#trading feathers is definitely going steady

[softquietsteadylove]

More from the Maleficent one please?

Druig stretched out his wings to cushion his landing. It was familiar, landing among the crags of a cliff side lush with vegetation. He had gotten quite used to the treetop nests woven from branches and leaves.

Thena's nest had been picked out painstakingly. She chose a spot high up, fairly away from most other fae. The quartz in the rock face had ripples that would let an acceptable amount of light into the chamber, while also not requiring her to hide away from the sun. She had already begun the task of arranging glowing moss and flowers along the walls.

Druig set down the fruit he had went out to fetch specifically for his sister. He had been feeling negligent, as of late, spending all his time with Makkari, the mate of his dreams. Thena liked Makkari, of course, and they spent time together around the group fires and all. But he felt he was missing something.

Thena was smiling all the time, her wings were fluttering constantly, like a fledgling eager to take off with every breeze. He had even caught her humming to herself as she collected berries the other day.

"Here," he murmured, tossing a mango gently in her direction. She caught it, but she was preoccupied with her task of arranging some white moon lilies along her walls. He cleared his throat before taking a bite for himself, "looks good in 'ere."

Finally Thena turned around, also admiring her hard work to make the cliffside inlet a home. It was looking like a real nest of an Isle fae. "I believe so."

Druig kept his eyes on her as she took a delicate bite of the mango's ripe red skin. He still couldn't place what seemed different about her, but he was determined to uncover it. "So, how'd you find this spot?"

Thena sat herself on the edge of her bed--her nest within her nest. It was a plush pile of mosses and leaves, enough to soften around her body and keep her from the stone floor of the place. She had even fashioned a pillow out of several bromilliads. "I had help."

That was all his sister had to say on the matter, but Druig knew more than she thought he did. As if he would miss the border patrol fae who had been lingering around her since they arrived. He had been a guide and a guardian for them, sure. But Druig could see more.

He could see the way Thena smiled around him, or how he fed her fruits while the rest of the flock was partaking in roast fish and molluscs. He could see them flying off at dawn, wings pitch white and pitch black respectively.

It didn't surprise him that the fae named Gilgamesh had helped her find the perfect spot. He was a strong flyer, with long wings, probably used the updrafts from the springs below to scour the whole cliff for the perfect spot.

"Hm?" Thena looked at him, prompting him to speak his mind. The two of them didn't always need the exchange of words, but she was asking him specifically.

Druig slurped at the pit of his mango loudly. Thena glared at him and he threw his head back in a laugh. "So, where is he, 'en?"

She tilted her head.

Druig raised his eyebrows, "your prospective mate?"

Thena thought herself so hard to read, and maybe to a stranger that was true. But Druig could see clear through his sister. He saw the twitch of her eyes and the angle of her head and the way her wings rustled behind her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Sure y'do," he murmured, finishing off his mango pit and tossing it down in a pile of leaves he would take with him. "He seems nice enough. Friendly guy, good flyer, I'm sure he'd fight for ye if he had to-"

"Druig, no one is fighting anyone," she said with such a tone it hissed from between her fangs. "I have no such...prospects."

Druig looked up at the ceiling of the cavernous nest. It was spacious--loverboy had found her a really good spot. He looked at the veins running through the white quarts, at the flowers Thena had hung and at the wisteria hanging over her nest like snowfall. "Gilgamesh."

All he had to do was utter his name and Thena's shoulders raised, her wings trembling on her back. She set aside the remaining half of her mango to glare at him.

But he was no longer a fledgling testing out his boundaries. She couldn't scare him out of this one (even with that tone). "Feels as if I never see you two apart, nowadays."

"I'm sure you're mistaken about that."

Druig grinned, though. He kind of liked rising to his sister's challenge. He liked riling Ikaris too, but with him it devolved so quickly. Thena was more of a match of wits. "So I don't see you sittin' 'round the gathering fire, just waitin' for him?"

Thena didn't even rise to that bait. Not enough.

"I don't," Druig shrugged, adjusting his own pitch black wings on his back, smaller and lighter than hers, "see you two whispering all the time?"

She rolled her eyes. He was getting to her.

Druig raised a brow; this, he genuinely wanted to know about. "I didn't see him with his arm 'round your back one night after you went down to the springs?"

Thena's back straightened.

"T," Druig made a solemn plea. He didn't like having to talk about this kind of thing. Thena was his sister, as well as the only mother he had any memory of. "You can handle yourself, I know. But...if this seagull is takin' liberties-"

"Druig," she cut him off again, with an even more firm tone than before. She was as good as screaming at him, as far as he was concerned. "Enough."

That was still enough to make him feel like his horns were coiling even tighter against the sides of his head.

"Gilgamesh is not guilty of anything untoward," she stood from her bed to chastise him properly. "And even asking if he has proves that you do not know him."

Druig avoided looking directly in her eyes. They were still wing and wing for who was taller than whom, but he deliberately drew up his posture and made his shoulders wider than hers. "Then maybe I should get to know him."

It was a reasonable argument, but Thena wavered. She kept her expression the same, but something about it made her falter. "No."

"Why not?" he prodded. If some strong arm fae was gonna try his hand at courting his sister he had a right to know! Ikaris would feel the same, but when he pieced together the puzzle was up to the spirits and the skies themselves.

"Drop it," she growled at him, returning to her decorating to busy her hands.

Druig leaned to look past her, tilting his head. "Oi."

She ignored him.

"Oi," he repeated more firmly, walking closer to her bed. She turned, splaying out her wing to keep him away. He pointed from a distance, "wassat?"

She raised her brow at his lack of diction, but she did look behind her at what had drawn his attention. Her shoulders flinched and when she turned back, her expression was completely unreadable. "What."

"That," he repeated, but she raised her wings to block even his pointing finger. He huffed, "come on."

"There is nothing to see," she repeated, but the fact that she maintained her posture of using her wings to shield his view was damming.

"T."

"If there were something there, it would be none of your concern."

Druig's eyebrows raised so high he felt his hair rustle against his horns. His sister was well and truly ruffled over whatever this was. He pulled his wings back.

"Don't you dare," she glowered.

He let loose one strong wing beat. It displaced most of the newer and less secured fixtures of the nest. He would grovel for forgiveness and help put them all back later. But his eyes caught the sight of a pitch black - actually, there was a warm brown undertone to it - feather catching the air just for a second.

Thena snatched it close to her chest and pointed, "out!"

Druig was stunned. He'd had an inkling of what was happening between his sister and the guardian fae. Maybe he could have imagined they were courting in secret, had exchanged a trinket or two. But...but a feather?!

"Out!" Thena repeated, clutching the feather against her heart and urging him out of her nest as if they were still budding fae learning to control themselves.

"No way," Druig shook his head. He would cower in fear of his terrifying sister later. He stepped closer. "His feather is in your nest?"

Thena attempted not to dignify his question with a response, but he was horrified to see colour rise in her ghostly pale cheeks.

It was particularly condemning evidence. It was where she was to lay her head! This was beyond sneaking a kiss or a hand or even light preening.

Druig felt his blood run cold, "has he declared himself?"

He wasn't an old fae of old tradition, but he had some decency. And to his further horror, Thena's shoulders curled somewhat inward, "it's not-"

"I'll kill 'im," Druig snarled, turning and nearly able to take off until he felt his sister's hand bunch up the back of his tunic. "Oi!"

"Druig," Thena pleaded more quietly. That was also as good as screaming at him. She pulled him back into the nest, still holding the feather. "Neither of us has...nothing has happened."

He didn't want to think about what 'nothing' could mean. But he stared at his sister, unusually sheepish as her wings unfurled slightly. "This isn't just some matter of you two tradin' a li'l lip, T. You have his feather in your bleedin' nest and where's he?--has he got your feather on 'im?!"

She looked away, and Druig felt that same feeling bubble up in his throat. He had no business concerning himself with his sister's mating desires. She was her own fae. But the thought of some stud flying around knowing he had an open invitation to his sister's nest and couldn't even pay the same courtesy of displaying that he was unavailable-

"Druig," Thena repeated, pulling him from his thoughts. She smiled, patting his shoulder, and then roughly plucking out a downy feather, "stop."

He sighed. She would just pull out more if he didn't. He relaxed his wings on his back and lowered his shoulders. "When did this happen, eh?"

Thena looked away again, cradling that feather so bloody lovingly. "I couldn't say when exactly. Perhaps we simply...found our way to understanding one another."

That felt so much worse to hear. It sounded like a lame 'magic makes eggs and that's how baby fae are made' explanation. Druig gritted his teeth and scratched the hair between his horns in the back. "Are you, y'know...?"

Thena looked at him blankly. Bloody woman! Druig looked away from the woman who raised him, warmth rising throughout his face. "If he's ever hurt you-"

"Nothing of the sort."

At least he didn't have to bash his head through the wall of her nest just yet. Druig rubbed his hand over his face with a sigh. "Does Ikaris know?"

"Do you think he does?"

Right, a foolhardy question. Ikaris wouldn't know until the day Thena landed with Gilgamesh in front of them, hand in hand, actively preening his wings.

Druig tilted his head again. He could ask questions until he was blue in the face, but Thena wouldn't give up any truly personal details. And he didn't truly want to know them. "Are you happy?"

She smiled at him, like she did when he was a hatchling first learning to ride air currents, or climb in height without them. She nodded.

"Right, good 'nough," he muttered, saying all he desired on the matter. He was quite ready to dispose of their snacks and take his leave. He turned back to her, pointing again. "But I mean it, if he ever-"

"Hey Thena, I-oh!"

Thena beamed at the arrival of the man of the hour. Druig stepped aside, completely devoid of the desire to get in between the lovebirds. He watched her nearly lean in to embrace him but stop herself. Likewise, he could see Gilgamesh's hand float upwards but avoid settling on her back between her wings. At least they had some decency.

"Sorry to interrupt," Gilgamesh said gently. He had a soft voice, for such an intimidating fighter. "I just got back--Makkari's looking for you, actually."

Druig resisted the urge to fly off right that very second. He eyed Gilgamesh cautiously, "s'all right, I was just, uh, givin' T a hand."

Gilgamesh looked around the nest, openly admiring the progress made. "It looks beautiful in here!"

Thena looked so delighted that Druig wished he could fake throwing up (not that she wouldn't throw him from the cliff for it).

"Did you eat?" Druig heard her ask him quietly.

He shook his head.

She nodded, her wings subconsciously rising on her back. Druig could remember a time when she dreaded meal gatherings because of how bitter the fish were here. She looked at him, "after you."

He huffed. She was making sure he didn't have time to linger behind her and give Gilgamesh a piece of his mind. "Aye."

Druig walked past them both, ready to fly ahead of both of them. But the evening sun hit the rock face just so, and he got a glimpse of something sparkling.

Delicate and stark white, folded between the layers of his robes, sat a pristine white feather. Gilgamesh caught him looking and tugged at the top layer of his tunic, concealing the feather once again. He looked nervous.

They both knew Druig had seen, there was no concealing that. But Druig just nodded to him before dropping off the cliff and opening his wings. He would ask him about it later. Or he would ask Thena about it when she was in more of a sharing mood. Or he would tell Ikaris and their middle brother would do all the work of threatening to drown Gilgamesh for meddling in their sister's life.

Or...he could keep it to himself. He drifted quietly, glancing up as two much larger winged flyers passed above him. Gilgamesh flew at Thena's pace, the two of them bending and swerving around one another's air currents, as if dancing. Druig faked gagging on something at the sweetness of it.

[eidingate]

B A S I C S

Name Eidin Kupfohcwin Nicknames Probably more than she remembers. Eid to some, Little Fox to family friends. Age Turning 32 right before Dawntrail Nameday 32nd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon (RIP to her parents hoping she would be delayed one more day to be born a under the nice steady month of Byregot rather than the capricious month of Oschon) Race Sea Wolf Roegadyn Gender Cis female? More likely genderfluid Orientation Bisexual Profession Part-time Warrior of Light, full-time menace against the Empire, occasional craftsperson.

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C  T S

Hair Turquoise with golden highlights, reminiscent of oxidized copper. Currently worn short with a metric ton of pomade keeping it styled. Eyes Marigold orange Skin Pale turquoise green Tattoos/scars Hands are heavily scarred with nicks and burns from reaching into still-hot magitek machines. She's definitely earned some more significant scars over the years across her back and torso. What tattoos she has are strategically hidden, but one is a jackdaw, representing her family.

F A M I L Y

Parents Wintgeim - Mother. A mechanic and former sky pirate. She leads a band of roving magitek scavengers, the Winter Jackdaws. She has a big, fierce personality and is strongly protective of her little band. Kupfohc - Father. A Sharlayan scholar who hired her mother as a guide while he investigated the environmental effects of magitek around Ilsabard and wound up never returning to his studies. He's a gentle soul with a love of music. He was basically disowned when he chose not to return to Sharlayan. Siblings Thuvwilt - Older brother Fraeswys - Younger sister Grandparents Opylona - Grandmother. She basically raised Eidin and her siblings when they were too young to go on scavenging jobs with their parents. In-laws and Other Her mother's scavenger band is her wider family -- some by blood and many others not. Not surprisingly, this ambiguous style of adoptive family has translated into her adopting the Scions as well. Pets Sadly she never stays anywhere long enough to want the responsibility of pets long-term, but she falls in love with many friends' pets and spoils them rotten.

S K I L L S

Abilities In combat, Eidin's skills lie in dancing around the edges of the battlefield before delivering quick, precise strikes. She is master of all physical ranged weaponry, but often turns to the Red Mage foil for its versatility. She is constantly on the move, weaving in and out of range of the enemy and scanning for weaknesses. Out of combat, she dumped all her stats into charisma. She's adaptable to different groups of people of various cultures, high class and low. She's quick to gain people's trust, and trades often in favors. She dabbles in new skills wherever she can, making her very much a jack-of-all-trades, but rarely sticks with anything for long. Hobbies She's a bit of a tinkerer who delights in taking things apart just to put them back together differently. She likes making little clockwork contraptions out of scrap parts -- nothing so intelligent as a mammet (she's not sure she can take the existential questions around creating something smart enough to talk back), but with some basic functions. She also plays the violin, though this is one of the few things that she is shy about performing in front of others.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait Give her five minutes, and she will become your best friend. Warm and open and fascinated by everyone around her. Most Negative Trait Being everything to everyone and constantly changing yourself to suit their expectations surely has no long-term repercussions right??

L I K E S

Colors Gold, orange, shades of blues and greens Smells Lavender, campfire smoke, fresh bread, crushed pine needles, bergamot tea with a splash of honey Textures Well-worn leather, smooth chocobo feathers, freshly-polished gemstones Drinks Chilled mead in the summer, warmed rum on chill nights. Rich heavy porters. Black tea with a bit of milk and honey.

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes Only socially. You never know when you might need to offer a cigarette to a bored Garlean sentry to keep them occupied or press them for information. Drinks All kinds. The local establishment is the best way to learn about a new place, after all, and what kind of liquor a place produces says much about their culture. Drugs She's been known to partake of the fogweed on occasion Mount Issuance Eidin loves chocobos so so so much and turns to them during quiet periods when there are few dangers expected on the road. Her company-issued chocobo is named Fisticuffs for its habit of trying to fight everything and everyone. She has a few favored chocobos that she'll rent out in different regions when her own is too far away. There is no in-game mount that quite fits, but I like to think she's got a heavily modified magitek vehicle that's flight-capable -- something like the Magitek Sky Armor but much more homemade. Been Arrested Ask her about this after a beer or two.

------

Tagged by @elliewiltarwyn! Thanks for the tag!

I feel like I'm late to the party on this BUT just in case you haven't done it yet and are waiting to be tagged, I nominate @ravandfriendsxiv, @amons-hat-enthusiast, @oathkeeper-kima

Totally optional, of course!

[autodiscipline]

Guniw Tools Q-it! Question & Profile (Eng. translation)

This is a Q&A style interview with Guniw Tools from 1997, when the band consisted of Full, Jake, & Asaki. There's 37 questions in total. The internet doesn't see much translated Guniw Tools content so I wanted to post my own!! Part 1 is under the cut..

Part 2

Before you read: everything in (parentheses) is there because they wrote it, any footnotes are *asterisked & italicized

1. The name, make, & model of the instrument you primarily use? Full: Synths, EMU Proteus and AKAI S950 Jake: Gibson – E-335, Ovation – Deacon Asaki: ESP “Mr. Batsu-ichi”¹, Rickenbacker 625, concert “Asakichi no. 1”², and many many more ¹Mr. Batsu-ichi is a nickname for his guitar, batsuichi roughly translates to : ‘strike one’, a slang term used to refer to divorcées, especially of the first marriage. The actual guitar model is a ESP SA-100 ²Another nickname I think, unsure which equipment it refers to 2.   Things you must always bring as tour necessities? Full: Rubber cement (liquid rubber silicone), bird feathers, rubber snakes, slime, sweets (300 yen worth) Jake: Tupperware (for takeout), Game Boy Asaki: There’s so many things-! 3.   Things that are essential to ensure a live show goes smoothly?

Full: Get to the venue earlier on Jake: Pushups, alcohol. Asaki: Smoke!! and drink!* *the way this is written could interchangeably mean drinking in place of smoking/vice versa, so he could also be saying “drink!! & then drink!” 4.   Things that must be done to ensure the recording process go smoothly? Full: Regular life.* *following a steady routine every day. Jake: Don’t worry. Don’t give anyone a hard time. Asaki: Even if you’re drunk, drink! 5:   Typical time spent rehearsing during a tour? Full: 7 days Jake: It’s usually a mixed bag Asaki: I don’t care about every little thing like that 6.    Do you have perfect pitch? Full: Ought to not be* *like saying “Absolutely! not.” Jake: I don’t have it Asaki: Hm, what if.. what would that would be like?! 7.   Music grades throughout elementary, middle, and high school? Full: 3* *Schools in Japan have a numerical grading system with 5 being the highest grade and 1 being the lowest Jake: Teachers took one look at me, man.. Asaki: √2 8.  Your best subject through elementary, middle, and high school? Full: Math and art Jake: English Asaki: Online classes 9.  Your worst subject through elementary, middle, and high school? Full: Physical Education Jake: Math Asaki: Health & physical education (definitely a lie) 10.  The most frequent way you got in touch with music when you were young? (1) In what form? Full: I’d say probably records (LP).. Jake: △ (triangle) Asaki: I would say it was kind of a round experience...but sharp around the edges... (2) From what age? Full: Age 5 Jake: –––––– Asaki: If you're talking about sugar, a cup and a half. 11.   Were you exposed to music from an early age as part of your development? Full: I don’t recall Jake: I wonder.. Asaki: Ahh yes, I was. 12.   What is your ideal TV appearance? Full: Studio jacking.* *He probably means hijacking a TV stations broadcast signal (Max Headroom) Jake: Today’s Doggie* *A morning news segment that essentially showcases a ‘daily doggie’ acting in cute & interesting ways lolol Asaki: I’ll let you know by tomorrow. 13.   What is your ideal magazine appearance? Full: Appearance on the front cover only. Interview on page 4. Jake: –––––– Asaki: I want to be featured in Kenzo Kitakata's life advice column*!! *Kenzo Kitakata is a Japanese novelist who had a column in ‘Hot Dog Press’ magazine where he gave answers to the various problems of troubled youth

14.   If you were to compare yourself to someone like Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Ieyasu*, which? *In simplest terms, these three are historical figures often used like a personality test. Nobunaga – Strong leader type Hideyoshi – Teamwork type Ieyasu - Coach type Full: Hiraga Gennai* *Eccentric ‘jack of all trades’ type. Pharmacologist, author, painter, & inventor who composed works on homosexual desire as well as satirical pieces & poetry. Jake: Tamori.* *Comedian known for hosting a weekly music television program Asaki: Charles Bronson* *Western actor, handsome & manly type 15.   Part time jobs you’ve had? Full: Drawing signboards and inscribing names into jewelry Jake: The Guardsman.* *A TV drama, he’s saying security guard in a jokey way Asaki: Effects pedal shop “I don’t need the strain~”* *I think it's a joke that only works in Japanese, the word he used has a double meaning ‘effects pedal’ & ‘strain’ (as in it strains the sound), so when he literally says “I don’t need effects pedal” it's actually like a pun saying “I don't need to be strained!” E.g. kind of like “We nailed it!” 16.    Alcoholic journeys? Full: None Jake: Methyl→Nitroglycerin Asaki: I’ll never drink ethanol again.. 17.   Gambling journeys? Full: None. I spend around 3,000 yen on horse betting (yearly) Jake: Life's a gamble Asaki: 5,000 points to Hara Taira* *A pop culture reference to a quiz show where contestants & celebrities would be asked a question, the contestant bets points on whichever celebrity they think knew the answer. If you both had the correct answer you would win the points amount. A reliable respondent was manga artist Hara Taira, so many people would bet on his correct answer that it became a popular saying “5,000 points to Hara Taira!” 18.   History with women? Full: Just a few (all refreshing/simple types) Jake: ––––– Asaki: Eventually I hooked up with Madonna (enough said)

You can see the rest of the photoshoot here & here

Feel free to share/repost as you wish, I'd like for their work to be as accessible as possible!

[swaps55]

Freckles

It’s been three years since Kaidan has touched Shepard’s skin like this, alone in his cabin, no one watching, free to map every inch of him with kisses, the only sound his soft sighs mingled with the steady hum of the fish tank.

It’s so familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. The hard edge of the clamps holding his spine together is certainly a new sensation under his fingers. The old scar from Volkov and the batarian sawblade is missing, the skin unbroken and whole where before there had been a fine, jagged line.

But it’s still him. So clearly, breathtakingly, definitively him.

Kaidan lays his head in the crook of Shepard’s shoulder, fingers drawing idle patterns along the planes of his chest, relishing at the sensation of Shepard’s fingers in his hair.

“I missed you,” Shepard says, a soft look in his eye and a hint of longing in his voice that looses butterflies in Kaidan’s chest.

“Missed you, too.” He props himself up on an elbow, trading wandering fingers for slow, feather kisses along the new scars, the ghosts of the old ones, and the ones neither of them can see. When he reaches Shepard’s shoulder he pauses, smile curving his lips, and traces what he finds on his forearm with the tip of a finger.  

“What is it?” Shepard asks.

Kaidan’s smile deepens. “Your freckles are different.”

Shepard raises an eyebrow, turning his head to try and look at his own shoulder. “I don’t have freckles.”

“You do. You have a little clump of them here.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Shepard’s shoulder, then stretches to place another one on the side of his nose. “And right here.”

Shepard laughs, light and soft. It’s like music.

“But now? There’s a string of them right here.” He kisses each one he finds just along his bicep. “These are new.”  

“Freckles are from sun exposure,” Shepard informs him. “I’m pretty sure this iteration of my body hasn’t hung out in the sun any more than the last one did, unless you want to call Miranda Lawson’s work with UV treatments sloppy.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Sam. I’m looking at your freckles right now.”

More kisses. Shepard doesn’t exactly complain. In fact, a smile shapes his lips when he presses them to Kaidan’s forehead.

“So you just…memorized my nonexistent freckles. And remembered them well enough for three years to find the imposters.”

Kaidan props his chin in his hand, amused look on his face. “First, they aren’t imposters. And second, are you going to lay there and pretend you don’t know exactly where the birthmark is on my left leg?”

“It’s your right leg.”

Kaidan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Shepard squirms beneath him and wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, fine. You know me as well as I know you.” His expression softens. “Still. No matter how much they changed me. After all this time you still just see…me.”

Kaidan traces the web of scars that canvas Shepard’s left cheek. If only that were true. If only it were as simple and beautiful as he makes it sound. If only he really had seen who was in front of him on Horizon.

But that was then, and this is now. All they’ve got is now. All they’ve ever had is now, and he doesn’t want to waste any more of it.

