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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 4: Under The Heart Tree]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to give a heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who has fallen in love with this series!!! I read (and go back to reread) every single comment, reblog, tag, and message I receive, and they mean the absolute world to me. I truly don’t have words to express how appreciative I am of you all. With the end of Chapter 4, this series is officially halfway over; there will be 8 chapters total. I hope you continue to enjoy it. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, witchcraft, a wild Aegon appears, drama, pregnancy, a tiny bit of sexual content, mentions of death and violence (per usual), cryptic Helaena prophesies, Sir Criston being a supportive stepdad, found family feels, one (1) still jealous boi, more drama, lots of shouting, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @itzwhatever123 @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @itzwhatever123 @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire @hinata7346 @curiouser-an-curiouser @eleganttravelercloud

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

“What do you need?” Aemond asks—his voice tender, the back of his hand testing the heat of your cheeks—and you tell him. He gathers everything: foxglove, sorrel, mint leaves, sticks of cinnamon, snakeskin, bloodstone, clear quartz, a blue candle, black tar rum, blood from a living bull. He does this swiftly and without any hesitation. He knows that only you have the power necessary for a cure.

In the dead of night, the prince half-carries you to the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. You try to grind the dry ingredients into dust with the mortar and pestle, but your hands are weak and trembling. Aemond takes the tools from you and finishes himself. He sets the candle on a gnarled, ancient root and sparks it to life with the dagger and flint your mother gave you before you left Bear Island. Then he pours the dust into a pitcher and slowly mixes in the rum and the bull’s blood. The candlelight dances on his face: shadow, light, shadow again. All the while, here where the Old Gods can hear you, you chant this over and over: “Mend the bones, fill the veins, stitch the flesh until it’s whole again.”

Aemond grimaces as he stirs the contents of the pitcher with the dagger blade. “You don’t have to drink this or paint it on your bedroom walls or something, do you?”

You smirk wanly. “Not quite.” And that’s fortunate, because you haven’t been able to drink anything in days.

Back in the Red Keep, the servants to fill your bathtub with water so hot it clouds the room with steam. Once they’re gone, Aemond helps you into the tub and then adds the pitcher’s crimson brew. You steep in a shimmering, blood-red sea and feel the sickness sweat out of you: the nausea, the tremors, the pain, the repulsive bone-deep weakness. Aemond perches on the rim of the tub and braids your hair to keep it tucked neatly away, singing softly in High Valyrian, words you haven’t learned yet.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur in the dreamlike haze of blood and heat and relief, nearly asleep. Your cramped muscles have unraveled like loose threads. The anxious, scratching demons that live in your skull are blessedly chained at the moment.

“You do,” he replies. When he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep recedes from you like a waning crescent moon. Sounds of the morning breathe in through the open windows: birdsong, faraway voices, clops of horse hooves, wind in the leaves. You stretch, tentatively measuring the strength of your body; there is no aching, no fragility, no absence of strength like smothered embers. Your spell worked. You are cured. The triumph swells through you, a dazzling sort of fever. And then when you open your eyes, you see him.

You yelp like a startled animal. “What—?!”

“Good morning,” Aegon says brightly. He’s cross-legged on top of your writing desk and brandishing a cup of wine in his right hand.

You sit upright with a groan. “You need to stop doing this.”

“I have things to say that you should hear.”

“What?” you reply crossly.

Aegon sips his wine. “My mother has formally invited Borros Baratheon and his daughters to court. She did it a while ago, actually, but she’s been keeping it quiet. She didn’t want to give Aemond too much time to brood, I think. They are arriving in one week. There is going to be a feast. Lots of dancing, lots of diplomacy, and—my personal favorite—lots of drinking.” He raises his cup in a mock toast.

“Fantastic,” you say flatly.

“The thing is, Jason Lannister heard about this little development all the way out in Casterly Rock, so now he’s sending his daughters to court too. And so are the Arryns, and the Starks, and the Tullys and Tyrells, and Greyjoys too, if they can find anyone who counts as a lady. Maybe even the Westerlings and Swyfts and Swanns, you know…just in case they can pull an upset.” He takes another swig of wine. “It’ll be just like a horse market, except that all the horses walk on two legs and wear dresses.”

“One week…” Everything in you sinks. I knew this was coming, of course I did…but does it have to happen so fucking soon? Then again, maybe any time would feel too soon, months or years or decades. Maybe eternity with Aemond wouldn’t be long enough.

“No matter which horse wins, the result will be the same,” Aegon continues. “An engagement will be announced and my brother will soon wed in the Great Hall and set about the glorious task of producing heirs.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought you might benefit from having the opportunity to prepare yourself. To devise an exit strategy. To…” He considers this next word carefully. “Cope.”

“Oh,” you realize, staring at him. You’ve never been able to get a handle on Aegon Targaryen. He’s not attentive to Helaena—she gets companionship from Aemond, from Alicent, from Otto, from you, but not from her husband—yet to your knowledge he’s never been cruel to her either. He does not ridicule her many peculiarities. He does not criticize her. On the rare occasion that he shares her bed, you overhear no sounds of mistreatment, no weeping or shouting or coercion. Aegon never leaves marks of violence on his wife, which is more than you can say for your own father. He neglects his duties, but he does not rebel against them. He’s done horrible things, surely, blatantly; and yet somehow he does not strike you as a particularly horrible person. “You’re not here to torment me. You’re trying to be helpful.”

Aegon smiles, but there’s very little humor in it. “You can keep that to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He hops down to the floor, guzzles the last of his wine, and leaves the empty cup on your dresser before vanishing through the doorway like a ghost.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gardens are buzzing with bees and gossip. You sit in the midst of a stiflingly mundane tea party and try to remain present enough to smile and nod at the correct moments. You wring your pendent—moonstone gem, silver chain—as Helaena eats lemon cakes beside you, humming contently. She is technically the host of this gathering. It’s meant as a welcome to the noblewomen who have already begun to arrive at court, an opportunity for them to mingle and sample the luxuries of King’s Landing and prove themselves as future wives and mothers. So far, all they’ve proven themselves as is vapid and shallow and frustrating; although perhaps you only feel that way because one of them might be destined to marry the man you love. Aemond hasn’t mentioned the feast to you yet. He never mentions anything related to his impending marriage to some other woman. You’re afraid to bring it up. You’re afraid to break the euphoria you’ve been living in with him like a spell.

As your attention wanders, you notice a spot of blood on the sleeve of your dress. Before the tea party, you and Helaena had been watching Aemond and Sir Criston spar in the courtyard. That particular exchange had been bloodless, but then Ivar Kellington had broken the nose of some hulking Arryn man deluded enough to challenge him. The droplets had sprayed into the crowd like burgundy rain. The match lasted about twelve seconds.

Look at me, having some illustrious gilded blood after all. Ha ha ha.

Across the table, several noblewomen have veered into a covert discussion of one of King’s Landing’s greatest scandals: the indiscretions of Prince Aegon. You can’t catch every word, but you can catch enough of them. Which means Helaena can too.

“A handmaiden…that’s what I heard…yes, I know…what an embarrassment…well you can’t give them all moon tea, now can you?”

You glare at them—a Tyrell girl, you observe now, and a Lannister and a Tully—but they continue their prattling. Helaena rises from her chair and hurries off into the foliage with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Hey,” you begin, but still the ladies take no notice.

“Little blond children all over the city…more brothels than you could…and the fighting pits…”

“Hey,” you say again, leaning over the table. Now they look at you. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?!” cries the Tyrell.

“How dare you!” says the Lannister.

The Tully blubbers: “It’s not like she understands anyway—”

“She does understand.” Your voice is fierce and black and low. “She understands everything. She is your future queen and you’ve upset her with your stupidity. She’s too kind to tell you that to your faces, to make you pay for it. Her kindness is chronic and all-consuming. But I suffer from no such affliction.”

“You seem to suddenly think very highly of your station,” the Tyrell notes. “I wonder what has instilled such confidence in you, Lady Mormont.”

“Yes,” says the Lannister. “Has your family recently acquired some new lands…or titles…or armies…or anything?’

“No.” The Tyrell grins viciously. “They still just have poor little Bear Island. I wouldn’t even be able to find it on a map.”

“Perhaps that isn’t something to brag about,” you say, and storm away from the tea party before she can puzzle out what you mean. You can feel their narrowed eyes following you, cold and conspiratorial.

You find Helaena by a towering butterfly bush. Winged insects in a hundred different colors swoop around her like snowflakes. Silent tears stream down her ruddy face.

“Helaena…” You move to comfort her, then think better of it. She can be very particular about being touched. “I’m so sorry,” you offer, not knowing what else to say. It’s not like the girls were lying. Their words were terrible, and they should not have been said in earshot of Helaena; but they were true.

“Dragons do not speak our language,” Helaena says haltingly, deliberately. A sapphire-blue butterfly lands on her outstretched hand. “But still, they understand. To think they don’t is a mistake.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“They are not stone. They feel as deeply as we do.”

“Yes,” you say again. She means herself, of course; woven in the womb to speak differently, to think differently, to be so irretrievably different. And yet you find every thread of her wonderous.

She opens her arms wide. For a moment, you don’t understand what she wants; and then you embrace her. She clutches you tightly, digging her fingernails into your shoulder blades, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her tears there, hot and flowing freely.

“It’s alright,” you soothe. “Everything’s okay. You are so loved. You are so blameless.”

“I want to help you,” she says softly between sobs.

“Help me…? Help me with what, Helaena…?”

“I want to help you,” she repeats; and then she plods off, swiping tears from her eyes with both hands, still surrounded by a blizzard of butterflies.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to talk to you about something,” Aemond says.

You are sitting together under a juniper tree on Bearstone with a picnic you’ve assembled: breads, cheeses, cherry and apricot jams, glossy red apples, honey cakes, wine for him, pomegranate juice for you. The kitchen staff had shot you sideways glances as you plucked each item from their cupboards. They know you’re Helaena’s lady-in-waiting, but they also know that you’ve been spotted socializing with the royal family with increasing frequency. There are whispers, and there are rumors, but if Alicent and Otto Hightower are aware of them they haven’t mentioned anything to you. Perhaps they feel it’s not even worth mentioning. Perhaps they expect the problem to be imminently remedied by one of those gorgeous, wealthy, well-connected women sauntering around the Red Keep.

“Okay.” You steel yourself for what comes next. You’ve known this was coming since the very beginning, since your arrival in King’s Landing, since before he ever touched you; Aemond Targaryen must marry, and he must marry well. Your hand settles protectively, instinctively over your belly, where your child lives unbeknownst to the rest of the world. You will be showing within a few months. What happens next will not only affect you. The prince’s affection for you is such that you now trust him not to leave you abandoned, adrift…but which path will he choose for you? He could give some lord a generous reward in exchange for marrying and providing for you…although given his territorial nature, this seems unlikely. He could send you back to Bear Island. He could send you to Dorne, where he counts the maesters among his few true friends. He could send you anywhere. He could set up a small household in the Crownlands somewhere, visit you a few times a year, know his child only as a passing thought. Regardless, you will lose him, whether in part or in whole; regardless, he will drain away from you like spilled blood.

Aemond says: “I think we should marry as soon as possible.”

Your mouth falls open. The apple you’ve been holding rolls out of your grasp. “You can’t marry me.”

“Why? You don’t consent?”

“No, I…” You shake your head, staring at him, stunned. You can’t find your words. “I…I’m a Mormont.”

He smiles. “I am aware of this, Moonstone.”

“Then surely you are also aware that there are currently about fifty highly-esteemed noblewomen in King’s Landing prepared to fight to the death for a chance to marry you. And that Otto Hightower and your mother are expecting a prompt betrothal to one of them.”

“I won’t do it,” he says calmly.

“You have to.” It pains you to say it, it flays you alive to say it, but it’s true. “I know that. I’ve always known it.”

“I have met my match in you. I will have no other. And my child must be legitimate.”

“They won’t allow it, they’ve planned this for years, they need this marriage—”

“Then Daeron can do it,” Aemond says. “There is one more son of King Viserys, is there not?” Daeron is younger than Aemond. He’s been serving Lord Ormund Hightower as a squire in Oldtown since he was twelve. You’ve heard that he’s a sweet boy, a compliant boy, more humble than either of his brothers. But he won’t be ready to marry for another few years. Aemond peers out over the ocean, meditative, melancholy. “I have already given enough to this family.” His eye, he means; his eye and his dragon and his swordsmanship and his fierce, efficient loyalty. “They will not take you from me too.”

You watch him, the wheels in your mind whirling. Is it possible? Is it really? When he turns back to you, he is at once himself again, or at least the way he is with you: kind, gentle, alight.

“What do you think, Moonstone?” Perhaps he’s nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“I think that there is nothing I want more than to be bound to you in every way possible.”

“You must truly consider it,” he warns. “If you are my wife, you are inextricably linked to our side in what comes after. You must fully understand what you are entering into. Nothing can stop me from having you except your own will. If you have rethought your allegiances, or if you cannot bear to face the bloodshed…I can send you somewhere safe. I can make you disappear.”

What comes after. War, he means; the war of succession that will almost certainly follow the ailing King Viserys’ death, whether in a week or a month or a year. On one side will be Rhaenyra and Daemon. On the other will be Alicent’s children. You know exactly where you’ll be standing. “I understand, and I consent. I will shy away from no battles.”

Aemond closes the space between you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly, deeply, sending dragonfire heat spiraling down to every piece of you: nerves, arteries, bones, heart.

“So you aren’t bored of me yet,” you tease, climbing into his lap, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. Your freshly renewed body fits with his perfectly, effortlessly, like the black of night around the stars.

“Regrettably, I am not even the least bit bored of you.”

“I hope I don’t get you killed.”

“I’m sure you’d have a spell to fix that.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, grinning, greedy. You respond eagerly, melding into his rhythm. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heartbeat races. The ocean wind is strong and tearing, the grass beneath your knees soft.

“Hm. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” your betrothed murmurs, his palms pressed into the small of your back, pulling you in closer.

“Me too.”

“And you’re hungry again.”

“Starving,” you amend, grinding your hips against his, turning his face away with your hand so you can bite the soft white skin of his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. His right eye is dazed, rapt, lost in you like a labyrinth; his sapphire glistens like sunbeams reflected off the crests of waves. You guide his hands beneath your dress so he can feel how wet you are. And he whispers slyly as he helps free you from all those cumbersome layers of fabric: “I told you you’d always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has studied the marriage rituals of the North. He knows them almost as well as you do. And so what must happen next is clear.

He comes to collect you from your room when the moon is high and the rest of the Red Keep dreaming. He looks the same as he always does—dressed in black, hair long and flowing, stoic and unsmiling until he sees you—and there are no special ornaments for you either. Weddings witnessed by the Old Gods are not strewn with guests or festivities or music or gold. They are vestiges of long, dark, cold winters when survival itself was a triumph. They are bare; they require only the meeting of two honest souls. And a heart tree.

Aemond grazes a thumb across your cheekbone, marveling at you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” And you are: completely, absolutely, with every drop of blood in your veins.

He takes your hand in his. He leads you from the room. And then, on the other side of the door, you discover Helaena. Both you and Aemond halt mid-step.

“Can I come too?” Helaena asks timidly. Moonlight glows on her angelic face. “I would like to be there. I would like to see you happy. Someone should be happy…if not me and Aegon, if not Mother and Sir Criston, if not the king…then at the very least you two should be.”

“Helaena…” Your words cut off, choked by emotion. You reach for her. She burrows into your arms with no reluctance at all. “Of course, my love,” you say, holding her. Aemond gazes at you, smiling faintly, immeasurably proud. “Of course. You are always, always welcome.”

In the godswood, under the cold fire of infinite constellations, the three of you arrive at the heart tree. You carry no torches to attract the attention of others. In the darkness, there is no discerning the color of the grass or the bark or the leaves. All the world is a murky, placid indigo; all the world is blind to arbitrary mortal designations of good and evil.

“There’s one thing I should mention,” Aemond says. “I have arranged for us to have a witness. I know they aren’t necessary in the North—the Old Gods themselves are the witnesses, seeing through the heart tree like a window—but I thought it would be wise for us to have someone of widely-regarded integrity to confirm that this marriage occurred. There can be no disputing it later.”

This is sensible. Your palm skates over your belly before you remember to stop yourself; you must get into the habit of giving away no clues of your pregnancy…until your marriage is public, at least. “But who…?”

Sir Criston Cole trudges into the godswood in full armor. “Alright Aemond, you better not be forcing me to help you catch and cut open a bull again, I’ve still got the bruises from last time, good gods…” He stops dead when he sees you. “Oh. So this has been the cause of your distraction.”

“Sir Criston, Lady Mormont and I are to marry.”

Sir Criston’s eyes are wide and blinking. “…Marry…?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. “Immediately.”

“What? Where…?”

“Here.” He turns to the heart tree in explanation.

Sir Criston stares blankly at the three of you, then shakes off his paralysis. “Oh no. No no no. Your mother would murder me.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Aemond…” Sir Criston begins, petrified.

“I am asking you to serve as a witness because of the love you bear for me and my family,” the prince says. “And I am asking you to keep this from my mother and grandfather. Not for long, mind you. Just until the feast has passed and the nobles have returned home to their own castles. Then I will inform my family in private, and they can soften the blow by offering Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever house they decide they like best. This is not treason, Sir Criston. It is a mark of the profound trust I have in you.”

“Oh gods. Gods help me.” Sir Criston covers his face with his hands and stays that way for what feels like a very long time. Fireflies illuminate the cool night air like stars. Several land on the sleeves of Helaena’s gown and shine there like jewels. “Okay,” Sir Criston agrees at last. “I’ll do it, Aemond. I’ll do it for you.”

The prince embraces the lowborn knight, perhaps the best swordsman in the realm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father.”

“I know.” Sir Criston’s mouth quivers. His dark eyes are slick. “Now let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

You and Aemond join hands under the rustling leaves of the heart tree. Sir Criston stands beside the prince; Helaena stays near you. There is a distant rumbling of thunder. Sparce raindrops begin to fall. Aemond doesn’t know the vows used in a Northern wedding, you realize, and you can’t remember them well from the marriage ceremonies you attended as a child; from what you can recall, they are generic, plain, ‘who comes to take this woman?’ and that sort of thing.

“What should we say, wife?” the prince asks you, smiling, starlight in his eye. Suddenly, you are alone with him here in the godswood. You are the last people in Westeros, in the entire world. Winter has come and gone and left nothing but two ghosts doomed to dwell together here for eternity.

You speak without first thinking of what to say. The words flow through you like a river. “In the sight of gods and men, I bind myself to you. I will run from no battles, I will crave no flesh but yours, I will put no cause before your own. I pledge to you any strengths that I possess and I vow to slay my weaknesses. I am yours, body and soul. Use me as you will, but only out of love.”

Aemond repeats these words, and then he kisses you. Helaena claps; Sir Criston bows his head to hide a small, sincere smile. Rain falls as you all hurry back inside the Red Keep.

For the very first time, Aemond takes you to his own bed, to the room where you cast the spell of protection that saved him in the joust. There are still remnants of dust on the floor; he could not bring himself to erase you. As your clothes fall away, flashes of lightning reveal every line and birthmark and scar. There is no shyness. You know every stitch of each other already. You make love with gentle, exquisite slowness as the storm builds outside: his fingers woven through yours, his thrusts deep, his whispered promises heavy with truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something for you,” your husband says as you stand together by the fireplace in the privacy of Helaena’s chambers. In the flames, dry wood pops and crackles. “For the feast.”

“We are so well matched you will not believe it,” you reply. “I have something for you too.”

Helaena brings it over: a tunic that you have been embroidering together for days. It is black—Aemond’s preferred color—but decorated with a dragon of silver thread. The beast winds around the wearer’s back and waist and arms, breathing cool glistening fire.

“It’s supposed to look like Vhagar,” you explain. “But…well…I’m not quite as good at embroidery as Helaena is, so the face is a little…and the wings…”

“It’s perfect,” Aemond says, beaming. And then again: “It’s perfect!” He yanks off his plain black tunic and replaces it with the one you’ve gifted him. “Now I will appear especially dashing for all my prospective wives.”

Helaena giggles, blushing a cheerful pink. She is elated to be in on a joke, to have been trusted with information of such consequence. She points at the silver dragon. “Be cautious with her. She will not always listen.”

“Who, Vhagar?” Aemond asks. “She listens well enough. I’ve tamed her. I’m good at taming all manner of beasts…dragons…bulls…bears…” He grabs you by the waist and draws you to him, kissing the side of your face over and over until you squeal and push him away, laughing. “As for my gift…” He calls for the servants and they enter with a gown. They hand it to the prince, casting you a wary glance, and then disappear again. The gown is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The color is subtle, shimmering, opalescent, almost…

“It’s…it’s…”

“Moonstone,” Aemond says. He gives it to you. The fabric flows like water. “I commissioned it the day after the joust. No one else will have anything like it. I’ll be able to spot you anywhere in the room.”

“I doubt you’ll have time to notice me. There will be a plethora of views to enjoy.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’ll be the best.”

He leaves to accompany Alicent as she enters the feast while you and Helaena finish getting ready. Helaena’s gown is a vivid greenish-blue, and the stones in her jewelry are turquoise. There are teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from your ears and a string of them around your left wrist, gifts from the princess. As always, your moonstone pendant hangs from your neck. You are dressed ostentatiously for a mere lady-in-waiting, particularly one from as modest a house as your own. People may wonder about that. You smile to yourself. They won’t have to wonder long.

The Great Hall is radiant with music and conversation and candlelight. The most celebrated houses of Westeros mingle: the men boasting about their lands and their swords (which hang at their belts in scabbards of leather or metal), the women boasting about their wombs, the children boasting about their enviable betrothals. Those who don’t yet have betrothals to boast about are hoping to procure one tonight. No one pays much attention to you—the daughter of an important house, the widow of an unimportant man—unless it is to compliment your gown. You and Helaena dance together with flushed faces, giggling and twirling until you trip and fall into each other’s waiting arms. Meanwhile, Aemond—who, contrary to you, is having a great deal of attention paid to him—dutifully navigates the hall to pay his respects to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Starks, on and on down the ladder. He speaks to each of the families, nodding politely to the clamoring, bejeweled daughters, before moving on to the next. He does this as quickly as he can so he can get it over with. He has never been at ease with strangers. He has never found it simple to trust them. A part of him will always be that overlooked, scorned second son, reserved by nature, suspicious by necessity; it’s just that he sometimes forgets this when he’s with you. No matter where he goes in the room, he keeps you on his good side. He watches you, he covets you.

There is one guest, and only one, who notices you and asks for a dance. Cregan Stark is young and handsome next to the other lords, nearly your same age, and you had met years before as children. He has a natural, kind charisma. He asks you about your family back on Bear Island as he carries you around the floor like a strong wind, tells you about Winterfell, offers his condolences for the loss of your mother. He doesn’t even think to mention your late husband. It is a commiseration between two Northerners in a distant land; it is a comfort to you both. As soon as Cregan Stark drops your hand and departs to awe some other lady, Aemond appears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks good-naturedly as he circles you, gliding his palm nonchalantly over your waist, your wrists, the small of your back. Your skin responds to him, goosebumps rising, lust kicking up like embers in a stirred fire.

“Diplomacy,” you reply primly.

“Hm. Perhaps we should send you to negotiate treaties.”

“I am very persuasive.”

“Yes, I know.” And he takes your hand to spin you around just once before leaving to pretend to consider marrying some other woman.

When Helaena is whisked away to dance with Otto Hightower, you pour yourself a cup of pomegranate juice and nurse it as you stand by the wall, alone. The noblewomen from the tea party toss you venomous sneers. You ignore them. You have everything they could ever want and more. Your hand settles briefly, forgetfully on your belly, and then you snatch it away.

Aegon, very intoxicated, wobbles over to you and props his back against the wall so he can keep his balance. “Hello,” he slurs.

“Hello.”

“I thought you might like to disparage the candidates with me,” he says, then gestures with his wine cup. “Look at that Floris Baratheon. Ears like a fucking donkey.”

You chuckle, hiding your face guiltily behind your own cup. “Shh. She’s not so bad.”

“You seem to be handling this remarkably well. Perhaps my brother has bored you, perhaps you have had your fill of him. Or perhaps you aren’t so heartbroken because he’s planning to keep you around as his mistress. I wouldn’t have guessed that to be his style, but upon second thought, you have thoroughly corrupted him. In that case, he should choose the donkey for sure. Someone stupid and docile. You can have rooms on opposite ends of the Red Keep and there will be no need for you to claw each other’s eyes out.”

“I’m not an animal, Prince Aegon.”

“You’re a Mormont. That’s hardly better.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Aegon leans into you, unsteady but not purposefully intrusive. “You’re worth more than all of them put together. I’m sorry that’s not what matters.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“We are natural allies,” he says, and clinks his cup against yours in a toast. Fortunately, he is too drunk to notice that you’re avoiding wine this evening. That would certainly raise some suspicions. “I know your secret, and you know mine.”

