#yeah if i needed further proof that this man is always and forever cold it is this

[masterwords]

7x11 - True Genius

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

[implexedactions]

My Little Ember - Enji Todoroki

Platonic!Yandere!Enji Todoroki

A/N: Okay, I’m late. I missed a lot of due dates. This isn’t even beta read. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. But here it is anyway!

This is Yandere content, and as such, one should be cautious of viewing this if you have certain triggers.

“Wake up, my little ember~ Did you have a good rest?”

 You blink your eyes open and look around. You are in “your” bedroom, a cruelly comforting place. A room in Enji’s giant mansion, covered in pastels and various kid-friendly entertainment. The nicest cage money could buy. 

 Enji’s hand rests on your shoulder. A warm presence on this otherwise cold day. Your eyes flicker up at the cyan ones looking compassionately down.

 “Uhh, yeah, it was fine, Enji…”

 Enji sighs and rubs his hand against your shoulder. 

 “I told you, kid, call me dad.”

 “But-”

 Enji raises a warm finger to your lips.

 “Come now, enough of that. I’ve let you sleep in long enough; it is already 7:30 am. I have been cooking breakfast in the kitchen for you.”

 You look away dejectedly.

 “I’m not hungry.” 

 “Hush, you need your breakfast if you want to grow big and strong like your old man!” 

 He promptly lifts you out of bed with just one arm, shoving you over his shoulder. You don’t fight back, instead just lying there, looking at the upside-down room. 

 Humming a tune, he carries you out of your bedroom, and into the empty mansion that you both share—pristine white walls and furniture, broken up with the odd child-proofed edge or photo-frame. 

 He abducted you four months ago and ever since seemed to be treating you as his child. Everyone who saw Endeavor knew he probably didn’t have a stellar home life, but this was absurd. 

 He walks down the stairs to the first floor, walking through a massive living room.

 “Enj-uhhh, dad?”

 Enji hummed with delight as he kept walking, you swaying up and down on his shoulder, getting slightly dizzy.

 “Yes, my little ember?”

 “Do you think I-uhh, we, could go outside today?”

 Enji stops in his tracks, his grip on you tightening and warming. Not noticeably, but enough. 

 “...Ember, I am not too sure if that is a wise decision.”

 Of course. It hadn’t worked the other 50 times you asked, why would it work now?! Why was it so hard for you to find ANY time away his watchful eye.

 “What a fucking surprise…”

 “Hey!”

 He pulls your now shaking form off his shoulder. One hand around your waist, one around your head as he brings you in front of him, hovering off the floor. His eyes are thin, a scowl on his face. You feel his hot breath coming from his nostrils. You have never been more scared in your life of this man.

 “Do not use that foul language, Y/N Todoroki. I will not tolerate it. Do not make me discipline you.”

 “I-uhhh, sorry…” you stammer out, avoiding his gaze. 

 His hand moves your head and forces your eyes to meet his disappointed ones.

 “I have raised you better than that, haven’t I? Apologise properly.”

 “Uhhh,,,Sorry, Father, that I, behaved inappropriately…” you say, staring into eyes that only villains are privy to.

 His face warms and he pulls you in for a hug. 

 “Apology accepted!”

 He places you down on the floor, but keeps your hand in a vice-like grip.

 “Now! We can’t leave those pancakes waiting, can we?”

 Enji  pulls you along, almost causing you to fall over a few times to keep up with his faster gait. He walks into the kitchen,and the smell of pancakes fill the air. He places you down on a seat, grabbing a plate and putting some pancakes on it, before serving it to you. You detectedly pick at the pancakes, staring out the window. It’s an overcast and cloudy day, might rain later. Enji seemingly notices this. 

 “Feeling melancholy, oh sorry, I meant, are you feeling sad??” He pries, softly bumping you with his elbow to get you to pay attention to him.

 “You kidna-” You got to interject, but get interrupted. 

 “I have something that might cheer you up! Look at this, my little ember!”

 Enji reaches over to grab the wet batter, he pours a bit into one of his cupped hands, and after putting down the container, presses his other hand over it. After a few seconds, he pulls apart his hand to reveal a potato-shaped pancake with imprints of his hands on it, perfectly cooked. 

 You fail to look impressed, to which Enji sighs. 

 “You will find it more interesting when you have your own quirk, I bet!”

 “...You realise I’m quirkless right?” You’ve been quirkless forever, you weren’t thrilled about it, but you made do, or you did, before this deranged hero kidnapped you.

 “Do not worry, my sweet little cinder. You are just a late bloomer. Your powers will come in soon, I guarantee it! You are a todoroki! It is in your very nature!”

 “But I-”

 “You might even get a fire quirk like your old man! Imagine how much I could impart to you! Are you not excited?!”

 “No, not rea-”

 “You will go to UA of course, but that might be putting the cart before the horse, champ. We should think about primary school before that...”

 Wait, what? Ignoring the fact that he’s trying to enrol you in primary school, this would mean you’d get out of the house, and presumably, to a teacher, who’d figure out you’re not a kid, and are in fact, being held against your will. 

 “I’d love to go to school Dad!” you cry enthuasatically, desperate to get out of the house.

 “Ha! You’re certainly eager!” He saddles up beside you and pulls you into his side, tussling your hair. 

 “Although...School seems a bit dangerous, looking at UA and what happened with sho- maybe instead, we could try a different approach, my little ember.”

 “But I’d really like to meet oth-” You need to force this issue, you can’t let him shut this issue down like this. This is your one chance to get outside the house.

 “Hmmm! How about instead, you use packet learning for general education, and well, we will cross the hero bridge when we get to it. Heh, maybe I could teach you about being a hero and intern you myself if you try to get your hero license! Would that not be fun, your old man teaching you how to be a hero?”

 He presses you into his side more, face pushed against his pecs, preventing you from speaking. It’s meant as a sort of hug, it mainly just hurts quite a bit. 

 “Just know I love you no matter what the outcome is, okay? Powers or no powers. Hero or no hero. You’ll always be my little ember!”

 Despite your flails and protests, Enji carries you to the couch, sitting you down next to the TV. The sun has risen fully, becoming mid-morning. 

 “Alright, kiddo. Want to watch some cartoons? How about that backyard science one? We could try to replicate, er, repeat,  the experiment later?”

 “Could I-er, we, watch that detective movie? I saw an ad for it, it looked interesting?” The issue is gone now, he will only deflect any questions, you’ve tried MANY times to get that to work. Might as well get SOME enjoyment out of this day. 

 “Hmpfh, you saw an advertisment for that movie? I need to monitor what you watch more often, that is much too dark for a young mind like you! Let me put on that science show…” 

 Enji goes to grab the remote, but you slap it out of his hand.

 “Stop this! Stop pretending that I’m your child! Stop trying to coddle me!“

 Enji goes to touch your shoulder, concern plastered over his face, hiding something sinister. 

 “Don’t fucking touch me you creep! Everyone knows you fucked up your first chance at a good family life, and this isn’t a fucking do over, you abusive, coddling, tormentor!” 

 Enji sighs.

 “And I was having such a nice morning too.” 

 Enji’s face grows dark as he stands up from the couch, before turning around and bending down to your level. Fast hands pinning your shoulders to your side, keeping you in place as an intimidating and vilanous look takes over his face. 

 “I will give you 5 seconds to apologise, and just maybe, I, your FATHER, can find it in my heart to lessen the SEVERE punishment you are getting, kid.”

 “1”

 “I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” 

 Enji’s face contorts into a smug smirk as confusion takes over yours.

 “2”

 “W-What? But-I’m sorry! Please listen to me!”

 You thrash useleslly against the hands holding you in place, desperate to try and escape his gaze. Reduced to a whimpering and crying mess as you think of the ‘discipline’ your father will inflict.

 “3”

 “Please! I said I’m sorry! What more do you want from me?!”

 You’re on the edge of hyper ventilating as Enji stares you down. His hands are warming up, grip tightening, only causing your thrashing to become even stronger. Your attempts to break free don’t even budge him an inch.

 “4...Do not make me count to 5...”

 “Please! Enj-Father! I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll eat those pancakes! I’ll play along! Please, don’t hurt me!”

 Enji’s smug smile and piercing eyes will haunt your dreams.

 “...5. I thought I had raised you better than that, my little cinder. Oh well, time to-”

 Lightning and thunder interrupts the countdown, an ear-splitting crack emanating from outside the sealed house. Enji jumps to cover you, as you yelp, the already anxiety inducing conversation ruining your nerves so much a lightning strike scares you. Immediately, Enji’s menacing demeanor melted away. 

 “Oh, I thought it was a villi- nevermind.”

 Enji looks down at you. Your form is shaking, tears spilling out of your eyes. Looking both catatonic and extremely wound up, as you fail to comprehend your surroundings, simply mumbling to yourself about punishment and forgiveness.

“S-Sorry. Forgive. Forgive m-me.I-I-”

 “Do you see, my little ember? The threat of punishment WAS the punishment.

 His hands pulled you into his broad chest, shushing you and rubbing warming hands up and down your back. You keep on crying, your turbulent emotions entirely out of control, not knowing how to react. You feel like your sanity is so fragile, anything will break it. You simply focus on a spot upon the wall, and nothing else. 

 “It is okay, ember. It is just thunder. I will protect you.”

 “...not scared of thunder...” you mumble. He chooses to cocoon you further with his massive body, noticeably warming himself up to protect you from the potential cold.

 “You do not need to lie, little one. I am not expecting you to be perfect, okay?”

 He pauses, mulling over his next words. 

 “I am only expecting perfection from me.”

[obeymeluv]

The Bros as Dads

PSA: The boys would be very attractive dads (emotionally and physically). That is all.

Note: the headcanon also includes genders for the kids. I can see some of them having sons, and others having daughters. And, obviously, everyone is older (20′s-ish).

Lucifer

Takes a while to process the news. It’s kind of a big thing. His love life was something of a roller coaster (or nonexistent) until you. The ‘L’ word was a hurdle, now there’s a B word and a P word?!

When his brain realizes what you’ve said or if you show him some proof, the pride takes over FULL SWING (you can feel it explode in him, like his aura) and he purrs

You are truly his stars, his moon, and the heavens he so dearly misses

There’s this raw, vulnerable love in Lucifer’s eyes and it pretty much awes everyone because he’s usually so proper and reserved

The memories are old and dusty but Lucifer’s parenting instincts are strong

A type-A, fussy person. You may have 7 months left before you give birth, but the house will be spotless and perfectly proofed before you hit bed rest

Piles of parenting books suddenly sprout around the house. No one’s sure where they came from or how there’s even that many WRITTEN about parenting.

You and the child become his world. You’re his kryptonite, the only thing to convince him away from long hours or break him out of sour moods

Lucifer is very stressed, more than he thought he’d be, because you’re carrying his child and he worries for your health.

He’s with you every step of the way, from appointments to birth

He’d absolutely drop everything to tend to your needs, or appoint one of the brothers if he couldn’t.

Likes to busy himself with making a nursery and is actually good at themes/interior decorating

Has a tiny desk built in his study. The child won’t be able to join him for a while, but the idea of his tiny joy working on something beside him warms his heart

Hunts down obscure herbs and items from folklore that are supposed to bless pregnancies or benefit the unborn. Turns out he’s really nervous and superstitious.

Lucifer is the worst when it comes to shopping because his pride outweighs his logical restraint. If he convinces himself IN THE SLIGHTEST that his child would look good in something or the nursery could really use an item, it’s coming to the House of Lamentation

He ugly cries when he realizes you’re having a girl because he feels like Lilith has been given back to him.

Refuses to name his child Lilith because of everything that happened. Can’t settle for anything close to her name or any nicknames they gave her.

Makes you a sleeping space in his study. Loves to take breaks to watch you sleep. Unintentionally takes a break to kiss your stomach and talk to the baby.

Firm believer in ‘in the belly’ enrichment so you’ll have music playing and Lucifer will read to them all the time.

If the baby’s not with you, she’s with him. Lucifer has definitely shown up to a meeting with Lord Diavolo with his baby in a chest carrier. The meeting went flat because Diavolo wanted to play with the baby.

He’s the type of dad that demands total silence when the baby’s sleeping. Might have tied up some of his brothers to achieve it.

He’s not a total hard-ass (this kid has made a sucker out of him, okay?) but his kid will definitely have manners and knows to help clean up.

The type to take naps with his kid. He’ll get up at 2 in the morning and climb into their crib if they’re fussy.

Lucifer spent so much of his life being the primary caretaker for his bros that he forgets he’s not alone this time. When you push him back down so he can sleep, and tend to your daughter, his heart almost bursts with love.

On the fence about another child. The kid’s going to have pride in spades and he thinks a sibling will humble them (and make them less lonely). He’s also afraid of that prideful wrath and doesn’t want two prideful little demons always fighting

Isn’t the best with dressing up his kid but likes to give them fancy shoes. The shoes are always on point even if the rest of the outfit is a disaster.

Is 100% ready to receive any and everything “#1 Dad” because he IS, DAMN IT. He’ll use it regularly, too.

Mammon

He’s freaking out hardcore (”You sure? Really, really sure? Maybe you just have gas or something. Y-yeah!”)

Doesn’t believe it until he sees a test. Promptly faints. Dead-ass faints as soon as he sees it.

Kind of remembers it when he wakes up, and you have to remind him again.

This time he’s pretty excited because THE GREAT MAMMON will be having a child. WHAT A GIFT, RIGHT? THE BEST GIFT!

All the magazines are snapping up this gossip and, for once in his life, he puts the earnings away. Kid has a nice fund going before they’re even born.

His schedule is 50% work, 50% family because YOUR MAIN MAN HAS TO BE THERE. Work just pays the bills and pads the nursery account, okay?

The Devildom has something similar to a baby shower and Mammon puts all KINDS of high-dollar shit on there. His baby’s going to be stylin’, okay?

Some crying in front of others, but an entirely different kind of crying behind closed doors. Vulnerable, grateful crying about being loved and having a tiny someone who will love him, too

Pays someone to explain baby stuff to him. How to change them, feed them, what type of breathing you should be doing. It surprised his bros because Lucifer could just give him that info. The fact that Mammon paid for it means he’s pretty serious about learning.

Gets tons of free maternity photos because all his magazines want the scoop. He gets to pamper you and see you all dressed up and beautiful and EVERY magazine has a shot of him crying like a proud sap.

Mammon hoards all of those pictures. Has a pile of them in his room, totally separate from everything else.

Has a lot of nervous energy and can get frustrated with all the baby books, so he distracts himself with scrap-booking. Surprisingly good at it.

Mammon thinks you’re just the most beautiful thing ever. He loves taking pictures of you. Wants the kid to have no doubts about how much he loves them and their parent.

He’s so lovesick. When you sleep or hug your belly or just touch it he melts.

Stacks Grimm on your belly when you sleep. Thinks it’s fun. Likes to record how big the towers get.

Not the best at getting up for your random-hour cravings and has definitely made you cry with his bluntness. When he’s more awake he’ll apologize and you guys will work it out.

When he finds out he’s having a little boy, the bros throw a party. Mammon gets semi-drunk and has a huge, ass-chewing lecture about how the bros made him feel for centuries and how they better not say ANYTHING like that to his kid.

You shot down any and all attempts to name the kid anything money related.

Almost passed out when you had the baby.

Cried when he first held him. Calls him Mamm-mini.

Totally planning the baby’s first photo shoot. Has people on standby to make matching outfits.

He now has a partner in crime and the kid can charm the pants off of anyone!

Mammon is 100% devoted to this kid and he secretly hopes he’s the favorite parent.

Lives for any second of bonding he can get. NEEDS IT TO LIVE. 100% a sappy dad.

The most supportive dad, always saying nice things because he knows people didn’t always say nice things about him.

Levi

Brain stops working. You almost think you’ve given him a heart attack

Levi feels you take the controller from his hand and instantly has to fill it with something else, taking yours. He looks at you and asks you again if you’re sure.

He can see it in your eyes and he just crows. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or scared but he made the noise.

Worries A LOT about the idea of becoming a father. Can gross otakus be good fathers? How does he dad?

Gets pre-stressed about social interactions. Kids have to go to school and have play-dates and Levi’s going to have to talk to people...ugh! Gross!

Definitely has a few break-downs (feelings of inadequacy, etc.) before Lucifer or Satan comfort him. He’s better than he thinks, just insecure. Everyone learns as they go. They have classes (”They’re like cheat codes, Levi.”) and it makes him feel better

His gaming friends send their congratulations and he gets lots of themed blankets and onesies.

Wants you to have a water birth because the water is his child’s calling. Really attached to the idea.

He’s constantly looking up guides to baby-proofing, double- and triple-checking safety specs of anything before buying it.

Spends HOURS scouring Akuzon, comparing brands, and reading reviews for everything.

Akuzon noticed he was buying lots of baby books and looking at baby-related things so they sent him a onesie.

You get a lovely beach/water-themed maternity shoot and Levi is so love-struck he gets a nosebleed. Once he’s cleaned up it makes a darling photo shoot.  

Has already made lists of anime for the kid to watch. Some are his favorite, some are for the lessons and moments that stuck with him

Asmo messaged TSL on the down-low and Levi got some quality kid-sized merch.

Tries to get you to name the baby Henry if it’s a boy. When he finds out it’s a girl, he pushes for Henrietta.

Reads TSL to the baby and plays ocean sounds.

As you get further along in your pregnancy, he buys a fridge for his room and stocks it with your favorite cold stuff. Any snack foods are just added to his stash.

You are absolutely worshipped. Craving something? Akuzon has it and the fastest pig is on it’s way. Your feet hurt? Try a water bath!

You’re his Player 2 now and forever (always have been), and he’s keeping you in perfect health.

Probably keeps a video journal for the kid or of the two of you during your pregnancy. Big on preserving stuff digitally.

Probably makes a game for his kid just because. They’ll be able to play it when they’re older.

Bought a ton of Magical Girl-style hairbows and things for when their hair grows in. His daughter’s a fucking princess, okay?

Belphegor bought the baby a goldfish onesie and Levi loves it to pieces.

Bought the baby a seashell bassinet and rocks them to sleep with his tail.

Levi has a bad sleep schedule and wakes easily, so he’s usually the first one to get up and handle the baby.

He has this complex about being a good dad. People can call him a weird, gross otaku but they’re ALSO going to mention how good of a dad he is!

Super affectionate with his kid in a quiet, whispering, mumbling way. Just thinks they’re the best thing.

Having a daughter really makes him rethink some of the ways he viewed anime characters and made him super critical. If his daughter ends up liking anime he’ll make it very clear what he thinks and how she shouldn’t let other people treat her like an object. 

His demon form gets triggered REALLY EASILY if his bros hold her for too long. THAT’S HIS BABY, THANK YOU!

Satan

Secretly hoped to be a father one day. Wanted to prove so badly that he could be one, and move past the constant fear of his temper looming over him. He didn’t want wrath to be his only legacy.

Can’t manage more than a genuine smile and a lilting laugh when you tell him, but he’s literally almost sick with joy. He’s just not the type to jump from the rooftops or anything

Asmodeus and Mammon convince him into drinking because he needs to let loose and really show it!

Satan ends up drunk-stumbling to Lucifer and plunking his head into his chest and crying. He’s crying because he’s happy and mumbling something about ‘granddad’. When his tears dry he’s happy as can be, smugly calls Lucifer an ‘old fuck’ and promptly throws up.

They’re past most of their bad blood but even Lucifer wasn’t surprised Satan never got EVERYTHING out of his system. A lot of his childhood memories are tainted with pure wrath instead of coming into his cardinal sin through some other mean. Or naturally, like puberty.

Between his personal research and Lucifer’s expertise, the baby-proofing is totally covered.

His book binges are strictly about pregnancies, suspicions, rituals, parenting, and anything he can think of that has to do with kids.

He’s big on teas and brews that are supposed to help with pregnancies and pains. Uses his many connections to get ingredients for said teas

Reads the classics and big epics to his unborn child.

Buys you some Hellcats for protection. They’re fiercely loyal, so he’ll know you’re safe.

He’d be the type to nag you about your diet, but not to be mean. He’d support it with this absolute WALL of evidence that turns into a lecture that could last for hours.

Has to fight the Hellcats to sit next to you or touch your belly a lot more than he thought he would. He’d never say it out loud, but he’s starting to hate the cats (he doesn’t mean it though).

Starts cleaning up his book piles a lot more. The baby would get hurt if the stacks fell on them. His room becomes virtually spotless.

You pick books to read together. You end up reading Satan to sleep, too. He keeps a hand on your belly.

Gets nervous about you wanting to go out, and basically tries to keep you in the House of Lamentation. Relents a little because hormones make you scary. He was basically afraid of nothing because the walks were fine.

You like to sit in the Devildom gardens and he thinks you look picturesque and wonderful. It takes his breath away.

Asmodeus is your personal photographer because Satan doesn’t think anyone else will do you justice.

Finds out you’re having boy-girl twins and totally shuts down. What does he say? How does he respond? BELPHIE OR BEEL WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE TWINS! WHY HIM?!

Lucifer is BEYOND amused. This is definitely payback for everything Satan did in his childhood (so the saying goes).

It doesn’t bother him as much when he starts buying smart little cardigans, button-ups, ribbons, and bowties. He’s actually quite happy.

The Hellcats act weird and tip him off to your contractions before your water breaks. Satan gets you to the hospital and helps you give birth. The twins grow to look more like him than you, but if someone mistakes you for the nanny or says something derogatory, he’s pulling two ferocious kids off an idiot

Satan was afraid he’d be a short fuse, but he becomes the parent that explains everything to death (for better or worse). The kids will get a lecture when they’re bad, when the ask ‘why’ to something, he’ll explain why he gave the punishment he did, and be very clear with anything.

Asmodeus

Quickly falls in love with the idea of you being pregnant. It’s the best! Proof of his truest love, the thing that makes his heart beat!

He loved you to pieces before you were pregnant, and loves you even more now (if that’s possible).

Always wants to be with you, smothering your belly with kisses and touches and looking at it like it’s the next greatest love of his life

Takes names very seriously. “My child is a gift unto this world. People will know their name, so it has to be a good one!”

Gets really wrapped up in decor and aesthetic. He’d be a one-man force for all of it if you didn’t tell him to stop and breathe! Asmodeus just has lots of ideas, okay?

Has a really hard time understanding the value of baby-proofing until Satan smushes a few of his lipsticks in his hand and knocks around some finishing powder (”Now imagine that. All the time. With anything you love.”). 

Hires someone to baby-proof the room because that’s just not his thing. He’ll handle securing the valuables, okay?

Constantly reading about beauty rituals and things to do for his pregnant wife. She’s doing something really hard and deserves to be pampered!

You’ll constantly be pampered or trying ‘this and that’ because he read it was good for the baby. Good for beauty, good for health, etc.

Has a pretty decent diet, himself, and keeps you on yours.

You definitely have pregnancy sex a few times. Anything he can do to help you out, you know?

Asmodeus ADORES watching you grow round with his child and LIVES for helping you take care of yourself. He’ll let you lounge in his fantastic tub and has no issues sitting on the floor and doing your toes

Picks out all your outfits. Wants you to look your best! Don’t worry, you’ll be comfy!

When he finds out you’re having a girl he cries. A lot.

SO MANY BABY UPDATE BROADCASTS ON DEVILGRAM! There is an official ‘baby watch’. It’s trending more than you thought it would.

Takes TONS of videos.

His baby is easily the most fashionable child in all of Devildom.

Takes really candid, private photos that have a lot of sentimental value. A lot of your pregnancy photos are you looking comfy in bed or sitting at a vanity in breezy clothes as he does your makeup.

The type of dad to sit down in the middle of the store to play with toys (are they good enough for his kid? Like, really?). Must feel everything before he buys it. If he doesn’t like how it feels, he won’t buy it.

You end up giving birth earlier than planned and Asmo almost throws up because birth doesn’t look like he thought it would

Super nervous during your pregnancy because you’re in pain and there’s lots of noises.

