA meetings or therapy sessions because Chloe didn’t want to miss any.

Marleigh couldn’t feed on her own just yet and was struggling to regulate her temperature, those being the two milestones she needed to reach before being cleared from the NICU.

“Chlo, she doesn’t like it when I’m the one doing it,” Beca mumbled, looking slightly panicky as Marleigh fussed while she tried to change her diaper. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like me, period.”

Chloe had done it quite a few times by now, but it was Beca’s first attempt at changing a baby diaper in apparently, ever.

Chloe rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh. “She likes you. Now open the diaper.”

Beca did, grimacing as a foul smell escaped from it. “Holy shit. Dude. That’s nasty.” She folded the dirty diaper and put it away, then gently grabbed Marleigh’s kicking feet. “How can someone cute like you make something so stinky? I feel like your Mama knew that was a bad one and let Auntie Beca do the filthy job. Don’t you think?”

Chloe wasn’t sure how much more her heart could take. It seemed to swell a bit more with each interaction she witnessed, and would soon run out of room in her chest.

Wipes and a clean diaper later, Beca lifted Marleigh into her arms. “We did it, Mar!” She showed her hand to the two weeks old. “High-five? No?” Beca smirked as she sat down in the rocking chair. “You’re hard to impress, MJ.”

Over Marleight’s third week in the NICU, Chloe tried breastfeeding for the first time. It took a good minute to get her to latch on properly, but once she did, she was a real trooper.

“How does that feel?” Beca asked as she sat in the opposite chair, observing the scene before her. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s a bit weird, but it doesn’t hurt,” Chloe said as she gazed down, obsessed with the way Marleigh’s ears moved back and forth as she nursed.

“Oh, Aubrey’s here,” Beca said when her phone buzzed. “I’ll go get her.”

By this point, Beca was considered the other parent by the NICU staff, so they were allowed an additional visitor. Marleigh’s stomach was still fairly small, so Chloe was done feeding by the time Aubrey arrived.

“Hi,” Chloe greeted with a bright smile as she paced around, rubbing Marleigh’s back to get her to burp. When she did, Chloe pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Good job, Bean.” She focused back on Aubrey. “Wanna hold her?”

Aubrey’s head bobbed up and down. Chloe didn’t think she’d ever seen her best friend this excited, though she could tell Aubrey was trying to conceal it. Once she’d sat down on the chair previously occupied by Beca, Chloe gently lowered Marleigh down in her arms.

“Oh my gosh,” Aubrey gasped, cradling her in the crook of her elbow. Marleigh was much more alert now, her big blue eyes staring up at that new face. “Hello, Marleigh. I’m your Auntie Aubrey.”

Tears pricked behind Chloe’s eyes as she snapped a few pictures. She had about a thousand of Marleigh by now.

By the fourth week, Marleigh was wire-free and was moved to an open incubator. She still needed to gain more weight until they could go home, but it was only a matter of a couple of weeks at most. Chloe now got to dress her, her first official onesie being the Bella one. She snapped a photo and sent it to the group chat, then had Beca snap one of the two of them as Chloe was wearing Beca’s barden hoodie, too.

They were cleared to go home when Marleigh reached five weeks and doubled her birth weight. She still looked unbelievably small once she was strapped in her car seat, ready to set off. Chloe gifted the nursing staff with a basket full of goodies and a heartfelt note for their devotion and kindness over the six weeks Marleigh spent at the NICU.

“You got it?” Chloe asked as Beca slid the car seat into position once they reached her car.

A click was heard and Beca cast her a smirk. “I’m a pro already.”

Chloe chuckled and slid in the backseat so she was by Marleigh’s side for the ride home. They reached Beca’s place just after eleven that morning, Marleigh having fallen asleep in the car.

Their first afternoon home unfolded smoothly. It was weird and a bit scary to take care of Marleigh without having a nurse nearby, but Chloe knew it was just a question of habit.

“How’s the water?”

“Good, I think. You should check it, too,” Beca said as she turned off the faucet.

Chloe dipped her hand in, then lowered Marleigh into the baby plastic tub they had set up in the master bathroom one. Marleigh started crying as soon as her butt touched the water, her features scrunching up.

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Chloe soothed. “I’ll be quick, Bean.”

Beca started singing to distract Marleigh from crying.

“Shorty get down, good Lord

Baby, got 'em open all over town

Strictly biz, she don't play around

Cover much grounds, got game by the pound.”

Chloe stifled a laugh and bit back a comment because it was actually working, Marleigh settling down while she rubbed a cloth over her body, then gently shampooed her hair.

“I can’t believe you sang that song,” Chloe said, shaking her head as she rubbed Marleigh dry a few minutes later.

“Hey, it worked,” Beca argued softly, huffing a laugh. “My girl’s got good taste.”

After putting on a fresh diaper and a onesie, Chloe fed Marleigh, then swaddled her. The baby didn’t stir as Chloe lowered her into her crib after singing her to sleep, and she turned on her night light and the baby monitor before quietly shuffling out of the room.

First day home from the hospital? Nailed it.

#bechloe fanfic

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notveryglittery · 4 years ago

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mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

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springtimebat · 3 years ago

Text

A Family of Draculas

Chapter Two: Corpse Cradle

Note: This is a sequel to my post Babes in the Woods.

It all began on a strange Autumn day, confined to the mist and the thistles that conceal the woods in their thick fog, their addicting scent. In some ways, these events never ended. The woods remain the same. The sky continues to fill its space with monsters. And of course, the Corpse Cradle stands, as it has always stood, in the gingerbread house, hidden away from prying eyes, cloaked in ripped limbs, pulled intestines and dry blood.

The Corpse Cradle. How can I tell you about the Corpse Cradle? I should tell you about the time I fell in love. That’s a good place to begin.

It all began on my birthday. I had just turned sixteen years old.

On my sixteenth birthday, cracks began to appear in the morning sky. As we placed the candles on my cake, the wolves crept out of their caves to howl. The old, old air threw their shrieks into the wind like a strange radio signal. The Darling woman, her skin just scars and pores, sat by the stove as all this went on, warming her claws on the coals. I sat on my knees beside her, watching the sky from the kitchen window. The whistling, the whispers; they caressed my face with spidery palms.

The Darling women watched me as I succumbed to the winds. Her eyes were yellow and greedy.

“Do you know what this is, sourdough?” She asked, tossing a coal around in her talons. Her skin never burned. It didn’t matter how much she strained it, her skin never burned.

I rolled my eyes and twirled the morning breeze around my neck, enchanting it like a snake. The witch let go of the coal lump and it hit the kitchen rug beneath her with a thump.

“I just asked you something Dorothy-Mae. Would you care to repeat it for me?”

“You asked me if I know what this is,”

“Very good. Do you know?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea ma’am.”

“You should know. You of all people should know about this. After all, it’s all happening because of you.”

“Me?” I let the wind escape from my grasp and it loosened, grabbing onto my wrist, “What have I done now?”

“You’ve grown,” The old woman chuckled, “That is your problem. That is your curse to bear. You grow up,” She reached into a pocket and produced a slimy cigar from the shadows. She cackled at my scowling face, “You’re in so much trouble!”

I shot up from the floor and scraped my feet on the boards, “If you’re gonna be like this all day I’d much rather celebrate outside. You’re hopeless when you speak in riddles.”

“I,” The old woman coughed, “Do not speak in riddles. I speak in ominous fortunes.”

“And a fat load of good that’s got us. A run-down cottage and these woods.”

“And the corpse cradle.”

I shivered and pulled my shawl tighter on my shoulders, “Yep. There’s that too.”

“It’s been empty for three weeks Dorothy-Mae. It’s growing lonely. Soon it will be hungry.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

“I do hope you’re not shirking your responsibilities, my-little-Dorothy-Mae. After all, I’m old.”

“I hadn’t noticed ma’am.”

“I’m old. I’m old and I’m feeble. Could you imagine the fuss...the strife I would get myself into if I went out on a hunt. A hunt? Me? Never!”

I gulped, “I haven’t been avoiding it. No-one has come through the woods. No men let alone children. And the cradle favours the toddlers.”

“It does indeed,” By now the cigar was spent, yet the old woman continued to puff at nothing but the air, “The skin at its most plump.”

“Do you really wanna send me out on my birthday?”

“I need to send you out there on your birthday. If it isn’t filled soon it’ll try to take you next.”

I scoffed and walked away to grab my coat. The stand winked at me as I pulled at its sharpened tongs.

“Creep,” I growled.

“It knows a pretty girl when it sees one,” The witch grinned. I stuck my tongue out at her and headed to the front door.

“Oh, charming!” She cackled, and she strummed her hands in mid air, playing an imaginary violin.

“I try.”

“Think of this as my birthday gift to you. You never know what you’ll find in those woods, sourdough. The trees like you. You practically have them wrapped around your finger.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t eat all of the cake while I’m gone.”

There had been a white balloon tied to the front door and I took it with me as I walked. It was a kindred spirit in a world full of corpse cradles and winking coat stands.

“‘Tis a strange thing,” I said, “To be sixteen.” My balloon bobbed its head in the wind, “Then again, the world is a strange place and I suppose I’m a strange master,” I hesitated, then spoke up again,“You won’t have to put up with me for long. Just a few hours. Then I’ll let you go.”

We wandered through the hazel thicket and crawled across the marsh. The gingerbread house sat behind the fence, watching the shadows and the oaks. The trees stared back, curious.

“Ah well, who knows what we’ll find,”

I pulled myself through the moss and the damp, expecting to find the woods, trapping me within its confines again.

I greeted ash. Ash and bare fields.

“ Happy birthday to me.”

My balloon stopped abruptly, mid wiggle.

“Thanks for my present I guess.” I sighed, to no one in particular, “ I always wanted a garden.”

No-one answered. But someone was there. A body made up of carpet lay on the singed grass, their head curled into their shoulders like a turtle. I could hear their snoring as their breath rose and fell.

Sighing, I tugged on my balloon.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to cut this acquaintanceship short. Have wonderful times out there. I’m a better person for having known you.”

With that, the balloon flew into the smoke like a dove.

“There goes my only friend,” I mourned.

My present trembled in the dirt and I began my slow, agonising walk towards them. Reflecting on these moments, years after my walk ended, it all feels like I was paddling through water, through an ocean, towards them. The wind called to me to hesitate and yet I did not. I took fateful step after fateful step, treading cursed ground until I caught sight of their face. It was shrivelled, gazing at me through glazed, grey eyes. They looked stormy and exhausted. Gazing at this creature was like receiving cracked glass. The grey seeked out colour, found a brother in the wizened skies, then returned to earth, settling on me. As they caught the red on my dress they grinned with rotten teeth. I trembled and I swallowed. Crouched before me was the strangest person I’d ever seen.

{A break in the Narrative}

A Portrait of a volatile, violent, confused young man

Or: The Tale of the Man with a broken back

He was a boy forced into the floor; tired, confined to cages and bars. He was born with a crooked, broken back and glassy eyes, the shade of fading autumn grass.

I saw him and I fell in love.

{Exeunt}

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I looked at the man before me and pulled my coat tighter around me. He attempted to pry himself from the earth, a grin never leaving his thinned face, his eyes never leaving my own.

“Don’t do that. The threads will just tighten.” I whispered.

The man raised his eyebrows and stilled. I took a step closer.

“Have you come to rescue me?” He asked. He had the voice of a toad, low and croaky. I sighed and dug deep into my pockets. Slowly, I gripped my pliers.

“The earth has its claws deep inside you. I can see that, even from here, your heart has turned to clay.”

“It can do that?” His eyes widened and I hesitated.

“It can with the right persuasion,”

“Huh!” He exclaimed, ``That's the last time I take a walk in the woods!”

“Do you...do you know what lives in these trees?”

“You, I assume. Although after today that will change.”

“Oh, how so?”

“Because I plan on taking you back with me.”

“Oh?” I grinned, pulling his arm out of the earth’s grasp. It howled angrily in my ear, upset at losing its meal.

“You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

My grin widened and I stroked his head. His hair was matted and coarse like moss. His neck tensed and an awful crack soared through the air as he raised his free arm to me.

“How many women have you seen?”

“Many. And many women have seen me.”

“How tragic for them.”

“How tragic for me too. They’ve spoiled me for a lifetime. They could not prepare this carpet caterpillar for your arrival.” The strange man guarded by the ground flapped his patchwork torso around. I rolled my eyes and stretched out his leg, readying it for plucking.

“Eerie things live in these woods. Eerier than me. Creatures that would much rather eat you than bear to look at you. Monsters that could fit you on their fingertips”

“They may desire to do so,” The strange man continued, “But only you will get a chance to.”

“I could never eat a carpet caterpillar.”

“Your carpet caterpillar.” And with that he was free and he curled up in my open lap. It happened quickly, too quickly to properly register. We lay there in the dirt as if sleeping on satin. For a while, in my pickled mind, the skies were made out of stained glass and gilded in rose gold.

“How long have you been stuck here for?” I asked, twisting his hair in my open palms. He growled and shuffled closer. He was still wrapped in the carpet. Couldn’t seem to let it go.

“A long, long, long time,” Is all he said.

“You were not here yesterday when I went on my walk,”

“How unfortunate for me...and for you,”

“That thing smells unholy,” I frowned, pinching my nose. He mumbled something and stroked the confines of his old prison, almost disappointed.

“It was fine before you released me,”

“And now you’re free from the earth. Now you’re as human as the day you were born,”

“Not much then,” He sighed, and my heart caught in my throat.

“What are you made of?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He grinned, “Carpets! Of all makes and sizes!”

“Of all fleshes, bones and eye sockets?”

“I am the Carpet Caterpillar of the woods!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. To the trees, to the sky, to the wind. It was then that I realised the man I loved was mad.

I pulled him down to eye level and wrapped his arms of cotton and linen around my neck. I got another evil smile in return, crackling like a fire in the fog.

“It’s not safe out here for you. I’m taking you home.”

“Hmm...is there food there?”

“We have cake,” I grinned.

He chuckled, “Aren’t you a treasure!”

And so I took my present to the Corpse Cradle

{A break in the Narrative}

The Corpse Cradle: A surface level study of a forest monster

The corpse cradle is as old as the dust and the ground, a mass of grass and tissue, clinging and feeding off of the dirt. It has eyes, it has lungs, it has teeth...or so I’ve been told. My caretaker found it when she inherited the woods and it has been steadily fed ever since, in order to keep our home. Sometimes it's sated by travellers, by men, by women, by monsters from other planes. But it loves children in particular. It holds onto their hearts in jars. It keeps discarded limbs flailing around its bodice, in order to live up to its name.

{Exeunt}

He stayed there for six months, having his flesh stripped away, his mind flayed by a monster he could not feel. His face went from fogged glass, to a violent pink, to a terrible purple. I sat by him and watched on and off, as his carpets withered away to thin linens. He never cried. He refused.

“It does this to test you, you know,” The Witch told me one day as we scraped flesh into the cooking pot. At first, I had stopped eating what the Cradle decided to share with us but my present had insisted that I take it.

“If I am to die,” He reassured me, “I would rather you eat this. I’d rather you collect me than her.”

I turned to my caretaker, the closest thing I had to a mother. The Corpse Cradle gurgled happily in the corner as it ingested my lover’s guts.

“Maybe it tests me too much,” I replied, trying to keep myself from vomiting.

Mrs Darling chuckled, “I find it funny that, for years now, you’ve eaten whatever the cradle has given us. It protected you, taught you, nurtured you, almost as much as me. You’ve grown up surrounded by dying things. Yet, this young man appears before you and you turn into a ghost, a silhouette of things past.”

“Perhaps it comes with age,” I said, grimly. The Witch’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t start with that nonsense. I don’t know why you’re so upset sourdough! The trees brought you fresh meat. They practically served him up on a platter…”

“They served him up to me wrapped in carpets. And he continues to wear them like a suit of armour!”

“He loves you.”

“Yes he does, though I have no idea why. We don’t know each other.”

“You don’t?”

“You know we don’t. I met him on my birthday!”

The Witch continued to stir the flesh in her cauldron. I would have pursued the conversation further but the Corpse Cradle decided that it was the appropriate moment to snap its prisoners back.

He had been in the Cradle for four months, the longest a creature had ever stayed, and Mrs Darling had started to think the woods had delivered an immortal to our doorstep. His rough skin was all gone now and he was just a mass of bones and rotten teeth. His spine had been severed and completely digested, leaving him to crawl around in the beast’s belly. His eyes were still in their sockets, but not for long. At night I sat with them in their cage, gazing at his face with a lantern. The confused stare was gone now. His eyes were now the shade of spring grass instead of dying winter. I stroked a rib that encased him and reached to caress his arm. He grabbed my own and held it to his jaw, growing tired in the dark.

He was angry, I knew that. I was angry too.

“Where will I go when I die?”

I swallowed, “I don’t know.”

He groaned. I could hear his neck crack, just like the day we met. My hand gripped his jaw tighter.

“I don’t know what you are. I don’t know what will happen. And…”

“You don’t know what to do,” He finished. I nodded reluctantly. His hand flew up to my own, fixated on his chin, and he caressed the grooves on my palms.

“Where will you go when you die?”

I sighed, relieved, “Oh that’s much simpler! I know exactly where I will go! When I die, I will go to the lonely places!”

“Lonely places?”

“Yes! Lonely corners and corridors of the world. I’ll float and dance on the air with my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“I do. I was a twin. We were born minutes apart but he was...different.”

“Different like you or…”

“He was born with fangs and glowing eyes. He had shaggy, silver fur instead of skin. He died soon after my mother gave birth. A few minutes later, she followed him.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes. When I’m lonely, I like to wonder what my life would be like if he lived. If we’d be here together, if we’d love each other, even like each other. Maybe, if he had lived, if he had gone on to grow, our father wouldn’t have given us up. Maybe we would still be together, playing by a creek.”

“I’m sure your father misses you. I can’t understand how he could give you up. And to a witch of all people!” I chuckled, “My father cannot feel. You will never understand. I’m not human. I never have been. Unicorn silk flows and pulses through my fingers. I hold electricity on my tongue. I am what I am because of my father. The only person my father could love died giving me life and it left him cold, frozen in time.”

“You do love to speak in monologues don’t you?”

I giggled and stroked his cheek, “Sometimes.”

“I tell you what,” He announced, shifting in the shadows to press his frame to me, “When I die, I’ll come back to you as a spirit!”

“You can’t determine that!” I cackled.

“You don’t know that I can’t! Perhaps we’re able to decide what we do once we’re gone. I’m a person of little consequence, slowly being devoured by a forest beast! Whatever awaits won’t care for someone as pathetic as me.”

“You’re not pathetic.”

“And I’m not leaving you alone.”

He lowered his haggard hand to my abdomen and tugged at the folds of my dress.

“What colour is it?” He asked.

“Are you losing your sight?”

“What colour is it?”

“Red.”

“Red. Like the day you found me. It’s come full circle hasn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“If I get the chance to, I will come back to you. I wish to belong to you always. But if I can’t get back to you, Can I at least give you something to remember me by?”

My eyes grew large and I took a step back from the cage. He clutched at the bars of his prison and I could see how hopeful his gaunt, torn face was.

“You really are arrogant aren’t you? Of all the things to wish for! Is that really your last request? Because that’s what this is, your last request! A child...my child? It’ll be…”

“Beautiful,” He whispered, smiling at my flushed face, “It’ll be beautiful.”

I grabbed onto his arm again and sighed.

“I don’t understand why you love me so much. I could have had as many men as I liked, you’ll never know. Honestly, you don’t know the first thing about me.”