“We’ve both changed,” Kaidan tells him with a tender brush of his thumb. “Whether or not it’s something you can see doesn’t make it any less true. But this?” He folds their fingers together. “This…hasn’t. This I know. You’re made from the same stars, Sam. Just a few new constellations mixed in with the old ones.”

Shepard gazes at him. No…not Shepard. Sam.

“You’re such a romantic,” he murmurs.

“Just really like those freckles,” Kaidan huffs.

“They’re yours, you know. All of it. All of me. Whatever me is.”

Kaidan kisses the freckles once more. Then the missing scar. Then a new one on his sternum, one he doesn’t have context for yet.

Yet. But he will.  

“You,” he whispers between kisses, “are everything.”    

[delldarling]

all that matters | merrick

chasing truth | chapter nine male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 7803 words lemon | teasing about relationship, communication about feelings and past relationships, kissing, nipping/mild biting, hair pulling, oral, hands, lube, penetrative sex, banter & talking during sex chapter index? or chapter eight?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

For a moment or two, you can bury the knowledge of Faerie behind the facades you've come to know and care for. You've known Gar as nothing more than a handsome, nerdy human being for years, and Merrick? Sarcastic, awkward Merrick has been one of your closest friends over the past year and change. It's safe to say that you've spent ample time in their presence, trading jokes and building stories you know you'll share for years to come. 

That false screen over their true selves won’t ever last now though. You know what lies under their glamour, and you know them too well. You can't ignore the things you've seen. Neither you nor Merrick will ever doubt Gar's morality and honesty again. Not when it comes to those he cares for. Not after what he’s told you and Merrick about his Court. 

The car doors close in quick succession, one after the other, echoing down the dim, silent street. No one comes to investigate. No lights flicker behind the curtained windows, and no one cracks open their door. It's a relief, and yet a mild disappointment, knowing what you're all about to do.

“This still doesn’t sit particularly right with me,” you say softly, words barely more than a breath tickling your lower lip. You clutch your bag to your chest, fingertips digging into the seams to better distract yourself. Ditching the car and taking another makes sense, but just because it makes sense doesn’t mean you have to like it. Or approve of it.

Merrick can’t quite look you in the face, but Gar only shrugs. “It’s not the kindest option, not by a long shot, but we can’t travel on foot,” he says. Part of you wants to cringe because Gar doesn’t mean we, he means you. “Besides, we need to make it to where we’re staying in the next few hours, and this is the quickest way to tempt Roran closer without putting any of us in danger.”

You turn, eyeing the cars lining the street, and sigh. More stealing. It’s fairly silly that you’re worrying about this kind of crime, especially when you’ve already been riding around in a stolen car all day with a faerie assassin. You can’t stop the itch of the thought in the back of your brain, which probably means this is how you’re attempting to compartmentalize everything.

“I won’t even break the seatbelts this time,” Merrick tells you, cautiously placing his hand on your shoulder, fingers feather light. Relief eases the tension around his eyes when you don’t move away, and he sighs when you step into the circle of his arms. “If you don’t want to witness it,” he whispers, leaning his head against yours, “then I suggest you keep holding me. He’s right though. We can’t keep the same car, not after we clouded the whole thing with glamour.”

“I know,” you say against his neck, enjoying the warmth of his skin against your cheek and temple. “I get it, the whole thing, but it’s not going to stop feeling wrong just because I know it’s necessary.”

Merrick breathes deep, and you can already tell that he’s going to keep trying to explain it away. “If we thought that-”

“You don’t need to defend yourself. We’ll get in the new car, we’ll head to our stop for the night and it’ll be fine. I just… Need to compartmentalize, and that’s rather new.” You sigh against his neck, the tickle of breath making him shiver. Merrick shifts, hands leaving your back and sliding up your shoulders until he can cradle your face in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your cheekbones, tender and careful, and you can’t think to do anything but blink up at him.

“Or I could distract you?” He offers, and bends his head down, covering your lips with his. A few hours ago and you would have been too tired, too on edge and hungry for food to let him try this, no matter how attracted you are to him. But everything with him, regardless of the fear and adrenaline, is still brand new and leaves your fingers aching, eager to keep him close. Even with all that you’ve learned, Merrick still feels the same, warm skin and calloused fingers, and it’s familiar and… comforting. When his mouth opens, breath hitching as you lean in against him, you find yourself wondering how eager he’s been for more of this. More of you.

Merrick puts his whole body into the kiss, pressed against you from chest to thigh, the taste of floral tea filling your senses as his fingertips carefully stroke behind your ears. He hums into your mouth when you roll your tongue and even though your eyes have fallen closed, you could almost swear that a brilliant light is beginning to shi—

“Hey!” Gar shouts hoarsely, and something hard bounces off of Merrick’s forehead. When the two of you stop kissing, eyes darting to the small item rolling slowly away from you, it turns out to be a small, wizened acorn, cap long lost. The two of you turn to look at Gar with startled expressions and find him trying to hold a fierce scowl on his lips. A muscle in his cheek jumps, betraying his amusement.

“I hope the both of you realize what happens every time that starts up! And if you do then I suggest you take a moment to reflect... You don’t,” Gar says after a moment, stalking closer with a steady frown now on his lips. “Merrick, you light up like a firefly every time you touch! You may as well be a torch in the middle of the street!”

Merrick’s mouth opens, attempting to disagree, but his lips curl and his nose wrinkles, like he’s tasted something off. 

“You do. I’m over here jimmying open a car door, trying to steal it, and suddenly there’s a blazing light in the middle of the road! Everyone on this street is probably going to come out here, and-” Gar freezes when you shush him, eyebrows rising. 

“Everyone is going to wake up if you’re shouting!” You snap, embarrassed but mostly tense because you still cannot quite believe you’re both being chastised for a handful of kisses. Both of the faeries grimace, shoulders hunching like they want the ground to swallow them whole. “I’m never going to say this again,” you mutter, already regretting your interruption, “but please: Go back to stealing the car, and Merrick and I will discuss his—his enthusiasm.” The frown on Gar’s face promptly vanishes.

“Enthusiasm,” he mutters, a goofy smile replacing his initial ire. He looks slyly at Merrick, but then holds up his hands in surrender when Merrick glares. “Right. Stealing. I’ll be quiet until it’s time to go.” He turns on his heel, heading back towards an old looking Datsun, a ridiculous little spring in his step. You’re fairly certain Merrick is going to make him pay for that later. 

“So,” you say, your heart suddenly ricocheting off of your ribcage before it settles back into place. “You… You glow?” You have to fight not to laugh, though Merrick notices straight off. His eyes narrow before he sucks a deep breath in through his mouth.

He tries, twice, to say something, but ends up shaking his head and closing his eyes, breathing out through his nose. “Apparently,” he finally settles on. “You make me happy, make me- forget myself. Or forget everything else. I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again, but I’ll be more conscious of it.”

“Is that a normal thing?” You can’t help asking, laughing quietly when his shoulders slump. 

“For my sake, I hope it isn’t. We should go though. I believe Gar is finishing up.” He nods his head in Gar’s direction, but you don’t even look towards your friend. Your eyes are caught on the collar of Merrick’s shirt, replaying everything Gar had confessed to earlier in the car. 

“Gar doesn’t lie,” you murmur. “You agreed, he can’t have been lying. After everything he’s been through.... Is there any way—”

Merrick presses his lips together until they’re nothing more than a slash across his face. “If what Gar says is the truth, then none of us should have lived the lives we have.” Merrick grits his teeth, hands growing loose in their grip on your arms and nods towards Gar again. “Back in the car. Roran might not be close yet, but it still isn’t safe. The last thing we need is humans with guns seeing us stealing vehicles.”

You have to agree with that, but you still can’t help wondering about it all in the ensuing silence. Gar worked as a Guard in the Court of Land for the entirety of his adult life. He refused the Queen’s direct orders to kill a disobeying gardener, but... The Fae aren’t supposed to be able to disobey their monarchs. After Gar’s confession, he and Merrick had shared a serious, silent conversation with only a look. One you had no hope of deciphering and while you know you can’t actually do anything about Gar’s situation, you can’t stop yourself from worrying about it. You turn it over and over in your mind as the three of you drive away, meager belongings in hand, and time slowly slips away from you. You barely notice when you leave the main roads behind, but when the car pulls to a stop in almost full darkness, you lift your eyes. Gar has parked in the driveway of a rather ornately decorated cabin, surrounded on all sides by tall trees. You glance back down the drive, but all it reveals is more forest. You must be out in the middle of nowhere.

“I thought we were heading to a hotel?” You ask, confused as Gar gets out, grabbing both his bag and your own before you can even think to take hold of it.. 

“I said I knew how to use the internet, not that I was going to head to a hotel.” He gestures to the surrounding woods, trees shading parts of the cabin from view. “Hotels, or motels even, have too many witnesses. Even if we lock down on any glamour use and I hide my hands and ears?” Gar makes one pointed look Merrick’s way, eyes roving from his face, to the way he carries himself. Both of them have always been lovely, and Gar definitely has his fair share of admirers—Em comes immediately to mind—but Merrick?

With his fair curls, and the utter disdain he directs at just about everyone who shows him attention that he doesn’t want, he’s always stood out. Never mind that he hides his ears, and the great tattoos of his wings, you were hardly the only person who had been unable to tear your eyes away from him every time you met. You’re still not sure how he managed to hide so much of himself for so long, especially after all the times he’d hung out on camping trips or went out for drinks. Yeah. Gar doesn’t have to say anything else. No matter where you go, there is going to be someone who won’t be able to forget Merrick’s face, or demeanor, or both.

You glance back at the cabin as Gar passes you by. The clean windows and paved driveway, and the careful tending done to the planter boxes hanging from the windows...

“Did you book us an Airbnb?” You can’t help asking, rushing to keep up when Merrick starts walking to the door too. 

Gar throws a sweet grin over his shoulder, cheek growing a shade darker with green. “Two bedrooms and everything. I’m going to leave you and Merrick to get settled,” he teases. You would like to kick him for that one, but you can’t actually deny that a few moments alone with Merrick will be pleasant. “And I’m going to grab food from a supermarket. I’ll be less... conspicuous by myself,” he says idly, like he’s still thinking everything through. He unlocks the door, not even bothering to set down the bags to do it, and then sweeps inside.

Gar is a whirlwind as he moves through the cabin, turning on lights and dropping your stuff in the small, but cozy main room. He gives you enough time to get through the door, checking out the small windows in the common area and the kitchen, and then turns to leave. He clasps Merrick’s shoulder once, nods his head at both of you, eyes already distant and then he’s gone, back through the still open door. You take a few steps after him, mouth opening to call out a goodbye, but he’s vanished. You blink, confused, because he didn’t even take the car, but then… Well, you knew already that the only reason they hadn’t left town on foot was because of you.

“That was weirdly intentional,” you mutter, quietly closing the door. For a moment, you hesitate, hand over the lock, mind racing. You can’t really ignore the fact that you don’t need any food. They’d brought plenty of things from the apartment in the array of bags that Merrick had brought in. Maybe he’s really just trying to give you and Merrick some time on your own? And he has the key, you remind yourself, finally locking the door. You turn, quietly wandering around the little cabin you’re going to be staying at for… who knows how long. You can feel Merrick’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t actually follow until you head into one of the bedrooms. Both of the rooms are medium sized, clean, and better than any standard motel, that’s for sure. The decor all has some kind of woodsy theme that makes you wrinkle your nose, but Gar might appreciate the irony of it, what with his tree affinity. We’re not X-Men, slips back into your head, making you smile wryly.

Merrick slides past you, groaning as he flops backwards onto the bed. His hat slips off of his head as he bounces, his curls falling in a picture perfect halo around his face. With no one else around, you’re not sure if his hair looks so bright because you don’t normally see him with his hat off, or if it’s because he’s beginning to glow in your presence. You bite back a smile.

“How are.. How are you holding up?” You ask, sitting so you can kick the knock-off keds down on the floor. You stay where you are at the lower corner, but after a moment you pull your legs up to cross them, noticing the storage space under the bed. The place is definitely lovely, but it’s still out in the middle of nowhere, and unknown. You wonder if anyone ever gets over wondering if something is underneath the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to get down and check. The momentary image of Roran waiting underneath has your heart speeding, though you’re not sure whether you want to laugh or shiver.

Merrick swallows, but summons up a smile for you. It’s not brilliant or blinding, but it’s real, if soft. “To be honest, I’m not actually sure?”

“You don’t have to know, Merrick.” You reach out, tugging a wrinkle in his trousers, just under his knee. “I’m asking if you need to talk about things. If you don’t want to—” You stop when Merrick shakes his head.

“I’m… I’m happy, because of you. Because you found out about me and you didn’t run. And... I’m hurting because of Roran.” His cheeks tense, which likely means he’s gritting his teeth again, trying to puzzle his way through the labyrinth of his own feelings.

You take a deep breath, unsure as to whether he’s going to be okay with the line of questioning you’re opening up, but you have to do it. It’s not even that you have to know, but Merrick very much looks like he needs to talk about it. He might not get another chance, not without Gar around, and you’re not sure he wants to do that, not after what you heard in the car.

“...Is Roran your ex?” You ask, fully expecting a wince and closed eyes, or for him to immediately look away. 

“Are you going to be surprising me like this forever?” He asks instead, laughing softly. You give him a small smile, but otherwise continue to stare. Human or Faerie, the question he asked isn’t actually one you can answer and keep truthful, and besides, you’re trying to get him to open up. You don’t want to push, or have him change the subject so quickly. “Not exactly,” he finally says.

“Merrick,” you softly chastise, because you know there’s more to the both of them than that. He sighs, brows furrowing, but finally begins to speak.

“We made no declarations. Roran had plenty of other lovers and I didn’t mind. I—I was never much interested in anyone, but I didn’t mind passing the time with Roran. My interest in him was sparse, at best.” He frowns, like he realizes how that sounds and pauses to lick his lips. “I cared about his well being and I enjoyed his company, especially as a friend, but my interest lay in my work. In fulfilling the orders the King gave me, and I never felt like I had anything left to truly give him. Not really.”

“Did he.. Think you were exclusive to him?” You ask, drawing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. You can’t deny that it’s an awkward feeling, knowing this. But Merrick has been by your side for a year, and you knew he was keeping secrets. It doesn’t change your feelings, however strange it might be, finding out that he’s been with others, but the knowledge does put a different spin on what you witnessed back at your house. “I’m not condoning anything, his actions or—I’m just trying to understand where he’s coming from,” you rush to say, when Merrick looks slightly pained.

“Not exactly,” he says again, and truly grimaces when the words pass his lips. “He asked for my love, asked for any scrap of attention I would be willing to throw his way, and for a time it was easy. I always liked him, and giving him that much had never really been a problem. But before I came, I told him I wasn’t his. That my heart was my own.” Merrick sits up, and he looks torn, staring down at his empty hands. “I told him I wouldn’t die, and that, I think, is what he was initially angry about. He thought I’d died, and I never made the effort to correct that worry.” 

That you might be able to understand.

“Okay, that I might agree with,” you tell him softly, shrugging when he looks at you, dark eyes wide. “Do Faeries apologize? Because leaving someone who cares for you is one thing, but letting them think you’re dead is… a little much. Granted, we’ve been raised very differently, so I can’t actually speak for him.”

“I, yeah, I do owe him that,” Merrick agrees. “But my heart—it’s yours, now,” he tells you, voice low and fierce, and desperately earnest. His eyes search your face, trace your slowly smiling mouth and you’re suddenly very thankful that Gar decided to vacate the premises for a while. “I can’t change how I feel, though by Air I tried at first. But I don’t want to change how I feel about you. No matter what happens with Gar, or with Roran, I want to stay with you, if you’ll let me.”

Your chest feels as if it’s all tangled up in knots, nerves and worry utterly strangled by the sudden tidal wave of softness. “I want you to stay, too,” you say, eyes drifting to the leaf pattern on the bedspread. “Even if you do change your feelings, you’ve been in my life for a year now, and.. I see you in the future, you know? If it’s with me, then great, if it’s as friends? I can see that t-”

Merrick leans in close, your name on his lips, interrupting the awkward string of words spilling out of you. “Then I won’t be leaving,” he assures you, his curls crushed against your forehead. “Not for any of them. I can’t turn away from this, and I have to help Gar, but I won’t leave,” he whispers, watching you closely, like he’s afraid you might disagree. You reel him in for a kiss instead, trying not to let your eyes linger on the way his lips tremble, but then he’s smiling against your mouth.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

It almost doesn’t make sense, knowing you’d spent hours in your bed with Merrick, exploring each other, mapping out every inch of each other’s flesh with fingers and mouths… And all of that was less than two days ago. While it had been happening, it had felt like the only thing that mattered, like you’d never forget it. Your heartbeat had been so loud in your head that you could barely hear yourself think beyond the next touch, the next kiss.  

After the day you’ve had, after everything that’s happened since you forced yourself to grab a few hours of rest in a stolen car, part of you wonders if there aren’t things you imagined. Did Merrick really like it when you touched his ears, or bit at the lobe of them and traced the cartilage with your tongue? Had he really made you fall to pieces so quickly on the kitchen counter, or had it only seemed that way, with adrenaline and hope and lust running high?

The first touch of his fingertips under your shirt is electric though, and the callous on his thumb catching at your hip makes you shiver. Regardless of the time you’d taken before, or how fast or slow things had actually happened, the chemistry between you is a heady thing. 

Merrick’s kiss is slow, and more than just the press or slide of his lips on yours. It’s the pause before he kisses you, the beat as he pulls away, mouth parted, his breath soft against your skin before his tongue touches your lower lip, and then his mouth closes, sucking slightly, like he’s trying to taste a drop of honey that he knows was left behind.

How are you supposed to keep quiet with such attention focused on you?

The first soft gasp has Merrick’s hands skimming over your middle, hand coming to rest on your heart, to gauge your pulse before he tries to get your shirt off of you. Part of you thinks you should tease him and struggle with the material—he’s always trying to undress you first, isn’t he? But you’re too eager to get his mouth back on yours, to curl your hand into the curls at the base of his skull and pull, exposing his throat for kissing. 

As soon as you do that, as soon as your fingers are tangled in his hair, Merrick glows. You don’t bother to point it out, you don’t really want to halt things at the moment, but you bite at his neck, wondering if any marks you leave will glow too.

His eyes close when you pull a little harder, his cheeks grow ruddy with color and then you let your own eyes unfocus, losing yourself in the feeling of him under your hands. He runs just slightly warmer, though you’re certain that could be your imagination. The heat of him against you feels wonderful though, and leaves you wanting more. You slide a hand along his back, reveling in the change of temperature, and sigh when he shudders under the sweep of your fingers.

He doesn’t pull away—his breath is coming faster as you suck at the skin of his neck—but Merrick’s hips shift, his legs settling to either side of yours and then he’s groaning, erection rutting against your thigh, trapped in his trousers.

“Harder,” he whispers, and for a second you’re not sure whether he means you to use your mouth or the hand in his hair, but a twitch of your wrist answers that question. His mouth falls open and you have to release his neck so you can lean back and take in the sight. It’s—It’s intoxicating, seeing how much you affect him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen someone so eager for you, and then his eyes open, wonderfully dark underneath those pale lashes and arousal grows so strong in you that the ache of it is painful.

“What do you want?” You ask, voice low as his eyes trace your lips. You have to ask, because you’re not sure what you want, if you want to feel his mouth again, or use your mouth on him, or maybe-

“Everything,” he whispers, because it’s the truth, and that’s all that matters to him.

You huff out a laugh, knowing you probably look punch-drunk off of his kisses, off of touching him at all. “Merrick, as wonderful as that sounds, we’re going to have to narrow things down.”

He barely looks sheepish, though you catch his eyes darting to your bag near the side of the bed. 

“I packed… Things?” He says, and his tone is so unsure that you want to pat his cheek. 

“I could have sworn I looked through that bag,” you mutter, fighting a smile, but Merrick sits up on your thighs and you let him go. He looks, well—He already has sex hair, with the way you’ve been yanking at it, and neither of you have actually gotten there. Gar is going to have a field day when he comes back.

“Did you check the side pocket?” Merrick asks, and he leans over the edge of the bed, pants riding low on his hips and exposing the dimple on his lower back. He tugs at the zipper, fumbling about and comes up with lube and condoms, and a handful of other things you’d kept in your bedside drawer. 

“Are all faeries this prepared?” You tease, smiling widely when he rolls his eyes. “Or am I just terribly lucky?”

He doesn’t respond, just hops off of you—and you can feel the difference now, as it’s cold without him—and pulls off his clothes like he has no sense of modesty. It’s always a rush, seeing him bare this way. The tattoos of his wings are still impressive, catching your eye and drawing your gaze over his shoulder and bicep as he turns to face you fully, but then your eyes lower and your breath quickens. 

“I can’t get enough of this,” Merrick murmurs and he looks so damned earnest, sitting down next to you on the bed and leaning over you so he can brace himself up on his forearms. “The way you look at me. For so long I thought I was imagining things-” And you do laugh when he says that.

“You thought you were?” You ask, reaching up to trace a fingertip over his cheekbone and down his jaw. “At first, I thought I had a chance, but then we were friends and... Honestly, I was sure you didn’t like anyone. I watched you reject person after person and was convinced that I’d only ever fooled myself. The other day when you joked about sharing a bed? I thought—”

Merrick frowns. “I was trying to be sly,” he murmurs, wincing when you raise an eyebrow. 

“It came across as a joke, after the way I’ve seen you talk to other people.”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

“I know,” you hasten to say, slipping your arms around him and tugging at his shoulders, wanting him closer. “I know that now,” you correct, pleased when he’s nose to nose with you. “But I didn’t then. That’s why I grabbed your hat and reacted like I did. Every time you said something even remotely similar, I convinced myself that I was only hearing what I wanted to hear. I was only hearing what I thought about when you weren’t around.”

“You fantasized about me?” Merrick asks, and he sounds entirely too gleeful about that. 

“...Did you fantasize about me?” You shoot back, knowing it will likely shut him up. 

“Yes,” he says instead, completely surprising you. “I… I felt like I shouldn’t have, but I kept thinking about the way you talked to me and I was lonely and—It was more than once,” he blurts with a sigh, and he looks like he hates the fact that he has to tell the truth. 

You just grin at him, feeling ridiculous, until Merrick shakes his head, and gets back to kissing you. Apparently he’s decided the time for talk is over. Or at least, talking about this subject is over. His kisses trail down your neck though, which you suppose means he’s decided on what he wants, and you can’t really complain. 

He uses tongue and teeth as he moves down your body, hands kneading gently at your thighs, stroking with fingertips and pressing with his thumbs. He lingers at your hip for a moment, sucking kisses into the skin there that you know are going to ache later, and then his hand is on you.

He definitely remembers everything he’d learned back at your place. He knows how to stroke, how much pressure to use, how to curl his fingers just so, and your thighs are starting to tense and his mouth isn’t even on you yet.

“Merrick,” you murmur, clutching at the blankets under your hands. You want to watch him, want to see his pink tongue lick—but you’re mildly distracted by that glow of his, shimmering softly over the walls. The light is on in the room, ceiling fixture bright, but there’s movement to the light on the walls that matches the rolling of his shoulders and the arch of his back.

His mouth closes over you, tongue flicking.

“Fuck,” you say immediately, tensing when he pauses, waiting for you to relax under his touch. He doesn’t use his teeth here, that’s for sure. There’s just his tongue at first, hot and wet, and his breath, soft against your bare skin. Then Merrick sucks until his cheeks have hollowed out, fingers curling just right and you have to bite your bottom lip, using the pain of your own teeth in your flesh to try and keep yourself from thrusting your hips up into his face.