Busies himself doing your makeup because that’s the only way he can handle the situation. You’re holding his tail and he SWEARS you’re going to break it off!

The bros help deliver his little angel and Asmo is SMITTEN. ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN.

Holding his baby 24/7.

Loses sleep just because he watches them sleep. Sometimes he loses sleep for real because DAMN, babies don’t sleep a lot, do they?

It’s really hard to adjust to and he’s surprised his skin isn’t god-awful.

Doesn’t regret a thing, fawning over their tiny nails and little curls, and OMG EVERYTHING! Cries a lot because they’re just perfect

His wardrobe reflects his dad status but he still looks like a DILF. You can give him the most classic dad attire and it just looks good on him.

Beelzebub

He’s excited about your pregnancy. Boy honestly tried for it, you know? Studied positions and everything.

Beelzebub has so much love and the idea of holding a tiny someone just warms his heart

Everything kid-related is totally foreign to him except for how to act with them. He and Belphie were the youngest so he was used to being taken care of until he got old enough to climb and eat on his own.

The type of guy to need explicit, step-by-step instructions on EVERYTHING. He doesn’t have a brain for it like Satan or Lucifer, so he needs help

Seriously. Give him a checklist for baby-proofing and he’ll get it done.

Gets pretty down about not being able to cuddle and snuggle like normal, but he’ll look into safe ways to do so.

Has special snuggles with the baby. Kisses your belly and rubs it. Talks to your baby like the little demon it is (even if it doesn’t have a name yet).

Lives for the times you talk to the baby, talk yourself out of bed, or how you absently talk to your belly throughout the day.

Works out to deal with stress and nerves, but also because he wants to be a good, strong dad

The doctors give him a list of exercises you can do and he does them with you

Can’t really take the nutrition advice seriously. He eats pretty much everything and you probably will, too.

When people ask him about your pregnancy, he uses very inclusive language (”We’re expecting, etc.”)

You make mini-dates out of your late-night cravings. Beel is totally in love with it.

Beelzebub becomes your food finder. There’s been times where you look at him so cutely, so imploringly, and all you can manage is ‘spicy and crunchy’. He’ll find you something, don’t worry! He’s an expert!

Big on massages and cuddling. Likes to cup his hands over your belly and trace it.

The type of dad to gain weight with you as your pregnancy moves along. Becomes soft, strong dad.

Finds out you’re having twin boys and has the happiest crying session ever. Belphie is the first to know and all Beel can say is ‘Just like us!’ as he nearly crushes his twin to death.

Likes to dress them in cute and comfy clothes. Animal onesies? Yes!

At some point yours twins are going to look like hotdogs and hamburgers. There’s no shortage of food costumes thanks to Levi, Asmo, and Beel.

Suspicious about baby food, bugs Satan about how nutritious it is, and tries all of it just to be sure.

Some of their teething toys look like real food. Beelzebub ate one on accident.

Is a perfect gentle giant. Afraid of hurting them, for they are tiny and precious, but gets over that pretty quickly.

Always wants to cuddle and hold them. You have to make him leave them alone to sleep. Gets kind of sad when they’re napping because he can’t make faces at them or hear them laugh. Right back to his usual self when they wake up, though.

You best believe they learn their alphabet by studying food. Beelzebub will stand in the kitchen and dig through the pantry until he finds things that match the letters of the alphabet 

Belphegor

He’s kind of surprised you ended up pregnant because the sex is usually lazy and casual. Yes, he has the moments where it’s pretty hardcore, but...wow. For some reason, he just didn’t see you getting pregnant.

Secretly hopes you have more than one kid. Something in him would just be happy if there’s more than one kid. You think it comes from the time he spent alone in the attic but never say it.

Sleeps a lot more. Not out of avoidance or anything, but because naps will be rare in the future. He likes to think he’s stockpiling sleep.

Makes sure you’re comfy at all times.

Would love for you to sleep and be cozy but apparently that’s not healthy for humans, so he takes easy walks around the house and keeps you semi-active.

He’ll give you his cow pillow to use as a back pillow. It’s his way of letting the baby use it until he can share it with them.

Listens to a lot of audiotapes about parenting. Looks at books, too, but does better with audio. 

Reads a new bedtime story to your kid every night.

Sometimes you guys sleep in the star room so he can talk to them about constellations. They can’t see anything, of course, but he still goes into detail.

Isn’t much of a picture person and doesn’t see the point in taking maternity pictures. It’s actually because Belphie has a photographic memory so he remembers everything.

The bros force him into taking maternity pictures.

The type to journal everything. He writes a big-ass, super-detailed diary for the baby.

Is kind of worried about his temperament, so he’ll take some classes on how to handle stress and stuff before the babies arrive

Becomes King of Lists. There’s lists for everything. Lists help. Lists are good.

When he finds out you’re having triplets (a boy and two girls), he doesn’t know how to react. You saw him smile though. It doesn’t sink in until you’re hugging him. “I’m never sleeping again,” he realizes with absolute terror.

Beelzebub is super excited. “That’s twins plus a bonus!”

Very snobby about the nursery decor. Also very tactile like Asmodeus. If it doesn’t feel good, it’s not going in the nursery.

Wants a barn-themed nursery (to include as many cow-related things as possible)

You get the comfiest PJs.

With three kids, he lives by embroidery. He has to have a way to tell them apart, after all (the girls, at least).

Can’t hoard the babies but wants to. Hates that he doesn’t have enough arms to hold them all at the same time.

Is very interested by their tendency to hold each other and nap together. Finds it super adorable.

Makes a super-sized crib he can climb in and sleep with them. It’s basically a Belphie-sized bed with little attachments his kids sleep in. Separates them all just enough so he doesn’t worry about hurting them, but there’s still contact

Thanks whatever god exists that they mostly stay on a schedule together. Makes it stressful for changing diapers, but very fun to feed them.

Almost dies laughing when Lucifer holds them for the first time because one vomited on him, the other sneezed in his face, and one pooped so much it got on his pants leg.

Lulls them to sleep with his happy purr, and gets woken up from a dead sleep by pure love when they make the sound back. Suddenly there’s three chirpy purrs rolling against him and he’s in love.

Proud they love their mama so much (to the point of being TOTAL mama’s kids), but also kind of relieved he can breathe.

The three trade off occasionally when they realize he’s free real estate and come to him for snuggles. They all love him so he doesn’t mind.

This house supports cuddle piles! Belphie got them hooked on group naps for a young age and they sleep together now. 

Hope you liked it :)

[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Five

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2,693

Ivar hadn’t realized how good it would feel to come back. It’s always easier to not miss people when they weren’t around, but he felt years worth of it all of a sudden when he came back. As much as he’d claim he hated his family he kinda liked it. It’s easier to be feared than loved, but most people know which they’d prefer. Ivar just wasn’t very good at getting people to love him.

“Seven years.” Time flew by fast, the reality that he could’ve come back empty handed after five years of his life spent searching for things was haunting.

Floki smacked him upside the head, harshly. “That’s for leaving for seven years. I expected you to come back married— the girl, she seems nice.” He moved on softly as if he hadn’t just struck Ivar.

“I had better things to worry about,” he rolled his eyes. “If you were so worried about grandchildren you should’ve had your own. Or looked towards Ubbe as a son.”

“Ah— maybe, but between you and me? You’re my favorite.”

Ivar noticed you in the corner, your back against the wall as you spoke to Hvitserk. You seemed more at ease with his brother than you ever were with him. It made sense, he kind of liked to piss you off. It let him keep control, but he liked how you looked like this.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“What— no.”

Floki paused, confusion on his face. “So you… don’t like your own girlfriend?”

Ivar realized his mistake. “What I mean is that I love her.” He didn’t, naturally. But it was better than leading Floki into the reality that he was about to get deported if he didn’t pretend to be. “She’s certainly something else.”

He tended to like people who knew him. Freydis did that so naturally well but you? It was like you spent several hours a night studying him. Everything was so calculated and matter of fact. Ivar didn’t usually take the time to appreciate that, or how it amused him.

“Good. Like you said earlier. I want grandkids, and since I don’t have sons or daughters of my own I must rely on you.”

—

“Ivar!” The loud and booming voice pulled Ivar from the conversation. His father showed up and pulled Ivar into a hug. Ivar’s eyes went wide upon seeing the man.

“You’re here?” Ragnar didn’t make a lot of appearances in his life. The man seemed to be too busy with other things and other kids. It usually hurt but to grab his attention again felt good.

“Of course I am, I haven’t seen you in forever. You’d think I’d miss out on my favorite son finally coming home? And what’s this I hear about a girlfriend,” Ragnar pressed with great interest.

“It’s probably fake,” Bjorn said, showing up with a smirk. “It wouldn’t be the first time he lied to impress you.”

“Mind your tone, Bjorn,” Ragnar warned.

“And if you got married it wouldn’t be the first time either. Nor the second,” Ivar responded with a shrug. “So why is the idea of showing up with a new girl so surprising to you?”

“Fine. Even if you got a lucky break. You’ll have a tougher time getting any further than that. The moment she finds something better she’ll move on like the rest.” Bjorn was edging Ivar on and Ivar fell for the bait. It was like knowingly walking straight into a mouse trap but being so famished that you couldn’t stop.

Ivar laughed. “Which is much better than you? There’s a reason your marriages don’t last Bjorn. You can’t keep anything in your pants.” They all saw it. The way Bjorn found someone, decided to marry them and then changed his mind. “I’d hardly consider that being better than me.”

“At least I can get people willing to marry me,” the reference to Freydis almost made Ivar throw himself at the man. His father tried to step in and placed a gentle hand on Ivar, whose breath was getting faster

“Well so can I,” Ivar backed down, “you’re not unique.”

“Oh really now, because I’d love to see proof,” Bjorn took a step closer.

“Because Y/N and I are already engaged!” Ivar grinned. There was a cold rage hidden behind it. Bjorn backed off immediately. “So it’s already happening.”

Ragnar stopped his attempts to reconcile peace, pausing. “You’re engaged?” His father soon enveloped him in a hug, it was the first time in a while his father had seemed proud of him. Ivar used to get it all the time but clearly things had changed. “That’s wonderful!”

The display seemed to shut Ivar up. Floki slapped him on the back. “Why didn’t you open with that?” The man was laughing too. Ivar hadn’t expected the strong response but it felt like a triumph over his brother and that satisfied him.

“We just wanted to keep it private—“ Ivar didn’t get the chance to finish before Ragnar gathered the attention of everyone there.

He tapped against a glass and stood on a chair. “Everybody listen up! My son, Ivar, just shared terrific news.” People stopped and listened. It was evident the man commanded respect, “He’s engaged.” There was a round of applause. “Now where’s Y/N, I want to congratulate my new daughter.”

That’s when you noticed, standing along the edge of the room. You were thrown off and red faced at the sudden attention, and Ivar almost felt bad for having put you on the spot. But it couldn’t be helped now.

You tentatively walked over and were hugged by a man Ivar wasn’t even sure you had met yet, “sorry,” Ivar whispered in your ear when you were finally released.

“Now let’s see a kiss from the lovely couple,” Ragnar announced.

“That hardly feels necessary,” Ivar tried to get around it.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun, wouldn’t it. And since you two are so real it should be easy,” Bjorn interjected.

It was one thing to marry you and another to kiss you, ironically enough. It wasn’t that the idea was impulsive but none of this was discussed and all of a sudden it was just happening. “Just stop, Bjorn,” Ivar rolled his eyes. He knew backing down made it sound fake.

“If they don’t want to, that's fine,” Ragnar tried to defuse the tension with little success. His largely absent parenting was probably to blame for this.

You picked up on the cues and touched Ivar’s upper arm, offering raised eyebrows. “Why? Because you lied,” Bjorn just kept pushing it. He didn’t stop. Ivar knew the man was just desperate but it didn’t stop it from getting to him.

“Why are you pressing this so much,” you demanded, your eyes narrowed at Bjorn. “Jealous much?” You then did something he didn’t expect. You placed both hands on either side of his face and pulled Ivar in, kissing him with such intensity that it left the poor man dazed. Your face was red but any embarrassment didn’t show in your voice. “Now can you leave me and my fiancé alone, you’re kinda killing the vibes.”

It immediately shut Bjorn up. And Ragnar laughed awkwardly, patting both of his sons on the back. “Well that was entertaining.”

—

“What was that?” You asked him the moment the two of you were free. You struggled to speak over the sound of increasingly loud music.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Ivar admitted. He loosened his shirt, it felt a little hot in here.

You shrugged and glanced away, “you were struggling there. Besides, if I didn’t make us sound real I’d go to prison, remember?”

“Yeah, Bjorn can be an ass,” Ivar sighed.

He ignored the look on your face, pity. It was obnoxious. “So— the answer to all your problems was announcing our engagement?”

“No—“ he was so used to being in control all the time. Ivar laid things out like a fine strategy. He had a plan for everything but you kept messing with that. Bjorn had messed with that too. “But it got the reaction I needed.”

He needed fresh air. “Are you alright?” Again with the look of pity on your face.

“Just fuck off. If I want you around I’ll tell you. Go back to my brother if you’re so lonely.” That lingering feeling of jealousy. Ivar knew he didn’t have a right to have it but it was still there. Your eyes narrowed angrily and you opened your mouth to speak back. He felt immediate guilt and rushed out the word, “sorry”. You closed your mouth and bit your bottom lip before walking off.

Great. He shouldn’t have done that. It was like he couldn’t stop doing things like that. It was easier to be a dick. He sat down on the couch in defeat and was envitably surprised when you came back.

You handed him a shot glass and he raised an eyebrow in response. It was clear you held back from saying something hurtful. “Look, whatever goes on between the two of you isn’t my business. But I like to get wasted when I’m upset about things,” you admitted to him.

Ivar glanced down at the shot before taking it and immediately downing it.

“That's the spirit! I’ll go get us some more.”

Things started to blur together. Ivar lost count of the shots he took, mostly because he hadn’t bothered to try when he could. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Ivar admitted. He had hoped to see your face and instead saw Hvitserk.

“We haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet,” his brother moved on and ignored Ivar’s response. “But I think we should. I know you were never much for listening to others but you should make an expectation in this case.”

Ivar didn’t respond. He felt the rise of vomit in his throat for a brief moment and realized he should probably stay still if he wanted to avoid getting worse. He didn’t feel sick, but his whole body was vibrating.

“I’ll take that as a tentative maybe,” Hvitserk sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Be careful with Y/N. There’s something off about the whole relationship.”

Blue eyes angrily shifted to Hvitserk. “And what exactly is off? That someone would be willing to date me?” The idea that you’d actually be interested in him. He could feel the judgement radiating off his brother.

His brother bit his lip, “you should know better than to think it’s just that, Ivar.” But that was part of it, he knew it. Hvitserk admitted to it. “You have a lot of money—“

“You think she’s a gold digger?” Ivar laughed loudly and his body shook from the intensity of it. Hvitserk didn’t seem as amused by it. He knew better than Hvitserk though. He knew why things were actually odd.

“I’m serious, Ivar. I wouldn’t call it that but these things aren’t uncommon. You need to be careful if you’re going to marry her.”

Ivar placed a hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. “Thank you for caring about me, brother, but I think I’m good.” It felt like his cue to turn in for the night. His legs were sore anyhow. He had stood for far too long and if he wasn’t so drunk he’d probably be feeling it a lot more than he already was. He’d regret being up at all tomorrow. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Just be careful—“

Ivar tuned out the rest. He felt distracted from the insult to his character. The idea that someone like you couldn’t like him. It would hurt if he wasn’t so amused by the accusation. He stumbled to his room and collapsed into his bed.

His cane fell to the floor and he knew he’d regret that in the morning too. But the bed felt so good. His head spun fast but things slowed down when he closed his eyes. Ivar needed to take off his braces but he didn’t want to move. Maybe that would be tomorrow’s problem.

—

“You left,” Ivar said the moment you entered the room. He was staring up at a spinning ceiling. He couldn’t fall asleep at the moment.

“Your mom wanted to talk about things,” you replied. Ivar pulled himself further up the bed, trying to get a look at you. He watched you start setting up your makeshift bed.

“Stop that, just— just come here,” Ivar said as he stared at you. His voice was soft. The bed felt nice. “I was rude earlier, get in the bed. It’s big enough.” It felt like the least he could offer.

Maybe he should’ve remove the braces. His legs were sore but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by death. He felt the right side of the bed dip in. Ivar turned his head to the side and saw you laying there, his bright blue eyes trained on your face. You where too close for comfort.

He didn’t often care about things, but he did in that moment. You put more effort into knowing him than most did. It was as hard to tell if you hated him or cared for him at all. It was sort of the downside of you not being at liberty to say your mind for the past three years.

“Your family seems nice,” you said.

Ivar took a deep breath and sighed. “I think they’re just happy at the idea of you— not that you aren’t nice too but they’re worried enough that I’d ruin us. They don’t want to contribute.”

You started to laugh and he was surprised by that. “Gosh— you’re so self-loathing. You think they really believe that you’re that big of a fuck up? Are you?”

He swung his arm over and it smacked limply against your body. “Shut up.” But he didn’t deny it.

“You’re a jerk but I’ve seen worse. I can name a few people I dislike more than you.”

“But you dislike me?”

“Sometimes.”

“Right now?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Ivar was drunk out of his mind. He assumed you had to be a little. He probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to ask this if he was sober. It felt good to hear he wasn’t actively disliked at the moment.

The two of you laid there for a few more moments until you turned over. “How long have you been staring at me, Ivar?”

Ivar was mirroring you, and blinked in response to the question as he tried to think. “I’m too tired to move.” A lame excuse. “Hvitserk thinks you’re a gold digger.”

“What!” The shock on your face made him laugh. “I thought we were hitting it off! I thought he wanted to be my friend!” You rolled back over onto your back. “So that’s why he asked about my economic background…”

Ivar laughed. “Yeah. Maybe. He tried to warn me about you. I’d try not to take it personal if I were you. I couldn’t tell him the truth.”

“A gold digger….” You sighed, “are you really thT wealthy?”

“Why,” Ivar smirked, “dont tell me you’re in it for the money now?” It felt good to not be arguing. His guard was more down than usual. You were funny, and beautiful— you didn’t deal with his bullshit. Maybe he liked that more than he’d normally admit.

“Well… some money couldn’t hurt,” you bit your lip with a grin.

“Maybe Hvitserk was right.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Ivar said. “I know better. Hell— I like you!” He realized how the words sounded and felt the need to correct humelf. “Like, you’re a good person”

“And you’re a lot better than most people give you credit for.”

“Even you?”

“I had a feeling you weren’t all bad,” you rolled over and seemingly passed out. But Ivar couldn’t sleep now. His head was still spinning but now his heart beat faster.

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

[seanfalco]

A Red Carpet Event | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Language, Smut (fingering, voyeurism, semi-public sex) a/n: And the smut continues.  I love that even when we say we wanna work on something fluffy, it almost always turns smutty. 

[ masterlist ]

——

"Is everyone set for tonight?" Lydia asked as she came into the room, having just arrived from the hairdresser.  "Outfits, hair, makeup..." she mused, ticking off each on her finger.

When Lyddie had told the quad she was taking them all as her date to her first award show, the reactions had varied from excitement, to fear, to complete insanity.  The truth was, she was scared to admit publicly that she was in a quad, but she couldn't keep that hidden forever and it shouldn’t be hidden, there was nothing wrong with it.  Not to mention cheating rumors had been spreading online after some fans snapped pictures of Lydia and Win, which was complete bullshit.

“Are y’sure this dress is alright?” Win asked, looking at her reflection again.  “Or these shoes?  Maybe I should change...” she murmured, second guessing herself.  She thought she looked nice, but this was definitely not her scene.  She was used to band practices in garages and shows in sleazy dive bars, not award shows and red carpets.

"You look gorgeous, Winnie."  Lydia held Win's hands.  "You'll be the most beautiful girl there, guaranteed."  Lyddie's dress was hanging by the wardrobe, it was purple with a wide skirt, a black leather corset around the waist and lacy sleeves.  "Can one of you please make our lipsticks smear-proof so I can kiss my girlfriend?" she asked.

“Comin’ right up!” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, snapping his fingers with a flourish.  “There, snog away m’loves,” he said, pressing a kiss to Lyddie’s temple and then one to the top of Win’s head.  “She’s right, you look fuckin’ stunning,” he whispered in her ear before straightening, leaving her smiling softly.

"I love dating reality warpers..." Lydia sighed before pulling Win by the waist and kissing her hungrily.  "I can't wait to show you off to everyone."  Turning to look at the two very observing Nathans, Lydia cocked an eyebrow.  "Seriously?  Neither of you have even showered yet, do you even wanna come, or should I just bring Win?" 

"It takes literally two seconds for me t'be ready, Lollipop, calm down..." her Nathan laughed at how nervous she was.

“Same,” Win’s Nathan said with a shrug.  “Besides, it’s not everyday we get t’see th’pair of you all dolled up like this.  Gotta savour th’moment,” he pointed out.

"Well, enjoy the show, I guess..." Lydia laughed as she undressed to put on her dress.  "I imagine none of you wanna help me get dressed with magic, do you?" 

"Why would we?" Lyddie's Nathan asked.  "Cut down on your naked time?  No way!"  The other Nathan laughed, wholeheartedly agreeing with him. 

“Do you need some help Lyddie?” Win asked reaching for the dress on the hanger.

"Please, baby.  I need you to pull those corset strings as if I was hanging from a cliff, the camera adds ten pounds and I can't afford that on my first award show," Lyddie laughed.

“You got it, love,” Win murmured, helping her lace up the corset while the boys watched, lounging on the bed.  “Is that tight enough?” she asked, tugging the ribbons as tight as she could, though not wanting to hurt her girlfriend either.

"Yeah, that's good," Lydia said, nearly losing balance for a second, but soon she was able to breathe again; fainting on the red carpet was also not a very good idea.  "Thank you, Winnie."  Lydia turned to the mirror, looking for anything to fix before bending over to lace up her combat boots. She thought about wearing heels, but she didn't wanna be the tallest one in the group.  "So, how do I look?"

“Like an angel, a punk rock angel,” Win supplied with a grin while her Nathan nodded enthusiastically.

"A sexy punk rock angel."  Lyddie's Nathan waggled his brows at her while biting his lip.  

"Thank you, guys," she murmured, looking down, slightly flustered. "We should probably get going, the car should be arriving any second." 

"Oooh, a car?  Right posh, Lollipop, you'll end up spoiling me."  Lyddie's Nathan got up as his usual shirt and jeans became a dark blue suit.

Win's Nathan snapped his fingers, deciding on a black suit to match Win's little black dress.  "There, we look like a right pair now," he said, admiring himself in the full length mirror with a wink before turning back to the others.  "Right, I think we're ready then," he said excitedly.  "I wanna see this car you've got us.  D'you think they'll have champagne in there?"

"Jesus, I hope not..." Lyddie muttered under her breath, partially because she knew the only thing worse than two Nathans were two drunk Nathans.  

When the quad stepped outside, the car was already waiting.  When Lyddie's manager had said he’d send a driver, she didn't expect it to be a limo driver, but hey, she wasn't complaining. 

"Oh my God," she shrieked excitedly.  The lights inside the car made it seem like a nightclub on wheels.  

"I know!"  Lyddie's Nathan grabbed a handful of candy from one of the tiny jars and shoved it in his mouth.  "Brilliant!"

"Damn, this is nice," Win murmured, running her hands over the leather seats as her Nathan plopped down next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder.  "I bet you could shag back here," she mused, looking around while Nathan searched for the booze. 

"Ohh shit, good idea babe," he exclaimed, his eyes latching onto the champagne flutes on the opposite side of the car.  "Thereeee we are," he cried, rubbing his hands excitedly as he grabbed one, handing it to Win as he reached for the chilling bottle.  "Nathan, Lollipop, some bubbly for you?"