“You still haven’t figured it out have you?”

“I haven’t figured out what?”

“The woods gave you to me, right? I am your present and I was designed for you, placed in the ground for you to take. I’m a gift and as such I am a non-entity. I’m just an object. The woods must have thought you were lonely and created me in response.”

“Why-why would they do this?”

“You’re a daughter of the air. You don’t belong here. They’re apologising,”

“You’re-you’re an object?”

“I might as well be.”

I took a deep breath, “I will miss you when you’re gone. I never wished for you but I will miss you as if I did.”

“I’ll miss you too,” My present hesitated and his hands fell to the floor.

“What do you want to say?” I asked, reaching to hold his palms again.

“Can I lie with you tonight?”

I swallowed and stood. Then I slid the heavy doors of the Corpse Cradle ajar.

“Just for tonight.”

He died two months later on a Thursday. I had brought him breakfast early in the morning and discovered that his skeleton had fallen apart. Rain began to fall as the Witch and I burned his remains in the cauldron. My eyes stayed locked on the Corpse Cradle, gluttonous and smug in the corner. It had grown heavy on my lover’s flesh and turned around like a lazy dog in the sun.

“It’s better this way, my Dorothy-Mae,” Mrs Darling reassured, lifting kneecaps from the brewing stew and stuffing them into my pockets, “He wasn’t long for this world anyway. One can only live on lust for so long.”

I didn’t respond. I continued to watch the Cradle.

“Must say, he had beautiful eyes. Like leaves. I almost wish the Cradle hadn’t gobbled them up!” The Witch cackled. I rolled my eyes and gripped the new chain around my neck. Mrs Darling followed my fingers and realised that the very eyes she longed to own were wrapped around my neck.

“He wanted me to have them,” I explained, “Besides, you have enough eyes to gorge yourself on.”

“Don’t be rude sourdough.” She growled.

“He never loved me, you know.”

“Of course he did! He was created to love you!”

“That’s just it. He never had a choice.”

“And no one ever will.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You enchant almost everything you come across. That’s exactly why I took you in. Look at how you’ve manipulated the forest, the very trees! It mourns right along with you! In a couple of years who knows what you will be able to do! I can teach you how to control the rain, twist the wind around your pinky finger! I can teach you how to make yourself stronger!”

“I don’t care about all that,” I scowled, “I’ve lost a friend.”

“There will be others. I’m sure the woods will leave another gift on your next birthday, since you enjoyed this one so much.”

“No. There won’t be anyone quite like him.”

I tugged at my dress, pulling down the skirt hem. The witch followed my gaze to my belly and she sneered.

“Dorothy, please do not tell me that you-” She began to vomit in her mouth, “Please do not confess to me…”

“Yes. I did. And I’m expecting,”

“You stupid, stupid girl! You do realise what that boy was? That boy was linens! That boy was clothing! He was about as human as a raincoat!”

“He was to you. But he wasn’t to me. He was a person that I let down.”

“The Cradle won’t stand for this! You know it’ll take the baby!”

“If it’s human. But I’m not sure it will be.”

“It will take the baby away just to spite you.”

“I’ll kill it.”

“Of course you will.”

“It will die eventually. Won’t it? Nothing lives forever.”

“Perhaps. I’d say the woods have taught you a lesson after all.”

I scowled at her.

The fire began to die and Mrs Darling stirred the stew with a wooden spoon. I peered inside. My lover’s bones had disappeared, melted into black tar.

“I won’t eat it.”

“I don’t expect you to, sourdough. From now on you will eat only the healthiest of meals. We need to keep the baby happy. However strange it may be, it's still our responsibility. Lord knows, the father will be completely useless in raising it!”

“We fed the father to a forest monster ma'am.”

“That couldn’t be helped. Anyway, I’ll set out to find some fresh meat in a few days, once you begin to tire. This here is a delicacy!”

With that we sat down on the ground together, huddled in our gingerbread house. It almost felt like days of old. The Witch began feasting on my lover’s remains while I tugged at the chain around my neck, tugged at the man’s eyes, twisted his tensed muscles and nerves in my hand.

“I will kill it one day,” I whispered sorrowfully, “I will kill it for what it’s done to me.”

The Witch said nothing, just directed her focus to the sky outside. The Corpse Cradle gave a vindictive growl.

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lunasilvermorny · 4 years ago

Text

The Summer of Muggles

It’s finally here - and it was all my idea!

Kidding...

First of all - I’m so glad to see that anyone is that invested in anything related to my headcanon ^^ So thanks anon for giving me the motivation to finally make that post!

That being said...Here’s the thing.

When I made the "Summer of Muggles", it was just something I made for myself, to figure things out, so it involved zero research. And as someone who's never personally been to the UK, I probably got a lot of things wrong and Americanized the hell out of everything. Anyway, for me to post it, I need to do a proper research and I'm just not invested enough in it to dedicate the time and energy that will make it happen.

That means that the full thing will just stay as something I wrote for myself.

However...!

I can summarize it for you. (and by summarize, I mean - make a very long and detailed post about it.)

(I realized that the drawing I made about the Summer of Muggles is almost a year old, so I’ve decided to redraw it... It’s really encouraging to see how much I’ve improved since last year.)

0. Introduction:

For Luna's 14th birthday (it's in December, so she was still in her 4th year), her mother bought her a car that Luna named Oliver. Luna's muggle grandma has taught her how to drive (the first time she let her sit behind the wheel was when she was only 8 y.o.!), and she really loves muggle technology in general, so it was the perfect gift for her.

When Luna came back for the summer vacation between her 4th and 5th year, she's decided to go on a road trip across the UK with Oliver. The car had a magical protection that prevented muggle-cops from approaching it, so Luna was able to drive around without a license. She also looked older than she was (mostly because of her height), so she didn't draw any attention to herself whenever she got in and out of the car.

She drove around, especially next to coastlines, parked next to beaches and slept in the car. During her trip she met many muggles, but a selected few actually traveled with her for a portion of it.

You can divide her trip into 4 major sections:

The first week (the adjustment period)

The end of July

The first three days of August

The rest of August

Okay, let’s dive in!

----

1. The first week (around mid-July)

She spent most of the time getting used to sleep in her car and go to public places for basic needs like food, bathroom, laundry etc.

The most memorable event during this week was when she met a group of people that were on their way to a rock-concert when their car broke down. So she gave them a ride and in return they've sneaked her in.

----

2. The end of July

That's when she met Pete and Lynn - fraternal twins that just finished high school and wanted to have a small taste of freedom before going to uni. She met them while she stumbled across a forest party for their graduation.

Most people there were too wasted to notice her, but they saw her almost immediately and started a conversation with her. So they drank, danced and talked for hours. They were also the only muggles that figured out she's a witch. (Well, almost... you’ll see why in the next section.) Lynn has noticed her wand and they told her that their little sister is also a witch that just finished her first year at Hogwarts. After the party was interrupted by the cops, Lynn and Pete asked her if they can join her for the trip, and without any second though she agreed.

They mostly went to parties and got drunk in different places for the rest of the month, and had a lot of fun together.

3. The first three days of August

After arriving at a small town and sitting in the local pub, Luna’s identity as a witch was discovered and she had to use Obliviate on the muggles in the pub to keep it a secret. Because they were in the middle or nowhere essentially, a wizard from the Ministry of Magic arrived shortly after to see if a minor used magic there. Luna, Lynn and Pete hid in the car, and once the wizard got in the pub, drove away in a hurry.

Knowing that she needs a strong alibi in case they found out it was her that used magic, Luna left Lynn and Pete with Oliver next to a small forest outside of the town and flew in her owl form to her parents’ house, but when she saw that the wizard got there before her and was already talking to her father, she's decided to fly to the Weasleys instead. She got there in the middle of the night and woke up Bill to ask for his help.

In the early morning the wizard from the Ministry arrived at the Weasleys’ house and was greeted by Luna and Bill, although Mrs. Weasley joined them shortly after he got there. When she saw her son was telling the wizard that Luna has been staying there for more than a week and never left their house, she supported their story, even before she was sure why they're lying about it.

The wizard said that he found a letter addressed to her in the pub (oh right, I forgot to mention that while in the pub, Charlie Brown showed up with a letter from Rowan, and with the whole fuss surrounding her being a witch, she hasn’t noticed when she dropped it.) but Luna kept insisting she was never there.

The wizard left eventually and Luna found out later on that her father made the problem “disappear” and that's why she got away with it.

She stayed there for a couple of hours and gave Mrs. Weasley a not-really-convincing explanation for what happened, but Mrs. Weasley chose to trust her eldest son and his reasons for helping her.

Luna flew back to the road outside the small town where she's left Lynn and Pete with her car, but when she got to the exact spot, they weren’t there anymore. She's spent the rest of the morning searching for them in both her human and owl forms and when she couldn't, she went to a small pub on the side of the road to get some rest. The pub was empty aside for the bartender - Michael, a 20-something y.o. bloke that ran his parents' business when they got too old to do it themselves.

They talked and bonded, and eventually he offered her to sleep in his flat on the second floor, because she looked too exhausted to keep looking for them. But she barely got half an hour of sleep before she's decided to keep searching, and Michael offered to help her. She knew she'd be better off searching in her owl form, but he looked determined to help her, so they've searched together for a few hours. Around noon Luna thanked him for his help but said she preferred to keep searching alone, so she had the chance to cover more ground in her owl form.

Toward the evening she started to lose hope and took a quick nap on a bench in a random bus stop, before she was interrupted by an old lady and her son. She almost lost her wand, but the old lady gave it to her just before she left again.

She kept searching for a few more hours and just before she lost all hope, she went once more to the place where she had left them in the first place and to her surprise, found Lynn sitting next to a tree a few meters from the car.

Lynn told Luna that Pete and her had a huge fight and he's decided to go to Wales alone (because that's where they were heading) and Lynn went to a nearby town to sleep, but got stuck with the car because the gas ran out, and by the time she got back to the same point, Luna already gave up on the idea that they might still be there.

When Luna suggested they should just keep going, Lynn told her she's too tried and they both went back to Michael's pub to get some rest. But instead of sleeping they've spent the entire night drinking and talking with him and when Lynn finally fell asleep around dawn, Michael asked Luna to join them on their trip, since Pete’s spot has opened.

4. The rest of August

The three had great chemistry and spent most of the time like before- partying and drinking, only that with Michael there, they also went camping more. Lynn and Michael almost became a thing, which made being around them awkward, then it didn't work out, which made being around them even more awkward, but after a few days it went back to normal.

They went to the northernmost point in Scotland before they turned back to England, but kept driving past London and went to the southernmost point in England. There they met Connor, a rich young bloke that celebrated his financial freedom with a huge party on the beach.

During the night he made a very negative impression on Luna and Michael, but after he sobered up in the morning he offered them to come visit him in Brighton, where he'll make it up to him. Michael was against it, but both Luna and Lynn were intrigued and they've decided it will be the last place they visit before they head back home.

They partied with Connor for a few days and Lynn's decided to stay with Connor, while Luna and Michael headed toward London.

Luna dropped him at the train station and planned to go home, but when she stood outside of her house, already prepared to open the door and get in, she's decided that she wanted to get a proper goodbye from Pete as well and flew to his aunt's house in Wales.

Pete was surprised by the strange owl that knocked on the window, and even more surprised when it turned into Luna. He hugged her and apologized for leaving without a saying anything, and just said that he and Lynn had a huge fight and he couldn't stay there with her anymore. He refused to get into the details but showed concern for his sister’s safety and reassured Luna that they tend to have huge fights like this a lot and they'll make up "sometime soon."

After that Luna really went back home - and that's the end of the Summer of Muggles.

If you think that was long, the original post was ~30 pages long in MS Word, so... I actually summarized it. (Who know I was capable of it? Not me.)

#my headcanon #hphm headcanon #luna silver #luna kateřina silver #pete and lynn #the summer of muggles #harry potter #ocs #original characters

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angelofrainfrogs · 5 years ago

Text

Flashes of the Past

Fandom: The Bartimaeus Sequence

Pairing: None

Description: Tired of the constant visits to Earth after helping Nathaniel successfully thwart the Golem rampaging through London, Bartimaeus finally decides to give the boy a piece of his mind. However, when he finds Nathaniel in a surprising state, unexpected memories begin to surface... memories of a former master who was also a kid in way over his head.

This story was written for the 2019 Bartimaeus Zine, Millennia. Check it out here: https://tbtfanzine.tumblr.com/post/189856191281/millennia-a-bartimaeus-sequence-fanzine

Rating: G

Genre: Humor

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022725

Flashes of the Past

Another master, another mission, another countless number of months on Earth. So is my life, century after century. I’m not sure why I thought this time would be different, but for whatever reason… I did[1].

The kid was smart, definitely, but also young- and that meant he was easily influenced by his peers[2]. He’d already had some of that haughty British magician air the first time he’d summoned me a few years ago, but I could see that he wasn’t totally corrupt yet. He was certainly getting there, though. The arrogance seeped further into him each day, and it most clearly presented itself in the type of missions he sent me on.

At first, they were standard- protect him during an important party, watch over his room as he slept, deliver a secret message only one person is meant to see. As the months went on, however, the tasks began to change. It was no longer “pick up this secret relic for Internal Affairs,” but “go pick up some crisps from the shop while I do some paperwork.”

Honestly, I was getting a little put-out.

It was during one such task that I resolved to give the boy a piece of my mind once I got back to him. I’d been sent to buy some lunch[3] and was expected back within the hour. I wasn’t worried about being a little late, though; since I knew the boy’s birth name, his “punishments” were mostly empty threats[4]. Although, based on his increasing paranoia and twitchiness, I wondered if they were going to stay that way.

Finally, I made it to the counter and ordered, adding an extra special topping much to the horror of the cashier- hopefully, a preview of Nathaniel’s future reaction. As usual, the boy was very careful to give me very clear, explicit instructions, but I was still the best at finding loopholes. In this case, he’d told me what type of sandwich he wanted and “not to put anything else on it that he didn’t like.” As unconventional as my final choice of topping was, I knew for a fact that the boy liked it, so therefore I was technically in the clear.

I left the shop and turned into a crow at my first opportunity, the foil-wrapped sandwich clutched in my claws. My disguise was so good that to my mild annoyance, a few other crows thought I was bringing them a fresh meal and tried to snatch the sandwich from me mid-flight. I scared them off with a loud caw that shook the windows on a nearby house and was left alone for the remainder of my trip.

When I arrived at Nathaniel’s room, I found the window shut- odd, since he always kept it open for me when I went out to retrieve food. I threw the sandwich into the air and skillfully caught it in my beak, then landed on the windowsill and peered in, checking the area on all planes just to be safe. I couldn’t sense anything amiss on planes two through seven, but on the first is where I saw Nathaniel, sitting on the bed with his knees curled up to his chest. His ridiculously tight coat was thrown haphazardly on the floor- the first sign that something was wrong[5].

I tapped on the glass with my beak and the boy jerked so violently he nearly fell off the bed. I tilted my head questioningly, watching him with a beady black eye. I saw the recognition[6] wash over his face as he looked from my current form to the sandwich. Slowly, as if in a daze, he got off the bed and walked to the window. He unlatched the bolt and, after looking all around as if someone were waiting to strike him down the second his focus wavered, he opened the window just enough for me to squeeze through.

In one singular motion, I dropped the sandwich onto his desk and shifted into Ptolemy’s form, forgoing the usual Egyptian garb in favor of the modern outfit I wore when blending in with the humans. I turned back to Nathaniel to see him muttering and gesturing at the now-locked window, and a few seconds later a green nexus appeared on the third plane, providing another layer of protection to seal off the room from the outside world. The boy turned around, noticed me casually leaning against the desk, and nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time.

“My oh my, Natty boy, what’s gotten into you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as the boy pressed a hand over his heart as if the gesture would help calm his rapid pulse. “You’re so… jumpy.”

The boy glared at me, which at least showed that he was thinking clearer. He didn’t respond for a few seconds, looking as though he was deciding whether to actually tell me anything- an important choice to make. The more information he gave me, the more I could potentially use against him, and vice versa. This is one of the many reasons why magicians didn’t tend to be friendly with the spirits they enslaved[7].

Eventually, Nathaniel cleared his throat and explained, staring at the floor, “While you were gone, I decided to go for a walk in the nearby park and while I was there… an attempt was made on my life.”

My eyes widened. “What?!”

“You heard me.” Nathaniel snapped his gaze to mine, eyes still narrowed with both anger and residual fear.

“I meant ‘what’ as in ‘what a bold thing to do, in broad daylight with a bunch of potential witnesses,’” I clarified, and the boy’s glare deepened. Well, that certainly explained his previous curled-up position and the locked window. “What happened, did someone throw an elemental sphere at you? Try and drop a rock on your head from the roof?”

“No.” Nathaniel sighed, looking at the floor again. “Something attacked me that wasn’t visible on the first three planes- I don’t know what it was, before you ask, obviously I couldn’t see it. I barely made it back inside before a blast almost hit me.” He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering despite the cozy warmth of the bedroom.

I stared at him, finding myself unable to shoot back a witty retort. The expression on his face was just so… vulnerable. At that moment, he looked every bit the scrawny, inexperienced child he truly was. As much as he pretended to be one of the self-important government magicians, in reality he was just a fourteen-year-old boy way out of his league.

“Why didn’t you summon me?” I asked, curious. Usually, when a magician is under attack their first response is to summon the most powerful spirit under their command- which in this case was me, of course.

Nathaniel blinked at me as if I’d slapped him across the face. “I… didn’t think of it.”

“Well, did you at least shoot back a counter-spell and give the guy a run for his money?”

“Er… no.”

“Wait- you got attacked and just hid in your room?!” The expression on my face twisted into one of disbelief. The kid was brilliant and had been in much more perilous situations than what he’d just described; I couldn’t understand why his first instinct had been to shut himself in his room and hope no one would find him.

“I locked the door and windows!” Nathaniel said defensively, still clutching his arms around himself. “And I put a protective spell on the door. I just… I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me to summon you. Or try to fight back. I just wanted to get away.”

“Your mistake,” I said with a shrug. And then, a thought occurred to me, a slow smile spreading across my face. “You know, if you didn’t send me out to do frivolous things like get you sandwiches, I’d already be around if something like this happens again… which it definitely will.”

I expected the boy to agree, maybe with a bit of fussing, but eventually realizing that my logic was infallible. However, Nathaniel didn’t seem to hear me. He’d begun to shiver again, eyes unfocused, presumably reliving the many times that he’d almost met an unfortunate end at the hands of powers beyond his control.

With a sigh, I picked up the sandwich and threw it, catching it in my hand.

“Hey,” I said, and when the boy looked at me, I lodged the sandwich directly at his face. He instinctively smacked it away just before it hit him square in the nose, to my dismay[8]. It made a light squelching sound as it landed on the floor. “Look, Nat, I’m sure you know this, but a magician’s life is full of paranoia. At least with me, you know what you’re dealing with. How about we make a new deal?”

“I’m not about to make deals with you, Bartimaeus, especially without a pentacle to bind the agreement,” the boy quipped, a bit of his usual pompousness returning.

“Relax, it’s for both our benefits!” I flashed a grin. “How’s about you stop sending me out to buy you lunch, and then I’ll be nearby the next time someone tries to take your head off; sound good?”

His jaw clenched at the mention of another threat to his life, but he tried his best to hide the fear, pushing it back down beneath the cold façade all government magicians wear. He thought for a moment, presumably trying to figure out what sort of trick I was playing, before giving a resigned sigh.