He pulls off of you with a wet pop, leaving you whimpering and can’t help the little smirk he directs your way before he speaks. “You don’t have to be gentle with me,” he tells you, smirk growing a little wider. “You’ve seen some of what we can do. You can let go,” he assures you, hand still working you over, tongue sliding over his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of you on his own skin.

“Sure,” you say shakily, and then your eyes are nearly rolling into the back of your head as his mouth closes over you again. You’re fairly certain he’s doing it just to leave you breathless, to leave you speechless. “I’ll just—just go to town,” you mutter, rolling your hips, but only just. “You could probably, uh, could just pick me-”

Merrick stops using his hand on you, hooks his arms underneath your legs and lifts your hips as he kneels on the bed. He curls his arms around you to hold you in place, legs hanging over his shoulders, and rolls his tongue over you before he starts sucking again, making soft noises that are driving you crazy.

“Oh, oh, fuck, you’re going to-” Your hands are totally tangled in the blankets now, having dragged them with you as he lifted you partially off the bed. You’re going to lose it if he keeps up with this, blood rushing towards your head, leaving your face feeling hot and your thighs shaking against his ears.

You shout as you come, trying to arch your back, to get closer to his mouth and pull away from it, all at once, but Merrick is holding you too tightly. After a moment it gets to be too much and you’re gasping, panting and reaching out to try and slap at his knee, though you can’t quite reach. “Enough,” you say once, and Merrick slows, but he doesn’t pull his mouth off of you until you wail the word. For a second you think he’ll just drop your overstimulated self back to the bed, but Merrick is more careful than that. He lowers you down, revealing his messy face and heavy lidded eyes. His cock slides over your most sensitive parts as he sets your ass in his lap and carefully takes your legs off of his shoulders. Your calves feel like they won’t hold you up for a week. 

“I’m going to die,” you say, all dramatics, and then Merrick is chuckling, wiping at his lips. 

“I hardly think you will,” he says, confident in his words. “But if it was too much, I have no problem ceasing while we’re ahead. Soon enough, Gar will be back and...” He licks his lips again, frowning slightly as something occurs to him. “Did I glow, like Gar said earlier?” You can’t help laughing, but that only makes you move against him, leaving the both of you making soft, shocked noises.

“Would you—would you like to find out?” You ask, breathless when he presses himself between your legs. 

Merrick hesitates, nearly frowning for a moment before he settles on an easy, slightly awkward grin. 

“It’s a bit of a toss up,” he explains, eyes tracing you from head to toe. He lingers on the spots he’s kissed, on the way your mouth is parted, breath still coming heavy, like it’s being drawn up from the absolute depths of your lungs. “I want to do the things that could potentially lead to me glowing.” He can’t seem to stop himself from rolling his hips, from rutting in between your thighs and leaving himself trembling at the touch. “But do I want to know if I’m actually making a fool of myself?”

“Making a fool of yourself?” You repeat, laughing. “Is that what happens when faeries glow during sex? They’re considered fools?”

“Maybe not fools,” he amends, looking a little awkward as he tucks a few stray curls behind his pointed ears. “But… Horribly transparent. You can see how much you affect me, and leaving our emotions laid bare?”

That you can understand. Granted, you don’t think you’ll ever mind the fact that he shows just how much he wants you. That he’s incapable of hiding how he feels when you touch him. You desperately want to kiss him again, to return the gesture. You might not be able to glow, but you’re fairly certain anyone looking at you can see how you feel—especially now that you’ve both laid it all out in the open.

“Come here,” you urge, crooking a single finger.

He pauses, dark eyes darting between you and himself, and you see the thought cross his mind. He could try and press inside you, he wants it, but—Merrick leans over you, arm stretching until he’s braced himself next to your shoulder, as close as he can get without being inside you. His hair falls back into his face.

“Kiss me,” you say, stroking your hands along his sides and up and over his shoulders. You have to concentrate, keep yourself from getting distracted when the pads of your fingertips catch on the wing tattoos. They have such texture, and one day you’d love to trace those lines with your tongue, if he’ll let you.

Merrick falls back into kissing you like he’s never left. Tilts his head and slots his mouth along your lips, soft at first and then his tongue finds yours, sweet and warm. He starts grinding against you, making you shudder underneath him because you’re still oversensitive. You’re not sure you have the energy in you for more than lying here, for hooking your ankles behind his back as he works himself to completion inside you, but just the thought of that has your pulse speeding again.

When he pulls away from the kiss to breathe, you reach up to try and adjust his hair, tucking the curls back once more, but you don’t actually succeed in anything other than making it look messier. 

“Lube,” you remind him, when he seems plenty content to simply stare at your face, blinking slowly. He jumps at that, snatching at the pile of things he’d left on the bed when he’d stripped off his clothes and shakes his head once he has the bottle open, tilted over to spill the gel into his palm. 

“So you want to witness my shame?” He asks archly, and that tone of his is all an act. You wonder how many times you fell for it, how many times he said exactly what you were thinking and you wrote it off, purely because of his tone and-

No. There’s no need to dwell on it, not now. 

“I have witnessed it,” you say instead, breathing out slowly as you reach for his hand. You slide your fingers through the lube and then reach down to prep yourself, watching his face all the while. 

Merrick looks gutted. He swallows, eyes intent on your hand, on your fingers, stroking and pressing into you and he snaps the lube bottle closed. He tosses it over the edge of the bed, pressing himself close again so your hand brushes against him every time your fingers move. 

“At some point,” he says hoarsely, and your eyes get caught on the gel starting to drip over the edges of his hands. “I would like to watch this. Just this, but—” He glances at you, gauging your reaction and joins in. You’re shaking again, watching his face, feeling his fingers move in tandem with yours, but the feeling is a lot and eventually you let him take over. Merrick breathes out when you pull your hand away, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and licks his lips. “We’re on a bit of a deadline,” he murmurs, looking just a slight bit disappointed by that fact. 

“Then hurry up,” you tease him, though it’s a little hard when he’s touching you this way. When he’s making your thighs tremble all over again. “I want you at least once before we get interrupted.” Before Gar gets back, before you have to crash for the night because you’re exhausted, before—Before you have to get up tomorrow, and possibly get back on the road to who knows where. This would be the absolute worst time for Roran to find us, crosses your mind and your heart speeds for all the wrong reasons. 

“Noted,” Merrick says, breaking through your thoughts with a smug smile as he removes his fingers. The first stroke of him against you has you clenching your hands in the blankets again. Just the wet slide of his cock against you is enough: lust sweeps over you in a tidal wave, your thighs shifting like they’re trying to spread, even though they’re open already.

When he takes himself in hand though, when he finally presses into you? You lose a few moments, just enjoying the heat of him, the feeling of fullness. 

Then he’s glowing.

There’s no hiding it from him this time. His eyes aren’t closed, and his face isn’t pressed into your neck, or your body, intent on bringing you pleasure first. Merrick blinks when the glow is cast on the walls. It’s not enough to blaze through the window and the closed blinds, but he sees it now, and his face turns an absolutely lovely shade of pink.

He doesn’t stop his movements, or try to stop himself from glowing. He takes a couple quick breaths and thrusts into you, gasping when you tighten around him reflexively. 

Merrick doesn’t do things by halves. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t pound into you, chasing after his own pleasure, he builds it between you. It takes long enough that when you realize time has passed, you’re fairly sure that Gar must have returned, but—But Merrick’s hands are sliding over your body and his hips are pressed against the back of your thighs, and you don’t have time to think.

He whispers your name and his eyes are so heavy lidded, he looks like he could fall asleep where he is. You think the only reason his eyes are even open is to watch you, to see the look on your face every time he pulls back, only to slide back in, leaving you languid and terribly warm. You’re going to ache tomorrow.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you see that Merrick is clenching his jaw, trying to keep the slow rhythm he’s got going, but his hips are stuttering. You tug him close, angling your legs until they’re tight against his ass and he groans, being so deep inside you. 

“I want you,” you murmur. “Merrick, I-” But then he’s nearly shouting as he comes, burying his face in your shoulder as he shakes apart and you can hear the front door closing. Merrick doesn’t bother trying to quiet himself, just pants against you until he’s finished, until he can sit up on his own. The smile he directs your way is mildly embarrassed, but mostly smug, especially when his pulling out leaves your legs shaking.

“Have you decided yet?” You hear from the main room of the cabin, followed by bags being set on the small kitchen counter. 

You raise your eyebrows, wondering what exactly Gar means. Merrick’s shoulders tense up a little though, and you think back to what was happening before the two of you started this much needed romp in the sheets.

“...What does he mean?” You finally ask, sitting up slowly and glancing around the room. You’re going to need to clean up, and never have you wished more that Faerie glamour or magic came with a quick spell for messes. A quick snap of your fingers or the wiggle of a nose would be quiet and unobtrusive right now.

“Give us a moment,” Merrick calls out and gets off of the bed with a sigh. “I’ll—Let me help you, first,” he says, focusing on you after a moment. “Once we’re both clean we can discuss it.”

Gar gives you both the asked for privacy. He retreats to the other empty room so you and Merrick can dart into the shower. It’s barely big enough for the both of you, but the water is hot, and the pressure isn’t horrible. Once you’re both cleaned up and clothed, all three of you find yourselves back in the main room, sitting around the small pot belly stove, a fire crackling inside of it. 

“So?” You find yourself asking, when neither of them make a move to fill the silence. “What are we deciding?”

“Not we,” Gar says, lips twisting wryly. “Just Merrick.”

“What is Merrick deciding then?” You ask, exasperated with the non-answers. You know you’re going to have to deal with this regularly, now that you know what both of them are, but it’s still irksome. 

“I need to decide what I should do about Roran,” Merrick finally murmurs, letting you take his hand when you reach for it. “We always have the option to end his life, but I would rather not,” he says, directing his stare straight at Gar. “I want to convince him.”

Gar stares at Merrick, resigned, like he’d never expected another answer. Maybe he hadn’t. According to Faerie standards, or maybe just Gar’s standards, Merrick is apparently easy to read. “Then you’re going to have to figure out a way to draw him in that doesn’t involve cutting my head from my shoulders. He won’t be lured in by us just standing around again either. He’s going to be eager to get us apart, to take you hostage, if need be,” Gar reminds you, with a tip of his head in your direction. 

“If he finds me first-”

“I’m going to con—” Merrick starts, and then he’s knocked to the floor, with Gar straddling his prone body and holding a shaking hand over his mouth. You’re on your feet with a shout.

“Don’t make promises you’re not sure you can keep,” Gar bites out. Your heart is racing. You didn’t even see him move, he was just—there. “Don’t leave yourself open to even the possibility of lies. You know better, Merrick. You know better. Don’t let sentimentality cloud your decisions.”

“How about we calm down?” You ask, knowing you likely sound a little silly. You know they can’t lie, you know it does something to them, but it’s- You hadn’t quite realized it was all so serious. The lying. 

Gar gets off of Merrick and points a finger directly at you, still staring at his friend. “You have someone else to worry about now. Someone who cares, deeply. You don’t know if you’re going to convince Roran. Try, sure. But don’t—” Gar cuts himself off, and takes a deep breath, letting it out very, very slowly.

“I’m not tired,” he says after a moment. “But you two probably are. Get some rest, I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

That, more than anything else in the last hour, feels utterly surreal. Keeping watch is something that happens in fantasy novels, out in the wilderness, waiting for bandits. You don’t keep watch in an Airbnb, in modern times, waiting to see if a lonely Fae assassin shows up on the doorstep.

“That’s a good idea,” Merrick murmurs, and lets you pull him up to his feet. He still clasps his hand on Gar’s shoulder as he passes, like he doesn’t mind in the slightest that Gar just knocked him to the ground with nary a thought. They’d been close to the fire too, and worry makes the scene play out differently in your head. If Gar had taken one more step forward- You can’t let yourself get angry or defensive about this. They’re faeries and no matter how long you’ve known them, how much they care, you don’t know everything that’s at stake.

“I’ll come back after I grab a few hours rest,” Merrick promises, and escorts you back into the bedroom you’d both claimed as your own. You want to protest, to say you can take the next watch, but even with the Sight now, you’re not sure you would even have a chance of alerting them if someone like Roran showed up. What you’d witnessed in the square, and what you’d seen just now in the main room spelled it out all too well: Human eyes simply can’t move fast enough.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: i

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

chapter 2   ||   chapter 3 ||  chapter 4

ao3

word count: ~3k

You serve Hawks a lavender, oat milk latte. Not only is he hooked on your drinks, but he's also hooked on you as well.

a fluffy multi-chaptered piece i’ll release when i’m feeling it :’^) enjoy y’all. coffee shop au hell

||||||||||||||||||

You and Keigo met each other on the coldest, snowiest day of the year.

The temperature was near glacial. The air stung and bit like hell, wind kicking and spitting powdery snow as it fell in sheets from the grey sky.

The weather, horribly, prevented two of your coworkers from working the morning shift at the tea shop. Half of the trains were shut down across the city in addition to power outages. But, your cheap ass owner forced you to open. Alone. In a blizzard.

You were fairly certain that you wouldn’t be getting many customers.

Opening at the tea shop on a normal day was a hellish amount of work. As you unlocked the door and walked into your humble establishment of employment, you grimaced at the thought of all of the work you were to do.

After disrobing from your thick winter jacket, scarf, and mittens and throwing on your apron, it was time to begin. You made yourself a simple, oat milk latte and then started to get to work setting up for the day. 

It was hardly dawn. 

  Keigo was on early morning patrol. It wasn’t his favorite shift, oh, hardly, but he did enjoy watching the sunrise. And, while his wings were powerful, the snowstorm did force him to fly much lower in the grey haze of the day than he normally would. Stepping out of his apartment around just before 5:30 AM, Keigo almost moaned in anguish at the cold. He was infinitely glad he had worn a thermal bodysuit under his uniform.

His quirk afforded him much in terms of battle prowess, in addition to a few avian mutations. Most notably at that moment was his difficulty conserving heat. As Keigo stood on his balcony, frowning at the can of coffee in his hand, he made the prompt decision to fly to his area of patrol and grab a hot drink. The thought of downing something cold made his stomach turn.

Gracefully, Keigo turned and flew, letting himself be carried across town. The area he was patrolling was relatively quiet, mostly small businesses and lower-middle-class apartments. As he touched down, shivering and sleepy, he padded through the empty streets with his wings folded to his back.

  The wind was wild, wiping between buildings, making snowdrifts that blocked some of the doors of shops nearby. Part of you cursed, shaking your head. You desperately wanted to be warm, curled in bed with your cats, and watching cartoons.

You set up the shop, moving chairs and turning on machines. Though you were a tea shop, you sold more coffee than any sort. On a normal, fully-staffed day, you’d be in the back, crafting tea blends. But, that day was, in fact, a very abnormal day and it was about to get weirder.

  Keigo meandered around the streets, strangely at genuine ease. There were no civilians and very few stores open allowing him to walk freely, albeit coldly. Part of him wondered if he would even find a coffee shop.

But lo and behold, he did. 

Keigo opened the door, a cute bell ringing. The shop was themed warmly with yellow-toned wood counters and furnishings. There was a smattering of local art on the walls and jewel-toned accents. All in all, it was a cozy reprieve from the icy nature of outside. Keigo relished the heat.

It seemed only one person was working, you. 

  When you heard the bell sounding at the entrance of a customer, you piped up from behind the counter, “Just one sec!”

A kind laugh, “Take your time.”

You were struggling to reach a tea blend. It was high on the many shelves behind the counter. You clamored on top of the counter, rising on your knees to try and reach it. Your hands stretched to grip it with an arch of your back. You grinned in victory as you managed to grab it. You pulled back, miscalculating in your pride—

And then you were losing balance.

And then you were falling.

(How fucking cliche).

You would’ve hit the floor if it wasn’t for some unknown force, pushing you back onto the counter, steadying you. The sensation, new, perked you up, causing you to let out a high noise of surprise. You turned, your eyes going wide.

Several beautiful, scarlet feathers caught your fall.

Your eyes flickered up to your patron savior.

  Number two hero, Hawks, smiling at you and giving you a bit of cheshire grin, stifling a laugh.

You slowly descended from the counter, turning to face him at the register, “Well, I really have to say thank you. I nearly ate shit there.”

“All in a day's work,” Hawks winked at you. You beamed easily. Local heroes came and drank at the shop fairly regularly, but never anyone particularly famous, let alone the top ten. Never the incredibly stunning, wind-whipped bachelor hero that was Hawks.

“What can I get for you today?” You asked, going for a notepad.

Hawks eyes scanned the menu behind you. He hummed, pretty, amber eyes settling back on you, “Surprise me.”

Your eyes widened, but you nodded. You couldn’t stop smiling.

“Alright, let me ask a few questions, just to make your drink the best it can.” You told him. “First off, hot or iced?”

“Oh, definitely hot,” Hawks almost wiggled a feathered eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

“Okay, how much caffeine? Any allergies?” You asked, scribbling an idea down on the notepad. “Milk preference?”

“As much as you can legally supply me with, no preferred milk, and no allergies. Though, I do like things sweet,” Hawks was removing his gloves as he spoke. “Go crazy, give me the best thing you got, angel. Something that gives me the warm and fuzzies.”

Oh, that was a move. 

Hawks was notoriously (in the media) shamelessly flirtatious with fans and other heroes. It was always painted as something that was in good fun, never sexual, and just part of his brand. This was just common knowledge, but god you never expected it to be directed at you with a cute pet name.

  “On it,” You smiled back at him, face hot. You smoothed yourself down before beginning to craft his drink. 

It wasn’t often that you worked the front counter, and there was a good reason for it. Most of the time, you got too into making drinks, customizing them frivolously (often due to your quirk). Though you were skilled, it took a lot of time that people didn’t have for a coffee run.

But, on the day of a momentous snowstorm, you and Hawks had all the time in the world.

  Keigo was a bit stunned by you.  

You were cute, one. 

You were wearing a soft-looking turtleneck sweater, and high-waisted, wide-leg pants. They were fashionable but obviously aged. But it worked. A cute, embroidered apron was tied over you snuggly around your waist. It was adorned with buttons and pins, brightly colored.

 You spoke so frankly to him. You didn’t gawk at him for even a second, even when his feathers propped you up from falling. You blushed at his pet name but didn’t seem any more fazed than a bit of embarrassment. He liked it. It felt normal.

Keigo rested his hands on the counter, watching you flit about behind the counter. 

“I gotta ask, why are you open in this blizzard??” Keigo tilted his head as your gaze flickered to him. You were still smiling, just a bit, even hard at work. 

  You snorted, “Cheap boss who won’t close, and my coworkers are stranded without the trains running. I live close by and work hourly, so I might as well come in, ya’ know?”

Hawks laughed, something warm and full, so juxtaposed to the storm of flurries outside. 

It was odd, talking to the number two fucking hero so casually, but it felt good. There was a sense of awe and idleness, but it dimmed. There were no flashy heroics, just one person wanting a drink and the other making it.

Your quirk activated on its own as you stared at the syrups. Your quirk’s tell was so small and normal, no one ever caught it. A heavy dilation of the eyes was not something most people were tuned into. Yet there you were, submerged in sensation. Touch, sight, smell, taste, even sound, all blending together. They elicited something deeper in you, creating something abstract you could make tangible.

To make a feeling into a physical reality was a gift, but it came with drawbacks of course.

You poured a few syrups into the bottom of the cup, carefully selecting them.

“I can’t imagine how cold it is up in the sky,” You mused to yourself just before steaming some oat milk. 

“Oh, you have no idea, ” Hawks lamented to you with a groan. “I feel like I’m gonna lose a few toes whenever I work in this weather.”

“Just toes? I’d be worried about a whole foot,” You grinned back at him as you poured more things into the cup, stirring every few moments. 

The feeling in your mind was so tangible to you, and you could perfectly translate it to reality. Something warm, to beat away the frost of the world beyond the tea shop. 

You sprinkled the top with a few dashes of cinnamon, setting it on the counter in front of him. 

  Keigo looked down at the drink you made him, raising an eyebrow. He went to take a sip, but you stopped him, “I’d give that a few minutes if you don’t want to burn your tongue, tailfeathers.”

  Hawks nearly fucking squawked as he set down the drink, giving you a look of false anger, “ Tailfeathers? That’s not a kind name to call me. I don’t even have those.”

Keigo huffed, pouting at you. 

  “You call me, a stranger barista, angel, I call you tailfeathers. Easy trade.” You shrugged at him, tapping into the register system. “I’m not charging you until you try it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to upcharge if I don’t like it?” Hawks continued to pout, jokingly so, pulling out a wad of bills that was undoubtedly much more than any drink would cost. 

Your eyes widened, leaving you sputtering, “Oh, never— it’s on the house if it bangs as much as I think it will.”

Hawks laughed, out loud, bending back a bit. You watched his pretty red wings shudder and reflect the warm light of the coffee house. Keigo collected himself, over-dramatically straightening himself. 

You watched with anticipation as he took his sip.

  Keigo was a man of poor taste. Sure, dropping an unholy amount of money on frivolities was one of his small pleasures, after so much of the ascetic bullshit that the Commission put him through, it only seemed fair. But, caffeine was a necessity with his fucked up schedule and he’d be damned waiting in a line or making it at home. Canned coffee was saccharine and speedy and that’s all he fucking wanted. 

But, when the first drops of that stupid oat milk latte hit his tongue, Keigo was beyond enamored. 

Yeah, he wanted coffee to feel warm in this storm, but he didn’t expect to feel warm. With just one gulp, he could feel the heat, like the flames of a steady hearth, drift around his body. 

He brought the cup down from his lips, looking at you with awe. 

You had the smuggest grin spread across your face, arms crossed over your chest.

“Thoughts?” God, you were so cheeky. He loved it. You were so subtly bold.

“This,” Keigo took another greedy swig, wiping his mouth on the back of his ungloved hand, “is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my damn life.”

Your smile just got wider. 

“Glad I could meet your tastes, tailfeathers. No charge,” You gave him a cheeky little wink. You swore you saw his face get redder, but you dismissed it a moment later.

“Oh no, nu-uh,” Keigo pushed the bills towards you. “Take it as a tip then. Seriously. How did you make this?”

You stared down at the bills and Hawks’s hand. His hands weren’t particularly large, but they were scarred plenty. Veins and bone were accented by the dryness of his skin. 

You looked back up at him, still not taking the money, “Can you keep a secret? It’s a big one, especially considering you’re a hero.”

Hawks tilted his head, “If you say you used your quirk to mess with this drink, I don’t know if I’m legally able to keep it a secret.”

“Nah, nah. I didn’t ‘mess with your drink’,” You shook your head, nodding down to it. “Do you know what synesthesia is?”

(He did, surely. But he just wanted to listen to you talk more.)

“Enlighten me?” Hawks ask, stooping to rest his elbows on the counter, chin cradled in his hands.

  For being a man who could kill you in a split second, Hawks was remarkably cute. You understood his sex appeal long before he entered the shop. His hair looked unnaturally fluffy, wind-ruffled, and honey blonde. His eyes had a few cute bird-like markings ringing the sweet, amber irises. He had a delicate but defined jaw. 

He raised a sculpted, feathered eyebrow at you. 

(He’d caught you staring).

You cleared your throat, laughing it off easily (though you were mentally kicking yourself), “Synesthesia, broadly, is like senses overlapping in your brain. Like... The common example is seeing colors when you hear a month of the year.”

“Now, what does this have to do with my lovely drink?” Hawks batted his eyelashes at you. You could tell he was definitely flirting with you, but you brushed it off the best you could. 

He’s a hot guy you made coffee for. Happens all the time. 

“Well, you had me a little bit, I did use my quirk, but it doesn’t mess with your drink physically at all. Not even close,” You laugh. “My quirk allows me to conceptualize abstract ideas into tangible ideas.”

“That really makes it sound like you used your quirk to make my drink,” Keigo watched your eyes dilate as he spoke.

