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neverwanttofallasleep · 8 months

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I Never Want To Fall Asleep - Chapter 2

Word count: 6,800

For pairings, warnings, and disclaimer - see Masterpost

Friday, December 16th, 2022

Manchester, England to London, England

You finally wake up to the chime of your third alarm, ringing out loudly into the dark hotel room. 6.35am. You’ve always struggled with waking up early, especially after a show night.

You groan, rolling over to silence your phone. You reach your arm back to pat the space next to you, knowing Jake is just as heavy a sleeper and usually requires an in-person wake up call, only to find the right side of the large bed empty.

Suddenly the memory of last night rushes back to you, and you jolt upright. As you slowly return to full consciousness, you become aware of the puffy tightness around your eyes and the ache in your chest. No doubt the residual evidence of crying yourself to sleep.

After Jake had stormed back down the hotel corridor to the elevator, you’d scrambled to find your room key and shut yourself in as quickly as you could manage.

You’d thrown your bags down onto the leather armchair in the corner of the room, fighting back tears, suddenly more angry than upset at his outburst. You hadn’t deserved that. If you felt guilty, so should he. It was his relationship at stake, not yours. You hadn’t made it up in your head, you knew there was something between the two of you, something that had your stomach in knots every time you were around him.

You’d sunken down onto the scratchy hotel carpet, each emotion hitting you like a brick. This job, this tour, it meant so much to you. You loved the work, and the music, getting to travel the world and seeing new cities each day. You’d truly been living your dream. But at the centre of it all, there was Jake. From the moment he’d first spoken to you at that crew party, you’d felt drawn to him. Like your centre of gravity had shifted. Every exciting moment you’d had while you’d been on the road, every new experience, it was all made better when you could share it with him.

You’d hugged your knees to your chest, finally allowing yourself to choke out the sobs you’d been holding in since he’d raised his voice at you. What did this all mean? You couldn’t continue this friendship as it had been. To be totally honest, in that moment, you weren’t even sure if he wanted to. But you’d known, whatever had occurred tonight, it couldn’t happen again. You were so embarrassed that you’d told him your relationship had felt like more than friendship to you. You knew he couldn’t possibly feel that way about you, he had Lily. Whatever these feelings were, they were yours, and yours alone. You couldn’t let yourself feel that way. He was off limits for you, and if that meant sacrificing your friendship, then so be it.

You’d sat there on the floor, switching between crying, sucking in sharp breaths, and just sitting in silence with your head resting on your knees, for what felt like hours. When you’d finally pulled out your phone, you saw a notification on your lock screen. 1 new text. Quietly hoping for a message from him, you’d swiped it open, only to find a reply from the dry-cleaner.

12.10am Pete M (GVF dry cleaner): No worries, Y/N. Britannia Hotel, yes? Text me your room number - see you at 7.

Shit. The jumpsuit. You quickly replied with the details and locked your phone.

1.33am. You still had work to do, and as much as you wanted to crawl into bed and sleep forever, you knew that the show must go on.

You'd gotten up slowly, stretching out your arms and legs from sitting for so long. You trudged toward the small bathroom, only glancing at yourself in the mirror briefly before reaching in to turn on the shower. The back of your neck was still sticky and you could smell the reek of tequila in your hair and clothes as you stripped them off.

You’d climbed into the shower and hissed when the too-hot water hit your shoulders, but you didn’t mind. You needed it to wake you up, and draw the tension from your muscles. You stood under the spray for a while, splashing your face, hoping to remove some of the redness from your eyes. You’d scrubbed your arms and legs, quickly washing your hair, and when you felt sufficiently clean, you reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out.

After wrapping your hair in a fluffy hotel towel and throwing on an old t-shirt and a pair of underwear, you grabbed your back-pack and tote from the chair and sat yourself up in bed to do your mending.

It didn’t take long, it was just a small tear in the chiffon, right on the seam of the arm and shoulder. After 20 minutes or so, you were happy with your work, your fingers a little sore from hand stitching, and you decided you were done for the night.

You knew with a night off tomorrow in London you’d have plenty of time to prepare the clean clothes once Pete returned them, and your one urgent job was now complete. You were satisfied that the mundane work had taken your mind off of Jake, for the time being.

You’d hung up Josh’s jumpsuit on a wire hanger on the back of the door, repacking your sewing supplies and your empty tote into your back-pack, placing them back near your duffle bag, where you’d dumped your jeans and crew t-shirt from the day. You turned off the overhead light, crawling back into the soft bed. You’d wished that Jake had been there with you. You missed the comfort of a warm body next to you, the familiar sound of his breathing when he inevitably fell asleep before you, and the way he would drape his arm over your waist in the middle of the night.

You’d sighed, reaching up to flick off the bedside lamp, setting your alarms and burrowing down under the covers. In the silence, it took you a while to get to sleep, Jake’s sad expression painted on the inside of your eyelids. But when sleep finally found you, you slept like the dead.

Now, you draw the curtains, the sun not yet having begun to rise over the sprawling, grey city. Yesterday, Manchester had seemed full of possibility. This morning, the dark sky and buildings leeched of colour in the moonlight mirror your mood. You walk over to the small dresser opposite the bed, flicking on the electric kettle. Tea will have to do this morning, you’re over the instant coffee packets you’ve been finding in UK hotels. As the kettle boils, you make your way to the bathroom, running a brush through your sleep-dried hair and pulling it up into a messy bun.

You pack away the remainder of your toiletries, washing your face, rolling on some deodorant and applying some SPF and mascara before zipping up the bag and stowing it back in your duffle. You pull out a casual outfit, just some comfy linen pants and a green sweater, stripping your pyjamas and tossing them into the bag before zipping it closed.

You get dressed leisurely, having given yourself an extra buffer of time. You kind of regret this, as it gives you more minutes to stew over the events of the night before. Once you’ve donned your boots, you lay out your coat and scarf on the bed, ready to brave the December chill of the city in less than half an hour. You check your phone for the time. 6.54am. Pete will be here in a few minutes. You brew your tea, giving Josh’s jumpsuit a final once over as you let the teabag steep. You’re a little proud of your handiwork, considering your emotional state.

As you’re topping up your tea with one of those little plastic packets of milk, there’s a quiet knock at the door. You open it and greet Pete good morning.

“Cold this morning.” He grumbles.

You chuckle, retrieving the garment from the hook and handing it to him.

“Sure is. See you in London!”

He gives a gruff wave and heads back down the hallway.

After you’ve had your tea and sufficient time to panic over how things will go with Jake today, you bundle up in your warm clothes, pack your final items into your purse and make your way down to the hotel lobby.

When you make it out the front entrance, it’s still dark, and the chill bites your cheeks immediately. You beeline for the crew bus. Jake usually makes space for you on one of the sleeper buses with him and the band, but you don’t feel like you’ll be welcome there today.

As you’re loading your bags into the back of the mini-bus, Sam and Lennon catch you as they’re heading out into the porte-cochere.

“Morning, Y/N!” Lennon chirps. She looks undeniably sprightly this morning, especially when standing next to Sammy, who looks like he’s about to fall flat on his face at any moment, gripping tightly to a paper cup of what you assume to be coffee. It doesn’t even look like his eyes have fully opened yet.