"Hell yeah," Lyddie's Nathan nodded excitedly, shoving more food into his mouth.  

"When in Rome... Sure, why not?" Lydia agreed.  Maybe the alcohol would help with her nerves.  Looking around, she wished she could be as carefree and wild as her girlfriend.  Win was the life of the party, Lyddie was more like... the mum that holds everyone's hair back when they get sick.

“You okay?” Win asked, noticing Lyddie’s anxious expression as she took a sip of her drink.

"Um... yeah, just a tad anxious," Lydia suddenly felt very much like that little girl in the bowling alley again.  Performing was one thing, she was confident in her skills, but this was different.  People would be looking at her, not listening to her music.

“Wanna talk about it?” Win asked, frowning slightly, resting her hand on Lyddie’s thigh.

"You know, it's just... everyone's having fun, thinking about shagging in the backseat, while I'm freaking out.  For once I wanna be able to enjoy the moment."

Win looked thoughtful before quickly tipping back the rest of her champagne. “Would you like me to help you take your mind off it?” she asked, moving closer.  “Because I seem to remember your make-up is rather smudge proof.”

"That actually sounds amazing," Lydia drawled, taking another sip of her drink before handing it to her Nathan, who seemed happy to finish it for her.  "What do you have in mind, baby?"

Win’s only answer was to smirk as she leaned in to capture Lydia’s painted lips, reaching up to brush her fingers along her jaw as she kissed her, moaning softly.

"Oh, okay..." Lyddie's Nathan finally noticed them and watched hypnotized.  Lydia let herself go, the champagne plus Win's cold lips made all her doubt immediately fade away.  "That's better," Lyddie murmured, pulling Win onto her lap.

“I’m full of good ideas,” Win murmured, wrapping her arms around Lydia’s shoulders as she settled in her lap.  “You really do look fucking hot tonight babe.”

"You too," Lyddie murmured against Win's lips, both of her hands sliding down to her girlfriend's ass.  "So hot, I can't believe you're mine."  Lyddie's Nathan stared at them agape, mirroring his clone's reaction.

Win grinned into the kiss, wanting to thread her hands into Lyddie’s hair, but refraining, not wanting to mess it up.  Opening her mouth, she teasingly licked at her girlfriend’s parted lips.

“I would say I’m all yours, but I know how much you like sharing,” she murmured. 

“Oh shiiiit,” Win’s Nathan hissed, whistling low between his teeth.  “If y’keep that up I’m gunna hafta either do something about this hard on I’m gettin’ or it’s gunna be an awkward night.”

"Way ahead of you, man," Lyddie's Nathan was already stroking his cock at a steady pace. 

"Right now you're all mine," Lydia whispered in between kisses, one of her hands resting on Win's thigh, the other kneading her breast.  "I need to blow off some steam."

“Jesus,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, quickly averting his eyes from his clone’s cock and hastily fumbling at his belt.  “I guess that works,” he muttered, sighing as he took himself in hand. 

“Oh good,” Win murmured, grinding gently against Lydia.  “I can definitely help with that baby.”

Lydia's arousal soaked her knickers, but she didn't worry about that, she just wanted to feel Win, all of her.  "I want you to mark me up," Lydia begged.  "I don't care who sees it, I want them to know I'm being taken care of."

Win pulled back, her brows shooting up. “Really?  Right before your event?” she asked, the thought arousing her further.  It was her guilty pleasure after all to leave her mark on her partners.  She just didn’t want Lyddie to feel self conscious when they got there.

"Yeah, give those bloody gossip magazines something to talk about."  Lyddie bit her lip, her hand slipping between Win's legs, fingers gently teasing her inner thighs.  "Don't you want them to know how good you make me feel?"

“Oh God, Lollipop, you’re such a rebel,” Win teased, but she didn’t have to convince her further and she latched onto Lydia’s neck, her teeth grazing her sensitive skin before she began to suck, drawing a breathy moan to her girlfriend’s lips.  Lifting her face she lapped gently at the spot before moving slightly lower to repeat the processes, kissing her with fervor.

"Just like that, Winnie, it feels so good..." Lydia gasped, the thought of people knowing what she did just made her even hotter.  "I wanna make you feel good."  Lyddie's fingers quickly found Win's clit, circling it gently at a torturous pace.  "Did you get this wet just from snogging me?"

Win gasped as Lyddie touched her.  “Yes, you definitely have that effect on me babe,” she whispered, the soft grunts of pleasure from the boys only serving to turn her on more.  She’d found right away since joining this relationship how much she like being watched.  “Lyddie, please?” Win whined, pausing her exploration of the other woman’s neck.

"Oh, please?" Lydia smirked, finding herself in one of her 'taking charge' moments, which have been more frequent ever since Win came into her life.  "Please what, baby?  Tell me what you need.” 

Lyddie's Nathan was always surprised to see her act this way, but he was starting to realize he liked it... maybe he should ask her to do the same to him sometime.

“More,” Win sighed, grinding against Lyddie’s hand.  “Faster?” she asked with a pout.  Win’s Nathan’s bit his lip.  Hearing Win beg like that did things to him.  She wasn’t usually the submissive type, and as much as he loved when she took charge, he loved seeing her like this, vulnerable and begging for it.

"Aww, you do look cute when you beg..."  Lyddie moved slightly faster, pressing her forehead to Win's with an amused grin.  "Such a good girl.  Nate," Lydia turned to Win's Nathan, narrowing her eyes playfully at him.  "Do you think I should finger her?  Do you think Winnie deserves it?"

For a moment his hand froze as he gaped at Lydia.  “Y-yeah, give it to her Lollipop,” he exclaimed, groaning softly.  “Fuck that’s so hot.”

"Okay then," Lydia smiled at Win, as much as she loved being a submissive, seeing her girlfriend helpless like that was really sexy.  "I guess you deserve it..."  She teased Win's entrance for a second, gathering her arousal before pumping two fingers inside of her, the heel of Lyddie's hand still rubbing against the other woman's clit.

“Oh fuck, Lyddie,” Win moaned.  “I’m supposed to be the one distracting you,” she murmured, dragging her lips along Lydia’s neck.

"You are," Lydia sighed, her fingers curling to find Win's sweet spot.  "I love to see you like this... Just don't come before I say so, alright?"

“Yes, Lyddie,” Win answered obediently, her voice coming out breathy.  “I love you, you’re so good to me,” she murmured, burying her face in Lydia’s neck, biting down hard.

"I love you too, baby," Lyddie purred, clenching her eyes shut, she was really turned on, but she liked the idea of having to wait until they all got home.  "I wanna hear you moan for me."

Win moaned louder, clutching at Lydia as she felt her climax nearing, pleasure coursing through her.  “Oh Lyddie, I’m close!” she exclaimed, writhing in her lap, grinding against her hand as it pumped into her.

"You wanna come, Winnie?" Lydia studied her face carefully, adding a third finger inside of her. "Ask me nicely, tell me how bad you want it..."

“Please Lyddie,” Win gasped, “please, I’m so close, I wanna— I want— oh please baby,” she begged.

"Such a needy little thing," Lydia mused for a second, enjoying what she was able to do.  "Okay, baby, come for me."  Lyddie's words seemed to have an effect on her Nathan as well and he squirmed as he came, making a huge mess on his suit, but he didn't care.

Win’s mouth fell open, her eyes falling shut as she came around Lyddie’s fingers with a whine, her whole body tensing. “Holy shit,” Win’s Nathan gasped, biting his lip as he came over his hand.

"That's better," Lydia held Win against her chest, kissing her temple.  "I feel a lot more confident now, we're gonna crush this thing." 

"Jesus... you crushed me," Lyddie's Nathan exclaimed, zipping up his trousers, leaning back in his seat.

“Ahh, so that was your plan all along,” Win mused, brushing a weak kiss to Lydia’s jawline.  “I’m glad I could help.  Fuck, but I love you like this,” she murmured, straightening to glance back at the Nathan’s.  “Oops, looks like you made a bit of a mess there, Natty,” she purred with a laugh.

"If I can make you beg like that, I can do anything..." Lydia chuckled.  "Maybe I should take charge more often, you look so hot." 

"Oh, yeah," Lyddie's Nathan looked down at his ruined suit, but with a swift hand motion, it was clean and perfect again.  "There, problem solved."

“I’m hot?  You’re sexy as hell,” Win laughed.  “I like dominant Lydia,” she admitted.  “Though I like you every way,” she added, tracing the dark hickies she’d left.  “I left you some gifts,” she whispered before slipping off her lap to sit between Lyddie and her Nathan.  “Nathan, babe, you have a little something too,” she pointed out, glancing down at his trousers and the white stain there.

“Yeah, well, you look a little disheveled yourself sweetheart,” he teased, snapping his fingers to fix their appearances.

Lydia grabbed a mirror in her purse to look at the state of her neck.  "That's definitely gonna leave an impression... I love it." 

"At least we don't gotta worry about fans hittin' on ya," her Nathan muttered, moving to kiss over the marks.  

"You know... even if I don't win tonight, I'm already happy with the outcome."

“And when we get home, we’ll celebrate either way,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed as the car rolled to a stop.

"I can't wait..." Lydia looked over her shoulder to wink at him as someone opened the door, and she hopped out of the car.

The others followed, with different degrees of nervousness, Win slipping her hand in Nathan’s.  Outwardly she held her head high, a slight smirk on her face, but the way her fingers trembled in his, he knew she was anxious.

Lydia was somewhat used to the public by now, but the Press still scared the shit out of her.  She took her Nathan's hand on one side and Win's on the other as they walked down the red carpet. "

Lyddie, Lyddie!  Who are you wearing?" a voice rang in her ear. 

"I have no idea, this is thrifted," she laughed, posing in different angles. 

"Lyddie!  Are you still engaged?" 

"Yes, she is!" her Nathan pulled her hand up to flash the ring.

“Lyddie!  Who else is with you?” one of the photographers shouted before snapping several photos of Win and the other Nathan.  “Is your fiancé a twin?”

“You could say that,” Win’s Nathan grumbled under his breath, while Win flashed a smile at the camera, giving Lydia’s hand a squeeze.

"These are my partners," Lydia nearly shouted, way too excited to say that.  "My boyfriend, and my girlfriend." 

"Are you expecting a win tonight?" A reporter asked, recorder in hand. 

"Oh yeah," Lydia leaned in to speak into the mic.  "But even if I don't get album of the year, I feel that this win already came for me... I mean to me."

At Lydia’s words Win felt her face flare hotly, and a loud cackle burst from her Nathan’s lips.  “Oh you could definitely say that!” he exclaimed, giving her a cheeky pinch.

Lydia smiled for a few more pictures before moving on to sign a few autographs and take pictures with her fans waiting by the barricade.  Her Nathan nudged Win's arm, smiling while he watched Lydia laughing, having fun and being herself without worrying about anyone's opinion.

“Hmm?” she murmured, looking up at him. “What’s up?”

"Look what you did... she's so happy."  He didn't wanna be sappy, but it was too adorable.

Win flushed at his praise, a soft smile lingering on her lips as she watched Lydia.

“Ahh, it was nothin’,” she murmured, leaning into his side.  “She did all the work,” she murmured under her breath.

——

 Delilah glanced at the screen as she took a sip of her drink, only half paying attention to the award show as several musicians walked along the red carpet, until a flash of green hair caught her eye and she nearly choked, leaning forward to snatch the remote and turning up the volume. “And who do you have with you tonight?” 

“These are my partners—“ Delilah’s mouth fell open as she recognized her step sister’s face come across the screen, hanging on the arm of the gangly curly haired bloke she’d moved out with, as well as a woman with cotton candy coloured hair. 

“MOM!”

[madpanda75]

The Romantics Series  “In Sickness and In Health” Part Two

Part Two where we find out what happens to the reader and see if Rafael really does murder Chet Aldrich. Thanks for all the love and comments on Part One! Title credit to @sass-and-suspenders​ ❤️ 

The song Rafael sings is Drume Negrita, an Afro-Cuban lullaby

Warning: Hospital scenes, brief mention of death, angst, and fluff

4800ish words (It’s long! Take breaks! Stay hydrated! Grab a sandwich 😂)

The taxi cab came up to the hospital entrance. Rafael threw a wad of cash at the driver. “Keep the change.” He shut the car door and ran inside, bumping into Chet who was on his way out. The frat boy appeared to be unscathed, not a mark on him. “Oh hey, Roger,” he said.

Rafael gripped the man by the shirt. “What happened? Where’s Y/N?”

“Chill out. She’s being looked at by the doctor right now.” Chet shook loose of his grip. “We got into a little fender bender. It’s no big deal. Well, except my car, but luckily there wasn’t too much damage.”

Rafael saw red, his blood boiling. Grabbing Chet once again, he slammed him up against the wall, gaining attention from several people. “You could’ve killed her and you’re more worried about your precious car,” he snarled.

“Get off me!” Chet pushed Rafael causing him to stagger back a few steps. Rafael glared at the frat boy, his fists shaking in fury. “She’s fine. Just has a few scratches. What’s up with you two anyway?” He scoffed. “You in love with her or something?”

Rafael lunged at him once more just as an attendee came to break them up. “Is there a problem here?” the attendee sternly asked.

“No,” Chet said, smoothing his shirt, staring at Rafael. “No problem at all.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“And for the last time, the name is Rafael!” Rafael shouted as Chet left the hospital. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath and went over to the nurses’ station. No one was there and he urgently knocked on the counter in the hopes of getting someone, anyone, to help him. “Excuse me! Hello?”

A woman with a tag that read “Ellen” trudged over to the counter, her head down while intently reading a file folder. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotone voice, never once looking up at him.

“I’m looking for a patient who was admitted here about an hour ago.”

“Name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he replied.

Ellen sighed and opened another file, moving at a snail’s pace as she looked for your information. “Are you family?” “Well, no but—” “Are you listed as her emergency contact?” “No, her mom is but—” “Then you can’t see her. Hospital policy states only family and emergency contacts may see a patient outside of visiting hours. Come back again later,” she replied. “I’m her husband!” Rafael blurted out in a moment of panic.

Finally catching Ellen’s attention, she looked up at him for the first time. “Husband?”

“Uhhh...yes, ma’am.” Desperate to see you, he said the first thing that came into his head. Now he could only hope that the nurse would believe him. Judging by the skeptical look on her face, it wasn’t working.

“Then why aren’t you her emergency contact?”

“Well, we haven’t had time—”

“And where’s your wedding ring?” she asked before Rafael could even answer her first question.

He quickly put his left hand behind his back. “I left it—”

She arched a brow, taking in his Harvard t-shirt and flannel over shirt. “Aren’t you a little young to be getting married?”

“I am 21 years old and so is my wife. Last I checked it’s not illegal for anyone over the age of 18 to marry,” Rafael retorted, his patience wearing thin. “And while I may not have a ring on my finger, if you want further proof of the validity of our marriage I can tell you that my wife was born on November 8, 1971. She snuck out of the house when she was 15 to go see The Cure in concert. She eats cucumbers dipped in peanut butter which I find absolutely disgusting, but she claims it’s delicious. She always drinks chocolate milk with her pancakes. Her favorite color is purple, but not just any purple. It’s violet, like the color of the sky just before the sun sets. She’s seen the movie, This is Spinal Tap, at least a hundred times. She knows every word to Rapper's Delight. She is the love of my life. And right now she is terrified and in pain and she needs me. So, I’m going to ask once again may I please see my wife or do I need to go to your supervisor,” he said with finality, crossing his arms, refusing to back down.

Ellen remained deadpan after Rafael’s impassioned speech; however, much to his relief she called over one of the other nurses. “Judith, please take Mr.—”

“Barba,” Rafael said and puffed out his chest a bit.

“Mr. Barba over to see his wife, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s in the emergency ward.”

The nurse named Judith gave him a kind smile. “Follow me, Mr. Barba.” Rafael followed her through a pair of double doors and down a long hallway. “Young love, huh?”

Rafael blushed. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I’m sure your wife will be happy to see you.” She led him to a large emergency room. The place was chaos. Patients lying in beds with varying ailments or wounds, doctors and nurses scrambling around.

Rafael felt his stomach churn when he saw a man sitting in a bed with a steak knife sticking out of his cheek. “What are you looking at?” the man yelled at him.

“Nothing,” he muttered and ran to catch up with Judith, worried what state he would find you in.

She stopped at the far corner of the room and pulled back the curtain where you were lying in bed, dressed in a hospital gown. Your face was pale with a few cuts on your cheeks and a small angry gash on the right side of your forehead, your right arm swollen and bruised.

Rafael was taken aback. You looked so small, swallowed up by that big bed, your eyes were wide and fearful. It was a stark contrast to the confident, beautiful woman with the larger than life personality he fell in love with. All he wanted to do at that moment was hold you in his arms and take away your pain.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Judith softly said. “Look who came to be with you.”

Your eyes lit up as soon as you saw your best friend. “Rafi!”

“Y/N,” he breathed and rushed to your side. “Thank God you’re alright.” A few tears slipped down your cheeks. Rafael reached out with a hesitant hand and wiped them away. You leaned into his touch, instantly comforted by his presence.

Judith took your vitals, smiling as she observed your interaction. “Your husband has been so worried. You should’ve heard the fuss he was making earlier.”

“Husband?” You furrowed your brow in confusion. “We’re not—”  

Rafael placed his hand over your good one. “Yeah, hermosa. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me see you?” He gave you a pleading look to go along with his charade, his right eye twitching slightly.”

“I can’t believe that, honey,” you slowly said, the term of endearment sounding foreign on your tongue. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“How long have you two been married?”

“One year,” you answered.

“Three months,” Rafael said at the same time. You both glanced at each other and chuckled.

“We’re newlyweds,” you explained.

“But it feels like we’ve been together forever.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your cheeks turning a brilliant shade of pink.

“You two remind me of me and my husband. We were college sweethearts, been married 20 years next March. Now all he does is sit on the couch and clean his belly button out with his car keys.” Judith wrote something on her clipboard before listening to your heartbeat. “You can go ahead and give her a kiss,” she told Rafael.

Rafael froze for a second. “Oh I—”

“Go on. She won’t break,” Judith encouraged.

He licked his lips and leaned down, placing a soft, chaste peck on the corner of your mouth. The kiss lasted a millisecond, but it felt as if time stood still. A spark shot through your body the moment his lips came in contact with yours. Slowly he pulled away, his green gaze never leaving yours, trying to remember how to breathe after that small gesture.

“Whoops, your heartbeat started racing,” Judith said, taking the stethoscope out of her ears.

“It..It..did,” you stammered.

“Mmhmm, I think I know why,” she said in a sing-song voice. “The doctor will be right with you.” With a sly wink, she left, closing the curtains behind her.

You arched a brow at Rafael once the nurse had left. “Husband, huh?”

“It was the only way they’d let me back here.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Rafi, I’m so scared,” you said, your voice breaking. “Please don’t leave me.”

He vehemently shook his head and ran his fingers through your hair. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to be right here. I promise.”

You softly began to cry. During your freshman year, you had taken a month off of school to be with your father when he was sick. Most of it was spent at Northwestern Memorial Hospital helping your mom. Memories of those few weeks came flooding back— the smell of iodoform, the cold sterile room where your father slipped away. Ever since then you hated hospitals and here you were stuck in one, but at least this time Rafael was with you. “I miss my dad. I wish he was here.”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching for a tissue and gently dabbing your cheeks.

Just then the curtain was pulled back and an older man with glasses and a white coat walked in. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Cohen.” He looked down at his chart. “I see we got into a little fender bender today.”

“Yes, there...there...was a cat that ran into the street and we had to stop and the...the...car got rear-ended.” You hiccuped, barely able to catch your breath, crying harder as you explained what happened.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re safe,” Rafael softly said.

Dr. Cohen looked over at him. “And you are?”

“He’s my husband,” you explained, getting butterflies in your stomach just by referring to Rafael as your spouse.

“Right, well let’s take a look and see what we got here.” Dr. Cohen began to examine you—flashing a light in your eye, checking your heartbeat, inspecting your body for any broken bones. You winced in pain when he felt your right arm. “It looks like your arm is broken and you’ll have to get a few stitches on that cut, but other than that your vitals are fine. I’d still like to run a few more tests, take some X-rays, and as a precaution keep you overnight for observation.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Thank you, doctor.”

Doctor Cohen had you turn your head so he could tend to your cut. You whimpered in pain, trying to focus on Rafael as the doctor began to clean and suture your wound.

Rafael squeezed your hand. “Your mom’s on her way in. She should be here tonight.”

You gave him a shaky smile before gasping as the sharp needle pierced through your skin. He felt hopeless, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain. Letting out a nervous breath, he did the first thing that came to mind and started to serenade you with a Cuban lullaby that his abuelita would sing to him.

Mamá la negrita se le salen lo pie e' la cunita y la negra Merce' ya no sabe que hace'. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel.

Your heart skipped a beat, listening to your best friend. You had never heard him sing before. His voice was beyond beautiful, it was warm and comforting. You were lost in his melody. Lost in his shy smile. Lost in him. For the first time that night, you felt at peace.

“All done,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“It was incredible,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving Rafael. “I mean, yeah it was nothing.” You cleared your throat and blushed.

“Ohhhkay,” Dr. Cohen said, glancing between you and Rafael. “An orderly will take you to get some X-rays for that arm.” The doctor stood up and left, closing the curtain. “Kids,” he muttered, chuckling to himself.

*****

Rafael paced around the waiting room, wearing a path on the linoleum floor while the doctors ran more tests on you. Checking his watch for the umpteenth time, he sighed and took a sip of his fifth cup of coffee. Finally, Dr. Cohen came out and told him that you were resting comfortably and he could go back and see you. As the doctor led him to your room, he noticed several members of the staff staring at him and whispering to each other. Little did he know that word had gotten out, courtesy of Judith, about the cute young couple in the emergency ward. You were the talk of the hospital.

Upon seeing Rafael, you gave him a sleepy smile. Your right arm was in a cast and you had a few butterfly bandages on your face. The doctor explained that you were given a drug for the pain and it would take 6 weeks for your arm to heal, but other than that you would make a full recovery.

Once he left, Rafael pulled up a chair and sat next to you while you flipped through channels on the TV, finally settling on Unsolved Mysteries. Halfway through the episode, he noticed you shivering. “Are you cold or are you shivering cause you’re just as freaked out as I am by this show?”

“I’m cold. Will you lay down next to me?”

“What if we get caught?”

“Then you can blame it on me. Please, Rafi. I’m sick,” you whimpered, pouting your lip and batting your lashes. Between the pain-killers and the exhaustion, you were acting a little loopy.

He snorted a laugh. “You’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am.” You shifted over and patted the space next to you on the bed.

Rafael looked back at the door for a second, making sure the coast was clear before getting into bed next to you. As gently as possible he wound his arm around your shoulders. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nope.” You snuggled up against him and let out a contented sigh. “Mmm, you’re so warm.”

Rafael’s body molded to yours. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, running his fingers up and down your arm. Even scraped up and in a hospital, you were as beautiful as ever, your skin as soft as silk, your hair still smelled like your green apple shampoo.

You shut off the TV, both of you lay there in silence. Rafael thought you had fallen asleep until he heard your voice. “So what’s our story?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like where do we get married? Where do we live? How many kids do we have? Every couple has a story. What’s ours?” You looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll start us off. We get married by candlelight in the same church my parents did on a late spring evening. And I end up wearing some big ridiculous poofy dress that my mother insists on that makes me look like a cupcake,” you teased.

“Excuse me, but you do not look like a cupcake on our wedding day,” Rafael softly said. “You look absolutely breathtaking, like a goddess, ethereal and radiant. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Your cheeks turned bright pink. Biting your lip, you shifted your focus to a loose thread on his flannel shirt, too embarrassed and shy to meet his gaze as you continued. “You look so handsome. It takes all my strength not to run down the aisle and fling myself into your arms.”

“So what happens next?” he asked, enjoying this game you were playing.