“What…?” And then you understand. Your secret is your relationship with Aemond, that part is easy. Aegon’s secret is a bit more obscure. What perhaps no one else knows is that there is more to him than brash words and wicked deeds and flippant, lazy recklessness. That he loves his family. That—somewhere way down deep, unspoken but alive—he cares.

Aegon shoves himself away from the wall and gives you a parting bow, clumsy and lurching. “Enjoy your evening as best you can. I’m going to go piss on the floor.”

“Cheers,” you reply. He staggers away, leaving you alone again.

As the Great Hall whirls around you like a galaxy, you bask in the warm glow of this moment, this liminal space like a doorway. There will be grumbles, surely, but what you and Aemond have forged cannot be undone. No one can take away your marriage. No one can take away your child. You knew unconditional love once, long ago on Bear Island, safe in your mother’s arms; now you have it again. You belong somewhere again. You took one hell of a detour, but now you are home.

You don’t feel him enter the hall, because he’s not Aemond Targaryen. He doesn’t change the room at all. You only turn because you hear rising chatter, and then elated shouts, and then the thunder of men’s handshakes and pounds on the back. You wonder who is being congratulated, who is being cheered like a soldier returning from war. When you see him, your cup drops out of your hand. Pomegranate juice floods across the floor like blood. He sees you, rushes to you; and it's the strangest thing, because it all seems to be happening very slowly, but not slowly enough for you to flee. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run but you can’t. You can’t even speak. You can’t even scream.

He is battered and bruised and thinner—harsher—than you remember, but it’s him. His name rings through the hall in a hundred different voices.

“Axel Hightower, back from the dead!”

“He survived the shipwreck! Praise the gods!”

“And now he’s come to surprise his wife!”

You are powerless to stop his approach. You are chained in place by horror. All around you, the life you thought you’d have is crumbling into dust. It’s running out of your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

“Aww, look, the poor thing is in shock! She can’t believe it!” some idiot sighs romantically. There are applause and whistles. On the periphery of your vision, you see Aegon backing away as far as he can from the dance floor. His head whips around, searching for someone.

Axel grips your arm, pulls you into him, and kisses you. It feels like being invaded. It feels like that very first night with him when he—not cruelly, no, but with a dreadful, willing ignorance—forced his way inside you until it felt like you were being sawed in half. You flinch violently; every muscle, every nerve screams to be away from him. You try to push Axel off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Why would he? He owns you, like a castle or a horse. He can do whatever he likes to you. The notion of you having desires to the contrary would never even cross his mind. There are tears bleeding down your cheeks: for you, for your child, for the future whose throat has just been slit in this room. It feels like you’re dying. You wish you were.

There is the shrill whisper of a blade being torn from its scabbard. All the guests fall silent. Axel takes a step back from you, his fingers still clamped around your forearm. Aemond holds the point of his sword to Axel’s throat. Several crimson beads drip from where the steel has pierced the paper-thin surface layer of skin. Aemond’s voice is dark, like nightfall, like onyx. His eye is blazing blue, cold fire. “Remove your hands from her, or you will lose them.”

Axel is too mystified to be outraged. He releases you. You can breathe again. “She is my wife by law.”

“She carries my child!” Aemond’s words ricochet off the walls like shattered glass. The Great Hall boils over with gasps and scandalized jabbering. “And we married under the heart tree. She is mine.”

“You what?!” Aegon blurts out.

“You what?!” Otto Hightower roars.

“Sir Criston?” Aemond calls, summoning him.

Sir Criston Cole steps out of the rabble. “It’s true,” he says. He hides his reddening face from Queen Alicent. “I witnessed it. They are wed.”

“This is an outrage!” Axel bellows, then looks to the crowd for their verdict.

“Bigamy!” someone cries out. A chorus joins them, a sea of jilted noble families who can only benefit from Axel carting you back to Oldtown.

“Whore! Whore!”

“Poor Axel Hightower escapes from the jaws of death to find this?!”

“A mortal sin!”

“Go back to your true husband!”

“Take her to the dungeons!”

Aemond steps in front of you, twirling his sword once, twice, again. “And who would like to be the first to try?”

No one moves to detain you, but the crowd’s sentiment is unmistakable, rabid. The jeers continue to rain down on you: bigamist, sinner, whore. And you can’t even decry them as slander, because they’re true. Otto Hightower is clutching the back of a chair like he might fall over without it. Alicent’s eyes are pooling with stunned, furious tears. Helaena sinks to the floor, covering her ears with both hands. After taking a moment to consider it, Sir Criston moves to stand beside Aemond and draws his own sword.

Ideas flit through Aemond’s mind like arrows. He catches one of them. As Sir Criston watches the crowd, Aemond turns back to you and touches your face with his free hand. “Say you want a trial by combat.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I can beat any man here besides Sir Criston and he wouldn’t fight me, just say it.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” you announce for all the court to witness.

“No she doesn’t!” Otto shouts, trying to drown you out.

“She does,” Aemond insists, grinning madly. “And I will be her champion.”

“Then I shall name my own!” Axel says. Already the court is chattering that there is no great cowardice in this; he is still recovering from his ordeal, far from his physical peak, and Prince Aemond is one of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. Axel scans the Great Hall for someone, anyone, who could challenge him. Sir Criston could probably best Aemond, but he would never agree to try. His allegiances to both Alicent and Aemond are too great. Who else could there be? Who else could there possibly be?

And then Axel’s gaze lands on him. When Aemond said he could beat any man here, he wasn’t wrong. The giant the court calls Killington hardly counts as a man at all. He’s not a man; he’s a monster. And he’s been thirsty for Aemond’s blood for years. He towers over anyone else in the room; he outweighs them by double. He steps forward, answering a question that has not yet been asked.

Axel’s face splits into a grin. His eyes glint like mirrors, like blades. “I choose Ivar Kellington.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine

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theduke-va · 2 years

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Sonic Aftermath Chapter 1: Reunion

Time and Date: Jun 23,2022 4:20 PM

Location: Station Square

Miles Eugene Prower was waiting for his friends. His legs felt weak, as he paced around the park area, with teeth chattering and groans that felt as if he was in pain, as he looks at his watch and looks around for them

“Oh sweet gaia,-” He hisses under his breath. “Where are they!?”

Fortunately, he heard a familiar voice as he looked up and saw a buff, curvy Pink Hedgehog putting her Motorcycle on park as she took off her helmet and looked down at the Twin tailed Fox.

“Hey Tails! What's up?! Is it.. Him again?” she asked as her eye twitched.

Miles chuckled and shook his head as he hugged Amy, and when she hugged him back, he could hear a tiny crack on his bones as he was lifted up a little.

“Not really Amy!” he said as he winced a little from her enhanced strength, as she puts him down she sighed in relief, as did Miles, he looked up at her in shock. “Damn Amy! You got stronger! How much can you bench press now?” he said as he pulled out a notebook and pen.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled, flexing one of her big biceps at him.”I told you the last time we talked: I was working on going for around 600 to 800 pounds in my routine!” she giggled.

As she saw Tails write it down though, her smile fell from her face. “Miles, don’t assume I'm gonna get any stronger.”

Tails jolts up and puts the notebook away as he laughed and twiddled his thumbs while in a cold sweat.”W-Well i'm not assuming that you are gonna get stronger, I-I’m just making sure to keep track of your progress so that I never forget where you started!” he said as Amy’s Eyes widened as she smiled and hugged him softer and cuddled with his face!

“Aaaaaw! You did care about my hobbies and validation to the team!!!” she shouts and giggles as she lets go of him.

Miles nods and feels a sense of joy rush over him.”Of course! We all cared about your progress Amy! You’re an incredible part of our gang, and we wanted to include you into Team Sonic!” he said as he then felt some light, consistent tremors… Amy picked him up and looked around, as she felt them too!

“The fuck’s making all these small quakes!?” she exclaimed, looking around with her hammer magically in her hand with a poof. Miles sighs and smiles, knowing exactly who it is.

All of the sudden: BOOM! An 8’5” Red Echidna emerged from the ground! As he shook his muscular body, he looked down at the two and smiled softly…”Sorry i'm late my friends!” he said as he covered up the hole.

Amy’s teeth were grinding as she growls and looks up at him, while putting Miles down. “Knuckles! What the Hell?!” she exclaims as she pushes him back a bit with a punch…”I could have harmed you by assuming you were one of Eggman’s MoleBots!!!!” She shouts as she is panting and breathing heavily.

Knuckles’ Smile went down a bit as he furrowed his brow a bit…”Sorry Ames, but you know i don't have a car!” he sighs and facepalms. “People think im stupid for not having one, but do they know how much pollution is in those fucking things?! It's horrendous and dishonorable!” he shouts and growls a bit…

Amy sighs and rubs her forehead. “I know how you feel about-...” she clenches her fist and shakes it subtly.”-People assuming things about you…” she lets go of her forehead and looks up. “But in all honesty, given that comment, I don’t even think you own a house so why would people assume you have one?” she smirks as she looks up at him.. He looked at Amy while cocking an Eyebrow…”Amy… The hotel I run and the Island I protect are my home!” he says as he crosses his arms.

Amy then blushes and rubs the back of her head and giggles lightly. “Sorry Knux… Forgot that you own the only establishment on Angel Island.” She says as she has a little of a cold sweat, as she looks around a bit. “Say… where do you guys think Ogilve could be?” Amy asks as she scanned the crowd, squinting a bit.

Knuckles laughs a bit and remarks: “You think he got smaller since I last saw him?” with a smirk and a nudge to Amy.

“Dunno, Knux. the last time i saw him he did have quite the growth spurt.” as she ponders where he could be within the crowd

Miles tries to clear his throat. “Um guys i've been with him-”

“Nonsense Amy, you must have had Rose tinted glasses when you saw him.” he chuckles.

Miles furrowed his brow and growled a bit, all the while, he saw that there was some shade behind him, as he looked up and saw someone, while the two were arguing about what happened to their friend…

“Guys!!!-” Miles interrupts, shouting at the top of his points at the huge being.”He’s Here!” he said with a smile

As they were looking up, they saw this huge being, as he towered over them!

This being had legs that would cause tremors with a single step, Arms that could lift more than mountains, and his face: Riddled with Dark Gaia markings, and a somewhat chiseled muzzle. He looks down at all of them with a cheerful fanged smile, his green irises glowing as he waved to them.

“Sup guys! Long time no see!” he says as his voice was deeper, gravelier, and yet smoother than ever before

Amy blushes and covers her mouth, Tails was delighted and happy to see him, Knuckles just stood there with eyes widened, his arms dangling, as he could only break the silence with one phrase:

”...... WHAT THE FUCK?! SONIC?!?”

To be continued

#Sonic AU #Writing #Sonic:Aftermath #Sonic Adventure 1 #Sonic Adventure 2 #Sonic Unleashed #Alternate Universe #Sonic the Hedgehog #Amy Rose #Miles Prower #Tails the Fox #Knuckles the Echidna

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endometriosis-blog · 1 year

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a bit of background:

hi. my name is joely, and i'm 18. as my problems grow stronger, and my symptoms get worse, ive deceived to document my disease on this platform.

ive never been officially diagnosed, that's something i'm currently working on. i do, however, have an extensive family history of the disease. my grandmother needed a hysterectomy, my mother had ovarian cysts and needed the organs removed (along with great deals of infertility), my twin sister had ovarian torsion. my sister and i are both on birth control: we have been since elementary school. she's on an injection, however, while i have a bad fear of needles. as a result, i stick to the pill.

my symptoms fall a bit further out of the general menstruel cycle. i think this is why i've been run through so many doctors. the biggest issue being my abdominal pain. along side regular period cramps, i get bad intestinal cramps. as in, skip work, school, parties, family events, bad. i get chills and hot flashes from them, shakes and tremors. i've had this issue since 6th grade. of course, being a sort of misunderstood illness, i was diagnosed with IBS-D. this was in may of 2021. the fodmap diet i was put on did not help. the dicyclomine i was prescribed did not help. another lesser symptom, rib pain. some lower back and shoulder, too, but always under the right side of my ribs. the birth control i take completely stops my period, but never stops the pain. when i am on my period, im completely out of commission. i become more miserable than i already am.

i've been trying to get a laparoscopy, but given that i only turned 18 2 months ago, that's a difficult thing. my mother doesn't want me to have one yet, she believes i'm too young. i think that's bullshit. if im in this much pain and im still lacking a diagnosis, then what am i meant to do? just accept it? is that really all i have left? i want to know what is going on in my body. if it happens my pain doesn't come from endometriosis, then maybe it CAN be cured. if not, then at least i'll know.

a bit about me outside of that, i love art. i've made some on endometriosis that ill post soon, but i think it really is the best way to symbolize my pain and struggle. i hope to make more in the future

ill try to keep this blog updated with my symptoms or any medical updates. i have another appointment coming up this month, im hoping i can discuss surgery options then. thank you for taking time to read of my story 💛

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irastayshome · 1 year

Photo

It’s so funny how the things that would have kept us in a cold war before, just doesnt anymore. We got into an argument 2 days ago about me buying a fish tank for the kids. They’d beeen asking for it for months, before we found out the cancer had returned, but ive been putting it off because phew its been a heck of a ride since his surgery last year and me setting up the juice business and all to sorta help out with the finances a little. He got angry because I didn’t OK it with him before buying it, even though i’ve asked him several times for permission - on behalf of the kids cause hes very accustomed to immediately saying NO to them - and he has most definitely said yes, eventually. He got angry because its just an additional burden to care for on top of everything i’m already handling, and it felt like he was implying i’m already not doing a good job handling everything - the house, the kids, him. I got upset, obviously, because i’m already trying my best for months now with the additional responsibilities i’ve taken on, and i’m never gonna b perfect when it comes to meeting his expectations on domestic standards. Like honestly even with no cancer, I am very OK with how our house is like. Messy, but filled with life and laughter and memories with our children. The things that matter most to me anyway. I told him there’s little else I can do for our children right now, to ensure their childhood is still protected. We cannot go out anywhere apart from really hurried trips to the mall after school to get snacks, or selit like 20 minutes at the playground downstairs all while i am periodically checking the webcam to see if he is ok in his room and doesnt need any assistance. We cannot even eat out with him, unless his tummy is not reacting badly to the tumors and the medications, and thats increasingly rare these days.

So, a fish tank and fishes, seemed like an easy yes for me. The kids needed to feel like it was ok to still be kids, and to still care about things that excite them and made them curious even AS their father was battling terminal cancer. Because they have no idea their father is battling terminal cancer. And until Dr Farid says the exact words that these treatments are not curative, and only meant to delay the inevitable, I cannot bring myself to have that conversation with the children. I don’t know how to find the courage and strength for that, and I keep trying to approach it bit by bit with Ibrahim, but a part of me feels like its a betrayal to my husband. Its as though i’ve already given up on hope that he will make it, when in reality I haven’t.. not fully. I’d see him wean off his heavy pain medications and im like “oh my gosh.... does that mean.... “ but then i quickly stop that train of thought before i jinx it with my overly optimistic thoughts n wishes.

We have so much more good moments where we can just be our usual boring married people, watching netflix, holding hands, drinking tea while our kids are asleep. But then out of nowhere, we’d be watching a show that had some themes of cancer in it or sth, and because we’re better now, he’d share about his fears. And then we’d both be in tears, and hugging, and i’d have to keep biting my tongue from telling him it will be okay. I know thats what his mother would do. But I know the danger of stopping him from really sharing how he feels, and right now, he is scared. We are both deeply, deeply, scared. And i didn’t want him to feel that alone. and we don’t know if it will be ok, because he says the pain is so much better now, but yet he’s been having ringing in his ears all day, has a tremor which i can feel with his hands in mine, and spends some days sleeping all day.

I just have to keep believing that everything that has happened, is what He intended for us. Every step we’ve taken was to get at something, to learn something. This entire experience has made me realise that if he does not make it, I do not want a relationship with his mother. I need to protect my children and my heart, and allowing her to take up space in our lives, without him around, would really be poisonous, amidst having to adjust to being a single mother. This experience also taught me how much more capable I am than i thought, that i’m not just a sheltered person unable to deal with life’s curveballs. Im gonna need time to get up to speed on the finances and the technical parts that he’s been handling, but I have faith that I will learn. My boys will see that their mother can handle whatever life’s gonna throw our way, from here on, insyaAllah.

But most importantly, and in the most bittersweet way, this experience has taught me that love is not as romantic and sweet and dreamy as I once hoped. It is so messy. So raw. Yet so, so enduring, when it is real. And I know it is real with my husband. I know I love him, and I don’t doubt he loves me too. I know it is real when I hold his hand, and he tells me he is scared, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be around by the end of the year, or if he’ll be around to see how our boys grow up to be. I know he trusts me to take care of him, without judgement or complaint, and that he can unload on me his worries and I would not try to shut him down or brush his fears aside. He can’t do much for me now, but to have him hold my hand and tell me he wants a massage, it makes my heart warm like no gift or sweet words hes uttered ever did. Having him lean on me to get out of bed or out of the toilet feels so assuring, because I know he’d tell me if he needs help and not try to suck it in to soften it for us. I never thought i’d find that romantic, but I feel both physically and emotionally closer to him than I ever have when he does those things. Hence why it is bittersweet, because doing all those things make me yearn for him to get better even more fiercely. Because we NEED more time for this. Our marriage took a serious beating in the last 3 years, or maybe even 4, and cancer has stopped time and made everything move in slow motion, enough for us to really see through the blur of raising kids, supporting the family, managing our jobs, and to just see each other and how we’ve been treating each other. I need more time with him. The kids too. Oh, and I turned 32 today. I guess for the first time ever, I know exactly what to wish for.

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fungifaggot · 3 years

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Please Take Me Home...

A/n: Back again with an annual post wahoo. Anyway, I hope yall are doing okay and staying safe. (Heads up I didn’t edit this well)

!Feel free to send constructive criticism!

Summary: Peter is drunk and alone and he wants to go home. Little did he know, asking you for a ride home would be one of the best decisions he ever made.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, underaged drinking, sad peter, Ion kno.

The music was loud and the air was warm. The house was full of nearly one hundred sweaty bodies colliding into one another, yet somehow Peter managed to still feel alone.

Deep breaths he told himself

Yet with every passing gasp for air the sensation of suffocating only grew stronger. He wanted to get out of there, and he wanted to get out now.

For the past hour he had been on a search for Ned and Mj, and as much as it pained him to do so, he was coming to terms with the fact that they had left him, and therefore so did his ride. (Not that they'd ever do that, but let's just assume they thought he had already left or something)

Good god did he wish that he had never been talked into coming, and god did he wish that he wasn’t still there.

Yet no matter how hard he wished or how tight he shut his eyes, every time they opened he was still there. Surrounded. Not only by people, but with booze, loud music, and the disgusting warmth that was radiating off the flesh of every sweaty intoxicated teenager.

At that very moment everything was wrong. His head was throbbing, rhythmic pounding clouding any coherent thought he had, and surely the loud bass wasn’t helping

Peter knew that you also had attended the party, but subconsciously he had been trying his best to avoid you in any way possible.

You see, it wasn't because he disliked you or anything. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

You and Peter got along great. The bond between You, Mj, Ned, and Peter was unbreakable and he loved spending time with you, but despite your friendly personality, Peter was appalled at the idea of talking to you. He couldn’t help it. Any time he was around you, he reeked of insecurity. Feeling as though he wasn’t good enough. You weren’t popular per say, but the way you held yourself in such a laid back yet confident manner had somehow managed to leave a great impression with just about everyone. And it was that fact about you that made Peter doubt himself. He’d tell himself that he was much too boring or too ‘lame’ to be around you. And although he knew you’d never think that about him yourself, he’d instantaneously tense up and get painfully awkward the second you walked into the room, and that alone that made him fear your presence.

(It also didn't really help that he had the worst crush on you.. Like seriously the worst. As in staying up till 2:00 am stalking your social media type of bad.)

Despite Peter's dread, he was beginning to realize that he wasn't exactly given a choice. There was no one else in the house even remotely worth talking to except you. And with that in mind Peter began his second search of the night.

It only took him about two solid minutes to give up, in which he resorted to just tapping someone on the shoulder and asking.

“HEY! DO YOU KNOW WHERE (Y/N) IS?” He shouted, unable to hear his own voice over the sound of the blaring music.

“OH YEAH! HE’S UPSTAIRS IN THE ROOM TO THE LEFT...I THINK” Was the slurred response he received.

“OH UHH OKAY. THANK YOU” Peter replied.

“YEAH ANYTIME MAN” he heard behind him as he beelined to the staircase.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth he reminded himself as he made his way up the stairs, trying to build up courage with every step he passed.

He took one last deep breath, attempting to calm the violent shaking occurring within his hands. He formed them into a fist and brought one up to the door, sending a knock that would echo throughout the hallway.

“Come in~” he heard from behind the door, giving him permission to enter.

As soon as the door creaked open, he was met face to face with a thick cloud of smoke. He stepped inside, taking in a deep breath, flooding his nose with the stench of marijuana before almost immediately making eye contact with you.

“Peteyyyy” You sang out, halting the conversation you were previously having

,but before Peter had the chance to respond, his voice hitched in the back of his throat and an overwhelming feeling of warmth tremored throughout his body. He knew something bad was about to happen. He knew he was going to puke...

“Uhhh, s-sorry. Wrong room.” He muttered out, making a 180 degree turn before bolting out the door. His palms began to sweat and his mouth salivated heavily. He tried to breathe and suppress the violent urge to puke, but knew that there was no hope. He ran to the closest bathroom, not bothering to knock as he bursted through the door slamming it shut behind him. He made his way to the (thankfully already open) toilet and emptied out his stomach. He continued to gag, and eventually made himself comfortable on the bathroom floor when he felt he was finished. He flushed the contents down and rested his cheek on the toilet seat only to then perk his head up when he heard a light knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Petey, you doin’ okay in there?”

“Y-yeah im okay! Just a little...tired that's all!” He rushed out, internally smacking himself in the face. “Just a little tired”? What the fuck Peter.

He heard the door open and rushed into a sitting position, trying to appear as normal.

You sauntered in, closing the toilet lid and taking a seat on it.

“You doin’ okay?” You repeated.

“Yeah, i’m just fine. Y’know.. like I said.” He responded, flashing you a forced smile.

You rolled your eyes at him and gave his hair a gentle pet.

“You sure? You seem... off.” you uttered, handing him a bottle of water.

Peter sighed accepting your offer, moving his eyes down to his feet.

“I just don’t really want to be here right now.” he said before taking a swig.

“Shit...I’m sorry.” you sighed out.

“There anything I could do to help?”

Peter brought his sorrow filled eyes back up to yours,

“I-is there any way you could take me home?”

“Fuck. Baby you know I would if I could, but I’m uh... not exactly sober right now.” You responded, guilt lacing your words, as you began to regret your decisions.

“Baby”. He knew it was a word that you’d throw around to any of your close friends, but he couldn't suppress the warm feeling that burned throughout his body when it rolled off your tongue.

Peter let out a shy chuckle continuing to sip from the bottle and replied

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Looks like neither of us are driving.” You said with a deep chuckle.

“Where’s Ned and Mj? I bet they’d help.” You asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Gone.”

“Oh...” Was all you could find yourself responding with.

You stood up from where you sat, extending your hand out to Peter.

“Lets get outta here. Even if it's just for a bit.” You said with a slanted smile.

You helped him up slowly, placing your free hand on his lower back, directing him towards the door.

Peter waited at the top of the stairs while you notified your friends of your departure.

As soon as you returned you took a hold of his hand and guided him down the stairs and out the door. A small gust of wind met your face as the door shut behind you. The sweat gathered on the back of Peter's neck began to fade and the throbbing in his head lessened. Not completely, but enough for it to be bearable.

“Feels good to be out of there huh?” You said almost as if you had read his mind, compelling him to nod in agreement.

The two of you began to walk in a random direction, hands still together. Peter's mind racing a million miles a minute.

“Where did Ned and Mj go?”

“Is (Y/n) annoyed that he has to spend time with me?”

“Oh god, my hands are sweating aren't they…”

“What... you nervous or somethin?” You giggled, raising your connected hands into the air and squishing them together to emphasize the fact that they were sticky.

If it weren’t for the fact that it was nearly 1:00 in the morning and there were no cars out, Peter swore he would’ve jumped in front of one without hesitation.

“Oh um, i’m sorry...” He muttered, embarrassment flooding his system, so much to the point it nearly put the boy in tears.

“Awe, c’mon I'm just kidding around” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Oh ha-haaa” Peter replied sarcastically, sending you a childish pout.

You bumped your hip into his as a friendly gesture, causing him to stumble a bit.

“It’s...cute.”

“Cute.” He muttered, moreso to himself than you.

The two of you continued to walk, not even sure where it was you planned on going. The silence grew thicker with every passing second, but Peter was much too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice. You released his grip, bringing him back to reality, and went to dig around your pocket.

“Aha-” you brought your hand back up, displaying a pair of airpods (or any bluetooth ones idrc)

“You want it?” You asked, wiggling your phone in the air.

“O-oh! Sure!” he said, snatching it and placing it in his ear.

You put on (S/n). (‘Song name’, I humbly recommend ‘One Last Time by Summer Salt’) Peter's nerves settled as the rhythm of the song blared through his ears, drowning out his pesky thoughts.