You give them a small wave and turn back to loading your belongings.

She gives Sam a pat on shoulder, which makes him wince, before bounding over to you.

“We’re sharing the bus with Jake today, Danny and Josh are gonna take the other one. So we can catch up!” She giggles excitedly. “Sammy’s not feeling too flash - I can’t imagine Jake is either, to be honest, after the amount those two drank last night.” She’s laughing as she says this, but it makes your stomach drop. It doesn’t take much to piece together why Jake would’ve wanted to get shitfaced last night. “But, I reckon they’ll sleep the whole trip, which is perfect ‘cause I just wanna hang out with you!”

You shake your head, unsure how to navigate this. Would Jake want them all to know what happened between the two of you last night? You assumed he’d go right to Sam’s room to have a bitch about it, but given Lennon’s assumption that you’d be riding on his bus, it sounds like he didn’t.

“I dunno. I’m not feeling 100% today.” It’s not totally a lie, your head is swimming with anxiety. “I might ride on the crew bus so I can take a nap.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be silly, hon! The boys aren’t feeling good either, and you’d be much more comfy on one of the bunks if you want to nap. As long as we get to ride together - you can sleep the whole trip if you need to! I’ve got some reading to catch up on anyway.” You close up the trunk of the mini bus, but not before she snags your purse and throws it over her shoulder. She puts her arm around you, turning and leading you both toward the first of the two giant, black buses.

You haven’t seen any sign of Jake yet, which is good, but at the same time also kind of unsettling. You’re wondering what kind of state he’ll be in this morning, but if Sammy is any indication, it won’t be good. Jake is always in a shitty mood when he’s got a hangover.

Lennon leads you up the stairs onto the bus, where Sam is already sprawled across the small sofa in the front compartment. As you walk through, he groans loudly and throws his arm across his eyes.

Lennon sighs, reaching down to brush some hair from his forehead.

“Drama queen.” She mutters.

He peeks his eyes out. “Wrong brother.” He retorts. “Josh is the drama queen.”

“Seems it runs in the family.” She chides.

He huffs and covers his eyes again.

You situate yourself at the small table across the way from the sofa, pulling your knitting out of your purse. You’ve always been one to hand-make gifts, and you’d been knitting small things for the boys in the band for Christmas presents. Luckily you’d already finished Jake’s, and it was stowed away safely in your duffle, not to be thought about. You were working on a chunky purple and navy scarf for Danny, and you were about a third of the way into it.

Lennon slides into the bench seat opposite you.

“That’s gorgeous. Who’s it for?”

You smile at your work. “Danny. It’s a Christmas gift. These are his colours, I think.”

She grins, running her hand over the soft wool. “Definitely.” She hums. “I need coffee.”

Sam perks up at this. “There’s a hot water urn under the sink.” He points to the little kitchenette behind the driver’s seat. “And a French press too. And coffee grounds, I think.”

Lennon rolls her eyes and gets up.

She gestures her chin at you. “You want one?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’d kill for a real coffee after what we’ve been having here.”

She giggles. “Amen to that!”

As Lennon starts to prepare the necessary items for coffee, you hear boots clacking up the bus steps. You’d know the sound of those footsteps anywhere.

“Back from the dead!” Lennon greets him with a grin. “Good morning, Jake.”

“Yeah, ‘morning.” He nods at her. He smiles when he sees his brother napping on the couch. “You look about as good as I feel, Sammy.”

Sam chuckles from under his arm. “Well, you said it. At least we don’t have to drive.”

Jake looks like he’s about to reply with some quip, when he spots you sitting at the table behind Lennon.

“Uh, I’m going back to sleep.” He says quickly.

He makes a small noise of acknowledgement toward you, which sounds a lot like a grunt, and then brushes past and draws the curtain to the bunk compartment.

You aren’t quite sure what you were expecting from him today, but you guess avoidance is better than confrontation. It still stings though. If this had been yesterday morning, he might have slid into the booth next to you.

He might’ve admired your knitting, telling you how impressed he was at how much you’d managed to complete in the past 24 hours. He might have teased you, asking what you were gonna make for his gift, because you’d been so sneaky about hiding it from him. He might have slung his arm around the back of the bench seat while you both gratefully accepted your steaming mugs of coffee from Lennon, occasionally letting his finger tips brush over your shoulder with the movement of the bus. He might have moved to the couch when Sammy finally retired to the bunks, pulling out his acoustic and strumming a private show for you and Lennon. You loved watching him when the music would just come to him. Like he was channeling it from some higher power. He could just play and play and play, tuning out the world, glancing at you every so often just to catch you staring.

Instead, you thank Lennon as she places a single mug of coffee on the small table, and goes over to sit on the couch with Sam’s head in her lap.

About an hour in, when you’ve done a sufficient amount of knitting and downed two coffees, the 4 hours of sleep you’ve had is starting to creep up on you.

Lennon catches you, unable to keep your eyes open.

“Oh, hon, you do look exhausted. Go have a lie down in the bunks. It’ll make the ride go so much faster.”

You smile at her appreciatively, but realise this would mean having to interact with Jake, or at the very least, invade his space.

“I’m alright. I’ll lay on the couch if Sammy moves to the bunks.”

Sam grunts. “Not moving. M’comfy here.”

Lennon laughs, picking up his head and placing it on a cushion so she can get up from her spot.

“C’mon, girl. You need your beauty rest. You’ve got a job to do here too, don’t you forget.”

She’s right, and you realise you won’t get any work done today if you don’t sleep. You’ll just crash as soon as you get the hotel.

She helps you pack your knitting back into your purse and ushers you down the hall. At this moment, you really wish this was one of those buses with a private double bed at the rear. At least then, you could rest assured Jake would’ve taken it, and you could take one of the bunks without fear of running into him. Instead, this one just has a tiny bathroom at the back with a toilet and shower, but only 4 beds, 2 bunks on either side of the walkway.

Lennon pulls back the curtain and then draws it closed behind you as you step into the small space. You can hear small snores coming from the bed Jake has claimed, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You won’t actually have to speak to him. Just fear his wrath if he wakes up and sees you across the way.

They are small bunks, but comfortable enough, especially with how sleepy you are. You place your bag and coat on the top bunk, sitting down on the bottom one to pull off your boots. You place them delicately under the bed, careful not to make any noise. You stand again to grab your headphones from your purse, when your phone slips out of your pocket and clatters to the floor.

“Fuck.” You mutter.

“What the fuck was that?” Jake groans, eyes still closed.

“Sorry, dropped my phone.” His eyes shoot open when he realises it’s you standing in front of him.

“Right.” He says quietly. “Uh, why are you in here?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” You cringe a bit at the confession, knowing he’s the reason you slept so poorly. “Lennon forced me to come in here and take a nap because I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” You know you’re rambling, but you don’t know how to navigate this situation. “Sorry if you don’t want me in here, it’s just that, Sam’s taken up the couch and there’s no other beds.” You’ve never had any type of bad energy with Jake, not even a disagreement. This is new territory for both of you.