“Alright, fine; you can stay by my side, at least for a little bit,” he relented.

“Gee, you make it sound so wonderful,” I said with a roll of my eyes. The point wasn’t to be glued to him at the hip, the point was not to be sent on tasks such as acquiring food… but I could tell the boy was still too shaken up to understand my logic[9]. I gestured to the now-slightly-squished sandwich. “Eat that; part of your shock is probably because you skipped breakfast again. Hey, don’t glare at me when I speak the truth!”

The boy pursed his lips, obviously holding back a retort, but amazingly listened to my suggestion and reached down to pick up the sandwich. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, slowly unwrapping the tin foil. He paused mid-action of bringing the sandwich up to his mouth.

“…This is what the rest of my life is going to be like, isn’t it?” he asked to no one in particular, voice soft and trembling.

“I’ve already said yes,” I said, feeling it was as though it was my duty to respond[10].

“Just waiting for the next attack… always on edge… Is this what it’s going to be like forever?” He looked at me then, eyes wide and questioning as though I had all the answers, and suddenly I wasn’t looking at Nathaniel anymore.

The boy in front of me was one I’d known years ago, a boy full of optimism and love and trust, and who, on rare occasions, would forget his true self and ask me the same thing:

“Will it always be like this?” He wondered, his frail body more prone to weariness than ever. “Will I always be wondering when the next attack will come? Will I never know peace again?”

“It will never be easy,” I responded, gently placing a hand on his head, and to an outsider it looked like the Royal Vizier giving his young master some comfort. To the both of us, however, it was something much more. “But you can know peace, because I will be by your side always.”

He smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Thank you, Rekhyt.”

I blinked, and Nathaniel was in front of me once more.

“Oh, I don’t know why I bother asking you these stupid questions,” he was saying, a bit of color returning to his cheeks. He seemed to be coming back to himself, realizing his moment of weakness[11].

I closed my eyes, willing myself back to the present; now was not the time to reminisce. The boy in front of me was not Ptolemy and never would be. They were completely different in every way.

And yet, deep down, there was something in Nathaniel that brought back flashes of memories just like this. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it left my mind fuzzy. I shook my head and refocused on Nathaniel just in time to see him finally take a bite of the sandwich in his hands. He chewed absently for a few seconds, before his face scrunched up in disgust and he spat the chewed-up mound onto the floor- and, conveniently, right onto his fancy coat.

“Ugh! What is… is there banana on here?!” he exclaimed, turning to me with eyes full of fire. My lips curled up in a toothy smile and the responding expression on his face fully snapped me into the present[12].

“You told me not to put anything you didn’t like on it,” I responded with a shrug. “You often eat a banana for an afternoon snack, so I thought I’d save you the trouble and combine the two meals.”

“That’s disgusting!”

I put a hand to my heart, looking offended. “I was being thoughtful!”

“You were not, you conniving demon!”

“Now, now, no need for the insults, Nat-”

“And it’s gotten all over my coat, oh no…”

“Hey, that was your fault.” The boy glared daggers at me. “You should watch where you spew your food.”

“Ugh, I’m never sending you to the chip shop again,” he huffed, wrapping the remainder of the sandwich back up. He made to put it in the trash bin, then after a split-second’s thought promptly turned and threw it directly at me.

I caught it skillfully in my hand with a laugh and flashed him another grin. That deal worked just fine for me.

***

[1] Maybe it was my unbridled optimism, or maybe it was just the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that the boy still had some semblance of good left in him. Either way, a stupid notion on my part.

[2] This influence was already in full effect, if his stunningly bad fashion choices were anything to go by.

[3] A tuna sandwich this time, with an array of toppings that we’ll come back to later on.

[4] He had tried a few magical attacks on occasion, the most notable being a few weeks earlier, in which he sent a bolt of crippling fire my way. I swiftly returned the spell with a whisper of his name, which the boy unfortunately dodged and caused a small fire on his nightstand. He promptly had a panic attack and frantically doused the fire before it could spread, and since then he hasn’t tried anything else magically-inclined to harass me.

[5] On one memorable occasion a few days after buying the stupidly expensive coat, I’d seen the boy use himself as a human umbrella and shield the garment rather than let it get a smidge of rainwater on it, so seeing it on the chalk-dusted floor was mildly alarming.

[6] And was that a hint of relief? Surely, I was misinterpreting his pathetic expression.

[7] That and, well, the whole “enslavement against our will” thing in general tends to put a damper on potential friendships before they can begin.

[8] Although I was admittedly impressed by the maneuver; it was reminiscent of an ancient karate move I’d seen during one of my stints in Asia a few centuries ago.

[9] Really, the ideal situation was that I could be released to the Other Place and never have to set eyes on that pitiful face again, but based on the recent pattern of events, I knew that any reprieve I got would be brief until the boy was no longer able to summon me… which, most likely, would be when he met his ultimate fate- a scenario which probably wouldn’t happen for quite a long time, knowing the boy’s annoying knack for staying alive.

[10] Rhetorical question or not, I didn’t want to boy to feel ashamed for talking to himself. Besides, I’m always up for giving helpful advice when I can.

[11] In front of a djnni, of all creatures; I’m sure he was equal parts terrified and embarrassed- well, probably more embarrassed, knowing I could pull this memory out at any time when he needed to be put in his place.

[12] It was a familiar look of contempt and exasperation- an expression that I’d seen many magicians sport over the years, but Nathaniel’s face seemed built just for it.

#bartimaeus #the bartimaeus trilogy #the bartimaeus sequence #bartimaeus fanzine #bartimaeus fanzine millennia #millennia #fanfic #fanfiction #humor #nathaniel #ptolemy #flashes of the past #the golem's eye #ptolemy's gate #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452 #ao3

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

Text

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 12

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Thursday (day before the wedding)

“You don’t think he’s going to ask my permission, do you?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder towards the bedroom door, where Malcolm was slouching on the frame and running his fingers through his hair erratically. “What?” She slid another book into place on the shelf, admiring how nicely the room was coming together. It was her first night sleeping in the house as her new residence, but she’d spent most evenings that week setting everything up so that it wouldn’t feel so stark and new.

“My permission to propose,” he elaborated, stepping into the room and making a beeline for her full-length mirror. “He wouldn’t, right?”

Her eyes went from his agitated form to her still half-full box of books, and sighed. “I doubt it. Not in front of Clara, and that’s a serious conversation - not one to be had in passing when she goes off to the loo.” Abandoning her project she joined him at the mirror, smacking his hands away and turning him towards her so she could run her fingers through his hair in a sad attempt to tame the curls that had reached mad scientist level of unruly. “It’s the night before your wedding, your daughter and her boyfriend want to take you out to dinner. Don’t over-analyze it.” What she didn’t mention was that she was fairly certain Malcolm would not be given a chance to give permission – or reject it, which his daughter thought more likely.

“Well, good. I was very clear about not wanting a stag night, or any similar sort of fuss,” he said adamantly, fidgeting in place. “None of it. Really.”

Rose just hummed non-committedly, well aware that he wouldn’t be given a choice or a chance to say no, already in on the evening’s plan. “It’ll be fine, whatever it is. Your daughter will be there, I doubt there’ll be strippers involved or the like.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t blink. “You know something I don’t.”

“I know many things you don’t. For instance, I know you can't wrap your hand around your elbow and make your fingers meet.” He immediately straightened up, and Rose hid a smile as she pretended not to see him try it behind his back. “I also know you’re dressed like an aging rock star.”

“Oi! Aging? Bite your tongue, Rose Tyler.”

It was true, though; he was in boots and dark jeans, paired with a Beatles tee-shirt and a black sports coat. “You wear it well,” she soothed, before adopting a haughty tone. “And that’ll be Viscountess Gallifrey this time tomorrow, good sir.”

“I do so humbly apologize, ma’am, and beg your pardon,” his tone lowered, and she had to fight back a shiver at the goosebumps it gave her. “I am, of course, your devoted servant.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to regain her composure and not think about how close they were to her bed and how far he might be persuaded to go to prove it. “As you should be. Now, your dinner date will be here any moment, are you finished primping?”

Malcolm pulled back, and she mourned the loss of his closeness; in his nerves he seemed to have gone slightly overboard on the aftershave, and it was doing delicious things to her senses. “Yeah. And, hey.”

The doorbell rang then, and with a sigh, he turned towards the door. “That’ll be them, then.”

Rose followed him, wanting to say hello to Danny and Clara and make sure Malcolm got out the door.

She was suddenly very eager to have the house to herself for a few hours.

Malcolm let Danny lead Clara into the restaurant, hanging back slightly in case he needed to do a runner. Rose was clearly in on whatever this was, and while he’d welcome a nice dinner, anything that came close to a party, let alone a traditional stag night, he wanted nothing to do with.

They were almost immediately led through the main dining area to the row of semicircular booths in the back, and to his surprise he was delighted to find several familiar faces waiting for them.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted them, less annoyed than he’d expected. “How’s it going?”

Three faces grinned back at him.

“Hi Malcolm!” Tony waved enthusiastically. “Look, I’m wearing a tie!”

“So you are, little dude. Looks good on you,” he approved, offering his fist to the boy, who enthusiastically bumped his own against it. “Pete, Graham, good of you to be here, I suppose. Rose get you all mixed up in this?”

He slid in next to Graham, as the group on the other side shuffled around so Clara could sit on Tony’s other side, smack dab in the middle of the booth.

“No more than she did you,” his chauffeur retorted with a smirk. “And you’re late – I’m starving.”

“There’s a surprise,” Malcolm laughed, relaxing into the comfortable booth and picking up his menu. “God help me if we get caught in traffic and he’s run out of food.”

“I take my meals very seriously!”

The conversation continued around him, but Malcolm took a moment to lean back and take it in. It was a somewhat ragtag group, not a typical stag night, but they were the people he was closest to in the world (excluding Rose), especially now that his uncle was gone.

Alright, maybe this isn’t as horrible as I thought it might be…

Wrapped only in her dressing gown Rose hummed as she made her way to the kitchen, stepping carefully in her fuzzy slippers on the old wooden stairs. After some good old-fashioned self-care in the bath she was feeling good, venturing out in search of some nibbles.

In the freezer she found a container of her favorite double chocolate ice cream, scooping out a generous portion and covering it with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Catching sight of an old portrait on the wall of one of Malcolm’s ancestors, a severe older woman who seemed to be judging her, she stuck out her tongue. “I’m getting married tomorrow, he definitely won’t care if I get fat,” she told it smugly, making her first spoonful oversized out of spite. “Take that.”

She was halfway back up the stairs when the doorbell rang, and she wavered. It wasn’t Clara, who was out with Malcolm for the dinner party stag night, and it wasn’t her Mum because she was out with friends, but who else could it be?

It rang again, followed by a sharp rap, and groaning, Rose realized she’d have to answer it. The person was starting to knock again when she swung the door open to reveal-

“Missy.”

Malcolm’s ex-wife looked her up and down slowly, lip curling up. “Well, don’t you look comfortable,” she drawled. “Made yourself right at home, haven’t you?”

“Working on it.” With a casualness she didn’t possess at the moment Rose leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking any move Missy might make to enter. “What brings you here?” she took another bite of ice cream, raising an eyebrow.

“I want to see my husband.”

Rose frowned at the haughty tone, straightening up slightly and now feeling silly in just her dressing gown. “Your ex-husband isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?” She’d never outright challenged Missy before, but she was painfully conscious that in eighteen hours, Malcolm would be her husband – at least in name. I can’t let her go around calling him hers anymore.

The other woman’s lips curled up, but not even the most generous soul would call it a smile. “You know, my husband always did like to think highly of himself. That he was better than everyone else, more altruistic. And yet here he is, fifty years old and marrying the secretary who’s half his age, just like all the other executives in a mid-life crisis. Honestly, I don’t see why he can’t just bend you over the desk and be done with it. Always has to be the hero, I suppose.”

Fighting down her anger and disgust, Rose’s mind raced for a half-decent retort. “Well, he did say he couldn’t do any worse than his first wife,” she shot back. Not great, but okay. Definitely true. “And I’m the best partner he’s ever had.” Also true, though the comment certainly hadn’t been in reference to anything remotely bed-related. Unfortunately. “If there’s no message, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Actually, there is- I didn’t receive my invitation to the charming little ceremony you’ve put together.”

“No? I’m so sorry, it must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Next Saturday, at the Cutty Sark. Ten o’clock.” Rose had never in her life been so relieved that Malcolm could be extremely paranoid when it came to his ex-wife; leaning back she fumbled blindly for the drawer in the small end table just inside the door, pulling out a single copy of a wedding invitation with just those details on it. Passing it over to Missy, she shrugged. “Good thing we had a few extras.”

The other woman took it with pursed lips, examining it critically for a moment. “Very well. I will be calling him tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you just stop by the office?” Rose offered. “I’ll book you in for an hour – how’s three?”

Still looking suspicious, Missy nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there.” And, without so much as a goodbye, she turned on her heel and swanned off into the night.

“You do that. Crazy bitch,” Rose muttered, shutting the door behind her and double checking the locks. Good mood effectively snuffed, she looked down at her bowl of half-melted ice cream and sighed.

“Now what?”

Hands shoved deep in his front pockets, Malcolm whistled as he strolled down the sidewalk. The ‘party’ had broken up once Tony started yawning, and while it was easily the earliest a stag night had ever ended in the history of them, it had felt right. It was a beautiful night as he walked the few blocks from the Underground to the townhouse, he had a nice buzz from expensive whisky, and for the first time in years, he had someone to come home to. Granted, their situation was more roommate-y than he’d prefer, but his conversation with Pete after the engagement had given him hope that with time, it would shift to a more romantic tone.

He didn’t dare dream of anything more than that, it was too far beyond his wildest fantasies.

Not paying particularly too much attention to his surroundings, he realized far too late that someone was coming towards him from the opposite direction, and he automatically tensed before recognizing the figure. I think I’d rather run into muggers, he groaned silently. “Missy.”

“Malcolm.”

One of the things that had always frustrated him was that she was never surprised to see him. No matter how unlikely it would be for them to be in the same place at the same time, she never blinked, almost as if she knew.

He wouldn’t put it past her to have implanted a tracking device in him at some point, but had never found any evidence of it. It would, after all, be perfectly in character for her – no matter what her character du jour was.

“What’re you doing in my neck of the woods?” They stopped only a few inches apart, closer than they had any right being, but that had always been their way, ever since they were children- it was as familiar as breathing, sharing a space with her.

It was why they’d ended up in bed together so many times after their divorce, nearly every time they’d seen each other up until a few years ago.

The thought of why he’d finally kicked the habit of her for good made him glance down the street towards the townhouse, concerned. “I hope you weren’t harassing Rose.”

“No, not at all. I came by to collect a new invitation to the wedding- mine was apparently lost in the mail, but she so conveniently had one. She said Tuesday, at St Margaret’s?”

“Saturday, Cutty Sark. Do hope you can make it,” he didn’t hesitate. He knew every trick in her book, and while she occasionally got the best of him, he always won in the end. Thinking about his upcoming wedding, though, he realized that he was well and truly done playing her games. “Or not. I don’t honestly care.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” Missy purred, running her fingers down his chest. “Just in case you… make a last-minute casting change.”

Sidestepping her, he just smiled tightly and started walking, more eager than ever now to get home. “Not going to happen. Goodbye.”

Ignoring her attempts behind him to get the last word, he lengthened his stride.

All he wanted was to go home.

To Rose.

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #human!au #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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intents wicked or charitable (trixya) 7/10 - beanierose

AN: validation station, you ladies brighten my days and i’m so proud of all of you. and stutter, my love, i couldn’t do it without you. i’m so grateful and so thrilled to know you.

(read on ao3) | (find me at katiehoughton)

[one.] [two.] [three.] [four.] [five.] [six.]

a practical magic au for the spooky season. there’s a curse on any man who dares love you? love a woman, instead. | 5,680 words

“How could you do this to me?”

Trixie stays right where she is on the ground. The snow is soaking through the ass of her pants and getting inside of her boots so that her socks feel unpleasantly wet. Her face is red and everything keeps going blurry. She blinks to clear her vision again and a tear escapes her, slides hot down the salt-raw curve of her cheek.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Katya is standing over her, red scarf wound twice around her neck so that it obscures half of her face as well.

“You hurt me.” Trixie lets the wail bleed out into her voice a little bit. She’s got her fists balled up inside her gloves so that the empty fingers flop limply when she moves her hands. She’s not crying, not really. Her eyes are just watering because her face stings.

Katya kneels down next to her and tucks her hair back. The tips of her ears are pink with the cold and Trixie finds herself fixated on the right one, which is folded over into a little point. Katya calls it her pixie ear. She sighs when Trixie seeks it out with her teeth and lips and tongue, but she always lets her and it always makes a moan stutter out of her very quietly.

“Trixie, baby, it was an accident. I’m so sorry.”

Her face is white with horror and her hands are hovering over Trixie like she’s not sure she’s allowed to touch. It’s not fun anymore. Trixie shakes off the last of her snit and reaches for Katya, fists both hands in the lapels of her coat to haul her in close.

She lets out a little squeak of surprise as she goes and Trixie kisses the noise right from her mouth. She’s the one to deepen things, the one to touch her tongue to the seam of Katya’s lips. It’s not a comfortable position, on her ass on the snow covered ground and Katya balancing herself with a hand at her thigh. Katya’s mouth is hot and wet and lovely and Trixie wants to keep kissing her. Her whole body feels strung out with need, pulled taut.

“Mm, Trixie, wait.” Katya is the one to break the kiss. It doesn’t feel time to break it, and Trixie keens low in her throat. “Do you concede? Are you defeated?”

“You hit me in the face,” Trixie says, and then steals another kiss.

It’s her own fault. She’s the one who started it. Katya had been pottering around with the chickens, watching them fussing over the warm oatmeal that they get now that the cold is unending and pervasive. She is endlessly delighted by how much it confuses them and she loves to set the dish down and then stay with them for a while. Trixie leaves her to it, most times, and every now and then Katya will turn over her shoulder and grin at her about it.

Today, Trixie took advantage of Katya’s distraction and hit her right between the shoulder blades with a snowball. It made her jerk upright on a yelp, in time to see Trixie breaking away from the house and taking off at a run. She has a bench out in the backyard and she had hooked her arm around one of the posts that supports it and used the momentum to whip around and crouch down behind it for cover.

She had busied herself forming as many tightly compact balls in the snow as she could, peeking up over the back of the bench every so often. Katya had taken a minute to stop reeling. It gave Trixie time to raise up a little more and launch another snowball at her. It had landed perfectly and hit Katya square in the solar plexus. The shock of it had made her take a few stumbling steps backward.

“Trixie!” she had yelled, affronted, and immediately dropped to the ground to start forming an arsenal of her own.

She’d gotten distracted then and let herself have a moment to watch Katya, felt her heart do a slow turn in her chest. Trixie favoured quantity, wanted to have as many snowballs as possible, but Katya took a different tack. It worked out better for her. Her shots were accurate every time, where most of Trixie’s crumpled mid-flight and sprayed Katya with powdery snow rather than actually hitting her.

She knows Katya didn’t mean to hit her in the face. She was mostly just being dramatic and a bit of a brat when she let the force of it knock her onto her ass. It’s worth it for how gentle Katya is being with her now. She helps Trixie to her feet and keeps a tight hold of one of her hands. The other comes up to settle at the back of her neck and Katya’s freezing fingertips tuck inside the band of Trixie’s beanie.