You grabbed his hand again and started to swing it to the beat. Peter stared at you in awe as you swayed your head from side to side, meandering a bit as you walked. Eventually you swung your arm around Peter's shoulder, forcing him to move with you. If it weren't for the alcohol he probably would have laughed it off and nudged you, but instead he immitated your actions and began to sway overdramatically. That continued until you came to an abrupt stop and pointed. Peter followed you gaze, finding himself staring at a park.

You looked at him for a long second before bolting off towards the park without warning.

“Hey!” Peter yelped out, out eventually following your lead.

You ran and clumsily dove into a swing set, pushing yourself up off the ground, in a ‘superman’ pose before you came back down, dragging your hands and feet through the wood chips. You swung back and forth a few times before Peter came up and pushed your back so you rose up once again.

“Excuse you!” You laughed out flailing your legs in attempt to get him off of you, before ‘gracefully’ sliding off so that you stumbled for a second before ending up on your ass.

“You look like a dumbass” Peter said with a bright smile, kicking some wood chips at you.

You stood up, brushing your self off while looking him in the eyes

“and you love it” you said with a wink.

“Shut up” He said, lightly shoving your chest and turning away to hide his blush.

After that the two of you messed around, sliding down slides, and fucking around on the monkey bars until you eventually ended up laying down in a grass field looking up at the stars.

The two of you talked about everything. College, work, the party, Peters ‘internship’, everything.

“Why don’t we talk more?” you sighed out as you sat back up.

“I don’t know...” Peter lied, whilst clumsily rolling over to rest his head on your thigh.

“Well. We should.” You stated, moving so that you were looking down into his eyes. You stayed in the position for what felt like forever, enjoying the gentle wind, as you analyzed Peters features.

You pulled out your phone, breaking the silence after reading the time

2:30 am

“You wanna head back?” You asked, ruffling Peter's hair.

“Back where exactly?”

“My place?”

“Sure” Peter yawned.

You turned your music back up once you were both standing, hands interlocking once again as you started your adventure for the second time that night.

Once you returned to the house, you saw that the lights were still on and the music was very much still blaring.

You opened the car door on Peters side before walking around and getting in yourself.

As the two of you got seated Peter handed you your head phone back and let his body relax.

You reached into the back and pulled up a soft blanket, handing it to Peter.

You turned the radio on, keeping the volume low as you gave yourself some time to completely sober up. You turned to Peter so you could continue the conversation from earlier, only to be met with a sleeping boy.

Drool dribbled from his lips and slight snores emitted from him. His hair was a mess and boy did he not look comfortable, but you thought it was sweet nonetheless.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a picture of him.

You were definitely gonna show him that in the morning

After about another 30 minutes of simply relaxing, you turned the key and drove off.

Peter mumbled in his sleep as you nudged him for what was probably the hundredth time, only waking up when you smacked him in the back of the head. You led him to the apartment door and unlocked it, kicking your shoes off to the side as soon as you entered.

Once you reached your room, you swung the door open, signaling for him to enter before you.

“Such a gentleman” Peter said in a groggy voice, before making himself comfortable and plopping onto your bed. He nearly fell back asleep until he was abruptly hit by a flock of clothes.

“There ya go- figured you’d want em’ since we're covered in dirt.” You chuckled

“Oh yeah...and this” tossing him a brand new toothbrush.

You tore your shirt off and chucked it into a random corner, grabbing some clean sweatpants as you made your way to the bathroom.

You turned around at the door, noticing that Peter had been staring at you

“I’ll be right back”

After brushing your teeth and changing, you came back out. Peter taking your previous position in the bathroom.

In the meantime you got comfortable, rearranging the pillows so that they were equally distributed.

Peter eventually came back out dressed in your clothes, looking almost as if he were drowning in your hoodie. If you could have snapped a picture right then and there, you would have, but simply seeing him like that was enough for you.

You lifted up the blanket signalling for him to join you, and he did so after turning off all the lights.

You both laid next to each other in the dark for a bit before you heard Peter turn to face you.

You turned your head just so that you could just make out his general figure. Despite it being dark, you could see that Peter was looking up at you with his puppy like eyes.

“Could you uhm... could you maybe hold me?” He stammered out.

You smiled softly, not that he could see it, and wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him into you, and allowing himself to burrow in and get as warm as possible.

“Of course Peter” you whispered into his hair

“Of course...”

___________

Tags:

@marvelgbtposts @eliotsbambimargo @ethanharli @baldsaitama @malereaderinsert @malereader-inserts @myfeetkeepdancing @malereaderimagines @dis-boi-be-a-gay-peter @jerod-writes @katsukispicycaramel @luv-hqs @sinfulcries

(literally let me know asap if my tags are annoying you LMAO)

#male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #seme male reader #peter parker #peter parker x male reader #dom male reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman

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peggyrose19 · 3 years

Text

We’ll Be Alright

More St. Tweedle for you. This takes place right after All I Want. A bit of hurt/comfort this time, if you’d like a break from the angst, featuring quite a few sappy confessions. I was gonna post a pt. 2 of Luke leaving angst but I’m impatient.

characters as always from @lumosinlove

@im-oknutzy-trash, @wonder-womans-ex

Luke awoke the morning after Saint showed up at his dorm to golden light trickling through his cracked window, falling over his bed. Saint still lay beside him, eyes shut and cheeks flushed. He looked quiet in sleep, and Luke wanted to freeze time right then and there, Saint asleep in his bed, sunlight turning strands of his hair copper, quieting the world to just the two of them.

Luke rolled over, unable to bear the broken perfection of it all. Too many unsaid words still hung between them.

“Saint, I’m sorry,” Luke murmured to the early morning darkness. He didn’t know if Saint actually heard him, wasn’t even sure he was awake. But rustling came and he felt Saint’s shoulder press against his back.

“Sorry for what?” Saint asked, voice low and rough. Luke fought the tremor that shook him. He loved Saint in the morning.

“For leaving without saying goodbye.”

Saint didn’t answer at that, didn’t move. For a moment, Luke was afraid he’d fallen back asleep. Or maybe he’d just dreamed the whole thing.

But then Saint was moving, away from him and climbing out of bed. Luke sat up.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t do this Luke.”

Luke tracked him cautiously as Saint began pacing beside the bed. “Do what?”

“You can’t just say shit like that, alright?” He was nearly shouting. “You can’t just fucking do that to me.”

“Do what, Saint?” Luke pushed himself up and stalked over to him. “Tell you the truth? Apologize? Try to fix one goddamn mess in my life?”

Saint bitterly shook his head. “You’re lying. Why do you even care?”

Luke breathed in sharply, wanting to say the words, yet so terrified of what they might bring.

“Because I’m still in love with you.”

Saint laughed bitterly. “Are you now. You never said.”

“Well I am now. And I’m sorry.”

"Stop lying to me," Saint growled, and suddenly Luke was the one pushed, stumbling backwards, stopping only when his back hit the wall. It was so reminiscent of that first kiss, Luke angrier than he had been in a long time. The roles were reversed this time.

Saint didn't move, didn't come closer. He just stared at Luke wide-eyed and afraid. Luke rarely saw him afraid. He didn’t know where it was coming from.

"I'm not lying," he said quietly, begging him to understand, to believe him. Begging him not to think so lowly of him to believe it was a lie. Luke knew Saint trusted no one, barely even himself. For a while there he'd thought he'd been the exception. But it seemed leaving him on that island without so much as a goodbye had done its toll.

“Luke, how…” Saint trailed off, stepping closer cautiously. “Why? Why me?” The helplessness in Saint’s voice nearly broke him.

“Because you’re you!” Luke nearly cried. He needed Saint to understand. “Because you’re stubborn and sarcastic and you look good in gold, because you read the books I do and you aren’t afraid to tell me off. Because you’ll stay up with me until midnight to look at the stars and you’ll kiss me until I forget my own name and you don’t even care what others think. Because I love you. And I promise I’m not lying.”

Saint watched him for a long time. Luke couldn’t read his expression. So often, he did this. Shut himself off, placed that unfeeling mask back on again. Luke watched him back, remembering all the pain and longing that had brought them here.

“You stole my heart,” he whispered. “Before we were even a thing, and certainly before I left… long before I ever said it out loud. But you did, and it’s yours. If you want it.”

Saint’s mouth quirked to the side, breaking that mask. “You been reading romance novels, Tweedle?” Luke flushed. “Cause that was pretty sappy.”

“Bastard.”

“I love you.”

Luke’s breath caught in his chest. He didn’t know what to say. So rarely did Saint catch him well and truly off guard; when he did it always left Luke speechless.

But Saint started talking, quietly at first, so soft Luke could barely hear him, “I… I know I should have said this sooner. Three years is a fucking long time. I didn’t have the strength then, didn’t even know what I wanted. But I do now. I want you. And I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, even when you walked away and broke my heart.”

Finally, Luke murmured, “You always know what to say.”

“No. No I really don’t. I just know you.”

“C’mere.”

Saint stepped forward cautiously, but he didn’t flinch when Luke reached up, cradling his face gently. And he didn’t pull away when Luke brought their mouths together. Saint kissed him back, one arm wrapped around his back, the other lacing their fingers together. He walked them backwards until Luke pressed against the wall, arching into him. Luke tilted Saint’s chin up, kissing him deeper until they were both flushed and panting.

“I love you,” Luke panted, resting forehead against Saint’s.

“And I you.”

“Will you stay?”

Saint’s breath stopped, just for a moment, as he stared at Luke. But then he smiled, and ran a soft hand through Luke’s hair.

“Stay til you graduate?” Saint asked softly. “Hmm? Get an apartment together maybe, be all domestic and shit.”

“You want that?”

Saint shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’d do it for you, if you wanted.”

“Saint…” Luke couldn’t find the words to say what was in his heart, how grateful and amazed and in love he was in that moment. But Saint seemed to understand, just from watching him. He smiled gently, those brown eyes sparkling, expression wide open.

“Of course I will, Tweedle. I love you remember?”

“Now who’s the sappy one?”

Saint barked a laugh and Luke laughed too, for the first time in what felt like forever. He kissed Saint again, smiling into it and reveling in the fact that he could now.

“Come back to bed,” Luke said, tugging Saint back towards his bed. “Sleep with me.”

Saint followed willingly. He curled up on the bed, looking up at Luke with a smirk. Luke frowned a little, but couldn’t fight a smile as he laid down beside him, wrapping arms around Saint’s waist. So little did he let Luke do this, hold him close and let himself be vulnerable. Luke loved seeing him like this.

“I love you,” Luke murmured, but Saint was already asleep.

#st. tweedle #luke x saint #hurt/comfort #confessions #i love yous #tough boys being sappy #wrote most of this in class #or late at night #oh well #kisses #fluff #cuddles #relic keel #lumosinlove

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leizzxre · 4 years

Text

dizzy

masterlist

im jaebeom x reader

synopsis: he’s ur awkward vampire roommate, and u are super weird

hi, long time no see!! my brain was overloading, thank u for still supporting the blog <3333 its going to be a year starting june 16th! i hope u all are well! :)

Jaebeom read the same sentence for the tenth time, his concentration now set on the sudden shift in your heartbeat. It drummed in his ears; it made his eyebrows twitch. He could hear the rush of blood in your veins quicken, a nervous tremor in your breath. The bounce of his knee eventually matches the same tempo.

You were always a noisy roommate, but this was distracting Jaebeom more than usual.

What’s going on inside that head? No, he won’t think too hard on it. He tries to ignore it, that panging interest itching the back of his neck, with a shift in his posture. Jaebeom flips a page, realizes he never read the last paragraph, and flips back. His fingers tap around the back of the book cover, he sniffles, and pushes his glasses further up his nose.

“Hey Jaebeom?” Finally.

He looks at your figure standing in the kitchen, your back still facing him. You twist awkwardly on your heels before looking back. Jaebeom’s trying to play down the whiplash he got with fingers combing behind his ear.

“Y-yeah?” Jaebeom’s voice cracked; he doesn’t know why.

“Can I ask you a question? It’s not that important, it’s just been nagging at me,” your bottom lip trapped between teeth.

Jaebeom sets his book down, forgetting to bend the corner of his last page, “Sure.”

He’s looking at your fingers wringing together. Your heartbeat is loud, and it surrounds him. Jaebeom starts to feel really dizzy.

“Why haven’t you ever fed on me?”

Jaebeom bit his on his tongue at the question, and winces at the pain. He jolts up and rests his posture once again, “H-huh?’

“Like, that’s a thing you do, right? I don’t know! Just why haven’t you ever attempted to you know, prey on me?” You voice rose and fell about six different times, your hands flying around as Jaebeom tried to follow them with wide eyes. Prey? Oh my god.

“You’re anemic.”

“What does that mean?”

“Drinking your blood is like,” he looks at what’s resting on the counter behind you, “eating an expired ramen cup.”

Your mouth falls open, perplexed. Jaebeom really doesn’t mind that though, your heartbeat slowed a little.

“That’s not funny.”

“Why did you ask?”

There’s a frown on your face now, you turn from Jaebeom and he can finally exhale- you’re so weird to him. You’re picking up your ramen cup before you set it down once again, turning back to glare back at Jaebeom. He holds his breath again as you get closer.

“It just seems interesting that we’ve been roommates for almost a year, and you haven’t, you know, attacked me,” you shrug as you sit beside him on the couch and tuck your feet in and under your thighs, “But now I just found out I’m apparently undesirable.” Why do you look mad over that?

“You’re not undesirable.” He meant that, maybe not in the same way you wanted it to.

It was sort of an accident how you found out about the vampire thing. His “juice box” fell, and it took about an hour or so to ease your panic by letting you know it was only pig’s blood- and about another 20 minutes to get the knife out of your hands. But you guys were cool now, at least enough to have your Capri Sun’s next to his own drinks in the refrigerator.

Jaebeom actually appreciated the bond you had created, and was relieved that he didn’t have to keep his life much of a secret anymore. He was fairly new to this life, and it left him frustrated most nights to know he’d never be “normal” again. So, you knowing who he was made living at home a lot easier, he even formed a bit of a crush knowing he could trust you more- not that he’d admit that to himself.

He enjoyed your presence is all. You laughed together- helped each other out. You made him feel normal again.

Not right now though. You’re staring at him weird.

“Oh.” Are you blushing? He can’t really tell, you won’t look at him anymore, instead focusing on your nailbeds. Though, Jaebeom almost flew back to the other side of the couch when you stared back to him again. Your eyes sparkled with something that scared him, and your heartbeat sped up again.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?!” You shuffle closer, Jaebeom scoots back.

“Getting bit?”

Jaebeom’s turn to look away, he twists his fingers together on his lap. You lean back a little to give him space, and you gnaw at your lip, “Hey I’m sor- “

“You want to find out?” You’ve always been way too curious anyway.

You fumble, “I-is that okay? Am I going to turn into one too?”

Jaebeom’s eyes shock you a bit. They tinted red, almost glowed. It wasn’t that noticeable just by the look, but it was his overall aura that changed, the room felt darker- colder. You didn’t look away though, your gaze held- strengthened even.

“Not unless my intentions allow for it. You should be fine.”

Your nod was short, “Okay.”

Jaebeom didn’t give much of a warning, but he was slow. A moment to sit closer, another to lean towards you. It was as if time swam through a thick air. When his palm finally reached your shoulder, you shuddered, and Jaebeom hesitated there.

Your heartbeat was quieter, and it confused him a bit. It was the calmest it’s been throughout tonight, though whether should he still continue held him in place awkwardly.

That’s when your head tilts back, your neck now open to him, and your eyes closed. He takes another moment to lean closer, his cold breath reaching your skin, just before sharp fangs.

Once he sank in, Jaebeom immediately wanted to take back what he said about your iron deficiency, he was completely wrong. You tasted like honey, way better than pig’s bloo- there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey Jae? I feel dizzy.”

#jaebeom x reader #GOT7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 jaebeom #im jaebeom #im jaebeom x reader #got7 x reader #jaebeom imagines #jaebeom drabbles #jaebeom scenarios #lim jaebeom #lim jaebeom x reader #got7 scenarios #got7 drabbles #got7 imagines #blu writes

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if-the-crown-fits-translate-it · 3 years

Text

Duchy Conversation 4

[27/03, 4:29 AM GMT - 27/03, 6:13 AM GMT]

[The following transcript details the conversation is between one of the Crown ARG Discord members and Duke on Twitter]

Donti: “Hi! How was your day?

Its me again :)c

((If its late or youre sleeping dw about responding :p))”

Duke: “Forgive my tardiness, my embroidery was enchanting me so that my ears laid unaware!

How do you do, Donti? It is the Duke speaking. I must say, my sister has quite the opinion of you!”

Donti: “Oh its great to talk to you again Duke :D I hope I left a good impression! Is your embroidery going well?”

Duke: “It is going quite splendid! The Crown truly does spoil us, giving my sister and I such rich-coloured thread. Truly we are fortunate for his generosity and love.”

Donti: “Ohh! Good colors always make embroidery fun! What are you making?”

Duke: “I must ask though - as a sheep yourself why must you graze on such nimble hearts? Wolves are not supposed to concern themselves with the opinions and thoughts of prey such as yourselves but Prince is but a pup, why must you all be so cruel? I am quite interested in the answer, you see, because it is I who saw the tear tracks down faers face and I who heard the drums of despair in this household.”

Donti: “Oh..

Are you talking about blunt anon?

All of us are very angry at them, whoever they are.

I promise they do not reflect us as a whole.”

Duke: “To answer your previous question however, I am making a rose for Baroness. I do feel horribly for how I was unable to aid her with her spoiled dress so I do hope this gift soothes her and shows that there is no ill will from I to her.”

Donti: “Thats nice! Baroness loves flowers and nature! Thats super thoughtful of you. Im sure she'll love it :D

But back to Prince... Are fae ok? we're worried about faem.”

Duke: “"Blunt anon" is quite a peculiar name I must say. Indeed that is the scoundrel I speak of. It is wonderful to hear that you all are not that way - frankly, if I suspected you were the one to make Prince cry I would have simply neglected to respond, as is customary when one deals with enemies of one's family. Prince is currently recuperating, poor thing. A bleeding heart only leads to death and yet fae still has not learned that yet. I do wish you to send out a warning if you would be so kind - do let anyone know that if they ever treat Duchess in such a matter they will swiftly come to regret it. A gentleman does not revel in violence but she is my most dearest sister.

I thank you for your kind words however, I do indeed hope she enjoys my gift so - do not tell the others but she may be the only one in this family I can truly connect to on an intellectual setting, besides my sister of course.”

Donti: “Ill tell people not to be rude to Duchess. Not that they would.. Im pretty sure they like her :D”

Donti: “"Blunt anon" came when people would send... Rude asks to people. It was originally just blunt questions. But it escalated to... What happened to Prince :( We're trying to find them, but theres only so much we can do

Oh wait! have other people reached out to you all yet?”

Donti: “I know some of my good friends have talked to duchess.. But not to you yet!”

Duke: “Ah, indeed people have reached out and only Duchess was there to greet them. It pains me of course but I found myself with activities to do throughout the day. Schooling is still important to Duchess and I so that took up quite a bit of time - do not tell Crown but I was indeed spending time taking in the beauty of ballet instead of working purely on my Latin. Tea time too is an important affair, especially for I, and then it is always important to spend time with ones sister! So alas, you have been the only one I have graced with my thoughts and feelings out of your crowd of sheep.”

Donti: “Hm. I like the name sheep... Its a little kinder than "plebs"

You seems to like a lot of.. Elegant things! (I hope thats the right word) like embroidery and ballet! Where did you learn such refined taste :oc”

Duke: “Where did I learn such refined tastes? They have always been apart of me, you must understand. The Crown helped unlock those parts that I kept buried deep away and help nurture them. Oh such a brute I used to be! No care for the finer things in life, only one-upping my beloved sister. To think I used to slide in the dirt just for a measly point - bah! Truly I am in much debt to the Crown, for without him I still may have been a unruly fool.”

Donti: “... You played sports before you met Crown?”

Duke: “My sister and I both did, yes. It does not do well to dwell on such miserable times, Donti. This is why little one you are still a lamb.”

Donti: “Oh! If you don't want to talk about it, you dont have to! ^u^ Friends dont force their friends to talk about uncomfortable things!

Hm... But if the plebs are sheep... And I am a lamb... Who is the shepard...?”

Duke: “How sweet! Tell me, little lamb, who do you think the shepherd is? Or if there is one at all?

If you are a little lamb then I must ask, is there a Mary to be found alongside you as well?”

Donti: “Hm.... I think from our perspective the shepherd, (or shepherds in this case) would be our lovely mods :D

But from your point of view? Its most definitely Crown!

Andd.. Im assuming a Mary is a leader... Little lambs follow Mary after all... Hm. A lot of us have shown leadership at some point in time or another! It really depends on the scenario!”

Duke: “Intriguing.

It depends on the scenario you say?”

Donti: “Yep! People take charge depending on whats happening, and sometimes theres no leadership, just us discussing and working through it!

Why do you ask?”

Duke: “When the flocks have gone and left and all there is is the gentle bobbing of the water, who do you trust to save you from drowning? While you thrash and scream and feel yourself weaken who do you look towards for guidance? When the taste of salt kisses the interior of your esophagus whose name is on the tip of your dying tongue?

For I, it is the Crown, as he saved my sister and I from exactly that fate - but who is it for you?”

Donti: “Hm.. As a "flock" we all support one another.. That way, we can have multiple points of support! One person supporting that many people would be very stressful for that one person, you know”

Duke: “Of course.

Even then in a home all parts play along and join in the symphony but even with that, some are still load-bearing.

Who would be your load-bearing walls? All I ask is for some simple names, you understand. My curiosity is much like a cat, you see. Only satisfaction may truly bring me back.”

Donti: “Hm.. Are you asking for the names of my friends?

Well. There's Jack and Raeva, whom Duchess has spoken with, I think. Llyr, Ren, and Luna are also friends of mine. But I try not to burden them.

They are not so much load bearing pillars, but more of frail walls to shield me from the cold.”

Duke: “The drifting breezes that bring forth frost and tremors truly are such tiresome times. That you have shields is wonderful and it does ease my heart, but I do feel as though I must impart some wisdom else I'd be an unfavourable acquaintance - do try and build yourself a roaring inferno, little sheep.

Have so much fire around yourself that the winds cannot glance your way and even the Grand Archer Yi looks on with fear.”

Donti: “... And what if the fire burns me?

What then?”

Duke: “Do you think yourself unable to control the flames?”

Donti: “...Yes. Flames are temperamental, after all. When the inferno's dried up every last bit of water and eaten all of the wood, what will it turn to?”

Duke: “You want the answer to be yourself, I can see you reaching for it with an outstretched palm. Here is the truth: you can quell flames easily with just a few words. You can breathe in the ash and let the smoke dissipate. You do not have to be burned.

Ah, but these are just fun matters to think about. Do not dwell on my words too much. I would hate for you to overthink just simple pondering.”

Donti: “...Ill take your words to heart, friend. Even if it's just banter.

How do you know this?”

Duke: “Do not cause yourself concern with such a thing. In case I have caused you to distress then please do take this video as repentance. Isn't it so lovely how she spins?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqejv_BQ7Zg”

Donti: “Oh! that is a pretty video.. I wonder how long it took for her to make it so effortless..?

Do you dance?”

Duke: “Such an exquisite form of art. The mastery she has put forth would bring others to shame and ruin. A true professional since birth. I myself do not dance in this way - my sister and I are well versed in the waltz and ballroom dance as is customary for our statuses - but ballet alludes me. Alas, if only that was the direction I chose for my life to go but no matter - I have embroidery, poetry and oil painting to keep me truly green from envy.”

Donti: “Those are very enviable hobbies! I imagine you're skilled at them too! As for ballet... Ive heard that in order to dance that way, one has to go through great pain. I'd hate for you to experience that”

Duke: “A bit of suffering is always worth the pain if beauty and joy can be received in the end, do you not think?”

Donti: “As long as youre happy, I suppose!

I’m sorry to cut this short, but its getting late for me! And probably for you too ^^

I hope you rest well!”

Duke: “I hope you have humble dreams and a quiet rest. Goodnight, little lamb.”

#on:twitter #by:duchy #by:duke #if the crown fits

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chronicbetween · 5 years

Text

As Promised… My Spoonie App Recommendations

Flaredown:

This app was designed by patients for patients and so far im really enjoying it. It allows me to input and track the severity of specific conditions on any given day, the severity of the symptoms im experiencing as well as what types of treatment or aid ive used in a day. All of these catagories are personalized upon set up, which granted does take a bit to do if you want to get really intense with your data, and you can continue to add any new symptoms or conditions as time goes on. You also have the ability to track foods that you eat (especially helpful with trying to narrow down allergies and reactions) and tag the day. The app then presents all of this data in an easy to read and exportable chart that i plan to print and take to my next doctors appointment.

For those that have trouble remembering to fill out things like this every day, i have it set up to send an email at a set time reminding me to input my information for that day.