“Well now that I know you have an incredible voice”—you playfully poked him in the ribs—“you serenade me at the reception.”

“And you recite a poem by Shelley or Keats,” he added.

“Then we dance under the stars, maybe to a song by Depeche Mode or Joy Division.” You closed your eyes, envisioning the two of you swaying together to the music. Your guests fading away because your whole world was right there in your arms. Rafael followed suit and closed his eyes, shifting closer to you. “After the wedding, we honeymoon on some exotic island with white sand beaches and crystal blue water. Of course, we rarely spend any time on the beach.”

“We don’t?” he asked, picturing you in a skimpy bikini.

You shook your head. “Nope, we spend most of our time in the hotel suite.”

A smirk tugged at Rafael’s lips as he continued with the story. “After the honeymoon, we move to New York. I’m a lawyer working at a prestigious firm and you’re a Pulitzer Prize winning author.”

“You wear suspenders and fancy three piece suits everyday—”

“Suspenders?! Really?”

You laughed and playfully nudged him with your foot. “Yep and you look sexy as hell while I stay at home and work on my latest literary creation. And we’ll have two kids, a girl and a boy, Cecilia and Leo.”

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of having a family with you, silently wondering if they would have your hair color or his eyes. “I’ll help coach the debate team and you can be Troop Leader for the Girl Scouts.”

“Cecilia and I will visit your firm and get everyone to buy girl scout cookies,” you said. “Then we have another baby.”

“Another baby!?” Rafael’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

You shrugged. “We get a little tipsy at the Harvard Reunion. One thing leads to another and then nine months later we welcome a little girl, Paloma, into the world.”

Rafael ran his hand through your hair. “She’ll have all of us wrapped around her little finger since she’s the baby of the family.”

“We’ll go on vacations, have family dinners, go to school pageants, decorate the fridge with macaroni art, and get sticky chocolate kisses. We’ll be more in love than ever and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Rafael opened his eyes and studied your face. Your eyes were still closed, lost in that perfect world you both created with your words. He audibly swallowed and cupped your cheek. “Y/N,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you. The electricity between you both was palpable. You were like a moth to a flame, completely drawn in by him. Tilting your head up, you inched closer, your noses bumped up against one another, his hot breath on your face. “Oh God, this is really happening,” you thought. Just as your lips were about to connect, the door opened and in stepped your mother, her face fraught with worry.

“Mommy!” you exclaimed and instantly sat up.

She ran to you and gently pulled you into her arms, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, baby. Are you alright? I was so scared.”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice slightly muffled from being locked in her embrace. “The doctor said I could go home tomorrow.”

She kissed your forehead and lovingly stroked your hair when she locked eyes with Rafael, who was still laying in bed with you. The pair exchanged an awkward glance. “Hi, Rafael.”

Rafael immediately jumped out of bed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. “Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Rafi took good care of me.” You reached for his hand. “He’s the best husband ever.”

Your mother slowly stood up from the bed, her jaw dropping to the floor. “Husband?!”

“Oh didn’t you hear? I’m married now,” you replied and gave Rafael a sly wink.

“Married?” Your mother tried to maintain her composure. After all, she was once young and dumb, but her panicked tone gave her away.

Worried that she was about to have a heart attack, Rafael spoke up. “We’re not actually married. It’s a long story.”

You laid back in bed, looking between your mother and Rafael. “My two favorite people in the whole wide world,” you sighed.

Your mother chuckled and fluffed up your pillow. “I see they gave you the good drugs.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “So who wants to explain why you decided to lie about being man and wife.”

*****

Once you had fallen asleep, your mother quietly left your room and went over to the vending machine running into Rafael who was getting another cup of coffee. “Long night, huh?” She gave him a sympathetic smile.

Rafael yawned in response.

“So how long have you been in love with my daughter?” she asked while deciding between a Reese’s and a Snickers bar as if she was casually bringing up the weather.

Taken by surprise, Rafael took a large gulp of coffee and burnt his tongue. “I...uh...I don’t—”

“Rafael, come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He looked down at the floor, focusing on his shoes before facing her. “Since the first day I met her,” he confessed.

She nodded her head and picked up her candy bar. “I suspected as much. You know she’s in love with you too,” she said.

“You think so?” he asked, following her out into the hallway and over to a small waiting area.

“Rafael, I’ve seen you two together and I know my daughter. She lights up whenever you’re around.”

Rafael was never one to express his emotions. He still had nightmarish flashbacks from high school when Lauren Sullivan turned him down in front of the entire junior class. Poor Rafael was left standing in the cafeteria with nothing but a tray of Salisbury steak, creamed corn, and humiliation. Now that his secret was revealed, he should have felt vulnerable and exposed, but instead he found comfort in your mother’s words. He was tired of hiding his feelings for you and it was a relief that someone knew. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to tell her.”

“You know I was your age when I met Y/N’s father. I accidentally smacked him on the head with a sign at an anti-war protest.” She giggled, thinking back to that fateful day.

A smile tugged at Rafael’s lips. Your mother’s laugh sounded just like yours. “Really? Y/N never told me that.”

“We were madly in love for twenty years until he passed away. What I wouldn’t give for just one more chance to tell him how I feel. Tell him how much I love him.” She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes shiny with tears. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go home, get some sleep, and tomorrow morning you’re gonna tell Y/N how much you love her. Don’t let life pass by without telling the people you love how you feel about them.” With a gentle pat to his knee, she stood up and began to walk back to your room.

Rafael followed suit and went his respective way, heading in the direction of the elevators when your mother called his name. She half-jogged over and pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“I’d do anything for her,” he softly said.

“I know.” She smiled and left him just as the elevator doors opened. He stepped inside, hopeful of what tomorrow would bring.

*****

Rafael fidgeted while he waited in line at the hospital gift shop. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, nervous and excited, going over and over in his head the speech he had prepared for you. This was a crucial turning point in your relationship. Everything had to be perfect. Stepping up to the counter, he set down a single red rose and a small teddy bear with a bandaid on its head. The cashier, who was a less than enthused teenage girl wearing black lipstick and a nose ring, began ringing up the items.

“Hi,” Rafael said with a big goofy grin. “These are for my girlfriend. Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet. She’s my best friend, but I hope that’ll change soon.”

“Uh-huh,” the cashier replied.

“Yeah, she’s getting out today. Thought I would stop by early and surprise her. I had a long talk with her mom last night and she told me to just go for it and tell her how I feel and you don’t care at all do you?”

“Not really.” She loudly smacked her gum between her lips. “That’ll be $13.82.”

Rafael rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing over the money. After taking his change, he grabbed the flower and bear and made his way out of the gift shop when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks.

*****

“You know I can walk. I’m not an invalid,” you grumbled as an orderly wheeled you out of the hospital with your mother in tow.

“Hospital policy,” the orderly replied.

“You’ll be on your feet soon enough, sweetheart,” your mother said. All three of you made your way outside when you noticed she was twisting her head as if she was looking for someone.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought maybe Rafael would show up.” She leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna get the car. I’ll be right back.”

While waiting, you wondered why she was expecting Rafael to show up. The poor guy was probably home, passed out in bed. Flashbacks of last night came rushing back. What started as a terrifying ordeal quickly changed the moment you saw him. The lullaby. Your fantasy life together as husband and wife. The almost kiss. But then that gnawing doubt crept back into your mind. Perhaps he was just placating you. After all, you were scared and in the hospital. He may have been saying anything at that moment to calm you down.

You continued to ruminate on the situation when you heard your name being called. Looking up, you saw none other than Chet Aldrich balancing a large bouquet of roses and a teddy bear that was almost as big as you. “What are you doing here?” you blurted out.

Chet bit his bottom lip and kicked at the pavement. “I came to apologize for leaving last night. These are for you.” He placed the flowers and stuffed animal in your lap.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly in shock by the gesture.

“Let me give you some privacy,” the orderly said with an awkward chuckle and walked back into the hospital.

Once the orderly left, Chet let out a big breath. “I’d still like to make it up to you. Maybe I can take you out on Saturday night?”

“Like a date?”

Chet blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, like a date.”

You thought of Rafael for a moment then quickly pushed him aside. It was time to grow up and move on. A smile slowly spread across your face. “I’d love to,” you said, unaware that you were being watched the entire time.

*****

Rafael saw the whole thing through the gift shop window. The three dozen red roses. The gigantic bear. The smile you gave Chet that made him weak in the knees. He saw how Chet tried to win your mother over with a fake laugh and a cheesy compliment on how she must be your younger sister.

Rather than walk out and be humiliated, he waited in the gift shop until you had driven away before leaving himself, throwing his measly rose and cheesy bear into the trash. There was a tightness in his chest and a wave of pain washed over him, consuming him. He couldn’t catch his breath. Placing his hand over the left side of his chest, he felt the rapid steady beating against his palm. “So this is what a broken heart feels like,” he thought as he made the long walk home alone. The dream life you had mapped out together would remain just that. A dream.

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @frenchiefoxy​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @goodluckfindingone​ @scarlettsoldier​ @amirightcounselor​ @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ @imagine-all-the-imagines​ @imjustreallynosy​ @graniairish​ @ashley-chi​ @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613​ @mysterioustrashadventures​ @mrsrafaelbarba​

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 24

“This looks good, djinn,” Antiquam smiled, looking almost human if the man hadn’t had a arrogant smirk accompanying his words. Or the demeaning way he never referred to her by name. He was like all the rest of the mortal world viewing her as a wish ATM.

Worst, his wishes no doubt would not be selfish but he would also use them to bring pain to others. A more vile kind of master than the average greedy mortal.

“That’s not going to happen. He is not your master.” Jordan reminded herself even as she felt his eyes boring into the back of her head as she heated up his beakers.

Yeah, as if having to be referred to her by what she was, wasn’t humiliating enough. He was asking her to use her phenomenal cosmic powers to heat up his magic objects and potion beakers.

Actually all the villain heads were using her for menial tasks. She was officially Jade’s property but Jade still had to show her loyalty to the Coven and lend her out. Not for actual wishes but just her powers.

So she had to turn ashes to gold for Zevon, conjure up multiple mirrors for Mother Gothel and Queen Grimhilde, and conjure up the rare elemental material needed for Maleficent to recreate her staff.

Each task filled her with disgust, for fulfilling the slave-like labor that genies were known for, what she had always feared she’d end up. It also filled her with dread because each item was further helping the Coven with their spells needed for the invasion.

Except Zevon’s gold, the guy just really wanted to roll around ontop a pile of coins.

But all of that was bearable compared to working under Antiquam’s eyes.

The others had allowed Jade to be in the room, acknowledging that she was the owner. But Antiquam didn;t trust his aunt one bit, and ordered out of the room since he was a “master sorcerer” and didn’t need oversight by a “petty thief.”

Jade had fought with him but eventually relented to going back to her room. Jordan couldn’t fault her exactly. They all had a cover to maintain and with Antiquam already questioning Jade’s rottenness and loyalty, she had to bow out.

At least Jade had full possession of her lamp and was loitering in the hallway in case of emergency. Small comfort that was. Antiquam wouldn’t be able to force her to do something she didn’t want to, but she’d rather avoid an incident entirely.

And while Jade was amiable enough, Jordan just didn’t trust her as much as she would trust say.. Calix or Aziz.

Aziz.

The thought of him pressed down on her like a fist against her spine.

It had been only two days but she missed him.

Not that she wasn’t still angry at him. She was. She was still very very angry at him. Allah whenever she thought of how he said he only tolerated her presence for her mgic, she wanted to burn down a wall. Damnit, hwo dare he lie to her all their lives and make her think he cared about her!

That’s what hurt the most. That even though she frankly distrusted everyone else, and believed no one was to be trusted to love her for herself until after five years of vetting, Aziz was proof that there was one person who was friends with her on her own merits. They just clicked and that was something wish greed or mortal selfishness couldn’t hide.

But he was just like the rest of them.

She was all alone now. The only one who wouldn’t lie to her would be her parents because they had jno ulterior motive for wishes being genies themselves.

And probably Aladdin and Jasmine, but they were like her parents. She couldn’t hang out with them like she did with Aziz, that’d be awkward.

There was Calix, but he didn’t have the same history with her as Aziz did. They couldn’t talk behind people’s backs in Arabic and he know about family pranks and the trials of Auradon Prep.

Aziz filled such a vital and specific place in her life… she could never replace it.

She was going to feel alone forever.

And she wasn’t even trapped inside her lamp like her parents were.

But she would be if the Coven had their way.

Even though Uma said her plan was fool proof, Jordan had doubts. But it wasn’t like she could voice them. She had given up her leadership willingly, she couldn’t change her mind. Especially since she had no plans or suggestions of how to succeed on her own.

She just had to trust Uma and play the powerful sidekick.

The weight on her spine pressed down even more and she paused from heating the beakers to put her head in her hands. Already a migraine was coming on from how much her life sucked.

She knew it was for the best, but Allah it sucked. She had taken this mission because she had thought it would be her chance to become a hero saving all of Auradon, and no one would ever refer to her as just wish fulfilment. She would have substance, she would be seen as brave and heroic, admired for her, not her magic.

And when she had given up her leadership to Uma, playing into the trope of being a bigger person and accepting that Uma would be the one to save them all, Jordan had thought that if she embraced her role asma genie. Be like her parents as everyone expected, be zany and upbeat.

She gave up after five minutes. Well thirty minutes. But a good portion of it, she was drunk. Being sober and upbeat did not come naturally to her, and the thought of fake smiling for the rest of her life made the rest of her hangover nasua come up.

Forever was a long time, and though she knew she was going to experience the unfathomable longness of forever, she still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. And the thought of being upbeat and wacky for vile masters--She actually wished a muktar would come slithering around the corner to kill her.

But here she was, playing her worst imaginable future. A genie. A slave to a villain. Nothing more than a toy for Antiquam to exploit and…

Jordan paused in her internal monologue to realize that her nightmarish imagining of being Antiquam’s plaything felt vivid. Too vivid as she felt a finger play with her breasts, caressing despite the clothing that layed between her bare skin and his hands.

The weight on her spine was not only heavy but was taking on a piercing sensation, crawling up each vertebrae and her legs felt numb. A sensation she heard described but never felt as a genie she just didn’t get cramps like mortals do.

“Wha-” she croaked, her throat constricted, and like a needle sewing two threads together, her lips sealed.

“You think I need a lamp to control you, djinn? Sure, getting your lamp would have made things easier. However, since you insist on doing things the hard way, I had to look up muhktar geniee-killing manual. The cream I put on you is supposed to paralyze you for a few minutes, since a few minutes is all one needs to kill. Lucky you, I need you for other things,” Antiquam purred, running his hands under her shirt.

Jordan tried to speak again, but a gasp was all she managed. The rest of her body was becoming numb, filled with the acute pins and needles.

She didn’t want to embrace this. She didn’t want to follow the path of her parents. Not like this. Her mind screamed but her body wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t move beyond sliding down to the ground because her legs weren’t holding her up.

“I won’t kill you,’ Antiquam straddled, locking his legs by her hips, and loomed over her so the chandelier’s light gave her a view of his silhouette but none of his mocking features.

His fingers creeped up to her throat with the same, uneasily sensual caress before tightening, “I won’t kill you, but I can.”

He tightened, pressing on her larynx, another gasp was the only thing audible though she could feel the gurgle.

“I can kill you. When you’re my genie, if disobey me or try to swindle me in any way, you better remember this moment. Remember how this hurts,” he pressed down harder, squeezing her throat. Inch by inch, losing space for air to come through. She saw blurred edges and more gurgles and panic bubbled up her throat but wouldn’t be heard.

So this is what it is like to almost die?

Antiquam leaned closer, his features still indistinguishable beyond his gleaming amber eyes and too white smile, but Jordan wouldn’t have gotten any clear view anyway for the rest of the world was growing fuzzier, “Remember how this hurts, because I will make torture a thousand times worse, and you’ll wish I had-”

Whatever Antiquam was about to threaten next was cut off by a thud. Antiquam’s body was suddenly removed from ontop of her, his weight gone though Jordan was still too numb to notice the difference.

She sluggish turned her head to the side like a drunk, her vision clearing to see Jay wrestling Antiquam in a flurry of long hair and robes and pounding his head against the cold stone ground until the man stopped moving.

Jordan stared, wondering if the stillness was another sign of death or if he was unconscious. A new numbness crowded her head. She was in shock a vague rational point of her mind suggested. But all she could do was stare at the unmoving tan fingers that moments ago were squeezing the breath out of her.

“Jordan, you ok?” Jay leaned over her, breathless and slightly blood-splattered but in this moment with the chandelier lights iver him, he looked like a divine hero.

“De-” Jordan croaked, a little feeling creeping into her fingers.

“He’s not dead, just unconscious,” Jay said stiffly, his concern replaced by a poker face, “I’ve never killed.”

Jordan ignored Jay’s defensiveness, trying to roll her wrist and slowly the rest of her limbs from its temporary paralysis.

The door creaked and Jade, Uma and Aziz peeked in with Jade triumphantly whispering, “I knew I heard voices.”

“Are you okay?” Jay asked again.

Jordan sat up, hesitantly touching her arms, savoring the fact that she could feel herself and not just  the numbness. She can feel her fingers touching her bicep, Jay straddling her.

Straddling her so similar to Antiquam.

How can she be in this situation again? Why was this her destiny?

To be used and used. To have the possibility of free will and an independent personality like a human but never actually have that choice. To always be the sidekick or enslaved prize in the story while Vks like Jay get to be the hero!

No, no way. Even though she couldn’t stop him from being the hero if Auradon once again, she wasn’t going to give him thanks for it. She hadn’t asked for him to save her.

No, no she hadn’t. Jordan thought as her mind began to rationalize and justify her anger towards Jay. If he hadn’t interrupted, she would have saved herself. She would have broken the cycle of being a used thing.

But no, it was people like Antiquam and Jay that kept her in the position of a sidekick and a genie toy.

“Yeah right I’m fine. I just saw you viciously attack Antiquam like an animal!” Jordan scooted away from him, with a wobbly attempt to stand.

“Hey, I just saved your life!” Jay yelled, “You hate me and I still saved you from Antiquam. What does that make me? Oh, right the hero!” “You’re a VK!” “You’re the asshole who can’t give me a second chance!”

“You stole my lamp!” Jordan yelled. She knew the truth. He was still the son of Jafar after all. He didn’t want to change, and he wasn’t going to, no matter how many people he saved. “That was two years ago, get over it!” “You still steal. You still want-” “Oh Allah, Jordan, get over yourself and apologize to him.” Aziz interrupted.

“You stay out of this,” Jordan hissed, refusing to look at Aziz. She knew if she did, the unwanted lump in her throat would well up with the betrayal she felt that Aziz was only agreeing with Jay because he hated her now.

“See, even he agrees with me,” Jay pointed out victorious, though his face was incredulous at the support, “And he hates me as much as you.” “I don’t hate you,” Aziz protested.

“Don’t act like the good guy. You do! You two are against me all the time for no reason. I’m good now but nothing I do will ever change your mind.” “Oh please. You haven’t been trying to change this whole time. The first time I saw you, you were in FG’s office for stealing. Sorry but it takes a little more than a few months to make someone trust a person who bragged about being the princes of lies.” Aziz scoffed

“I saved Auradon from Maleficent and Uma! That proves enough!” Jay defended

“You only did it because you lived in Auradon too.” Jordan rolled her eyes.

“I. Saved. You. Now.” Jay cried with frustration.

“Jordan, he’s right, thank him,” Aziz repeated to her though Jordan chanced a look to see he was seething too.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Jay snarled.

“Tajeal min Alsaeb 'an Takun Bijanibik,” (You make it hard to be on your side) Aziz said to himself.

A glimpse of agreement and familiarity returned, and Jordan added in Arabic, “la yumkinuk 'iijra' taghyir ghyr shareiin,” (You can’t make a bastard change).

They shared a knowing smile, something akin to their old rapport returning when Jay, of course, ruined things as usual.

“See this is exactly what I mean. You literally are talking about me to my face.” Jay said.

“Sorry, your dear old Dad didn’t teach you anything but to lie and steal,” Jordan said sarcastically while Aziz chimed, “We invited you to come to Agrabah. You could learn about your heritage if you really wanted to.” “I’d rather stay here than go to Agrabah with you,” Jay shot back

“Wow, nice comeback. The feeling’s mutual.” Aziz shot back

“Like you’re the king of comebacks,” Jordan switched targets, a new rush of irritation from the intrusion of Aziz’s comments in what was supposed to be a fight between her and Jay. After all, if he didn’t want her meddling around in his life, he should give her the same courtesy.

“Just like you’re the goddess of congeniality,” Aziz retorted.

“Why, why am I the one cursed with being shoved with you too. Mal thinks Audrey is the worst. No, you two are the worst!” Jay pulled at his hair as if he wanted to tear it out. Jordan shared the feeling which made Jordan even more furious. She didn’t want to share anything with Jay.

“Nadhil,” She spat.

“Alqawl aleahira” Aziz glared at her.

And Jay let loose the little arabic he did know. All curses.

“Guys, people,” Uma came into the fold between Jordan barely noticed the blue dreads in her view. All she saw was red, and imagined her tongue like burning cat o’ nine tails whipping Aziz and Jay with her worlds. Adding literal heat to their explosive argument.

Steam began to rise from the cement blocks, and Jordan rationally knew they were blowing their cover by being so loud but she didn’t care. These two annoyances had been the source of so much unease and anger and sadness the past month, she wanted them to hurt just as badly.

These foolish stupid mortals who neber had real problems. Never were a slave to a lamp. Just a slave to their greed and selfish desires, using her however they want.They were never the victim of someone like Antiquam. Their pain was barely comparable to hers. She was the one who deserved to be angry.

Uma shoved Jordan and Jay apart, her back toward Aziz, but they all continued yelling. “I’ll handle this,” Calix’s voice whispered, gently pulling Uma away and a cloud of blue mist swirled around them all.

Picking them up and spinning faster and faster like a tornado until they dropped down against the gold walls.

The gold walls of her lamp.

[zevlors-tail]

Hi hii!! May I get a matchup for one of Class 1A? I don't mind what gender because I think that both girls and boys are sexc *cough* anyways,, I have black- kinda wavy hair that goes right below my shoulders and I'm a person who's always laughing at terrible jokes I make because I'm a funny person haha- I also LOVE to draw and I would love for someone who showers me with affection because I'm very touched-starved like that 🥺🥺 thank you very much!!

Hi hi hi! I was so excited when I saw you sent a request in for a matchup because I love making friends and doing and writing stuff for them alsdjflsdj so uh yeah I had so much fun with this! <3 Also, I knew exactly who I shipped you with the second I finished reading this lol.

I ship you with: Mina Ashido!

-Okay firstly, she would absolutely shower you in attention, cuddles, snuggles, rub her face against yours, she’s just so touchy with you. She’s like that in general, but especially with her close friends, and even more so with you. She’ll just come up behind you with a “Whatcha doin, Y/N???” and drape her arms around your neck and down your torso. And even before you got together romantically, she would just casually cuddle you in the common area or in your rooms, and she didn’t really care if others saw or not.

-Will totally laugh at your jokes with you. She loves your sense of humor! Mina is another person who would definitely have inside jokes with everyone, and you two are always coming up with new ones. Contrary to you thinking that your jokes are terrible, she lives for them. She’ll sit there and hype you up and come up with terrible jokes with you. Sometimes both of you crack yourselves up so much that you can’t even get the joke out before you’re wheezing and wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.

-The best part about the jokes? They start randomly. Both of you do it; you could just be sitting there studying or talking about something else entirely when it suddenly goes dead quiet for a moment, and then... “Hey, Y/N.” “Yeah?” “What did the socks say to the pants?” “I don’t know, Mina, what did they say?” “Sup, britches?” Cue the wild laughter and hollering. You’ve probably woken some others up in the middle of the night before during one of your sleepovers because of how much you make each other laugh.