You blinked, and they went back to normal.

“No, no. It’s like for your drink,” Both of your eyes looked towards the steaming cup. “I took your request for ‘warm and fuzzies’ to heart.”

Keigo blinked at you. 

Your pupils expanded again, “I figured ‘ you know, this guy has to fly around in the cold all day, right? Probably is freezing and far away from home ’— and there was my inspiration.

“I used my quirk to conceptualize... the idea of being warm and safe into a tangible concept. A nice, easy coffee drink. Four shots of espresso, oat milk, homemade lavender honey syrup, two of my own, specially made tea extracts, and a bit of cinnamon for good measure.”

Hawks blinked at you, “Your quirk gives you the... blueprints, to turn ideas, literal feelings, into reality and these blueprints just work?” 

You nodded and shrugged, “Most of the time. The less I’m focused on it, the more likely it is that the feeling won’t be able to manifest. I just get more exact with my construction with the fewer stimuli.”

“Drawback?” Hawks quirked an eyebrow, already having a good idea as to it.

You gestured lazily to the empty coffee shop, “I get overstimulated easily, quirk activated or not. Makes a lot of shit hard, but I like my quirk. I mean, it’s nothing like having a crazy strong pair of wings, but it services me well.”

“Did you really ‘manifest’ ‘warm and fuzzies’ into a drink, or did you make it a bit deeper than that?” Keigo sipped again, relishing how it warmed him all over once more. The taste that was dancing over his palette seemed a little more complex than what they were saying. 

“To be frank and to have a bit of an ego, yeah, I went for my go-to feeling when making drinks for myself,” You averted your eyes from him. “A good drink should feel like you’re getting hugged from the inside out, you know? Comforted. It’s hard enough to get that tangibly without a quirk. I just try to help where I can.”

  Keigo blinked at you.

You had turned suddenly, shy, eyes anxiously darting and a hand tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. A cute flush was spreading over your cheekbones when you finally looked at him again, “Kinda corny, right?”

Despite the fact that Keigo’s heart was fucking pounding, he shook his head, voice steady and sure, “Nah, I think it’s cool. You’re doing a lot more than just making coffee for folks.”

Your face got even redder as you rubbed the back of your head,

“I usually work in the back, so I don’t tend to make a lot of coffee for people. I make the tea blends that we sell. I don’t always use my quirk, but sometimes I do.”

Keigo watched you nervously pull at your apron, giving him an oddly desperate deadpan, “Please don’t turn me in.”

That made Keigo bust out laughing again. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him in shock, and then join him. You covered your mouth at first, but finally, just let yourself laugh with him. All it seemed like that there was in the world was you, Keigo, the lavender latte, and the snowdrifts outside.

  Hawks’s pager beeped, almost instantly pulling him from his laughing fit. He glanced at it, giving a dull grimace, “Duty calls, it seems.”

“You’d think villains would take snow days?” You told him as he re-gloved his hands. 

“It would really make my job easier,” He chuckled. Hawks pushed the forgotten money on the counter. “That’s all for you, ya hear me? Keep it or I will actually turn you in.”

Oh, you were feeling bold. 

Before Hawks could pull his hand away, you placed your own on his, stopping his movement.

“Only,” You somehow, one-handed, managed to pull a bit of receipt paper from its machine. Still one-handed you grabbed a pen and scribbled onto the paper. You pushed it towards Keigo. “If you take this very conveniently small piece of paper that totally doesn’t have my name and number on it. Just in case you’d like another lavender latte like that.”

  Oh, Keigo was floored.

He had rapid fucking fans. They were feral. He’d had fans drop their entire life stories on him, gush to him, stalk him— one time, a fan dropped to their knees and licked his boots. And he’d certainly received many phone numbers in his day, so many, but never like this. 

This felt a little different.

“Well, I was gonna say, I might need some contact to know when you work next. Just so I can grab one of your lovely drinks,” Hawks winked at you, all smitten.  He walked backwards towards the door, still meeting your eyes

“Feel free to.” You were just as starry-eyed as he was. “I have a lot to show you!”

And with that, Hawks whisked himself out of the door, fast as ever.

And you both simmered, full of intangible feelings. 

[5thmarauderwrites]

Apps, Texts & Wizardry — The Marauders x Reader | Request.

Requests are: OPEN.

Requested by Anonymous: “Helooo💛 could you write a modern au where the reader is teaching the marauders how to use tech? Have a nice day :)“.

Pairing: The Marauders x Fem!Reader [platonic].

Word Count: 2,4K

Warnings: None, it’s basically all fun and teasing and friends being friends.

A/N: Hope you like this! I had to refrain myself from the dialogues a bit because i had lots of fun remarks and teasing moments in my head as i imagined how the teaching process would be, so it would end up being very, very long if i hand’t stopped myself. Also the title SUCKS because i literally couldn’t think about anything good.

“L/N!” James yelled your last name in the middle of the library, shaking a brand new smartphone clutched in his hand; Sirius and Peter on his trail. Remus walked a little further, an apologetic frown on his features as he looked at you.

“Potter!” Madam Pince shrieked. “Out! Now!”

“But I’ve just got here!” The boy with unruly black hair protested.

“I do not care! Screams and loud tones of voice are strictly forbidden in my library! Go on – out! Out before I hex you!” The witch brandished her feather duster at the boy as she gesticulated for him to leave.

James grimaced, pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose, “I just need to talk to my friend, please! She’s right there!” He pointed to you, who watched the unfolding scene with a look of pure terror, in fear that Madam Pince would banish you from the library for good after James’ antics.

Madame Pince sent you a death glare before turning back to the Marauders with a fulminant look on her face, “out, all of you! NOW!”

“We haven’t even done anything!” Sirius shrugged with a frown, trying to defend himself.

The older witch gave them a last warning glare and, getting the message; Remus mumbled an apology and dragged the other three boys out of the room. Madam Pince waited until they were completely off the library’s limits to walk angrily to the table you were sharing with Lily, Marlene and Alice in the quieter corner of the study room.

“L/N!” She spat as she approached your table. “You know you’re one of the few students that I actually tolerate in this school, but this better not happen again because next time you’ll be kicked out with them!”

You widened your eyes in horror and nodded vigorously, afraid to make any noise and irritate the librarian even more. Madam Pince huffed satisfied at your acknowledgement of her threat before turning on her heels and leaving you with a dumbfounded look on your face.

“I don’t know how you and Remus can be friends with those twats,” Lily said in a belittled tone of voice whilst rolling her eyes.

“They’re not that bad once-“ you started to defend the Marauders but trailed off as you looked in the direction of the closed window by the side of the door and saw James and Sirius with their faces glued to the glass, waving for you to come to them.

“You were saying?” Marlene frowned disgustedly at their behaviour.

“Come on, they’re nice people, girls!” Alice chuckled, defending the boys as the sweet and kind person she was.

“They are! Thank you, Ali!” You wrapped your arm around the girl’s shoulders in a gesture of appreciation.

“Sure,” Lily teased with a frown as she studied the boys, whom were now making silly faces at your group from behind the glass window. “I’m sure if you google stupid twats their names won’t come up as soon as you hit the search button.”

Marlene high-fived Lily at her remark and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you rolled your eyes at your redhead friend, “you know you and James have a lot in common, don’t you?” You teased, getting up and grabbing your phone and laptop.

“Where are you going?” She asked amidst a blush, purposely ignoring what you had just said.

“To see what they bloody want before Madam Pince spots them and forbids me to step a foot into the library for good of course,” you shrugged with a lopsided grin and walked away from your lady friends, heading to the boys in the corridor.

 -

 “Y/N, I’m so sorry! I told these idiots that you were studying and they should not bother you!” Remus said as soon as he saw your moving figure approaching the door, his arms up in an apologetic gesture.

“That’s okay, Rem. I know their stupidity is uncontrollable,” you chuckled, squeezing the taller boy’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed, offended, as he ran a hand through his thick dark locks.

“She’s not lying,” Remus said with a light shrug of his shoulders, pressing his lips together to contain a smile.

“What do you bloody want from me anyway to barge in the library like that?” You winged your brows, specifically scolding James.

“Sorry about that, little one. Madam Pince really needs to learn how to relax,” he frowned, recalling her unpleasant screams. “Anyway, we got ourselves brand new phones and this muggle box you call a laptop and we were wondering if you could help us out with those… things.”

You lifted a brow as you crossed your arms across your chest, “you got phones? And laptops?” You repeated his sentence with a surprised tone of voice.

“That’s what I just said, yes,” James frowned.

“I reckon you saying something like,” you started, raising your hands in the air and mimicking quotes as you tried your best to impersonate James, “’I will never trade my owl and parchments for these bloody muggle things with these annoying noises.’”

“I’ll admit I may have spoken too soon,” he shrugged with a grimace. “Blimey, it’s hard not to surrender to those things when the entire school and even the Professors are using it!”

You gazed at James with an amused look on your face.

“So, will you help us out, love?” Sirius steadied himself on you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and stared at you with puppy eyes.

“I could use the help of these things to improve my studying method and have easier access to books,” Remus said shyly, putting his hands into his pockets.

“I want to try those games the lads have been playing, they’re even talking about doing championships and starting clubs,” Peter’s eyes twinkled as he nodded excitedly.

You heaved a sigh as you looked to the pleading faces of the four Marauders. “Fine, I’ll help you idiots out.”

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

 You had been helping the Marauders with the muggle technology for a few days now and it wasn’t getting any easier. As wizards born and raised into wizarding families, the boys never had any sort of familiarity with technology nor muggle devices before, which hampered the task in hand considerably. Even Remus, who was unquestionably the cleverest among them, was struggling to learn how to properly use a phone.

Beginning with the smartphone was your idea, because you thought that after they mastered this complex device, learning how to use a laptop would be a piece of cake. You just didn’t imagine that it would be so bloody difficult.

“Wait, wait, and wait!” Sirius interrupted your explanation about the Face ID for the third time with a confused frown as he threw his head back heavily into the back pillow of the Gryffindor Common Room sofa. “How am I supposed to make my face unlock this thing? Will I have to hex it?”

“No, you daft dimbo!” You huffed, annoyed. “I’ll get there if you just stop interrupting me!”

“Sorry, love,” he smirked satisfied at your apparent annoyance, resting his elbows on Remus’ and James’ shoulders. “I’ll admit I have a liking to piss you off; and apparently I accomplish that even when I’m not trying to.”

“You sure do!” You smiled wryly at him, curling your legs on the seat of the stuffed armchair you were occupying, leaning yourself a little in the boys direction. “Anyway, you’ll access your phone settings right… here,” you said, showing them with your phone where to tap. “To register your face, you’ll need to hold your device between 10 and 20 inches away from you. With your face centered in the circle, you’ll move your head around until the scan is complete.”

The boys quickly followed your instructions and registered their faces, finally completing the basic configurations of their phones as they did so, allowing you to start teaching them how to use its apps and download other ones.

“There’s a camera in this? Cool!” Sirius exclaimed excitedly once he unlocked his phone screen. “What?” He added with a smile when you chuckled at his reaction.

“I’ve always thought that if you were a muggle, you’d sort of be an edgy photographer,” you answered with a lopsided grin.

“I could be one to,” James shrugged uninterested. “I’d definitely be edgy.”

“You, James? Come on!” You rolled your eyes, laughing wholeheartedly. “You’d be an annoying influencer jock.”

“A what?” He asked, utterly confused as if you were speaking in another language.

“You’d definitely be an overachiever high school athlete who were not only famous at school but also on the internet,” you winged your brows at him, resting your chin of your fist.

“You’d definitely be like that, mate!” Remus laughed, pointing his index finger at James.

“Yeah? And how would all-mighty Moony be?” James teased, crossing his arms across his chest and bending his head a little so he could playfully stare at his brown-haired friend.

“Rem would be a total hipster!” You shouted excitedly, clapping your hands. “He’d definitely be an outsider to the cultural mainstream, he’d have an online blog where he’d review books and would definitely be vocal about structural issues in the muggle society.”

“Why would he be the coolest among us?” James frowned, a little annoyed.

“Because he already is,” you shrugged, winging your brows.

“I can totally see muggle Moony being like that too,” Peter nodded vaguely from his seat on the arm of the sofa, picturing what you had just said inside his head.

“Can we focus on the tech again?” James said, swinging his phone in the air.

“Yes, we can, you pampered berk,” you answered, the ends of your lips curling up into an amused smirk as you got up of the armchair and motioned to the sofa, squeezing yourself between James and Sirius.

Slowly, you started to explain to them how to use the iMessage service and how to text someone and read the texts you receive. The boys seemed awestruck by the fact that you could get in touch with someone so easily and get an instant response back.

“Wicked! Now I can ask Lily out without putting myself in danger!” James exclaimed excitedly, the blaze that crackled in the fireplace lighting up his features. “Can’t I?”

“Well, she can always block your number, you know…” you frowned mockingly at him, earning amused laughs from Remus, Sirius and Peter.

The four of you teased James for a while before you and the boys got back to the teaching process. An hour or so later, you had already covered all the phone basic apps and they were already familiar with their functions and how to properly use them.

“Now, to the fun stuff!” You announced excitedly. “Let’s introduce you lads to the wonderful world of the trending apps.”

“Are there more?” Sirius widened his eyes as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Indeed, my dear Black!” You quirked your brows satisfied, tilting your head so you could look him in the eyes. “There are tons of apps you can download to improve your experience, apps that match your likings such as, in your case, dating apps.”

“Dating apps? Can’t you just charm the ladies through texts?” He asked confusedly.

“You sure can, but these apps are basically made for people who want to engage on… knowing someone a little bit better, if you know what I mean,” you chuckled. “With the dating apps you don’t have to ask yourself if the other person is somehow romantically interested in you, because when they swipe right and the match is made, it means the interest is mutual.”

“And how would you know all this?” He asked, lifting his head and smirking mockingly at you. “Y/N L/N, do you use dating apps?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you retorted, blushing furiously. Sirius’ smirk grew wider.

A sudden silence fell among the five of you as you and Sirius stared at each other with narrowed eyes; he holding a teasing look whilst you held a deadly one. James and Remus watched the scene with delighted expressions whilst Peter monotonously scrolled through his phone screen.

“Ahem,” Remus cleared his throat with an amused smile, dragging you and Sirius back to reality. “Are there any good apps to download books and to read them?”

You slowly tilted your head in Remus’ direction and, nodding, started to show him the apps you had on your phone for reading purposes and which ones you thought would fit his needs better. Remus avidly listened to your tips whilst downloading each and every app you had mentioned on his own phone.

The day quickly faded into night as you and the Marauders went on and on about the technologies and its functions and soon, the five of you were the only ones in the now silent Common Room, the light coming from the fireplace and the displays of your phones being the only things shining in the almost complete darkness.

“And done!” James exclaimed, getting up from the sofa and stretching himself. “TikTok is already downloaded and ready to be used! Tomorrow we’ll pull the ‘Dance Like a Hippogriff’ prank and Y/N here will film everything so we can upload the edited video on our TikTok account later.”

“Excuse you?” You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.

“It’ll be fun, I promise!” He joined his hands pleadingly. “Come on! Please?” He added at the grimace you made.

“Fine!” You rolled your eyes with a smile after a few seconds. “Now I’m going to bed before another brilliant idea pops up into that twat mind of yours."

Saying goodbye to the Marauders, you walked to the stairs that led to the girls’ dormitory and took a quick look over your shoulder. Before you climbed up the stairs, a smile formed on your lips as you saw the four boys talking excitedly and laughing whilst scrolling through their phones.

[charmandhex]

If you're taking requests can I have blupjeans 4? Please? :0

4. Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft, tender

Hey anon? Hey anon?? You have Real Good Taste.

Special thanks to @capitalnineteen for helping me not panic while writing smooches for the couple that invented love.

~

Lup is content. She has every right to be. This one of the Raven Queen’s babiest Reapers (fine, she’d gotten to the point that repeating Taako’s joke had become unironic) is done with work for the day, having exchanged her feathery cloak and scythe for an impossibly soft oversized cream-colored sweater and thick woolen socks. And if that would seem out of place in the Astral Plane, well, it sure as fuck doesn’t at home, where Lup is comfortably curled up on the couch and under a blue and silver blanket from Istus. In her hands is an open book, its faintly musty scent twining with that of the cinnamon and ginger candle she’d lit earlier.

Outside, it’s a crisp autumn day in the Prime Material Plane. A lively breeze races through the rainbow of leaves still clinging to the trees, while far above a far stronger wind sends faint whisps of clouds sailing through a pale blue sky. The chill in the air heralding the season to come still yields to the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. Only the last reaches Lup here inside though. Golden light pours into the room, setting golden curls and silver yarn shining as well as illuminating the magical symbols and necromantic diagrams painstakingly drawn in the old book.

Okay, so, look, Lup may have picked up the book from a raid on a necromantic cult last week. Maybe.

Lup turns the page and hums. Hm. That’d be an interesting idea for their next at least somewhat condoned if still illicit necromantic experiment.

Okay, she definitely got the book from the raid on the necromantic cult.

The quiet of the room, broken only by the sound of an occasional turn of the page or a gust of wind rattling its way over the windows, is broken by the familiar, delicate rrrrrrrrrrrip of the barrier between this plane and their place of work.

“Hey, babe,” Lup says, looking up from the book as Barry steps through the rift. Her husband’s scythe disappears into nothingness as the tear closes behind him, and he turns to her with a smile.

“Hey, Lup. How is the most beautiful person in any world doing?” Barry asks, taking off his own black-feathered cloak. As expected, beneath the cloak and the scythe and the whole lichy, spooky agent of the Raven Queen vibe, Lup’s husband is as he ever was, one of the plane’s biggest nerds with a denim-clad ass that just won’t quit.

“I don’t know, Barry, how are you doing?” Lup replies, a triumphant smirk on her lips. As expected, even after decades, Barry goes bright IPRE red at the remark.

Barry clears his throat, straightening his glasses, likely trying to will the blush away. Gods, Lup is so in love. “I-I’m great. You?”

“Enjoying my time off, natch.” Lup puts the book down on the coffee table and takes a moment to stretch, cat-like, ears flicking as she does.

“Uh-huh. And how did you manage that?” Barry asks, stepping away toward the line of hooks on the wall where Lup’s cloak already is already hung up.

“I finished my paperwork early,” Lup says, smug and entirely pleased with herself.

Barry pauses, looking back over his shoulder at her. Whatever he sees in her face makes him let out a soft, fond snort as he shakes his head. “What did you bribe Kravitz with?” He calls as he hangs the cloak, trading sensible work boots for slippers. Having fully entered nerd alert mode, Barry quickly returns to his beloved wife.

Lup stifles a snicker, drawing her legs back and patting the newly vacated couch cushion. “How’d you know?”

Barry sits before turning to her, face schooled into solemnity. Lup bites back another giggle. “Well, now, you see, Lup, darling, love of my lives and deaths… liches have True Sight.”

At that, Lup does laugh, and Barry’s face splits into an easy, affectionate smile, the kind Lup might have called sappy if that same smile didn’t turn her own insides to lovey-dovey mush at the sight. If seeing Barry smile like that, at her, because of her, for her, didn’t fill her heart with such love that could anchor her across time and space and still bring her home. But, uh, it kinda does. Like a lot. So she doesn’t say a word, and Lup breaks into her own fond, loving smile.

Slowly, deliberately, just as quietly deliberate as the love they had carefully cultivated for 47 years, Lup rolls forward onto her knees and places her hands on her husband’s warm, steady shoulders. Barry remains still as Lup leans in and kisses him, soft, feather light. Even that simple touch sends a spark through her as the echo of their melody plays in her mind. Lup pulls back and studies Barry for a moment. Half a heartbeat after she does, Barry’s eyes open, and Lup is, not for the first time, struck by the depths of the love in his eyes. Lup’s lips, still electric where they’d touched Barry’s, quirk into a small smile. She leans in again, planting kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, once, twice, three times. The last elicits a quiet laugh, and Lup grins wider as she feels the shaking of his shoulders beneath her hands.

In a flash her arms are wrapped around his neck, tugging him forward as she falls backward into the couch. Barry’s lips are back on hers at once, warm and soft and so familiar. Even in the quiet cycles, where the Light had been found and worlds had been peaceful, there’d always been a sense of urgency, a sense that each kiss could be the last before they lost each other, perhaps for the final time. Now, in the calm and quiet of their comfortable home, in a far happier and more hopeful world- well, they really did have time enough to love each other.

Hey, Lup had said she’d smooch Barry’s brains out when she’d gotten her body back. She most definitely had, but she rather likes continuing to make good on that particular promise.

If the sun is lower in the sky when they finally draw back, breathless, neither of them comments on it. They fidget, rolling onto their sides with Lup throwing the blanket over Barry as well, neither letting go. Comfortable once more, Lup tilts her head in, bringing her forehead to touch Barry’s, their quick breaths mingling.

“Wow,” Barry whispers, seemingly stunned.

Lup might laugh, but for the moment she feels just the same, just as in love and in awe that she is so loved in return. “Taught him how to make elvish bread.”

“Hm?”

“Kravitz. What I traded for paperwork. How to make it. And how to twist it into the right shape.”

That gets Barry’s attention. Gods know he’d spent enough hours having Taako help him practice before presenting anything to Lup. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“How about that?”

“I know, about time, huh?” Lup breathes out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Can we really judge? We took long enough.”

“We took exactly the right amount of time; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Barry’s chuckle seems to reverberate through her, and Lup reaches up to cup his face, running a thumb over his cheek. “Hey, babe?”

“Mm?”

“I think I have a new favorite plane.”

“Mmhmm? Which one?”

Lup leans in to kiss Barry again, but, just before she does, she answers. “This one.”

[the-gay-prometheus]

Frankenstein AU Segment - “Home Again”

Ok fun fact: I’ve been working on a segment for about two weeks now.

Second fun fact: This is not that segment, but instead something I wrote entirely spur of the moment in the timespan of about 1 hour total.

It’s extremely self indulgent, I’ll be honest. From writing an entire big useless paragraph of Henry horseback riding because I’ve been missing horseback riding and horse related things all day, to the entire actual context of this segment being... well... being what I wish I could have through my transition. If anybody wants to be my Henry and support me unconditionally as I go through my own transition that would be greatly appreciated jhebdjdfhbvjhdvbfv /hj

Anyways- So! This is something totally different than all of the other ones I’ve written so far, because it takes place quite a bit before Victor even goes to Ingolstadt - in fact, it takes place before he even chooses the name Victor! That means you’ll see a character named “Em” (who Henry recognizes as “Emily” at first) - and that character is young Victor!

TW: Mention of blood - absolutely harmless in context, but it is mentioned so it’s worth a tw. Otherwise this is a very generally wholesome segment (other than a small argument between Henry and his dad).

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are greatly appreciated!

“Henry! It’s nearly time for supper!”

“I’ll be right in, father!” From a leisurely walk through the green pastures of his home, Henry urged his red roan mare into one final canter across the field. In the golden light of the slowly setting sun, her mane, tail, and the feathering of her hooves flashed like threads of shimmering copper as Henry’s own vibrant auburn hair flew behind him whipping like fire in the breeze.  His hazel eyes set their sights on the stables beyond, and he tapped his heels once more against the mare’s sides, pushing her into a swift gallop. Enthralled by the rush of the wind against his freckled skin, Henry let go of the reins and extended his arms outward. He felt the air pass through his fingers and he imagined instead that they were the feathers of great wings catching the current and soaring through the sky. Though it lasted only a moment, his heart pounded with joy within his chest, still so full of adrenaline even as they approached the gate that led out from the pasture and to the stable. He dropped his hands back to the reins, pulling back gently until his mount slowed her pace back to a walk. Both human and horse panted, the mare chewing idly on her bit as Henry hopped out of the saddle and pulled the reins over her head. He led her into the stable, humming a happy tune to himself with a skip in his step. Grabbing her halter from its hook, he took her into her stall, unbuckling and removing her bridle before replacing it with the halter and tying her to the rope that hung from the wall inside. She stood quietly, each breath sending up gentle plumes of dust that glittered in the light which filtered through the stall window. 