He sighs. “Ok. Keep it down, please.” He rolls over to face the wall, tucking the blanket up over his ears.

You slide into the small bed, pulling the blanket up around you, and place your headphones over your ears. You unlock your phone to choose some music to help you sleep. You almost always listen to music to fall asleep. You’ve done it ever since you were a kid. You’ve tried white noise, sleep-casts, rain sounds, but nothing puts you to sleep quite like your favourite songs.

The only time you don’t, is when you have someone sleeping next to you. The sound of their breathing is just as good. Stella snored like a chainsaw, and you’d secretly loved it. The reassurance of knowing she was there had always relaxed you. This was also especially true for Jake. He’s broad, and warm like a space heater, and breathes heavily through his nose. It was so comforting.

Right now, though, knowing how he’s feeling about you, you can’t stand to hear him, or even acknowledge the fact that he’s less than 4 feet away from you.

You put on ‘Line of Fire’ by Junip, turn to face the wall, and quickly fall asleep.

You wake up to the sound of laughter, it sounds like Sammy. You groan and stretch, your limbs tight from the cramped space. You’ve rolled over in your sleep, your headphones have slid down around your neck, and when you open your eyes, you see Jake’s empty bunk across from you.

You hear laughing again, louder this time, and you can hear Jake laughing, too.

Fuck.

You can’t go out there, you’ll ruin his mood.

You’re beginning to feel guilty about your conversation last night. You know he overreacted. He didn’t have any right to go off at you like that. But, you keep reminding yourself, it’s not his fault that you have feelings for him. And maybe, he really did have no idea until last night. Maybe that spark you feel between the two of you, just isn’t there for him. What he said about you being only a friend to him, it had to be true, right? Otherwise what reason would he have had to get so mad?

Plus, it’s his tour. His band, his family. Like you said last night. You’re his employee. Friendship aside, it would be inappropriate for you to treat him any differently than you did yesterday, or any of the days before. You’ve gotta keep it professional and put his feelings first, and your emotional involvement aside.

You realise you really have to pee, so you quietly climb up from the bunk and head to the small bathroom. When you wash your hands, you splash your face with some water, trying to revive yourself. You swipe under your eyes with some paper towel to remove your running mascara, and re-do your bun. You look fine. No one cares, anyway.

When you open the door to head back to your bunk, Sam has drawn the curtains in the walkway.

“Good morning, princess! How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, yeah. Not too bad. As well as one can in these beds.” You smile ruefully. “What time is it? How long have we got left?”

“Almost there! Like half an hour, they reckon.” He seems much more alive than earlier. “Come join, we’re having a celebratory hair of the dog.”

Ah, they’re drinking again. That must be what’s got both Sam and Jake in such good spirits.

You sigh. “Nah, I think I’m good. I’ve got work to do when we get to London, unlike you lot. I might just sit in here a bit longer.”

Sammy whines. “Come onnnnn, Y/N! We’re having fun! Plus, Lennon missed you so much. Spend some time with her before I whisk her away to the next hotel room.”

You concede, nodding your head, and follow Sam out to the main compartment.

Lennon is sitting in the booth, and Sam slides in opposite her. This leaves the other seat on the couch as the only free one.

Next to Jake.

You sit down, leaving as much space as you can between the two of you.

You’ve come to the decision that you’re not upset with him. You’re upset that you might be losing your friend, and you’re kind of pissed off that he’s not acknowledging you, even now as he and Sam banter over their vodka sodas, and Lennon leans over to you every few minutes, asking to be caught up on the inside jokes. You’re annoyed that he was so angry last night, and didn’t give you a chance to have a real conversation about things.

But you’re not upset with him. You’re scared of your own feelings, and you wonder even if things between you are repairable, whether you should bother at all.

You glance over to him every few minutes, and a couple of times you catch him looking at you, too. He doesn’t deliberately exclude you from the conversation, but if you had to guess, he was probably just trying not to rouse suspicion from the others. He never speaks to you directly, and you feel your heart fracturing just a little bit more.

When you arrive at the hotel in London, you disembark the bus as quickly as you can, keen to get away from the awkwardness you’ve endured for the last 40 minutes. It’s a little warmer here than it was in Manchester, but not by much. You head over to the mini-bus, which has beaten you all there significantly, your bags being the last to be unloaded.

You grab your things, and head into the lobby to retrieve your room key.

The band and crew are standing in a loose circle around the elevators, waiting for Craig, the tour manager, to provide the necessary information required for your stay in London. It’s about midday now, and you’ll be here for two nights total, with a show at the Alexandra Palace tomorrow.

Only two more nights, then back home. You can get through two nights.

Josh comes up by your side, slinging an arm around you.

“How was the ride?” He asks, chewing on a granola bar.

You muster as much of a smile as you can manage. “Oh, yeah. Nothing to report, really. I slept most of the way. Needed to catch up.”

He chuckles. “Well, we need you in ship-shape for the next couple’a days, so I for one am glad to hear it!”

You gather Jake hasn’t spoken to him, either.

“What are your plans for the holidays, Y/N? I keep meaning to ask you.”

“Not much, to be honest. Gonna spend them in New York. Got a few college friends I’ve been meaning to catch up with, and the tour will provide lodgings for the crew that’s staying in the city, so I figure I might as well, you know?” You try to keep yourself from sounding unenthusiastic, but it’s not really anything special.

“Aw, well, that sounds nice. At least you’ll get to have a White Christmas, hey?” He begins to hum Bing Crosby in your ear, and you giggle.

“Exactly. Might go see the ball drop. I’ve never been in person. Never wanted to brave the crowds.”

“Sound lovely.” He grins.

Craig starts calling out departments, names and room numbers as people meander about the foyer.

“Alright, wardrobe. Y/N - you’re in room 528.”

You walk up to collect your cards and head back to Josh.

“Did you get yours yet?” You ask him.

“Yeah, 419. Same floor as Sam and Lennon. Danny, too, I think.” You love that Josh is an over sharer. You’re trying to scope out if you’ll be running into Jake.

“Any idea about Jake?” You ask casually. It wouldn’t be suspicious for you to want to know where he was staying, considering everyone on tour knew of your friendship. Perhaps only a little suspicious that you’d be asking Josh instead of Jake himself, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Floor 5, I’m pretty sure.” You feel your gut sink.

“Sweet.” You mumble.

You wait back in the lobby for a bit, hoping not to run into him. You find Freddie and Julie, relieved to see some familiar, friendly faces.

“Holy shit, that mini-bus driver was a manic. Being on the wrong side of the road is bad enough, but he was going so fucking fast I thought we were gonna die.” Julie gushes to you.

Freddie laughs. “God, yeah. It was terrifying. But we had a good karaoke sesh, Y/N. Lots of Taylor Swift. You should’ve joined! I thought when you were putting your bags in the trunk, you must’ve been riding with us.”

You smile apologetically. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’d planned to, but Lennon wanted to catch up, so I rode with Jake and Sam.”

“Fuckin’ Jake.” Julie grumbles. “He’s always stealing you away from us. Just ‘cause you’re a pretty girl and he’s a rockstar. It’s not fair.”