“I’m sorry I hit you in the face. I know your face is very important to you.”

“My face is very important to you,” Trixie says back. “Where else are you gonna sit?”

Every time Katya kisses her, it feels a little like the first time. They’re comfortable together — Trixie knows exactly what Katya likes and what will get her to bite out a tiny moan — but she still can’t quite believe that they actually get to do this now. The leftover adrenaline from their snowball fight is making her a little aggressive. Trixie’s tongue seeks Katya’s, slicking into her mouth, and she grabs clumsily at her in her gloves.

Their kiss burns itself out naturally because they’re both shivering now that they’ve stopped moving. Katya’s cradling Trixie’s face in both hands and her fingers are freezing but her palms are warm and her breath is too, where it skims Trixie’s cheek. Snow has gathered along the tops of her shoulders and in her hair like static and it makes her ethereal and electric.

Trixie wants to bury her face in the warm creases at Katya’s neck. She can’t quite manage that, not with Katya’s enormous wool scarf in the way. Instead she wraps her arms around her and clings tight, their bodies aligned from shoulder to knee. Katya lets them have a few moments of hushed awe in which she only fidgets a tiny bit.

“You okay, mama?” she asks when Trixie lets her wriggle out of their hug.

Trixie doesn’t hurry into her answer. There’s a lot she still hasn’t said. She’s thinking it, all of the time. In the early mornings when she wakes up for just a moment and opens one eye to see Katya sitting up against the headboard with a novel against her thighs. In the evenings when Katya insists on helping Trixie make dinner, which mostly means snacking on the ingredients Trixie is trying to prep and kissing her when she gets grouchy about it. Sometimes Trixie opens her mouth, and then she remembers Katya telling her I’m scared and she closes it again.

“Yeah. Happy.”

Katya makes a disgusted noise and screws her face up. She’s got one hand tucked into Trixie’s pocket and she wriggles it there to make her laugh.

“I think we should go inside.” She darts a glance just over Trixie’s shoulder and Trixie turns to look as well, sees Dolly’s dark head in the window and her eyes baleful on them. “I think your benevolent spirit is getting jealous.”

The dog hates the snow and absolutely refuses to go outside in it more than she has to. Whenever Trixie opens the back door for Dolly to use the bathroom she pitches a fit and whines and shivers for a good half hour afterward. If Katya’s there, she’ll gather Dolly up in her arms and rock her like an infant, muttering to her in Russian.

Trixie’s not jealous of her dog. That would be absurd.

They head for the back door stumbling and snow-drunk, clutching at one another like teenagers. Trixie almost trips over one of the chickens but Katya’s holding tight to her hand and she won’t let her fall down. At the back door, Trixie looks over her shoulder to see the crooked step of their twin footprints. Katya is already inside, so she lets herself have a tiny moment to smile to herself about it without being teased.

It’s nice to have somebody else in the house. They don’t always have to be on top of one another. It’s good to just exist in the same space and be peripherally aware of one another. Most evenings Trixie busies herself fixing them dinner and she likes knowing that Katya is right in the next room, reading or fussing over Dolly or sometimes doing yoga. Trixie will often leave whatever she’s cooking to simmer on the stovetop and go to find Katya, take the novel out of her hands and leave her thumb tucked inside to mark the page while she kisses her.

This afternoon she’s listening to music. Trixie doesn’t have a CD player. Katya keeps threatening to get her one, but for now she has the radio. Katya fiddles with it constantly, changing stations as soon as she gets bored with a song, which is usually immediately after the first chorus. There’s a stew in the crockpot, but it isn’t quite time to make the dropped dumplings just yet. She wipes down the countertops and puts the peelings from the vegetables into the little caddy she keeps for composting.

It isn’t snowing anymore, but the gunmetal sky is low over the earth and it could start again at any moment. Trixie is looking forward to their evening, lighting a fire and snuggling up on the couch. Katya can be coaxed into letting Trixie hold her if she feeds her something carbohydrate-rich and warm and then eats her out slowly. Once or twice she’s even fallen asleep with her head against Trixie’s shoulder or in her lap.

“Trixie, come look at this,” Katya calls from the living room.

Trixie can see her through the archway. She’s standing by the window with one hand up against the glass, her fingerprints leaving little smudges in the condensation. She’s taken all of her winter layers off and she has the bottom of her jeans tucked into her socks and her sweater pushed up past her elbows. Trixie’s chest is tight with how badly she wants to hold her, and how grateful she is that she gets to.

“Mm, just a minute,” she says back. There are a couple of dishes waiting in the sink that she wants to tackle before she lets herself get lost in Katya for the rest of the day.

“Trixie!”

The panic in Katya’s voice makes her head snap up. Katya has whipped around to look at her and her face is pale and slack like a death mask. Before Trixie can get her mouth open to ask what’s wrong, Katya rushes right past her into the mudroom and steps hastily into her galoshes. She’s frantic in a way Trixie hasn’t ever seen before and it makes her nauseated right down into the pit of her stomach.

“What is it, babe?”

“It’s Cash. Oh God. It’s Cash.”

Trixie can hear him, now.

The goats are noisy a lot of the time. She’s gotten used to their irate bleating whenever they encounter something that displeases them, which seems to be once every half a minute or so. They’re often cantankerous towards each other and Trixie mostly tunes out the loud bleats that she can hear all the way inside the house whenever they butt heads.

This isn’t like that. It’s a thin, reedy, sustained note of panic that cuts right through the core of Trixie and upwards so she feels it into her teeth. She’s cleaved in two by it. Trixie pulls her boots on as quickly as she can over her thick wool socks and hurries outside in them, unlaced.

Katya has beat her to Cash and she’s on her knees in the snow next to him. He’s lying sprawled on his side like a rag doll dropped from a great height and his foreleg is bent at an unnatural angle. Trixie presses the back of her hand to her mouth and takes a couple of ragged breaths in through her nose.

The goat is writhing on the cold ground, scrabbling to try and get up, but Katya holds him in place with the flat of her palm. With her other hand she touches her fingers very lightly to Cash’s leg and he cries out and rears against her.

“Oh my God. What happened?” There’s no response and Trixie closes the distance in a couple of strides and knuckles the back of Katya’s head to get her attention. “Katya. What happened?”

She doesn’t look up at Trixie. Her eyes are roaming all over Cash and her hands too, busying at him like there’s something she can do. “He was climbing on the truck again, and he got onto the roof. I guess it was too icy, I don’t know-”

They’re both wailing now, Katya and the goat. Trixie kneels down too and Cash lolls his head towards her. The whites of his eyes are showing and his nostrils are flared with his fast breathing. Trixie can’t stand to see him hurting. She bows over him like that can shield him, like the warmth of her body over his will heal him.

“He slipped?”

“He slipped, he fell.” Katya has gotten herself together a little bit and she lifts her head to meet Trixie’s eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.” Trixie’s voice comes out in pieces. She can smell adrenaline and she swipes uselessly at her cheeks with the pads of her fingers. A few tears drop onto Cash’s flank. “Katya, I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

“Stay right here with him, honey. It’ll comfort him to have you close.”

Katya disappears inside the house. When Trixie lifts her head to watch her go she sees Guthrie a couple of feet away, watching. His head is low and he’s toeing anxiously at the frozen ground. Cash is still mewling and Trixie strokes his head over and over, murmuring softly to him.

Katya comes back with a sheet from the linen closet which she unfolds, and Trixie helps her ease it beneath Cash as carefully as they can. The snow helps to cushion him a bit, but he still cries out when they have to bring the sheet beneath his broken leg. Katya’s got the keys to the truck as well and she unlocks it. It’s a graceless, cruel production to get Cash into the cab of the truck.

In the driver’s seat Trixie swipes at her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater. There isn’t really room for the three of them on the bench seat, so Katya’s got Cash’s back legs in her lap. She’s twisted to lean over him and she’s muttering something that Trixie can’t really hear. She gets like this sometimes, with all of the animals. Her voice is melodious and whatever she’s reciting calms them immediately. More than once, Trixie has fallen asleep on the couch with Katya at her feet whispering to the dog.

“Do you know a vet? I don’t have one here yet, I don’t-”

“Let’s go to my house.”

Katya’s voice has an edge to it that Trixie hasn’t ever heard before. She looks at her, at the set of her jaw and the two little creases between her brows, and she knows better than to argue. Trixie drives as smoothly as she possibly can, but every time they go over a bump or a pothole in the back roads Cash whines. His breathing is easing with Katya’s continued muttering and the gentle brush of both of her hands along his flank and his head.

At the house she jumps out before Trixie has even cut the engine. It’s even worse getting Cash back out of the truck and up the porch steps. He isn’t heavy, but even doing their best not to jostle him he’s writhing in agony by the time they make it inside. Katya’s walking backwards and she doesn’t have to turn over her shoulder, makes a clear path through to the kitchen without smacking into the wall or tripping over anything.

Trixie feels foggy and disoriented with panic. She lets Katya tell her what to do and she sits on the floor with Cash’s head in her lap while Katya rummages around in the cabinets. Trixie can’t lift her eyes from the goat to see what Katya’s gathering, so it startles her when she kneels down next to her on the kitchen floor.

She’s got a mortar and pestle filled with herbs and a couple of things Trixie doesn’t recognise at all, and a roll of Ace bandage. Katya starts grinding everything into a paste. She has her eyes closed and she’s muttering again, still. Once it’s done, she uses her fingers to apply it in a thick layer over Cash’s leg. It’s purplish-green and smells a little like chamomile. There’s no break in the skin. Trixie can’t understand how an ointment is going to help.

“What are you doing? He needs to see a vet. Katya.”

Trixie watches Katya wind the bandage around and around Cash’s leg. He’s nosing curiously at it, trying to lick the salve, and she gently nudges his face away over and over until she’s got the bandage secured. His breathing is starting to even out in the warmth of Katya’s kitchen, but his eyes are still wide and darting.

“It needs ten minutes or so like that. You want tea?”

“I don’t- what’s happening right now?” Trixie presses the heel of her palm to her forehead. There’s a headache blooming in a livid burst behind her left eye socket. Katya is fussing with the kettle, and all of Trixie’s leftover adrenaline comes tumbling out. “Katya, stop ignoring me. What are you doing?”

Katya sets the kettle on the burner to boil. Her shoulders are up around her ears. Trixie watches her take a steadying breath, another, and then she turns to look at her. There’s a little smudge of black eyeliner beneath her eye and the lines of her lipstick are blown out and cracking from kissing Trixie all morning in the snow.

“You remember what Tom said to you the first day you met me?”

They’ve talked about it a little. Trixie is made brave by the darkness, and most nights she lies on her back with Katya tucked against her side in a haphazard tangle of limbs, and she spills all of her secrets. She’s talked about her life before she was here, in Wisconsin and in Los Angeles. She’s talked about longing and loneliness, told Katya how glad she is to have her. Warmed her cold fingers against Katya’s stomach.

“Yes I remember. I don’t have dementia. I’m not you.”

It’s a weak joke, and she doesn’t get a laugh. Instead, Katya gives her a tiny, tiny nod. “It’s real, Trix. It’s true.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Trixie says. She’s still on the floor with Cash and she’s suddenly disoriented by the jarring height discrepancy. Trixie gets to her feet and her knees click as she straightens. “That’s not funny. Shut up.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny. I wouldn’t joke about this. Not with you.”

“No.” Trixie shakes her head to try and dispel the ringing in her ears. Her pulse is pounding everywhere, all over. She feels overripe, like her skin is going to split open at her wrists and the base of her throat and the insides of her elbows. “No you’re not.”

Katya gives her a somber smile. She’s holding her hands in front of herself and her fingers are knotted together. “I am. Well, I’m a znakharka, technically. A folk healer.”

“Katya, stop it. It’s not cute.”

Instead of saying anything else, Katya leans forward over the island. She has a collection of pillar candles in the middle. Each one is a different colour and they drip their wax onto an assortment of peculiar dishes. Katya blows out one long, steady breath and a flame stutters to life at each of the five wicks. She raises her eyes to Trixie, then. The sun seems to have set very suddenly and the darkness up against the windows is making her claustrophobic. At her feet, Cash lets out a little bleat.

“Please stop,” Trixie says. She’s backed herself up against the cabinets without realising it and the edge of the countertop is pressing uncomfortably against the base of her spine.

The kettle starts whistling and Katya gets out two cups and a pot. She brews loose leaf, always, and she pours the hot water through the metal infuser. Trixie has her hands either side of her hips, clutching at the counter to stay standing. She feels pinned in place and stripped bare. Katya gives the tea some time to steep and then pours it into their cups. She adds a splash of milk to Trixie’s tea and sets a dainty little spoon inside. It starts stirring around and around the circumference of the cup, and when Katya lifts her hands it continues on by itself.

“Katya, please, stop it. Please.” She’s on the edge of tears, and it feels like she’s been crying all day and couldn’t possibly have anything left, but she does.

Katya folds her hands together again neatly. The spoon clatters loudly against the side of the cup and Trixie flinches badly and bites down hard on the side of her tongue. All of the candles go out at once. There are deep swathes of shadow beneath Katya’s eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. She’s beautiful, of course, but it’s like Trixie’s seeing her for the first time all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” Katya whispers.

“You lied to me.”

Trixie is humiliated by the tremble in her voice. There’s a hot iron taste in her mouth that won’t go away no matter how many times she swallows roughly. The solid edge of the countertop is still pressing hard into her lumbar spine but it’s a good pain, a grounding pain. Her breath is coming in these tight little gasps so that she doesn’t cry.

“I didn’t lie.” Katya comes around the counter. There’s a tiny squeak, like a small and petrified animal, and Trixie realises with a rush of cold shame that it was her. Katya stops where she stands and shows Trixie her palms. “I’ve never lied to you, honey. I just…I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“That’s the same thing!”

The hurt is reworking itself. Trixie feels it pouring outward from the centre of her chest, livid-hot so that it makes her ball her hands into tight fists. She keeps trying over and over to take a centering breath but each one comes out wetter and more shallow than the last. Katya is watching her, unmoving. It isn’t like she’s spooked or caught in a snare. She is perfectly calm; it’s Trixie who feels ready to gnaw off her own foot.

“You let me walk around town defending you. You let me- oh my God. I yelled at people for you. You let everyone laugh at me behind my back.”

Katya takes another tentative step towards Trixie. Their two cups of tea are left immediately abandoned on the kitchen island. Since they first met, Trixie has been awestruck over and over by how tiny Katya often seems. She’s spent as much time holding her as Katya will let her have. Now, it seems calculated. Like Katya has set herself up to seem vulnerable, when all along it’s Trixie who has been in danger.

“No one’s been laughing at you.”

“Of course they have.” Trixie is trying very hard not to yell. She has lost many arguments in her life because as soon as she lets her anger sweep through her she starts crying. She can’t hold her own with tears coursing down her ruddy cheeks and dripping from her chin. “I’m the only fucking idiot in this whole town who couldn’t see you for what you are.”

Katya’s crying now too. Even like this, she’s lovely. The tip of her nose is pink and her eyes are shiny and more grey than usual. She’s stopped trying to approach Trixie and they’re standing facing one another, Trixie backed against the cabinets and Katya leaning on the island.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Cash is on the ground between them. He lets out a little bleat and Trixie looks down to see him getting slowly to his feet. He babies his hurt leg, cautious with his weight, but as soon as he tries to stand properly he realises that it isn’t hurting anymore. His ears swivel to point forwards and he takes a few careful steps. He nudges his head into Katya’s thigh and she reaches down blindly to pet him, her eyes still on Trixie.

Katya crouches to unwind the bandage from Cash’s leg. She can barely hold him still while she does, because curiosity at being in a new place is winning out now that his pain is gone. As soon as Katya lets him go he careens off around the other side of the island to nose at every unfamiliar smell in the kitchen.

“He’s- you…how did you do that.”

“It’s mostly about intention.” Katya is gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip. She’s folded the two ends of the bandage in on themselves so the salve doesn’t make a mess but she seems reluctant to throw it in the garbage. “A lot of it is herbology, connecting with the earth, all that. It’s hard to explain. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You made a fool of me.”

Katya’s face goes slack and her mouth opens. She’s still crying a little but it doesn’t seem like she’s even aware of it. She keeps lifting her hands like she wants to reach out to Trixie and then letting them drop back to her sides again. Sick satisfaction twists in Trixie’s stomach to see her looking so small and so afraid.

“I didn’t mean to.” Katya is only getting quieter the more Trixie lets herself unravel. Her voice is coloured by intimacy and it reminds Trixie of middle of the night tenderness, of leaning in close to share a secret. “That’s not what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

It hits Trixie just like that.

Since the first time they met, she’s been so eager to be close to Katya. In spite of her better judgement and her past hurts. Accusations crowd inside her mouth, jostling so that she can’t focus in on just one. Her knees buckle and she has to hold herself up with both hands at the countertop behind her. The movement makes the black tourmaline in her pocket knock against her thigh.

She’s been carrying it with her every day since Katya gave it to her. She is very suddenly hollowed out with humiliation. Shame travels down the centre of her chest and cleaves her in two to let Katya look. It’s always been like that with them, she’s always felt like Katya has seen the pink-raw insides of her, but this is different.

Trixie is ensnared by the fact that she can’t accuse Katya of casting a love spell on her. Not without admitting that she loves her. She is in love with her, hopelessly, still. The indignity of the whole situation has a fresh flood of hot tears spilling over her cheeks. Her face feels itchy with saltwater and she’s getting a dehydration headache.

She thinks about Katya holding Trixie’s hands in hers and making heat bloom all over. Katya’s mouth between Trixie’s thighs and the lights in the whole house stuttering out at the first wet, delicious contact. How foolish she’s been. Over and over, she’s written things off as Katya’s marvellous eccentricity.

Opposite her, Katya rakes a rough hand through her hair. It makes her bangs stick up from her forehead. “I wanted you. I wanted you so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

It’s too much. She can’t keep it back.

“You cast a love spell on me.”

“No, Trixie,” Katya says very gently, and shakes her head. “You just like me.”

“So you’ve never used magic on me?”

Trixie comes unstuck, quite suddenly, from the cabinets. She stalks away from Katya and runs both hands through her hair, swipes uselessly at her cheeks. She’s glad to turn away, even though Katya has already seen how much she’s hurting.

Cash has opened the garbage can with his nose and is rummaging through it, pulling things out to scatter all over the kitchen. Katya probably has a spell for that, so Trixie leaves him to it.

“Not on purpose.” Katya sounds small and exhausted. Trixie doesn’t want to turn to look at her, but she can see her reflected in the window over the sink. She pinches the bridge of her nose in two fingers. “Sometimes it just happens. When I care about someone. I’m a healer, honey. I can’t watch you hurt.”

“You’ve made me hurt.” Trixie whips around to look at her again. Her voice is shuddering like she’s coming down from her crying jag, but she doesn’t feel done yet. “You hurt me.”

“Trixie. Can you come here. Please.” She doesn’t move, can’t seem to make herself close the distance between them. “Okay. That’s okay.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t trust me.”

Katya makes a high-pitched noise of distress, wet with grief. “I do trust you. I do. Things were just so good with us. I was afraid to ruin it.”

“Well you have anyway.” It feels good to be unkind. It feels like vindication to watch Katya’s face twist with every new truth Trixie lays out in front of her. There’s an intolerable churning in the pit of Trixie’s stomach that won’t go away no matter how many steadying breaths she takes. “I can’t- I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Trixie reaches for the first thing she sees, an apple from the bowl on the island, and holds it out to show Cash. It draws his attention immediately away from his foraging and he follows her towards the door. It’s like nothing happened, and she can’t help wondering if she would have ever found out the truth if Cash hadn’t gotten hurt.