After removing her saddle, he began brushing her patchy roaned coat. Ordinarily she was a steady, quiet mare, but Henry noticed that she kept twisting her ears toward the stall which was used for hay storage. Every now and then she would lift her head and flare her nostrils, turning toward the direction her ears were trained upon. “Do you hear something over there, girl?” Henry asked softly, watching her inquisitively. Nearly as soon as he said it, there was a soft thud from that same location, which caused him to jump and the mare to utter a low nicker. Henry pat her neck gently and cautiously stepped out of the stall, staring down the hall toward the source of the sound. “Hello?” There was a rustle within the hay, then another soft thud - followed by a quiet voice that Henry couldn’t make out what it was saying. Instinctively he grabbed a pitchfork that leaned up against the wall, pointing it toward the stall defensively. “Who’s there?” Then came a cough, more rustling of hay, and then - a small, thin figure with short, messy hair stumbled out into the hallway, promptly tripping over their own feet and falling to the ground. Henry gave the person an odd look and turned the pitchfork upright, resting on it like a walking stick. “Can I… help you?” he asked curiously, confused as to why some stranger was hiding in the hay. The stranger struggled to push themself up, and in the dim light Henry’s eyes widened as he beheld the stranger was covered in dirt and… blood? As they lifted their face, Henry suddenly dropped the pitchfork to the ground in shock. “Emily?! Is that- is it really you?” he breathed, rushing to the figure and kneeling down. Surely enough, the stranger smiled up at him with kind brown eyes.

“Oh hi, Henry,” they managed to croak - before promptly collapsing unconscious.

When Em’s eyes fluttered back open, the first thing he saw was Henry standing over him, a look of worry on his face as he gently rubbed at his dirty skin with a damp towel. He gave the ginger haired boy an odd look. “Uh… Henry?” 

“Good lord thank goodness you’re awake!” Henry exclaimed. Em blinked at him.

“What… what are you doing?”

“Hold still - I’m trying to figure out where all this blood came from!” Em couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Henry. Henry-” He reached out and gently grabbed his arm. “It’s not my blood.” Henry stared, then gave him a curious look, and slowly set the cloth down.

“Oh thank goodness,” he breathed with relief. There was a pause, then his curious expression returned to one of concern. “Whose blood is it?”

“Cadaver,” Em replied simply, turning away and coughing into his shoulder. “It’s a long story.” Henry stared a moment longer, then smiled.

“Well I can’t wait to hear it.” Em smiled in return, but his smile quickly faded when a muffled voice called from somewhere outside. Henry glanced up. “I’ll- I’ll be right back. Father wants me in for supper.” Em nodded. “Don’t go anywhere!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Clerval.” 

Henry sat anxiously at the table, fidgeting with the silverware and wishing he could be back in the stable with Emily. Secretly stuffed into his pocket were a few pieces of bread he intended to smuggle to his dear friend, while the food on his own plate went relatively untouched. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother directly across from him, and as usual there was awkward silence between them. “So. Henry,” his father began, breaking the silence. Henry sank in his chair, wishing he wasn’t being spoken to at the moment. “Have you decided?” Henry glanced up to him.

“Decided? Decided on what?”

“Is that not what you were doing out there? You said that you would be able to think of which trade you want to pursue better while on horseback.” Henry sheepishly looked away.

“Oh. Right. I… yes. I was thinking about it,” he answered at a length. “Definitely was thinking about that.”

“And?” He could feel his father’s gaze on him, and he shrunk down further in his chair.

“And… I still haven’t figured it out yet?” His father sighed heavily, his fork clattering onto his plate as he pressed his head into his palms.

“Henry, you’re a young man now. You need to start taking your future seriously!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

“I’ve got time! Besides, I have an idea of what I want to do but-”

“Please don’t say ‘travel the world and write stories,’” His father cut him off, mentioning his goals mockingly. Henry frowned.

“That is exactly what I want to do. Yes.”

“Traveling and story writing don’t pay, Henry!”

“Yes they do!”

“Not enough they don’t! We have talked about this before Henry - either you take up the family business or you take up a different trade. There is no other option!”

“I have plenty of options! Just let me go to university!”

“Absolutely not, Henry.” Henry groaned, putting his forehead on the table.

“Why can’t you just let me do what I know I’m meant to do?” he grumbled.

“Because this family has a reputation to keep, and you are the only one to keep it!” his father exclaimed. Henry glanced up at his mother, but she simply stayed silent. He groaned louder and looked back at his father.

“Permission to be excused?” he muttered.

“Yes but-”

“Perfect. Thank you. I’ll be back later.” With that, Henry stood and hurried out of the dining room, leaving his father to shout something after him - though his mind was too preoccupied to hear what it was he said.

“Emily?” Henry called out in a quiet whisper as he reentered the stable, lit lamp in hand. He glanced around, waiting for a response, then called out again. “Emily?!” When no response came, he ran to the hay stall to find his friend still lying on the hay, still as stone with his eyes closed. Henry stared at him a moment longer. “...Emily?” Still no response. In the dark, he couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, and he grew frightened. He reached out, grabbing his arm and shaking it. “Emily!”

“Good god Clerval!” Em suddenly exclaimed with a gasp, jumping awake. Henry let out a sigh of relief as he nearly fell back.

“Oh thank goodness you’re ok.”

“Of course I’m ok, Henry! I just spent months walking here from Paris on foot, I’m exhausted,” Em explained. Henry’s eyes widened.

“You got all the way to Paris?” Em thought for a moment, then smiled.

“I did.”

“What was it like?!” Henry exclaimed, his expression brightening. For a moment, Em was lost for words. He had forgotten how much he missed Henry, how much he missed the way his hazel eyes would light up and sparkle at the mention of anything that peaked his interest, how strands of his ginger hair would fall in wavy tangles over his freckled cheeks… he blinked the thoughts away, then grinned.

“It was horrible, disgusting, and absolutely wonderful. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.” Henry chuckled.

“Sounds like Paris to me.” He slowly sat down, turning and resting his back against the hay bales Em lay upon. “So what brought you back? Did things… not work out there?” Em shrugged.

“Things were ok for the most part. It was a rough life, but it was a lot of fun. I made friends, learned a lot about… well about a lot of things, I suppose. Never had a true home, but I felt home enough out there on the streets with the friends I had.” Henry felt a sudden pain in his chest at the sound of that, and he glanced down at the floor. “We got into some trouble though. ...More like I got into some trouble and unfortunately somebody else got partially blamed for it. And then, I guess, I realized I needed to come home.” He looked down at Henry. “Or at least to as much as a home as I’ve got.” Henry turned his gaze up to him and smiled slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here safe now.” Em nodded.

“Me too.” There was silence between them, Em tapping his fingers idly on the hay beneath him as he thought about his next words carefully. “But that’s… not the only reason I came back.” Henry turned his eyes back ahead.

“Oh?”

“Yes. See- there’s something I discovered-”

“Some scientific marvel?” Henry teased, grinning. Em smirked.

“Well yes, but no.” He hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s… I’m… I discovered something about myself.” More silence. “Henry I- … Henry I’m actually…” Em sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled harshly. “I discovered that I’m… a man.” Henry blinked, then looked up at him.

“Is that it?” Em shot his gaze down to him.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’” Henry shrugged. “You’re not… you’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“...I don’t know, most people seem to think it’s crazy- or weird or- unnatural- but it’s not! It’s-”

“Emily. You don’t need to justify yourself to me.” Em froze, staring down at him as he gazed back with a smile. “If you say that’s who you are, then it is who you are. Who am I to say otherwise? Who is anyone to say otherwise? You know yourself better than anyone else.” Henry’s smile suddenly faded as he realized there were tears dripping from Em’s eyes. “I- Was I supposed to be upset?” Em sniffled and let out an awkward laugh.

“No- no I’m just-” He paused, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting but… I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to be just so accepting.” Henry looked up at him with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’ll try not to be too offended by that,” he mused sarcastically. Em giggled and waved his hand dismissively.

“You know what I meant.” Henry nodded. “My point is… thank you. I couldn’t possibly ask for a better friend than you, Henry.”

“I do have one question, though.”

“Hm?” Em looked down at him, suddenly feeling himself fill with anxiety.

“What does this change? I mean… is there anything that’s different about you now?” Em breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well… for one thing, I’ve been going by just Em for a few years now.” Henry nodded, taking a mental note of that. “But I’m still trying to think of a better name for myself. Maybe… you could help me with that at some point?” Henry grinned.

“I’d be honored!”

“Excellent.” With great effort, Em started to sit upright, struggling to put his weight on his shaking arms. “There is… something else, though. Another reason why I came here.”

“Go on,” Henry encouraged, standing and hopping up onto the hay bale to give Em some support to sit upright. Em took a deep breath.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he began. “I need to… perform surgery.” He paused, and turned to look at Henry, who was staring at him blankly. “On myself.”

“Okay! When do we-” Henry began, until what Em had just said fully registered in his brain. “Wait, what?” Em grinned sheepishly.

“I need to perform surgery on myself,” he repeated, more confidently this time. Henry blinked.

“...That sounds incredibly dangerous. Is there something wrong with you? Why can’t you, I don’t know, get a real doctor to help you?” Em frowned.

“Well it’s nothing that’s wrong with me- it’s just…” He sighed. “I’m… I’ve grown up, I guess. And even though I never really felt weird in my body before, things started changing and suddenly it just… didn’t quite feel right anymore, if that makes any sense. Apparently it’s a common symptom of being… well… whatever I am. See- I had this friend, his name was René and he was… you know, the same as me. He used to tell me all the time how he wished there was a way to just get rid of the parts of himself that didn’t feel right, and- well you know me, Henry, when somebody says they wish something was possible, I have to find a way to make it possible.” Henry listened carefully, and nodded with a grin.

“That’s for sure.”

“Well… that’s when I decided I would try to figure it out - that way I could make it happen for him, and maybe even train him so he could do the same for me! Henry, we could’ve changed the world for countless others like us!” Henry blinked.

“...So why didn’t you?” Em suddenly went quiet, then exhaled softly.

“I knew it would take an awful lot of practice, and no doctor would ever reasonably let me apprentice under them for such an undertaking so… I may or may not have taken matters into my own hands.” Henry stared blankly. “Hence… cadavers. René helped me steal the tools I needed and aided me with breaking into the morgue every night so I could practice. All was going well, but it turns out people don’t seem to be overly keen on evidence being tampered with or bodies being ‘desecrated.’ So one night just as I finally got every part of my methods down correctly, we got caught. We both ran, but we had to split up and… I know René slipped but… I was too busy with my own pursuers to turn back for him.” He stared off into the distance, a suddenly sorrowful expression in his eyes. “I hope he’s ok… but it was then that I realized it would be unsafe for me to stay, and the only other person I could think of who could help me with such an undertaking as this… was you.” Henry’s eyes widened.

“Em I hardly think I’m qualified-”

“You don’t have to be! I can teach you. I’ll do most of the work, and you just have to do what I tell you, and everything should work out just fine.” Henry crossed his arms with a sigh. He thought it through, and although he wanted so badly to say no, the look of determination on Em’s face convinced him well enough that this was something his dear friend so desperately needed. 

“As long as you think we can pull it off, you know I’ll always be here to help,” he reassured him with a smile. Em grinned, suddenly lurching forward and embracing him in as tight a hug as he could muster. Henry sat stunned, his cheeks suddenly burning as he felt himself blush, but he nervously chuckled and wrapped his arms around Em in return, not realizing that Em’s own pale cheeks were turning bright pink, until both of them awkwardly released each other and sat there turned away from one another. “Well… I suppose I should be off to bed,” Henry muttered, still with a sheepish smile on his face. Em flopped back down onto the hay, resting his hands behind his head. “We can talk more in the morning and- oh!” Henry pulled out the bread he had smuggled from his pockets, and held it out to Em, who gladly snatched it and immediately began shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth. “Figured you were hungry so… heh. Anyways… I’ll see about bringing you breakfast tomorrow too, just like old times.” Em grinned up at him.

“Jus’ ‘ike o’ ‘imes,” he answered, mouth still full with bread. Henry hopped down from the hay bales, taking his lantern once again.

“I’m glad you came back, Em,” he mentioned, standing just outside the stall door. Em turned and glanced back at him, smiling brightly.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you, Henry. Nothing is ever the same without you, you know.”

“Same to you, Em.” With that, Henry strode out and quietly closed the door behind him. As he started back toward the house, he paused, turning back toward the stable with a bittersweet gaze and a flutter in his chest. You have no idea just how much I missed you, he thought. But you’re here now, and that’s- that’s good enough for me. Filled with a sudden surge of energy, he jumped into the air with an exclamation of joy and ran back to the house, twirling and prancing as he ran until he was dizzy from the thrill. He paused at the door, panting, looking back toward the stable with a massive grin and a glimmer in his eyes. “Oh Em,” he breathed out loud, chest heaving as he caught his breath, “I can’t wait to see the person you become.”

[amintyworld]

Secrets - Dream SMP Drabble

WATERFALL (Part one)    SUNSET (Part two)

A/N: Part 3 is finally here! So, bit of a update - this is indeed NOT the final part as I had planned, since there’s so much I want to cover about my own little backstory about two these two lovebirds, including how they get to the SMP. So, more parts to come, be on the lookout! Also, if you haven’t already, links to the two other parts should be above, please check them out if you’d like! Anyway, as always, enjoy!

TW: Arguing, secrets, surprise pregnancy, miscommunication, vomiting, cursing, roughhousing, injury (Not vv bloody tho). (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

“Alright boys, get down here, breakfast is ready!” Philza heard scampering and thudding footsteps on the stairs as both Tommy and Tubbo raced to the table, smiling and laughing all the way. Wilbur walked down next, the only one out of their pajamas as he sat with his notebook in front of him, scribbling ideas, notes, and lyrics. Technoblade was last, not exactly the morning person of the group, as he passed by his two younger siblings and ruffed their hair lovingly before sitting down with a yawn. Phil quickly set eggs in front of each of them, a warm loaf of bread at the center the baker delivered early in the morning. Techno murmured a sleepy ‘thanks’ as Philza set down a cup of coffee with his plate, and Wilbur got up to grab some orange juice for him and Tubbo, leaving it out so Tommy could pour his own as he insisted.

It was a nice feeling in the mornings with his boys, sitting and eating a nice breakfast as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Philza mused over just how much changed over the last few years - they adopted Tubbo, Technoblade and Wilbur were becoming adults - but yet, things still felt the same. The little family was silent as they ate, enjoying each other’s company as the world began to wake up just outside their windows.

Tubbo, to Philza’s relief, was not as chaotic as the rest of his siblings and was all around a responsible and kind soul - at least when he was alone. When Philza walked inside to Tommy and Tubbo covered head to toe in bee stings due to ‘showing dominance over the bees so they’ll be our pets’, he learned quickly that the two younger brothers together would spur on all kinds of trouble. Luckily, he was used to it from the elder two when they were around Tommy and Tubbo’s age. Philza chuckled remembering when Techno and Wilbur tried to corner that parrot to only run home with nothing but a bunch of scratches, bruises, and covered in feathers - he’d snapped a picture before they both cleaned up, both pink from embarrassment.

“So, I’ll be off today checking in and fixing up the garden, going into town for a while, and then going fishing if I have the time. I should be home by around sunset, though.” Philza declared, taking a swig of his morning coffee.

“Me and Tubbo are gonna go find Mothman and catch a couple of pet bees,” Tommy said. As Philza opened his mouth to respond, Tubbo interrupted. 

“We’ll take our swords and be back by sunset.” Tubbo finished. “And we’ll make sure to follow the path and not get lost.” 

Philza chuckled. “Good.” He smiled. 

“Techno and I were gonna train for a bit - I think I’m getting close to beating him.” Wilbur said, and a loud ‘HA’ erupted from his older brother.

“You wish,” Techno smirked. “The day you beat me one on one is the day I give up eating potatoes.” The pig hybrid did love himself a baked potato, and Philza knew that all too well. Chatter spurred on amongst the family, and Philza just smiled, taking in the moment. 

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

“Jeez, is Techno some kind of mega pig demon?” Sally said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her treehouse, across from Wilbur who looked a little worse for wear. “He went way too rough with you.”

“He didn’t mean to, he just got carried away.” Wilbur defended. “He felt really bad after, I kept telling him it was fine.” Wilbur let out a soft curse as the disinfectant soaked cloth ran over a particularly deep cut on his forehead, and Sally rubbed circles on the top of his hand in a loving gesture. 

“Wil, it’s not fine, you got really hurt.” Sally’s tone turned serious, and Wilbur intertwined their fingers together.

“You’re scared.”

“No shit I am!” Sally yelled angrily before she took a deep breath to calm herself, continuing.. “Wilbur, sure you’re fine now but what if you got worse, and he didn’t stop? What if you got really hurt?”

“I know, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Wilbur gently squeezed her hand. “I promise we’ll be more careful.” 

Sally placed a bandage on the cut on his forehead and planted a soft kiss on it. “Thank you.” Wilbur cracked a smirk as she faced him fully again. 

“How bad’s the damage?”

Sally smiled back. “Just some bruises and cuts, a few days of healing and you’ll be fine. Don’t worry, you still look handsome.”

“Good thing, too,” Wilbur said jokingly. “My face and my guitar’s all I got going for me.”

“Oh please, Beanie Boy.” Sally smiled as she moved to cuddle closer to him, and his arms wrapped around her until they were both comfortable against the wall, Sally’s head leaned against Wilbur’s chest, the girl all too careful in her movements to make sure she didn’t hurt her boyfriend’s many bruises. “Did you win, at least?”

“He called a draw,” Wilbur said. “But, I did manage to use that weapon snatching tactic you taught me.” He laughed a bit. “He totally freaked.”

“Good,” Sally chuckled. “Someone’s gotta keep that pig on his toes.” Sally felt Wilbur shift a bit as he tensed. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just sore,” Wilbur said. “Why do I have a feeling I’m gonna regret most of the fight in the morning?” They both chuckled at the comment.

“I’m sorry, Do you want me to kiss it better?” Sally asked, looking up to her boyfriend in time to see a slight telltale pink on his cheeks. He nodded as Sally shifted to sit up more and began leaving some kisses along his arms wherever she saw a bruise, before leaning in to give him a soft peck on the lips where a small bruise was beginning to form.

“It’s almost sunset, I gotta get home or Phil will kill me,” Wilbur said, before tucking a long piece of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be back tomorrow, though.”

“Good, someone’s gotta help me refill my stash of supplies,” Sally said, smirking. “I’m all out of beetroot for bruise cream, if you haven’t heard.”

“Will do, my salmon,” Wilbur said, getting up, grabbing his sword, bag, and beanie before heading to the entrance.

“Be careful heading back, you’re still healing.”

“Gosh, you sound like Phil.” Wilbur chided sarcastically before Sally gave him a look. “I’ll be careful, I swear.” Wilbur pulled Sally in for a close embrace, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I love you, my salmon.”

“Love you, Wilby.” At the rarely used nickname, Wilbur’s heart melted as he muttered a simple ‘bye’ and climbed down the ladder.

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

Sally didn’t understand what was going on, and she was mostly kind of scared. Standing over a bucket and puking as the sun rose up was not exactly a great sign. Neither was the weird soreness. Maybe she had some kind of flu or something? Either way, one thing was for sure - she didn’t like this, at all. Being a survivor and runner for years on end, she prided herself for being pretty healthy and knowing a lot of good healing tips and tricks to not slow herself down. Now, she felt ashamed. Weak.

She hoped it was just the flu. Grimacing, she swallowed the medicine and took some water and a snack on her way out - She didn’t want to be late for work. Her hair was a bit of a mess and she chewed a bit of mint to disguise the bad breath she gained from this morning. She felt awful but pushed the feeling aside. It must just be a bug or something, had to be.

When she was old enough, she started looking for a job in town to get some money and not have to worry about hunting every night. Sure, Phil always had a spot for her at the table, but even Sally knew how much he was stretched to the limit feeding five. Luckily, she found a pretty cushiony job at the trade center - where she and a handful of others settled disputes over what was a fair trade and what wasn’t. 

As she worked she headed to steady herself every now and then when she felt sick or lightheaded. It just got worse as the days went on, and it got too much for her to ignore. She left early on sick leave and made a quick stop at the library before heading home, determined to figure out what was going on with her and fix it in whatever way possible. She settled in bed with some hot tea and opened the book: ‘Easy to Spot Ailments Hidden in Plain Sight’. At this point, she was fed up feeling horrible and just wanted it to end. Her head ached, her stomach churned with any bit of food she tried to get down. Her shaking hands flipped through the pages as she looked for what matched her list of symptoms in her head - Nausea, light-headedness, fatigue…

‘Pregnancy, in the early stages, is common to have morning sickness, fatigue, tender or sore muscles…’

Her eyes widened at the thought… pregnant…? She scanned the page intently and as it were - most of her symptoms she’d been suffering the past few weeks were right there. Her mind whirred with the thought of the possibility. Wilbur was still trying to find a job in town, and they haven’t even gotten their own space yet - they definitely were not ready. The shapeshifter’s thoughts turned to Wil - if it was really the case, how would he react? Maybe he’ll be done with her for good because of it, they took precautions but not enough, she didn’t do enough to stop herself from getting into this position. Wilbur wouldn’t be ready yet, she isn’t either - maybe he’ll ditch her for his own survival. 

She wouldn’t blame him. 

It took her a few moments to realize she was crying. Her head was clouded with so many doubts, fears and what ifs she didn’t even notice. She wiped her tears away. She needed to keep a clear head, she needed to stay calm. Maybe she wasn’t even pregnant, she had to check with the town healer to make sure. There was probably nothing to worry about anyway, and she’d have gotten so worked up over nothing!

Now, looking over the positive pregnancy test in the healer’s hut, all she could think was: ‘Shit.’

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

Wilbur strummed a bit on his guitar as he sat cross-legged in his bed, Sally snuggled up in blankets next to him, humming constantly. “Have you been writing, Wil?”

“A bit.” Wilbur smiled. “Nothing concrete yet, I’m afraid.” Sally pouted slightly, her lower lip out just so, dramatic enough to make both of them laugh. “Sorry to disappoint, my number one fan. Maybe I could make it up by playing a song request…?”

“Love your songs, Wilby.” Sally said as she nuzzled to his side and he smiled.

“I know, my salmon.” Wilbur crooned as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Now, what song do you wanna hear?”

“Hm… what about the pretty soft one?”

“You never remember the names, do you?” Wilbur joked as he checked and tuned up the instrument. Sally laughed.

“Never.” Sally said. “Luckily I don’t have to.” Wilbur began to strum a soft tune as he sang softly with the music, and Sally drank it all in with a smile, her heart feeling full.

“You and I

We’re different but somehow we fit.

And I promise you

No matter what, I’ll never quit.

Because you are the good days,

The tough days,

When I feel like I can’t breathe,

I love you, I hope you like me.”

Sally began to sing along as well, and when the song was done, Wilbur put his guitar down and cuddled Sally close. He wrapped his arms around her until she was completely comfortable and they both laid there, just content in each other’s arms. Though Wilbur could tell she was happy, he also could tell something else was up - she fidgeted every now and then, seemingly never comfortable. He knew her well enough to know when something was bothering her - the way her eyes focused too much on the blanket, lost in thought and her eyebrows furrowed were her telltale signs. “Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing’s on my mind, I’m just tired.”