You try to keep your laugh light. “Sorry! Next time, I promise. Once we’re back home.” You squeeze her hand. “I’d love to hear you belting some Love Story, Freddie.”

He laughs. “Nah, Shake It Off is my jam. Killed it this morning. Woke Tom up from his nap. Worth it, I reckon.” You all laugh.

You look around and see the lobby has mostly cleared, so you gesture to them to follow you to the elevators.

“What floor are you guys?”

Julie checks her card. “6. Freddie?”

“Yeah, same. I think most of the crew are on 5 or 6. You?”

You sigh. “5.” He presses the button for you.

Of course, no one you knew was on the same floor as you. Except for Jake.

There are roughly 38 crew on the tour, including the band, plus some friends and family that have joined for this leg. About 45 rooms are booked. And out of everyone, yours and Jake’s just happen to be so close.

Yesterday, that would’ve made you happy. Would’ve been easier for you to sneak into his room tonight when you got done with your work, without the teasing comments from his brothers or your friends.

Alas, things rarely work out as you plan them.

You unpack your things onto the nightstand and bathroom counter, doing a quick check of the mini-bar to find, yet again, instant coffee. You groan.

Ah, well. Could be worse. At least there was some champagne.

You decide to take a shower after the bus ride, feeling grimy and still a bit achy from the small bed.

When you’re done and re-dressed in some sweats, you get a phone call from Pete telling you the first round of cleaning is done and ready to be collected. You know you’ve got some sequins to fix for Danny, so you slide on your slippers and a sweatshirt, and head down to the lobby to meet Pete.

As you wait, you contemplate texting Jake. After the bus, you wonder if maybe he’s waiting for you to say something. What exactly you’d say, you have no idea.

Before you can even open the message thread, Pete shuffles into the hotel, a clothing rack of black garment bags in tow. One of the bellboys tries to offer him a hand, but he waves them off.

You love Pete. He’s a grumpy old bastard, but he’s got a soft spot for you. He understands your dedication to your craft, and he often tells you that you remind him of his mother, who was a seamstress in LA in the 50’s and 60’s.

He reaches you, pulling the receipt from his pocket. “All sorted, love. I’ve already sent the invoice to Craig, but this has the inventory on it.” He puts it in your palm. “The next lot is on the truck being cleaned now, should be done by supper time.” He grumbles a little. “Some of it will need an extra iron. This cleaning van we’ve hired is rubbish. Tools don’t work so well. Can’t wait to get back home to old faithful.”

You smile warmly at him as he hands you the rack, nodding. “Thanks so much, Pete. You’re a star. Those boys would never be dressed without you.”

He laughs. “Well, a rock’n’roll band playing a show stark naked. People wouldn’t have bat an eyelid, back in my day.”

You giggle. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Well, missy, I bet you would.”

You blush. “Thanks, again. You can just load the rest of it straight back into the trunks, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“No worries, Y/N. Don’t work too hard.”

You wave him off as he heads back out to the loading dock, where the cleaning van is parked.

You check the receipt as you roll the rack into the elevator, scanning for Danny’s cape. It’s on there - thank God. That one will probably take you the most time this afternoon. The rest of your prep is mostly ironing and steaming, which you’ll do tomorrow morning before you have to load in to the venue.

As you go to press the button for your floor, a hand slides between the doors and they reopen. You glance up, and see Jake looking back at you. He steps in.

“Oh, sorry.” You mutter. The rack is taking up a lot of space.

“It’s fine. What, uh, what floor are you?” He asks.

“5.” You say quietly.

“Perfect.” He mutters.

The ride is quiet, one person gets in on floor 2 and out again at 4.

As the doors close, you decide to break the tension.

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

He sighs. “Is there anything to talk about?”

You feel a pang of hurt at his words. “I don’t know, is there? We went from being best pals yesterday, to not talking at all today.” You sigh. “Guess I just want to know where we stand.”

The doors open and he steps out into the hallway, holding the door for you to wheel the rack out.

He runs a hand through his hair and replaces his sunglasses on his head. “You made it pretty clear, Y/N. You think we’re too co-dependant. Y’know, I thought giving you space would be the right thing to do.”

You frown. “And what about the fact that you practically blew up at me, swearing in my face?”

He sighs. “Yeah, dunno. Guess you kind of caught me off guard.”

Right. No apology.

“Okay, Jake. No worries.” You turn and walk down toward your room. As you stop to unlock your door, you turn back, and see him looking back too. He’s at his door, just on the other side of the elevator. He quickly glances away and disappears into his room.

As you step into yours and wheel the rack into the corner, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, realising the sweatshirt you’ve chosen.

It’s Jake’s.

You busy yourself with sequining, deciding it makes more sense just to pull all the old ones out and re-do them, which ends up taking you all afternoon and evening. At about 9.30pm, you realise all you’ve eaten today was a gas station sandwich Lennon picked up for you while you were asleep on the bus.

She texted you a couple of times earlier, letting you know that her, the boys and some of the crew were heading out into town for a drink, asking if you’d like to join. You’d politely declined, stating you had far too much work to do.

When you’re finally done sequining, you realise that you do need to eat some food, and you want to stretch your legs, so you wander down to the lobby to see if you can get anything from the restaurant.

You head straight to the counter, where a young waiter in all white is standing, counting receipts.

You smile at him. “Hey, the kitchen doesn’t happen to still be open, does it?”

He grins. “You’re in luck, ma’am. We’re just about to close but we had a couple of late comers tonight. What can I get you?”

You order some French fries and a side salad, and he offers to have it brought up to your room. You give him your room number and the details of the tour to charge it to, and head back upstairs with a wave.

This is a beautiful old hotel, with a huge staircase at the centre of the lobby up to the first floor. You decide to walk it, get some much needed blood flowing into your legs, and catch the elevator from there.

Once you finally make it back to your floor, you step out and make to turn toward your room, when you hear a grunt behind you. You turn to see Jake, fumbling with his keycard, sunglasses low on his nose. He looks up and spots you.

“Y/N! Help me, please. Can’t get into my room.” He grins at you sheepishly, the hard exterior he’s been putting up all day completely gone.

You think it over for a second. You can see from here that’s he beyond drunk, and you feel sorry for him. If it was yesterday, you wouldn’t have hesitated.

You sigh and head over to where he’s just dropped his wallet and phone on the ground and is struggling to pick them back up.

Once he’s upright again, you see that he’s grinning at you, eyes following you, staring even.

You hold out your hand for the keycard and he hands it to you.

“Thanks. Couldn’t get it to work.” He slurs.

“Had a big night, hey?” You ask as you tap the key card and swing the door open.

He laughs. “Was that easy, huh? I must’ve had a big one.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, judging by the fact you’re back here and looking pretty rough before 11pm, I’d say so.”

If you didn’t know him better, you could’ve sworn he blushed at that.

He sits down on the bed and you place his key on the nightstand.

You head for the door.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn, eyebrows raised.

“Can you stay for a minute? I, uh, I need some help.” He gestures to his shoes, embarrassed.

You huff. “Really, Jake? They don’t even have laces.”