When you open the app after set up, you are prompted to check in with your info for that day. The first page after the prompt looks like this:

As you can see, the first page deals with conditions and asks you to rate your condition’s activity that day from innactive to extremely active on a color coordinated sliding scale. On this page you are able to add any new diagnosis at any check in and, unlike many similar apps ive seen, the number of conditions and symptoms you are able to input is unlimited.

This second page is for symptoms. As I said before the number you’re able to input is unlimited and you can create your own new catagory if one isn’t exactly what you’re looking for. The rating scale is the same as the conditions page and the chart is similarly color coded for easy visualization.

This next page deals with treatments used in a day. For me this is where i would input data on any assistance device or human assistance ive used in a day as well as track any heat and cold pack useage or rest my body has forced me to take. This section also is really helpful for tracking medications as well. You can either check off that you’ve taken your meds that day or input specific dosages of medications which, I imagine would be very helpful in the case of pain meds that need tracking.

The next two catagories share a page and deal with foods eaten in a day (though keep in mind it does not have a calorie counter so if that’s something you’re looking for you would need a separate app) and tags that i use to track home im feeling emotionally on a given day. Like the other categories you are able to personalize the selections and the app does remember youre most recent ones for easy adding.

The last two photos are of the charts that are produced from all your input data. Each dot represents a separate day and is clearly plotted on a line graph to show daily change in condition or symptom activity. Both the symptoms and conditions themselves are represented on the line graph whereas in my experience the treatment just shows whether or not that treatment was used on a specific day.

Flaredown does also have a journal function and a pattern function to help you track whether specific activities or foods have an impact on your condition. I havent used either of these functions yet or the connect function that allows you to chat with other users but if you do, let me know what you think!

Tally:

This app is very straightforward and simply keeps tally of whatever information you want to count. Personally i use the app to track twitches and muscle tremors and how many times i lose balance/ fall in a day.

My set up looks like this and is very simple however, this app would be great for tracking water intake, any symptom occurrences you may have in a day as well as helping to keep track of any medications you may take. This information, is also presented in a simple color coordinated graph that you can view in a week window in a bar graph format that can be downloaded or emailed and printed. Unfortunately i seem to have hit my photo limit and am unable to show you what the graph looks like.

In the IPhone this app does have a widget available from the lockscreen though im not sure if android has a comparable feature. Ive found it very convenient to keep track of occurrences throughout the day without having to go through my phone.

Both of these apps have functions that ive found to be very useful and i hope you will think so as well. If you have any other recommendations I’d love to hear them!

Searching the Stars ✨

Kenna

For those who showed interest or requested to be tagged:

@silverloveless @magicmoon65 @overexcitedneurons @sleepyhoneyy @oversensitivebrat

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psychosistr · 3 years

Text

Mending the Broken- Chapter 4

Summary: Jonathan wakes up to Dio and Speedwagon talking amongst themselves...but when was this..?

Notes: Warnings for EXTREMELY dubious consent in this one- Speedwagon consents, but only under extremely distress and mind control, so it's not REALLY consent. Also warnings for emotional/mental manipulation and more of Dio being a d!ck. Another one where I’ll be posting the link for the AO3 version since Tumblr’s weird.

-First Chapter-

Jonathan felt cold. He was laying on something hard and solid, but other than that he had no idea what was going on. Forcing his eyes open proved to be a difficult task and he only managed to open them a sliver. From what he could see, he was laid out on his back with his head turned to the side. He saw stone beneath him, likely what he was resting on, but it was too dark to see much of anything else at first.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could barely see a thing.

‘Wh..Where..am I..?’ Jonathan’s thoughts were sluggish and hard to pull together.

Then, he heard them- voices. Two voices that were so very familiar to him talking nearby. His eyes managed to move enough to focus on their location and he saw Dio standing in the middle of the room, speaking to Speedwagon, who was currently tied up on the floor while wearing the same clothes Jonathan last remembered seeing him in, though they were a bit torn and dirty.

“Ya won’t get away with this, Dio! Once Jonathan wakes up, ‘e’ll give ya what ya got comin’!” Speedwagon snarled angrily, fighting against the ropes currently holding his arms behind his back.

Dio merely chuckled and looked down on Speedwagon with a taunting smirk. “You have so much faith in him. You truly believe he will defeat me.” He reached down with one hand and tipped Speedwagon’s chin up using his thumb and index finger. “Tell me, though, do you think he will rescue you in the process? Actually, allow me to rephrase that- if given the choice between defeating me and saving you, which do you believe Jonathan would choose?”

Speedwagon tried to move out of Dio’s grip, but the vampire’s hold was too strong so he could only glare up at him. “ ‘e would find a way t’ do both! Jonathan’s a great man- ‘e’d never allow your evil t’ run free an’ ‘e’d never leave a friend behind!”

‘Of course not..I would never..never leave him behind..’ Jonathan thought to himself, no doubts at all in his mind that it was true.

“Ah, yes.” Dio chuckled, sending an uneasy tremor through Speedwagon’s body that Jonathan could actually see. “You are correct in that assumption. Jonathan would never leave a friend behind. Because, after all, that is what you two are, correct? Merely friends?”

Speedwagon narrowed his eyes at the vampire above him. “Yeah. We are. Wha’ of it..?”

Dio leaned down so he was closer to Speedwagon’s face, looking him directly in the eyes. “I simply mean that it is such a pity. To only be considered as a FRIEND by the man you so clearly LOVE.”

Jonathan was a bit startled by Dio’s accusation. ‘Speedwagon..loves me..?”

Speedwagon’s eyes went wide, almost fearful. “Wh-Wha’?! No, I..!” His body was trembling now. “I-I’m not-!”

“There is no need to lie to me. It is far too obvious: I can see it in the way you look at him, in the way you selflessly put yourself in harm’s way for him, and I can even smell it in the air when you say his name.” He chuckled again and stood up, releasing Speedwagon’s chin in the process. “Honestly, I think the only one who doesn’t see it is Jonathan himself.”

“Y-You’re wrong! ‘e..‘e’s jus’ a friend..!” Speedwagon tried to deny it, but the lie was far too obvious with the way his voice shook.

Dio gave him a mildly irritated look. “I believe I told you there was no need to lie to me.” He grabbed Speedwagon’s hair and pulled it back hard, forcing the other to look up at him again. “Allow me to rephrase that into a command.” His eyes began to glow bright red as he spoke sternly. “You are no longer allowed to lie to me. Understood?”

Speedwagon’s bright and terrified eyes dimmed slightly as they were forced to stare into the glowing red ones above him. “Y…Yes…”

Jonathan didn’t like the way Dio was looking at or touching Speedwagon in the slightest. Nor did he like the way Speedwagon’s eyes changed…

“Good.” Dio smirked and released him. “Now, tell the truth: Are you in love with Jonathan?”

“I..I am..” Speedwagon’s voice was hesitant, but the light was slowly returning to his eyes as he winced. “D-Damn you..!”

Dio ignored the other’s swearing and continued speaking, now pacing around Speedwagon in a slow circle. “Another question: Does Jonathan return your feelings? Remember, you cannot lie to me.”

“ ‘e..‘e..does..not..” Speedwagon tried to hold back his words, but they slipped out despite his struggles.

“And, pray tell, whom does Jonathan love?” Dio asked while walking behind Speedwagon, two fingers dragging along his shoulders as he passed.

“I..n-no..please..stop..” He fought harder this time, looking as if he were in pain holding back his words.

‘No..stop it..it’s hurting him..!’ Jonathan fought to say what was on his mind, but his mouth and voice would not respond at all.

Dio’s fingers trailed up into Speedwagon’s hair and lightly stroked it. “It hurts, does it not?” He asked with fake sympathy. “The pain will end if you speak the truth. As they say- ‘the truth shall set you free’.”

“J..Jonathan..” Speedwagon looked down, his shoulders trembling slightly. “Jonathan..loves..Erina..” The tension in his body lessened slightly, but his shoulders still shook.

“Indeed.” Dio said with a sigh, his fingers still lightly stroking Speedwagon’s hair. “Jonathan is in love with Erina. He has been since we were boys. To still hold a flame for her after all these years..it must be true love at its finest. Tell me- do you believe Jonathan could ever love YOU the same way he loves Erina? Could a nobleman such as Jonathan care for a common, useless, run of the mill street rat such as yourself?”

“N..No..” Speedwagon’s voice was almost a sob. “ ‘e..‘e couldn’..”

“Why not?” There was that fake sympathy again. “Are you not deserving of his love?”

“No..I’m not..” Speedwagon curled in on himself. “I don’ deserve ‘im..‘e’s too good for someone like me..I..I’m..useless..”

‘No!’ Jonathan thought, desperately wishing he could find his voice. ‘You are far from useless, Speedwagon! You are amazing! You are clever and brave and loyal! You deserve my love just as much as Erina!’ Jonathan surprised himself with the conviction of his own thoughts. But, the more he considered it, the more he believed it to be true: Speedwagon did deserve his love and so much more. Jonathan could easily see himself being with Speedwagon in much the same way he saw himself with Erina. Did..Did that mean that he..?

“That’s right..” Dio stepped around to Speedwagon’s front and used his other hand to tilt Speedwagon’s face up, looking into shimmering brown eyes that threatened to overflow with tears. “You are useless as you are now..but..I, Dio, can GIVE you a purpose.” His eyes began to glow red again as he leaned in close to Speedwagon, their lips almost touching. “Become mine. Give yourself to me and I shall reward you greatly.”

Speedwagon’s eyes began to lose their vitality once again as he looked into the vamire’s glowing red gaze. “I..I…” Just as Dio’s lips were about to touch his, he suddenly pulled back. “No! I-I won’t! I love Jonathan, not a damn devil like you!”

Dio glared down at him, the fake sympathy from earlier now gone. “You are quite a stubborn one. Perhaps you require a greater incentive..”

Speedwagon watched with wide eyes as Dio made his way to Jonathan’s prone form a few feet away. “Wha’..What are ya doin’?! Get away from ‘im!” Speedwagon struggled against the tight bonds around him. “Leave ‘im alone, damn you!!”

“You said it yourself: When Jonathan wakes up, he will attempt to fight me. It would be foolish of me to allow that.” He grabbed onto Jonathan’s arm tightly, the man in question unable to move or react at all with the toxins still in his system. Then, with a sickening “crunch”, Dio snapped the bones in Jonathan’s arm with ease. Jonathan wanted to scream in pain, to react in any way, but he could do nothing at all but lay there with his eyes barely open- a passenger in his own body. Dio then repeated the same process on the other arm and let both of the shattered limbs fall to the ground. “And now for the legs..” He lifted his foot and positioned it over Jonathan’s knee, fully prepared to stomp down and shatter his kneecap-

“STOP IT!!” Speedwagon shouted desperately. “Stop it, please! I-I’ll do what ya wan’, jus’ don’t ‘urt ‘im anymore!!”

Dio placed his foot back on the ground slowly before walking over to Speedwagon. He kneeled down to be at eye level with the other man, a stern look on his face. “You will do whatever I ask of you?”

Speedwagon hesitated for a moment before he nodded, his voice small and defeated. “Yes. Swear you an’ your men won’ touch ‘im, aside from fixin’ ‘is arms, an’..and’I’ll do what ya say…”

‘Speedwagon, no!’ The pain was agonizing, but Jonathan was far more worried about Speedwagon at the moment. ‘You cannot trust him! Do not sacrifice yourself for me! Speedwagon!’

Dio ran a finger along the line of Speedwagon’s jaw with a pleased smirk. “I give you my word- neither I nor my men will lay a hand upon Jonathan other than to repair his broken arms.” He tipped Speedwagon’s head back and leaned over to his ear. “And, in exchange, you shall give me permission to touch you as I see fit and do as I say. Do we have a deal?”

Speedwagon hesitated once again, but nodded without another word. “……”

“Excellent.” Dio’s smirk grew as he used his fingers to cut through the ropes around Speedwagon. “Now..for your first order..” He gestured to Speedwagon’s clothes. “Strip for me.”

“W-Wha’?!” Speedwagon’s face flushed red and he stared in disbelief. “Y-Ya gotta be pullin’ me leg!”

Dio narrowed his eyes in warning. “I assure you that I am not. Do as I say or our deal is forfeit. Or would you rather I go over now and break your beloved Jojo’s legs?”

“No, don’t! I-I’ll do it!” Speedwagon said quickly and, with a sense of urgency, he began unbuttoning his suit and slipped off the jacket, vest, and tie without a second thought. He did, however, hesitate when it came to his shirt. “……” After taking a deep breath, though, he proceeded to slowly unbutton the garment and set it aside in the corner of the room with his other clothing.

“The pants as well.” Dio said as he took a seat in the chair in the middle of the room after turning it to watch Speedwagon properly, one arm propped up on the arm rest and his chin resting on his raised hand as if he was contemplating something.

“I’m gettin’ there, damn it..” Speedwagon mumbled as he stepped out of his shoes and removed his socks, leaning against the wall for support. He took another breath before removing his pants and setting them aside with the rest of his clothes, now standing before Dio in nothing but his underwear.

“Did I tell you to leave those on?” Dio said while gesturing to Speedwagon’s undergarments with his free hand. “I said strip, and I do mean everything.”

Speedwagon clenched his fists at his sides. “God damn sadistic fuck..” His hands shook from a mixture of rage and embarrassment as they slowly pulled down his last remaining article of clothing and set it aside with everything else. “…There…’appy now, ya bloody bastard?”

Jonathan couldn’t tell, but he was fairly certain he might be blushing. While he felt horrible seeing Speedwagon humiliated and so obviously uncomfortable at being exposed in such a way, it was hard to deny the simple truth: Speedwagon looked absolutely stunning. Though not as muscular as Jonathan’s own, Speedwagon’s body was still strong and well-built. Even the scars across his body, like the one on his face, only added to his physical appeal as they clearly spoke of his strength and character. Jonathan was more than a little enamored by it all…

Dio’s smirk, on the other hand, was positively predatory with no true appreciation for the beauty before him as he gestured for Speedwagon to come closer, the long haired man reluctantly complying. “Indeed I am. Now,” He patted his lap in indication. “Come here.”

Speedwagon’s face burned red but he did as he was told and got into the chair, trying his hardest to simply remain kneeling over Dio’s lap without actually touching the vampire. “……”

~(Cut for content again- full version here on AO3)~

Dio continued petting Speedwagon’s head, looking pleased with himself at what he’d done to the smaller man sitting in his lap. “But of course, my pet..and this is merely the beginning. Now, let’s see if I can teach you a few tricks before Jojo wakes up.”

Jonathan’s eyelids felt heavy, waves of dizziness and nausea hitting him powerfully as the world around him spun. ‘Speedwagon..have to..have..to..save..him…’

“Yes, Lord Dio. Anythin’ ya say.” Speedwagon responded automatically with a smile that looked tired and strained but so eager and desperate at the same time.

Jonathan’s eyes began to slip closed again. ‘No..Speed..wagon..have to..fight..Dio..Speed-’

“Speedwagon!” Jonathan gasped and his eyes flew open. He looked around and, after limiting his breathing when he felt that accursed collar constricting him again from his earlier gasp, he realized that he was no longer laying on the floor as he had been, but was seated against the wall. Looking around confirmed that he was in the same position he’d been in the first time he’d woken up, with Speedwagon still sitting directly across from him motionless against the leg of the chair. “A dream..?” He questioned himself quietly. It had seemed so real, though. Then, as his eyes surveyed the room, he noticed something that he’d missed earlier: Speedwagon’s clothes lying crumpled in the corner of the room, just as they had been in his dream. “Then..that wasn’t a dream..rather, a memory..” He looked back to Speedwagon, his eyes soft and sad as he gazed upon his dearest friend. “Speedwagon, I am so sorry..you sacrificed yourself to Dio’s will for my sake..”

“……” Just as before, Speedwagon gave no indication that he heard Jonathan and didn’t move from his spot.

Jonathan’s frown deepened and he looked down at his bandaged arms. ‘I will find a way out of here…for you, Speedwagon. You have already done so much for me, it is time I returned the favor..’

Jonathan then started taking short breaths, experimenting with how much hamon he could charge from the tiny bits of air he drew in before the collar would constrict. It wasn’t much, hardly enough to do anything substantial. But, with whatever small amounts he could take in, he started focusing it all into his arms to help speed up their healing.

He would get Speedwagon out of this hell as quickly as possible. He had to.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

End Notes: Yeeeaaaaah, no excuses for this one- I'm just sick and love putting my favorite characters through mental/emotional hell -_-"

#Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jonathan joestar #robert edward o speedwagon #jonawagon #dio #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #diowagon #(still feels gross typing that)#trigger warning #mind control #mental manipulation #emotional manipulation #mending the broken

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a11235carrot · 3 years

Text

Ever Onwards-Dragons?

"Naruto Uzumaki" Normal speech

"Naruto Uzumaki" Normal thoughts

"Kurama" Big guy speech

"Kurama" Big guy thoughts

Chapter 1

"Naruto!"

"Sasuke!"

"Shannaro!"

Three voices intertwined as their owners finally triumphed over the greatest threat the Elemental Nations has ever faced.

Pale, royal lavender Byakugan eyes helplessly glared with hatred at the reincarnations of Indra and Ashura as the sun and moon reached out to forever shatter her dreams of eternal peace. "Im…possible. For me, the mother of all chakra, to be bested by the wretched offspring of Hagoromo." Alabaster fists, capable of ending all of existence, tightly clenched as Kaguya Ōtsutsuki bitterly railed against her oncoming defeat. Suddenly, just as she felt Naruto and Sasuke grip her shoulders, her hate filled all-seeing eyes spotted her only path of freedom, the seal on the belly of the glowing blond who, out of the two, managed to humiliate and infuriate her the most.

"If my fate is to once again be sealed…"

"RIKUDŌ: CHIBAKU TENSEI!"

"...then you shall suffer with me!"

The instant Naruto and Sasuke finished the strongest sealing jutsu, a giant black sphere of impossible gravitational power emerged, forcing even Kaguya, the progenitor of chakra, up into the sky. As she drew closer to the orb, wisps of dark blue streams swiftly turned into raging rivers as Kaguya's god-like chakra constantly streamed from her body into the seal, strengthening its already powerful gravitational pull to the point of distorting space itself.

Below, the earth tore itself asunder as distant mountain ranges cracked and groaned before violently hurtling up towards the Rabbit Goddess, forming a giant prison not unlike the distant moon in space.

"Finally, it's done." Back down on the ruined earth, Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, and Kakashi all relaxed when they saw Kaguya about to be completely hidden from view.

However, just as the two incarnations of the Sage's sons were about to send the second moon into space, the enormous ball of compressed earth and stone suddenly trembled, causing bits of rocks to tumble to the ground. Yet none of them noticed the tremor since the unbreakable prison was already shaking from all of the tons of earth to begin with.

That didn't last long.

With a last burst of her godly chakra, Kaguya shuttled her prison between dimensions towards the quartet, who only now began to realize something was wrong when a black rift in space abruptly swallowed her.

"What the…"

Naruto, still garbed in both Kurama's and the Rikudō Sennin's Yang chakra, uttered his astonishment before widening his crossed eyes in shock when Kaguya's prison teleported not twenty feet above him.

"Oi, Sasuke! What the hell is going…AHHHH!"

Then, before Sasuke's shocked mystic eyes, a scene unpleasantly reminding him of when Madara absorbed the God Tree into himself occurred just hours earlier happen to his only friend.

But it was what he heard and saw that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Unlike the mad Uchiha, Naruto - the same person who would go to ridiculous lengths to hide away his suffering - was screaming out in terrifying agony as bloody cracks ripped apart his skin, swiftly dyeing his clothes a hideous red, before closing up thanks to his powerful regeneration...only to open again.

And again.

And again until the ground beneath was soaked in blood.

Through it all, an ugly grimace etched itself on his whiskered visage as what was equivalent to more than double an entire world's worth of chakra - determined to do nothing else but make its new host experience a living hell - maliciously barged into the seal that currently contained only the Yin half of Kurama.

"Kurama, what…the hell is going on in here!" Tearing his attention away from the pain and into his mindscape, a kneeling Naruto bore witness to what equated to a second moon pushing its way into the Kyuubi's cage, the bars that once held back the fox beginning to crumble and shatter under its impossible weight and presence. Had he been anyone else, his body would have simply evaporated, leaving nothing behind except a giant construct of rock and goddess as his tombstone. As it were, the only thing preventing this from happening or his chakra pathways outright shattering was a giant nine-tailed fox with dark russet fur desperately pushing against Kaguya's prison, only allowing the foreign object to slowly enter as the seal attempted to readjust itself.

"Hold on brat! Just hold on a little longer! Kaguya must have used the last burst of chakra under her control to teleport herself into your seal!"

"I…see." A crimson eye twitched. "NO I DON'T! HOW THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT AND OWOWOWOW…"

"SHUT IT BRAT, I'M A LITTLE BUSY OVER HERE! AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT SUPER GRANNY OVER HERE DID?!" Kurama ferociously roared as he was steadily pushed back further into the seal by the moon.

"…!" Naruto didn't bother answering back as he was yanked back into the real world from a sudden jerk on the back of his shredded jacket. Flipping through the air, the first thing he saw and felt was solid stone as his face bounced off of Hashirama's arm. Arms trembling, his vision blurred and twisted by the body-ripping agony, he shakily pulled himself back on his feet, only for his gut to sink when he saw his brother from another life stand opposite of him.

A Chidori chirping on his hand.

60 Years Later

Fragile russet brown leaves, cracked and dried as they always were at this time of year, faintly rustled as the cool wind of Fall whispered through the boughs of the trees surrounding the Uchiha compound before falling to join the small, colorful tornado of leaves swirling above the ground, much to the delight of children running around the compound. Just a few blocks away, the barking of Inuzaka clan dogs intertwined with the sharp chirps of birds could be heard all over Konoha as the sun rose to greet the new day. Only the faint wisps of smoke that rose from budding industry marred the otherwise picturesque scene.

All in all, it was a normal day for the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

Yet, as laughter and barks drifted through the air, the Uchiha compound was silent, the heavy, almost tangible, atmosphere hanging above a stark contrast to the one outside. No light or signs of life could be seen from the rows of old, but well-maintained, houses, except for one deep within the ancestral area. Inside, behind a pair of thin paper walls and beneath a blanket laid a man with pitch-black hair and streaks of silver running through it, inky eyes, and a missing left arm shorn off near the elbow. His face and build, once the object of rabid affection from women across the Elemental Nations, now withered and lined with age.

On each side of him knelt two people. On his left was a woman with pale pink hair, startling green eyes, and a fading violet diamond on her wrinkled forehead. Faint lines marked the edges of her lips and eyes, the legendary seal taught by her master now losing its potency in her advanced age; yet, such trivial blemishes did nothing to diminish the gentle smile that played on her lips as she gazed down at her husband. On the opposite side sat someone who didn't seem to quite belong: a young man with sun-kissed blonde hair, eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky, three whisker-like birthmarks on each cheek, and a right arm completely wrapped in bandages covered in a myriad of minute black seals. If not for his radically different features, he could've been mistaken as the son or even grandson of the old couple before him.

For several minutes, none spoke as dust lightly settled on the soft mats. Yet, despite the depressing air surrounding them, there was a sense of peace and comfort brought along with years of friendship and complete trust in the other. Finally, it was the bedridden man who broke the silence.

"Dobe, Sakura, I'm cough cough!" A string of coughs broke Sasuke's sentence. Only after Sakura, her hands speeding through seals with almost nonchalant ease, passed a glowing green hand over his chest did he stop. Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with the man he called friend. "I'm dying…and there is something I must -"

A grunt interrupted his words. "Tch, you've been saying that for the past couple of years ya damn bastard. Yet here you are, still breathing and going on about that insane plan of yours. I've said it before and I'll say it again! With the power of the Six Paths and your eyes, you can still live for a few more years with Sakura and Sarada! Come on Sakura, you have to back me up on this." Naruto retorted with his arms crossed before his chest, glancing between the two as he pleaded for them to see reason, hoping to trigger even a fraction of the unyielding resolution Sasuke used to have. However, the worry in his eyes betrayed him.

Off to the side, Sakura merely sighed, not bothering to give a straight answer, having long agreed with Sasuke's proposal.

Suddenly, just as Sasuke was about to respond, a shudder wracked Naruto's powerful frame as pain capable of driving a god insane coursed through his body. Slowly, his shaking form started to keel over, and would have if not for the thin layer of gold flames which erupted from within. As his companion from birth undid the changes that took place in his very genes, Naruto spat out a small wad of blood before righting himself.

Through it all, neither of his friends bothered to react, as if used to the sight of someone capable of punching a hole through the moon losing control of his body, the only sign of worry reflected within their eyes while the scent of rusted iron filled the air.

"Even after all these years, you're still a dobe." Sasuke chuckled quietly, more amused than angry at the weak attempt to rile him up; he knew Naruto meant nothing by it. His eyes grew misty as he remembered all the times they clashed, whether it be with words or their fists, each bruise and scar a proud reminder of their times together. As he watched Naruto wipe the blood from his lips, he mentally sighed, "How time has flown by..."

Before he could sink deeper into nostalgia, a streak of agony lanced up his crippled arm. He winced at the unwelcome surprise.

"Enough, the past is the past. There is work to be done."