-Mina loves your drawings. She’s so supportive of your work and will help you with it in any way she can! If you make her your muse, she’ll be head over heels for you in an instant. Not that she wasn’t already before, but she would really enjoy knowing she’s a source for your inspiration and passion. Also, Mina is hardly a serious person, but if you’re ever feeling down on yourself for how little you’ve drawn or like your your art isn’t good enough, she will 100% get serious with you and tell you how amazing your drawings are and how much hard work she sees you putting into them. She’ll make it her mission to build your self confidence back up.

-If she ever hears you say that you’re touch starved, you are NEVER getting rid of her. Like, ever. She will constantly be all over you 24/7 (as long as you’re okay with it) and holding you, cuddling you, and sneaking into your dorm to snuggle up to you at night. You’re not sure how many times the teachers have scolded her for that, but it’s way too many to count. You don’t mind though...she’s warm and soft and very very cuddly. :) She is a precious pink gremlin who loves you with her whole heart!

Fall Drabble: Hayrides 

I didn’t see a fall themed word in your ask so I just went ahead with this one, I hope that’s okay! Also I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, the second half of this was written while I was v tired and it was not proof read at all.

“Alright, here we are. Please make sure to behave yourselves accordingly.”

Aizawa stood up and hopped out of the doors to the giant bus you’d been on for over an hour now, which prompted the other students to stand and stretch or grab their things before exiting the vehicle. You and Mina had been at the very back, so you relaxed a bit as everyone else filed out into the field filled with pumpkins.

“I can’t believe they’re really letting us take a field trip to a pumpkin patch this year. Isn’t this so awesome!?” Your girlfriend squealed beside you as she waved her arms around and jumped up in excitement. Her eyes shone bright with joy, and you found it adorable how she could be so full of sunshine over the smallest things. You were so glad she was a part of your life. “Do you think they have apple cider here? Awe, man I hope they do! I haven’t had any in ages.”

“I’m sure they do,” you replied as you finally stepped off the bus.

The field in front of you was filled with pumpkins for as far as the eye could see, and off to the left there was a small gravel road that led to a dusty old barn with chipping red paint and a few boarded up windows. In front of the barn was a peculiar booth setup, and as you read the sign above it, you nudged Mina in the side and pointed over in the general direction of the building. 

“I think I found your apple cider. Wanna go get some?” you asked with a grin.

“Oh, hell yes!”

The two of you made your way over and quickly got in line where you waited for what felt like forever before you were finally served. You reached your hand into your pocket to fish your wallet out and cover the cost, but Mina smacked your hand away and payed with her money instead before thanking the server.

“Why’d you do that? I’ve been saving up for this all week!” You pouted and whined, but she just brushed you off and smiled at you.

“Don’t worry about it. You know I love spoiling you!” Your pink counterpart giggled and bounced along next to you as you walked around the field looking at pumpkins after that. It didn’t take long to finish your drinks, and you were debating going back for another when a loud sound coming from the right caught the attention of both of you. “What do you think that is?” Mina asked you curiously. 

“It kind of sounds like...a tractor?” 

Sure enough, the giant machine was weaving it’s way through a beaten path in the middle of the pumpkin patch with a huge open trailer attached at the back. You watched as other students seemed to gather around it in anticipation for something. The tractor finally came to a stop a minute later by the entrance to the field, and some of your classmates hopped up onto the trailer bed where there were bales of straw for seats, and leaves scattered all over the floor amongst the loose strands of straw.

“It is a tractor, and they’re giving hayrides Can we go can we co can we go? Y/N please!” Mina begged. She clasped your hands in hers and shook them around as if that would help to convince you. Not that you needed any convincing, anyways. Of course you would go with her; all she had to do was ask.

“Let’s do it!” You tried to match her enthusiasm, but you weren’t sure anyone could outshine Mina, yourself included.

“Yassss! Come on then!”

The two of you scrambled your way over to the huge green tractor and hoisted yourselves up and into the trailer bed, greeting the other students as you did so. You spotted Ochaco and Midoriya on your right towards the end with Asui, Shouto and Iida were on your left, Tokoyami, Sero, Kaminari and Jirou were in front of you sitting in a neat line, and to your amazement, even Aoyama had tagged along. Mr. Aizawa sat at the very front of the trailer to oversee everyone and communicate with the driver, a stack of blankets in his hands in case anyone got cold.

As the tractor took off with a bumpy start, you accidentally lurched sideways into your girlfriend. She wrapped an arm around you to help keep you steady as you were all pulled along slowly, the holes in the ground making you bounce up and down every time the tractor drove over them. But you had to admit, this was fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been out to do something like this. Maybe when you were a kid?

“Aizawa sensei, can we have a blanket?” Mina asked, and suddenly there was something soft being thrown at you. Mina unfolded it carefully and tossed it around you both to keep you warm. You leaned further into her, glad to be with her on a perfect Fall day like this one.

What more could you ask for?

[vanaera]

400 LUX (Prologue)

Synopsis | You’d like to think that Yoongi loves you in small details-a brush of his hand across yours, sweet smiles sent only to your way, and that look in his eyes you know he doesn’t give to anyone else but you. But it’s not enough to tell when he also pushes you away, cold and alone, far from you to touch him whenever you get too close. But tonight, under the midnight sky, in his beat-up car he sneaked you out far from your parents who detest him, far from your friends who disapprove him, and far from the society who abhors such a monstrosity of a man, you guess living and dying with him is all you could do for him to believe that you’re not like everybody else. You’re not leaving him. You’re going to stay. “We deconstruct the conventions, pick apart every bit of our rationality, and keep our head out of windows until we learn to lay and stay in each other's arms. We'll form a world of our own. Just the two of us–you and me.” Pairing | yoongi x reader (boxer!yoongi + bestfriend!you) Genre | Angst Wordcount | 2.7k Warnings | Implicit smut and mentions of violence (This IS a boxing!AU) A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOONGI!!! And for my honeyboy’s birthday, this honeygirl (me) decided to start a new oneshot featuring Min Yoongi in a boxing AU! (Also, this is under my Songs to Read Playlist as I listened to Lorde’s 400 Lux on repeat and OHOHOHO I tried a different style for this and after working on it for some time, I found it was one of the dearest works of mine that I hold close to my heart). This is just the prologue so prepare, hons, for the major fic drop I’m going to do in the future ;D

               I always knew not to expect anything from him.

               "Expectation is just a shit entitlement people forced unto others to keep everything controlled when they're not supposed to be that way," he always nonchalantly say whenever anything so minutely related to it is brought up. One doesn't need to doubt it when he's become an existent proof living off with that ideology.

               Min Yoongi runs on his own rules, crosses every boundary set by social conventions, and does not bother to look back at the trails he left, even if it will ruin everything he's built his life on.

               The only thing that matters are the consequences. Win or lose, black or white, live or die–it's all binary to him.

               His right hand shifts the gearshift forward, his left grasped a little too tight on the steering wheel. He glances at my way. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

               "Nothing," I said. The screeching of the worn tires on the hard, graveled pavement sounds distant and I prefer not to take a glimpse at the abused speedometer. His eyes are enough of warning signs to where we're headed anyway.

               He chuckles. "You afraid with the speed, babe?"

               "No," I quickly answered and I smiled. I knew we stand on the same lane. We'll never get the taste of life until we're face-to-face with death. We won't die tonight though; we're just gonna live a little.

               He grins and steps on the pedal harder, but his words will forever be contradictory. "I still gotta keep us both alive though. At least you–you still need to come home to your folks before they know I sneaked you out again, I just," he turns to look at me again, "I need to show you something."

               I smiled and let my hand rest on his and then, we pushed the stick shift further forward. Before long, laughter was already filling the empty tree streets. The streetlights above looked like bruised suns in awe of us.

               Expectations and obligations are mere concepts fictitious in Yoongi’s mind. Too free to be caged, too mercurial to be kept within the lines; he is hard to read between the lines, hard to grasp at the critical times, and hard to love...at times. Only a few times.

               Mistakes and regret fill his blood streams; morals are askew on the muddled blues and reds of his frayed veins. His name is lackluster of prestige and respect–his first name, his first creation and his last name, the last contribution his family could ever give to him. But when he stands in the 16 by 20 ring, with all the thousand luxes of unrelenting white headlights shining on all the crimson blood he spat, the violent blues of his blown-up eyes, and his beat-up garnet fists that only knew to swing, plow, and destroy–the name “Min Yoongi, King Cobra” is nothing but an aspiring legend. His name is too large for someone else to swallow that no one dares to speak of it with the contempt it deserves unless it’s in the ring. He is the epitome of the blasphemy everyone barely whispers, an abomination of a future lover, and a hideous joke of a man. No wonder he is the sin everyone told me not to commit.

               Yoongi may be a horrible blur of temptation, damnation and even a bit of some salvation, but he's also my bestfriend–the only one who can understand me and the only one who I learned to love. Far more than that probably because at this point, I’m willing to do anything for him.

               We’ve been through shits together, strived for dreams longer than we should together, and even plummeted to the deepest “worst” we can be together. We even learned together how eyes don’t only hold one destination at its focused end, how ears don’t only catch the blacks and whites, how skins felt much deeper than the warmth of the flesh, and how tongues don’t only hold names engraved on our palms and minds. They’re so much more and I realized all of them when we decided to dwell the blurred lines of the intimacy of our friendship. In the raven black of the night warmed by the soft glow of his room, I saw how his eyes only saw me instead of the glistening golden title in the middle of the ring. I felt how close and warm he was that I could feel all of him and all we could be under my touch when I’m used to him being cold and withdrawn. And I tasted how drunk, overwhelmed, invincible, and vulnerable I can be off his name and everything about him when they all stumbled past my swollen lips.

               He looks at me again and all thoughts halt in an ugly pause. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

               I smiled. Nobody expected him to be like this–to live like this, so how can I even expect him to have the same magnitude of the feelings I have? I bite my tongue. I can’t tell him I love him. No, not yet, when everything about us is not yet clear. I returned his gaze with an answer, “Nothing. Is it wrong to look at you?”

               “I’m not quite the sight to look at, sweetheart.” He shrugs off the sudden indifference on his lips with a chuckle that probably hurt his throat. It sounded hoarse; he’s been laughing quite a lot this night.

                Silence fills the gaps between us but before it can drag out to a suffocating one, Yoongi decided to break it.  “We’re just around the corner though,” he says and when I looked back out the window, the thicket of the stubby tree trunks have dwindled into narrow ones and green shrubs. We were far off from the streets we grew up in, a little bit in the middle between the tree streets and the foreign countryside for the old streetlamps in our neighborhood were no longer above our heads, watching us. Instead, dirt roads with unmarked soil stretched before us, trees mimicking the foliage of forests we dreamt of in fairy tales swayed past us, and the midnight haze that lined the skyline was not pitch dark as it should be.

               Yoongi was already pulling the park break when I saw what replaced everything from where we’re before. In front of us, lay the entirety of the city. I could see the navy sea where we drove to whenever we feel troubled, the crusty diner owned by Auntie Rose where we always come to kill time, the arcade we snuck to when life gets a little too hard on us, the apartment we used to live in, the foster home where he grew up, and even the high school we went to together-me drowning in books and wrinkled music sheets, and Yoongi with detentions and bandages smeared with dried blood.

               I glanced at Yoongi and he, too, was looking at the scene before us. But unlike me, he’s looking at the west side. I followed his gaze. On the west side lay the fastfood chain I had my first job despite my family’s objections, the grimy garage where he had his unlike everyone’s expectations. On the west side sat the disheveled studio I bought to do music, a tiny space in a building with cracking paint and walls, crammed between the rough constructions of the downtown, a tiny secret from my folks that I will never disclose. Just a street next to it is the gym where Yoongi trains, where he first learned the southpaw, where he first learned how to hit the sandbag right, where he first wore his own red gloves. And right in the center of the west side stood Front Street Club, the country club where Yoongi first felt happiness in what he earned, where he showed the town his famous “Cobra Hook,” and where he built his life as the King Cobra, wearing the last name of his mother on his trunks.

               In the center of it all, was the moon in its full glory, so enormous it encompassed both the east and the west sides. Ghost-white and pale, this sun’s respite was the only source of light in this starless night.

               “Isn’t it beautiful?” Yoongi’s voice draws me back to him.

               “Yes. I,” I bit my lip, “I’ve never seen something like this before.”

               “Yeah, me too,” he sighs, “I drove here impulsively one afternoon and thought of bringing you here because the view of the sunset was magnificent.” I felt him grabbing my hand, intertwining our fingers together. I looked at him and he chuckled before pulling me close next to him, the gearshift and the central compartment separating us but it doesn’t feel like it when my head is tucked under his jaw, body encased by his right arm that hugged my shoulders. “But you know me, and you know your folks. I can’t take you to beautiful sunsets and can only provide you midnight rides.”

               “It’s okay-actually more than okay,” I said. “The moon is beautiful and the whole city below us looked like a night haven. This is really, more than enough.”

               “Yeah, but,” his voice falters and I look up at him. He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “I know you like sunsets and I–I can’t even drive you here to see one.”

               “It’s okay. We can just pretend we’re watching a sunset tonight though.”

               “How will we do that?”

               “Well,” I sink deeper in his embrace, “we can pretend that the city now bathes in yellow and orange and red hues. We would be able to see the beach glittering like pink dust and probably some children playing or dancing by the shore. The diner would probably shine in its iconic red and white plaster with the usual patrons coming in their Harley’s and there’ll be kids like us who’ll sweep by the doors and make the adults watch them make the diner a playground than a pit of white-lines business.” He chuckles at the distant memory we have and I continued on. “Then the building where my studio is will look so pretty with all the sun’s rays hitting the cracks and the peeling paint of its walls, highlighting the mini graffiti we did on the front. Your gym though would look so cool because its brick red paint would look much intense and vibrant, and I know how that saturated view will make you giddy because it will give off Rocky’s Philadelphia vibes.

               Yoongi nods and giggles. I followed suit. “What about the sun, then?” he asks.

               “It would be golden. Vibrance and brightness toned down yet shining at the same time that it almost glitters. It will bury its way down right in the middle after it burned enough for the moon to have traces of her shine.  Even if it’s just an inch of her left for us to see, we still feel illuminated by the 400 lux luminosity that surrounded us.”

               “Wait, how do you know its luminosity amounts to 400 lux?”

               I laughed beside him. “I didn’t know you’re interested in that.” He shrugged with his nose scrunched and I laughed again. “We had physics yesterday. Our professor taught us so.”

               “Then..what’s the luminosity of the moon–like–right now?”

               “Well, I guess it’s around 0.3. It actually ranges from 0.05 to 0.3 but since it’s big like this, it’s a full 0.3.”

               “That small? I mean,” he looks at the scenery before us again, “Look at it! It’s gigantic! How can it be just 0.3?”

               “That’s what I just learned and researched, Yoongz. But you know,” I drew his attention back to me, “Not everything’s congruent. Huge things can have a brightness like this–calm, cool, unsaturated, and passive. And small things can be so bright it nearly blinds the eyes.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “The spotlights that shine on you in the ring, they’re more than a thousand luxes. And they’re shining on you. I could never agree more; you’re worth that thousands, King Cobra.”

                He doesn’t laugh and just gives me the same smile I always see in him in front of everybody–the one I find hard to decipher, the one I’m not used to. “Well I’ll say, you’re shining to about 400 lux.”

               I sat up, chuckling. “So you see me as a sunset? I mean I love sunsets but you do know sunsets mean farewells, wait,” I giggled, “are you implying that I’m going to leave you?”

               Tongues have an awful irony. They lighten your chest from uttering words you’ve long kept bottled up. But, they also make you taste every inch of remorse from saying them.

               It was supposed to be a joke but by the look in his eyes, it wasn’t what I intended for him to feel.

               “Well, will you?”

               I looked at him and for once, I can’t read him at all. His eyes looked distant yet so intimately close, his hand loose on my shoulders, ready to pull or push me away, and his warmth under my fingers felt fervid and algid at the same time. But I never broke our gaze for hesitation has never been my option whenever it comes to him. “Of course no.”

               He just smiled at me. No answers were returned, just silence.

               I leaned my head back on his shoulder and watched the city below us. When we first met, he told me that my eyes were not made to see miseries and I fought for years to prove him wrong. I can see sorrow, I can see remorse, and most importantly, I see him. But I know he’s more than the agony that pulls all his nerves taut against the wars in his mind. He’s more than the people who left him, doubted him, and made him broken beyond repair. And I’m not going to be among them.

               I molded myself closer to him and this time, grasped his fingers to interlock with mine, no plans of letting go anytime soon. He looks at me again and raises our intertwined fingers to press a gentle kiss on the back of my hand. I sighed and let my lips return one against the juncture of his jaw. I’ll prove it to him–that I’m not like the other ones. My mother always told me that I’m never like those sunny girls that live the usual life. I’m detached, peculiar, a girl with her head spent too much on the clouds.  Then so be it. I’ll be peculiar with Yoongi and we’ll make our own world together. And I would do whatever it takes until he sees how I can make the moon shine like the sun for him.

               It may not be pretty, but it’s ours.

 A/N pt.2: Happy birthday to the greatest love of my life Min Yoongi!!! You’ve inspired me to have the dream of becoming a writer who can wield words that can wreck lives, for better or worse–to write a tornado for me and my readers that I and they can find solace in, all for the sake of art. I can’t say how much love I have for you enough, because I’ve never felt someone so distant from me can have the same effect to me as my family and close friends before knowing you back in 2013. Keep inspiring people and making art. I hope you can also find more things to be happy about in life because I’m sincerely grateful for you becoming one of mine. Happy birthday, Min Yoongi ♡ ♡ ♡

For my followers who continues supporting and appreciating my work, thank you so much! I will fulfill your requests on my next posts, though my schedule won’t be that fast-paced as your honeygirl will have tons of exams and term papers, but rest assured I’m working on them already! Thank you so much, I love you all, hons!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[letmeringabell]

Legends Never Die - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 : Fancy Meetin’ Ya

I know, I'm posting really fast. But you've just gotta let the creative juices flow before I experience untimely burn-out that makes it harder to write. On the side-note, I really love Ada Wong's design, I think there's something just so mysterious and pretty about her design. So, imagine Vanessa as Ada.

Why Vanessa? Well, I only liked Vanessa because you could shorten it to Van. I also considered Vesper, and Diana, which I think are suitable names.

Also, can you tell I'm a fan of longing glances and slow burn? Yeah, I eat that shit up. I'm a sucker for fics of these cliches, and I always wanna die. But anyway, do tell me what you think of this chapter, whether I'm going too fast, too slow, whether i'm writing too much or too little. If you have any headcanons or scenarios, tell me now or forever hold your peace. Or do I forever hold my peace? I don't know man.

(3185 words)

AO3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49454489

-

The flurry of sand and desert heat hadn’t been too kind on him, but when has Outworld weather been known for Southern hospitality? Nevertheless, he counts his lucky stars that he’s finally back, because the last mission has his bones ragged. The last mission hadn’t been hard, just tiresome; One of Kotal’s ‘trusted’ partner had been selling Imperial secrets behind his back, and who better but Erron Black to chase the bugger down?

Only this partner was highly elusive—Sending him high and low, left and right, and running all around to catch a whiff of the man. He had roamed from city to city, from village to village, and his target manages to sneak away at the last moment each time. The whole cat-and-mouse chase is enough to drive any man insane, but the cowboy isn’t deterred by the challenge so arrogantly posed. In fact, he waits, bides his time on the down-low patiently for any misstep by his target.

Although, a word from the wise is overdue; One must never let their guard down during a chase, especially when the predator had been the masked marauder himself.

Yet all it takes is one afternoon for the man to forget, wondering through busy markets without a care in the world, while Erron patiently stakes out in a room of one of the buildings nearby with his rifle aimed surreptitiously at the man’s head. The reminder had been fatal; All it takes is one shot, and the man falls without a sound.

The chaos that ensues after makes up for the silence in the man’s death. Everyone gathers around the corpse, and screams at the horror of the whole situation. He feels no need to wait around and collect the man’s body; The news of that man’s death will travel around, and that is proof enough that he had been successful in his headhunting. Nature had given everyone something to fall back on, and sooner or later, someone’s gotta fall on it.

And this time, it was that man’s turn to fall.

And it was his time to tap out for the night, had enough of all these games of cat-and-mouse. Gotta rest the old bones before conquering the days ahead.

Imagine his surprise when he got back to the Palace, to see the place filled to the brim with Special Forces units. He sees the Kahn having a conversation with the Commander, and saunters towards them, ignoring the hushed whispers on the sidelines.

“Hola, Miss Cassie Cage.”

“Erron, how awful it is to see you.”

“I assure you Darlin’, the feelings mutual,” He shoots back, “What brings you over to our humble abode?”

It is Kotal that cuts through their ‘cordial’ banter, “I have invited Special Forces here to help strengthen our ties with Earthrealm. Kitana and Jade will take care of their day-to-day needs, you will overlook their sparring sessions.”

Erron glares at the Kahn, but he lets it slide – The Kahn always compensates for his time generously. It is what keeps him loyal, and motivates him to undertake all sorts of janky missions for the sovereign. There is never a dull time serving Kotal, and he appreciates the unpredictability in his missions. It keeps him preoccupied, and least of all, keeps him entertained.

He excuses himself and leaves the Kahn and Commander to their affairs. Besides, he has an errand to attend to; A drop-off of rare medicinal herbs for the doctors at the Infirmary. All of them had requested for this specific breed of Spider Lilly, said it was good for re-energizing the tired soul. He could care less about the methods used in re-creating that effect, what mattered was the results.

He doesn’t bother with knocking when he enters the Infirmary. They know it’s him by the sound of his footsteps and they scramble to surround him like moths to a flame. He hands over the flower, and they thank him profusely. Appreciation and gratitude are good for the soul, but when a man’s tired, nothing sounded more tempting than a sip of whiskey and a comfortable bed to sleep on.

He looks up and catches sight of a woman leaning against the doorway of the unused office. Short raven hair, equally dark eyes, and she stands hardly the height of Sonya nor Cassie Cage (at least, from this distance), but looks strong enough to easily throw a man over her shoulder should he look at her the wrong way – Fitting, for a person working in the Special Forces.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes as well. So, he tips his hat off to her, Howdy unspoken in his greeting towards her. He knows she can’t miss it, because he catches her in the act of sizing him up as well. Yet, she seemed confused, and a little curious? Nevertheless, she seemed to return the gesture with a small nod of her own before closing the door to retreat into the room.

“Who is she?”

She is one of the Doctors from Special Forces, one of them had replied. She had been part of the Special Forces Delegation, and assigned to the medical unit in the Palace infirmary. She came to learn and bring back Outworlds treatments and cures back to Earthrealm. A question pops into his head-- Aren’t Earthrealm’s medical practice vastly different from Outworld? In Outworld, doctors use high-level magicks to heal wounds of all variety—Burns, grazes, you name it. Given the supernatural nature of Outworlds modern medicine, he highly doubts she can learn anything from these doctors who uses spells instead of science.

 (Then again, the only thing he knows of medicinal remedies is when his own Pa spat whiskey into his wounds, and damn, the pain had been one sonuvabitch to swallow)

-

“The Valerian root helps patients deal with their anxiety, a form of sedative, one might say. But taken in large and uncontrolled amounts, only backfires and induces insomnia.”

“What about this?”

“The Goldenseal root is used as an antiseptic. Again, if consumed in large amounts, is highly poisonous and will only further irritate the eye and skin.”

“And this?”

“The Echinacea leaf is commonly used to prevent flus or colds, but long-term use could disturb the body’s immune system.”

“Basically, too much of anything is a bad thing.”

-

Making medicine with the herbs and plants found in Outworld is challenging. The art of making medicine in Outworld, she finds, is similar to chemistry – If she places too little of one herb, the supposed effects don’t flourish and are made redundant because it is overpowered by the potency of other herbs. Yet, if carelessness had been her approach, she could easily induce unknown side-effects, or worse, actually kill a person. Thus, the delicate balance of underwhelming and catastrophic are outcomes she monitors like a hawk.