“Trixie, please.”

Katya’s pitiful voice stops her in the threshold. She doesn’t turn around, can’t bear the sight of her anymore, but she also doesn’t move. Cash is nosing at Trixie’s fist, trying to get a bite of the apple she’s holding.

“There’s a circle around the moon tonight. That’s a sign of trouble not far ahead.”

It isn’t what Trixie was expecting. She huffs a tiny breath of laughter, in spite of herself. The trouble is already here; they’re in it. She doesn’t want to entertain the thought of what could be worse than this. Katya gives her space to retort but Trixie is all out of words now. She’s exhausted suddenly, and has to put her empty hand against the doorframe so she doesn’t topple.

“Sometimes I…I feel like I have a kind of hole, inside. Like an emptiness that burns. I’m pretty sure if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. Isn’t that nuts? That’s pretty nuts.”

Trixie closes her eyes. It doesn’t stop two round, hot tears from escaping. She knows it isn’t true. Night after night, she has pillowed her cheek against Katya’s chest and closed her eyes to listen. She’s fallen asleep more than once to the quiet, insistent rhythm of Katya’s heartbeat.

“I’ve had this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting.” Katya makes a little noise as if she’s trying to clear her throat. “I dreamed of a love that even time would lie down and be still for.”

Trixie bites down on her tongue until the taste of iron floods her mouth. She wants to wail, wants to say that she loves her, she loves her, and Katya turned it back around into like. All the fight has gone out of her. Her pulse is loud in her ears, blood drawing out of her extremities and making them numb and tingly.

“I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. Maybe I already had my happiness. I don’t know.” Trixie’s arms twitch, but she doesn’t move. She’s had a lot of practice ignoring the ache to hold Katya that lives in her stomach. “Still sometimes when the wind is warm or the crickets sing-”

“You’re running off at the mouth again.” Trixie can’t — won’t — turn and look at her. Katya makes a pitiful noise, loud in the stillness of the kitchen. “You don’t make any sense when you’re like this. You don’t- I can’t understand you.”

Outside, Trixie encourages Cash into the truck with the apple in her hand. The whole time, she can feel Katya watching her. She knows better than to come outside and try to help. Trixie feels a scream swelling at the base of her throat. It takes her a couple of tries to get the engine started and frustration makes her grip the wheel too tight, makes her grit her teeth until her jaw pops.

On the drive she has to pull over at the side of the street to throw up. When it’s over, when she’s finished, she swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes are watering again and the acid taste, the smell, is making her heave, but it’s good. It feels good to expunge something.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #magical realism #tenderness #isolation #slow burn kind of #iwoc #beanierose #lesbian au

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chrisbbaegopayo · 5 years ago

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Hold Your Breath (Stray Kids: Stalker AU) ➻ Chapter 3 (part 1)

....

Genre: Thriller, Angst, Gore, Mystery, Suspense Characters: All of Stray Kids, reader, OCs. Word Count: 1.2k Warning: This story will contain elements of gore, on- and off-screen abuse, torture, mental illness, and stalking. It will feature themes that are not suitable for all ages, readers discretion is advised. Each chapter will have its own specific warning.

Sorry for the short post. I’ve managed to hit a very bad case of writer’s block, as well as other things, more on that below. (updates will now be once every two weeks)

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She and Hyunjin ended up getting along really well in class, as they introduced themselves in the timeframe that the professor had given them. She learned that he had been here to earn himself a bachelor’s degree in literature, much like his parents wanted. He had been a pretty hardworking student and liked to participate in extra-curricular activities, although he didn’t really elaborate on which clubs he had joined since attending the university.

It had come to a surprise, then, that he knew who she was. It was kind of strange for her to introduce herself to someone who had already know of her—he did say that he knew of her and knew who she was, but never made an attempt to say anything to her, which, to her, was understandable. University could be somewhat of an intimidating place. And Hyunjin, who kept to himself during classes unless he was asked to participate in group work or class discussions, was naturally relatively inside his head.

He had a small circle of friends, she learned, of which he had dropped after coming to this university. He told her that he stayed in touch with most of them through social media and that he had missed them.

They didn’t manage to get too deep into their conversation, although he did tell her that he was in a few of her classes back in first and second year, and much of the reason of keeping to himself most of the time didn’t say anything to her, as they were practically strangers.

Professor Lee stopped the discussion then and then began his first lecture. Much of it had to do with what goals to set at the beginning of the semester, what they would be covering throughout the semester, as well as the many assignments they were expected to do and their due dates that accompanied these assignments. Much to her displeasure, every week, there would be a test that summarized the terms they learned the week before, just to keep them on their toes, apparently. This was probably the most for her, as her memorization skills weren’t the best…

��this would also mean that she would have to do a lot of reading. And note-taking. As much as she enjoyed reading, the mind-numbing technical terms might just defeat her.

However, the silver lining was that there would be some hands-on case studies and there might be field trips planned in the course, although the professor did not specifically say if they were definitely included. As for these field trips, they were still in the process of negotiating some plan, of which professor Lee did not specify.

They also had to write two essays throughout the semester. Great.

As the professor started lecturing, he covered what the meaning of crime was, what each term meant, and how it integrated into society on a very base level. As for the rest of the two-hour lecture, Professor Lee merely just taught through most of the time with interesting examples and various experiences that he had encountered. He made things interesting, and the majority of the class was completely engrossed. The mid-lecture break had gone by and soon, had buzzed by without much of a fuss.

“All right, remember, class, make sure to read up on chapter 2, pages 60 through to 90! You will be expected to go through it with your teaching assistant in your tutorial later,” Professor Lee said. “Feel free to visit during my office hours should you have any questions or problems regarding class! See you next week!”

She placed her notebook in her bag and looked over at Hyunjin, who looked rather pleased with the class. “Tutorial, huh?”

He nodded and leaned back against his chair. “Yeah, it should be exciting. At least the professor was interesting, hopefully, the teacher assistant will be just as interesting. When do you have yours?”

She pulled up her schedule, and scanned it, trying to figure out which day she had her tutorial. Turned out that she had her tutorial at 11:30 a.m. in two days with a person named F. Lee. And upon showing it to Hyunjin, she was surprised to learn that he also shared the same tutorial. It seemed like a pretty pleasant surprise, she thought. To be in the same class and tutorial—it was as though something was being conveyed to her through this strange arrangement. Or not. It just seemed like a pretty interesting coincidence.

But life didn’t have coincidences, did they?

Regardless, the two left the lecture room and went their separate ways after swapping numbers.

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She had never been so glad to be home. After that stalker fiasco earlier on in the day, she was ready to retire to bed. However, she cracked open the textbook she was required to read for the class and sat at her desk, trying to make some from sense from the lectures. She got a few paragraphs into the reading when her phone buzzed with a text message.

>> Hey I’ve got food Open up OMG bless thank you <<

Jisung seemed to know exactly when was hungry because her stomach grumbled a bit. She went downstairs, and as soon as she got to the door, the doorbell rang, and she opened the door, letting her best friend in.

“You always come at the best time, ever,” she said, ushering him into the house. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Seriously.”

He laughed. “That’s why I’m your best friend, right?”

The two of them ate and chatted about their day and by the time they finished their food, Jisung had gotten up to toss the containers into the recycling bin.

She stared at her phone for the time being and sighed. She should go back to reading, but she really didn’t want to do any reading that night. It seemed like a great time to just lay back and chill for a little longer until it was time for her to go to bed.

It was still relatively early in the evening—or late afternoon, and perhaps she could just put her feet up and catch up later on.

But then her mind wandered off to the letter she got—it was unsettling.

“Jisung?”

He made a noise of acknowledgment, while still staring at his phone.

“I got another letter.”

His fingers that were once tapping away, seemingly mid-text stopped. He placed his phone down and faced her. “What did it say?”

“It was...something like ‘a new semester will start new things’ or something...and then something about more gifts to come,” she recalled.

Something about Jisung’s expression worried her.

“Did you file the complaint to the school like I said?” He asked.

She shook her head, but then upon seeing his concerned expression deepen, she held up her hands and reassured him that she was going to file it in the upcoming days.

“I haven’t exactly had time, you know, I promise I will—I’ll even let you know! I promise!”

He sighed, and with a heavy tone, he said, “fine, as long as you know.”

She was about to say something when he leaned over and put his hand atop her head, almost in a maternal gesture.

“I’m just really worried about you, you know? These are just some precautions that you have to take, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, thank you, Jisung, you’re always looking out for me...”

He chuckled, “that’s what I’m here for, remember?”

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Sorry about the lack of updates lately. I’ve managed to land myself in a really deep ditch called writer’s block, and it’s honestly really draining to write when my motivation is zero most of the time. Sorry, it’s been pretty hard most of the time, especially balancing both work and creative writing at the same time. I do writing for my day job too, and every day I’ve pretty much felt like I’ve exhausted most of my writing into work, and the creative juices are NOT flowing into what should belong to creative writing. Hashtag excuses lol.

However, I did find a good way to keep my motivation up—the story is planned out, I know what’s going to happen in the bigger picture, but the details aren’t exactly set. Sometimes if I see an opportunity to implement new ideas, I will, such as relationships between certain characters and their history and such. I do have several pages of notes of the character’s relationships and backstories.

I will be publishing their backstories starting with Hyunjin, and I think it will make for interesting future plot segments.

As well, I will be changing the updates to every two weeks until I can get out of this really bad writer’s block.

Whether or not people like to read it or not, I’ll just keep on writing anyway because I genuinely do love creative writing. As well, I have been planning this story for wayyyy too long and even though my execution of the story might be slow and not what my mind wants me to write, I think I want to continue regardless. I’m just really grateful for the readers that I do have, and appreciate the time you invest in my story. Please feel free to poke me/talk to me about the story and let me know what you think of it. I know I haven’t advanced enough into the story for people have a true understanding or grasp of it, but I will be publishing the character’s relationships with each other and how they’re all connected. Because they are.

If I have any jumping tense problem—I’m sorry, I do try my best to catch them while writing, and I will improve and do my best not to disappoint too much.

Thank you! c:

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softestziam · 6 years ago

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I wrote something new for a new fandom. I am petrified to post it. Enjoy.