“You’re fidgeting, you’re staring into space - did something happen at work?” Wilbur asked, concerned. “If anyone’s bothering you-”

“No, no. Nothing’s going on at work.” Sally said. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Wilbur asked, and he couldn’t help but notice her hesitation.

“Yes…” She said before she looked around the room a bit, her body fidgeting more violently. “Where’s the bathroom again…?”

“Just down the hall.” Wilbur grew concerned as he noticed her shaking body rush out of the room. Did… did he do something wrong…? He heard the door quickly slam, and he couldn’t help but replay the events in his head over and over. Did he make her uncomfortable? Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to cuddle her, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“You okay?” Wilbur looked up to see Philza standing in the doorway casually, looking a bit concerned. That’s when WIlbur noticed how hard he was gripping the blanket on the bed, staring off into space.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I dunno if she is, though.” Wilbur said.

“I heard the slam.” Philza stated. 

“Phil, how do you know if someone’s uncomfortable around you?” Wilbur asked, and Phil’s eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“I guess it depends on the person, sometimes you can tell by their body language... Why?”

“Sally’s been off, she’s not acting like herself. I’m worried about her, I know something’s causing her to be like this, and I dunno if it’s me.” Wilbur said honestly, and Philza’s face turned to a warm comforting smile.

“It’s not you, Wil. I know she loves you just as much as you love her.” Philza said, certain.

“If it’s not me…” WIlbur started. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know, if I’m honest. But i wouldn’t worry too much over it, okay? I’m sure she’ll tell you what’s going on when she’s ready to.” Phil reassured him. As he told his son, he too tried to keep his worries at bay. He didn’t want to get in the middle of his son’s love life, but if something really bad was happening to the shapeshifter, Phil wanted to help.

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

Philza tried to stay calm as the girl broke down into tears over the two words that spilled over her lips. Part of him wanted to scream, to scold… they were both in their early twenties, but Phil still saw them as kids, kids who didn’t know what to do and were too young to be parents yet. He was mad at them for not being careful, he was upset that Sally felt the need to hide it, and most of all he felt scared for both of them. For the first time in his life, Phil couldn’t protect them. He couldn’t just pull out his sword and fight it all and make all the monsters and scary things go away, and it scared him. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second to process, before handing the crying girl a tissue, doing his best to calm her.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I… I felt so ashamed that I let this happen, I-” Sally’s voice shook. “If Wilbur knew, he’d probably leave, I-”

“Hey.” Phil’s voice was stern but soft. “You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this, it isn’t your fault, okay?” Sally looked to the floor. Phil rubbed her trembling shoulders as a few moments of silence passed between the two. Phil looked firm. “You’ve gotta tell him.”

“No… no I can’t…” Sally said, images flashing through her head of his disgusted face, glaring at her coldy, telling her that if she really cared and respected him, loved him, she would have been more careful, telling her that he wasn’t willing to get dragged down into her mess, so she’ll just have to deal with it.

“Sally, he’s gonna figure it out eventually. Would it be better if you told him, or if he figured out you kept it from him too late?” Philza said.

“He’s done so much for me, I don’t want to burden him with this. He doesn’t deserve to pay for my mistake.” Sally said softly.

“But it’s not your mistake, it’s not ‘your’ anything, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“Then who can I blame, Phil? Why did this happen, then?!” Sally snapped. “What am I supposed to do now… what can I do now?!” Silence once again engulfed the room as Phil sat and slowly took the shapeshifter’s hands in his.

“You know, when I figured out I was going to be a Dad, I was so scared. I was 22 with no stable job, moving from place to place, living off the land, that’s no way to raise a family.” Philza said, staring into space as he spoke, recalling the memory. “I learned a lot, then - like some things happen without a reason… bad things, but also really good things. Amazing things. And, I know that even now, I’m still scared about it all, but I know you’ll both get through it together just fine. You care too much about each other to let anything get in the way of that.” His gentle expression met hers. “What you’re gonna do now, is you’re going to breathe, finish your cup of tea, and relax. Then when Wilbur comes back from getting the honey with Tommy and Tubbo, you’re gonna look him in the eyes and tell him, even if you’re scared. Because as much as you’re afraid of losing him, he’s afraid of losing you, too.”

Sally swallowed thickly, nodding. “Then what?”

“Then, we’ll figure everything out together, okay?” Phil took his own tea cup in his hands and sipped, looking out the window as the sun began to set. Sally, with shaking breaths, sipped her tea as well as the two sat in a comfortable silence. When the door opened and shouts erupted from the hallway, Phil gave Sally’s hand one final squeeze before getting up and taking their empty tea cups to the kitchen. 

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

“Go. Take your mind off everything for a bit.” Philza had told him as he practically pushed him out the front door. “You can’t just be anxious, worried and cooped up in your room over a girl. Take a break.” When he tried to protest, Philza put his hand up, silencing him. “Besides, Techno’s too busy today to go with them, and someone’s gotta make sure they get home in one piece. Enjoy yourself and have fun, okay?”

Now, sitting under the cover of a bush, all three of them - Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo - looked over toward the bee’s nest. “Okay, what’s the plan here?” Tubbo asked, and Tommy smiled, a plan already forming in his mind.

“Okay, so you lure all the bees out with some flowers, while Wilbur and I get the honey. If it backfires..” Tommy hit his fist against his hand. “We’ll hit ‘em with Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B..?” WIlbur asked curiously.

“Well, it's a highly complicated-” Tubbo began.

“-and a simplistic plan that has always gotten us out of trouble so far.” Tommy said, which did not do much to help Wilbur’s new worries over Plan B.

Tubbo picked a huge pile of lilies and daisies and nervously walked closer while Tommy gave him a thumbs up from behind the bush. “You got this, Bee Whisperer!” He hashly said softly, while Wilbur looked over to him. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” WIlbur said, looking over at Tubbo, ready to tackle him to the ground if things went south. “I know bees like flowers, but I’m pretty sure they can tell the difference-”

“Oh yeah, Tubbo’s got this.” Tommy reassured him. “He’s the Bee Whisperer, after all.” A large glass jar landed with a ‘thunk’ on the soft grass. “You’ll hold the jar while I get the honey.”

“Do you even know how to get honey from the nest?” Wilbur asked, and Tommy looked confused.

“Yeah, you just stick your hand in, and-”

“No, nope, we’re not doing that.” WIlbur said. “You’re holding the jar, I’m getting the honey.” He looked over the bush, and to his surprise, the bees flew around Tubbo peacefully, landing on the flowers he held as Tubbo let out a weird buzzing noise from his mouth. Huh - the Bee Whisperer… cool. 

Tommy muttered angrily in protest as he hauled the jar over at his signal, and Wilbur picked up a stick and slowly began to put globs of honey in the jar.

“Is the reason I’m not doing it because of your women problems?”

“Shut up, Tommy-” Wilbur harshly said under his breath, trying to focus. “You’ll alert the bees.”

“Well excuse me for trying to distract myself, this thing’s heavy-”

“Shut up.” Wilbur muttered angrily. Sure, it was kind of harsh, but he was the one who was complaining. They were about halfway done filling the jar when  a few bees began to fly back to the nest, and Tubbo tried to call them back to no avail.

“I think it’s time for Plan B, Wil-”

“No, it’s just a few bees, Tommy…”

One bee in particular decided to land on Tommy’s nose, and that was it. “PLAN B!” He shouted as he capped the honey jar and gave it to Wilbur as he noticed all the bees begin to run back to the nest, sensing danger. Wilbur pushed him away from the nest. “Run!”

Well, Wilbur did not need to be told twice. He rushed away as Tubbo ran after him toward their hiding place in the bush. Tommy followed soon after, covered in honey and bee stings, his hands particularly sticky. Wilbur looked over to see the nest destroyed. He flicked Tommy’s forehead. “That was a terrible plan, you idiot!”

“Ow!” Tommy rubbed the spot a bit as it burned in pain. “Hey, it worked didn’t it? We’re all safe.”

“You can’t just punch away all your problems!” Wilbur shouted. “You could have gotten really hurt!”

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said quietly, looking bothered by his older brother’s tone. Wilbur sighed, his arms crossed. Though it was good to let his frustrations out, he shouldn’t have snapped at him - Tommy was far from the one who’d been aggravating him recently. Tubbo looked at the two, then to the jar.

“Well hey,” He said, smiling, trying to lighten the tense mood. “Look at how much honey we’ve got.” He moved the almost full jar in front to show off. “This has gotta be enough honey for the bee farm, Phil’s gonna be impressed - we make a pretty good team.” Tommy brightened a bit at his friend’s words, though still kind of hurt, and moved to take the jar from Tubbo.

“We should be heading back, the sun's almost down.” Tommy said as he stood, picked up the jar and walked off, Tubbo close behind, and then Wilbur at the back. 

Wilbur would be lying if he said the past few weeks had been easy - he tried his best to just stay calm, but every time without fail Sally would always rush away, or snap at him. If she was upset with him, he wished she’d just tell him instead of playing this stupid guessing game. He felt like he was walking on eggshells around her, and he hated it. He didn’t like all this secrecy, he didn’t like not being able to just talk with her the way they used to. He was upset and angry with Sally, he just wanted to know what’s going on, is that such a hard thing to ask?

He scoffed to himself - he was supposed to be keeping his mind off it, but he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t even relax when things were so tense with her, how pathetic is that…?

“Wilbur?”

“...What?” He asked, snapped out of his thoughts by Tubbo, who pointed ahead.

“This is the right direction, right?”

“I’m not Techno, but… I think…” He looked around, scrambling for some familiar landmark. Tommy was in front, uncharacteristically quiet. Then, he spotted a rotten tree log, and it clicked in his mind where they were. “Yes, just a bit that way.” He moved toward the front, and Tommy kept his eyes forward. Feeling awkward, Wilbur touched the sft fabric of his beanie, taking in his hands and running his fingers over it, taking a breath before finally breaking the silence.

“Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Tommy’s eyes were fixated on the jar for now. “You’ve been so off lately, and I just thought maybe if we dragged you on some crazy adventure, I’d get you back. But it still followed us, I don’t understand… is it me?”

“No, I… it isn’t, Tommy.” Wilbur said, focusing on the knitted stitches as he formed the words to say. “I’ve just been- Things with me and Sally have been... complicated, recently. Still, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“So, you really are having women problems.” Tommy’s tone was serious, an oddity for the usually joking teen. “You really care about her a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah… yeah, I do.” Wilbur breathed.

“No wonder. I haven’t seen you this torn up about anyone in… in well, forever.” Tommy smiled, not joking or smirking, but just smiled. “We’re here for you, you know.”

“I know.” Wilbur smiled as the two made eye contact. “Thank you, Tommy.”

“Does this mean you’re not mad at each other anymore?” Tubbo asked from behind them, and the two brothers smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah I think we’re done.” Tommy said as Tubbo wrapped his arms around both of his brothers shoulders with a relieved smile. 

“Good, because I did not want to be walking home in that awkward silence for another hour.” With that, laughter erupted from all three. 

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

Philza smiled, eyebrows raised in a bit of surprise as he took the jar of honey from Tommy, looking at his condition. “Should I even ask?”

“We used Plan B.” Tubbo said with a smile, making Tommy smirk.

“I punched a thing.” Tommy said confidently, and Philza laughed. 

“Go get cleaned up, both of you - and don’t forget to apply that sting cream.” The two boys marched to the bathroom as Philza set their prized jar on the counter. Back in the living room, Wilbur’s gut ached uncomfortably as Sally walked toward him, giving him a sad smile. 

“Hey.” Her hands found their way into his and their fingers interlocked. It felt… nice.

“Hey.”

“Do you, uh… can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah. Okay.”

Sally’s hands never left his as they sat down on his bed in his room, the door closed behind them. Though for the past few weeks Wilbur had so much he wanted to say to his girlfriend, now he couldn’t seem to find any words as they just sat in silence for a few moments. The fur on Sally’s ears and tail stood on end, and she took a deep breath, looking at their hands as she finally spoke.

“Okay, Wil… there’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”

Wilbur’s heart felt uneasy by your nervousness, worries filling his mind of finally figuring out the truth… and if he didn’t like what it was. If Sally decided to break up with him - all the uncomfortableness would make so much sense, why would she drag it out for this long… he really hoped it wasn’t that, but… it seemed more and more probable. 

“You’ve probably noticed I’ve been acting weird, right?” She asked as he nodded. “Well, remember when I told you that I used to not be attached to anything, because I knew it could only lead to disaster?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well… I’m attached to you, a lot. I’ve realized it lately, and I’ve realized I don’t… I don’t want to lose you. I was so scared that if I told you, I would, and I… I love you too much to lose you, Wil.”

Is this what she’d been upset about?

“You’re never going to lose me, Sally. I promise…” He said, relaxing a bit as his mind whirred about the entire situation. He kissed her forehead softly as he pulled her in for a comforting embrace. “I promise I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Sally smiled, beginning to relax a bit more, but still a bit nervous. “That’s why it’s been so hard to tell you, Wil.”

“Tell me what?”

Sally took another deep breath. “Wilbur, I’m pregnant.”

Wilbur blinked a few times, trying to process what his girlfriend had just said. Pregnant. She… she was pregnant. That was not what he was expecting her to tell him in the slightest. But, it did explain some things - her frequent bathroom trips, for one. His mind slowly began to put the pieces together, how it made so much sense…

“You serious…?” He asked her, and she smiled, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“One hundred percent, Wilby.” Her voice shook with nervousness as she mustered a smile, not knowing what he’d do or say next. Wilbur broke out into a huge smile as he took Sally into his arms and spun her around as the two laughed, smiling. Wilbur was so relieved that it wasn’t what he thought, that it was the farthest thing from his worries. All the anxiety, the fear… it all went away. They both fell into the bed, smiling and laughing. Wilbur planted a soft kiss on Sally’s cheek as he moved to cuddle her tightly in his arms. “So… you’re not upset with me?”

“No, why would I?” Wilbur said. “Of course, I mean, it’s unexpected… but, we’ll get through it together.” His attention quickly turned to her, his relief turning quickly into concern. “Are… are you okay? I can’t imagine what you’re going through, if you even want the baby-”

“I’ve had lots of time to think about it.” Sally laughed. “And, I’ll admit I had mixed feelings at first - partly because of what you’d think, but partly because I’ve never even thought about kids, you know? It always seemed so far off.”

“Well, if you’re uncomfortable about it, we can always talk about other options, or…” Wilbur said, trying to reassure her.

“No. No… I…” Her eyebrows furrowed, and her ears flicked back and forth. “I think I wanna keep it.” She looked over to Wilbur as her hands found their way back into his. “I was so scared of losing everything that I kept this from you for so long… I don’t want to be scared anymore.” She laid her head against his chest, finding the words as her eyes were glued on their hands. “I want… I want you, Wilbur. I want this.”

“Are you sure, we don’t have to decide anything right now, I don’t want to pressure you-”

“Wilbur.” Sally reached up to cup his cheek with a comforting smile, feeling happy, relieved, and content. Of course, part of her was scared of the unknown, but Sally knew that what Phil had told her, what Wilbur told her was the absolute truth - she and Wilbur would get through it together. Her hand moved his over her stomach, and Wilbur couldn’t help but smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

You wouldn’t see it at first glance, but they were both absolutely terrified at the new adventure waiting for them. Yet, somehow, in each other’s arms, they felt safe, secure. Like they could do anything. I guess, looking to what would come next, that was more true than either of them would think.

[jaskiersvalley]

AAA I loved that Jaskier attacking Stregobor -fic. I have re-read your fics multiple times and the centaur ones are my favorite (jaskier is my fav..) . I'm going on a 4 hour train trip the day after tomorrow (I'm terrified of trains and travel), so I'm probably going to use reading your blog as a distraction from anxiety heh. Thanks for doing what you do!

Wishing you safe travels on the train, Nonnie! For what it’s worth, I’m super proud of you for doing it despite being terrified of trains and travel. Will definitely be keeping you in my thoughts today as you make your journey (hopefully you’re off to do something nice !). To keep you well supplied with distractions, have a whole new AU just for you!

Witchers were an abomination but they were a necessary creation. Wingless and half wild with blood lust, society feared them, shied away from their unnatural looks even if they were created and not born like that. The trials and mutations stripped them of their wings, left them grounded and unreadable. Society was too used to reading social cues from wings, someone without them was a blank, emotionless figure.

However, they were an unwanted necessity. Airborne monsters were easy enough to deal with, there were teams and departments celebrated for their heroics in dealing with harpies and griffins. But things like arachasae, nekkers and drowners needed to be controlled and taken down. However, wings were too vulnerable and delicate to be subjected to being dunked in filthy water or crawling into dark, damp caves with. It was how witchers came into existence. They were given strength, stamina and healing power in exchange for their wings and their worth in the eyes of society. Needed but universally loathed, if a witcher was in town, people held their wings tight to their bodies for fear of a witcher getting jealous and tearing it off, fashioning fake wings for themselves out of them.

Jaskier’s wings were large, brown with white tips. He was especially proud of how the whites sparkled in the sunshine. It led to him preening, rubbing oils into the feathers to keep them perfect. He also spoke a lot with his wings, lifting them, flaring for dramatics, fluttering when excited and puffing up to flirt with anyone who gave him the time of day. Spotting a witcher in the corner of a tavern, his wings flared out, showing off and flirting out of habit. He wasn’t deterred by the lack of a wing twitch of dismissal or an answering fluffing of acceptance. Instead, Jaskier sat down at the table with a wide smile.

As far as first meetings went, it wasn’t Jaskier’s finest but Geralt didn’t verbally (or physically) eviscerate him for approaching which was as good as accepting the propositions as far as Jaskier was concerned. He was working with limited information so he had to do his best and hope.

The more he trailed after Geralt, the more he learned to read the smaller nuances of his body. When his shoulders tightened, Jaskier knew Geralt was worried. But a small raise of the corner of his lips meant mirth or fondness. Not to mention the tick of a jaw muscle which only ever came about when Geralt was engaging some horrible creature. As much as he denied it, Jaskier knew it meant worry, maybe even fear. No matter what anybody said, Jaskier knew that witchers felt emotions as deeply as anyone else, they just didn’t have the means to express them in the same way.

Life on the road was not an easy one. Jaskier soon became glad his wings were mostly brown, the whites were dust stained and less than glamorous. Oils and cleaning products had to be used sparingly because they ran out sooner than they got to a town that stocked Jaskier’s preferred brands. It was a worthwhile trade off, oils in exchange of inspiration and a muse for his art.

They were sat in another clearing, perched on logs and Jaskier was trying to reach the base of his wing where a few feathers were tangled and in desperate need of a tidy. One of them was probably loose but there was no way for Jaskier to see what he was doing. From the side, Geralt was pretending not to watch him struggle.

“You could help rather than gawk,” Jaskier huffed, annoyed that his arm wouldn’t bend exactly as he needed it. What use were good, strong bones when they stopped him from reaching the base of his wing?

Silently, Geralt stared at him before grunting. “You don’t want me help.”

“I think you’ll find I blood well do. Come and make yourself useful.”

Jaskier thrust the oil towards Geralt and huffed to hurry him along. He watched as Geralt’s eyes widened and he stood up, the most hesitant Jaskier had ever seen him. Steady hands took the proffered oil and Geralt settled on his knees behind Jaskier.

“See the feathers at the base? They’re giving me such trouble and itch like crazy.”

Careful hands reached to untangle them and Jaskier heard Geralt gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured. Without seeing him, Jaskier could read him so much easier. “I didn’t mean to.”

Not quite sure what had happened, Jaskier hummed and twisted to look back at Geralt who had a brown feather between his fingers and was staring down at it in horror.

“I’m too brutish for something as delicate as your wings.” Geralt made to stand up but Jaskier flared his wing, trapping him.

“It was loose. You need to pull a lot harder than that.” A suspicion was swirling in the darkness of Jaskier’s mind. “Have you ever touched wings before.”

Never before had Geralt looked so timid. Eyes wide, he looked up at Jaskier before his gaze skittered away. A small shake of his head told Jaskier everything.

“Well then,” he said and stretched his wings out wide in invitation, “have your fill.”

At first, nothing happened and Jaskier almost started worrying that he’d gone too far. Usually only mates and family groomed each other. Though he doubted Geralt knew that, having spent so long without wings. So he tried to tamp down on the emotions bubbling away in his chest. They were all driven from his mind with the first, hesitant touch that skimmed across the ridge of a wing.

Each touch was light, barely there and Jaskier could hear how gently Geralt was breathing, barely making any noise.

“You can touch all you want,” he reassured. Gradually, the touches got braver, after a few more loose feathers dropped thanks to Geralt, he settled into the moment.

Fingers buried themselves into each wing and Jaskier gasped at the touch. Geralt growled a little. “You’re so soft.”

As Geralt’s hands dug into the feathers, a thumb brushed against an oil gland at the base of a wing and Jaskier stifled a groan. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him there. Though he was free with his body and affections, there were some taboos even he didn’t break with a stranger. But Geralt was no stranger. They had been travelling together for so long now.

“Am I hurting you?” Geralt asked, frozen.

“Quite the opposite.” The admission didn’t fluster Jaskier as much as he had expected. “Your touch is very intimate.” The hand moved though Jaskier could feel the reluctance in it. “It’s a welcome touch, if you’re interested.”

A soft, quiet “yes” was barely audible but the touch returned and Jaskier bit his lip when Geralt mirrored his touch on the other wing too.

He didn’t last too long without begging. “I want to touch you too.”

Hesitant, Geralt moved from behind Jaskier. It was all too easy to tug him down to straddle Jaskier’s lap and his arms wound under Jaskier’s, returning to playing with the bast of his wings.

Instinctively, Jaskier’s hands wrapped around Geralt, hands splayed flat on his back. For all the scars he had, there wasn’t even that much to remind them of the fact he had been human once. Exploring the expanse of a smooth back, Jaskier shuddered. He was a little disappointed Geralt�� back wasn’t as sensitive as his but all it meant was that he got to explore and try new things.

Jaskier was delighted to find that nipping along Geralt’s jaw and kissing down his neck were met with favourable reactions. It emboldened him until their lips were pressed together, tongues licking against each other playfully.

It was a first that was definitely worth remembering. Geralt was so careful until Jaskier all but growled at him to grip his wings better. While lovers had done that before, none compared to Geralt and his raw power. There was no doubt in Jaskier that if he wanted to, Geralt could rip his wings off without even exerting himself. Instead, he was so careful and gentle with them, cherishing each touch, nuzzling under Jaskier’s chin and mouthing at the skin there as they fucked. While Geralt didn’t have wings that flew out to full span to shake and quiver with pleasure, there was no missing his enjoyment. Soft words, half lost murmurs dipping into growls and whines. Never before had Jaskier felt so worshipped and pampered.

They didn’t really mention it the next morning. Jaskier would have almost worried but, a few days later, he was unpacking bags from Roach for the night. At the bottom of the satchel for the bedrolls, he saw a handful of carefully stored feathers he recognised. They were the ones Geralt had loosened and pulled. Jaskier hadn’t realised they had been gathered up, cleaned of any dust and stashed away. There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to keep adding to the collection. Maybe Geralt would appreciate a couple of white ones added to them when the time came.

However, the first white feather Jaskier shed didn’t end up in the bag. Instead, Jaskier brushed Geralt’s hair out of his face and pushed the quill through the bun he’d managed to put it up into. The fact they were in the middle of a tavern and Jaskier was declaring in a very public setting his claim on Geralt was only a secondary motive. As much as Jaskier wanted Geralt to be his, he also wanted to be Geralt’s. What he didn’t expect was for Geralt to smile, touch the feather now in his hair and then hold a hand up.

From a bag, he pulled a dagger, ornate with flowers and a wolf on the handle. Understanding the gesture, Jaskier accepted the offered dagger and tucked it into his waistband. With a stroke over Geralt’s cheek, he got up, slinging his lute across his chest, staring up the strumming for the first song of his set. If there was a slight swagger to his steps, a proud smile, nobody would have picked up on it because all eyes were on his puffed up wings as he showed off for Geralt and nobody else.