He frowns. “I know that. Can’t feel my fingers at the moment. Wouldn’t be able to get the zippers. I’d just end up sleeping with them on.” He giggles.

You walk back over to the foot of the bed. He’s leaning back on his elbows, ankles extended toward you. You kneel down on the floor, unzipping his boots and placing them neatly on the floor next to the bedpost.

You remove his socks for good measure, and he hums as you place his feet back on the floor.

“Thank you.” He murmurs.

“It’s all good.” You reply. You stand up and take a step back, placing his socks on the dresser. “You gonna be alright now?”

He sits up, staring at you again. He just stays there for a few moments, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Finally, he speaks. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

It takes you a second to process what he’s said, and even with his drunken slur, the words make your stomach flip. He’s called you pretty before, in one of his many attempts to get you flustered. This feels different. More… intense, somehow. You think about how you look right now, slippers and sweatpants, still wearing his sweatshirt from earlier, glasses on from sewing, hair air dried and hanging over your shoulders. You certainly don’t feel beautiful.

“You don’t mean that. You’re drunk.”

He hums. “I do mean it. Love looking at you, y’know.”

Your head clears, and you realise you need to take this for what it is. Drunken rambling.

“Okay, Jake. You need to go to sleep. Have you eaten?”

He waves you off. “Yeah, yeah. Had dinner out.”

“Alright. Hop into bed. I’ll turn the lights off when you’re in and then I’m going back to my room.”

He scoots back up the bed, fishing the covers out from underneath him and cocooning himself. He’s still fully dressed, but you’re not about to offer to help him with that.

“You got an alarm set?” You ask him.

“Ah, yeah, think I do.” He digs his wallet and phone out from his pocket and from under the blankets to hand them to you. You place his wallet on the nightstand with his room key and plug in his phone, seeing the little alarm icon on the lock screen.

“Yeah, you do. 9am.”

You put the phone down and flick off the lamp, walking around the bed to get the other one.

You make a spur of the moment decision to grab him some water from the bathroom before you go. As you’re returning to the bedroom, you hear him from under his cocoon.

“Please don’t go.”

You sigh, placing the water next to the bed. “I have to. I’ve got work to finish.” You lie. “And you and I aren’t really on the best of terms right now. I don’t think sober you would want me here.”

He rolls over and frowns at you. “I would. Slept so badly last night without you. Got drunk, still couldn’t get comfortable.” You don’t say anything, so he tries again. “You said you slept badly too. You’ll sleep better in here, with me.”

You feel the same pang of warmth in your tummy before you scold yourself. He’s drunk. He already told you how he feels. You can’t let yourself feel anything more.

“Sorry. I gotta go.”

He grumbles again, and you switch off the lamp and make your way out.

When you get back to your room, the silver tray and cloche are sitting on the floor by your door. You pick it up and make your way inside. You sit quietly for a bit, picking at the cold fries, sipping directly from a mini-bottle of champagne.

You ready yourself for bed, putting on some music and snuggling down under the blankets.

As you close your eyes, you think about how he was right.

You would’ve slept much better next to him.

Chapter 3

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet

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goddess-darkness · 1 month

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“The landlord is shit and unresponsive and won’t fix the shitty shower pressure in the en-suite…” Henry rolled his eyes at this and lightly punched his arm. “And he’s violent! But the rent is literally dirt cheap. Just my dignity.”

“The price has gone up, I’m afraid,” Henry said, ruefully shaking his head. “I now require your sanity.”

Author fanfic: Rule Britannia. Chapter twelve: Orbit.

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elucubrare · 6 months

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need to work on a different writing project so i'm trying something in Twine

Your name is Lucius Moderatus Arctorius. You've been stationed in Britannia with the Twentieth Legion for the past ten years. It's cold and wet and there's not much glory to be won there, but you've come to love it: when luck holds, and instead of a dim gray sunset the light falls thick and slow on the rolling hills, it almost reminds you of the heartlands of Tuscany. There is much that could grow here.

#*i* think i've made it clear where i'm going.

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historia-vitae-magistras · 7 months

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Arthur and anglo saxon poetry fucks me up. We call it the Dark Ages because of a dearth of sources, but we have a melancholy poem describing the ruins of Aqua Sulis, or Bath, in the centuries after the Roman Collapse. I might make this into a fic someday, but Arthur is only a boy half-grown and roaming through the anglo-saxon heptarchy, a world he still can't quite wrap his head around, Cumbrian, a Celtic language, still first to cross his lips as he stares up at a ruined city. But more and more of what will one day be English rolling around in his mind, two languages with so few loan words there is nothing in English we can use to construct his mother tongue. Walking through a city, what was once a real and robust city and now lays dead and decaying, he wonders.

Who's bones are these broken beams? His own? Were he and Alasdair and Rhys something once called Britannia, now faded? Are they Rome's, who died thousands of miles away in a place Arthur hasn't seen for centuries? His mother's? She ruled and represented nebulous things, these borders shifting and flexing. Rome made a desert and called it peace, but she ruled it anyway, lady of the waters and the north. Maybe. He's unsure. He touches fallen tile and broken stone and knows what he knew when she drew her last. The end of a world that began failing long before. He'll never be able to sort the losses out; the words he may have once used to describe them are dead and gone by the time there are experts enough to study it. All that once made sense has been forgotten under the weight of a thousand years.

This masonry is wondrous; fates broke it courtyard pavements were smashed; the work of giants is decaying. Roofs are fallen, ruinous towers, the frosty gate with frost on cement is ravaged, chipped roofs are torn, fallen, undermined by old age. The grasp of the earth possesses the mighty builders, perished and fallen, the hard grasp of earth, until a hundred generations of people have departed. Often this wall, lichen-grey and stained with red, experienced one reign after another, remained standing under storms; the high wide gate has collapsed.

and

Far and wide the slain perished, days of pestilence came, death took all the brave men away their places of war became deserted places, the city decayed. The rebuilders perished, the armies to earth. And so these buildings grow desolate, and this red-curved roof parts from its tiles of the ceiling-vault. The ruin has fallen to the ground broken into mounds, where at one time many a warrior, joyous and ornamented with gold-bright splendour, proud and flushed with wine shone in war-trappings; looked at treasure, at silver, at precious stones, at wealth, at prosperity, at jewellery, at this bright castle of a broad kingdom.

#Britannia and her children || they made a desert and called it peace #hws england #Arthur || stone set in the silver sea #Eirian || into the nightlands #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #I can kind of read old english and it always fucks me up how theres hardly a celtic root word anywhere that's not a place name #im not depressed im analysing texts!!

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librathefangirl · 8 months

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When the War Is Over (How Do We Rebuild Ourselves)

ao3 (One-Shot; 3.8k+)

With their father finally gone, Meliodas and Zeldris try to move on as brothers. Meanwhile, the Seven Deadly Sins are horrified to learn that someone actually enjoys their captain's cooking. (Written for @ficwip's 5k 2023)

It is finally here! My Meliodas Can Cook (Demon Food) AU! Also shout-out to @hihopelessromantics and the mutuals for helping me decide on the Commandments' cooking skills XD

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

Ban watched the scene unfolding before him with growing horror. You’d think that by now – after a Holy War and Purgatory and fighting the Demon King himself, multiple times – he wouldn’t really be fazed. This, however, was different. A whole other kind of horror.