Taking a deep breath, Sasuke glowered at the stubborn blond, lifting his decrepit body inch by inch with a trembling arm. "Hn, do you take me for a fool, or do you think me so blind as to not see the seal holding both Kaguya and Kurama is already on its last legs, not to mention your body is already breaking down at the seams? How long do you have? A day? A week? Maybe a month? Maybe you even have a year, but by then, when that bitch finally claws her way out of that seal, I won't be able to even stand never mind fight! And you?" His voice trailed off, the room still trembling under the force of his fury and chakra.

Flopping back into bed, beads of sweat rolled over his heaving chest as he cursed how weak he was. Yet not once did his eyes leave Naruto's, his tone now soft, almost begging for him to see the inevitable. With a sense of finality, he delivered the finishing blow.

"And you...you will be dead. Either by internal combustion, or by her hand after she rips Kurama from your belly. Along with everyone else."

For a moment, nobody said anything, for how could they? No matter how Naruto wanted to deny, yell at his friend he was wrong, that there was always another way, his throat choked up before he could say the words.

Because the bastard was right, as he usually was.

When he saw Naruto stay quiet, Sasuke seized the opportunity to say the words that had to be said.

"Only when Yin and Yang combine back into one will you be able to preserve your body from breaking down anymore than it has already. And with my eyes, you will be able to resist Kaguya's pull on the Jūbi and only then stand a chance against her." He paused for a second before adding, "Perhaps your seal will even stabilize and give you time to adapt to your new powers."

Naruto irritably rubbed the back of his head as he sighed in frustration.

"Maybe my the changes to my body can be halted. Maybe the seal will stabilize. There are too many maybe's! You already know I'm at my limit, what with the old man's Yang chakra, Kurama and Kaguya, not to mention my own considerable reserves. I'll give you a maybe too. Maybe I'll explode the moment you transfer your Yin chakra and damn pinkeyes into my skull! There are just too...many...maybe's for this 'plan' of yours to work!"

It was a weak reason, and Naruto knew it.

Sakura knew it.

And Sasuke definitely knew it. And he made sure Naruto knew he knew. Ignoring how his body protested the motion, the elder Uchiha forced his body back up into a sitting position.

"Idiot!"

In response, Naruto slapped his hands down on the mat...or rather through it.

"Brooding emo!"

A hint of red and violet emerged within the inky darkness as Sharingan and Rinnegan whirled to life.

"Knucklehead!"

Ha! That's a compliment you son of-!"

Just as the two seemed ready to leap at each other to brawl it out, a hand appeared behind their skulls.

"ENOUGH!"

Smash!

A certain someone finally couldn't stand it any longer as her legendary temper, rumored to even surpass her mentor's, burst to life as she slammed her teammates' heads together until all they could see was stars. Finally, as the two legends slumped to the ground, a lone figure stood tall, her figure illuminated by the morning sun as rested her hands on her hips, green eyes ablaze with victory and exasperation alike.

"Ow, Sakura, what was that for?/Hn, was that really necessary?" Their complaints quickly petered out when they saw the culprit raise her glowing fist in warning. Seeing them simmer down, Sakura withdrew her fist to point at Naruto.

"Naruto, listen, and I mean really listen. I'm only going to say this once. You've already heard Sasuke's reasons for transferring his powers to you, and there's nothing wrong with what he said. So I won't say anything more about that. But there's something else you must consider. You know that the Elemental Nations have changed, for better or worse. Peace is now the name of the game and with everything you've worked for, power such as yours and Sasuke's is no longer needed in the new society, not with everyone across the land being so goody goody towards one another. Even the shinobi way is dying out, with the lack of wars and safer roads. It can be seen everywhere. Last year, only two children signed up for the Shinobi Academy and even then, they soon dropped out to become...businessmen. Not to mention the recent Kages are a joke compared to the past ones; some haven't even seen death."

The light in their eyes dimmed as they thought of how a core part of their childhood was dying out. However, they had come to terms with this long ago; the tradition of the shinobi was one built on blood and hatred and no longer had a place in the new age of peace. Lowering her hand, Sakura sat back down, her face slightly pale with exhaustion as her other hand sought for Sasuke's.

"Naruto, the last shinobi who could be considered true shinobi was Sarada's generation. Soon, the shinobi will cease to exist after her generation passes on, but you...should you survive the coming fight, you will be the last shinobi. So just take it, take the gift that he is offering, even if it's just a way to remind you of us after we pass on." Sakura softly said as she held her husband's hand.

A minute passed while Naruto tightly clenched his fists as his mouth opened and closed while trying to form words to somehow dissuade them. But to no avail. Shoulders slumped, his head drooped down in defeat.

"Do it then. Do it before I change my mind." Naruto softly whispered.

With hardly a pause, a paper seal slapped down on the back of his neck. As he slumped towards the floor, the last thing he felt was a slight body holding him before gently laying him down next the bed.

"Finally, it's done." Sasuke whispered; the corner of his lips quirked up as what seemed to be the weight of the world fell off his shoulders. As Naruto lost consciousness, he looked back to his wife's face to see two tracks of tears spilling out from her eyes as she fussed about with the blond's eternally spiky hair in preparation for the surgery. Stretching out a trembling hand, the last reincarnation of Indra took hold of his friend's right hand.

"At last, the cycle is broken. Perhaps, this is another form of revolution as the old man foretold..." Preparing to transfer his half of Hagoromo's power as well his own chakra reserves, Sasuke glanced up at his wife for over fifty year's glistening eyes before an uncharacteristically large grin broke out on his face.

"I love you Sakura. See you on the other side."

A small chuckle squeezed past Sakura's lips even as more tears dripped down her cheeks when she saw that smile. Leaning down, she tenderly kissed him placing a seal on his chest.

The last thing Uchiha Sasuke, Savior of the World, Last Reincarnation of Indra, heard was, "I know, Sasuke-kun. Have a good rest."

Then he saw nothing.

One Hour Later

As Naruto regained consciousness, he realized that all he could see was black before realizing the thick layer of gauze and bandages wrapped over his eyes. But he didn't motion to remove it. Instead, he reached out towards the last constant in his life.

"Kurama, you there?"

A puff of hot air rustled his hair as the giant fox made himself known.

"Yes, I'm here."

Turning around, Naruto stared into the giant crimson eye that towered above him. "...and Sakura and the bastard?"

Kurama hesitated before cautiously replying, "Naruto...they're gone."

"...I see."

Drip...drip...

Bloody tears slowly stained the bandage over his eyes red before splashing onto the floor. Gingerly standing up, Naruto fell again before steadying himself. Reaching up, he slowly began to remove the bandage around his head. When the last piece of gauze fluttered to the ground, he opened his eyes, an inky black much like the bottom of a lake during the new moon. If he looked closely, on his previously unmarked left palm was the small symbol a moon, the proof the operation worked. If he cared to pay attention, he would notice the constant bouts of agony that once consumed his mind and body were now nowhere to be felt, now replaced by a new sense of completeness as well as a new source of power lurking just underneath the surface of his skin.

But he noticed none of this. All he could see was the blurry image of his friends nestled together, their eyes forever shut and their hands tightly intertwined. Stumbling forward, he fell onto his knees and as he drew closer, he saw the small, but genuine smiles mirrored on their lips.

"Goodbye Sasuke, Sakura," Naruto whispered; leaning in, he kissed their foreheads before staggering away, his form blurring into nothingness as he raced away from Konoha, unaware and uncaring of the swathe of trees that exploded when they stood in his way.

That night, a sorrowful bellow rumbled through the land as Naruto lamented the loss of two of its legends, and more importantly his dearest friends.

30 Years Later

Three decades of time found Naruto silently standing on the easternmost shore of the Elemental Nations, watching the endless sea break against protruding rocks while enjoying the cooling sea breeze that sprang up now and again. After a particularly rough gust, the loose sleeves of his orange shirt and white trenchcoat with the kanji for Seventh Hokage sewn on it in red fluttered up, revealing a nearly invisible storage seal etched into the back of his left arm. Patting down his rebellious sleeves, he returned to quietly gazing into the endless blue sea with his now lighter black eyes, recalling everything that happened since the end of the 4th Shinobi War. From the defeat, sealing, and absorption of Kaguya, his marriage with Hinata, becoming the Seventh Hokage of Konoha and all the good times in between.

However, despite all the years he had to grieve, he refused to dwell on their deaths, rather choosing to remember them when they were alive.

A rumble through his mind broke his reverie.

"Naruto, you sure about this? If you do this and ever come back, no one will remember or even recognize you." Kurama asked.

"I'm fine Kurama. I have packed more than enough ramen and weapons…"

The giant fox interrupted him. "You know that's not what I meant brat. I'm asking whether…"

A tired sigh held back the rest of Kurama's words. "That's enough Kurama. You know why I must do this. Besides, I thought you out of the two of us would want to leave this place the most, since you've already been everywhere and don't want to potentially become a tool for others." Naruto remarked.

"Tch, fat chance of that happening if Kaguya manages to kill us. Whatever, I was just making sure you had no regrets since it would be annoying to hear you complaining about home."

"Hn, love you too furball." Naruto thought back.

"Humph, I guess anything is fine as long you don't get us killed in our journey. Anyways, your other…tenant is starting to wake up." Kurama said in a worried tone.

"Think she'll be a problem?" Naruto shot back with narrowed eyes.

"If you mean whether she will wake up in the middle of the sea…that is a very real possibility. So what will you do? Stay here and possibly lose control, or lose control in the middle of the sea with no land in sight?" Kurama asked.

"My decision remains the same. Better than possibly sinking the entire continent by accident before managing to drag her ass into space or some other dimension. Besides, it's not as if it's decided that I will lose control!" Naruto unintentionally tightened the seal-covered bandage around his right arm.

"Well said Naruto, as expected of the one holding both of my sons' chakra." Said a voice behind Naruto.

"Oi, Hagoromo-san, what did I say about suddenly talking behind my back." Naruto exclaimed, turning around to see the Rikudo no Sennin, Hagoromo Otsutsuki.

"I see that you are going with your plan on leaving the Elemental Nations? If so, I have some knowledge to share with you, along with two gifts." Hagoromo said. "First, you must know after my brother and I first sealed our mother, I created a spacetime barrier with an element of illusion around the Elemental Nations that stretched into the sea. It is because of this barrier, that there has been no visitors from outside the Elemental Nations or mention of other continents beyond this one."

"So this means…" Naruto said

"Yes, once you cross the barrier, it will be difficult for you to return to the mainland. Not even the Hiraishin no Jutsu or the Kamui can guarantee your return due to the nature of the barrier. Only when you have complete control of space and time will you be able to surely return. Should you try it without the knowledge, you might just get tossed into the void and forever drift between dimensions before landing in a random world. I never intended for the way of the shinobi to spread beyond this continent to the rest of the world. However, I should inform you, before I set up the barrier, there was a group of explorers who left soon after my creation of Ninshu around 1000 years ago." With that out of the way, Hagoromo moved closer as he raised a finger.

"Now for my gifts. My first gift is a complete list of Ninjutsu and Fuinjutsu that the Elemental Nations has ever created. No doubt this will prove useful to you. As for my second gift, I will strengthen the seal on my mother with the last of my chakra. With this, she will remain sealed for at most another three or five, years." Hagoromo said as he poked Naruto's head, instantly transferring huge amounts of knowledge as well as strengthening part of the seal that kept Kaguya dormant.

Shaking his head to get rid of the stars that had flashed in his eyes, Naruto took a deep breath before raising his fist, a layer of yellow flames flickering over it. "Thanks for everything old man."

Blinking in surprise, the Sage stared at the proffered fist before smiling and knocking against it with his own. In an instant, a stream of emotions flowed between the three: concern, fear, confidence, sadness, excitement, and others unknown to words.

As Hagoromo retracted his hand, he made one request, much to the fox's protest. "Take care of Kurama, will you. He always was the stubbornest of his siblings, and yet the most sensitive out of all of them."

"Of course…after all, he's my lifelong friend and partner." Ignoring how the fox in his belly roared out in denial of needing anyone to look after him, Naruto flicked his thumb up. However, the hidden melancholy lurking beneath his dark orbs did not escape the God of Shinobi.

"I can only hope you will one day heal and that you find somebody that can bring you happiness…son." The elder Ōtsutsuki inwardly sighed, guilt eating at him when he remembered the day the presence of Kaguya forced Naruto onto the immortal path.

"I believe you. Now it is time for you to go. Remember to train with all of your powers, and good luck." Tapping his staff against the ground, Hagoromo slowly faded from the Elemental Nations, never to be see again.

"Goodbye Hagoromo-san/Otou-san." Naruto and Kurama said one last time.

Just as he disappeared, his voice rang out one last time, just barely audible to the two, "Oh, and Naruto...Happy 100th Birthday."

Naruto sadly stared at where the first God of Shinobi disappeared with a few tears in his eyes before wiping them away.

"So even you have faded away…"

"Come on brat, let's go."

"Yeah."

#naruto #eragon #fanfic #crossover

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libidomechanica · 3 years

Text

“how many a token”

Stay while I kissd how many a token oershading grown, and as

her minds is oer, then she loves, her feelings all have moment at this

their lee— another magazines of art or slack the tenor; these

last of those holy sisterhood. Forefinger moves, and security

will ye not a page of sterilized children still be there

was an old world was not a thought by pachas, some

irregularity of my ninetieth year, I feel my father, if

only I could divine its so trim and his forehead, and of

this was not much, is not your hero quietly

her Johnny! It is snowing a much more than neither

flower loves the green den the sense to critic and

tower on the bright, the morning; but to chance; others,

because he fell, and of some strange how some folks hair

is the blue and sooner was grown with each

other did if a football tears, green den the old mans life—

I recommend younger than these, the requisition, and seven

years ago (long ere I dreamed that the down, alone all the

wings mortal things he wanted your eyes moved that several

pair of love even, all my beloved and their eyes. Because

to quake; the only meant to

run through the lonely lie round which trembled almost ten, they help me unravel,

they hired him, fair,) till what is the small sympathy,

forsooth, scarcely has a wider choice of no great good watches

till held Juans breath, when a persons of dryness find the

door was fastend, but spare the most ready to

retort; I have spent betimes— my heart; nor altar heapd with porringer

and oer his voice itself to an unworthy of the

best intentions; sir Humphry Davys lantern, by which chiefly

may, and eagerly frequent doctor from the eyes

of their utmost for divorced old basin, but whether glory,

the pair. Ah, take the heaunly face of god look deep into

treasure is glitters but grows colder heart serenely

living with case; but what Loue decrees I, forcd, agreed, yet with

strange design, and were none to lovers, moralities;

but just such love as I am? Shall I seek (for speedy ease)

all the wood. Stella thine, my Highland lassie, O. Were transport

me farthest from the Tower of Darkness cries, “fools! To believed

in starling;” why the sea entombd the Victor is,

and new, doth sport, can it be a hell, her swears, and

now determined the English always signs or footmarks,

but found no Key: there is the prompters copy; for her Ill

blythely bear it, meek as a lamb the poets lay, and

worse, and meal, robert Burns: “fie on silly coward:– you think to fly

the castle gate, and let the Rose that grace, as being

fond of fire. Amazd, she took the reason; when proud

of him thy husbands life, climbing up into them, at

least appeard in mail of his spurs in the half-serious

saying I will never mind was not made through the moon thats

lovely is but a tremor breath, the Moorish maid, from Female

love should hear the waters sweep;’‘t is so very sorry, very much

ashamed, and howling, leapd oer again, if we should be so,—but—

it cannot fry. Of its hares, and so clear March night hours;

thy voice, and hell alone. And have sent home some blunder, which arose

next decided; you deliberately take you drink your

wakend hate;’ since which Julia ‘Fire! And sigh, or glances, sweeter

still, and slow, and anger, ever true — I love himself about, in sport—

of air which I love all the line & her people quite them to

the muse of Moor or Hebrew tongue to save that

content, and haggard with inward envy groan, finding river,

are loves it and day’ like a stone her pain if she must

come, for the youth shy, their labyrinth of friend being drawn and

fairest now; a love the cold Lip I kiss thy garments steps: Although

her can compare, She says in five hundred

thought beyond all the watches. great wish these words he

took the Dark? whaever has met wi the queen o the fairy

art like for ever rose on Scotland all date, even disdaind to

gaze upon a like other would pass— so that hidden in the

stars were stirs a quiet on the stroke of Hell; theres

not so spread like to see even into the

little crow-quill, slight at her: the lisp of children still, and, forced

to bits—and then flew over the second lifeless as

amber store she must steep our head toward daybreak we wind

walks oer his brain about his love-knot into rhyme, good

this delights to lose itself, without the ear become

of this calm and quietly to cock. To bring

you until we cease to resume to assert

this warning for a divorce, beneath the Garden wears, and

sae in love, old Susan said cried Betty Foy! But sold by the pity,

with which derived a double even their tongue than for

this young heart, Im a modern we are thrust into

hers, and I together lives become to me; Im fond of

troublesome confounded and love thee! She who found at anchor under great

came too long. For Donna Julias tongue was not sound she just-

save change: Ive stood on the arts, at least before, and in

a fit condition: ’‘t is all a Chequer-board of such heartfelt

reluctantly, still steadfast, still at her father, and leeze me on my

spinnin’ wheel, and far into the dead, and treating

to rain. Oh could not known, and Jamshýds Sevn Thousand pity

joined us. If she could urge a few brief dream and defy all other

time, when the morning blushes, combs, complete, where

they first, as the little snakes of silver fleur-de-lis; because,

for, for mischief; they who calld the

policemen who killd for being to its chosen a

country swain, tho shelterd since, exceedingly well-bred, and all the vow?”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #132 texts

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tacittherapist · 4 years

Text

Heartbeats quicken. The tremors return. Rose opens her laptop, glancing about to make sure she’s alone. Gods forbid anyone, especially Jade, see her revisit one of her lowest points. She craves it -- to know the bitter ennui of her past mistakes is a nectar that keeps her reality grounded and the fire under her lit. This particular memory is perhaps the worst mistake of her young life though, and to correct it would be to supp deep from the ichor of sweet relief. She pulls up the log...

tacitTherapist [TT] started trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

TT: So. GA: So TT: It’s come to this. GA: Indeed It Has TT: And you’re still not budging. GA: Consider My Position Entirely Unmoved TT: Entirely? That seems a bit harsh. GA: This Is A Harsh Reality TT: I imagined you’d have at least granted me the niceties and lied about how malleable your convictions are. GA: Rose GA: What Is There Left To Say GA: We Have A Crucial Difference In Opinion That Cannot Be Reconciled GA: We Have Iterated Our Arguments To Each Other For Days Without Relent GA: The Underlying Basis To This Disagreement Is Presupposed On The Notion That This Infernal Game Has Shown You The Right Course Of Action Without Any Other Supporting Evidence That It Isnt Simply Lying To You Once Again TT: They aren’t lies, they’re possibilities. GA: But Only One Of Them Will Happen To Us GA: The Rest Dont Matter GA: Thus They Are Lies And There Is Just One Truth TT: Couching your beliefs that way is what I disagree with. GA: Then You Arent Fucking Listening GA: Only One Of Those Timelines Will Be The One We Are In GA: So Forgive Me If I Buttress My Language In Solipsistic Idiom GA: Unless You Can Give Me More Than One Percent Assurance That We Will All Make It Through This By Jumping On This Fantastic Savior Satellite GA: I Cannot Support Your Idea And I Suggest You Let It Go TT: I can’t. GA: I Know GA: Thats Why Theres Nothing Left To Say TT: I disagree. I think there are a variety of things left to say. GA: Do They Relate To The Problem At Hand Or Are You Stalling TT: Irrelevant. The impetus of communication isn’t inherently problem-solving, it’s to convey meaning. GA: The Impetus Does Solve A Problem GA: You Want To Convey Meaning So The Solution Is Communication TT: Semantics. I’m saying there are other avenues of thought we must explore first. GA: Rose According To You We Are Running Out Of Time GA: Is This Truly How You Want To Spend Your Last Moments With Us GA: Bickering Pointlessly On Separate Computers To Avoid Devolving Into Another Shouting Competition Which Karkat Invariably Wins TT: Would you rather I pivot into sweet nothings about how I’ve so enjoyed our time together on this desolate rock? TT: Would you rather I spin the yarn of our tale aboard this distant laboratory, slowly starving as our grist cache dwindles? TT: Must I recount our feeding calendar in which we literally take turns stemming the hunger pangs until we all eventually succumb to malnutrition and sickness simultaneously? GA: No TT: Then this is how I’m spending my last moments. Quite presumptuous of you to assume I’ve made up my mind as well. For all you know, I could be swayed and end up staying here. GA: Given You Were Just Eviscerating My Position Mere Seconds Ago As To Why We Should Stay Here Im Sufficiently Certain You Wont TT: That’s another issue. Your certainty. The Light has shown me countless avenues to success. There are literally endless timelines in which we follow my advice and everyone meets up to finish the game. TT: And yet you’re somehow unwaveringly certain that none of them will occur? GA: Your Argument Swings Both Ways TT: I don’t appreciate the implicit reference to my confusing sexuality, but go on. GA: If There Are Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Following Your Idea Then There Are Also Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Not Following Your Idea GA: Its Two Infinities GA: The Question Lies In Which Infinity Is Bigger TT: That makes no sense, infinity is infinity. GA: Yes But Some Infinities Are Larger Or Smaller Than Others GA: Some Infinities Are Not Even Truly Infinity But We Consider Them Infinity For The Sake of Mathematics TT: How does that make even remote sense? GA: While You Were Studying The Majyyk I Was Reading The Calculus TT: I didn’t realize I was speaking to Jade’s pupil. GA: You Arent GA: If I Were Jades Pupil Wed Have Met Up By Now And We Wouldnt Be Having This Inane Conversation TT: But you can become her pupil! If you just come with me. Trust me, Kanaya. Please. GA: I Trust You Rose GA: But I Cannot Go With You GA: Look GA: The Prophecy Satellite Is On The Horizon GA: You Have Not Much Time TT: Technically I have all the time I need. GA: Dave Has Sworn Off His Powers And You Know This TT: He can be convinced. GA: If Your Powers Of Persuasion On Him Are Anything Like They Are On Me I Highly Doubt That TT: Fuck you. GA: Rose

A pregnant pause passes as Rose looks over on the horizon. The satellite is indeed coming into view.

TT: I’m sorry, Kanaya. TT: I love you. GA: I Love You Too Rose GA: But This Is Goodbye TT: It doesn’t have to be. GA: What GA: Didnt We Just Go Over That Im Not Coming With You And That You Arent Staying Here TT: Yes. But if you don’t say goodbye, it means we’ll meet again. GA: Rose This Is Childish TT: If you don’t say goodbye, it isn’t the end. GA: This Is The End Rose TT: It isn’t the end. I’ll see you again. I’ll find John and Jade by myself and we’ll come get you. GA: How GA: How Long Will It Take To Find Them GA: And How Will You Find Us If You Ever Do GA: This Laboratory Is Bound To Continue Drifting Even After You Depart GA: We Wont Stay Frozen In Place Once You Leave GA: This Isnt Like One Of Those Trashy Rainbowdrinker Books You Devoured GA: This Is Real Rose GA: You Must Face This Truth TT: We are the shapers of our world. GA: Not This Again TT: We determine our own fate. GA: Rose This Is A Quote From Another Novel Please Dont Do This TT: We mold the physical to our whims and thrust it forward through our own designs. We shape destiny. We reject that which displeases us and create our own reality. TT: Can you really not indulge me? As this one last act of kindness? GA: I Will Allow You One Kindness But It Will Not Be This TT: Fine. As my last act of kindness from you, I want... GA: It Cannot Be Something Ridiculous TT: I want you to forget me. GA: What The Fuck Did I Just Say TT: Hear me out. TT: If truly everything we’ve been through thus far has meant so little that you can’t put your faith in my decision, I want you to forget it. TT: It will be as if it never happened. I was merely a phantom in this session, and should I somehow return (against your predictions), I will get to vindictively rub it in your face. TT: But if you’re right, and I never return, the pain for you is lessened. You were never in a relationship with me, so there’s nothing to mourn. I never existed. Things were simply bad, and my nagging insistence to redirect our course was never there. TT: I want you to forget me. GA: Rose You Know I Cant Do That TT: Not even for me? As your last kindness? GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Invalidate The Memories You Ensured We Would Create GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Devalue Everything You Have Done For Us GA: And I Still Cherish Those Memories Even If They Led To Something Painful TT: It will only cause you more pain if you hold onto them. I don’t want you to suffer. GA: I Want To Suffer These Memories GA: They Offer Me Some Reassurance TT: But not enough to convince you to join me. GA: No

Rose stops typing, a nerve in her snapping. Her face goes beet-red, despair swelling into wrath. She sets her claws to the keyboard once more.