Eric despised his family, really and truly. He knew he should’ve taken himself out of their family group chat. The notifications usually clogged up his phone anyway. Never had a silent moment away from them. They were all dispersed across the entire continent, one of his brothers was maybe in New York this month, who knew. Either way the messages never stopped. He could go to sleep with no notifications and wake up with close to fifty. His mum was known for sending texts one sentence at a time. Personalizing every sentence to a specific child instead of just one general thought. It was touching and heartfelt but overwhelming. His sisters would clog the chat with all of the latest celebrity gossip or a new fashion trend. It was harmless but when the chat eventually turned to them ganging up on Eric it was horrific. You’d think that with him being the oldest he’d have it easy, nope. It was the complete opposite. Being the oldest of six was never easy, it was five against one. Six against one if their mother was up in the topic they were discussing. Her favorite topic of conversation? His love life. She knew her son was still young but she desperately held on to the idea of him falling in love and living happily ever after. She dreamt that for all her children, but Eric in particular. “I worry about you,” Eric’s mum cooed, patting down his hair. “You’re always so busy.” Eric sighed as he stirred the sauce he was heating up. His mum invited herself over to his flat for dinner. She just showed up unannounced and batted her eyes and asked kindly of Eric would mind if she stayed over for some mother and son bonding time over some home cooked food. He couldn’t stay no, would never say no, but he knew she had an ulterior motive. “I work five days a week, sometimes six. I am busy, not lonely or alone, mum.” She raised her hands in a defensive stance. “I know, babe. Let me treat you like a mum should, Eric. Your brothers and sisters still do.” “Mum,” he sighed, turning off the stove top, turning his body around to face his mother. She looked sullen and he hated that he was the reason for that. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here.” “Amor,” she cooed, using the Portuguese nickname for all her children. “My strong, bullheaded, way too independent boy.” Eric had to scoff at his mother’s words, she was purposely buttering him up so he’d let his guard down. “I can see the wheels turning in your mind. What are you planning?” “Absolutely nothing,” she sang. She placed a kiss to Eric’s cheek, a sign that whatever was bothering her a few seconds earlier had passed. “Nothing at all.” Luckily the dinner ran smoothly after the small little tiff Eric got into with his mother. They were able to remain civil as they sat down and ate. They got about nothing, work and family, nothing that would make Eric squirm in his seat. Louise made small talk about her physical therapy after discovering she had arthritis in her knee slowing her mobility a little, nothing major. Her doctor recommended the physical therapy to ease the pain before it turned into anything worse. Eric just nodded and ate his noddles, pacifying his mum with grunts of noise to seem like he was following the story. She went on and on for what seemed like forever about her physical therapist and Eric didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t really paying attention to what she was babbling about. She had just complained that he wasn’t a doting son, so he played his role and let her talk, her voice echoing around the loft. “Come over for dinner next weekend,” Louise invited him and she gathered her things as she getting ready to leave an hour later. “Mum,” Eric groaned, helping his mother put on her coat. “It’s a demand, Eric,” she said sternly. “Your father and I want to see you around more often. Like you said, you’re always busy. Well don’t be busy next Saturday and let us treat you to a home cooked meal. I’m making paella.” Eric sighed, he knew he couldn’t say no when his favorite meal was going to be served. “Need me to bring anything?” “Just your handsome face,” she beamed, patting his cheek softly. “Oh, and maybe dress nice. No joggers or track suits. Wear something that fits.” Eric rolled his eyes playfully and kissed the hand that was on his cheek. “Only for you mother.” “Good,” Louise smiled, patting Eric’s cheek one last time before gathering her bag and leaving the loft. The week flew by and blurred together like it usually did for Eric. He spent a vast majority of his hours awake working. When he wasn’t working he spoke to his family via the never ending group chat. His mother reminding him almost daily about their scheduled dinner for that Saturday. His sisters acting jealous that their mum was making Eric’s favorite meal while they had to eat ramen and easy mac in their uni dorm rooms. Sometimes it was a blessing to be the eldest. Eric tried to occupy his free him with fussing around his loft, cleaning up and finally making it fee like a home even though he’d been living there for almost a full year now. On Saturday he woke up around noon, exhaustion winning over his desire to wake early and get things done. He wasn’t expected at his parents house until five and it usually took a half hour to get there by car. Around three Eric reluctantly started to get himself ready. He showered and shaved, knowing his dad would comment on his weak attempt to grow facial hair. It wasn’t Eric’s fault he had pale skin and blonde hair and the inability to properly grow either a mustache or beard. He stood in a towel in front of his dresser searching for something, anything to wear. He wasn’t one for splurging on clothes, he spent his hard earned money on things he could actually get joy from. A new television, speakers, electronics, that’s what he truly cared for. After huffing and puffing for a good half hour and hearing his mother’s voice in his head criticizing him over his clothes, he settled on the outfit he wore to his sister’s wedding the summer before. He nixed the tie but wore the crisp white shirt and the black slacks. It was the only semi decent outfit he had and he knew his mum would approve, even though she’d immediately recognize the clothes. Beggars can’t be choosers at this point. “Perfect!” Louise exclaimed when she answered the door at exactly five like she demanded repeatedly over the phone and text. “My beautiful eldest boy.” “Mum,” he groaned over her sudden affection, kissing his cheeks and ruffling his hair, like he was a kid again after he skidded his knee playing football in the back garden with his brothers and dad. “Jeremy!” She shouted as she escorted Eric into the living room where his father sat. “Look at how sharp Eric looks.” Jeremy looked up briefly from flipping through the channels and nodded his agreement. “Smart.” “Smart,” she agreed. “Who are you two and what have you done with my parents?” Eric asked taking a seat on the couch next to his father. “Should I be worried? Are you guys getting divorced or something? Dying even?” “God forbid,” Louise gasped, grabbing her chest. “Nothing’s wrong. Just two parents admiring their work is all.” “Okay that’s gross,” he said, squirming in his seat at his mother’s words. “Unnecessary.” Eric had to remind himself a few times before they sat down to eat that he loved his parents and he needed to let them take care of him from time to time. He was the eldest, mid twenties, the first one to leave the nest. They were just compassionate people, especially towards him. They openly admitted that they were too young and not ready to start a family when Eric came along, they learned as they went when it came to raising him. Now they were making up for lost time. He was too damn stubborn to let them. But he did enjoy spending time with them when he could. Sitting on the couch talking about the football matches from earlier in the day with his dad. Trying to argue why he believed Tottenham had a chance to win the title while his dad saw Manchester City doing the impossible and becoming repeat champions. It was all in light hearted fun and it reminded Eric why he should make the half hour journey to his parents more often. “Eric, can you please set the table?” Louise asked, her voice sugary sweet, definitely not her normal tone. Eric reluctantly stood up and side eyed his mum as he grabbed the dishes, utensils, and glasses off the kitchen counter. “Why are we speaking in our suspicious voice, mother?” “Just set the table,” she ignored his prying question and pulled her mother voice. “Mum,” Eric called to her a moment later, laying out the things on the table. “There’s three of us, yeah? Why are there four sets of plates?” “Louise,” Jeremy’s voice came from the next room. “Louise,” Eric echoed his fathers tone perfectly, scarily actually, it was a gift. “What are we hiding from me?” Louise stopped cooking for a moment with a sigh and turned to face Eric, her face sheepish. “I’m not hiding anything, just withholding information until the right time.” “Which is now,” Eric guessed. He hated surprises, not being in control of all that was around him, made him anxious, made him agitated and sweaty, like right now. “So spill.” “I may have invited someone over for dinner,” she replied, her voice low and shaky but unwavering. Eric held a tight smile and nodded his head, letting his mother know she could continue to explain. “My physical therapist, his name is Dele, he’s around your age. Nice boy.” “Mum,” Eric repeated himself for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Why?” “He’s alone. He has no one around him to look after him,” she explained, turning back around to tend to the food again. Eric huffed out a hot breath and continued setting the table. There was no use in arguing, he wasn’t going to win. “You always have ulterior motives, don’t you.” The bell rang moments later before Louise could state her argument. Eric looked at his mother who turned her head to look back at him, neither of them budging. Stubborn people they were. Jermey made no indication that he was going to move either, it wasn’t his guest after all. Louise just kept stirring the pot and humming to herself. Eric gave in, reluctantly, and walked to the door to answer it. The bell rang a second time as he opened the door. His breath was stuck in his throat for a second as he was greeted with a big warm smile. So this was Dele he presumed. At first sight he looked like a decent bloke if his contagious smile was any indication. Eric quickly snapped himself back into reality once Dele cleared his throat, obviously feeling the awkward tension. “Eric,” he introduced himself, extending out his hand. Dele accepted the extended hand pleasantly and let himself be led into the home. “Dele.” “Dele!” Louise greeted him warmly, hugging him. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.” “Louise,” he cooed at her admiration and accepted the hug warmly. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in ages, I couldn’t say no.” “You know Jeremy,” she introduced her husband who waved as a greeting. “And I see you’ve met my eldest, Eric.” “It’s a pleasure,” Dele replied, still being dragged around the home by Louise. She politely sat him down at the kitchen table where everything by now was set and ready. Without proper invitation the rest of the family joined Dele around the table. Louise served everyone before serving herself and sitting down at the head of the table opposite Jeremy. That left Eric sitting directly across from Dele and that damn smile. They sat in silence and ate, the awkward tension palpable. Eric knew he was basically set up on a blind date but didn’t know how to proceed. It had been a long time since he’d been on one and of course never one with both or either of his parents present. What was he supposed to do, supposed to say? He was going to play it by ear, let Dele start the conversation or just remain in silence and enjoy his meal in peace and quiet. “Your mum told me you grew up in Portugal,” Dele said. Guess he was starting the get to know you phase of the conversation. Eric nodded, wiping his face with his napkin. “We moved there when I was about eight and I moved back here for university. They all came back about two years ago.” “I’ve never been,” Dele added. “Never left England actually. Is it as beautiful as it seems?” “The coast line is divine,” Louise chimed in. “Seeing the sunset over the ocean, especially in the summer.” Dele nodded as he drank the water from his cup, he could just picture the scene. The blues and pinks in the sky over the crystal blue ocean, laying on the white sand, the ocean breeze causing goosebumps on his tanned skin. “I’ve gotta go there one day.” “Eric can take you,” Louie volunteered which made Eric choke on his food. “You okay hun?” Eric blushed and nodded his head. “Wrong pipe.” “Be careful,” she warned him softly, shifting her attention to the other side of the table. “So Dele, what made you decide to become a physical therapist?” That’s how the night kept going. Louise would ask a question to Dele and sit wide eyed as he answered, like she was the one on the date. Once she felt that Dele’s answer was sufficient she’d volunteer Eric’s reply. He hardly could get a word in edgewise. His father would shake his head from time to time and cut looks over to his wife as a warning, to let her know that Eric was more than capable of speaking for himself. Louise was either unaware of the looks or unbothered by them because she just kept talking, taking up all the time Eric could’ve spoken. He did get a word in edgewise from time to time, adding little quips or one liners to whatever was being discussed. Despite that fact that his mother had monopolized the conversation he was really learning a lot about Dele. He seemed like a good bloke, laughed at all the horrendous jokes Eric was able to make. His smile was infectious, his laugh cute. Dele was fit, there was no denying that. “I’m going to wash the dishes,” Louise announced once dinner was over. She stood up and lightly tugged on Jeremy’s arm. “Come help.” “We have a dish washer!” He yelled at her tug. Louise narrowed her eyes at her husband, speaking to him without words. “Please.” It took a moment but Jeremy finally got the hint and joined his wife in the next room leaving Eric and Dele alone for the first time that night. They weren’t far, the rooms were connected but it gave them some semblance of privacy. They just sat there, silent. Eric played with the tablecloth, wrapping the red fabric around his finger to pass the time. Dele checked his phone, probably Instagram with all the double tapping he was doing, still smiling. “This is awkward,” Eric broke the silence, immediately getting Dele’s attention. “Hmm?” He hummed in response, locking his phone and putting it on the table. “What is?” “I didn’t know you were coming until the bell rang,” Eric told him with a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I’m sorry if I didn’t live up to any expectations you may have had of me.” “What? No!” Dele exclaimed. “Look Eric, I came here with no expectations. Just your mum inviting me for dinner and telling me she had a son she may or may not want me to meet, that’s all.” Eric looked up at Dele the over at his mum who was washing dishes and obviously trying to listen in on their conversation. It was all light hearted and cute, endearing even, kind of like Dele. “In a different scenario this would be less awkward, I’d be less awkward.” “Understandable,” Dele nodded in agreement. “Want to grab a pint with me? I mean after this.” “Yes,” he replied without missing a beat. A dark dingy pub and a cold pint after this night? Eric was definitely okay with that idea. “I bet I can convince me mum to let us skip whatever Mary Berry concoction she made for dessert.” Dele looked over at Louise who was humming to herself, washing dishes, passing them along to Jeremy to dry. Like a well oiled machine. “I like your mum, don’t want her mad at me.” “She won’t be,” Eric laughed, scrubbing at his face. “She’d love that I’m leaving the house, especially with you.” Eric stood up and made the grand announcement that he was going to leave before dessert. Like he predicted Louise had made some half assed version of a fruit tart she read off the internet that Mary Berry swore by. She looked disappointed until Eric added that he was going to grab a pint with Dele. Her frown comically turned upset down and she all but shoved them out the door. They all exchanged hugs and goodbyes as jackets were thrown on and shoes were shoved on feet. Louise squeezed Eric a little too hard and long as they said their farewells, a threatening promise of a phone call the next morning for details. She was content and happy, more than pleased with herself. Eric decided to leave his car at his parents and walk to a place Dele knew that was a short walking distance away. Eric wasn’t that familiar with the area and it was clear that Dele took the underground to his parents home. They were quiet during the brief walk, Dele leading the way and Eric following dutifully. They arrived minutes later and the place wasn’t that bad looking on the outside, a bright red awning, a flashing open sign on the door. Inside was similar, intimate. The pub wasn’t crowded by any standards, a few stragglers sitting at the bar, the two TVs playing the same channel, highlights of that day’s footie. “Follow me,” Dele finally broke the silence, pointing to a place towards the back of the establishment where they barmaids were filling salt and pepper shakers. Eric slid into the booth, it was clearly old, wooden with a torn red cushion as the seat. It was homey and oddly comforting. “This place is a little dodgy, don’t ya think?” “This place is home,” Dele replied proudly, practically beaming as he spoke, sliding into the seat opposite Eric. “Helped raise the lad that sits in front of you.” “You grew up in the pub?” Eric asked tentatively. He didn’t know if Dele was speaking literally or not. Dele laughed, not at Eric but the way he asked the question. He clearly didn’t want to judge but confusion was written all over his face. “The people that raised me used to own this place. Sold it right before my first year of uni, helped pay for it too.” Eric took in the establishment once again and could picture a younger Dele in this place. Doing homework perched on a barstool, tongue hanging out his mouth as he tried to concentrate on his maths. Everyone was shit at maths so Eric assumed Dele was as well. Asking the stray patron for help but all of them too gone to even see the page correctly. “It’s cute.” “Look,” Dele called to Eric’s attention, grabbing his hand and lightly pulling him towards the wood paneled walls next to them. It felt comfortable holding Eric’s hand, even though they both were tense during the initial contact. “Carved my initials on the wall and the year.” “D.A. 2007,” Eric read out loud, his free handing tracing the faded lettering. “What’s the A stand for? Mum never told me your last name.” Dele was hesitant for a moment, letting go of Eric’s hand as they both sat back down. He ran his hand over his head, tugging lightly at the remaining blonde strands from when he dyed it towards the end of the summer. “Alli, my given surname.” Eric could see Dele immediately tense up when he answered. He wasn’t going to pry, it wasn’t his place to, especially on a first date. He let the tension wash over the area, let it leave them and hope that he hasn’t stepped over a boundary by asking the question. He didn’t like the fact that Dele wasn’t smiling anymore, he had grown to like his smile even after only knowing him for a few hours, it had become Eric’s favorite feature on him. “Why’d you decide to become a physical therapist?” That began a light hearted albeit confusing conversation for Eric. Dele’s smile instantly returned as he spoke passionately and intensely about medicine and muscles and tendons that Eric knew nothing about. Sometime during the conversation two pints were placed in front of them, free of charge. The perks of knowing the previous owners Dele laughed. They discussed work and Eric spoke at length about working in construction, loving to get his hands dirty but loving the end result the most. Seeing a project come to life from start to finish. He was animated, hands moving fast as he spoke, smiling from ear to ear about a new apartment complex he helped build for the less fortunate. When Eric had a pint in him and an easy following conversation, there was no stopping him and it didn’t look like Dele wanted to anyway. “I’m glad I did this,” Dele announced out of nowhere. “Grabbing dinner at your mum’s, meeting you.” Eric tried to hide his blush, hoping he could blame it on the pint and the bad lighting in the pub. “Same. I was hesitant at first I must admit, but you’ve grown on me Delboy.” Dele balked at Eric due to the nickname he was just bestowed upon. It was endearing and made his complexion match Eric’s in an instant. “We need to do this again. I mean if-if you want to.” “I want to,” he replied without a second thought. Another pint was set in front of both of them as they exchanged numbers, feeling like it was the right thing to do at that moment. Despite small hiccups during the evening everything was running smoothly. The conversation was easy and lighthearted, flowed naturally. No awkward pauses or silence, bumping from topic to topic without missing a beat. Eric spoke about living in Portugal and learning the language, how he felt out of place for the better part of a year, trying to adapt to a new place, country, and language while his younger siblings seemed to thrive the minute the plane touched down. Dele cheekily asking Eric to say something in Portuguese, Eric complying quickly. Even though he had no idea what Eric said it made Dele blush. Eric could definitely get used to seeing a permanent smile on Dele’s face, it made him look beautiful, angelic even. “Thanks,” he replied. “Huh?” “You said my smile makes me look beautiful,” Dele repeated. “Don’t know if you meant to say that out loud.” “I didn’t,” Eric laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “But it’s true. When you smile your whole face lights up, it’s contagious.” Dele ducked his head so he wasn’t looking directly at Eric and inevitably smiled and blushed again. He felt like a little school kid with a crush that was unattainable but in actuality it was. Unless Dele was reading the situation wrong, he could sense that Eric was warming up to the concept of a blind date and being set up. “Want to get out of here?” Eric didn’t think twice as he stood up, shook on his coat and followed Dele’s lead outside. They walked back towards Eric’s parents home so he could get his car and drive them both home. Eric had an itch as he walked, flexing his hand because he wanted to grab Dele’s hand. It was just a need he had, to touch him. To feel another sense of closeness besides their conversations during the night. He felt like that may be too intimate though, too personal. They walked close to each other, still talking, still laughing, still learning each other. This was probably the best first date either had ever had. They felt like they had known each other forever and were just reintroducing themselves. “Mum’s probably peeking out the window,” Eric said as they arrived at his parents house. “Seeing if we’re still together.” “She’s harmless,” Dele replied. “She means well. All mums do.” They got into Eric’s car after Eric looked directly at the front rooms window and swore he saw two eyes peering out. He had to remind himself that his mum was just looking after him, making sure everything in his life clicked together. The first time she tried to set him up with someone and so far so good. It felt comfortable driving Dele home, the radio on low to some talk radio that Eric usually listened to during his long drives. They were still talking, the conversation never dying down. Eric sucked in a breath when Dele’s hand touched his as it rested on the center console. His palm was facing up and Dele’s fingers effortlessly slid into his hand. It was warm and clammy but felt good. He could tell Dele was fidgeting just by the way his hand was never still in his. His fingers trying to familiarize themselves with Eric’s palm, tracing the calluses from years of work. “Quit it,” Eric laughed as he drove down the road of Dele’s flat. Dele removed his hand quickly, an embarrassed look on his face as he did so. “I’m so so sorry. I should’ve asked before I did it, I-I didn’t mean to.” “It’s fine,” Eric told him as he shut off the car in front of the flat. “You were just tickling me, that’s all. It was kinda nice, you holding my hand and all.” “Oh.” “Del,” Eric called to him, turning in his seat to properly face the other man. He placed his hand on Dele’s cheek, his thumb brushing his cheek gently. “I had a great time tonight. Meeting you, getting to know you was amazing.” “Oh.” Eric sighed as he hand still lightly stroked Dele’s cheek. “Say something please.” “I want to kiss you,” he responded boldly. Eric sucked in a breath at Dele’s words, his hand had stilled on his cheek. If this were a romantic comedy movie this would be where they kiss for the first time. The end of a first date, in Eric’s car outside Dele’s flat. Cliché. Eric usually scoffed at rom coms but honestly he could now see why throngs of people packed the cinemas to see if Emma Stone would get the guy at the end of two hours. “Now it’s your turn to say something,” Dele nervously laughed, biting at his bottom lip. “Come here,” Eric whispered huskily, pulling Dele closer by the nape of his neck. He hoped he didn’t overstep any boundaries by being aggressive when he pulled Dele in. Their lips touched and, yep, the rom com cliché continued. It was soft and gentle with a sprinkle of hunger, didn’t feel like a first kiss at all. Dele nibbled on Eric’s bottom lip which caused him to let out a noise he hoped he didn’t have to explain later. Dele grabbed onto Eric’s jacket trying to pull himself closer as he panted into Eric’s mouth to get some air into his lungs. “Come upstairs,” Dele whined into Eric’s lips. Eric panted to catch his breath, eyes still closed. “Del, I can’t.” “Please,” he begged, pulling on Eric’s jacket again. “Not now,” he replied, kissing Dele softly. Dele reluctantly released Eric’s jacket and threw himself against the passenger seat like a petulant child. It was endearing how he tried to act hurt and betrayed but his face was red and his lips plump and cherry colored. Eric’s fingertips traced his own lips, feeling the swell which caused him to smirk. “Go,” Eric said. “If you stay I may cave and take you up on your offer.” “Fine by me,” Dele responded with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, making himself comfortable against the cars headrest. “Del,” Eric pleaded. “Please go before I regret doing what I want to do right now.” The statement made Dele’s inside burn and he could feel the butterflies fluttering inside filling him with warmth even for someone he had just met. With a huff he kissed Eric one last time, determined to make an impression before saying his goodbyes and leaving the car. One he got into the lift his phone pinged, a text. It was Eric asking when they could have their second date. With a shake of his head and a new blush creeping up on his cheeks Dele replied his answer.

#deledier #my writing #drabble

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1st-time-caller · 6 years ago

Note

I saw a recent drawing by @colonelhotstuff where Roy confidently asks a shy Riza for a dance when they’re alone late in the office, and Roy then struggles to confess to her. Maybe takes place post Promised Day? It was a pretty sweet artwork by @colonelhotstuff

It was a WONDERFUL artwork, very sweet and beautiful and adorable. (Check it out here! Reblog it! Squeal at their cute little faces!) I was delighted to get this ask, delighted to get the go-ahead from @colonelhotstuff and delighted to write this!

After Hours

Pouting; that was the only word for it. Her superior officer was pouting.

She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She might understand all the fuss, but the office had been giddy at the prospect of the day’s end, to celebrate the festivities of the summer festival. The entire city center had been blocked off to make room for street vendors, food stalls, live music and fair games. Breda had even been selected to stand and wave on the military float that afternoon. He had a bag of candy he was planning to throw for the children to collect as he passed. It was strange to see Breda that morning, adorned in his formal uniform and actually excited to take part.

But really, if the Colonel wanted to gallivant through the city, he should have done his paperwork on time.

“Do you smell that? That’s funnel cake,” he whined, sniffing toward the open window. “You can’t get funnel cake any other time of the year!”

“If you keep going at this pace, you’ll miss next year’s funnel cake too,” she responded dryly, taking the clip from her hair to stifle the headache pulling at her roots. It had been hours since the team left, and though she didn’t care about going to the festival, she did want to get a full night’s sleep. The prospect was getting narrower and narrower with each passing minute.

“I don’t even know the procedure for filling out these stupid forms.”

“Well, it’s about time you learned.”

He slumped in his chair, rolling his sleeves up his forearms and picking up his pen. The next few minutes were punctuated with pathetic little sighs as he tried to simultaneously avoid and finish his work.

“The boys have probably started drinking,” he grumbled,breaking the silence.

“Maybe you’ll make it out of here on time for last call.”

“Shh! Listen! The music’s started.”

Riza heard the faint but lively noises of a brass band. Her first thought was that she hoped she wouldn’t be able to hear it from her apartment when—if—she got home tonight. The entire prospect of a summer festival was ridiculous to her. She grew up in the countryside, where spring was celebrated for the birth of calves and lambs, and autumn was celebrated for its harvest. A celebration of summer made no sense, and was an entirely urban holiday.

“Close that window if it’s going to keep distracting you.”

“Come on, Lieutenant! It’s bad enough I’m stuck in here—”

“We’re stuck inhere.”

“—without completely missing all the fun.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t push the subject.

The music faded completely in her mind as she got back into her work. Well, his work. But there was no way he was going to get it all done, so she had taken on some of the less important tasks and hoped that he would at least get through the stack marked “URGENT”.

He almost reached a half hour of blissful obedience, before he hummed quietly from the back of his throat, for a couple of bars.

She lifted her head to shoot him a warning look. He was still looking at his paperwork, but he seemed to sense her ire and stopped humming immediately.

When she thought it was safe to look back down at her work,she heard it again. Slightly louder this time.

She lifted her head again and he stopped again, but she could see the twitch of his lip as he pretended to read over the file in front of him.

She didn’t even make it to reading a single word of her work before she was glaring at him again. This time, he didn’t stop, just continued to hum along to the music on the streets.

Riza was tired and cranky and this was the last straw.

She stood up, scraping her chair loudly against the floor,and walked over to the window with the intention of closing it. What she wasn’t intending was for the Colonel to stand up as well.

He glided between her and the window before she reached her destination, stopping her in her tracks. He stood ramrod straight in front of her, and for a moment she thought he was going to salute.

Instead, he grinned as he folded one arm behind his back,extending the other towards her with a slight bow.

“Dance with me, Lieutenant.”

His words were soft, not like an order and not at all what she was expecting. Her eyes widened as she looked at the hand between them. She should have told him that he was being inappropriate, should have shouldered past him and closed the window and put an end to his childishness.

Instead, she found herself blushing.

“Sir, you know I can’t dance,” she protested, surprised by the smallness of her voice.

He smiled wider and plucked her hand from her side,straightening fully and bringing it up with him.

“Then it’s about time you learned.”

He grabbed her other hand and brought it to his shoulder,freeing his own hand to fall on her waist.

“Hear the beat?” he hummed again, stressing the rhythm. “It goes in threes. When I step forward, you step back, okay?”

He took her through the steps as she watched their feet,partially to learn and partially to hide her heated face from his gaze. They started slowly, then faster, until they were matching the beat of the song. The notes drifted in softly through the window and she only stumbled once before the music changed to something a little slower.

The first time he dipped her, she reacted instinctively,clutching onto the front of his shirt and tightening her muscles, flinching in anticipation of a fall. As she was held mid-air by his forearm across her back,he laughed at her shock. It took her a moment to loosen her grip, and she found herself giggling too, in relief. The second time he dipped her, he lowered her slowly, so she would be ready. She kept her back straight but relaxed her hands and let her head fall back.

“You’re a fast learner,” he admired as he swung her back upright.

They danced like this for a few more songs, one upbeat piece that had him twirling her as she threw her head back in laughter and another waltz, before the music calmed down to a much slower number.

He circled his arms around her back as she brought hers up to his shoulders. The lessons seemed to be finished for the evening, so they just swayed slowly together, in time with each other. His cheek rested against her temple and her eyes fluttered closed as she listened to the deep hum of the saxophone music. His arms tightened around her and she was surrounded by him;by his scent, his warmth. His breath tickled her neck with each exhale and fora moment she felt so calm and content that she could fall asleep where she stood swaying.

She sighed.

The muscles of his shoulders and arms tightened instantly. When she tried to sway again she was pulled back into place by his resistance. He had frozen in his tracks.

The sudden change jolted her. She pushed off his shoulders to distance herself enough to face him, eyebrows scrunched with worry.

“Are you okay, colonel?” Had she done something wrong?

He opened his mouth but his breath stopped in his throat. He stared at her wide-eyed, arms loosening around her but not letting go. His smile was gone and he was blushing. Not that she could blame him, she hadn’t stopped blushing since he had asked her to dance.

The music ended and she could hear the distant applause of the spectators outside. It must have been the last song. The sound seemed to snap him out of his reverie, he released her completely and took a step back,averting his eyes.

“You must be tired, Lieutenant. You should go home,” he muttered.