The horrifying part was, surprisingly, not the new demon currently inside the Boar Hat. The demon sitting awkwardly by one of the tables was a startling contrast to the demon Ban had seen before. He still looked the same, sounded the same, glared the same – but without the constant murder attempts and trying to conquer Britannia in the name of the Demon King, he seemed… kind of tame. To be honest, he reminded Ban a bit of a grumpy kitten. His reaction to Meliodas ruffling his hair as he passed by did him no favors. Seeing Meliodas dodge his brother’s fist with a wide grin was also a nice change, especially compared to the look he’d had talking about Zeldris back in Purgatory. Meliodas ignored Zeldris’ mutterings, letting out a laugh as he jumped over the counter into the kitchen.

Now that was the horrifying part - and it only got worse the longer Ban watched him. Meliodas in the kitchen had always been scary, ever since the first meal Ban had tasted. Today, somehow, was even worse. Meliodas was bustling around the kitchen, happy and unrestrained in a way Ban hadn’t seen him before. Raw meat of various animals and spices that Ban could swear he had gotten from Merlin’s lab were scattered across the countertop. Actually, the most horrifying part was the realization that during all these years, Meliodas had been genuine in his attempts at cooking. Watching him now, Ban knew that to be true. Restricted in ingredients and whatnot maybe, but genuine.

King sent him a more than half-panicked look, quickly backed up by Diane’s frightened one. Ban sighed. Guess making something edible for the rest of them would be wise. Pushing his way into the kitchen earned him an eye-roll from Meliodas. Though only a half-hearted one. Meliodas’ focus kept straying from his cooking to his brother, the joy on his face dimming a little every time. From his new position, Ban had a better view of the other demon too. The awkwardness was palpable. At the same time, he seemed at peace with what Meliodas was doing. It was kind of scary. He seemed uncomfortable with being in the Boar Hat and unsure how to act around them all, but completely unconcerned with the fact that he was about to eat Meliodas’ cooking.

“Hey!” Ban called out, pulling Zeldris’ attention, as he decided to offer up another mercy today. “You don’t have to eat that… thing .”

Ban gestured towards the plate Meliodas was preparing, nose crinkling as he squinted at the food. He could have sworn it just moved . How the fuck the captain continuously managed that was beyond Ban’s comprehension. He had even watched him prepare this dish, there wasn’t anything in it that should still be able to move. Uncooked, yes, but still very, very dead.

Nobody should have to eat the captain’s food. No matter who or what they were – including murderous, awkward, grumpy kitten little brothers.

“I could make you something too,” Ban offered with a shrug. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Meliodas freeze, eyes going wide as he looked over at him. Zeldris stared at Ban too and for a moment the tavern was completely silent. Zeldris’ brow furrowed deeply, fingers fidgeting nervously on the edge of the table. He opened and closed his mouth once. His gaze flickered tentatively between Meliodas and Ban. Meliodas, however, had snapped out of his stupor and was now too busy glaring at Ban with a hand dramatically placed over his chest to help his poor brother figure out if Ban was trying to trick him or not.

“Why wouldn’t I eat Meliodas’ food?” Zeldris finally asked, breaking the silence. Meliodas didn’t miss a beat, smacking Ban soundly across the arm.

“Yes, Ban, why wouldn’t he eat my food?” Meliodas echoed, countering his own statement by stealing a piece of the food Ban was preparing. He quickly dodged the punch Ban threw his way, leaning back, just out of reach. Ban sighed. He gestured at Meliodas’ food again as if it was enough of an answer – which to any sane person it was.

“Because it tastes like garbage!”

Meliodas’ offended gasp only partially drowned out King’s mutter of “-understatement. It’s more like if garbage died and came back to life half decayed.”

“Hey!” Meliodas protested, glaring at King as he waved his knife around enough to force Ban to suddenly duck beneath a splatter of… something. “‘Just because you two have terrible taste-”

“Not just us.”

“-doesn’t mean my food sucks,” Meliodas continued, ignoring King’s interjection. “Gowther likes it!”

Gowther looked up at that. He was seated beside Zeldris, clearly having been paying more attention to the awkward demon than the conversation happening around them. Now he tilted his head, regarding their captain for a moment. If he took Meliodas’ side, Ban was going to smack him.

“I’m a doll. I have no sense of taste,” Gowther reminded them, earning a grin from Ban and a disappointed sigh from Meliodas.

“He was also modeled after a demon by a demon,” Merlin pointed out before Meliodas had the chance to defend himself further. “So even if he had a sense of taste, he would probably actually enjoy your particular flavor of cooking, Captain. But he’d be the only one.”

Meliodas sighed again, more dramatically, “Why do you guys hate me?”

“Nah, only your cooking, buddy,” Ban said, wrapping an arm around Meliodas’ shoulders. As he did so, he took the time to look over at Zeldris again. He continued to fidget subtly, eyes a little too wide and brow still furrowed. Even from over here, Ban could tell he was tense too, back as straight as an arrow, and he wasn’t the only one. The captain was masking it a lot better, but Ban could feel the tension in Meliodas’ body. This wasn’t just a casual family dinner – if such a thing even existed for the two sons of the (dead) Demon King – this was a big deal for them.

“Speaking of which!” Ban unwrapped himself from Meliodas and picked up his half-prepared food. “Don’t want the only edible thing in here getting corrupted so – King, gather some firewood! We’re going wild style with this one.”

“Oi, do it yourself!” King shot back as he followed Ban and the rest of the Seven Deadly Sins out the door, leaving Meliodas and Zeldris alone in the tavern.

It wasn’t the most subtle of withdrawals, but Meliodas was grateful nonetheless.

The joyous carefree atmosphere disappeared along with the others. Instead, a tense silence filled the air. It almost reminded Meliodas of being back under his father’s roof. Except the silence in the Demon Realm’s castle had come with the imminent threat of danger and violence. This one only came with the reminder that Meliodas didn’t know how to do this anymore. He wasn’t sure he had ever known. If life had been merciful, Zeldris would have been given the big brother he deserved. Life wasn’t merciful though – Meliodas had learned that long before he and Elizabeth had been cursed – so all he had was Meliodas. That would have to be good enough.

This was a time for new beginnings, for Britannia and for the demons, maybe even for them.

“Hope you’re hungry!” Meliodas shouted, plastering on a bigger smile as he grabbed two plates of food and made his way over to Zeldris’ table. As Zeldris looked at the food, a small smile flashed across his lips before he could stop it. It was only there for the briefest moment, but Meliodas saw it, feeling a bit more confident in what he was doing.

It wasn’t too complicated a dish, something you could do away from home if you so wished. Mixed meat sauce topped with berries. It had been one of Zeldris’ favorites growing up, which was why Meliodas had chosen to make it. He’d had to make some adjustments, of course, Britannia’s supply of meat and berries differed from the Demon Realm’s, and while Merlin’s stash was quite extensive, it was focused on experiments and not cooking. Meliodas had to make do with what he had. It wasn’t like the food would be the crucial part of this day anyway.