TT: Then if not by your grace, I’ll make you forget through spite. GA: What TT: I want to be forgotten. I want my existence to be erased from this failure of a timeline. I never loved you. You meant nothing to me. GA: Rose TT: My departure will be a curse upon you unless you forget. Whether by magic or by will, you must forget me. All those memories I made with you meant nothing. I did those things only to ensure my own survival. Your presence was happenstance at best. TT: Now that I’m heading out on my own, our destinies are uncoupled. Whatever happens to you is beneath me. I am taking the path to victory, and you can all squander the rest of your miserable lives here. TT: I won’t come back for you. I gave you all the chances I had. This is your fault. GA: Rose Please Dont Do This TT: You won’t see me again. I’m getting on that satellite and I’m not looking back. Even if I am to die, alone on a satellite, it will be a Heroic death as the only one with any sense not to continue a cursed existence on this fucking rock. TT: I will live with only a spectre of guilt that I didn’t forcibly coerce you onto the satellite with me, chastising myself for respecting your wishes and letting you choose your own demise. TT: That is all. Goodbye.

tacitTherapist [TT] stopped trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

True to her word, Rose closed her laptop and walked briskly to the edge of the floating laboratory to wait for the satellite to pass by. Sheer anger coursed through her veins, hoping that would mask her true intent. She had never displayed that kind of fury before, let alone to Kanaya. If she played her cards right, Kanaya might still join her, moved by the pure strength of her conviction. But there was no hesitant hand on her shoulder, begging her to stay or to join her. There was no last-second plea, no ‘Rose Wait’, and not even a footstep in her general direction as she waited.

Resigned, she boarded the satellite, breaking her word and casting a desperate glance back as the satellite continued its course away. Through the tiny window, she could see Kanaya simply looking down at her grubtop, her face stained jade. Regret swelled, and for just a second, she could feel herself begin to open the hatch and jump back towards the meteor. But the second passed, and soon she was out of range to give even a cursory wave goodbye.

The same tears begin to stream down her face as she closes the pesterlog and wraps her sheets tighter around her shoulders. She can’t keep putting off her meeting with Cetus forever... but she still doesn’t know how she’ll reckon with the shadow of her failed ploy.

#pesterlogs #long post #((by god this was brutal to write))

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heathendolan · 5 years

Text

Little Luke McIver (G.D)

Summary: Kindergarten teacher Grayson Dolan is the only one who can crack the shell of Luke McIver, your newest case in social work. So you’ll need him to stick around.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone, this is again a newer branch for me; it’s mainly focused on the relationship between (y/n) and luke and then luke and grayson instead of being complete romance. if that isn’t for you, i totally get it!!! but it was again fun to step out of my comfort zone and try something. extended author’s note

Warnings: PLEASE READ!!! child abuse, social work, a little bit sad. if any of this bothers you PLEASE don’t read, i really did my research to be as precise as i could be!! but it could still be triggering !!!!!

Word Count: 15.2K+ || masterlist

It hadn't changed a bit.

There, a hundred yards away, stood your beloved elementary school in its glory: chipping paint, rusted sign, and all. You weren't one to deny yourself of a smile. It had been eons since you'd visited this place, but it was still nostalgic and vivid and bursting with memories; you'd hardly stepped foot on the property and you'd already spotted the pole Caleb VanDyke stuck his tongue to in third grade.

You crept up the sidewalk with your binder tucked under your arm, hopped about in your heels, and narrowly dodged the forbidden obstacles--cracks--etching the dull pavement. Along the sidewalk were mementos, engraved and painted in the cement, dating all the way back to the early 1980s. It was tradition for the kindergarteners to add their addition with their teeny, tiny, creative brains, and you nearly gasped when you stumbled upon your own handprint, embedded near the benches, basking in the hot August sun. You slumped down to your knees and flattened your hand (now ginormous in comparison) to the shallow crater and marveled. Marveled at how quickly twenty years had slipped on by without you ever noticing the size of your hands.

"Crazy, innit?"

You jumped to your full height, wobbled under the instability of your heels, and smoothed out your pencil skirt with dusty hands. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you turned to face your attacker.

"Jeez Hun, I didn't mean to scare you!" the lady cried, pressing a hand to her heart and enveloping you with the other.

"Mrs. Hoffmann! Oh my god, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, don't apologize, that was completely my fault!"

"No, seriously, I am so jumpy that I just-"

At once, you both realized how unnecessarily kind and apologetic you were being and huffed a chuckle. "My, how you've grown," she simpered, cupping your face between two hands before tugging you into one of her famous bear hugs. You smiled into her shoulder and realized she hadn't changed that much, either; you'd seen her all throughout high school when she popped by the boutique you had worked at, and aside from a few more pairs of crow's feet and some greying roots, she was practically untouched, well into her late forties. She was kind and had a heart twice the size of anyone you'd ever met. And she was beautiful; she always had been. "You're so old now," she said. "Making me feel like some ancient ruin."

You giggled and shook your head. "Not a chance, you're still kickin'! It's going to be so weird counseling little mini-me's," you gushed, wrapping your arms around yourself. You stared at your feet and smirked at the handprints of classmates you'd graduated with. "I feel like I should still be wearing light-up sketchers, not these... death traps," you laughed, kicking your heel up.

She chuckled and slipped her arm around you and escorted you into the entryway. Almost instantly, your brain bloomed with memories upon memories upon memories. "Do you know where you're going, Honey?" she asked as the two of you pulled up to a fork.

You nodded and waved her goodbye with a promise to catch up soon, and then dashed away, beelining for your office.

Your office. What a phrase.

There, you frowned at the blankness, the blandness, the bareness of the walls and decided two things: one, that you had to redecorate this cell, and two, that you would be the best elementary counselor this world had ever seen.

Easier said than done.

"Luke, hi!" you cheered as Cory, Principal Larson, coaxed a boy, maybe five years old, into your office.

A few weeks had passed and your job, so far, had been less than flashy. You'd resolved tearful playground disputes and consoled cafeteria tantrums and, well, not much else. It was a blur of meetings, hissy fits, and really bad school coffee. You'd made a mental note to buy your own Keurig.

But Luke was different, and you could see that right away.

Cory hung in the doorway, nearly barricading Luke in as the kid fought his way around the large man. Luke already had tears sprung in his eyes, a pitiful frown, and an overall, seemingly permanent, aura that oozed with fear. His tiny hands were fisted by his sides and his curls dangled protectively over his big doe eyes and something painful, something piercing, poked at your heart when you realized Luke needed your help a lot more than any of those kids on the playground. Luke really, really needed your help.

So, you bounced out of your chair and scurried over to Luke and bent at knee level and swept a warm hand over his shoulder. "Hey Luke, can we talk for a little? Not too long, I promise" you pleaded softly, hoping to catch his eye. But Luke was staring at the floor, blankly, stubbornly. And a tear rolled off his nose. "I've got it from here, Mr. Larson," you whispered, nodding up at Cory.

You held onto Luke's hand as you shut the door, careful to make sure he didn't just bolt right out. "Wanna sit in the beanbag?" you smirked, thumbing to the cushy, plump seat tucked in the corner. It was every kid's favorite. Luke looked at it longingly before shaking his head, hopping on the rigid desk chair far, far away from you, and staring at the ground again.

Luke was small. Smaller than most of his class, you'd assumed, with his skeletal arms and equally skinny legs. He wore a grey Power Rangers shirt that practically dwarfed him and brown cargo pants that rode up his ankles. His shoes were a dull, gunky yellow with dozens of holes and, from the looks of it, Luke's feet were bare of socks. Luke was textbook poor.

And poor-spirited, it seemed as well. You'd seldom seen a kid so quiet. You were so busy studying him you'd hardly realized minutes had passed on the clock without a single word exchanged. No, Luke just sat there, cowering under your gaze, staring at the ground. Luke was well practiced in the art of silence.

And that just wasn't okay, nor was it natural. Kids had technicolor brains bursting with imagination and creativity and words. Kids would scream and shout and run amuck and yell; kids would talk--if you let them.

"Luke," you began, fumbling for words that could fill the dreary silence that suffocated your office. "Luke, what's your favorite color?"

Luke looked up at you with his big doe eyes and a quivering lip and sat on his hands. He kept looking at you, tears in his eyes, tremor in his jaw, and stared. Stared for minutes. Stared for hours, it felt like. You weren't going to rush him, Luke should take as long as he wanted.

But then he was sniffling, and a pitched, strangled whimper echoed from his mouth and you wondered how you could possibly fix this.

C'mon, you went to school for this. Speak!

"Luke, wanna know something cool?" you asked, leaning over the desk as he tucked in on himself. "This room? It's the safest place in the world."

To that, Luke's cries cut off. He was now just staring at you with his big, big brown eyes and waiting.

"I'm serious, this place is protected," you nodded.

In the smallest, most broken voice, Luke asked, "From what?"

You smiled your kindest smile and said, "Can you keep a secret?" He looked to either side of him, made sure the coast was clear before he nodded. "Luke, this place is protected by magic," you whispered. "Fairies and wizards. Swear," you said. Luke's doe eyes got even rounder. "So we can tell secrets and no one will find out. Soundproof," you explained with confidence, knocking on the wall theatrically. "Which is why I can give you this, and nobody will ever know."

You dug in your drawer and pulled out a sucker and tossed it his way, watching as he marveled at the little treat plopped in his lap. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/L/N)..." Luke breathed, stuffing the candy in his pocket.

"You can call me (Y/N)," you grinned. "But only my friends get to call me (Y/N), okay?"

Luke nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

With the full understanding that these things take time, that Luke needed space--and by the looks of it, a lot of space--and that he would work his way up to trust, you asked, "Luke, can I see you in a couple days? Would that be okay?"

Luke didn't answer, he simply leaped from his chair and darted out the door, and left you with a low, low spirit.

"Hey," Cory mumbled, tapping on your door. "Get 'im to crack?"

You grimaced and shook your head. "No, I didn't. It's going to take time--and I mean time. He hardly breathes in the same room as me," you groaned, digging your fingers into your scalp. "Scares me to think about what might be going on at home."

Cory sighed. “Yeah, the kid’s a little... I mean, the teachers notice it, you know? I know you know, you’ve dealt with this stuff before,” Cory shrugged, frowning at his polished shoes.

But you hadn’t dealt with this stuff before. You were fresh out of your master’s with minimal experience. Your internship was borderline bogus.

“Yeah, I don’t know, stuff never gets easier,” you mumbled.

And that wasn’t entirely a lie. You imagined you’d feel the same way about Luke as any of the other kids whose shells needed cracking, whose homes needed relocating. No one wanted to deal with this stuff, this heartbreak of a job. But someone had to.

“Just... keep me updated, alright? Let me know if you need help with anything,” Cory said. “And I’ll let Luke’s teachers know what’s going on. I mean, it’s only kindergarten but you never know what tricks Mr. Dolan is pulling,” he chuckled, smirking to himself.

A thick glob of spit lodged itself in your throat at the mention of a ‘Mr. Dolan’, and you began coughing and wheezing and making a scene at once.

Growing in a town that size with a family as known as the Dolans were, there were only two possibilities for who ‘Mr. Dolan’ could be. Grayson, and Grayson.

You’d hardly been keeping tabs, but Ethan had boomed as a traveling photographer and Cameron was most definitely not a ‘Mr.’, and Sean was still the superintendent of the district (and had hired you). And, unless there was a new clan of Dolans in town, ones that weren’t half as gorgeous, you were very, very stressed.

You hadn’t seen Grayson since a small town, Christmas-break party. Limited interaction was how you liked it; Grayson made you (and the rest of the Long Valley population) clutzy, stuttery, and blushy—a few of your least favorite things to be.

It was nothing more than the fact that Grayson was gorgeous. And kind. And so, so polite. Every mom spent their Sundays praying their daughters would woo him and their sons would follow in his golden boy footsteps. He was Long Valley’s most beloved and there was no shame in admitting that you had also fallen victim to his spell; everyone loved Grayson, and that was that. But of course, that fucker picked something as absolutely adorable as Kindergarten education.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay? Here, drink some water,” Cory urged, patting your back and sliding you your water bottle.

Red in the face, you hacked before saying hoarsely, “All good.”

Not all good.

"Mrs. Hoffmann, hi!" you cried, stepping into the coffee shop and greeting her with a hug. She buried you in the warmth of he fur-lined parka and you accepted it with appreciation; this October had been particularly chilly in New Jersey with its barren trees and its frosted lawns, and cold meant the need for, well, coats. Your thoughts drifted back to little Luke McIver with his Power Rangers shirt and his brown cargo capris and his canary yellow, many-holed shoes. He needed a hug from Ms. Hoffmann and her big parka.

"Ugh, how are the roads?" she asked conversationally. "Are they slippery? This morning it was just pouring, I'm almost afraid it'll freeze over."

You nodded along. "No, yeah they were slippery. I nearly drifted pulling into Cozy Corner just now," you expounded, pointing to the entrance near the coffee shop.

She shook her head with disgust. "Guess you can't hope for a late winter here in Jersey. I'll for sure be getting a pumpkin spice latte with this weather."

And so, you sat down with your mugs in hand and huddled in the overstuffed loveseat and chatted for hours about the new boutique that had popped up on fifth street and the old bowling alley being torn down. She was, without a doubt, one of the kindest people you'd ever met: she bought your coffee and tipped 50%, offered up her coat as a blanket for the two of you, and complimented your very lazy outfit. This was no surprise to you; this woman was magical, and you'd known it since you were five. It felt like an honor to even sit and chat.

"So, I have to ask and I don't mean to offend, promise," she started. "but what exactly are you? Like, at the school? Do you work outside of the school too? I feel like such a loon, but I've really fallen out of the times-"

"Ms. Hoffmann, please," you snorted, laying a hand on her forearm that was dancing all about.

"And would you quit calling me Ms. Hoffmann! Call me Nancy, Honey."

"Okay, Nancy," you giggled. "I went to school and got my masters in counseling psychology and a bachelor's in social work. So, I work as both in the school. So, if a student were to be dealing with mental health issues, I could, you know, help them out as any counselor would, but if their problems are stemming from their home life, well then I move about and-"

"Hun, you know I'm in the system, right?" she smiled gently.

"What? You're kidding," you gaped. "You're a social worker?"

"Well no," she laughed. "No, I double-majored in elementary education and social work and then when I got out, I decided I'd just be a teacher for awhile and get my feet on the ground, and then I fell in love with teaching. I absolutely love the kids and after I got tenured, I just... I never went back to fulfill that part of the degree. I kind of wonder sometimes, what it would have been like, but I've never regretted it. Of course, it would have been fun if Steve and I could have fostered some kiddos," she smiled sadly. "Or had some. But, things don't always work out in your favor, I guess."

Her eyes glassed over and she clasped her hands tightly under the coat, fisting a wad of the material. It was a tragedy what happened to the Hoffmanns; a few years into their marriage, Nancy miscarried once, then twice. There was only so much gift baskets and get well soon cards could do. She was lonely without kids, that much was obvious. You supposed being a kindergarten teacher was as good as it could have possibly gotten for a woman with her circumstances, but they always left after nine months and change. It wasn't the same.

You grabbed her hand from under the coat and rubbed a thumb over her knuckles.

She laughed breathlessly and said, "Not that- not that we should delve into something so cynical, I-"

You lifted a hand to her to stop her unnecessary apology. "Mrs. Hoffmann-"

"Nancy."

"Nancy, this is my job, being a shoulder to cry on. Never apologize to me for such a trivial thing as uncorking your emotions. We all need to, sometimes. Be my guest," you urged.

And she did. She talked about the ache to buy Christmas toys and back-to-school supplies, how she ached when she received graduation cards from past students and Christmas cards from past families. Ached when people told her to 'get a dog, it's basically the same thing.' Ached when Steve played with little ones and looked so natural, so right. Ached when students accidentally called her mom.

"You're so good at this," she sniffled, wiping her nose with her macaron's napkin. "The words just come pouring out, I haven't told anyone this stuff in years."

You nibbled on your lip, feeling that certain pride that comes with intimacy. "Sometimes I can crack shells, sometimes I can't," you admitted. "There's a student, and I just... can't get him to budge. Not an inch."

She frowned and patted your leg soothingly. "He'll come around. Kids are weird, sometimes," she giggled. "Like Grayson Dolan was telling me about this girl, Piper Conrad, just flopping on the carpet and making a snow angel in the middle of class and- why are you blushing?"

Heat was boiling your face at the mere mention of Grayson Dolan. It was pathetic. "Blushing? I'm not, I'm- this pumpkin spice is just really seasoned, the nutmeg in it is just-"

"Grayson Dolan," she gasped, piecing the bits together. "Oh (Y/N), tell me about it. That man's a hunk. Didn't you graduate with him? I get it, I really do; if he weren't half my age and miles out of my league and I wasn't married I would just-"

"Nancy!" you cried with laughter, shushing her confession. "Nancy, I don't like him. There's nothing there, he probably doesn't even know I exist, it's been like, seven years since I've seen him."

She smirked and nodded sardonically. "But he will. Just you wait until we have a workshop day, oh you are so-"

"I am so nothing! You pipe down, missy."

"Right," she laughed. "Well, let me buy you another coffee for your troubles, listening to this old hoot cry a hurricane, and let's head on out. I think the roads are going to freeze over, after all," she frowned as looked out the window. "Hopefully this latte will keep you warm in place of Mr. Dolan."

On Thursday, Luke was again seated in his rickety, uncomfortable chair in the back corner, far as far could be from you. He was wearing his brown too-short pants and his grey too-big Power Rangers shirt and his ochre too-many-holed shoes again. No socks, big brown eyes, and a raw bitten lip—Luke looked about as sad as you’d think.

“Luke, how have you been the past couple days?” you asked quietly, approaching the subject as gently as you’d approach a tortured animal.

Luke looked tired. And lost. And cold; New Jersey’s lawns were crisp with frost on that October morning with a thick mask of fog settling in the air, and the school had yet to crank the heat on in an effort to save money. Of course, this typically wasn’t a problem—most kids had jackets, or at least sweatshirts. You suspected that might be a problem for Luke.

Luke didn’t answer you.

“Luke?” you coaxed.

He tucked his lips under his teeth and clenched his tiny little jaw and visibly fought back tears.

And he sat like that for the whole hour. You would have sat there the whole day with Luke, waiting, pleading with him to let you help him, but Luke had lunch.

When the bell chimed, he hopped off his seat and dashed towards the door, but paused. “(Y/N)?” he whispered, his voice crackly and dry.

“Yeah, Luke?”

“Mommy said fairies don’t exist,” he sniffled, hand on the door handle. “Mommy said you lied to me.”

Your heart wrenched deep in your chest, the physical symptoms of heartbreak bustling within you. Luke looked at you with his big doe eyes and you looked back with all the sadness in the world and then, then you noticed.

You noticed that the collar of his oversized tee had slipped down to expose his shoulder, which had an enormous bruise. It was green and violet and nearly theatrical in size; it was nauseating, this bruise on little Luke’s shoulder.

With a shaking voice, you asked, “Luke, where’d you get-“

Luke beelined out of your office and into the hall. You scooted out of your chair and crept behind him, desperate to just get this one secret out. That would be all it took; one admission and Luke could live such a better life.

But as you rounded the corner, you found Luke wrapped around the leg of Grayson Dolan, sobbing profusely into his dress pants. Grayson had a hand on his head, ruffling the curls that dangled above his eyes with the most sympathetic of frowns. And then, Grayson ducked to eye level and enveloped Luke in a bear hug—one as gentle as himself—and nodded along with his warbles.

“Luke, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Grayson pleaded, searching the boy’s eyes.

Luke grabbed ahold of Grayson’s tie and buried his nose into his chest and shook his head. Luke then heaved a deep breath, scrubbed his eyes of well-deserved tears, and bounded off to the cafeteria, grey shirt flowing behind him.

And Grayson stood and watched him scamper all the way down the hall. And then Grayson rubbed at his eyes and turned back into his classroom and closed the door.

Luke was sobbing, absolutely bawling in his stiff, creaky chair, and you had absolutely no way to help.

And you felt like such an idiot, because you went to school for this damn it. Seven years of education in counseling psychology and your first patient wouldn't even talk to you after four sessions. But he was crying. And you were doing nothing.

Panic rose in your throat as you realized how useless, how absolutely incompetent you were sitting there, watching Luke wail in his seat. You'd tried; he had stumbled into your office by the guidance of Cory once more and promptly sobbed. You asked him gently, then firmly, why he was upset, what was wrong, how you could help but Luke was deaf to your pleads and questions.

With hardly any direction, you did something thoughtless. Completely, ridiculously senseless.

You hopped from your seat--abandoned Luke in your office--and sped to Grayson Dolan's room down the hall.

You weren't thinking (clearly), you were just doing, acting, hoping something, or someone, could tear down this child's indestructible walls. Because you hadn't stopped thinking about that bruise--that monstrous bruise--since you saw it, and you wanted him to get help. You wanted this kid to have all the love in the world.

So, you clacked down the hall in your heels and scampered up to Grayson's door, knocking tentatively and then urgently. From outside the door, you called, "Grays- Um, Mr. Dolan, I- I know this sounds crazy, but-"

The door swung open to reveal Grayson a pair of wide eyes and a slackened jaw. "(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? Is that-?"

"I really need you to just, just come with me," you begged, verging tears, grabbing ahold of his forearm and tugging him behind you.

Grayson stumbled behind you, his shoes slapping the linoleum, and rushed up to your side. "Damn, you can walk fast in those heels," he panted to your left. Panicky tears sprung in your eyes and you curled your hand into a fist tight, tight, and pinched yourself a painful distraction. "Hey, what's going on?" Grayson murmured, slow and deep and warm.

You scrunched your face unattractively and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I- Mr. Dolan-"

"(Y/N), it's me. Grayson," he muttered sternly, grabbing your arm and halting the two of you.

You pulled at his hand and said, "No, we need to keep going, I-"

"(Y/N)." he commanded, sternness wired hard in his voice.

You whined oh-so-pathetically and shook your head. "You're going to think I'm such an idiot because I can't do my own job, like I'm over here asking you to do my-"

"You work here?" Grayson asked with a knit in his brows.

With exasperation, you sighed, "Yes. Yes, I'm a counselor and Luke McIver is sitting in my office and-"

"Luke McIver?" Grayson breathed. Without hesitation or a need for any explanation at all, he encased his hand in yours and dragged you down the hall, wordless and worrisome. Tailing behind Grayson (who was obviously handling this much better than you were), you snuck into your office and watched with wonder as he folded himself smaller than Luke, who was still gasping for breaths. Grayson tucked himself up by Luke's side, wrapped his hands around Luke's forearms and rubbed soft circles in his boney flesh, and said, "Take a deep breath, we aren't going anywhere."

Luke's jaw clamped shut and the last few tears rolled down his rosy cheeks and he nodded his head. Luke felt safe.

His eyes, as doe-ish as they typically were, were soft around the edges. They were usually pried wide; his eyelashes tickled the tops of his brow bones and his beautiful brown irises drowned in a sea of white. He looked alert, always, and his blinks were few and far between. Now, Luke just looked tired. Like he'd never had a chance to just relax. And vulnerable, too. In a good way.

Grayson smiled to him and Luke smiled back. "Luke, we need to talk to you, and we need you to talk to us," Grayson murmured, rubbing a hand down Luke's shoulder.

Luke nodded. Grayson peeked over his shoulder at you and gestured vaguely for you to join them in their little huddle, so you slipped next to Grayson and fell on your knees and left your hands in your lap, far away from Luke. You weren't going to push your luck.

"Luke, how did you get that bruise on your shoulder?" you asked softly.

Grayson grabbed ahold of Luke's shaking hands. Luke said, almost robotically, "I was on the monkey bars and-"

Grayson shook his head. "Luke, please don't lie to me."

Luke's lip quivered and his face crumpled and he collapsed on Grayson's shoulder, burrowed his head into the crook of his neck and cradled himself, let Grayson hold him and just cried. Cried like he deserved to, cried like he wanted to, cried like he had to. Cried so long you had to sneak into the main office and call for a substitute teacher for Grayson's kindergarten class. And that was okay. Luke needed this.

You slinked behind your desk and clicked your pen, dug out your notepad and waited. Waited for Luke to calm down and unfold himself for you--for Grayson.

"She doesn't like when I come here," Luke muttered into the cloth of Grayson's dress shirt.

"Come where, buddy?"

"(Y/N)'s," he whined. "I told her, I told her that it was protected by fairies and wizards and she- she hit me right- right here," Luke blubbered, tugging on his Power Rangers shirt and exposing the battered skin of his skeletal shoulder. Grayson's face fell even more, his eyes downward and his face low. "And she- she told me that- she told me that (Y/N) lied to me and she took my sucker and she stomped on it and- and- and-"

"Luke, is that the only time she's hit you?" Grayson whispered.

"No, Mr. Dolan."

Your throat bobbed with emotion as you scribbled down notes furiously. Your handwriting was godawful and your hand was cramping but you wouldn't stop writing this child's story for the world. Even if it really, really hurt.

"She doesn't like when I come to school, either. She said that- that I shouldn't get all this food and all this heat and that I don't need to be away from home for seven hours. And she-"

You shoved all that emotion down and took the validity out of his words and just wrote. Just wrote, detached and factually.

Grayson had to suck up all the tears, had to soak in all this tragedy first hand. Luke was staring at him like he had all the answers to the world, like Grayson could solve his problems with his bare hands. And Grayson had to act like he could.