She enjoys this side of her work nonetheless. It allows her to better understand the more traditional aspects of her work, and expand on more creative options should modern medicine fail in being readily available.

However, the paperwork, and regular inventory checks are cumbersome all the same. Her rationale is that sometimes, you’ve just got to sit through the unsavory parts of the job so that you can reap its benefits. That doesn’t mean she can’t silently complain about how uneventful some days, or how stagnant her progress in learning can be. It’s become a point of contention, and it’s only been 2 weeks since her first day in Outworld. Her hands are itching for something new to work on.

Bored eyes cast sweeping glances over the city, and of course, she catches a glimpse of the cowboy himself. Ah, today is the training session between Outworld and Special Forces’ Soldiers. He is relaxed; There is a slight slouch in his posture, and he didn’t seem too interested in the body-tossing action happening right before him. She can tell, that he is still hypervigilant – His arms are at his side, and are steadily poised beside the holsters on his pants. All it takes is one motion to swipe his pistol up, and BANG!

And as much as she hates to admit it, her thoughts do float around the masked man she had met, no, seen. She hadn’t talked to him, nor has she passed him by in the past 2 weeks. She had asked her colleagues about the man, and the responses she had gotten were strangely varied – ‘He’s the Kahn’s main headhunter’, ‘A man who knows how to drink any man under the table’, and ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy’. The last phrase had been told, but felt unneeded. Any person’s business under the sheets, is nothing she wants to know about. Least of all, his business.

But you are curious, a small voice whispers in the back of her mind, He is the leading man shrouded in mystery and danger.

She reprimanded herself; There are other things to be curious about.

-

The whole day has been a bore, and its starting to make his hands itch and fret restlessly. Apparently, today’s training session had been requested by Miss Cage, what better way there is to strengthen the bonds of friendship than participating in friendly kombat? He could just shut one eye, and believe her desire for camaraderie between soldiers of two realms, but he can see through her bullshit as clear as day, and it makes him raise a wary brow at the Commander.

The logic behind her unspoken reason had been sound – It is best to fight as many types of kombatants as you can, provided that one chooses their opponents well. Any Tom, Dick and Harry can get the theory down easy. But if you don’t have the practice, the real hand-to-hand experience, one can only expect to have their asses handed to them over and over again. Face-to-face Kombat allows fighters to exercise their real-time reactions, gives them the chance to better their reflexes and recognize the precise moment to either move forward and attack, or retract and defend.

So, today is a masterclass in Outworld Kombat for the Special Forces. However, the session is but a double-edged sword. Just as the Special Forces had come to learn and observe, the army had come prepared to do the same.

His eyes search for any telltale of black within the sea of browns and blondes, and is only greeted by her absence in return. He wants to make her acquaintance, and knows that she is a doctor for the Special Forces. That doesn’t give him the right to be waltzing into her office without any sort of official business. It would only invite talks of rumors and gossip to fly around, and he would be doing them both a favor by abstaining from such behavior.

So, what’s a man to do to earn his trip to the doctor’s office without seeming like such an ass?

He looks at Miss Cage, unless, the stirrings of a brilliant idea come to mind.

-

“Yo, Clint Eastwood! You too chicken to step into the Kumite zone with me?”

“Put your money where that mouth is, darlin’.”

-

So maybe he had been a little harsh, but Cassie had no qualms with dishing out her own brand of revenge – One rapid, well-timed kick to the core followed by a solid punch to his face. A just reward for insulting a beloved father. Outworld Soldiers are surprised by his lack of vigor in the fight, but none of Special Forces are surprised that Cassie is fierce in defending her family’s honor.

His face might hurt, and his pride a little wounded, but the fight had yielded results. He is sent to the Infirmary to await doctor’s treatment.

He waits because she is out for the moment, so he takes the chance to look around the room. There is nothing out of the ordinary; There is a couch placed near the door to welcome guests (or, patients), the books are shelved back-to-back against each other, and labelled for trouble-free browsing. He finds that most of the books are medical in nature, save for a select few in herbology and astronomy. A doctor must have her hobbies, he digresses. Everything on the desk is neatly arranged with each item assigned their designated corners; stationeries in one corner and a stack of papers in the other.

He picks up the top most paper on the pile, and lets his eyes roam over the elegant handwriting. He thinks she could easily be an artist because the sketches of various flowers and herbs are so lifelike, they mimic the figure of their real-life counterpart. There are arrows pointing to formulas and possible side-effects everywhere, and although her workspace maybe organized, her notes are just a jumbled mess.

But he admires her tenacity in the research because her notes are an impressive study in Outworld’s green.

Clack!

He turns around, and speak of the devil; She is there in the flesh, and a lot taller than he remembers.

“I’m sorry for the wait. My name is Vanessa, and I will be attending to you this evening.”

She ushers him to the seat beside her table, and begins her task; She listens to his heartbeat, flashes a light into his eyes, and asks him the routine, “Where do you feel pain?” and “Does your family have a history of serious diseases?”. He answers honestly and concisely – It’s just my face, and, I reckon not. She faithfully jots down whatever he says down into a piece of paper, and reaches for something in one of the drawers.

“First off,” She starts, and he sees a medical kit being placed on the table, “I can save you the trouble and stitch your wound now, but you’re also free to leave if you don’t want my medical attention, because in my understanding, Outworld has different and better ways to treat you. So, what will it be?”

Straight to business. “Have on, Miss Vanessa.”

She moves silently and deftly—She is quick at work to prepare all of the equipment, and arranges them in immaculate order on the tray in front of her. She disinfects the problem area, before filling the syringe with a clear liquid from one of the labeled bottles, and once he nods her assent, injects the anesthesia to help numb the pain during the stitching process.

Her gloved hands move nimbly, suture in one hand and the needle holder in the other, the constant loop of entry and exit is executed with practiced ease. Her hands don’t tremble, nor do they hesitate in fear of misstep. She is sure and confident with each push-and-pull, and it assures him that she is not without skill.

He takes the time now, to take a proper and closer look at her. Her short hair accentuates the high cheekbones and angular sharpness of her facial features and her eyes are a darkened grey; a reminder of misty mornings, and ominous fog. Her skin is glass-like, clear, no visible scar or blemish in sight. He spots the light dusting of freckles on tanned skin, no doubt, a result from the sun and heat of Outworld. She is what a cat would look like in flesh and blood, a thought he keeps safely to himself.

He will admit, she is a pretty little thing. Even so, the minute slouch in her posture, the mistiness and redness in her eyes, and the prominent dark circles under them is very telling. Underneath all that loveliness, is a woman exhausted. Whether it is the research or the field work that has her running on low fuel, he reckons that she could do with a few more hours of sleep.

She starts talking, her voice a soothing cadence to distract from the obvious monotone in the environment, “How did you get these wounds?”

“A souvenir from the past assignment, a man had gotten close enough to graze me with his knife, but not smart enough to actually kill me.”

“And why does your face hurt?”

“That’s a souvenir from your Commander,” He catches the question in her eyes, and the amused tilt of her lips, “That clown and his ten-gallon mouth deserved all the insults.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment,” She chuckles, sealing the stitch shut.

She gives him the standard doctor’s order – Rest and no sudden movements, or else he would risk exposing himself to an infection due to his torn stitches. He’s heard it all, from day one until day now, but he is thankful that she keeps it short and sweet.

“Do you sleep well, Mr. Black?” She interrupts him leaving, pulls out a bottle for him to see. “You can take it, it’s free.”

“Well, look who we have here, a doctor playing crafty salesman on a hot Sunday afternoon. Nothing in this world comes for free, so what’s the catch?”

She raises her arms in mock defeat, her expression is full of mirth, and a playful smile reaches her eyes, “Okay, it’s not FDA approved yet, but I know for a fact that it works. Cassie uses it, Jacqui uses it, and a few hundred others can also attest to its success.”

He raises a curious brow at her, a sign for her to continue her sales pitch. No matter how much she tries to hide it, he can tell that she is proud of her creation, because her voice is full of it, “It helps eases tenseness, and makes sleep easier, but unlike other soporific drugs, it doesn’t bring about excessive drowsiness, so you’re still able to react appropriately to any possible threats.”

Soporific, what a five-dollar word.

But he has something else in mind, because he leans in and places both arms rigidly on the arms of her chair, effectively trapping and confining her in the tight space between his arms. He leans towards her, and stops when the gap between them is nose-to-nose. He admits that he is shameless and forward in his flirting, but he wants to see how she would respond-- would she retreat further into her seat, or would she lean forward, would she bridge the gap between them?

So, she responds, neither further nor retreating. She stays still in her position; Her hands are firmly placed in her lap, while her grey eyes are staring straight back at him, her gaze sharpening into that of gentle steel.

“Hey Van, I was wondering if you had- Oh.”

Both of them immediately turn their heads towards Jacqui, the deer in headlights. Jacqui is full of apologies, because she is standing there, stumbling over her words, and says sorry over and over again for disturbing whatever doctor-patient examination they were having, and speeds out of the room faster than the pace she came in. Jacqui’s interruption breaks whatever tension, anticipation and apprehension swimming in the room, and it calms and cools the heat between them.

The Cowboy finally stands straight, his smirk hidden behind his mask and makes his way for the door.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Vanessa.”

[nozomijoestar]

After finishing TWDG’s final episode with Clementine I needed to write something I thought of after seeing the epilogue dialogue choices, so here’s Clem getting a prosthetic from the materials I chose to have Willy steal in ep 3 (that’s admittedly inspired in design by Guts false arm bc I love Kentaro Miura’s Berserk, minus the built in cannon, there’s also an allusion in one of the ways Clem sits here to this panel)

The silence intensified the sounds of their work; the loudness making his heart pound fearfully. Sure the walls beyond them were mossy bricks that’d bore witness to blood and fire yet held but-

“Alright you can pass me the screwdriver again. I just gotta get this other screw tight and the top should be done.”

He obeyed placing the tool in Willy’s hand ( it had funny looking faded letters on the handle, he’d have to practice reading later ) and cringed at the clanking of metal being manhandled. His fingers went over his ears. His tone was reprimanding.

“Loud is still bad.”

“This is nothing like a gunshot AJ, or that time on the boat. No Walker is gonna come knocking for a meal ‘cuz of some tinkering. ‘Ya gotta relax a little more buddy. You were doin’ real good.” 

“Really?” AJ asked in his best quiet voice as Willy hunched further into his work. 

“Yeah. Ah shit, there’s one more thing I need. Can you get me Clem’s boot? She should be out in the yard. I’d give you the ruler too but,”

His eyes measured AJ up and down, stocky for a five year old with a face too molded into harsh angles; accustomed to survival. He shook his head as the boy’s brow twitched sensing something unspoken. 

“Nah I’ll do it myself. Hurry before she goes anywhere.”

“She can’t move fast with those cru...cruh, crutches.” AJ wrestled with the word still shiny new in his arsenal. 

“Maybe she’s getting cooties kissing Violet then.”

The snicker in Willy’s voice made AJ’s nose crinkle as though he’d tasted something sour. He had no clue what cooties meant and grasped a rough concept of kissing. Shaking and stirring the two well while adding the echo of Willy’s tone was enough to send him running out the door. His heart raced and swelled in his throat while darting past those walking through the halls. A churning flipped his stomach with all the force of exhilarating panic and dread. 

Any threat to Clementine had to be eliminated. The threads of a plan began to knit in his mind; they twisted and bound fiercely. If cooties were like when he’d get the dukies, or caught a cold, then he’d carry her to bed. If he could find even one of the special roots and flowers Clem had shown him, he’d ask Ruby to make medicine. He’d feed it to her himself kneeling at her bedside and everything would go back to normal. He smiled to himself. The idea was perfect!

Before he knew it he’d sprinted into the sunlight then stopped. For a moment he was blinded before he shielded his eyes. His body coiled like a spring searching the yard that blended into one blur until at last he found her. 

She sat with her foot propped on the furthest pillar of the admin building’s front steps. Her back reclined against the pillar beside the first. She let her right arm dangle on her knee as though its shadow would conceal the bandaged stump that once linked her left foot. Words and sentences in colored pencil decorated the gauze until it nearly disappeared. Her face is too far away to make out the details beyond its pensive air. A pair of crutches were leaned against a pillar base.

The slight breeze made her hair flutter with a sense of something ethereal. Within his mind however, he has no word he knows to describe it. It only makes his head hurt attempting to decipher further. Such a thing was unnecessary compared to the way his heart swelled to see her alive. He sighed in relief finding Violet nowhere near. The war against cooties would be shelved for another day. 

“Hey there little man. You gonna talk to Clem too?”

He looked to his right and found Violet peering at him; an attempt at a comfortable smile on her face. Behind her eyes he shuddered to sense waves of grief still crashing against a cliff of rage. He was plunged back in time, seeing Tenn’s neck spurting into a fountain of blood. His frail body had stumbled toward the gaping mouths and grasping hands the dead held out while AJ stood firm behind the smoking gun. They’d swarmed Tenn as he fell like starving sharks closing in at last. It surprised him still how clearly he could remember seeing the soles of Tenn’s boots being all that signified something of him remained. 

AJ wondered there not for the first time if Violet yearned to have taken Tenn’s place. If he’d broken the balance of what fate intended. He swallowed and sighed deeply. His mind cleared as he stuffed the memory behind one of an infinite hall of mental doors. He had to be strong. 

A sad-mad Violet as she’d put it was better than a dead one. The proof stood before him, revealed itself in the smile it put on Clem’s face like no other. What she wrestled with would eventually smolder alongside the days, becoming an ache from a lifetime ago. It’d be the same for himself. But it would never leave. That was nature. Right then he felt he grasped a better understanding of ‘Trauma’. 

He remembered she was awaiting a response and nodded. Had her voice ever been so soft lately? It rasped this time as though the hours she’d spent crying were baring themselves raw. He tried ignoring it. 

“Yeah, Willy wants to measure her for his project. So I need her boot.”

“Walk with me and we can let her know together.”

“...Okay.”

It took little to shake Clementine from her thoughts when she heard them approach. She smiled looking between them; her eyes crinkled. AJ giggled feeling her pat his hair. At once a calm flooded warm and strong within him; it drove back the encroaching shadows of insecurity. 

“Someone’s been hiding all day. You here to tell me what you’re cooking up with Willy finally?”

“Nah. We need your boot though or he can’t finish it.”

He watched Clem give Violet a weighty stare that said everything in nothing. It left his expression crumpled and puzzled. He hated when she left him in the dark; for an instant he felt his calm waver. She untangled him from his thoughts with a gentle chuckle. 

“Alright then kiddo, just give me a second.”

Without being asked AJ made room for Violet to pass as Clem adjusted herself. When she nearly slipped on her footing he lunged forward but Violet was quicker. Instead he helped pry loose the laces, easing Clem’s burden. Before long he completed his task and did his best keeping the sight of her struggle from overstaying its welcome. He and Willy were going to fix everything. That was all that mattered most. 

The racket from the door as he burst in almost sent Willy tumbling from his seat. Without waiting for him to right himself, a hand clutched over his heart, AJ placed the boot on the desk with pride. He grinned and crossed his arms; unflinching under Willy’s shout.

“Jesus you could’ve knocked! I thought someone was coming to kill me for damn sake.”

“You wanted to swear didn’t you?” 

“Shut up and don’t tell Clem or she’ll let me hear it if you learned one.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

AJ stuck out his pinkie, eyes brimming with hope that payed off when Willy sealed their pact. He turned his attention to the skeleton of a prosthetic laying in wait. Its top was basket shaped at the contact point, connected then to a disk. From there a metal rod jut out backward diagonally; it was crudely welded onto the end of another rod that went diagonal in the opposite direction. The bottom of this last rod was capped by a metal ball. It showed the craftsmanship of a talented amateur. The sight of it filled AJ’s stomach with butterflies. 

Willy had moved on to inspecting the boot.

One moment after the next he shifted a miraculously preserved ruler around at varying angles. Doing his best to make as little noise as possible AJ pulled up a chair beside him. He rested his chin on his palms. His eyes were wide and pondering, mustering all his remaining innocent wonder. 

They passed the time in resumed silence broken only by the sounds of work and the order to pass tools as needed. Neither noticed the sun as it shifted through its cycles until it clocked out. Moonlight proved barely tolerable and Willy wasted no time requesting candles be lit. AJ left to retrieve the igniter hoping Clem wouldn’t catch him in their shared room with a lecture ready. Ruby stopped him in his tracks the second he opened the workshop door. Her hands moved from ready to knock to on her hips. Her natural ruddy face was pinched in agitation that masked worry.

AJ knew well her hawk eyed stare and went stiff as a board; his mind went blank. Her comforting Southern drawl took on its hidden razor edge.

“Now ya’ll can’t sit here all day and not get some dinner in you. Omar said the food’s ready. Ya’ll are gonna eat before bed ya hear? Clem ain’t goin nowhere so ya’ll shouldn’t kill yourselves on that thing.” 

They grumbled and gave halfhearted protests that turned into whimpers when Ruby pinched their ears. Dinner that night became an unannounced duel to eat the fastest; one AJ vowed Willy would lose. No sooner had he picked up the pace did Clem put a hand on his shoulder. He began to slow down before her firm reprimand came. The reflection on the broth of his stew showed him a boy weary with the troubles of an old man. He frowned and grunted. 

At his side singled out from the other conversations that buzzed around the table he heard Clem sigh. Instinctively he set down his spoon, turning to search her face for the slightest pain. These days she spent her time awake in bursts that quickly fizzled out before repeating. Often she carried the effort for conversation on her shoulders like a yoke; fighting against years of exhaustion that crept up now all at once. AJ wondered if this too was trauma. If the loss of her legs had suddenly let a part of her she’d always concealed burst. If maybe she was, though forever a worrywart, itching to rest. 

That was the only time he questioned if her foot should be restored. 

The thinking hurt his head. Clem had carried on away from his notice. She was whispering something against Violet’s hair; letting her rest her head on her shoulder. They exchanged words too fast for him to hear except the aftermath as Violet giggled and blushed. As if on cue he saw Louis slide a folded paper their way. He wiggled his eyebrows and tilted his head toward AJ when Clem threw the message back at him. She snorted and rolled her eyes. Her voice maintained a whisper.

“AJ if you ever feel weird around me and Violet, you can look away.”

“Hmm...ok, if you say so.” He replied shrugging his shoulders. It made her chuckle.

“When you’re older I’ll explain it a bit more.”

That only confused him again; today had made him feel that way more times than he cared for. His eyes grew heavy, his sight dim. He was vaguely aware of being carried; then a bed’s softness and unmistakably Clem wishing him goodnight. 

He dreamed she ran and played with him on a day of endless fair weather. Their laughter was easy, the world bright. There no one tired; there no one suffered. When he woke in the dawn chill shivering his skin was drenched in sweat. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if indeed just as he’d woken he’d heard Tenn’s voice. No matter how hard he tried to remember the exact words spoken escaped him. A long while marked by tossing and turning dragged on before he returned to sleep against Clem’s side. 

After a modest lunch, largely dry seasoned fish he felt proud to have caught the day before, he excused himself to Willy’s workshop. Arranged on the desk were bigger handfuls of the material they’d seized from Delta ( or as Willy would put it, kindly took what was theirs ). A stack of pre-cut sheet metal, small screws, ball-peen hammer, chisel, and the return of a welding kit were new additions. Metal shavings glimmered on the ground like diamonds. 

“There you are AJ. I was wondering when you’d wake up. Help me layer some of these together.”

He was handed five rectangular cut sheets already sized to the length and width of Clem’s boot. The edges were roughly worked into the curves of a foot. AJ smiled. He lined up each separate template and noted the holes Willy had placed at key points. 

“Now you get to screw in the screws so it becomes one piece. Just be careful not to go too tight or it’ll wear down faster later.”

“Got it.” 

He lifted the screwdriver with its funny words and worked keeping his eyes on Willy for approval. Slowly a solid plate was created. They high-fived when it didn’t bend, nor did the screws fall after a drop test. Though neither could be certain both agreed ( rather, Willy insisted on a hunch ) it must be high grade aluminum preserved from the Old World. 

“See that means even though its lightweight it’ll be tough as nails! Clem could break rocks with this thing.”

“No she can’t, nobody can. That’s magic.”

“Don’t underestimate engineers AJ!” 

Those were new words he knew too little about to dispute anything further. He settled for shrugging his shoulders; he made a memo to ask Clem later. At last the time came to weld the plate beneath the entire frame. AJ left the room at Willy’s bark that it was far too dangerous for him to stay unless he wanted burns. He wandered the yard kicking stray stones; he tried calculating just what it took to turn one to dust, maybe a huge hammer, or a bigger rock. Definitely not a foot though her new one would be metal. The jury was still out on the matter, he decided. 

Ruby allowed him to join her on lookout. Almost immediately he received a lecture on remembering to care for himself. Even if he felt driven he had to remember his meals, remember to sleep, remember everyone shared the weight of responsibilities. He crossed his arms and sighed most of the way through even if he partially understood. With her fire burned out and nothing closing on the gates, she found the tables turned as he questioned her knowledge on medicine. As he suspected there were plants that left her dumbfounded. He liked to think of them as even after that. 

The sun had begun to dim when the burst of a door and the sound of someone running out pulled their attention. The entire yard followed suit. Willy rushed to the gate, his hard work glittering from the dusk. In sync AJ and Ruby’s jaws fell open. 

“Its done! Go and get Clem out here dude!” 

He didn’t need to be told twice and soon she emerged; her eyes squinted to make out the dark. He hovered nearby and directed her movements as the others lit candles. The light would be needed for dinner soon anyway. Willy stood near the steps with his hands behind his back. An ear to ear smile was plastered on his face that gave him a ratty look. With help to keep her balance Clem sat by the pillars. She wore an expression that feigned at suspense. AJ read it clear, she knew what was coming. The way his whole body buzzed in excitement made him not care if it’d been spoiled. 

Everyone else had gathered in a half circle around her when Clementine spoke.

“Alright Willy, what’ve you got for me?”

“It wasn’t just me AJ helped a lot.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She said with a smile. 

AJ gripped one of her hands and bounced slightly. The crowd held their breath. Finally Willy brought his arms forward. The prosthetic was encased in a shell of sheet metal shaped into a lower leg. Its ends showed marks where it’d been burned onto the skeleton. On the sides of its surface there were raised lines with fullers flanking them. The foot plate itself had seen the most care in its welding. Though she’d braced for what she’d suspected, Clem’s eyes widened; she gasped softly. She sat motionless as Willy approached and looks fell upon her. 

“Its the solidest thing I’ve ever made. None of you get to say I suck unless it ever breaks. I know Clem’s gonna take care of it though.” He addressed the crowd. 

“Its...I...I don’t know what to say.”

“Try it!”

She took a shaky breath and swallowed hard. AJ cocked his head; had he seen her almost cry? He pat her arm as she held the prosthetic that had become far greater than a hunk of metal. With a final deep breath she lowered her stump into the basket; Violet and Louis moved to help her stand. She nodded slowly when she found her balance. They backed away, Violet went rigid, poised for the slightest accident. Clem shut her eyes, reopened them, drew another deep breath. She looked down. The foot caught moonlight as if giving a grand greeting. 

“Good thing you kept your knee so it should be easier to use. Take a walk whenever you’re ready.” Willy said. 

It moved well for its design, giving her a slight limp. Baby step by baby step she willed herself to the wooden table and back. Twice she stumbled to fall into the arms of the others. AJ watched in awe; a smile seemed permanently fixed on his face. He cheered when she moved to climb the steps and stood at the top, baffled. She wiped the corners of her eyes. She almost stumbled again feeling him crash against her for a hug. 

“Easy there goofball. I’ve still gotta get used to it.”

“You can walk again though, isn’t that great?”

She knelt down slowly on her natural leg. Ruffling his hair made him giggle. Her heart soared pulling him into a strong embrace. 

“You helped it be that way.”