“Hope you like it,” Meliodas said after a few moments of silent eating. “Unfortunately there’s no dragon meat, Britannian dragons are kinda lacking.”

Zeldris snorted, “Yeah, no kidding.”

Meliodas grinned, feeling himself relax. This all felt so… normal, in a way the two of them had never really had. Here they were with no war, no father, not even Chandler and Cusack breathing down their necks. Just two brothers sharing a homecooked meal. Meliodas used to have dreams just like this.

“It’s not bad,” Zeldris mumbled, that half smile flashing across his face again. “All things considered, I mean.”

Oh. Meliodas knew that tone. He might not have heard it in 3,000 years, but he would recognize it anywhere. It was ingrained deep in the part of him that could never see Zeldris as an enemy.

"No. Zel, don’t you dare." Meliodas’ protest was only met by a gaze that clearly said he was absolutely going to go there. “If you say that Cusack’s is better, I am going to throw you out the window.”

“Pfft!” This time the grin didn’t disappear as Zeldris crossed his arms over his chest. “As if you could.”

“Oh…” Meliodas matched Zeldris’ pose, leaning forward in his seat, “Why don’t you try me, little brother .”

And just like that, the spell broke.

Both of them suddenly realized what they were doing, what was happening. The smiles fell from their faces as they remembered they weren’t allowed to act like this anymore. This was how brothers acted. They hadn’t been brothers for over 3,000 years.

“I, uhm…” Meliodas cleared his throat, struggling to meet Zeldris’ eyes. “You’re probably right, Cusack’s might be better.”

“Yeah…” Zeldris avoided looking at him too. Instead, his gaze found the window. Through the uncomfortable silence in the Boar Hat, you could just about make out the bustling sounds of the others: muffled shouting and laughing; as chaotic as ever. “Doesn’t mean it tastes like garbage?”

Meliodas smiled at the questioning tone in Zeldris’ voice. It made sense that he would be confused about everything that had transpired in the tavern before. After all, his experiences of the Seven Deadly Sins came from the battlefield, which wasn’t an incorrect image, just an incomplete one.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Meliodas shrugged, feeling more at ease again. Even with the others outside, he still could feel the comfort of their presence. “They’re just messing about.”

Zeldris frowned again, glancing out the window once more before turning back to Meliodas. He raised an eyebrow at him, the confusion giving way to the curiosity of the Sins’ skewered opinion of Meliodas’ cooking.

“They sounded quite serious.”

“Well, they were,” Meliodas admitted. “Just, ah, got terrible taste, the whole bunch of them. They can’t appreciate good food when they get it. Plus, you’d be surprised how many things can poison a human.”

Zeldris’ brow rose even higher, “So why don’t you just make, I don’t know, human food?”

“I do! Sort of. Well, at least food that won’t poison a human, but…”

It was a good point, one Merlin had made countless times over their years together. Meliodas probably should have done that. Completely adapting to human cuisine. The Boar Hat definitely would have been more successful if he had. At the same time, there had always been something stopping him. He’d given up so many things from where he came from and hadn’t really considered he might ever go back to the Demon Realm, but he’d never manage to give up the cuisine. He’d started making food with human-friendly ingredients, even cooked it in human ways, but there had always been something demon about it, it seemed.

“Everyone thinks you’re a bad cook,” Zeldris finished his sentence.

“Yeah,” Meliodas shrugged. No human had ever called him a good cook. He had tried and failed and a part of him had been relieved. The part that had always held onto those memories of him and Zel and cooking together far away from the castle like a lifeline on the verge of bursting. Being branded the worst cook in Britannia had been a small price to pay to keep that. “Ban’s under the impression my cooking is so bad it could kill an immortal.”

Zeldris snorted again, poorly hiding it behind his hand, “Then he should try Grayroad’s cooking.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever had Grayroad’s cooking,” Meliodas questioned, feeling himself slipping closer to that forbidden comfortable zone once more.

“Oh!” Zeldris looked up at the ceiling as he thought, nose crinkling up in the way it always did when he tried to suppress the too-big feelings. "Imagine if… Melascula tried to teach Galand how to cook.”

“Damn!” That was a horrifying thought. With Melascula being an actual snake, her cooking had always been considered exotic even to demons, and Galand had just been bad at it the few times he’d tried to cook something by himself.

“Exactly,” Zeldris said, chuckling under his breath.

And there they were again. Acting like brothers, an easy atmosphere Meliodas longed to keep wrapping around them. Maybe Zeldris did too, because while he averted his gaze again, poking around at the remains of his food, the smile was still there in the corners of his mouth. The ghost of what they both wanted – for things to just go back to how they’d been way back, except without their father or the war pushing them apart. The way things were supposed to be. Or should have been, if they had been any other brothers, if the last 3,000 years of hurt and guilt hadn’t existed.

“So, that's why he tried to save me from your food?” Zeldris asked, gesturing towards the door.

Oh, it would have been so easy. So, so easy to just go along with it, keep this thing going, and not let reality break it apart again. But Meliodas knew exactly what they were doing. Deflecting. Avoiding. Trying to pretend they weren’t those two brothers with millennia worth of regrets.

Meliodas could have done it too. Over the years, he had gotten really good at deflecting; questions, conversations, even his own emotions. He’d managed to keep his demon past a secret for 3,000 years for a reason. This, however, wasn’t something he could allow himself to deflect. If he did, he could risk losing his little brother all over again.

“Zel…” Meliodas mumbled softly, seeing the way Zeldris tensed up at his tone. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t play along and let himself be led into those easy, insignificant conversations. They needed to talk about this. “You didn’t come here to talk about my cooking.”

“No, I didn’t,” Zeldris agreed, the smile falling again. He made no move to continue. A new silence fell over them, tense and pushing for the words they’d left unsaid for so long.

Well, if Zeldris wasn’t going to talk, Meliodas would have to. He was the big brother here. He might not know how to be that, but he still was. And he was not going to lose Zel. Never again. At the same time, he’d spent 3,000 years avoiding this conversation. Besides Merlin, nobody had even known that Meliodas had a brother, not until the seal was broken and everything was revealed anyway. Despite all the years, it all still felt too raw. Meliodas knew how to be a traitor. He did not know how to be the brother Zeldris needed. Let alone the brother he would accept.

Meliodas took a deep breath, the words needed to be said forming on his tongue, but when he opened his mouth, deflection fell out of it instead; “So he is really dead, huh?”

“It… it doesn’t feel real,” Zeldris mumbled. Meliodas sighed, looking out the window.

“I know what you mean.” For so long their father had been a shadow hanging over his life, the blade cutting his hearts, for him to truly be gone, it felt surreal. Meliodas had been the one to deal the final blow but he still couldn’t believe it. Even long before the curse, the Demon King had been this relentless violence consuming his life. Now, he was free. They were free.

“Zel, I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air, heavy yet cautiously hopeful; an olive branch in a decimated forest. Zeldris’ gaze flickered around the room, looking everywhere but at Meliodas. His hands tightened around the utensils until it seemed like he would break them in two. When he let go of them, it was to wrap them together in his lap in a forced casual way.