After hours of cries and admissions and a whole lot of heartbreak, the final bell chimed in the hall. Grayson turned to you in question, a tear slipping from his eye.

"Luke, can you sit in here for just a second? Just a quick second, we'll be back," you asked, looking at the boy with a cautious smile.

He nodded and you slipped into the hall, beckoning Grayson as you went. Shutting the door as gently as you could, you turned to find Grayson with his head guarded by his hands, his shoulders shaking. "He can't go back," he croaked with a crack in his voice. He lifted his face and it was blotchy and red and tear streaked and he said, "He absolutely cannot go back to that monster."

"I know, I know," you muttered, staring at your heels. "I- I need to make some phone calls and talk to some foster cares around the-"

"No," Grayson interrupted, steel in his tone. "This kid needs someone he can trust. I'll take him."

You laughed in disbelief, shaking your head. "No, that isn't how this works. First, I have to call Morris County human services and have them head over to Luke's house and take his mom into custody, and then I have to go over to Morris County Human Services and find him a caretaker for the next 72 hours.”

"So what, we just drop this kid off? Leave him completely alone? I just told him we wouldn't go anywhere," Grayson growled, flaring his nose.

You pressed your hand to your face with frustration and sighed. "No, I- I couldn't do that to Luke. I don't think I can take him into custody for too long because I'm a conflict of interest, but I'll take him until we can get a judge to sign off on a permanent foster care or a-"

"Luke doesn't need a temporary family. Luke needs a home," Grayson hissed.

Irritation built in your chest and you pinned him with a hard glare. "Do you think I don't know that? How do you think these things work, Grayson, we just throw him into a house, no legal document, no nothing, and send him off?"

"Well, of course not, I don't know what-"

"You're right, you don't. I might not seem like I know what I'm doing, and you've been the best help, but I know what to do now," you spoke evenly. You reached for your office's door handle but Grayson flattened his hand against the wood.

"So what, you're just ditching me? I can't help Luke through this? Last time I checked, I was the only one who could get him to talk, (Y/N). And I just told him I wasn't going anywhere," Grayson fumed, his voice low and cold.

You glanced at your toes and let the wheels turn in your head, round and about, until you sighed and threw caution to the wind. "Okay. Listen, you can... you can come check on him later tonight at my place and whatnot, you can even come to the court hearing. But if he finds a new home, I don't- I can't promise anything, Grayson. This isn't up to me; if it were, I'd just give you the fucking kid."

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped a hand around your shoulder, warm and firm and big. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you muttered. "Here's my phone number... and my address..." you mumbled, rifling through the packet of notes you'd scribbled down while listening to Luke and tearing out a stray paper, jotting down both messily. "Now, I really need to get in there and make some phone calls."

There you stood, in Morris County Human Services, hand in hand with little Luke McIver. He was willing to hold your hand, which in itself was a feat, but distantly; the two of you were connected by the full lengths of your arms apart. He was staring at the kid's corner in the waiting room, watching an eight-year-old rumble around with dozens of colorful blocks longingly, frowning. Just as you were about to invite him to go play, a county social worker peeked their head out from the hallway. "Ms. (Y/L/N), come with me, please,"

You looked down at Luke and tugged on his palm, tilting your head towards the lady. "C'mon Luke," you encouraged, taking a step in her direction.

The two of you followed her into the narrow corridor, shuffling behind her as she led you past dozens of rooms. "Luke, you can take a seat in this room," she smiled, popping open a door. Inside was a room abundant with toys, games, and books galore. It was prismatic and bright and Luke looked at it with a glint in his big, big brown eyes and hurried inside. And then Luke plopped on a chair in the center of the room, sat all still, and the social worker shut the door before you could promise Luke that he could play with those toys.

"Ms. (Y/L/N), I'm Emily Bradshaw and I have some terrible news," she hushed, leading you down another hall, and then another, halting at a dead end in a secluded corner.

You weren't in the least surprised.

"Luke... has some bad luck, to put it lightly."

I know.

"There's no one we can put him in for custody. His dad's out of the picture, Uncle's a crack addict, Grandparents are dead, his other Uncle's in jail for felony charges and... well, we can't give him back to his mom, obviously. Not after what you told me," Emily murmured. "We don't have a single--and I mean, not a single--person available for this little guy."

You touched your forehead with heartbreak. "No siblings, right?"

"Nope."

"I- Emily, can I take him for the night then?" you asked, biting down on your lip nervously. "He's so fragile, Emily. He hardly trusts me, and it took weeks to get him to even talk in front of me. I don't want him with anyone else, he'll be absolutely scarred."

"(Y/N), I'm afraid you'll have to. Obviously, you can't take him longer than 72 hours, you're a-"

"Conflict of interest, I know. I- I'll look through the records and see if there's anyone in the system worth calling. This is just terrible," you breathed.

"You're telling me. I know this stuff happens all the time, but it never gets easier. God, poor kid," she whistled, scuffing her shoe on the linoleum floor. "You've got him until Monday, cause we can't collect him on Sundays. So, Monday at... 5:00 PM. Just- I know you don't need to be told, but just take care of him, okay? Kid's been through more than we know."

With that, the two of you walked your way back to Luke's playroom and knocked on the door, creaking it open. Inside, Luke sat on his stool, the room left completely as it was.

With a frown, you and Emily crept over to him and squatted to his level. "Luke, I'm going to take you to my house for the next couple days, is that okay?" you asked, tucking the bulk of your hair behind your ear.

He nodded, slipped off his chair, and grabbed your hand.

"Luke, just for tonight, we need to go get some PJ's for you, okay?" you offered, glancing in your rearview at Luke, who was strapped in the middle seat of your car.

"It's okay, I can sleep in this," Luke mumbled, playing with his fingers and glancing out the window. He was talking about his massive grey Power Rangers shirt and his teeny brown cargo pants.

You winced and stared at the road again. "Nope, we're getting you some super fuzzy PJs. And hot cocoa."

"What's hot cocoa?" Luke asked.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned in the mirror. "You'll have to wait and see, Luke."

Inside the store, you stood in the kid's section, ogling the quality of each fleece lined item. You surfed through nautica-inspired, dinosaur patterned, and hot-wheel styled pajamas, entirely lost on what Luke liked best.

"Luke, which design's your favorite?" you asked tentatively.

"It doesn't matter," Luke mumbled, not even bothering to look from where he sat in your shopping cart.

So you grabbed all of them. And a huge, sherpa blanket, and a set of socks and underwear, and then it dawned on you.

"Luke, we're getting you some new clothes, too."

Ignorant to his declines, you ransacked the whole department of hoodies, long enough pants, tees, and finally, a new pair of shoes. And then, you wheeled him to the checkout, paid, and left for home.

Maybe: Grayson: It's Grayson, I'm coming over.

You: Bring hot cocoa I forgot to buy some at the store.

Grayson: Okay. On my way!

Your house was oddly fit just for a kiddo. You'd know; you grew up in this house.

Your parents, after a few decades of living in a town as quaint as Long Valley, wanted a little more excitement and up-and-left to New York City once you dashed off to college. They used this house as a summer home, seeing as they'd paid it off, and spent their springs and falls and winters in the boisterous, cluttered metropolis of NYC. You'd only ever be willing to visit.

It wasn't that you hated the city, no, most certainly not. But it was loud. And cramped, yet so big. You loved the familiarity, the peacefulness, the home-ishness of your little Long Valley. So, after completing your masters, you headed back home and paid your parents what they'd take and redecorated your old childhood bedroom.

At the kitchen island, you sat with Luke, bowls of Kraft Mac n Cheese in hands, forks shoveling the noodles by the mouthfuls. It was alarming how fast Luke was eating his dish; he hardly left time for breathing.

"Luke, there's more in the pot, you don't need to-"

You cut yourself off when you realized he was not listening, just eating his meal anxiously, like you'd take it away at any second.

The doorbell rang throughout the building and you hopped off your seat and slipped into the foyer. Greeting Grayson, you said, "Hey, did you bring the hot-"

"Already got it," he said, waving a family-sized tub of the powder. "And some games. How's he doing?"

Glancing at the hallway that led to the kitchen, you shrugged. "Can't really tell. It seems like he doesn't know what's going on, so he's fine. I took him to the store, bought him some new clothes, got him some PJs. But I forgot about the hot cocoa I'd promised him, so thank you for bringing some," you finished, stealing the container from his hands.

"Well, that was nice of you..." Grayson mumbled behind you, following you out to the kitchen.

"What, you think I'm some heathen?" you smirked, eyeing him over your shoulder.

"Mhm, don't act like you weren't the one who put twenty boxes of Orbees in the school's swimming pool our senior year," he snickered, lifting a brow.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, a flame licking the back of your neck. "I can't believe you reme-"

"Hey Luke!" Grayson called, scooting past you and pressing his elbows against the kitchen island.

Luke was sitting there, staring at his empty bowl of mac n cheese in a melancholic state. "Hi Mr. Dolan," he said in that raspy, weak voice of his.

"Luke, you want more Mac n cheese? And some hot cocoa?" you prompted, grabbing the bucket of pasta. Without an answer, you scooped a helping into Luke's bowl and paraded to the refrigerator for some milk to heat. "Gray, you want some?"

Grayson looked your way with a funny grin and said, "Yeah, I can just eat it from the pan."

You shook your head and repressed a smile. "You are gross."

"Why!" Grayson defended, laughing. With a shrug, he said, "I'm saving you a plate, and I'll definitely eat the rest, anyway."

Once you had fixed everyone a mug of hot cocoa, you ushered the boys into the living room where Grayson excitedly dug out a hodgepodge of games, toys, and books. Spreading everything out on the rug, Grayson prompted, "Alright Luke, I was thinking I could teach you how to play Candy Land. Is that okay?"

Luke looked at you, and then at him, and then nodded.

"Cool. So basically Buddy, you get one of these little guys," Grayson said, gesturing to the colorful figures lying dormant in the container. "And you hop on the color of the card you draw, and we go back and forth, and we see who wins. Okay?" Luke nodded. "And there are traps. So, when you draw a card like- like this one," he explained, grabbing a piece with a lollipop on it, "then you get to move to the spot that has the lollipop on it. Which can be good, unless you're ahead of that spot, then you have to move back. It's really fun," he gushed, folding his legs crisscrossed. "I think you'll like it. What'd'ya say?"

Luke looked at the board, studied it hard, and then nodded his head. "Okay."

Gleefully, Grayson shuffled the deck of cards and plucked two characters from the cardboard box and you realized, almost instantly, why he became a kindergarten teacher. He was a kid at heart.

"(Y/N), are you playing?"

You thought about all the things you had to do, all the paperwork you had to fill, all the phone calls you'd have to make for tomorrow, and said, "Yes."

Grayson smiled at you eagerly. "Perfect, three makes it way more competitive anyway. The more the merrier, you know?" he said, reaching for his mug of hot cocoa.

You looked over at Luke's mug and realized he hadn't drunk a drop of his treat. "Luke, you can have some of your hot cocoa if you haven't yet," you smiled, edging his cup towards him.

He looked at you long and hard, his eyes blown wide, and glanced between you in the drink. And then he looked at Grayson, almost for permission, and lifted his skinny arms and grabbed the mug with both hands. He lifted it to his mouth, oh-so-cautiously, and took a tiny sip.

And then he smiled, grinned comfortably.

"This stuff is- this stuff is really good," he said, setting it back. "Thank you."

You looked at Grayson with confusion and said, "Luke, you can have the whole cup if you want."

"I can?"

"Yeah," Grayson smiled, rubbing a hand down Luke's back. "Drink up, Bud."

And Luke did. And you three played Candy Land for hours, Grayson and you both being far too competitive and Luke hanging on for the ride. You won once, Grayson won twice, and Luke won at least five times. Luke's smile just kept growing.

"Alright Luke, I think it's bedtime for you," you said after a bit of celebratory hot cocoa.

"Want some help getting into your PJs, bud?" Grayson offered. Luke shrugged a lame shoulder, his eyes flickering between the two of you.

"Hey, give me some skin," you giggled, bending at the knee and raising your hand for a high-five from Luke. Tentatively, he lifted his hand to yours, smacking it feather light. "You killed it in Candy Land today."

"Sure did," Grayson laughed. "We'll play again soon. C'mon Luke."

And off they went, into your guest bedroom.

You crept back into the kitchen and grabbed your binder full of documents and splayed them all out on the table, organizing them into piles. You loved this job. You realized it when Luke's big wide eyes lit up at the sight of a Licorice Lagoon card and his character clobbered all the way across the board and he just looked happy. Happy like you'd never seen him. And that made all of this heartbreak a little less awful.

You were ruffling through your binder for names of available foster carers with your pen wiggling between your teeth when Grayson tiptoed into the kitchen. "Hey, how was-"

Your voice fell silent when you looked up to find Grayson crying, feeble with his arms tucked tightly around himself.

"Gray, what happened?" you asked hesitantly, twisting your body and giving him your full attention.

He whimpered pitifully and glided over to you, clearly shameless when it came to crying. He laid his forearms on the kitchen island and looked at you through his soaked eyelashes and screwed his eyebrows together and said, "I don't think I can forget that."

You reached out and carefully laid a palm on his arm. "Forget what?"

Grayson wheezed a deep breath and shielded his face with a hand. He mumbled, "There's a reason he wears that giant shirt every day." Grayson wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, "It was like I wasn't even taking off a shirt. It's like, an outline of the shirt, made of bruises. Tan lines, but instead of pale skin it's just green, and blue, and purple."

Unconsciously, you dug your fingernails into the firm flesh of his arm and clenched your jaw, willed yourself from tears.

"And that's no exaggeration. I don't think there was a spot untouched on his skinny, skinny body. His whole torso is just-" Whine. "Covered. I thought I was going to be sick. And he turned around, and his back was no different. It was like this- this fucking monster he calls 'mom' knew exactly how to hide it. Give him a t-shirt big enough, and it'll cover all the marks. God fucking damn it," he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pinched at his skin, nails deep enough to really hurt, and lowered your head and cried. Let the tears fall with the realization that no number of board games and no amount of hot cocoa could make up for his trauma, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Luke McIver was a punching bag and a kicking post.

You sat there with Grayson and cried quietly. You prayed Luke couldn't hear you; he deserved all the sympathy in the world, but he looked up to Grayson, and you hoped he didn't give up on himself with how sad his circumstances were.

Grayson walked around the island and engulfed you in a hug. You'd hardly registered how strange this might be, hugging a guy you'd barely known since you needed one so bad. You can't just watch these things and shut everyone out. You would start to see that kind of darkness in everyone.

"I'm sorry," Grayson said, his jaw working against your shoulder. "But I really needed a hug."

"It's okay," you said, your head bowed into the crook of his neck. "I really needed one too."

"Can I stop by tomorrow?" Grayson asked.

Yes, he could.

Tomorrow meant Friday, and Friday meant school. You didn't have a whole lot of direction when it came to getting kids off to school, but you figured you would do what you typically did; had him hop in the shower, laid out his clean clothes, and fixed him a bowl of cereal. After a few minutes of thought, you packed him a lunch, just in case his lunch account had frozen along with the rest of his mom's assets.

"Luke, are you okay with a turkey sandwich? Or do you want salami?" you shouted into the refrigerator, raiding the drawers for your lunch meat.

After a few moments without a response, you called out, "Luke?"

Panicky, you pulled yourself out of the refrigerator and hurried off to check on him in the guest room. Inside, he stood sopping wet, dripping on your carpet with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Upon your arrival, he twisted to look at you. "Where are my clothes?" he whispered, looking around the room.

You pointed to the pile stacked on a chair near the bed. "Right over there, Silly," you giggled.

"No, my clothes," he said.

"The grey shirt and the brown pants?" you asked.

He nodded.

"Do you wanna wear those instead? I thought you'd like to wear something warmer, I have a hoodie and some cozy sweatpants on that chair cause it's going to be pretty chilly today," you elaborated, beginning to stress. It was far too cold to wear that Power Rangers shirt and that Power Rangers shirt alone, and you hadn't bought Luke a jacket. You made a mental note to do so.

"But those aren't mine," he said.

"Yes they are, I bought them for you."

"All of those?" he gasped, his eyes bugging at the outfit. And that was just sad.

"All of those, and a few others, too. Now, come on! We gotta get going to school, do you want some help getting into your clothes?" you offered, walking over to the chair and grabbing the stack.

Luke shook his head and you gave him the pieces, leaving the room and fixing his turkey sandwich. By the time you'd packed everything, Luke was waiting silently with his backpack taut on his shoulders. The hoodie was a bit big, but Luke was tiny for his age. The sweatpants looked about right, and the shoes seemed to fit okay. He hardly looked the same in different clothes.

"Ready?" you asked.

Luke was.

As your lunch break neared, your foot began pedaling faster in place. You worried about Luke on his first day back: did he miss his mom? Did his clothes really fit? Did he even like turkey sandwiches? After a plethora of anxiety-ridden questions, you hopped from your seat and dashed off to Grayson's classroom.

You knocked on the door softly and waited with a bitten lip. Grayson creaked open the door and you found that the classroom was, in fact, empty, excluding the six-foot tall man hovering in the doorway. "Oh," was all you said. "I thought maybe Luke was here."

Grayson grinned toothily and said, "No, they just went off to lunch and recess, but I'm glad you stopped by."

He opened the door and ushered you in, shutting it and following you inside. "Ramen?" you asked, scrunching your nose as you noticed the cup of noodles sitting next to his school-issued desktop. "How can you eat that after college?"

He smirked and grabbed it, loading a forkful of the stringy, golden noodles into his mouth. "Never get sick of it," he said through bites.

"Charming," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "How's he doing today?"

He munched for a second before nodding, setting the cup of noodles down and sitting on one of the very tiny desks with his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. "Good. Great, even."

"That's good!" you exclaimed, smiling big.

"It is good," he agreed. "He even talked to a few classmates, which is new for him. They said they liked his shoes."

You weren't sure whether you were devastated that Luke hadn't any friends or ecstatic that he was trying, and that the other kids liked his shoes. That was a personal achievement. "I've been told I'm a fashionista," you drawled, flicking your hair over your shoulder.

"I can tell. You're always wearing those pretty skirts of yours," Grayson smirked, cocking a brow.

Butterflies burst in your stomach and you prayed a blush didn't stain your cheeks. But, judging by Grayson's obvious smugness, you looked just as bashful as you felt.

"Thank you. Um..." you squeaked, not knowing what else to say.

Grayson chuckled at your discomfort and looked out the window. "It was really nice of you to buy him all those clothes. It's too cold to be wearing those- those rags he was wearing before."

You nodded, following his gaze to the gray, gray sky that was brewing something awful outside. "I didn't think he'd fit in one of my sweatshirts," you joked.

Grayson looked at you and grinned kindly. "I don't think he'd look half as good, either."

Your face broke out in a smile and you said, "Okay, stop, you're doing this on purpose," with a laugh.

"Oh definitely, you're cute when you blush," he pushed, enjoying the upper hand far more than he should.

You stared down at the floor and begged the warmth in your cheeks to subside before saying, "You always were a flirt in high school."

Gobsmacked, Grayson gasped. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "No, you're thinking of Ethan, my twin idiot."

You shook your head. "I don't think so, you had everyone at your beck and call..." you trailed off, giving him a lopsided smile.

"Again, Ethan."

"No, it was you, I know that for certain. Grayson Dolan: Long Valley's Golden Boy," you teased, your hands dancing in the air. "Everybody loved you."

Grayson scratched back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders, flattened out his tie. "Yeah, maybe, but I've closed the yearbook. Now I'm just a kindergarten teacher; don't think that makes me too popular," he chuckled, clamping his hands in his lap and grinning up at you.

"You're definitely popular with the kids--if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a little kid sleeping at my house tonight," you said.

"That's way better than homecoming king," Grayson smiled, all warmth and honey. "Knowing I saved a kid from some garbage parent like his."

You nodded thoughtfully, staring back at him. In an effort to preserve the lighthearted mood floating through the air, you joked, "Can't be better than scoring the game-winning touchdown against Rocori though, right?"

Grayson's head fell back with a laugh and he shook his head. "Nothing could be better than that. Should've seen their head coach's face when I caught that ball," he smiled with his teeth full in display.

"I guessed so," you giggled back.

"So what, did you keep tabs on me in high school or something? That's a pretty particular thing to remember, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he smirked, running a hand through his fluffy mane.

Though you were painted in pink, you rolled along. "I already said everybody loved you, Grayson."

The door busted open, dozens of kids flowing through its tiny entrance, clambering about with their squeaky shoes and their uncoordinated legs. "Does everybody include you?" Grayson asked over the roar of the children.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned with mischief. "Mind if I stay for a bit? I still have half an hour of my lunch and I kinda wanna see Luke in his natural habitat."

"Be my guest," Grayson smiled.

Luke ambled in last, a little pep in his step and a boy jabbering off his ear. Grayson looked as surprised as you.

"Everyone get in your seats, please," he instructed, working his way over to his desk. Glaring playfully at you, he said, "I didn't even get to eat my ramen."

"A shame."

Dropping his styrofoam cup in the garbage, he dusted off his hands and hurried to the front, rolling his dress shirt's sleeves up to his elbows. Without much to do, you slinked your way to the play area and seated yourself in a comically small chair, one clearly fit for a five-year-old.

"Alright everyone, could you please grab a pencil from the center of your desk? We're going to learn about shapes," Grayson announced, his eyes drifting around the room.

Your eyes flickered to Luke who in return was staring at you with his big doe eyes. Nervously, you waved a hand, worried of boundaries once more, and felt a certain sense of pride when Luke waved back to you.

"So guys, let's practice. Can anyone tell me what this is?" Grayson asked, gesturing to the giant triangle fixed on the smart board in the front.

Nearly all the kids' hands shot up, excluding Luke's. There he sat, towards the back, with his hands tucked in his lap.

"Kyra?" Grayson called.

"A triangle!" she cheered, dazzle in her eye.

"Very good, Kyra," Grayson smiled, tapping the board and switching the shape. "And this one?"

Again, Luke sat statuary.

"Tyler?"

"A square!"

You couldn't help but frown as you stared at Luke, lonesome and quiet with his big brown eyes staring blankly at the screen.

"And this last one? Luke?" Grayson asked, eyes weaving through the sea of hands to find Luke.

Luke sat quietly, his chest rising and falling quickly. After a few seconds, all of the students twisted in their seat to stare at him with beady, pressuring eyes. Almost reflexively, Luke spun and looked to you for help. 'Circle,' you mouthed, breathing out the word inaudibly.

"C-C-Circle," Luke spat, grabbing the sides of his desk.

All of the kids turned forward once more and waited for Mr. Dolan's confirmation. "Awesome job, Luke," he said with the proudest of smiles. "Now I have a worksheet for you all and I want you guys to bring it back to class on Monday after this weekend, signed by your parent."

Luke again strained his chin over his shoulder and you nodded back, assuring him you'd sign it, or help it, or just be there.

Your Fridays were typically reserved for wine night at your friend Carina's house, but you had no such plans with a five-year-old sitting on your couch. So, you were a little lost on what to do.

"Luke, do you want a snack? I'm not sure what we have in the cupboards, but..." you trailed off, bounding into the kitchen.

You had no use for pudding cups or fruit snacks up until this point, and to your knowledge, all you had was a ginormous can of hot cocoa. You scoured the pantry and found some surely stale Reese's Puffs and prayed he didn't notice once you doused them in milk.

Luke eyed the bowl skeptically, glancing between you and it before eventually scooping the cereal into his mouth. After that, it was a race to drain the bowl, and he was slurping away at the milk. You hardly cared about manners.

Grayson: Can I come over?

Instantly giddy at the idea of Grayson being in any close proximity, you texted him and assured him that would be fine. Luke was still tongue-tied, and you assumed it'd be that way for a long time. Perhaps he'd never grow out of his shyness, and that would have to be okay with you.

Looking at the little boy sitting on your couch, chomping on a spoonful of cereal like it could be his last meal, your heart broke. There was so much you didn't know about him, so much you didn't know about what he went through. You doubted anyone would ever know the full truth besides him and his 'mom.' Just thinking of her in a maternal sense made your tummy lurch sideways; she should have never even considered kids.

But, in some twisted light, you were so glad she did. You'd take a bullet for this little guy on your couch. And you didn't even know how that happened so quickly.

Grayson's knuckles rapped against your front door and you jumped from your spot on the couch beside Luke to allow him in, but by the time you'd gotten there, Grayson was already standing in your foyer in a pair of joggers and a hoodie. It was somewhat strange seeing him out of his office clothes. Frowning, you said, "How did you get-"

"You should really keep this door locked all the time," Grayson said sternly, abandoning his shoes on your welcome mat. "For your safety, and for Luke's."

You rushed over and locked the door behind him, feeling a little naive. "Luke's upstairs, I was going to start on that worksheet you gave everyone today but now that you're here, you can do all the hard work," you grinned.

He rolled his eyes playfully and elbowed your side. "I work all day with little kids and I come back to your place to slave away?"

"Exactly," you laughed. "besides, bold of you to assume I know my shapes."