“Sir, we still have work to—”

“I’ll finish up.” He looked up at her again, a forced smile painted on his face. “It’s my mess, I’ll have it done before tomorrow. Promise.”

Usually she wouldn’t take the risk. He was a notorious slacker even while she was in the room. If she left him to his own devices, he was far, far worse. But there was a strange urgency in his eyes, he almost looked like he was in pain. And something told her to trust him, this time.

“Okay,” she agreed quietly. She cleared her throat and stood up straight, raising her arm in a salute. “Goodnight, sir.”

His expression softened to something a little more genuine. “Goodnight,Lieutenant.”

As she walked towards the door, he sat back down at his desk. Before leaving, she turned to him again.

“Thank you for the dance, colonel.”

He looked at her and smiled.

“My pleasure.”

#royai #colonelhotstuff #fmab fanfiction #fanfic of fanart #aren't communities wonderful #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #i will get to the rest of the prompts but i'm real tired rn #it's after 1am here #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood

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goddamnitconnor-a · 6 years ago

Text

I’d mentioned something about this a little bit ago, but there’s been something on my mind for a while, now, and I want to finally write something down. This is mostly because I was asked on the sidelines if I could make a post like this-- so here goes.

I’ll put most of this under a cut so anyone not interested can just scroll by without too much fuss, but first I’d like to say what this is all about.

Anxiety. Or, rather, how to not let it consume your life. Because we all experience it, most of us on a daily basis, but I’ve seen so few people actually do the right things to stop it from escalating to a critical point or try to do anything to manage it when they’re not in a critical mode. So, the rest of this will be cut for sake of length, but please:

If you have struggles with anxiety and recognize that it’s holding you back from enjoying any part of your life to the fullest extent, give the rest of this post a look over. These are honest, tried and true methods of reducing the impact of anxiety, both the obvious and less obvious, and I promise I wouldn’t offer them as suggestions unless I knew they’d have a beneficial impact on your overall health.

I’ll say this one last thing: if you’re thinking anything along the lines of ‘none of this will work for me’ or ‘my anxiety is too bad to do anything about without medication’ or ‘I’ve tried everything before and nothing really works so why bother’, then I’m speaking directly to you: please read the rest of this post. I don’t say it often, but you are so wrong.

Firstly, before I begin spewing out suggestions, everything I talk about here I have seen take a positive effect on both myself (dealing with bipolar depression and I’m sure other shit by this point) and people with severe intellectual disabilities (autism being the primary diagnosis), whom I support and work very closely with. I’ve also taken two college courses focused entirely on managing anxiety through very different strategies (mental vs physical activities) and a handful of others on building mindfulness, confidence, and self-image. Honestly, though, I’m drawing mostly from the former experiences because there’s nothing like seeing the words in action.

These techniques will be listed here only briefly because talking about each of them at length would make this an entire book. I might go into more detail in additional posts, if enough people would like me to or I’m feeling especially talkative another day. They are listed roughly in the order of most effective or most necessary, but honestly they all work in tandem with each other, so saying one is better than the other is a little misleading.

Attitude: We’ve all got it. Some are better than others, and some are just downright-- wait. Not that kind of attitude. I’m talking about our attitude towards our own mental health. I’m sure a lot of people believe they’re just supposed to suffer as much as they do or that it’s not really so bad and changing is too much effort. Essentially, the message is saying ‘I don’t care enough about myself to make the effort for my mental health’ no matter how you say it. Point blank, that’s a pretty shitty attitude to have, and no one wants to have a shitty attitude. No one likes feeling like shit, we just kind of get used to it and grow numb to it out of self defense against our own brains. Not the best habit to pick up. But one thing is certain: if you don’t believe you can help yourself and if you don’t believe you’re worth the effort, then nothing else is going to leave much of a mark. It all starts here, friends, and it’s usually the hardest step to take.

Deep breathing: Has to be next, doesn’t it? And it’s a very easy next step after that last one. The rules are very simple: block yourself off from outside stimuli (whether this means closing your eyes or fixating on a fixed spot in the distance to focus your attention or doing whatever you need to in order to take a minute to yourself); take a deep breath in through your nose for at least five but ideally seven seconds (breathe in so your stomach expands and not just your chest-- your shoulders shouldn’t rise more than they do when you’re yawning or sighing); hold the breath for up to three seconds; release your breath through your mouth slowly (take at least three but ideally five seconds) and make sure to fully push all of the air from your lungs. Repeat at least three times and up to ten times, depending on how high your stress and anxiety are at the time. The idea of the numbers is equal parts providing a structure so that the breath is under your control and providing a distraction from any other thoughts that might intrude. If you’re focusing entirely on counting the seconds of your breath or focusing on how the breath feels going in and out of your lungs, then you’re much less likely to worry about anything else. So don’t get too hung up on the specific numbers; understand their purpose and adjust them as you need to in order to fit your current situation. Do this before you go into a full-blown panic attack. It’s much more difficult to focus on deep breathing when you’re in panic mode, but taking a few deep breaths when you feel the first signs of something coming on could lessen or negate the physical and mental strain. Remember: It takes less than three minutes, even if you do all ten breaths, and there’s no equipment or special requirements. That makes this by far the easiest thing on this list to do, and the effects it can have are fucking mind-blowing.

Diet: Okay, maybe this will be the hardest step. But it doesn’t have to be! Diet changes can be huge, cold-turkey everything bad or small, subtle changes that ease you into a better lifestyle over the course of a few months or even a year. Both are totally cool! In fact, I’ve done both. There is so much I have to say about dieting, but I’ll list out the major points. Stop counting. I don’t care what it is, just stop counting it. Right now. Because guess what: you’re not counting the right things. Things you should be looking at? Sugar content. How processed the food is. Artificial flavoring and high fructose corn syrup. Things that really aren’t that important if you’re organizing your diet to be balanced and actually healthy? Fat content. Calories. What a coincidence. Also, eat breakfast. I know it means getting out of bed a little earlier, but for all that is good in this world, eat breakfast. Snack more often (not on potato chips; try some fruit), especially in the morning when your body is trying to balance out everything from the previous night (or, you know, whenever you sleep). Fruit, vegetables, nuts, protein bars (check that sugar content!), hard-boiled eggs, cottage cheese, and yogurt are all super easy and cheap snacks to grab and most of them are portable if you’re out and about often. Lunch doesn’t need to be big, but it needs to exist on some level. Heavy lunches will weigh you down and make you tired much earlier than you would be otherwise but no lunch will sap your energy and also leave you feeling drained earlier in the day. Dinner should be focused on protein and this is usually where people actually eat their vegetables, so keep that up! If you’re going to have a lot of empty carbs (like fries, mashed potatoes, rice, etc.), you better plan on having a post-dinner workout because guess where that belly fat is coming from. If you have anything to eat before bed, make sure it’s at least an hour before and it should have as little sugar and calorie content as possible. Protein is ideal for this time of the day!

Exercise: Oh boy. All of these steps are sounding pretty hard, aren’t they? Good news! You don’t have to go to the gym. You don’t even have to go outside. And I’m not about to preach youtube workout videos and giant squishy balls to roll around on. I am about to preach yoga. I know we only ever see super attractive and skinny women perching themselves in ridiculous poses on a fucking mountaintop at sunrise with some inspirational quote plastered everywhere and that’s what we think when we hear yoga, but you know what? I’ve taken yoga courses, and the only one even half-capable of flipping herself upside down on her head was our instructor-- because she’s been doing it forever. Most people had to use blocks and bands to assist them with most of the poses. Yoga is not for the fit and bendy only; in fact, the less fit and bendy you are, the more you’ll probably benefit from the practice. A few simple stretches in the morning isn’t going to change your life, but it’s a start. There are plenty of free videos and apps around to help you get started with easy things that will make the rest of your day a little easier, and I guarantee you’ll start feeling so much better that you’ll get addicted to it. If you happen to already be a reasonably active person, then just make sure you’re getting at least 30 minutes of at least moderate activity in order to get the most benefit out of your workout. The most beneficial time to do any exercise is first thing in the morning after you wake up, but right before meals or mid-day when you might be feeling a bit of a drag are also ideal times. Anything above low-intensity exercise before you go to bed will definitely hurt your sleep cycle, but there are some yoga poses and other kinds of exercise that are actually very beneficial to relaxing and getting a better night’s sleep.

Meditation: This should be higher on the list, but again the list really isn’t a ranked thing. I’m only putting it this far down because I believe that meditation doesn’t always stick out to people as something especially helpful. That’s because meditation doesn’t show instant results and a lot of people do it very wrong, so they don’t get any results at all. Because of this, I think if the above techniques are implemented then meditation will become more attractive because some control and balance in your life will have already been established with the other things. I would recommend starting with guided meditation no matter what, if you’ve never done it before or even if you think you’ve been doing it ineffectively. Meditation is very flexible, which is one of the things I love most about it. Once you understand the real purpose of meditating and how to handle any potential distractions while you’re meditating, you can do it almost anywhere and at any time-- and you can spend five minutes with yourself or two hours. Any amount of quiet and calm for your mind will help it immensely! Also, if you’re feeling drained and are unable to do any stretches or exercises to wake yourself up, meditation can actually make you more alert and refreshed. This is especially helpful for people trying to focus on a task that needs to be accomplished but that attention span just isn’t cutting it. Meditation should center you, calm your mind, boost your focus, and clear your head of distracting thoughts and worries unrelated to the task at hand. Stress and anxiety should reduce and if you go into a deep enough trance, a sense of euphoria (similar to that infamous ‘runner’s high’) will accompany you for a while afterwards. If it’s not doing that for you, then you should probably seek out some sort of guide to help you meditate more effectively.

Water: Just drink it. I won’t say that you can’t drink too much, because of course you can, but chances are high you aren’t drinking as much as you should be. It depends a lot on your activity levels, what you’re eating throughout the day, and your exposure to the sun or other high heat elements, but a few signs that you’re not drinking enough water are: if you get frequent headaches, especially near the top/crown of your head; if you get muscle cramps-- they can be anywhere, but leg cramps are very common and I experience stomach cramps easily when I’m dehydrated; if you’re thirsty (simple as that); if you find yourself yawning/breathing deeply excessively. Drinking water first thing in the morning will help you wake up and cold water before meals will reduce your appetite so you don’t overeat.

There is so much more I could say about anxiety and so many other, little things that can be done to make things easier on yourself, but these are the really big ones. The ones that I guarantee, if practiced together even on a minimal level, will improve your health both physically and mentally to the extent that you’ll never believe you lived so miserably for so long without doing these simple things. Because here’s the hard news: We weren’t meant to sit in a dark room in front of a computer screen all day. We weren’t meant to play video games for 12 hours a day. We weren’t built to digest the obnoxious amount of empty carbs and overload of sugar that is basically forced in our face every time we turn around. Our bodies are meant to work and they’re meant to be maintained-- and if you feel like that statement doesn’t apply to you, you probably don’t understand your body as well as you think you do. I’m not saying I know anyone’s specific situation and of course there are always outrageous exceptions to even the most reliable of rules, but for the majority of people reading this, the only real block against you and a healthier you is just plainly you. That’s not an easy thing to accept or make peace with, but the sooner we realize that we most often are the only ones holding ourselves back, the easier it will be for us to help ourselves get better. These are just steps and suggestions. Just words on a screen. Any time they’re put into practice and any time they give anyone any sort of benefit, that victory is not mine. Don’t give me the credit. Because you’re doing all of it. And you’ve been able to all along, so I’m glad you’re finally waking up and realizing it.

#i could never pull the trigger // ooc #this got long anyway #and trust me #i could have said so much more #share this around if you think it'll help someone #reblog it or whatever #or just share the information yourself #just get some helpful info out in the world #the more you know

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sugdenlovesdingle · 6 years ago

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Remember that 7 days of robron thing we all did like a month ago? Guess who didn’t manage to finish that in time because of silly things like work and responsibilities? yup. me. I’m still working on finishing the half finished fics for that week (1 down, 2 more to go) and posting them and hopefully someone will enjoy them.

7 Days of Robron - Day 5: Robron + smut + “Tell me what you want

Never Even Told Me Your Name (AO3)

“Excuse me?”

Robert sighs, wants to pretend he doesn’t speak English. It’s been a long 36 hours already since he’d left his gran’s house in a taxi to the airport and whatever this person wants, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.

“Erm pardon monsieur… erm… anglais?”

Robert sighs again but looks up from his book.

“Yeah I speak English.”

“Oh you’re English! That’s great!” The girl from the couple standing in the aisle next to his seat says happily. “We were wondering if you would mind switching seats. They gave us two separate seats and we’d like to sit together. We just got engaged you see.” She waves her hand in his face to show off her ring.

“We have the seat next to you and one a few rows up ahead. But whoever is in the seat next to us there isn’t there yet. So we thought we’d ask you.” The guy explained.

The thing is, he doesn’t want to switch seats. He’s happy with his seat near the back of the plane near the door. He likes that he doesn’t have to wait ages for everyone in front of him to grab their bags and make their way outside, but can just slip out with the other smart people that sit near the back.

“They said we could ask since we’re here early.”

Robert wants to tell them to fuck off and tell them he’s there early because he came from SPAIN yesterday and should have been in his sister’s spare room in the tiny village he grew up in by now, if not for the airline fucking things up, as per, and double booking flights.

He’d kicked up a fuss and demanded that he’d be put on the first flight out. Only that was a flight to Paris instead of Leeds and then his bag wasn’t there and he had to wait for that to arrive on the next flight. In the end he’d ended up spending the night in a hotel by the airport (paid for by the airline, thank you very much) and being one of the firsts to check in that morning for the flight from Paris to Leeds.

But then again, he had promised his gran to be nicer to people (after she had let him cry and rant at her after his ex had dumped him.) so instead of telling them to fuck off he gives them his best fake happy smile, closes his book and gets up to get his carry-on from the overhead compartment.

“Sure. No problem.” He takes the ticket from the guy and silently curses them for booking a seat in the middle of the plane. “Congratulations by the way.”

“Thanks mate. And hey you never know, you might meet the love of your life!”

“Yeah.” Robert says, fake laughing and rolling his eyes at the guy as soon as he’s turned his back.

He makes his way over to the other seat and thankfully the row is still empty. He’s tempted to take the window seat and let whoever is supposed to sit there, just deal, but decides it’s not worth the hassle.

After putting his carry-on in the overhead compartment he grabs his book again and makes himself comfortable. As comfortable as he can be in a middle seat of three.

He’s barely finished his chapter when he notices movement next to him. A blonde, petite, business woman in a nice suit. She’s attractive. Just his type. He smiles at her and tries to make conversation.

“Hi, I’m Robert.” He says, holding out his hand. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business.” She says curtly, ignoring his outstretched hand, and opening up her laptop and putting in earphones.

“Right.” Robert mutters to himself and wants to turn back to his book when he hears someone laughing. He looks up and sees a guy in his mid-twenties, wearing a black hoodie and a backpack slung over his shoulder. “Something funny?”

The guy bites his lip to stop himself from laughing more.

“It’s been a while since I saw someone crash and burn like that.” He says as he carefully manoeuvres past both the woman and Robert.

“Well why don’t you have a go yourself then?” Robert says, challenging him. “Mister Casanova.”

“No that’s alright. She’s busy, isn’t she? And she’s not really my type.”

“What, you’re not into blondes?”

“Not into women.” The guy says and the look on Robert’s face makes him burst out laughing again. “Yeah we do actually exist, mate. And not all of us dance on tables in our glitter thongs and feather boas.”

“Right. No. Yes. Of course. I know. I uh… I didn’t… I… uh… sorry… I’m… I mean… it’s… me too.”

“You’re gay?” the guy asks surprised.

“Yes. No. I mean. I’m bi.”

“Oh right. Looks like we’re on the same team then, eh?” The guy says and Robert gets a little lost in his smile.

He wants to keep talking to him but the guy pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through whatever and Robert forces himself to look away and turn his attention back to his book. Only he has no idea what it’s about anymore and he can’t seem to focus on anything but the guy sitting next to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately our flight has picked up a bit of a delay due to bad weather in Leeds and some difficulties in communication with air traffic control. Our technical staff are working hard to resolve these issues so we can take off as soon as possible. If you need to reschedule your connecting flight in Leeds, our cabin crew will be happy to assist you. Please accept our sincere apologies for this inconvenience.”

Robert groans at the announcement and bangs his head back against his seat.

“I’m never going to get home.”

“Is the missus waiting for you?” the guy next to him asks.

“Hardly.” Robert snorts. “My sister is getting married. Tomorrow. And I promised her I’d be there but it seems like the universe has other plans.”

The guy gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I’m going to a wedding too. My best mate back home is getting married. Tomorrow as well. I’m his best man so I really have to be there. I think my mum put him up to asking me so I’d have to come back for it.”

“So you live in Paris then?”

“Lived. I moved here with my ex but we broke up. Well… he dumped me.”

“You don’t seem exactly heartbroken over it.”

“Nah. He’s a good guy but just… boring. He was my ticket out of the tiny village where my mum and half my family lives and it was alright at first… but then…”

“You slept with his brother?”

The guy laughs.

“No. I never even met his family. Where did you get that idea?”

“That’s why my ex dumped me and kicked me out. I got bored and slept with her sister.” Robert shrugs. “And then I jumped on the first flight to Spain and hid at my gran’s place…” He checks his watch. “until almost 40 hours ago.”

“And now this flight is delayed too.” The guy notes.

Robert nods.

“Yeah. I’d get drunk to forget about it but my sister will kill me if I show up at her wedding with a hangover tomorrow.”

“You could always hair of the dog it. My mum owns a pub, I’m kind of an expert when it comes to these things.”

Robert smiles.

“Tempting. But I better not. I was thinking of renting a car at the airport instead of getting a taxi. So I better keep a clear head so I can drive.”

“Pity. You seem like a fun drunk.”

“Oh you just invited yourself to my getting drunk to forget about travel hell party, did you?”

“Can’t let you drink alone, can I?” the guy says. “But since you’re not drinking, we’re going to have to find another way to pass the time.”

They sit and chat and flirt for a while, swapping stories about crazy family and crazy exes. Robert definitely wins the crazy exes category but can’t help but laugh at some of the stories the guy tells about his family.

“Your family makes mine seem normal!”

“Well your love life makes mine seem boring. What’s moving to Paris for a guy compared to completing a hat trick within one family?”

“Almost completing.” Robert corrects him laughingly. “That whole family was a mess. I was a mess.”

“You seem alright to me now.”

Robert shrugs.

“It’s been six months. Six months of my gran yelling at me to get my act together.”

“And have you?”

“I don’t know. I’m working on it. I’m… sort of looking for a new adventure I suppose.”

The guy nods.

“Me too.” He grins. “What if we start an adventure together?”

“What? Now? What could we possibly do on this plane?”

The guy raises an eyebrow at him and tilts his head in the general direction of the toilets and waits for Robert to catch on.

“What?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We are now ready for take-off and should arrive in Leeds only about an hour later than planned. We apologise again for any inconvenience.” One of the flight attendants announces and snaps Robert out of his handsome stranger induced haze.

“It’s a 90 minute flight.” The guy says quietly but somehow makes it sound absolutely filthy. “There’s more interesting things we could do than sit here and read the safety instructions.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

The thing is, he has thought about it. Everyone that’s ever been on a plane has probably thought about it. But thinking about it and actually doing it, are two different things.

“Unless you’re not interested.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good.”