[tcnks]

THE ROOM IS ON FIRE AND SHE’S FIXING HER HAIR—

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“Sometimes he looked at her and thought, Gosh, I wonder what’s underneath all that anger, all that hard glossy armor? Maybe there’s just an innocent, wounded little girl in there who wants to come out and play and be loved and get happy. But now he wondered if maybe that little girl was long gone, or if she’d ever been there at all. What was under all that armor, all that anger? More anger, and more armor. Anger and armor, all the way down.” — The Magician’s Land, Lev Grossman. 

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Nymphadora Patagonia Teodora “Fabiola” Black Tonks. Or, understandably, just Tonks. One of the most excruciating moments of a young Tonks’s life was the dissociative experience that came from hearing Professor McGonagall read her entire name aloud (Baptismal name included, as if they didn’t have enough to deal with, though her dearly departed Godfather’s addition had thankfully not made the cut) stony-faced and with suspicious volume, at the Sorting Ceremony. It was a humiliation that took years to live down, which is probably why a repeat offense at her Auror Academy graduation ceremony broke down her last, tired, moments of resolve. Only her nearest and dearest can get away with anything other than just Tonks these days.  NICKNAMES: Dora. Peuchen. Dorita. Estrellita. (An increasing array of absurd petnames that she bears with varying levels of grace.) AGE: 29 BIRTHDAY: April 6, 1973 GENDER: Demigirl. PRONOUNS: She/They BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood. SPECIES: Metamorphmagus (Wixen).

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Andromeda Dorea Tonks nee Black. FATHER:  Edward “Ted” Álvaro Sepulveda Tonks

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Daniella Pineda BUILD: Small but athletic. HAIR: Variable.  HAIR COLOR: Variable. EYE COLOR: Variable. SKIN COLOR: Variable. DOMINANT HAND: Left. ANOMALIES: (Everything) Tattoos; a mish mash of stick’n’poke, magical and non-magical tattoos that have been amassing over the years. SCENT: Roasting coffee beans, oranges, cinnamon, honey. ALLERGIES: Unemployment. Children under the age of four. FASHION: Eclectic. Entirely dependent on her moods.  NERVOUS TICS: While she’s gotten much better at controlling her Metamorphmagus abilities over the years, it still takes a tremendous amount of effort to prevent her emotions from influencing them. This means that there are definite tells to be found in her appearance as to what her mood is, particularly in times of high emotional stress. The rule of thumb has always been that the darker her hair is, the moodier she is.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: A flat located above Dogweed & Death Cap, Diagon Alley. BORN: Porthmeor, Cornwall. RAISED: A cottage right on the waterfront, Porthmeor, Cornwall. PETS: None that are hers, specifically. She recently gave a dog to her parents in the hopes it might absorb some of their attention. CAREER: Former-Auror. Current Head of Security for Club Raven. EXPERIENCE: Auror’s Academy Graduate, 1994. Eight and a half years as an active duty Auror before suspension.  EMPLOYER: Cavalier Avery. POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Light.  BELIEFS: Alastor Moody was (and still is) the greatest auror of their time. That blame falls as much on the shoulders of those who fail to take action as those who commit the crime. That neutrality really isn’t an option when there is a choice to be made about human rights.  MISDEMEANORS: She is an officer of the law. FELONIES: .. In the name of the law? (No.) DRUGS: She really does care about her career. SMOKES: Has never once made it through an entire cigarette. ALCOHOL: Yes. DIET: A steady diet of leftovers that her father’s filled her freezer with.  LANGUAGES: Spanish, English. A creative combination of both. PHOBIAS: She is terrified of losing her abilities or the prospect of failure. HOBBIES: Finding trouble wherever she goes. Fixating on work. Annoying Moody. Terrorising her cousins. TRAITS:  + Vibrant / - Tactless: Loud. Energetic. Brash. Annoying. There were many ways in which Tonks’ existence could be quantified, but subtle was not one of them. Over time Tonks has taken to wearing her loud reputation like her own coat of arms; her very best and worst attributes flaunted with a deliberateness that seems almost too knowing, too on the nose, to not be covering for something. Arrogance and recklessness, hot-headed impulsiveness and a particularly caustic brand of wit wielded with a blunt charm that she’s grown increasingly fond of throwing in the face of the people who would whisper behind her back about just where here loyalties lie these days. The flippancy with which she greets the world, like she’s in on the joke that the rest of the world hasn’t quite caught the punchline of, only seems to grate on those who wish she’d treat the importance of her position with a little more respect. Tonks lives her life at full volume, with little regard for the opinions or delicate feelings of others who would ask her to reign it in, just a little, for their own comfort. + Driven / - Reckless: Nobody could ever say that Tonks did not possess an iron will, when it came to the things she wanted in life. Underneath all that vibrant glossy armour she wears like a warning sign, Tonks’ honourable qualities lurk: she may not always enjoy the banal, everyday routine of being an Auror, just as she may not think much of the people in charge, but Tonks is dedicated and steadfast in her job and worked tirelessly to get there. She has proven, time and again, a willingness to make the hard choice and put the greater good over her own reputation or honour. It takes a certain kind of steel to say precisely what is on your mind, to act even when duty and honour and all those boring noble virtues they try to instil in young Aurors tell you not to. She has never lacked for that sort of courage: the kind that requires a certain amount of defiance and a whole lot of audacity (and the willingness to circumvent every rule of authority, when your real loyalties and values are tested). Tonks has been forging the steel in her spine since she was old enough to frustrate her parents with her own headstrong opinions on what she wanted from life and how that differed from their hopes for her, and if she did not flinch (often) beneath her father’s gentle disappointment than there was certainly no one in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who could make her cringe. And that was the truth of it: what people called boldness was only a matter of knowing what you wanted and being unafraid of what it would take to get it — and there was no length that Tonks was not willing to go to in order to do what’s right. + Insightful / - Nosy: If there was one thing that Alastor Moody taught her during those long years in the Academy, it was the value of deeds over words. The department may have been overrun, of late, with those too preoccupied by political ambitions to see the bigger picture and be willing to ruffle feathers, but Tonks has always been more insightful than she’s given credit for. Her knack for reading a room and the intentions of the people in it had been honed by her naturally suspicious mentor and years spent studying faces intently, all their little quirks and shapes, in order to recreate them in the mirror. For better or for worse, when put into a tight corner Tonks does not falter and she does not hesitate. Those who would call her impulsive would probably be correct, but she vastly prefers decisive and while her approach doesn’t always end well, she’s resourceful enough to almost always land on her feet running.  The talents of a fighter, however, are not the talents required of a diplomat and lately her propensity for digging her nose into things that the higher ups have deemed off limits have landed her in hot water within the department. While Tonks has always considered her talent for thinking on her feet, acting decisively without wasting time on the buffering, to be her strongest asset, she fears that in order to return to the job she worked so hard to get, it will be inaction that is required of her this time around. Trading her autonomy for one man’s whims again is not something Tonks relishes the idea of, especially when there are dire consequences for turning a blind eye to what might be coming.

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Porthmeor Cove, Cornwall. SPORTS TEAM: The Holyhead Harpies / La Rojas. GAME: Quidditch. Football if her dad is the one asking. MUSIC: Smashing Pumpkins. MOVIES: Jurassic Park (for sentimental reasons obviously.) FOOD: The free kind. BEVERAGE: Coffee.  COLOR: Varying shades of pink, magenta and red.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Hufflepuff. WAND (LENGTH, FLEXIBILITY, WOOD, & CORE): Red Oak, 13 3/4″, Bendy, Dragon Heartstring. AMORTENTIA: Woodsmoke, Jasmine, Bourbon, Honeysuckle. PATRONUS: Jackrabbit. BOGGART: Herself, without her abilities.  Barty Crouch Jr.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good. MBTI: ESTP-A MBTI ROLE: The Entrepreneur  ENNEAGRAM: Seven ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Enthusiast TEMPERAMENT: Choleric. WESTERN ZODIAC: Aries.  CHINESE ZODIAC: Ox. PRIMAL SIGN: Hippopotamus.  TAROT CARD: The Chariot, The Hierophant. TV TROPES: Blue Collar Warlock, Revisiting the Cold Case, Boisterous Bruiser, Allergic to Routine,  Heroic Resolve, Old Cop/Young Cop. SONGS: Sabotage - The Beastie Boys / Reptilia - The Strokes / Tonight, Tonight - Smashing Pumpkins / I Am The Highway - Audioslave / Time to Pretend - MGMT.

[m-feys]

I would tell you that I loved you (If I thought that you could stay)

one shot | set after COE in a Ianto never dies au | date night | Ianto POV | Jack/Ianto | 2500~ words | can also be read on my ao3 (m_feys) |

-

They decide to walk to the upscale restaurant. They're close enough that their jackets brush together as they move, but they don't touch. They often don't. Ianto used to be content with that, had been happy about it, even, that he could pretend to be something other than deeply in love with this man in the eyes of other people.

Now he's not so sure, but Jack still doesn't touch him in public, save for the reassuring hand to his shoulder on special occasions. No, Jack reins himself in. Ianto is not sure he'll ever have a proper scope of just how much. But he understands that the culture Jack had been born into, one some three thousand years into the future, was one where touch was freely given and love didn't get held back. Jack had changed so much since he was a young man, that was something Ianto could easily understand.

Right now, he's traded in his slacks and suspenders for a proper suit, a deep grey color with a pale blue dress shirt. It's buttoned-up neat and his hair's been slicked back. He looks like someone who stepped straight out of 1945, as he often does, even more so now. Ianto is certain the look is more than love for the aesthetic, there must be something about the era he's particularly fond of. The tie he's wearing is coral blue with deeper blue swirls twisting across the fabric. Jack knows its one of his favorites.

They sit at their reserved table, it's one on the second floor, by the window with a stunning view of the bay. You can see Flat Holm from here, though the island dark, save for the faintest of lights in the distance.

Ianto shrugs off his jacket and drapes it on the chair behind him, with Jack following suit. Ianto has on one of his nicer three-piece numbers. It's deep black with an embroidered vest, delicate white vines decorating the dark fabric. The vest makes a fine cut of his figure in a way he knows Jack appreciates. His shirt is a stiff, clean white but the tie he's worn is a deep red blooming at his throat. Jack loves him in red, for the way it compliments his eyes.

Jack smiles at him where they sit across from one another, "What do you think of the view?" Jack asks, never one to stay silent for too long.

"Amazing." Ianto smiles back. The couple's table with a candle burning in the center is an unmistakenly romantic venue for them, though Ianto wouldn't mention it. He knows how Jack gets when he starts commenting on the specifics of their relationship. The annoyance he has about how much Ianto cares about definitions, and other people's opinions.

Ianto desperately wants to broach the topic of exactly what they are but he has no idea how, when Jack seems so reluctant to invest any words in them. Maybe they're not what Ianto thinks they are, so often he's not sure.

Jack's hand has come to rest in the middle of the table, it's an invitation. On nights like these Jack always reaches for some sort of physical contact, even in public, like they're playing romance on these nights.

Jack will take Ianto home, and if Ianto initiates it, they'll hold hands as they walk. He'll wait to see if Ianto invites him up to his flat (he always does), and it's not as if Jack needs to be invited, he does have a key, after all. And they sit and talk and kiss until they've strewn those nice suits on the floor and Jack stays the night with him, and Ianto watches him sleep sometimes, studying the way his face shifts as he dreams.

He wonders if, tonight, because they're playing romance, they could do the sorts of things that couples do. That maybe he could ask.

He crosses his ankles under the table, he knows Jack will keep his feet flat on the floor until he gets bored and decides to rub his calf against Ianto's leg and curl his foot behind Ianto's ankles and try to urge him closer. The thought brings an amused tilt to his smile as he leans forward and meets Jack in the middle, sliding their hands together. Jack tightens the grip of his relaxed fingers to grasp Ianto's hand in return. It's so simple, he wonders if Jack is aware of how it makes his chest ache with want.

They pick up their menus and peruse them languidly, they have all night, after all.

"I'm thinking about the chicken and mushroom pasta. How about you?" Jack asks conversationally. He always tries something new when they go out together. Ianto always steals a few bites.

"Would you believe it? I'm thinking of trying the fish," Ianto tells him, grinning wryly. If they come to this particular restaurant he always gets fish, he'd tried it the first time they came and it was so good he never could bring himself to get anything else.

"No," Jack gasps, grinning too, "finally stepping out of your comfort zone?" He teases.

"I know what I like," Ianto tells him, smirking in return.

Now, Jack is turning their hands over and looking at them as if he's examining how they fit together. Ianto follows his eyes and studies their hands. Jack's wide, and tan, and calloused from handling guns, Ianto's long-fingered and pale and steady from handing out mugs. He watches the way Jack's thumb plays over his knuckle, touch feather-light. They're just playing romantic, Ianto tries to remind himself.

"Well, you'd better get something green as one of those sides," Jack advises him, smiling sharply. Jack is well aware of his aversion to vegetables and always urges him to eat them at every chance he gets. The fact that Jack knows and notes these simple little things about him makes him feel so achingly fond.

The waiter comes and they place their orders, Jack gets water to drink and Ianto asks for wine. They don't let go of the other's hand like they might have when they first started going out on dates. Just playing romantic, he tries to tell himself as if Jack hasn't got his eyes trained only on him, looking like Ianto might be the only person in the universe. As if Jack's smile hasn't softened around the edges, becoming something so tender. As if they didn't have nights like these on the regular, nowadays.

But, things have changed now, haven't they? It's been months since the last, "end of the world," the horror that was the 456. Months since he'd watched Jack break once more. Months since he'd learned more about him than ever before. He knew Jack Harkness, and that was something he'd worked towards, something he wasn't planning to let slip from his grasp.

And Ianto was different now too. Rhiannon knew about them, not by his choice. But one of her friends had seen him in a place like this, seen the way he looked at Jack. She knew now. They weren't exactly how he had described it, because he never was so straight forward as to give anyone everything. Except for certain exceptions, people he was in so love with he could never hold it back.

But Ianto already knew how to appreciate men, just as well as women, but it wasn't any lie that Jack was so starkly different from any other person he'd ever met. Maybe subconsciously he'd been trying to tell her that. But it was the same with those little lies he told about his father, the sort of fantasy he'd rather be true. That Jack was the only man for him, some singular revelation, and that his father was a sharp-eyed tailor, instead of a drunken mechanic with a penchant for pushing too hard.

He and Rhiannon had never been especially close, but he still cared for her, she was his sister after all. And he was so fond of Mica and David, he'd always had a soft spot for kids, especially when he'd watched them grow up. Johnny, he'd rather not contemplate his opinion on, seeing as it wasn't particularly polite.

But now they knew him too, the last of his family actually had some idea of what he was. They now grasped the inclination that he was in love with this impossible man and he did impossible things every day. Rhiannon emailed him more often now, telling him how the kids were, and demanding visits, and stories, and explanations. And Ianto found he wasn't so annoyed with the more rapid interruptions to his life at Torchwood. These things that are shifting the tone of who he could be.

"Jack," he speaks seriously and its sort of intimidating that he's been watching Ianto this entire time. Those keen eyes of his, always intense in some way. Tonight, they are intently watching him, tracing over the shape of him as if Jack needed to drink him in. As if Jack didn't see him every single day.

"Hm?" The man hums, his face sobering instantly, he easily senses the tone change. But his thumb doesn't stop its minute movements over his knuckles and Ianto takes comfort in that fact as he inhales shaky breath.

"Jack, I know you, hate labels and when I..." he hesitates and stumbles over the words, "ask this kind of thing, so I—"

"Hey," Jack cuts him off, gently, "you're rambling," he points out. He knows its something Ianto only ever does when he's nervous and trying to compensate for something. "I'm not angry, just ask."

"Are you going to leave me?" Ianto blurts out at his prompting.

Something in Jack's eyes looks utterly heartbroken at the suggestion, but his face barely shifts.

But Ianto can't stop now that he's started, "Once something better comes along, will you just leave?" Like before, goes unspoken. "What would keep you here?"

"I told you," Jack starts speaking, his voice hard as steel and gaze lowered now. He hates having to repeat himself. "I came back for you," he informs him solidly, punctuating the sentence by meeting his eyes again with that piercing gaze.

"So this?" He says, brows raised and lifting their linked hands in demonstration, "lasts for as long as you want it to," his voice softens into a lower register, "as long as you'll have me." He leans forward now to press his lips to Ianto's knuckles.

"And how long would you have me, if you could choose?" The words seem to be rushing out of his mouth, unable to stop himself even when he knows the question is cruel to both of them.

Jack stares at him for an extended moment, silent and tense.

"Please tell me the truth," Ianto adds at a whisper, desperate to know even when he knows the answer will break his heart.

Jack just blinks at him for a moment and it's not until he speaks that Ianto realizes the shine in his eyes is that of unshed tears. "Forever," his voice breaks over the word.

Ianto can't breathe. Insanely, he wants to laugh, the idea that Jack Harkness wants to stay with him forever is ridiculous. But here the man is, close to tears and voice unsteady when Ianto has asked him for the truth. He surges forward, leaning across the table and catches his lips, putting every feeling he can't say into the kiss. It always has been their most effective form of communication.

It's awkward at this angle, with a table between them and Jack still in his seat. But he rises to meet Ianto and their hands are still clasped together and there's one of those big warm hands caressing his cheek now. Ianto feels the dampness of tears as his nose brushes Jack's cheek. He pulls back enough to look at his face, and lets go of Jack's hand to brush away the tears. his other hand braced against the table for balance.

"I would stay with you forever," Ianto murmurs in return, thumbing away tears.

Jack pulls away from him abruptly, dropping back down into his chair.

"But you can't," Jack points out to him, a bitter smile playing on his lips now. Ianto has nothing to counter that. He sits back down too then, warmth growing in his own eyes. He wonders how many people Jack would choose to spend forever with. He thinks, probably everyone he cares for, all those thousands and thousands of people he's met and loved. He would keep everyone close forever if he had the choice.

A wave of anger rises within Ianto suddenly, that Jack doesn't get an end. Jack doesn't get to live his life around who he chooses before letting go like everyone else. Jack has to just keep holding on. It's not fair.

Ianto holds out his hand for him again suddenly, "Jack," he says insistently when the man doesn't look up at the movement. He twitches his fingers expectantly, Jack gives him his hand but he doesn't look happy about it, staring Ianto down ruefully.

"Let's make the most of now, then?" Ianto suggested, keeping his tone deliberately light and meeting Jack's harsh stare head-on.

His gaze softens at that and slowly the corners of his mouth lift, "Let's," he agrees, voice still thick with emotion, but Jack is relaxing once more. They have right now, Ianto is going to make sure that matters.

[trojantoast]

“The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame” (pt. 2) - Zutara Week 2019

Day Two “Speaked” - part two of seven

“What if the world dies with the sunrise? 

Baby it’s all right we’ll be up all night

 What if we’re unmade when the stars fade? 

Keep me going till the night turns into the day.”

- “Until the Night Turns” Lord Huron

@zutaraweek

_________________________

Sometimes Katara wished she wasn't a night person. 

She could feel the moon fall below the horizon as she fluffed her pillow again. Her wide windows were open, letting the night time breeze flow in between the mesh of the mosquito net. The fabric flowed gently like sails, barely seen in the darkness. Sleep had not come easy, more so the opposite, for the entire night the waterbender had laid awake. 

Usually, she used this time to get things done, let that be paperwork, research, or relieving the healers at the hospital in Ba Sing Se. Then she’d catch naps wherever she could during the heat of the day. But, she was on vacation, and had purposefully not brought any work with her. 

Katara wrapped herself in the cool silk sheets, and snuggled deeper into the feather pillows. This was the most comfortable bed she had inhabited in recent memory. There was no denying that. The ocean whispering outside and the sound of night animals provided a comforting atmosphere. Yet, sleep escaped her. She blamed the almost full moon. Though the real culprit, though she would never admit it herself, was the man sleeping in the room just a thin wall away from her.

 If she was quiet enough she could hear his breathing. If she stayed still she could reach out and feel the blood pumping through his veins. The habit was one she picked up from healing him after Sozin’s comet. She would be so attuned to his heartbeat those lonely, scary, days and nights that the simplest shift would wake her from slumber. 

So it was second nature to sink into his strong, though uneven, breaths. Her mind wandered far away, and also sat empty. Though awake, she was at peace. 

Was it creepy that she was using her bending to spy on him? Probably. But, knowing his heart was steady, when at one time it barely beat at all, made waves of comfort wash over and smooth out the edges of the day. So Katara listened, and watched the sky outside lighten slowly. 

Hours before dawn, she was stirred from her trance when he abruptly rolled to the side of his bed and stood walking quietly to his door. She followed his footsteps until they faded away.

The sun had always woken Zuko the minute it rose above the horizon, but it couldn't wake him up if he never fell asleep in the first place. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and he longed for nothing more than to sink into his dreams and wake up in the morning refreshed. But his mind had other plans. Like fall leaves in the wind, moments and images flew through his head. Everything from what he wanted to eat tomorrow, to budgeting meetings, to the bed he laid in. His thoughts ran together like water droplets on metal. He craved chicken so he thought about the food budget for the palace, which led to his budget compared to that of various restaurants, which lead to an inn he had stayed at once, which led to a conversation a few months ago with the palace tailor that then made him think of the sheets. His sheets sent him down a spiral about trade with the earth kingdom which made him think about the colonies, soon he was considering politics and alliances. 

He could really use some of his uncles tea. These night time thoughts where common back in the capitol, and he would usually sneak down to the kitchen and follow the recipe Iroh had left him. He had gotten better at brewing it over the years, but he still couldn't do it right without the directions. Then bringing the pot back up to his room he usually pen his letters to Katara. 

But he had stupidly left the recipe at the palace, and Katara was asleep not a foot away from his own headboard. He needed another option. 

His mind decided to wonder to his correspondence with the woman just on the other side of the wall. Zuko wrote Katara the most out of the group, and the letters were often very long. He asked her council on a lot of decisions, and was known to send entire transcripts of meetings so she could be completely informed, she gave advice that always work. In turn, Katara would rant to him about a particularly challenging patient, or earth kingdom noble who ticked her off, and Zuko would do his best to be helpful, suggesting new ideas, or consulting the palaces extensive medicine scrolls. The letters where she was particularly puzzled with a medical case where some of his favorite to read. Sometimes the letter cataloged her entire thought process from hypothesis to conclusion. Some letters were deeper than others. During the harder parts of Azula’s rehabilitation Zuko had been so immersed in the darker parts of his mind he watched himself speak in spiraling language about that happier parts of his childhood, as well as the more violent moments. The ink in those was often smudged with tear drops.  

There was a bond there, an intimacy, Zuko couldn't quite explain.

He laid in his bed for a while longer, until his chi stirred with the nearing dawn. Since sleep had escaped him, Zuko decided on a walk. 

The dock faced the north, with a panoramic view of the open ocean, setting the stage for both the sunrise in the east and its setting in the west. It was blocked by a barrier of rocks that  broke the waves, creating a calm lagoon. If you were feeling more adventurous, on the other side of the slick stones was a beach, with large waves that crashed on the grey volcanic sand. It was the best piece of real estate on the island, with acres of empty forrest for privacy. Only the best for the Fire Lord and his guests.

Strips of clouds crossed the sky, revealing the fading stars through their thin bodies. The sky paled with the promised sunrise. Zuko let his feet be gently batted around by the incoming tide. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the dock, worn wood cool under his touch. The night air chilled his bare shoulders, and made his loose hair tickle his nose. The young Fire Lord’s mind was at peace, unlike in his bed, but he was alone. So he welcomed the soft footsteps that approached him from behind. 