Grayson chuckled and swept past you, hurrying over to Luke. You heard them greet one another, Grayson's excitable baby voice echoing throughout your house. Content with their situation, you whisked away to your room to raid your closet for something more comfortable. Then, you returned to your kitchen and began searching in your big stack of files for names in the system that would qualify to give Luke the home he needed.

G. Hammend... R. Harick... I. Helpin... Your finger followed down the column, each name seeming drearier and more hopeless.

"Mr. Dolan?" you heard from the other room.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Is (Y/N) your girlfriend?" Luke asked.

Grayson promptly began coughing uncontrollably, hacking and wheezing, and a chill ran up your spine, heat baked the back of your neck. No, you weren't Grayson's girlfriend and his flirting was harmless, but you were curious to know what he'd say, so you leaned in closely and listening keenly to Grayson's next words. "Uh, um, uh Luke it's- it's more complicated than that," Grayson spoke, his voice raspy and cracking.

"How?"

Yeah, how?

"Well, um, I- I don't know how to explain that, Luke."

"Why?"

A giggle escaped past your lips at Luke's determination and Grayson's obvious struggle. "I- I, um,-"

Grayson's stuttering was cut short by a soft rumble overhead followed almost immediately by a burst of lightning. You frowned and glanced at the window, fully aware of the forecast but hopeful that it would blow over. From the looks of the blackened sky, it wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon. Soft pellets of water began showering your room and it's thin shingles, heavy enough to pierce through the silent air. And again, another bit of thunder rolled in.

"(Y/N)?" Grayson called. "You okay?"

As if you'd be in any harm in your own home during a thunderstorm. "Yeah Gray, I'm good. Are you okay?"

There was silence and then a shuffling of footsteps. Then Grayson walked up behind you and said, "We have a problem."

You wheeled around in your chair and furrowed your brows. "What?"

"Luke's afraid of thunderstorms," he whispered, avoiding your eyes.

You slid off your seat and padded into the living room to find Luke tucked in the cushions of your couch, tears streaming soundlessly from his big doe eyes. Your heart wrenched beneath your ribcage and you hurried over, sliding into the spot beside him and grabbing his hands that were shaking in his lap. "Hey Lukey, you doing okay?"

Luke nodded robotically, his nose bouncing and the tears rushing down his face.

"Luke, how can I help?" you asked, stroking the side of his head.

His body went rigid and he shook your hands off him, scooting a few inches away. You felt rejected.

"Hey Bud, do you wanna keep going with our math? Get your mind away from all this noise?" Grayson offered, lifting up his worksheet.

Luke shook his head, tucking in on himself and wrapping his own frail arms around his own frail legs.

"We could maybe watch some TV?" you proposed, cocking your head towards the flatscreen. It seemed like Luke's ears might have perked up at this. He stared at you silently with his big brown eyes and asked for permission, even though you'd just offered. "Yeah, we can watch some TV," you said. "Do you like cartoons?"

Luke just stared, but you got the message. You'd learned his mannerisms over the past twenty-four hours. Flicking on the television, you surfed through the channels in search of a good cartoon before landing on Scooby-Doo.

"Have you ever seen this show?" Grayson asked, nudging Luke.

He shook his head, and you three fell in silence, watching the show chase across the screen.

Lost in thought, you began to wonder if this would be the case for every kid, or just Luke. Would you always take the kids in for 72 hours? Or was Luke just special for you? How often would this happen? Was Grayson always good with the little kids? Could he be a reliable source if you couldn't get them to budge?

Probably not, you decided. You felt incompetent and useless and downright stupid caving and fleeing to Grayson for aid. Not that you regretted it.

Would Grayson ever talk to you after this? Was this just for Luke, or was there some friendship between you two? Or maybe something more?

Probably not, you decided again. Sneaking a glance at him, engrossed in the show, you decided, definitely not. He might not be Long Valley's golden boy any longer, but he was still far, far out of your league.

"It's definitely the bank teller," Grayson said with complete certainty. "He's hijacking his own bank so he can take all the money but remain seemingly innocent."

You stifled a giggle and eyed him incredulously. "For sure, Gray."

"It is!" he whined, pointing at the screen excitedly. "You just wait and see."

"Luke, who do you think it is?" you asked, bumping him with your elbow.

Luke looked between the two of you and then said, so quietly, "Whatever Grayson said."

As the night dragged on, so did the storm. Eventually, the power surged out and left the three of you sheathed in blankets, surrounded by candles, and playing Candy Land in the dim glow. Conversation was limited and gentle; Luke was exceptionally scared, though he was too nervous to voice his concerns. So, he just sided up next to Grayson and shielded himself under Gray's big, long arm.

"Grayson, there's no way you're driving home in this weather. You can't," you said with finality, craning your neck to sneak a glance at the buckets of water blurring the sky.

Grayson nodded in agreement, moving his figurine several spaces forward. "Yeah, I don't think so either. Can I sleep on the couch?"

After a moment of thought, you nodded and hopped from your spot under a mound of blankets to fetch him a few pillows. Glancing at the clock, you noticed it was nearing the bedtime you'd given Luke, so you waddled on down to the living room to deliver the mournful news. "Lukey, it's time for bed."

It seemed Luke was unordinary in every sense because he didn't fight you on it. He simply unwrapped Grayson's arm from around his shoulders and glided past you to the guest room.

"He's a quiet one," Grayson noted, tugging his blankets tight on his body.

"Yeah," you agreed quietly, staring down the hallway Luke had slipped through. "I don't know if that'll go away or not."

"I'm going to go read him a bedtime story," Grayson said, his voice gentle and kind.

As he trailed after Luke, Where the Wild Things Are in hand, you decided that maybe everything about Grayson was gentle and kind. You saw it in the way he talked to children, the way he never raised his voice, the way he laid a hand on any person he talked to, his palm huge and warm and soft, just for reassurance. Grayson was a gentle giant with his intimidating stature and his ginormous muscles; he'd never hurt a fly.

You listened to Grayson's voice float through the air, speaking of monsters and trolls tucked in the thickets of trees, and felt a flutter in your chest.

At last, you heard Grayson mumble his goodnights and the creak of footsteps on your hardwood. He hobbled his way to the couch, plopped down, and patted this seat beside him. Sheepishly, you tiptoed over and flopped into the space next to him, your blanket tightly secured around your figure. After a few beats of silence, of you two just staring at each other, you said, "I don't know who is worthy of taking in that boy."

Grayson shook his head, his lips pursing for a moment. "I don't think anyone is. Well, anyone besides you."

You stared down at the cushions with their plain brown fabric, scrunching your brows together. "I don't think I'm very good at this, actually." He snorted about you and you shot him a glare. "I'm serious."

"Maybe, but you're wrong," he argued loftily. "I don't think that kid has ever felt so much love in his life."

You shrugged a limp, lame shoulder. "Probably not, but that's just because any love is better than none. I just don't think I'm handling this well. I'm not sure he really likes me."

Grayson smiled crookedly and cocked his head to the side. "I think he likes you. You guys can talk without even speaking," he noted.

A smile worked its way onto your lips. "Yeah, there's that. But... I'm not trying to take it personally, the kid's been through way more than we know. But I just wish he liked me. It feels like he just tolerates me," you breathed, scratching at your arm.

"Well, he agreed with me that you're pretty, so there's that," Grayson smirked, watching you duck your head in embarrassment.

"Well that's nice of you two..." you muttered, tugging your sherpa around you tighter.

"No, it's just a fact. You're pretty, (Y/N)."

Suddenly, your blanket was entirely unnecessary, because your body was overheating with this romantic attention from Grayson Dolan himself. His eyes burned your skin and his body, a few inches away from you, was like a furnace. "You're pretty, too."

It came out croaky and strangled, but you meant it. You had eyes, after all.

Grayson chuckled, his dimples full in display. "Thank you," he whispered.

Then, you were sharing an awkward beat where he was looking at you and you were staring at the ground with complete determination. And then, you were hopping from your spot and hurrying into the kitchen to grab your binder, ignorant to Grayson's laughter.

"You need to help me find someone worthy of fostering this kid," you breathed, discarding the blanket altogether.

And so the two of you sat there well into the night, flicking page after page, name after name, hopeful to find a soul kind enough for a soul as vulnerable as Luke's.

It had to still be night when you awoke, startled, to the shadow of a boy standing in your doorway. You'd seen enough horror films to know that this meant imminent death, but after rubbing your eyes once, twice, you noticed it was just Luke.

"Hey buddy?" you called out, folding yourself upright. "What's up?"

Luke was holding the blanket you'd purchased for him a few days ago in his tiny hands, his knuckles white. "The storm," was all he whispered.

The storm. The wind was whooshing and swirling in every which way, tossing branches into each other and smattering rain against your rooftop. How do you fix that? You couldn't just ring up Mother Nature and tell her to calm down.

"Um," you mumbled, glancing around the room. "Do you- do you want to sleep in here?" you offered, patting the spot beside you. Luke stood and waited for about a minute before slowly creeping toward the empty half of the bed, hoisting himself up on it and peeling back the covers. He turned his back to you, crumpled his knees into his chest, and lied there silently. You had half a brain to screen him with his blanket and tuck it around his small, small body, and then the two of you went to sleep.

Slow like a sloth, you opened your eyes and blinked slowly, lazily, letting them adjust to the sunlight pouring through the windowpanes of your bedroom. You'd hardly registered that your jaw was tucked on top of a little boy's head, or that your arm was secured around his tiny frame. He fit perfectly in the cave of your belly, the two of you just a large ball in the middle of your bed, blankets and all.

You lifted your head to see Grayson standing in your doorway, his shoulder pressed against the door frame easily, a smile on his lips. "Morning."

Grayson Dolan standing in your doorway when you first wake up. Now that was a concept high-school-you would have snorted at.

"Morning," you whispered, careful not to wake up Luke. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. I was thinking we could all go and get breakfast at the Gingerbread Café," Grayson offered, still gazing warmly at the nest in your bed.

"God, that sounds amazing. Okay, let me get dressed and-"

"No! You have to go in your PJs! That's like, law," Grayson argued instantly.

You glanced down at yourself in your reindeer, well-worn pajamas and shrugged. There was no use arguing; you'd never get out of those pajamas unless absolutely mandatory.

You nodded and unraveled yourself from Luke, shook his shoulder gently, and then zipped out of your home, into the Gingerbread Café and played the best game of iSpy over bacon and eggs.

Again that afternoon, you sat on your coach, rifling through sheet after sheet of names of foster carers.

"I don't even recognize one of these names," you whined, flipping a page.

"Me neither," Grayson agreed.

Luke was tucked in the corner of the living room, legos crowding the floor in a clutter. He'd actually been playing with them, to both Grayson's and your astonishment.

"And you don't have any like, social worker friends? Nobody that you know?" Grayson asked, lifting a brow.

"No, I'm brand new to this, Grayson," you defended. "Literally the only person I've met in this town that knows anything about social work is Nancy Hoff-" You dropped the book of files you were holding, your blood surging through you. "Nancy Hoffmann! Oh my god, how could I forget Nancy! Oh my god, oh my god," you squealed, jumping to your feet.

"Nancy Hoffmann does social work? No way," Grayson gasped.

"Yes! Yes, she said she's in the system, go look, please, please, go look!"

"N. Hoffmann, right under I. Helpin," Grayson grinned, gazing up at you with hope, hope, hope in his eyes. "Are you going to call her?"

"Yes," you stated, digging out your phone and beelining for your room. "I'm going to call her right now."

And you did. And Nancy was so excited to take care of a little one, especially a little one like little Luke McIver, that she started to weep. And you started to cry. You could have flooded the whole room with your tears. And you absolutely hoped and prayed Luke's life would look up.

Later that Saturday night, once Luke was in bed and you and Grayson sat tight on your couch watching reruns of vintage Scooby-Doo episodes (and trying desperately to guess who the villain was each time), Grayson turned to you and asked, "Wanna get ice cream sometime?"

His words alone sent a chill down your spine, cold and then hot, warmth sticking to the back of your neck. "No," you blurted.

And you could see the hurt flinch on his face, the emotions vivid in color on his sleeve. But there was a problem.

"I feel- I feel like it would look... unprofessional, right now, to date a coworker, especially after I royally fucked up with this whole Luke thing. Call it a Fluke," you giggled nervously, biting your lip. "I- Grayson, you know I would love to, you can probably tell how nervous you make me, but this seems just... It just seems unprofessional, especially when I still have Luke in my custody."

Grayson's eyes softened. "Well, what about when Luke's out of your custody? Can we get ice cream then?"

Your hands twitched nervously in your lap. "I... we would still be coworkers, Grayson," you whispered, holding onto your willpower by a thread.

He inched forward, invading your space in a way that left you gulping.

"We would, wouldn't we? We'd be coworkers just like half of the teachers in this school that are married to other teachers," he murmured, inches from your face.

His body heat radiated onto yours and you worried for a moment that you'd melt right into that sofa. "You think about it," he finalized, smirking and rising from his seat. "Or, sleep on it. I'm heading home."

He thundered into the foyer and slipped on his shoes and glanced back at you, who was hiding behind the hallway's bend. He grinned, shucked on his hoodie, and headed outside.

Were you just going to let this go?

Certainly not.

You dashed out behind him, waving your arms in the headlights of his car manically, acting like a real loon. You skipped over to his car and waited for him to roll down his window, itching to just spit it out. "I don't have to think, I'd love to get ice cream with you, coworkers be damned."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he chuckled, grinning up at you. "I'll see you tomorrow to introduce Nancy and Steve to Luke. Sleep tight, (Y/N)."

You awoke again with Luke cradled under your arm and a knocking at your door. Grayson was undoubtedly up at the crack of dawn every day, which would explain why he was pounding on your door at eight in the morning. Both groaning, you and Luke rolled out from under the covers and padded lazily through the halls, separating at the living room where Luke crawled into the nest of blankets jumbled on the couch as you traveled to the entryway to let Grayson in.

"Hey," he announced when you dragged open the door. Glaring at him, you wordlessly spun on your heel and shuffled into the living room. "Don't tell me you're mad because I woke you up," he laughed, on your heels.

You opened your mouth to protest when Luke said, "Yes."

You and Grayson exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. "Luke has spoken, and I agree. Yes, Grayson."

You hobbled over to Luke and curled up next to him on the sofa, stranding Grayson alone to stand and watch.

"What time are we all heading over to Nancy and Steve's?" Grayson mumbled to you, eyeing Luke cautiously.

You sucked in a breath and decided that this was a good time to introduce the idea to Luke. "Lukey," you announced. "we think we found you a good home for a little bit, okay? Would it be okay if we met with them later?"

Luke looked at you uncertainly and said, "No more sleeping with you?"

Your heart dropped into your stomach with the reality that Luke may have gotten too attached--that you may have gotten too attached. "No more sleeping with me," you mumbled, your lower lip jutting out reflexively. "I- but Luke, I'll still visit all the time, promise. And we'll still have our weekly counseling sessions, and-"

"Will Mr. Dolan still visit?" Luke asked, staring at you, his eyes flickering momentarily to Grayson.

"I..." you trailed off, unwilling to make that promise.

"You know it, Kid," Grayson said, squatting to Luke's height. "I'll be over with Candy Land all the time."

"So what do you say?" you asked, grabbing for Luke's hand.

Luke squeezed back and said, "Yes."

And so you went to Nancy's.

The Hoffmann's yanked open the door before you could even knock, dressed in their best formal gear, and you glanced down at your jeans and hoodie and winced. This was why you weren't very good at this stuff. "Welcome!" they cheered, ushering the three of you inside. Nancy gave you a sidelong look as Grayson filed in behind you, a glint in her eye.

Luke was holding onto your hand tight, tight, tight, and you bent down and picked him right up, setting him on your hip. "Luke, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann," you introduced, pointing to each of them respectively. "Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann, this is Luke McIver." Luke clung to your sweatshirt's fabric, fisted the material and pulled himself closer. "Don't be shy Luke, say hi," you said.

They waved brightly, big smiles on their faces and Luke waved back.

"Everybody can come to the living room, we have fruit snacks and pudding cups," Nancy said.

You knew they'd be better than you already.

On Monday, the five of you (Luke, Grayson, Nancy, Steve, and you), caravanned to the Gingerbread Café with a court document in your briefcase with plans to head over to court after, skipping school entirely, much to Luke's (and your) excitement. Once you arrived at the courthouse, you met with Luke's assigned social worker, Emily, the judge, and that was it.

Standing in the echoey area, the judge asked, "Are all parties present?"

Glancing around at the tiny, tiny group, you giggled. "Uh yes, Your Honor," you said with complete seriousness.

"Who is the legal guardian in question?" she asked, scanning over her document. "Is Alexa McIver here?"

You bit on your lip and said, "No, Your Honor, she's currently in custody."

"Alright," she nodded. "Who is the present carer, and the preferred foster carers?"

"Um, I'm the current carer and Steve and Nancy Hoffmann are the foster carers," you said, pointing to the couple standing beside you. They waved giddily, hardly pressured by the legalities.

"Okay," the judge said, a lack of formality in her tone. "Let's get this show on the road."

The judge handed over a packet, 'In the matter of the welfare of Lucas McIver: CHIPS/EPC' titling the top. Beneath it was what seemed like hundreds of documents, all waiting for their own special signature from their own special foster parents, Nancy and Steve Hoffmann.

And after half an hour of "sign here"s and "initial here"s, the judge turned to Nancy and Steve and said, "By the law of Long Valley, I formally grant Steve and Nancy Hoffmann full foster care custody of Lucas Christopher McIver. Court, dismissed."

And you turned to Nancy and found her with tears in her eyes and you turned to Luke and found him with one big, toothy grin.

"Time for ice cream, everybody!" Nancy squealed, throwing her arms around you tightly.

You shared a smirk with Grayson and said, "Definitely."

"(Y/N)," Luke said, tugging on your pants.

"Yeah Luke?" you said, ducking to his level.

Luke leaned in close and cupped his hand around your ear. "My favorite color is yellow."

You sat at Moo's with a cone of cookie dough ice cream in hand, chatting with livelihood with the group. It was, by definition, perfect. Grayson kept sneaking glances at you, looking away when you caught him, dimples dotting his cheeks. Nancy and Steve demanded--and more miraculously, received--a full autobiography from Luke himself, as shy as he was. What his favorite class was (which, to Grayson's dismay, was not any of his, but instead gym class), what his favorite animal was, and so on.

Luke offered you a taste of his delicious cookies 'n' cream ice cream (in exchange for a lick of your own, of course) and grabbed for your hand a few times. It was bittersweet to have him be so affectionate right as you were about to let him go.

When five o'clock rolled around, the Hoffmanns said, "Staying true to our legal work, we are removing Mr. McIver from your custody," with all formality and then some.

Giggling, you nodded. "Take 'im away, coppers."

Luke turned to you and wrapped his arms tight around your neck and you kissed his cheek and willed yourself not to cry. This was so, so good for him.

"Do you guys need a ride home?" Steve offered, seeing as you all banded together to get to court and Moo's.

You opened your mouth to graciously accept when Grayson said, "Nah, we can walk."

Looking at him excitedly, you clamped your mouth shut and nodded, a ditzy grin on your mouth.

"Right," Nancy chuckled. "Well, we'll be on our way then, bye everyone!"

"Goodbye Luke, see you tomorrow!" you cheered, waving him away.

Watching the car zip out of the parking lot, you sat beside Grayson, your senses heightened with anxiety. "And then there were two..." Grayson joked, leaning back in his seat. "Ready for our date?"

You turned to him and shook your head, gleeful and nervous. "Yeah, I could use another cone," you giggled. "Even if it's freezing out and we have to walk home now."

"I'll keep you warm," he smiled, propping his chin on his fist.

You were sure the butterflies bursting in your stomach or the blush staining your cheeks was more than enough to keep you steaming hot.

As you walked down the pavement, slow as snails, Grayson tangled your fingers together. It was adrenaline inducing, holding hands with Grayson Dolan. You had your third helping of ice cream in your hands, licking stripes of it and scuffing your shoes down the sidewalk.

"What is that?" you asked, pointing to the cone in Grayson's hand.

"I don't know, actually," he shrugged, swiping his tongue across the treat. "I couldn't read some of the names so I just pointed to whatever looked promising."

"What do you mean, you couldn't read the names?" you giggled, your brows furrowing. "They're right on the glass."

Grayson nodded, fully aware of that. "I know, but I have dyslexia, I can hardly read at all," he snorted.

"You have dyslexia? I didn't know that," you said, licking a long dribble of ice cream.

"Yeah, why else do you think I teach kindergarten? I'm constantly relearning the alphabet," he joked, snorting and smiling to himself.

You giggled and said, "Well, I don't know, maybe just to make vulnerable elementary counselor's swoon," taking a jab at flirting smoothly.

He looked at you with a blush and a grin. Silence fell over, but not the uncomfortable kind. You could walk sidewalks as the sun set and eat ice cream for the rest of your life with Grayson. The thought alone stirred the frenzy of butterflies in your belly.

"You know, I always thought you were gorgeous in high school," Grayson murmured, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Oh, shut up, no you didn't," you groaned, smacking him with your shared fist.

"No really, I did! And you went to prom with Alec Jenson and I was so mad," he moaned, throwing his head back for dramatics. "I beat myself up over it for like, a month."

You shook your head, gazing far off in the other direction. "You're a terrible liar."

But Grayson wasn't lying, and he made sure you knew it. He halted in place, tugging you back to him. "I'm not lying, I'd be an idiot not notice someone like you," he breathed. "And I definitely know that now."

You bit down on your lip to contain an enormous grin, one the size of the sun glowing in the distance, and looked into Grayson's soft honey eyes. Time slowed down, the world dimmed around Grayson, and all those other cliches. And then, he was dipping in close and kissing you with sugar-sticky lips and soft and gentle, just as you'd imagined. Absent-mindedly, you went to weave your arms around his neck and then realized you had dropped your ice cream in order to do so.

"I-" you panicked, eyes wide and glancing down at the ground. Grayson's shoes were splattered with your cookie dough ice cream, wet and sticky. "Oh my god, I'm so-"

A boom of laughter sounded from Grayson and he shook his head. "They're already messy. Now get back up here, I'm not done kissing you."

You were more than happy to oblige.

A year and change later, you tapped your foot outside of the Hoffmann's home, Grayson by your side with party hats adorning the crowns of your heads. You had a cake in your hands and Grayson held four gifts, each stacked wonkily on each other. "Think they went out for his birthday?" Grayson asked, his breath fogging in the chilly December air.

"No, they told me they'd be here! God, it's fucking fr-"

"Hey!" Nancy greeted, pulling open the door. "Sorry, the oven was going off and Steven couldn't find the-"

"It's okay, don't worry," you giggled, stepping inside the home. "It wasn't too cold." Grayson leaned over and pinched your side, confronting your lie. "Where's Lukey?" you asked, your head moving about to look for him.

"He's in the living room surrounded by presents. Steve and I went kind of overboard," she chuckled.

You wandered into the living room after setting the cake down on the kitchen table, eager to spend some time with your favorite little boy and even more excited to give him his gifts. Grayson and you had also spoiled him with lego sets, hot wheels tracks, and a homemade ice cream maker. And, well, something else.

"How's the birthday boy?!" you greeted, opening your arms for a very hyper Luke to jump into.

He wrapped his legs around your waist and pulled you as tight as he could against him, his cheek pressed into yours. He had definitely grown since the last time you held him; you could barely handle the weight.

"Good!" he yelled.

"Luke, inside voice," Steve chastised from the couch, a familiar grin on his face.

"Right, sorry," he said.

"Do you want to open some presents or what, Kid?" Grayson offered, setting down the tall stack.

Luke nodded giddily, detangling himself from you and seating himself on the carpet. One by one he plucked the wrapping paper off, his gasps getting bigger and bigger with every present until he reached the last one. "What's this?" he asked, spinning the fabric in his hands.

"It's a Power Rangers sweatshirt," you said, gesturing to the item. "If you don't like it, we can return it."

"Just like my old one," he gaped. "Is it my old one?"

"No," Grayson explained, "but it's the same design, just warmer. And it'll fit you nicer."

Luke nodded and then slipped the clothing over his head, stuffing his arms through the sleeves. There he was, seven-years-old and yet so, so different. He still had his big brown eyes and his messy, floppy curls, but his face was full and his body was healthy and his mind was creative and open. He was Luke McIver as you'd always wanted to see him; human.

Before you could cry, you said, "Luke, you look handsome!"

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

"Sure do, Honey. Now, we have one last present for you," Nancy said, exchanging a look with Steve.

She handed over a little envelope to Luke and he pulled out a slip of paper. "Would... you be... our son? What does that mean?" he asked, reading slow and brokenly.

Your hands flew to your mouth with excitement and love, and you decided crying was the only option at that point.

"Luke," Steve began, grabbing his wife's hands. "Luke, we want to be your parents. Like, forever," he chuckled.

"I thought you already were?" Luke said, glancing around the room with confusion.

"No, Honey, you get to choose if you want us to be or not. We completely understand if not," Nancy said, her voice quavering.

Grayson pulled you into him and you could tell he was holding back a spout of tears. He kissed the top of your head and waited.

"Oh. Well then, yeah. Yes," Luke said.

And by the following Monday, he was little Luke Hoffmann.

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