The plane takes off and when the seatbelts light turns off the guy gets up and leans over Robert slightly as he pushes past him and whispers “Tell me what you want.” before casually walking towards the toilets and meeting his eyes before entering the tiny room.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Robert mutters to himself as he gets up and follows the guy a few minutes later. He’s convinced every single person on the plane knows exactly what they’re up to, yet can’t bring himself to return to his seat.

He knocks on the door and realises he has no idea what the guy’s name even is when he wants to tell him to let him in before the flight attendant notices him.

The door opens a tiny bit and the guy all but pulls him inside.

“You took your time. I was beginning to think I read you wrong and you weren’t coming.”

Robert shakes his head.

“Had to convince myself hooking up with a guy I just met on a plane and whose name I don’t even know isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad you listened to yourself then.” The guy says. “And it’s Aaron. My name. I’m Aaron.”

Robert smiles.

“Nice to meet you Aaron.”

-----

“And then these idiots pretended they didn’t know each other when they’d sat next to each other on the flight over here.” Adam is a little drunk and loving the laughs he gets from the other guests. “And me and Vic were worried they weren’t getting on. Turns out they were getting IT on behind our backs!”

“Alright Ads, that’s enough now.” Aaron says, cheeks reddening and trying to get his friend to sit down.

“But we’re all happy they found each other. My best mate and my wife’s brother. Getting married! We’ll all be family! You’ll be my brother in law, bro!”

The comment gets him some cheers and a few laughs which he takes as a sign to continue his best man speech. Thankfully Victoria intervenes and takes the microphone from him.

“Three years ago my big brother came to my wedding after being away from home for years. He was a day late because his flight had been delayed but he was in a surprisingly good mood. I thought he was just happy to see me and happy to be home… but it was something else that had put a smile on his face. Or rather someone.” She says and winks at them. “I’m so happy for you both. And the fact that you met while travelling home for mine and Adam’s wedding still makes me feel like I had a little bit of a hand in getting you two together. I love you both. Congratulations.”

Her speech earns her a few awws and a small applause. After her Aaron’s parents and even Andy say a few words and then the party really starts.

“You know,” Robert softly says to Aaron when the two of them are slowly swaying on the dancefloor during their first dance. “those people that asked me to switch seats with them on the flight, they said I might meet the love of my life by switching.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I only thought about how much I didn’t want to switch.” Robert says and they both laugh. “But I’m glad I did.”

Aaron smiles and kisses him.

“Me too.”

#robron #aaron dingle #robert sugden #7 days of robron #my writing

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jemej3m · 7 years ago

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in confidence i confide

i do understand this isn’t how therapy works :)

basic summary: neil needs help and andrew gets paid to help. it works out, somehow.

Neil was uncomfortable with how startingly different it all seemed. There were no sticky leather ottomans across from a black leather couch, or bookshelves covered in intimidating titles, or walls covered in certificates of achievements. The room was rather small, and Neil sat in a very soft velvet chair. A wooden coffee table sat in front of him. The man was on the other side of the room at the small kettle, making two mugs of something or rather: Neil smelled Earl Grey. He wasn’t fussed about that, so he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to drink it regardless.

The lighting of the room: That was different too. All offices of psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists and counsellors alike seemed to have a stark, bright white lighting. This room was lit by a lamp in the corner, and the cracks of daylight that seeped through the gaps in the curtain that covered the floor-to-ceiling window.

The psychologist must have seen him glance at the curtains. “I usually keep them shut, but some patients prefer them open. Depends on what they want from me, usually.”

Neil had nothing to say.

Andrew Minyard looked at him, one mug in each hand, huffed out a small sigh, and paced back towards the small, matching velvet couch perpendicular to Neil’s chair. He settled down the tea in front of Neil and sat himself against the armrest of the couch, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand. “Curtains shut, then.” He took a sip. “Feel free to open them whenever you like.”

Neil wanted this session to be over.

“In case you were wondering,” He put down his mug. “I’d prefer if you called me Andrew, rather than doctor, or Dr Minyard. We both already know you’re here for my medical qualifications: We don’t need the reminder every time you say my name.”

“What are your qualifications?”

“It speaks.” Andrew tilted his head to the side. Neil felt like copying, just to mock him—so he did. Andrew rose up a single eyebrow in amusement: Neil saw the twitch of the corner of his lips. “I have an undergraduate degree in criminology, and a post-grad in medicinal science. I continued on to study psychology and I have a PhD in criminal psychology. I’ve been in the field for five years.”

“Five.” Neil echoed. “How old are you?”

“29.” Andrew laced his fingers together. One year older than Neil. “I accelerated through many of the courses and stacked the necessary hours for certain qualifications on top of one another. I completed my PhD last year. Star pupil.”

Neil hummed.

“Do you feel, in light of my accomplishments, that you have to share yours?”

Neil looked up.

“Because I’d like to keep this space completely honest and open from the get-go: I already know who you are, and incidentally already know more than you want me to. Seems a little unfair to me.”

“Through Exy or through my father?” Neil’s plight was open to the entire public: Ten years ago he’d fought and won, and these scars were proof. Now he’d gone to the Olympics once—they’d lost to Germany, but they would be heading back this time next year. “Nevermind. Criminal psychologist.”

“It’d be hard not to know you from Exy,” Andrew corrected him. “But yes. Its your past that interests me more. I’m no policeman, or agent. I’m not here to drill and extract. This is your hour to talk about whatever you want, and to ask whatever questions you need.”

Neil picked up his Earl Grey, took a sip, and settled it back down again. No sugar, just how he liked it. He put his feet up on the edge of the coffee table and nestled into the velvet chair—it was very comfortable, but he couldn’t imagine anyone larger than him would find it so. How on earth did Kevin sit here for an hour every two weeks?

“I’m going to take a nap.”

Andrew said nothing, but Neil saw the tick of his jaw before he closed his eyes.

At first, Andrew didn’t move. Neil eventually heard him shift, and then stand, take his own mug off the table and treading lightly across the room. A creaking noise: Neil cracked open one eye to see the chalkboard on the opposite wall, next to the door, lifting up to reveal a book case. Andrew grabbed something off the bottom shelf—something tattered and worn—before closing the hidden bookshelf and turning around. Neil shut his eyes before Andrew could see him staring.

Andrew sat down again with his book, opened it, flicked through a few pages, before saying “You’re terrible at pretending to sleep.”

“I’m not trying to pretend.”

Andrew hummed.

Neil did not trust therapists—psychologists, psychiatrists, anyone of that or a similar brand. It was pure instinct. He could not sleep with Andrew in the room, but he could piss him off by wasting his time: He was Kevin’s psychologist—and Matt’s. Probably one of the most popular counselling professionals in the world of professional sport. If he shit-bagged Neil to Kevin about how much of a waste the session was, maybe Kevin wouldn’t hassle him again.

Andrew said nothing else. Neil opened his eyes at the beep of his watch, marking the turnover of an hour. He stood up, straightened his shirt and looked down at Andrew who was perusing a book on his couch. The psychologist didn’t spare him another glance, nor another word as he walked out.

The receptionist glared up at him—identical to Andrew. His name tag read A. Minyard, which wasn’t helpful at all. “So, first session with Andrew, huh?”

Neil nodded.

“Would you like to schedule the next one? Weekly or fortnightly is the recommendation, but—“

“Next one?”

He rose up a single eyebrow. “Oh, yes. Andrew insisted. It’d be wise to listen to his instruction.”

When the hell did Andrew instruct—

“Same time, next week.” Not-Andrew stabbed enter with his finger and stood up to give a business card. “The reception phone is always manned if there’s an emergency. We’ll link you through to him if it’s necessary. Bye.”

Neil nodded, stunned, turned himself around and marched out the door before he could kick up a fuss.

“What level of nutcase was he for you to text me mid-session?” Aaron lounged in the chair as Andrew rounded the front desk.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, now patient confidentiality is a concern of yours?” His twin arched an eyebrow. “You just want to get with him. That has to be illegal.”

“Aaron.”

Aaron rose up his hands in surrender, lips puckered like he tasted something sour and tucked himself under the desk, sitting up.

“You have a patient coming in five minutes. Go set up.”

Andrew sat down when Aaron slipped by him and put his feet up on the desk, staring at the screen.

Neil Josten was attractive. That was, however, not a concern of his. Regardless, he’d already known that. It was hard to sift through sports’ news without finding a Moreau, Josten, Reynolds, Knox, Boyd or even the legendary Day plastered somewhere, shirtless and glistening.

He and his twin had made a name for themselves as the one-stop-shop for professional sportsmen and women: Andrew fixed their heads, Aaron fixed their bodies, and Renee fixed their relationships. It was as good a team as any.

Neil Josten. Andrew scoffed.

Kevin shoved Neil out the door a week later. “Go.”

“Kevin—“

Kevin slammed the passenger door shut for Neil and sped off. Neil cursed after him until he turned the corner.

It was easy for Neil to get home, or to their court. He wasn’t incapable of catching public transport, despite it being something he’d more or less avoided since starting college and shaking his father off his back ten years ago.

He didn’t have to walk in there, either. But sleeping through the session hadn’t had the desired affect: Andrew had talked to Kevin, and Kevin had yelled at him for it, sure. But he wasn’t letting Neil go: He was pushing him until Neil used the time ‘wisely’.

Neil made another sour face in the direction that Kevin had driven off, and stalked inside. They were both there, and Neil remembered Not-Andrew who’d manned the desk after his appointment. They were joined by a young woman, too, with silver hair that was black at the roots and cut to her chin. The three of them looked up at him: The woman smiled, Andrew rose up his signature eyebrow and Not-Andrew glanced at Andrew.

“Follow me.”

Neil pulled the door shut behind him.

“Going to pull the same shit, today?” Andrew went to draw the curtains shut.

“Most likely.”

“Your money, your time.” Andrew hummed. “I’ll have to move you to a different spot if you’re going to remain stubborn, because people who need this time slot more urgently than you do are waiting for it.”

“So why get me in again.” Neil said flatly, dropping into the chair.

Andrew looked at him. “Me, get you in again? You’re the one who rescheduled, Neil.”

Neil tasted something sour, sunk into the chair and closed his eyes.

This lasted four sessions—six weeks, when Neil started going fortnightly instead.

And then it changed

Renee buzzed Andrew in. He was at home: She was manning the reception phone tonight. He picked up immediately. “Renee?”

“I’ve got Kevin Day on the phone. He sounds very stressed: Can you take it now?”

“Put him through.”

“—swear to God, Renee?”

“Kevin, it’s me.”

He sighed with relief. “Thank god. Andrew. Help.”

Andrew almost rolled his eyes. “I’m aware you require it. What’s happening?”

“Neil’s having a panic attack. We’re in public: I’ve barricaded the bathroom and we’re alone. He won’t talk to me.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to me?”

“I don’t think he will, but you’re trained to do this. I’m not. I’m putting you on speaker and standing outside the door. Neil, if you need anything, call out to me. Ok?”

Andrew didn’t hear Neil reply, but there was definitely someone breathing raggedly. The phone was placed on the tile floor, and he heard the door shut.

“Neil.”

Nothing.

“I want you to breathe for me. I’m going to count with you. Ok?”

Nothing.

Andrew counted. He wasn’t breathing evenly nor steadily, but the longer Andrew murmured numbers, the more it evened out.

“Look at your hands, Neil. Are they holding something? Are they in fists? Can you stretch them out for me?”

Neil murmured something.

“Can you repeat that for me, Neil.”

“What are you—“ He took in a shuddering breath. “—doing.”

“I’m going to wait this one out with you and make sure you’re ok. I am able to answer any questions revolving why this would have happened and to help you work through how it started, what contributed to it, and how you can resolve it, understood?”

Neil hummed.

“Back to breathing, alright?” No response, not even a hum. “Ok. Breathe with me, ready…”

Kevin texted him later.

Thank you. That was a really bad one. I couldn’t let the press see him like that, he was desperate to escape but so lost in his head that he couldn’t find one. What did he say when he calmed down?

He didn’t say anything. Andrew texted back. He said ‘enough’ and hung up.

You’ll earn his trust. Kevin replied. Just be patient.

Andrew already knew that. Dont tell me how to do my damn job.

Right. Sorry.

Neil missed their next session.

He rescheduled, though, much to Andrew’s relief. It rolled around slowly, like watching the clock and seeing the second hand slow down just to taunt you. But it czme, eventually, and he appeared in the doorway, ragged and sleepless and angry.

He doesn’t shut the door behind him this time.

“You could have saved your brothers’ scholarship if you’d explained the history of your abuse during his trial. But you didn’t.”

He did his research.

“Does slandering me make you feel better about being exposed as you were?”

Neil’s jaw tightened.

“For your information, Aaron wasn’t going to let me attempt that. We had enough evidence to keep him out of jail. None of that is your business.”

“Did you kill your mother?”

Andrew tapped on the armrest of his couch. “Car accidents are awful things. Did you kill yours?”

Neil stared at him. “No. My father did.”

“And your uncle killed your father, and the boss of a mafia gang in New York killed him. Are you next?”

Neil shook his head. “How do you know about Ichirou?”

“I am good friends with Kevin.”

“He never talked about you until he admitted to going to your sessions a few months ago.”

“He doesn’t talk about much but Exy, does he.”

Neil paused. “I suppose that’s true.”

Andrew stopped tapping on the armrest when he saw Neil was watching his movement. Neil’s gaze flitted up to his because of it. “Are you going to talk to me, now?”

“I’m not good at talking.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m very good an comprehending nonsense and piecing together puzzles. Where do you want to start?”

Neil paused, and then let out a singular, startlingly genuine laugh, stretching out on his chair. “Oh, doctor, it all started when I was young and impressionable…”

“Don’t you dare.” Andrew felt the tick of a muscle in his cheek. He was not going to smile. He was not going to smile. “What if we worked through the night where Kevin called me, hm?”

Neil sighed. Cast his gaze to the ceiling, then back to Andrew. Swallowed. Looked down at his hands.

“Fine.”

And they did.

The next time Neil called Andrew after-hours, it was weeks later and he was the one manning the reception phone: It was in the pocket of his slacks and he was on the couch at home. The three of them took turns keeping the reception phone on them: Each of them were qualified in first-aid, of which they’d required twice before. Aaron was the only one of the three who wasn’t apt at dealing with psychological emergencies, but was the best with physical ones. It was a good system.

Andrew rose the phone as soon as it started ringing. “Yes.”

“Oh, Andrew. It’s you.”

Neil had his session today. Why was he calling?

“Indeed.” Usually people couldn’t distinguish between him and Aaron over the phone. How had Neil been able to with just a yes.

“Oh. Hi.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not—“ Neil made a noise. “I realise now this is the after-hours phone. And this isn’t urgent. It’s stupid, too.”

“Nothing can be stupid if I haven’t been given the chance to judge whether it is or not, Neil. What is?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you. More. Are you always working?”

“Not always.”

“Is it weird if I get your actual phone number? Is that some kind of breach of policy?”

This was not happening. “You can have it.”

“Oh. Ok. Let me—“

“I’ll text you.”

“Oh. Right.”

Andrew hung up and leapt for his actual phone, where it was laying face-down on the coffee table.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The only thing that was stupid about Neil Josten was how much Andrew had let himself like him.

“Why are you so groggy.” Aaron remarked when Andrew walked into the reception. Renee had a coffee waiting for him.

At approximately the same time, Kevin hit Neil over the back of his head. They’d been up and at it since six—Neil was already dead on his feet, but he kept checking his phone. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“I didn’t get much sleep.” Neil slid his phone back into his bag.

Andrew didn’t reply to Aaron’s very similar question.

“You never get much sleep.” Kevin grumbled to himself. Neil ignored him.

“Bad night.” Renee deduced. Andrew sipped his coffee.

No, Andrew thought, remembering who he’d been up talking to until four in the morning.

Not for the reason you’d think, Neil thought, following Kevin back to the treadmills.

Andrew had thought—had suspected, hoped, projected, was almost certain—that Josten was going to ask him out.

He hadn’t.

Andrew wasn’t sure what was going on. Maybe years ago, he would’ve given up and moved on without the bat of an eye, but this Andrew was invested in puzzles with missing pieces and things so shattered that the normal man wouldn’t dare try to work out how to glue it back together. Andrew was psychoanalysing Neil out of habit, and assessing every little movement and comment and facial expression out of habit.

It was driving him up the wall.

He met Neil for coffee after Neil’s early morning runs, and they grabbed Thai and Italian and Chinese together when Andrew got out of the clinic.

Neil was very good at guidelines, and understood what Andrew meant when he asked Neil to keep it separate from his therapy: Andrew had a job to do. It was still never a single hour that was all about Neil and his issues: From the beginning, Andrew had worked out that a truth was traded for a truth, and that they would get nowhere in Neil’s twisted, thorn-embedded landmine of a mental space if he didn’t let Neil into his own.

But outside his office, he could no longer detach himself like he often did.

It was what lead him to grabbing Neil by his fingers—the first bad decision—and rerouting to the roof-top access stairwell—the second bad decision—showing Neil he was apt at lock jimmying by getting it open without disturbing the alarm system—the third bad decision—and pulling Neil to the edge—the fourth bad decision.

“What do you feel, standing here?” He was curious. His heart was racing, every breath catching in his throat. A combination of the sheer drop beneath them and the fingers still hooked with the redhead next to him’s. Neil looked tired, but a well-worn kind of tired: No nightmare-induced shadows under his eyes or nervous clench to his jaw. They’d been up talking all night again.

“The wind.”

“A truth.” Andrew looked out. “I’m scared of heights.” The fifth bad decision—telling Neil that.

His blue eyes opened a little wider. “Why did you bring me out here, then?”

“It used to be the only way I could feel something.”

Neil was still looking at him in that peculiar way of his, feeling as though he was opening Andrew’s chest, one layer of skin at a time. But he’d made it well-past his skin, and had pulled back filaments of muscle, and yanked at his sternum and ribcage, worming around his lungs and dislodging his trachea. There was only one thing left in there.

“What do you feel now?”

“If I asked to kiss you—” Andrew started.

“Yes.” Neil’s fingers tightened around his.

“You didn’t hear me out.” Andrew frowned, looking at him.

He was so close. “I already knew what you were going to say.”

Andrew turned into it. That was the sixth bad decision—and probably the worst. But Andrew still refused to believe in regret and abided by his own policies (aptly ignoring the don’t-fuck-around-with-patients policy), and this was happening. This was happening.

“I hate you.” He muttered, right against Neil’s lips. Neil wasn’t moving backwards. It was as good of an excuse an any to do it again—The seventh bad decision.

It was that point that Andrew lost count of the number of bad decisions he’d made—because he let himself be lead inside and lost count of the kiss count as soon as they made it past Neil’s front door.

Neil’s reasoning for stopping the sessions was because he was ok: Andrew wasn’t having any of it. He wouldn’t see Renee since becoming friends with her, but he was unwilling to branch out.

“It’s the regularity and routine.” Andrew grabbed Neil by his chin and rose up an eyebrow. “Neil. We can still keep the sessions going.”

“I have access to your services as a psychologist whenever I like. You won’t let me pay anymore: There are people who need the time slot more than me.” Neil put his fingers around Andrew’s wrist. “And as much as I appreciate the offer, the risk of me ending up naked on your desk is far too high. Not that I’d complain, but—it’s a little unprofessional, don’t you think?”

Andrew shoved him back with a scoff. “I do have some element of self-control, Josten.”

Neil grinned.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #au #not-so-mini fic #i like the idea of psychologist andrew #who knows how exy and palmetto fit into this #it's 10 years in the future no one gives a shit whoop #what city are they even in #no one knows #aftg #jem writes

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