“I brought tea.” 

Zuko couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest when she sat next to him and set the cup into his hands.

He glanced over at her, but in the gathering dawn he could only make out the white of her bindings peeking out from under a loosely tied tunic, and her wild hair eclipsing the sky behind her. 

“Surprised to see you up this early.” His eyes lingered on her gently.

“Oh I'm usually getting ready for bed around now, actually.”

“You’re joking.” 

“Nope.” a giggled escaped her lips, “I get my best work done under the cover of darkness.” She wiggled her fingers for effect, “after all wasn’t it you who said, ‘you rise with the moon, I-”

“-rise with the sun, yeah, yeah.” Zuko leaned back on his hands and stared at the clouds above, “but, Katara, really? It’s almost sunrise.” 

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “So you couldn’t sleep?” she changed the subject with ease.

“Not really, I couldn't shut my mind off.” 

“What were you thinking about?” she prompted. The sky had grown paler and her features slowly illuminated. 

“What do you think of my robes?” Zuko remembered a particular strand of thought that had itched his brain.

Katara tucked one leg under the other, turning to face him completely, her expression was open and her tea cup rested in her hands, “The formal ones? Or your every day ones?” 

“The formal ones.” Zuko clarified, “The other day I was being fitted for new ones, and the tailor asked me if I had any suggestions, but nothing came to me.” 

“Well…” she considered it for a while, “they’re alright, a little stuffy for my taste. Oh, and you could definitely lose the shoulder spikes.” she added as an afterthought.

“I would have to agree.” 

“They’re a little… intense.” 

He laughed at that. The conversation then followed a sort of lazy, meandering, pattern. The pair rambled on about robes, as well as a myriad of other things. Zuko only halfway listened. He took part in the conversation. It was so easy to talk to her, even if every glance sent his heart fluttering. 

He was more focused on the blue of her eyes and how they crinkled up when they laughed and how her hair kept falling in her face and how she ran her fingers along the edge of her now empty cup as she talked and how her gaze kept drifting back to the sea. And he relished in the moments when he would stop watching her for a moment and realize she was watching him too.

They had to have been sitting there for hours. Their tea cups abandoned beside them, they laid on their backs admiring the now vibrant pink clouds.

Katara was pointing out interesting shapes with childlike enthusiasm. Zuko’s arms rested behind his head and he followed her tan hands as they gestured to the wide sky. 

She had settled her head on his chest, right below his beating heart. Warmth radiated from where her cheek met his bare skin, just inches away from his blossom of marred flesh. He longed to never move from this position. Zuko didn't quite understand what he felt towards her, but seeing her dark hair curl around his lightning mark, a wound he would receive a thousand times over, just to see her safe. He knew that whatever he did feel, it was deep, and complicated, and made his heart leap and ache and open wider than it ever had before. 

“Hey, Zuko?” Her voice was quieter, and her hands now rested on her stomach.

“Yeah?” he whispered, sleep tugging at his eyelids. He felt her shift, and her hand ghosted over the pendant at her neck he couldn't see, but knew was there. 

“Do you ever dream about your mom?” an edge of exhaustion crept into her words.

He thought hard about her question, though he was just as tired as Katara’s voice betrayed her to be.

“Yes, all the time.”

There was silence on her end, then the quietest words of all, barely heard, 

“If you could change things would you?”

It was his turn to reach up, touching the ruined skin below his eye, he traveled down to his chest, his fingers intertwining in her soft hair. He felt a shadow of the pain of his sister’s strike, the ache of his mother disappearing in the night, the feeling of not being able to look his father in the eye after returning home, the feeling of her in his arms, the first time they had stood on this dock, so many years ago. 

“No.” 

He closed his eyes, feeling the calming presence of sleep wash over him. He felt her breath even out as well and he slipped into his dreams, bare back pressed against cool wood, and the sun rising triumphantly over the sea. Gentle words tickled at the edge of his consciousness, like the opening line of a sweet dream.

“I love you.”

________________________

inspired by this beautiful piece of fan art

[cozycryptidcorner]

A match for the wonderful @kawaiijellyfishgarden!

“My MBTI Alignment when I last took it was INFJ .My Sun Sign is Sagittarius, Moon Sign is Libra, and Rising Sign in Gemini! I love making my own clothes since my mother taught me to sew but I also like to thrift vintage clothes or buy ethical clothing. I prefer to wear loose, ‘feminine’/girly clothing like long skirts, flowing blouses and peasant tops, dresses, etc. I hiking, taking nature walks and gardening as well; this season I grew lacinato kale and beets while I had sweet potatoes planted last fall! I’ve recently gotten into reading oracle cards (fairy oracle cards), cooking (I’m vegetarian), music, and mythology.”

You have been matched with the Owlman! No, not the Mothman, that’s a distant, less refined cousin, one without the grace and poise that the rest of the Owlman family possesses. The rest of your Owlman’s family is a bit more stoic than he, so your Owlman is considered the golden child, full of life and character, and can talk himself out of just about any trouble that comes his way. Your Owlman is just the type to try to live life to its fullest, though maybe during his younger years, he didn’t quite know what that meant until later. He might have experimented a bit with a little too much, he’ll admit it, but your Owlman is a stronger, more resilient creature in spite of it, one that knows what he wants.

His looks are more so inherited from his father than his mother, with soft, tawny brown feathers and large, orange eyes. Your Owlman is a tad taller than the rest of his two sisters and one brother, and definitely towers over you by at least a head. Like the rest of his family, he has an exceptional taste in clothing, presenting himself as a refined creature of society, his mannerisms and behavior reflective of all the etiquette training his parents put him and his siblings through at a young age. He can function perfectly well in the posh, upper-class environment that he was raised in, but also can dial it back when mingling with the working class. In fact, while he might seem like a polite over-achiever, as long as he keeps his head down, usually no one will figure out the fact that he is a trust fund baby.

Your Owlman can be considered a renaissance man, or at the very least, a jack of all trades, since he seems to be able to pick up just about anything. He insists it’s because of his family fortune, something he was born into since he doesn’t have to toil away at a clerk or office job. His parents had him doing music lessons since he was three, so his musical abilities are at the very least, admirable, and every now and then, he will take out his violin to impress someone with his hidden talent. Though, your Owlman doesn’t like being paraded around like a show horse and most certainly doesn’t like being put on the spot.

He has a variety of interests he likes to chase, most of them related to problem-solving or puzzles, as he likes to take things apart and figure stuff out. On the outside, he might look directionless, or without a purpose, but your Owlman is rather steady in his pursuit of knowledge. Even though he does jump from one field to another, there is an overlapping subject matter between his many interests. He’s also quite the philanthropist, as many of his scientific pursuits tend to center around the betterment of others, such as finding cheaper ways to produce vital medications. While he might dodge some rules that he feels are unfair, he has a strong moral compass and would never dare to hurt another being.

Your Owlman does know when to take a break, though sometimes it takes some cajoling on your part. He doesn’t like losing sight of what is really important, so any signs of shifting in focus from his family, from you, will be met with an effort to fix the problem. While your Owlman might come off as intense, he just has a lot of emotions and believes that showing them is the best way to handle them rather than to shovel them all down like some other members of his family choose to do. It’s almost as if he intends to become one of those elderly eccentrics that everyone enjoys being around, all that’s needed left is a couple of decades before reaching his full potential.

You meet while he’s on one of his trips to center himself, though you wouldn’t have guessed. He seemed, you don’t know, normal, like a regular commuter who works in the buildings, not like a random tourist who was about to go on a helicopter flight for a night view of the city. Granted, a ridiculously loaded tourist who sees something special in your area of living, but still. He had taken a quick liking to you, and just seemingly popped out of thin air throughout the next couple of weeks, inviting you to talk over some coffee, then lunch, then dinner, then… Yeah. A bit of a whirlwind romance, but one that didn’t die away with time. He likes your candor, something that he doesn’t really receive from his fellow upper-class families, and so he sticks around you like glue.

Your Owlman didn’t drop the fact that he is loaded until confident he wanted to explore the relationship in full; usually, it puts people off when his opener is “I was born into a substantial fortune.” At least, it puts off the people he would like to spend time with, not the people who would like to use his fortune for their own gain. After a little while of you getting used to the idea (it does make sense, after all, how else did he somehow tip all restaurant waiters two hundred percent every time he took you out), he still tries to keep everything low-key so you don’t feel uncomfortable with the spoiling. After all, he doesn’t want you to feel stressed at all times whenever you’re out in public with him.

[amillionsmiles]

dizzy on the comedown (Keith/Pidge)

Title: dizzy on the comedown Summary: But it was molting season: time to trade the old feathers for new wings. / Keith, Katie, and the light of a small town moon. A/N: Written for the @kidgezine!

Read and review here or continue under the cut.

o.O.o

At this point in his life, Keith had two things going for him. Graduation, and—

Okay, well. Maybe just the one.

Above Mrs. Finkle’s head, the clock crept at a snail’s pace. Time moved slowly enough in Arus already—call it the universal law of small towns—but detention, Keith hypothesized, was where it froze in cryogenic sleep. If not for the one other student sitting two rows behind him and to the left, Keith could have convinced himself he was in bed at home, dreaming.

That was how most days felt, in the midst of senior spring. Like he could just float in and out of them until summer, when he’d be gone for good. As far as cities went, Altea hardly had the glitz and glamor of somewhere like New York, but its population of 100,000 was massive compared to Arus’s 1,800, and for that, Keith couldn’t wait.

In the meantime, though, he saved up his money and cut class. Which had been working just fine until he’d dropped by to grab an assignment and Iverson had spotted him, hightailed it down the corridor, and grabbed Keith by the scruff of his jean jacket before he could get away.

Dragging his attention away from the minute hand, Keith went back to fiddling with the radio on his desk. It was his mom’s, a vintage dark beige beauty that had started glitching last week. Despite not being much of a repairman, Keith hoped to fix it in time for her birthday this weekend. Mrs. Finkle ignored him, tongue darting out to wet her finger as she flipped another page of her book.

Keith messed with a wire and turned the dial. Nothing but static at first, but slowly the faint strains of music overcame the crackle. Keith smiled, stopping short when a ball of paper hit the back of his head.  

He turned around. His detention-mate stared back at him with a steady gaze, hazelnut brown hair bundled in two messy braids. Katie Holt, sophomore. One older brother, Matt, who’d graduated last year. Her dad was an astrophysics professor while her mom bounced between running the local library and volunteering at the observatory up in the hills. Keith knew all these facts through no extra effort of his own, the same way everyone knew that his dad had died putting out the fire on Mr. McComb’s farm back in 2008.

What he didn’t know was why Katie was in detention. She didn’t exactly seem like the rabble-rousing type. Then again, maybe the fact that she looked so unassuming was exactly what made her trouble.

Impatiently, Katie jerked her head toward the crumpled ball behind him. Frowning, Keith swiveled in his chair and scooped it up, flattening it on his desk.

Nice, read the note.

Meaning the radio, probably. He glanced back at Katie and raised a single eyebrow in acknowledgement.  At the front of the classroom, Mrs. Finkle’s chair scraped backwards as she stood up.

Though it took 30 seconds for her to leave the room and turn the corner toward the bathrooms, it felt like a year. Once she’d left, Keith put the radio in his backpack and swung it over his shoulder.  He didn’t know Katie well enough to say anything meaningful out loud, but he granted her a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning his back.  

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” He poked his head out into the hallway to make sure no one was around. The agreement with Mrs. Finkle was simple: as long as nobody saw him busting out, she could plead innocence, and they could both move on with their respective afternoons.

“Isn’t skipping detention just going to get you… more detention?”

At that, Keith turned to lean against the doorframe. Katie had moved to stand beside him, hands curled around the straps of her backpack.

“Trust me, I do it all the time.”

“In that case...” Katie tilted her head. “Lead the way.”  

Katie Holt had a bossy streak, apparently. Without further conversation, Keith started down the hallway.

“Do you have some sort of secret arrangement with Mrs. Finkle?” asked Katie, hot on his heels.

“No, she just doesn’t care. I got top marks on all the state evals, and I pretty much carry the class average.” Keith didn’t say it to brag; he’d overheard Mrs. Finkle use the exact same reasoning in an argument with Iverson once. “Besides, detention wastes her time just as much as it wastes ours— hey. ”

Katie had grabbed his forearm, yanking him to the right.  

“Coach Sendak always gets his coffee in the break room around this time,” she hissed. “I thought you said you did this a lot.”

“No need to be critical,” grumbled Keith.

They’d finally reached the parking lot. His red pickup truck, shabby as it was, beckoned like a jewel. Before he could head in its direction, though, he made the mistake of glancing over at Katie. She looked on the brink of asking him something, the determination on her face surprisingly imposing considering her stature.

Exhaling, Keith ran a hand through his hair. “What?”

Just as quickly, Katie’s expression transitioned to innocence.  “What?”

He leveled her with a look that read, clearly: I don't have time for this. “What are you about to ask?”

She shifted. “I need a ride home.  23rd and Walnut.”

“That’s four traffic lights past Greasy Sal’s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, fine.” Keith gestured for her to walk with him.  At his truck, he pulled open the driver’s door, tossing his bag into the backseat. “Get in.”

o.O.o

“Dammit.” For the third time, Katie jiggled the door handle, rapping on the door. “Nobody’s home.”

“Window?” suggested Keith.

Katie shot him a flat look. “I’m not breaking into my own house.”

“Okay, then…” Keith crossed his arms. The Holts’ porch was small, painted gray while the rest of the house was white. A bristly brown welcome mat printed with a cactus laid in front of the screen door; cacti seemed to be a recurring motif, if the several growing in the yard were anything to go by.  

He took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’ve got a paper route that starts in fifteen minutes. So either you stay here, or you come with.  But I’m leaving.”

“Gee, you’re really selling the appeal of your company,” said Katie.  “I’m in.”

It took Keith a second to process, during which Katie sailed past him and back to his car.  “You’re—what?”

“I’m in.” Opening the passenger side door, she clambered inside.  “Come on—I don’t want to be blamed for you being late.”

o.O.o

As far as newspapers went, the Arus Gazette would hardly win any awards for its journalism. But much like playing in the Little League or driving to nearby Olkari Springs for Labor Day Weekend, subscription to it was time-honored tradition, a given if you’d grown up in town.

“How long does it usually take you to deliver all these?” Katie asked, pushing aside a newspaper tube that had encroached on the space between them.

“Two hours. If you’re trying to get homework done, you could probably just use the dashboard as a desk.”

Shaking her head, Katie leaned back in the seat. “Nah, I get carsick.”

“Suit yourself,” answered Keith, just as the traffic light ahead of them blinked sleepily from yellow to red. The foot he put down on the brake pedal felt like a dampener on the mood in the car; in the silence, Katie turned away from him to stare out the window, her fingers laced in her lap. It was weird. Usually, Keith cared little about forcing conversation. He hadn’t promised he’d entertain her for tagging along on his errand run. Still…

“How’d you get thrown in detention?”

Katie turned toward him, blinking in surprise. “You really want to know?”

Keith shrugged. “Might as well.”  

“Hm.” The seatbelt shifted as Katie wriggled around to face him fully. “You know Lance, right?”

“Yeah.” Former Little League rival and youngest child of the McClains, who ran the only Cuban restaurant in town. “What about him?”

“So, basically I rigged the water fountain outside Mrs. Sanda’s classroom to spray in his face, which didn’t go over so well because—” Here, she adopted a high-pitched, nasal tone, “—‘we’re in the middle of a drought!’”

Keith cracked a smile. “Was it worth it?”

“100%. So what’s your deal? Is all the delinquency just a bad case of senioritis?”

“Detention doesn’t make me a delinquent.”

“At its broadest definition, delinquency means misbehavior, and I’d say playing hooky counts.”

“You’re kind of a smartass,” Keith observed.

Katie remained unfazed.  “I’ve gotta be, if I ever want to get out of here.”

At that, Keith’s ears perked.  Very few people broke beyond Arus’s event horizon.  For most travelers, it was a pit stop, but once you settled, you stayed.  That was what had happened to his mom: she’d been passing through on her way to a motorcycling convention when her bike had broken down.  Keith’s dad arrived to save the day. Three months later, they’d married in the town courthouse, a September wedding, escorted home by a fleet of men and women in leather jackets—members of Mom’s former motorcycle club, the Blades.

“Where to?”

“East coast,” said Katie.  “Or maybe Midwest. As long as it’s somewhere cold.  I want to see snow.”

“These desert nights aren’t cold enough for you?”

“It’s not the same. What about you? Everyone knows you’re ditching for Altea.”

“Yeah. They’ve got the nearest police academy.”  

Katie’s eyes brightened. She had an uncanny way of looking at him, as if he were a gadget she wanted to figure out the innermost workings of. “You’re going to be a police officer?”

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, Keith quirked an eyebrow. “If this is the setup for another joke about me being a delinquent…”

Katie pouted. “I’m more creative than that.”

“Good to know. Can you pass me one of the newspapers?”

Obliging, Katie handed him a tube as he rolled down the driver’s side window. With a flick of the wrist, Keith sent the bundle arcing through the air. It landed with a satisfying splat on the front porch, right up against the door. Beside him, Katie whistled.

“Twenty points if you can get it to land directly on the welcome mat,” said Keith, reaching behind him to grab another roll.  He held it out between them in challenge.

Katie’s eyes sparked.  “You’re on.”

What Keith knew about Katie Holt: she liked a good prank, she wanted out of Arus, and when she grinned, a dimple appeared high on her right cheek. And now he also knew the curve of her shoulder underneath her green flannel, a corded strength only hinted at before, when she’d grabbed him in the hallway.  Katie had a wicked strong arm for somebody so small.

“I used to pitch for my brother,” explained Katie, her slight smirk a sign that she’d caught him noticing.

Two could play ball. “In that case,” said Keith, letting their fingers touch this time as he passed her another newspaper, “Batter up.”    

o.O.o

The pink and blue of Coran’s Convenience shone invitingly against the night sky as Keith pulled into the parking lot. Wasting no time in unbuckling her seatbelt, Katie leaped out of the car, leaning against the ice machine as she waited for him to catch up.

It didn’t feel like they’d spent the last eight hours together; in fact, Keith was almost reluctant to see the end. They’d made a game of the rest of his paper route, competing to see who could throw faster or with more accuracy.  Afterwards, dinner at Flo’s Diner, where between the two of them they’d devoured a healthy serving of chili cheese fries, crispy fish sliders, and apple pie. And now, to close the night, Slurpees from Coran’s.

Coran was Arus’s resident redhead and town gossip. Like a homing beacon, his head whipped toward the entrance when the bell overhead jingled. Somewhat protectively, Keith steered Katie so that the chip aisle obscured them from view as they headed toward the back, where the white lemon, blue raspberry, and cherry ice churned in their respective containers.

Halfway through filling his cup with cherry, Keith was interrupted.

“You’re doing it wrong,” said Katie, taking over. “The trick is to layer all the flavors.”

Keith took the package of Twizzlers she thrust at him, watching Katie top off the Slurpee’s blue raspberry layer with practiced precision.

“You’re a sick little genius, but I’ll take it.”

“Watch who you’re calling little,” she warned. “Corn Pops?”

Keith made a face. “Pass.”

“All right.”

At the cash register, Coran rang up their total with a twinkle in his eye. “How’s your mom doing, Keith?”

Reaching for his wallet, Keith shrugged. “She’s fine.”

“Gonna miss you when you leave for Altea, I bet.”

“I’m not disappearing off the grid, just moving. I’ll visit.”

“Mhmm. And what about you, Little Holt?” teased Coran. “Running around with this one now that Matt’s gone—I hope he hasn’t gotten you into any trouble.”

“We met in detention, actually,” said Keith, finally done counting his change. “Here. $5.79.”

Sensing Keith was a dead end, Coran swept the bills and coins into his hand and redirected his wiles toward Katie with more vigor.

“Trade that story for a Slim Jim.”

“Two Slim Jims and a pack of Mentos,” Katie countered.

Coran laughed, running a thumb over his mustache. “Deal.”

After laying the negotiated items on the counter, Coran leaned over to let Katie whisper in his ear.  Meanwhile, Keith sipped the Slurpee, shivering slightly as the cold rushed to his head. Coran’s grin had pulled higher; Keith narrowed his eyes at Katie, wondering what she’d just said.  

Once they’d escaped Coran’s gleeful “Stay safe, kids!” he had a chance to ask.

“What’d you tell him?”

“Something much more exciting than the truth,” grinned Katie, stashing their additional haul of Slim Jims and Mentos in the cup holder. “So, where to next?”

In the eerie white-blue lights of the gas station, her lips shone. She hadn’t redone her braids since the afternoon, and the wispy tangles framed her face, giving her a wild softness. It suddenly seemed impossible that Keith had lived all this time at Arus without casting her anything more than a second glance.  

He braced a hand on the back of her headrest, getting ready to reverse. “I know a place.”

o.O.o

Keith’s boots clanged heavily as he climbed onto the bed of his truck.  Katie had already spread out the blankets; she reclined on them now, elbows jutting out on either side of her head like two bony bird wings.

The cold desert air, combined with the condensation from the Slurpee, numbed Keith’s fingers.  When he hit the lemon layer, his nose wrinkled. Wordlessly, he passed the cup to Katie, who accepted with a gleeful look that let him know this had probably been her plan all along.

“Do you do this often?” she asked.

Keith followed her gaze to where the roads out of Arus dissolved into black ribbons through the dry brush. Every so often, a car’s headlight appeared. In the distance, you could just barely make out the lights of another town, but it was mostly cactus and mountains and big desert sky.

“Yeah. My dad used to drive me out here whenever I needed to blow off steam.” He rested his chin on his knees, staring at the horizon line.  

A rustle. Katie sat up beside him.  “Was it in this car?”

Keith smiled. “Yeah.”

“That explains why the engine sounds so clunky then. You’ve had it for forever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watched her. The starlight seemed to catch on her freckles, making them glimmer. He wanted to ask if she believed in ghosts. Not the evil, vindictive kind, but the restless sort. The type that might possess you to drive to the outskirts of town and sit in that liminal space between everything you’d known and everything you wanted to be.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” asked Katie, breaking his reverie.

“Aquila,” Keith answered readily. “I like how bright it gets in the summer. And I’ve always liked birds of prey.”

“Poetic.”

“Stars are the only thing I’ll miss about this place, probably.” Even as he said it, though, he knew it wasn’t true; there was the belltower and the trailer park and the way the sunrise seemed to set the grass on fire, and the dark, quiet corner of Mo’s where if you pressed your ear to the wall you could feel the vibrations from the band practicing in the basement. But it was molting season: time to trade in the old feathers for new wings.

“Well, that sucks,” Katie said. “Because even though we just started hanging out… I think I’ll miss you.”

Behind her head, the moon peeked out like an angel’s halo. Messy, he thought—about Katie’s hair, about this, starting something only to leave it behind, but. I’m not disappearing off the grid, just moving.  I’ll visit.  

Gently, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Katie’s ear. This new call was softer, more fragile than the one drawing him away from Arus, but it thud in his chest all the same.

“There’s room to add other things to the list,” he said, tugging her closer, or maybe she pulled him—either way, their mouths met in the middle, Katie’s hand curling around the flannel of his shirt, both a departure and an arrival, all at once.  The glare from a passing headlight infiltrated the corner of his vision; instinctively, Keith turned away from it, nestling his face in the side of Katie’s head.  Her hair smelled like a tangle of all the places they’d been today, hamburger grease mingled with desert air and notes of coconut.

“You’re trouble, Keith Kogane,” said Katie.  She wrinkled her nose when she said it, and Keith was almost embarrassed by how fond he was of the gesture, already.  It crackled in his chest, like a radio picking up a signal after hours of silence.

“So are you.”