[fatgirlwritesscenarios]

Hot Chocolate Kisses

((Wooooaaahhh...when was the last time I was here, ya’ll? None of you better say last year because I know that! Haha. How is everyone doing?! I hope the start to your new year was a fresh one. I’m having good thoughts for myself this new year and some New Year’s resolutions that actually seem attainable! Anyway, I’ve been working on this little cutie off and on for awhile and finally finished it, so I hope you enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who still follows me and reads my stories even though it’s been forever since I’ve updated any of them!))

Pairing: MinghaoxChubby-Black!Reader

Genre: Cute and fluffy

Word Count: 3,372

Summary: You like the hot chocolate from a certain cafe and Minghao is all too eager to join you on your outing. Vernon wants to tag along, but Jeonghan is having none of that shit because he and Joshua have been waiting for a confession between their favorite couple of their favorite real-life romantic drama and he’ll be damned if Vernon ruins that for them. 

“Ah, Y/N, are you going somewhere?”

“I’m being a brat today. I want hot chocolate, but only from a specific café that’s further in the city. I think it’s like a block away from that Chinese restaurant that Jun and Minghao took us all to. Does anyone want to come with?”

“I’ll go! I can drive us!”

Joshua caught a chuckle before it made itself known, watching with Jeonghan and Jihoon as their resident cool cutie magically appeared in the living room of the dorms the minute your name was spoken and quite eagerly volunteered to accompany you on your outing. The smile you gave him radiated warmly and Joshua could only guess a blush was heating your cheeks from the way you patted one with the back of your fingers after Minghao asked you to wait for him and then ran into his room to get ready.

“Does anyone else want to go?” you asked, turning your attention to the three hyungs of the Vocal Unit with an inviting smile, “Jeonghan? Josh? Woozi?”

Jeonghan answered for them, waving his hand with a grin and saying, “We’re okay, Y/N. You have all the company you need with our cool cutie. Go enjoy yourself.”

You patted your cheeks again and smiled bashfully for reasons you never voiced but everyone knew of regardless, for they were the same reasons that Minghao was always so quick to respond to your name or the sound of your voice: Minghao had a crush on you and you had a crush on him, too.

Minghao’s signs that he was rather fond of you started manifesting not long after you and your performance group came to South Korea for a collaboration you were doing with Seventeen, though one could argue it started even before that. Your group had arrived two months ago, but for a full month before that, both groups had been in contact via phone or video call. During that time, Minghao had mentioned- more than once- how nice your voice sounded and how much he liked the way you spoke, a rather ‘funny’ grin on his face as he casually said this with the barest hint of a blush.

Meeting you face to face only solidified that fondness, intensified it to something more until every member of Seventeen and your performance group noticed a shift taking place

Joshua was the first one to notice and had been a faithful viewer of this cute and sweet drama he- like the dork he is- dubbed “Baobei: The Minghao and Y/N Love Story”.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” Vernon meandered into the living area, his face aglow with the blue of his phone screen.

“Do you remember that café next to the Chinese restaurant we all went to that one time?” you responded.

“Oh yeah, I love that café! I want to go, too!”

“No, you don’t,” Jeonghan intervened quickly.

Jeonghan was a faithful viewer, too, and quite eager for the love to finally bloom and flourish.

Vernon’s brow furrowed, “What? Come on, hyung.”

“You still have to finish your lyrics with Mingyu, don’t you?”

“We’ve been working on them all afternoon!”

The three older members chuckled at Vernon’s whining, but Jeonghan wouldn’t budge, “And you’ll be working on them all night if you stop now. Get it done now and you won’t have to worry about it at 3 AM like last time.”

Vernon pouted exaggeratedly, pulling a laugh from you as you went to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder; “Sorry, Vernon. Do you want me to bring something back for you?” you offered, smiling when his face brightened.

“Can you?” he asked just as Minghao came back into the living room.

“Ready. Thank you for waiting,” he said, fixing a black mouth mask to his face before moving to grab his coat from the front closet along with his scarf.

“No problem,” you answered, smiling up at Minghao a notch brighter than before, “Just text me what you want, Vernon, and I’ll bring it back, okay?”

“Thanks, noona!”

You waved your goodbye to those that were present and turned towards the door when Minghao casually grabbed the lapel of your coat and pulled you back; “Zip up. Zip up. It’s especially cold right now,” he said, sliding the zipper into place for you.

“Oh.  Thank you.” You didn’t meet his eye, but smiled nonetheless and patted your cheeks before zipping your coat up further, “Ready?”

Minghao nodded and followed you to the door, “See you guys later!”

“You two be careful. Behave yourselves,” Jeonghan called, rising from his armchair to go into the kitchen.

“We know, hyung. We have fans everywhere, so we’ll be careful not to draw attention to ourselves.”

“That’s not what I was referring to, but okay,” he said cheekily, disappearing into the kitchen while you and Minghao stood in the entrance way just before the door, puzzled.

Joshua snickered and waved them off, “Have fun!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nearly every radio station had Christmas music playing on loop, but you weren’t a fan of all the commercials. So Minghao handed over the AUX cord and let you plug your phone into your Spotify Christmas playlist. The car ride was relaxed and fun, you and Minghao giggling and dancing to the music as much as sitting and driving in a car would allow…but the atmosphere was…different.

Neither one of you spoke much and when you did, it wasn’t very loud like it normally would be. This was far from the first time you two had been alone together, numerous V-Lives and recorded performance rehearsals proof of that, so you weren’t uncomfortable around one another. And the atmosphere wasn’t ‘tense’. Just…different; like a simmer of change hanging in the air, corralling the both of you into a comfortably peaceful world that you didn’t want to disturb.

Minghao struggled to concentrate on driving, only wanting to stare at you as you sat beside him…because you seemed to be glowing. He could be disgustingly cheesy and say you were glowing like an angel, but…well, even if he did want to be that cheesy, it wouldn’t be accurate. You were glowing more like…Christmas. Lit up with a hundred bright colors was how you glowed, bringing warmth and wonder and magic into Minghao’s world.

You were already the prettiest person he had ever seen- brown skin like ground cocoa beans, the curliest hair that wrapped around any solid thing that played in it, and a round, chubby body perfect for hip-hugging jeans, body-con dresses and day-long cuddles. And you glowed…like Christmas. He wanted to stare at you all day.

“Speed bump!”

“Oh! Hang on!”

His arm shot out across your torso as he braced himself, Minghao unable to slow down fast enough or safe enough before the car was going over the speed bump roughly. He felt you lurch against his arm and bounce up, your head nearly hitting the roof.

“Whoo! Six Flags!” you joked with a laugh.

Minghao shook his head, his own laugh a little jilted and nervous, “Ah…Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! I didn’t hit my head or anything,” you answered.

“Are you sure?” He moved his arm away from your chest and rested his hand over yours, his palm big enough to cover from your wrist to your knuckles.

You paused for only a moment, your heart stuttering at the heat of his hand, but not wanting to embarrass him or make him stop, you spread your fingers enough for his own to fit in the hollows and tightened your hold afterward. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you said, watching his reaction carefully and grinning when he first looked down at your joined hands and then up at you.

His smile was bashful and obvious, even through his mouth mask, focusing back on the road with renewed confidence.

*~*~*~*~*

The vintage sign of your favorite cafe shined like a welcoming beacon from its place on the corner of the semi-busy street, Minghao giggling at the cute happy dance you did as he pulled around back to park in the parking lot. You were out of the car before he even turned it off, the man forever amused and even saying as such as he stepped out to find you bouncing on your toes near the trunk, waiting for him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just run inside without me,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow.

“Trust me, I took time to seriously consider it,” you replied, scrunching your nose up at him before looping your arm through his, “But…I don’t want to go too far away from you.”

Minghao felt himself go breathless, but a smile remained ever prominent on his face, and ever obvious in the shrinking in of his eyes, as the two of you made your way from the frigid outdoors into the comforting warmth of the cafe. The baristas greeted you, the afternoon appearing to be rather slow since there was no one else in line and only a few tables were occupied.

“Hi! Welcome! What can I get started for you?” the barista asked, friendly smile in place.

“A large hot chocolate and a strawberry muffin for me!” you ordered, glancing at your companion, “Order something.”

“Hmmm…” Minghao took a moment to consider his options, “I’ll get a large hot chocolate, too, and a blueberry scone.”

“Two large hot chocolates, one strawberry muffin and one blueberry scone. Will that be all?”

“That’s it!”

“For here or to go?”

You looked at Minghao, who shrugged at you, “I wouldn’t mind taking it here.”

“For here.”

“You’re total is $16.50!”

“Y/N, there’s something on your shoes,” Minghao pointed down at your boots.

“What? Where?” Distracted, you inspected your footwear with a curious furrow of your brow, your debit card held between your fingers.

Minghao took the opportunity to give the Barista his debit card, the girl giggling as she ran it and handed it back just as you looked back at him, extending your card out.

“There was nothing on my-”

“Here’s your receipt and a number! We’ll bring your order to your table!”

“…You snake.”

Minghao laughed at the unamused glare you gave him, pinching your cheek and cooing in the process, “When you’re with me, you don’t pay for anything.”

“Really? And why is that?” you asked, quirking a brow as a little smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

Minghao shrugged, “Because I said so.”

You were rendered speechless as the dancer took your hand in his and lead you over to a corner booth on the left side of the cafe, grateful for their choice in tinted windows that allowed for the patrons inside to enjoy the view, but kept them hidden from passersby on the outside. You slid into the booth first, closest to the window, and found your heart skipping a beat when Minghao slid in beside you. You both worked your arms out of your jackets, Minghao discarding his scarf and pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. You sat entranced by this simple action, having always enjoyed staring at his hands, even when they were doing nothing more than adjusting his sleeves.

“How is your throat feeling?”

“…Huh?” It took you a second longer to catch up with what Minghao was asking, quite embarrassed to be caught staring at his fingers as closely as you were, “Oh! My throat. Better, actually. A lot better.”

“Good. I was worried,” he admitted, brushing a finger underneath your chin, “I told you not to push yourself so hard. You’re so stubborn.”

In the past week, you had been nursing a swollen throat that made singing a very difficult task and although you had promised not only your group mates, but Minghao as well that you would take it easy and relax it for a while, you decided to push your luck in recording a song that you were excited for when you weren’t even half-way healed. The song came out beautiful and rough, just like you imagined, but at a cost.

“I had to take advantage of how my voice sounded while it was sore. The song came out great!” you defended yourself, “Besides, I don’t want to hear anything from you about being stubborn Mr. ‘I’m Fine, I’m Fine! I Just Tweaked It!’.”

A month before you strained your throat, Minghao had twisted his ankle pretty badly. Instead of following everyone’s advice to let it rest, he insisted it wasn’t that big of a deal, that he just ‘tweaked’ it, and continued to push himself far beyond exhaustion learning new choreography. Not long after, he severely sprained that same ankle and had to be on bed rest for the following two and a half weeks.

Minghao glared dully at you as you simply stared back, your temple resting on your propped up fist. The staring continued for only a few seconds more when he- the sly, sneaky thing that he is- slipped an arm around your back and tickled your side. You squeaked and attempted to squirm away, but found yourself with nowhere to run as he locked you against his side and continued his assault, his giggling melding with yours.

“Here’s your order!” the Barista suddenly appeared and interrupted the torture you were under.

“Thank you! Thank you! Oh god, thank you!” you gasped for air, remnants of your giggling slipping through your lips.

The Barista nodded and snickered herself before she took the number that Minghao was given and then skipped away back to the counter. Once you gained your breath back, and had been reassured Minghao wouldn’t try to attack again, you picked up your drink, blew into it a few times, and took a gratifying slip. The chocolaty splendor coated your tongue and warmed you beautifully from the inside out. You hummed happily and took another sip, wiggling in your seat.

Your companion, his mouth mask tucked under his chin so he, too, could enjoy his drink, smiled at you and tapped the back of his finger against your cheek; “You’re so cute when you do that,” he mused, earning a confused hum from you, “You know, when you…”

He wiggled in his seat and you nearly choked on your muffin giggling. Minghao laughed at you, eyes shimmering and crinkled, and you were about to say something when you noticed the two baristas at the counter glancing over in your direction every few seconds or so, giddy smiles on their faces as they waited in possible anticipation. Your smile slowly fell, wondering if perhaps they recognized you and were on their way to recognizing Minghao, too.

If so, then you two would have to make a quick escape because it would only take one picture posted to social media before the cafe would be swarmed with Seventeen fans.

“What is it?”

“No, no, don’t look.” You grabbed hold of Minghao’s shoulder to keep him from turning around and averted your gaze from the counter to your table, “I think the baristas recognize us. They’re looking over here a lot.”

“Oh…” Minghao sighed and fixed his mouth mask back in place, “Maybe we should start heading back?”

“I wonder if I can order Vernon’s drink before we do,” you mused, glancing back at the counter…and pausing.

The two females had gathered together on the side closest to you and Minghao, waving you down with wide, excited smiles before pointing above you. Your brows furrowed as you glanced up…and then felt very grateful that a blush wasn’t easily noticeable on your face.

“Y/N?” Minghao followed your gaze only to find himself face to face with a mistletoe, “…Oh.”

“It’s tradition!” the baristas echoed from the counter, giggling girlishly now and waiting expectantly.

“It’s already the middle of January. I can’t believe they still have this up,” he mumbled, laughing half-heartedly in an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere and hide the thundering of his own heart.

When his gaze settled on you again, you looked every bit as shy and nervous as he felt: quick, embarrassed glances into his eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, a single curl wrapped ‘round and ‘round and ‘round your finger as you fidgeted. If Minghao weren’t caught up in this embarrassing situation with you, he would have been teasing you.

As it was, though…

“It may be tradition, but we don’t have to follow it, Y/N. It’s okay,” he assured you, his eyes narrowing with his reassuring smile beneath his mask.

You finally worked up the courage to meet his eye, holding his gaze for extended seconds that felt like minutes…hours…an eternity. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, only that you were coming to some final conclusion. He stiffened when your hand lifted up and your fingers, soft and gentle, curled into the top corner of his mouth mask. You pulled down carefully until it settled underneath his chin again, your fingers resting there, trembling.

Minghao didn’t know if he had taken a breath in the 60 seconds that had passed, but he felt lightheaded and his lungs were burning. His eyes never left yours, even though it became increasingly difficult to hold contact with how close you were drawing to him. Closer and closer until your breaths were mingling, until your nose bumped his…until your lips were slanting with his and colors were exploding behind his eyelids. He remembered to breathe at last, inhaling you and the chocolaty taste on your lips…and he never wanted to be anywhere else ever again.

The baristas might’ve squealed. They might’ve taken a million and one pictures, but literally nothing else held any importance except for you and this warm, chocolaty kiss. A smile curled your lips as you pulled back, your dark eyes glimmering and his own vision all fuzzy with adoration. He laughed breathlessly in the short space between your lips before his hand cupped your cheek and he was kissing you this time.

He was vaguely aware of a sharp squeal, but…he was sure it wasn’t important.

*~*~*~*

Stepping out of the cafe with Vernon’s drink held securely in your hands, you and Minghao bid your goodbyes to the baristas- ignoring their incessant giggling. Snow fell quietly around you, soft little flakes brushing your cheeks and landing in your hair. Minghao stood before you then, quiet and thoughtful, just staring at you like he’d been doing after the kiss you shared under the mistletoe. You gazed back, unabashed and only a little shy.

He chuckled quietly; “Just so we’re clear,” he started, unwinding his scarf from his neck, “That kiss meant more to me than some silly tradition.”

He draped the scarf around your neck, wrapping it around twice and melting when you snuggled into it, “I like you, Y/N. I have for a long time…I think I liked you before I Even met you, the minute I heard your voice over the phone.”

His cheeks were stained pink and you had a good feeling it was from more than the cold. A smile as sweet and bright as all the Christmas lights prettied your face, “I like you, too, Minghao. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but…I was too chicken.”

In his elation, the dancer lowered his mouth mask, grabbed the edges of the scarf wrapped around you, and tugged you close for another tender kiss.

“You’re mine to take care of now,” he said as he pulled back, taking your hand in his and leading you to the car, “So I’m going to be taking extra care to make sure you don’t strain your voice like that again.”

“And I’m going to glue your ass to a chair the next time you ‘tweak’ your ankle,” you shot back, giving him a little half-smirk that dissolved into laughter when he pinched your side, Minghao resisting the urge to press you against the car and kiss you silly.

There would be time for that later…plenty of time to make up for.

[elizadeservesit-blog]

Don’t (First Burn)

Pairing: Alexander Hamilton x Eliza Schuyler

Word Count: 3,027

T/W: Angst! 

A/N: Some Reynolds Pamphlet aftermath angst. Based off of First Burn. 

I saved every letter you wrote me

Alex told Eliza he loved her, and she believed every word. He was forever hers since the night they met. The ball, every letter, every visit, every conversation, every glance, every touch, every day, was her indication that he was hers (and only hers) forever

From the moment I saw you

He was hers from the beginning. She already knew it and needed no further evidence. Family status was difficult for Angelica, but no issue for Eliza.

He kept her happy. Alex made the blue skies appear during a storm. He built the universe and imagination of the world through her eyes from every sentence on every paper.

You said you were mine

He did. He said it everyday they met. He told her the day they married. He told her every night and day, evening and morning.

He belonged to her.

I thought you were mine

That’s what she thought for such a long time. His words blinded her; Eliza truly thought he was hers and only hers.

The sky was the limit. He blinded her into thinking just that for every moment of the rest of her life. Words can change. People do too.

Do you know what Angelica said

Angelica had always been a key factor in Alex and Eliza’s marriage for as long as they could remember. Angelica was always there when Eliza needed a shoulder to cry on. She was there when there were broken hearts to be amended.

Angelica, not only being involved in Eliza’s life, got herself involved in Alex’s too. She was the correspondence he needed to keep her sane. The first Schuyler sister to match his own wits, vice versa for her of course.

When I told her what you’d done?

He did it.

He was the issue. The only thing that seperated Eliza’s world. He was the drama and the center of attention at all times. Eliza didn’t realize it until now.

Not everything is about you, Alexander.

She said

Fuming, of course, Angelica travelled to their home in a rush. She put down and stopped everything to commute from London just because she knew what hell Eliza would be living in if she wasn’t there.

“You have married an Icarus”

The glint in Angelica’s eyes darken. Her expression falters and transfers into another one.

“he has flown too close to the sun”

Just like she said, Alex took it too far. Eliza knew he would do anything, sacrifice everything, just to protect his legacy. He would sacrifice her, Angelica, the children, everyone who loved and cared for him, just so the whole damn world would know his name.

And he did just that.

Don’t take another step in my direction

He’s too close for comfort.

Alex relied on her to make him feel better at all costs. Eliza’s tired of it. He does this too often for her comfort and safety. He takes advantage of each and every one of her words. The way he knows that she will always be there, she will always be the shoulder he cried on, is completely sickening.

“I didn’t mean it. The whole administration is complete bullshit. Full of all of the assholes who poison this country,” Alex protested.

“You can’t say that about our president, Alexander. Especially not publicly,” she shot back.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she snapped.

And like that, instead of comforting him, she walks away. The flame inside her that keeps him warm dies down. She doesn’t want to be the only source of comfort for him.

I can’t be trusted around you

Eliza’s worried that this piece of news would turn her reckless. Maybe she’ll do something she regrets if he takes one more step closer to her. She could murder him right on this spot and won’t regret even a bit of it.

“I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you,” he sobbed.

She laughed. A cold and shrill laugh that made him feel afraid inside. Afraid of Eliza.

“It’s a little late for that now, huh?”

Don’t think you can talk your way

Exactly how Alex is manipulative. He uses his words to soften the blow. He uses his words on Eliza most of all, to blind her from the truth about him.

He can’t do that anymore; she won’t let him. She know realizes that she isn’t the problem; he is.

Into my arms, into my arms

It’s entirely his fault. He should have come with Angelica and Eliza when they offered. If he did, they wouldn’t be stuck inside this mess. She wouldn’t be doing this if he had some sense of willpower.

Who doesn’t want to spend their summer with their wife?

Why does he do this every time she asks him to do something for her? Why does he feel the need to do the complete opposite of what she asks him to do? If only he didn’t care about his job and his goddamn legacy.

I’m burning the letters you wrote me

And even if she kept them, they would still be reminders of how easily tricked she is. He wrote her until she fell and that will always be her greatest weakness. Every paragraph, sentence, and word now embarrassed her. She can’t bear to even look at them.

Eliza used to tell him she knows who she married whenever he had any self doubt whatsoever. He always distanced himself from her and she felt like she always knew why.

She doesn’t want them if they’re so worthless to him. If he doesn’t want them, then she doesn’t either.

You can stand over there if you want

She’ll let him in only if he keeps his distance. So help him God if he lays a finger on her she cluld burn him right on the spot.

As long as he knows what he’s done, then he can stay there. Right behind her, suffering, is exactly where she wants him to be. The guiltier and more apologetic he feels, the better.

I don’t know who you are

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with him. Eliza thought so highly of him and now that’s slightly faltered. The flame died along with her love for him. She can’t help but feel like she’s suffering on her own.

Alex likes to keep to himself that’s all.

The news broke out and she’s not so sure she knows who she married anymore. Every secret he kept from her for the longest time spilled out in one day, on one pamphlet.

Imagine that.

I have so much to learn

Alex is an entirely different person.

She doesn’t know if this is the same person she married anymore. Everything crashed and burned her entire world in one day. She knew so much about him, or so she thought.

“I wish you were the same person I knew,” Eliza said darkly, not daring to even look at him.

“I’m still the same person, Eliza. I’m still your-”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you don’t mean it. You most definitely are not mine.”

I’m re-reading your letters

She catches glimpses and skims through paragraphs, scanning each word of every lie he told her carefully. Eliza wants some closure that he wasn’t lying, proof that he’s the same person she knew and loved.

In that moment, she hates him. This seemed to be the only answer to at least help her heal from all of the pain. The next few years, she could predict would be a complete hell. This isn’t exactly the way you want people to remember her.

And watching them burn (burn)

She throws the first two letters she sees. They’re the most recent ones; the less detailed ones. These are the easiest ones to find some sign that there was an issue. The sloppily way it was written, effort and detail missing, were a dead giveaway to Eliza.

The fire creates a sharp hissing noise, reacting to the parchment. Eliza hears Alex flinch from behind her, tripping lightly on his own feet.

I’m watching them burn (burn)

Eliza finds it fascinating. The way the fire absorbs the papers and erases every memory in every paragraph. She now realizes he’s paranoid in all of them.

“Please don’t,” he pleaded.

“Stop.”

She continued, desiring him to suffer more. He deserves to know what he’s done and live with the consequences to it. Ashes flew around the room, they didn’t seem to mind it at all.

You published the letters she wrote to you

It hurt to know the truth. The truth is always a reality that somehow Eliza managed to avoid. When the truth slips out, it feels like a whole crash and burn to every cathedral and palace that was every built inside your imagination.

“I’m begging you.” He continued to pathetically plead her to stop.

“If it bothers you, you can kindly take your leave,” she replied coolly.

You told the whole world

It hurt even more that she wasn’t the first one to find out about this. The whole world knew now. In fact, Eliza was probably one of the last ones to hear about this.

Who displays an affair publicly?

How you brought this girl into our bed

Eliza doesn’t know much about this girl and she doesn’t care enough to find out more about her. The only things she knows are that she is a lot younger than Alex, and obviously much more beautiful than Eliza. She might be even more compelling than she is.

It’s sickening how Eliza, his wife, can’t even manage to convince him to visit her family for the summer, but a practical teenager he met on the street can convince him into her bed.

In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives

“You somehow turned this to be my fault,” Eliza whispers, breaking a short silence.

“I didn’t do anything but tell the truth.”

She scoffed. Yeah, okay.

“So you brought me, our children, Angelica, and this child into the pamphlet to start the conversation that it’s our fault for the sake of the truth?” she asked rhetorically.

Alex turned silent. That’s what I thought, she thanked herself.

Heaven forbid someone whisper

Eliza can only imagine what people will say. The thought of her leaving the house and having to face their judging stares and remorseful whispers fills a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Maybe everything was a whole cruel joke on her. Just for his amusement.

"he's part of some scheme"

If only he didn't have such willpower. Not only is he stupid to cheat on her, but to think that he could be paying checks with more than enough notes to a random man and get away with it.

Your enemy whispers

They approached him about the embezzling, she learned the pamphlet showed. Instead, Alexander the Great confessed of cheating on Eliza. Just the information she needed.

If he had kept his mouth shut, they wouldn't be in this mess. She wouldn't be here burning every memory of true happiness. He wouldn't be standing in a mess of his own guilt.

So you have to scream

Alex made enemies faster than he could blink. Thank God Washington was a forgiving man. Angelica’s statement seemed more accurate from the moment he first sent a  letter to Eliza. 

“Be careful with that one, love,” she warned darkly, “he will do what it takes to survive.”

I know about whispers

She’s easily percieved as someone who tries not to focus on negativity in the public eye. Eliza is so much more. She knows every secret, whisper and lie. She knows every caught feeling, every hidden emotion. She sees and hears everything. The public, her husband, even Angelica. 

I see how you look at my sister

It hurts to know the truth sometimes, but the truth is the reality that you have to deal with.

Don’t

He’s getting close again. Trying to comfort her.

He’s a mess. A bigger mess than she is. 

“I’m not naive.”

Alex should stop wasting his breath. If every little thing that she does and says annoys him, he can leave on his own. She isn't letting this go so easily as she has done in the past during an argument. 

I have seen women around you

She's lost count of all of the women who have had small crushes on him. She doesn't mind the simple ones, but she never expected a harmless woman could ever go to this extent. Or Alex would ever go to this extent. Eliza regrets ever leaving him alone. It makes her think that this is what he does when she isn't there.

"Don't,"

she whispered, almost expecting him to say something. Eliza held another letter, not one to her, but to this girl. A part of her felt guilty for her, she could barely sign her name. She found it hidden in his desk while searching for letters addressed to herself.

Think I don't see

Eliza reads his words to her. She sees exactly what she expects. His charm and kindness in every sentence. The way he thoughtfully chose every word and wrote with such care. 

Eliza feels a sharp pain in her stomach. Her eyes blurr with tears. Tears of anger instead of sadness. She falls on her knees and hands and lets out a sob. It’s silent and she’d prefer it to be like this. 

How they fall for your charms

“I tried to tell you I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“You’re not sorry,” she choked out, “if you cared, you wouldn't have done this.”

“I’m sor-”

 "I told you not to say words you don't mean."

All your charms

She knows what happens behind her back. 

If burning all of the history of their marriage. Erase all traces that they were ever together would somehow make her feel better, then that was the chance she would be willing to take.

I'm erasing myself from the narrative

Erasing herself would be better. She knows how stubborn he would be if nobody recognized a huge factor of his legacy. 

Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted

Eliza is tired of having to smile nervously, submissive to the truth. She doesn't want to be embarressed anymore. The one to debunk the news and take the blame for the results. 

She hates how he uses her as a shield to protect her from the media’s offhand comments. 

When you broke her heart

This time is different. This time, he’s exposing the truth about her, their family, and this girl. He’s placing the blame on them. 

Eliza, Angelica and the children for not convincing him to take a break with them.

This girl, Maria, (Something like that, she told herself) for forcing him into her bed and vice versa.

You have thrown it all away

Eliza won't bare to look at him. He can burn on his own. The world can know that he fucked up. He fucked up this marriage, he fucked up all of their lives. 

Stand back, watch it burn

She takes handfuls of the letters. She throws them in the fire, carefully and one by one.

Just watch it all burn

This hurts him more than it hurts her. She’s throwing away all of the artifacts of herself. The only resource that would hold her legacy in place was burning in the fire.

And when the time comes

This won't be an overnight thing. The screaming and yelling and fighting won't last one night and then everything will return to normal. 

Explain to the children

Eliza now dreads the moment the children will have questions why their parents aren't as affectionate as most parents are with each other. 

She’ll have to explain how he tore their marriage straight down the middle. 

She’ll have to explain how she went from helpless to hopeless.

The pain and embarrassment 

She doesn't want to tell the story of her suffering to her children. Not even random people on the street who pretend they care, when they really want a story to cover.

Her children are going to want to know and she should be the one to tell them.

You put their mother through

Eliza is scared to look through his desks for more letters. Next thing she knows, she’ll find a few love letters to her own sister. 

She refuses to leave the house until the rumors and whispers have died down

When will you learn 

Alexander is quite obsessed with leaving his own mark on the world – his legacy – having fought so hard to rise above the poverty and misfortune that plagued his youth.

His stubborn demeanor shows he can't realize that he isn't the only life that is important.

That they are your legacy

He’s obsessed with everything that’s his. He’s too blind to realize that his kids are the future. She will be the one that suffers when he passes away. 

They will be the ones who pass on his legacy when the both of them die. They can shape the story and tell it however they please.

We are your legacy

Eliza hopes they change the story. Maybe they won't tell it at all. 

She should be so lucky if they use it to their advantage by saving their family the embarrassment. 

If you thought you were mine (mine, mine)

“I’m still yours, You’re still mine,” Alexander confided.

She felt him put a hand on her shoulder, using the other to stroke her hair. 

“You still think you’re mine?” she whispered.

She heard him sigh from behind her, taking a step back from her. She held the last letter addressed to her in her hand shakily. 

“Don’t.”

She throws that letter in. The flames consume the parchment, reacting with a hissing noise. She made her way upstairs and to their bedroom (Eliza made it very clear he wouldn't be allowed in there for awhile.) 

Eliza’s world burned in front of her.

[ignaciotries]

COFFEE

Coffee

There’s something mystical in waking up right before the sun shines. The sheets are still cold, it’s incredibly misty outside, and everything seems suspended in a half dreamlike state. You wobble between dream and reality, and gravity seems awfully stronger. The air isn’t stale, but gentle and the breeze sends pleasant tingles down the spine. I exhale heavily and roll covered in bed sheets towards the edge until my face meets wood; a bitter departure but needed if I’m to get out of bed. After long contemplating the cold paneled floor, I glimpse at the window. My exhales fog the cold panes. I push the window open and meet the soft breeze outside. I motion my body forward and rest my arms over the damp wooden frame, while the wisps from a low fog outside slither into my room.

It may not be the place for everyone, but here I behold my own small paradise. The whitish peaks shine a bluish hue against the dark horizon. Long lived pines naturally frame the vista and cover my lonesome cabin in the woods from the harsh winds and brutal temperatures that come rushing down from that sparkly ridge beyond. A ridge I would love to describe even further, but I just slammed onto the floor seconds ago and will need a bit to sharpen my senses; though, it is a good thing that today is for relaxation and mindfulness. Today is for taking my time and enjoying my home; as every timber has been chopped, all the meats carved and cured, and the forest peaceful. It is me, and only me on this slope opposite to man and industry.

I take a break from admiring it all. I don’t want it to get too cold inside before I prepare the fireplace. The logs may get humid. It would be far too eventful now for them to split and crack wildly. I pick the driest logs and let the ember gather strength on its own. I enjoy this simple silence.

But above all, I enjoy something more; more than the books I keep safe and sealed away in the living room chests, or a sharpened hatchet gliding through wood as a knife would butter. Yes. The one thing that I can enjoy the most on mornings such as these is the purest black elixir I can filter after one delicate pour. 

I light the gas and watch snow melt away into sweet water. I bring it to a soft boil and then maintain the pot at a low simmer. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs spiral into a perpetual dance above. Now comes the best part, I gently let the water stream out as a sparkling waterfall into the dry grinded bits I prepared the day before; perfectly roasted and dried. Fumes rich in aroma and force envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards. And in a minute, I will be experiencing a sunrise of my own.

It is the stark contrast of the season against the remedy of man, both night and day in a cup. Coffee. My cup with Coffee. There are many like it across the world at hours such as these. The salaryman has his expresso; the boys, their americanos; and those who fancy the drink as a sweet and quick “pick me up”, their lattes. But this one, this simple stream of black into a stained ivory cup, is mine. It forever will be. I do not pretend to sound like a braggart, but the difference in resulting hue has been something of an art and lifelong learning experience for me. I have drunk from the frothy mixes of the south, partaken of the rich Caribbean tones, and endured the harsh and uncaring smack of the smooth roast. All of these experiences coalesced into what I hold now. My cup. My coffee.

I place it at a table next to a broad window.

There’s a clearing outside. The peaks are as visible here as from my bedroom, and it seems that a harsh orange glow burns against them from the right. The ever radiant towards the irradiant.

I sit by the table, cup at my left, and I look out and fix my eyes beyond the windows, beyond the clearing, beyond the peaks. I take a small taste and follow it with a small mouthful to warm the senses; a sublime enlightenment in such a small broth. Would it even be right to call it such? No, it is preposterous to call it a broth and continue my early ramblings. I apologize. This is no bean soup; therefore, never will it be a broth. Coffee stands on a world alone. It is apart from others by more than just use and origin. It is a lonesome and tortured soul, that has been filled with bitter sentiment against the world.

A cherry is plucked, its dreams to face the musky earth and give rise to something more destroyed, it is then gutted and left to suffer the morning sun, like the peaks. The peaks shine a softer color now as the spectrum reaches further on its path through the void. 

“The void...” I whisper. 

One would think I would compare it through some convoluted analogy or otherworldly metaphor to the stiff dark of my Coffee, but it would result in more or less the same. It is black because it is greedy. It desires all that it has lost and so picks even the color from air, takes it all till not one is distinguishable from the other. The void doesn’t care for colors. When one stares into space, like an astronaut contemplating their place in it all, it seems black, but not because of color, but the lack of it. Here, color roams freely unhinged and uninhibited. The astronaut is both aware and saddened by it, for to let color free in such an unfathomable space is to see it disappear and leave only darkness, and to catch it all and not let it escape is to also be darkness. Only by freeing it among others is to see light and hues.

And so, it is that Coffee is lonesome, tortured, and greedy, but most of all… bitter. We have taken away enough, and it is that will for fight rather than flight that awakens the body. We have made something suffer for our gain. Good Coffee. I know your pain, so I always treat you with ceremony. I admire you and your spirit.

I take another mouthful.

“So much bull,” I sighed.

All this rambling, all the nonsense, the attempts to veil myself in constant thought, and whimsical allusions are just proof that I’m more of a social creature than what I tell others. I close myself in these fantasy-like rental cabins and spin a distinct narrative every morning. Today I’m a coffee connoisseur, yesterday I was woodchopper, and well, Thursdays… they’re just for building a fort of literature as I tangle myself in their worlds, too; it’s how I get new material for the rest of the week.

“It beats facing reality, at least for now.” 

I push away from the chair, inching towards the window, cup in hand.

“Yet, perhaps that’s what I should aim for,” the view getting a bit ginger, yet not as arrayed in hues anymore. 

“Peaks.” I let out. A peak, a sort of maximum confluence in direction, all roads in my mind converging; something far and above these habitual escapes.

Goal oriented is what they call it. I get it, what sane mind would want to develop a new persona each day? To pour myself into the mold, while suppressing any asphyxiating thought of what I really think I am. Of what I can remember. Constant change inevitably erodes the self and time builds upon the remainder as to fill the gaps.

I look back at the chair, at the table with its sleek mahogany finish, and the kitchen at the back; coffee bean bags rushed open, an unseemly grinder with old bits clumped at the bottom, and the hourglass like shape of my coffee dripper, gifted to me by my sister. Around it all, miscellaneous pots, and utensils, all thrown around the small counter.

I turn back towards the window. Under the thin layer of snow outside, foliage from months ago decompose at a standstill pace.

“I better make another cup.”

I light the gas and watch snow melt again. I just bring it to a boil this time. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs blah, blah, perpetual, blah, blah, above… yeah. I place the bean bits I roughed up this morning on the filter; perfectly beaten into submission. Fumes rich in wakey-wakey envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards or was it inwards? I’ll just draw a star this time. And in a minute, I hope we can all experience less buffoonery. If this were a short story, then I would be a criminal for robbing the reader from his time. In a story there would be a plot to develop and tensions to rise. I’m just shifting from one end of the room to the other, not much action here.

Perhaps there’s something intrinsically natural to just doing nothing. Not that I would advocate for the world to stop working all at once. The economy would collapse! Sure, a week or two would be alright, but give it a month and production halts, travel ceases, consumerism trickles, and the line at the supermarket, where old ladies philosophize on each other’s day, vanishes completely. Oh! What a chaos that would be.

And the silence.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

I’ve been away too long.

I serve my second cup and walk towards the table, again.

The cup isn’t real ivory, just some fancy facsimile for those that . . . “like to brush shoulders with Norse warriors while gulping barrels of ale after a glorious and visceral skirmish at the gates of Valhalla.” That’s just what’s written on the box. It curves at the bottom making it awkward to drink from. Why would I go to pains to drink something when a simple cylindrical cup would suffice? Is appearance that important for me? Am I vain? I think it is more likely just another tool for escapism, a thing to renounce the typical for the atypical and from it construct a world of my own. But by fulfilling this desire through material objects in order to appeal to a mood or passing fancy is shallow and wasteful. Should I not seek to feel contempt with what I do have, or what I can muster through my own ability or craft? Keeping this cup is just another day in a fit of delusion waiting to happen.

I grab a cup from those provided in the cabin. Pour the coffee from one cup to the new one, a wide brimmed glossy gray cup. I open the windows. The breeze assaults the room. I take a mallet out; toss the faux ivory cup into the air. My grip tightens fast. My feet are parallel to the shoulders.  The hands back, and my left foot forward. My hips burst into motion. My whole torso follows, and away the mallet goes. The cup is obliterated immediately and the projectile bits rain outside like dirt over a coffin. The logs at the fireplace start popping a bit as if cheering me on.

I toss the mallet at the floor, and drop over the seat again, window still open and breeze still rushing in. I drink from the new cup. The logs pop louder as the flames twist the pulp and vapors trapped inside shootout.

I drink from my new cup.

All the confusion tumbling in my head is bound to lead me into exhaustion. I believe that by drinking from that which I described at the start as something so dark and bitter, may help me untangle the weaves of fantasy and delusion I have brought upon myself. Is it not the remedy of man against the season? This seasonal depression I stumble into every night, hoping in the end that I at least manage to see the day again. There are many who go through the same ordeals at hours such as these, but I wish them better than me. I hope they don’t end up attaching their happiness to the availability of a drink, to a drug. I hope that they don’t grow addicted to their escapes. I hope that they return to a less cold and somber place; somewhere they can see and be merry under the light each other reflects upon the other. I never wished to sound so disheartening. I believed that being away from others could help me reshape this mentality.

I used to believe that coffee could help. I still drink it because I have replaced all that I used to know with it. If I drink enough water and eat accordingly, I’m sure to stay fine no matter how much coffee I consume in a day.

Remedies against the season, right?

Remedies of man.

I stare at the cup. It seems I’ve gulped most of it down at some point, made more, and didn’t even notice.

I look back at the kitchen counter; coffee bean bags decomposed, a moldy old grinder, and a broken coffee dripper only able to hold half a cup before it starts seeping through the seams. Around it all, ashes. The fireplace is filled with soot and the walls around it are charred. My books are just tight bundles of dust that collapse at the touch. The cabin has lost its roof and the windows are broken. Snow gathers inside just like outside. The peaks are still there, off in the distance, and I’m still sitting in this chair by the table, cup in hand.

I stroked my old dusty beard and let out a sigh. The low warm exhale dancing gently in front just as vapors did long ago above me. I grow covered in this white dust, but my cup is warm to the touch, my coffee, still bitter, in a stained gray cup.

[visd3stele]

I felt inspired, but it's a bit (ok, maybe more) angsty. And there are mentions of death (implications of hanging/strangling). A bit of spoilers out of context, but they hint to some (major) plot twists in the books... not proof read (I was too excited).

Oh, brother mine! (Julian/Dante - platonic!)

Julian has never been so happy in his entire life. His skin seemed to glow, his sight ran further away, his voice became clearer and his body felt stronger. But the boy soon learned immortality comes with a price. And all its perks had to balance against something bigger, stronger, more painful than death. His brother's love.

The game was everything for Dante. And part of that affection extended to Julian, as a piece of the game himself. But it wasn't the same. He could see how Dante's lips tightened, how his muscles flexed at his jaws in impatience whenever he tried to talk to him. And so, Julian always had more to do. More work only he could fulfil. Anything to give Dante space to work on his beloved Caraval. Their lives may have been bounded together forever, by magic, by sheer will power and ambitions, but Julian never felt more alone. He could see his brother every day, but Dante was far away, parted by currents of the very magic that created them.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"You know what you have to do, right?"

"Yeah," Julian shifted to his feet in front of Dante. He felt like a man in front of a judge, not a brother next to his kin.

"What is it, then?"

"Nothing."

"Julian..." Dante raised a brow, his tone a warning to not argue when they both knew the truth.

"It's just," Julian sighed, "I don't want to die." His cheeks heated up bashfully. He knew he'd be fine, that Dante would bring him back with his magic. Just like it happened with the other artists. But the inherent fear of dying lingered in him againts the reason.

"You won't die, Julian," Dante rolled his eyes, voice sharper than needed. "If I can't count on you, say so now. I still have time to..."

"No!" Julian quickly shouted. "I can do it. I'll do it." The younger Santos wouldn't disappoint his brother out of cowardice.

Whatever he expected from his fake death, he couldn't be prepared for it. He was aware of the still heart, the cold limbs, the stating blood and the grey coloring of his skin. He felt it. He felt the rope around his neck and the pain the clenching of it brought. Julian remembers every second of it. Laying alone in the darkness, with only an odd, invasive presence. Death, he assumed. The crippling fear of sliding towards it. The dread of Legend's magic unfurling from around him. His brother's absence was the only thing he could focus on, the sole thought swimming through his mind.

Dante knew the moment Julian gave his final breath. The showman gripped his own knuckles, almost breaking them, only to keep himself from going against the game and resurecting Julian. He needed to see him, though logically he knew it'd do nothing to help the anxious state he was in. Dante struggled to rejoice in his beloved Caraval, but his thoughts traveled back to his brother's limp body, strangled to fulfil a carefully planed strategy.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"Leave her alone, Legend."

The notorious show man frowned. "I can't."

Julian crossed his arms and dipped his chin in his chest with a sigh. Shacking his head gently, the forever young man dared a step forward. "I know she's the key of your success, but you don't need to toy with her. As surprisingly it may be for you, not everything has to be a game. Keep her heart out of Caraval."

"So fond on Donatella, brother. I wonder why is that. Have you enjoyed your play so much that now, when Scarlett is occupied with her count you're moving on?"

"Don't speak about Crimson like that!" Julian lost his collected attire for a second, breathing hard to recompose himself. "Tella is Crimson's sister. And because of that, their strong sibling bond, if one gets hurt, the other suffers too. I don't want Crimson to suffer anymore. Is that so hard to wrap your head around?"

"I won't hurt Donatella." Dante said firmly. "I do love her."

Julian scoffed loudly. Once, his brother claimed to love him as well. He said he'd learn magic so powerful, he'd turn them both in gods so no one would ever part them. Not time, nor death and deffienetely not people. They'd be safe and happy together and they'd build such an empire for themselves, everyone would worship them. But that was before the Caraval. Before Dante turned into Legend and his love faltered.

Oh, the young Santos had no doubt Legend loved. Power. The crowd's cheers. Games and winning. But Dante's love couldn't survive the change to immortality. Real immortality, not the cheaper version he offered to his crew. And maybe Legend did love Tella, in his own way, but Julian didn't wish anyone that type of familair torture: putting your heart on a silver platter for someone, only to discover there was a sharp needle by its side all along; a needle used to stab and puncture the beating organ, not able to kill, but provoking inmeasurable pain.

Julian watched Legend closely, the man he calls brother but mostly out of habit. The man he still has hope for, no matter how many times the show man himself crushes it. But he couldn't put his brother first this time. Not when his brother has been gone for years and his Crimson's heart was at stake. "You don't know how to love." The words sliped through his half sealed lips, weak and sad, but echoing in the room. And the truth of them punched Dante in the guts. His eyes widened, fists bowled, jaws clenched. Knowing his little brother believed it, knowing he gave him reasons to, knowing it was true and he wouldn't change it was a harsh palm slapping him over the face.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Dante was nervous. When his palms begin to sweat and he inhaled faster than he could exhale, the man didn't know what happened. It's been a while since he felt nervousness. But staying outside his little brother's room so early in the morning gave him a light head and naussea.

He wanted to tell Julian how wrong he was. He didn't hurt Tella, she loves him and he loves her. Their happy and about to leave for a new adventure. He wanted to congratulate him for his relationship with the Empress and wish him only fortune for the rest of their lives. But a stray thought took roots inside his brain. What if Julian would hate him? After years of sticking by his side and refusing to see the bad in him, Dante wondered if that won't change now.

There were plenty of reasons for it. The Caraval has been Julian's only home for so long. The only thing he knew, he couldn't leave it. And Legend was its master. With a start, Dante realized that is how he acted. Like the leader, the boss, never the brother. He gave up love for infinite years to his life and Julian understood it. Or thought he did. Thought he could bare it. Recent events showed them both how wrong they've been. Besides, now that he has Scarlett, Julian might not have enough space in his love sick heart for someone like him.

From that thought sprouted another. What if Julian would hate him? Resent him for changing for Donatella after long years he refused to do so for him, his own brother.

"Legend." Julian greeted him from the creaked door.

"Hello, brother. May I come in?"

Julian stepped back to allow him to enter. "What is it?"

Dante looked around the room. When once his voice could enchant people with one word, the same voice that charmed his powers into being, failed him now. "I'm leaving. With Donatella. In a few hours."

Julian shrugged. "Figured. You two can't embrace the quiet peace whatever the consequencies."

"Yes, right. I wanted to say goodbye to you. I'm not sure when we'll see each other again."

Julian nodded silently. "I'll miss you. Be happy and don't ruin it, will you?

"That's the plan, littel brother. I'll miss you too."

With that short statement, Dante managed to secure Julian's whole attention. "You will?" The youngest asked surprised. There were days during the game when the boys didn't see each other at all. Week, months even. Sometimes, even before the Caraval as well. Julian couldn't recall the number of times he watched his brother from afar, so engrossed in his schemes he forgot about him. Julian missing Dante was a given, something the younger boy was used to. A known fact spreaded amongst the artists, one Legend must have been aware of. But Dante missing Julian was new. Unexpected and quite shocking.

"Of course, Julian. You're my brother. Look, I know I haven't acted like one in a long time, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."

"No, Dante. You don't regret the magic, immortality, Caraval. If you could turn the time and do it all over again, you would. Just the same too. At least until recently..."

"Julian."

"No, that's alright, brother. I'm happy for you. I'm happy I could walk this path down by your side. And I'm happy you found your reason to live and love as I did."

"You should have been enough."

"But I wasn't. I am not. I won't pretend it doesn't hurt, I'm done with telling lies as I'm sure you've heard, but I love you, Dante. Even when you didn't return the feeling, even if you don't feel as strong. And that means I want the best for you, no jealousy accepted." Julian smiled weakly at his older brother, nodding encouragingly. There was nothing more to be said between the Santos brothers. The youngest learn to accept and live with the truth of their broken relationship. Now the oldest had to do the same. Some things can't be mended. Some things can only move forward, cheaped and scared and scattered.

- moodboards from pinterest

I will forever be bitter about the fact that we basically didn't get ANY scenes with Julian and Legend, as brothers. And by that I mean scenes when Julian is sad because Legend doesn't love him or he thinks he doesn’t even care about him or something like this. WE NEED PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS AS WELL!!!