“Did you ever regret it?” Zeldris asked quietly. He didn’t need to specify, they both knew what he was talking about. The event that had probably kept them both sleepless at times. Meliodas wished he could give Zeldris the answer he wanted, the easy one, but nothing about this was easy.

“Some of it.”

“But you’d do it all again, wouldn’t you?” Zeldris’ voice didn’t hold any accusation, just a hurt resignation. Now this was the real kicker, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just the actions Meliodas had done in the past, but the knowledge that given the chance he would repeat.

“Some of it,” Meliodas admitted softly. “I would change some things, do things differently, but yeah… I would make the same choice.”

“Because of Elizabeth.” This time, there was a sharp edge to Zeldris’ words; a residual anger to the event the goddesses’ meeting with his brother had caused. Meliodas just shook his head, smiling sadly.

“Can you blame me?” Zeldris reacted as he’d expected, gaze flickering outside, towards the forest where Elizabeth and Gelda had disappeared for a walk earlier. He might not agree with what Meliodas had done, but Meliodas knew Zeldris understood his reason. “And it wasn’t just her. I-... Elizabeth made me believe there was another way, another life. One without wars and killing and hate. Even if I could have stood the idea of killing her, I don’t think I could’ve gone back to the way things were.”

Zeldris nodded his head, mutely, gaze still averted. To Meliodas, it still felt like they were skirting around the real topic. Meliodas turning against the demons had, of course, been a betrayal that hurt Zeldris, but it wasn’t the one that broke their brotherhood. No, that one was a lot more personal, a lot more painful. One that neither of them knew how to actually voice – one that needed to be addressed if they were ever going to move on together.

Meliodas would bare every one of his hearts if he had to, to get to be Zeldris’s brother again. So, he took a deep breath, the words slowly forming on his tongue, the deflections being pushed out of his mind; “I was going to come back for you, you know.”

Zeldris didn’t know. It was clear in the gaze that met Meliodas’. Without the darkness covering them, Zeldris’ eyes had always been so expressive, showing the emotions he masked everywhere else.

“I-” Hope. Pain. Betrayal. Longing. “What?”

“I was coming back for you,” Meliodas repeated. He needed to tell Zeldris those words just as much as Zeldris needed to hear them. “I wouldn’t- couldn’t just leave you with him like that. I shouldn’t have let you walk away that day.”

“Then why… Why didn’t you come back?” It wasn’t a question asked by the future Demon King, it was one asked by the little boy who’d just been told their mother wasn’t coming home. Meliodas closed his eyes, feeling the guilt cut through him all over again.

“I wanted to,” Meliodas promised. “I just… At first, I didn’t know how to. You had made it clear where you stood. I wasn’t sure if you would even listen to me if I tried talking to you, nor how to get the chance to talk to you alone… We talked about it a lot, me and Ellie, about how to protect you and Gelda, but before we could do anything, well…”

“You pushed the gods too hard and paid the price.”

Meliodas couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at that. It wasn’t funny, but it all sounded so stupid when put so bluntly. How naïve an idea it had been really, the two of them going against gods to bring peace to all races – but at the same time, they had all just gone against a god and were the ones left standing. Maybe the naïvity was thinking they could still do it all alone back then. If they’d had people by their sides that night then maybe…

“Yeah,” Meliodas mumbled, any remains of humor fading away as he met Zeldris’ gaze. “When I woke up, everyone was gone. Elizabeth, you, everyone.”

Silence fell over them again, but this one was different, tense with the heaviness of their memories, yet warm with a newfound understanding.

“I, uh,” Zeldris hesitated for a moment. “I should have heard you out when you first told me you were leaving.”

Meliodas gave a small smile at that, feeling a weight lift off his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he did know how to do this after all. Maybe they still could. “Yeah, well, that’s the past, right? We have the whole future to listen to each other.”

“The future, huh…”

Zeldris’ gaze wandered over to the window again and Meliodas knew even before he looked over that the girls had returned; Zeldris’ smile said as much. Elizabeth and Gelda stood outside, side by side, talking with the rest of the Seven Deadly Sins.

“You know,” Zeldris started again after a while. “They seem to have gotten pretty close, maybe you- I’m sure Gelda would want Elizabeth and you to come visit us in the Demon Realm someday.”

Meliodas couldn’t have stopped the smile even if he wanted to; “Yeah! That- that sounds nice.”

“I- I mean,” Zeldris’ cheeks flushed a little when he glanced back at Meliodas, “somebody has to show you how to prepare this properly… brother.”

Too many emotions collided at once; the indignation of yet another person joking about his cooking, the shock of hearing his little brother call him that again after all these years, the overwhelming feeling of them all finally getting to be happy. The only sound that made it past Meliodas’ lips was a strangled gasp. However, before he could find his voice properly, the door slammed open loudly.

“Yes, yes! I’ll get it, gods , calm down, Diane-” Ban stopped in his tracks, clearly realizing he was interrupting a moment. “Whoops.”

Then his gaze fell to Zeldris’ almost empty plate, a look of horror overtaking his face.

“Oh my god, you actually do like his cooking!”

#ficwip 5k 2023 #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #nnt #sds #7ds #demon bros #meliodas nnt #zeldris nnt #ban nnt #libra writes #my fics #nnt fic #demon bros fic #meliodas can cook (demon food) au

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damehelenlove · 6 days

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Today is ANZAC Day, the 25th April

The anniversary of the Gallipoli Landings in 1915 when the Allies tried attacking the Turkish forces in a controversial attempt to force the Turks out of WW1 Axis coalition. Several nations including Britain and France lost tens of thousands of troops but the new young Dominions of Australia and New Zealand suffered disproportionately and the failed campaign proved a defining moment in their national identities;

Should foreign foe e'er sight our coast, Or dare a foot to land, We'll rouse to arms like sires of yore, To guard our native strand; Britannia then shall surely know, Though oceans roll between, Her sons in fair Australia's land Still keep their courage green.

(from the fifth verse of the Australian National Anthem)

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roll-britannia · 1 month

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#IFTTT #Roll Britannia

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demonprincezeldris · 5 months

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ℝ𝕖𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Warm summer air rustled through Tristan’s hair as he glided gently in the sky. The sun shone brightly above them, not a single cloud to be seen. The midday heat crashed onto the tiny villages and towns that were dotted below, large expanses of fields and dirt paths stretched for miles around him. It was quiet and peaceful. There was no sign of a war between every major clan in Britannia in this area.

“Tristan,” a voice whined beside him. The young prince twisted his head to the side, his dark eyes focusing on the other person flying beside him. Irritation coiled in his gut as he gazed at his cousin. Crimson eyes gazed back at him, their face the very picture of boredom as they floated steadily beside him. “Why do we have to patrol this area again, exactly?” He asked. “I’d much rather be on the battlefield, fighting Giants and Fairies with my father than doing patrol duty.”

Tristan rolled his eyes slightly, fighting the urge to groan in frustration. “Because father wanted us to, Kier,” Tristan responded icily, his dark eyes narrowing. “There have been some reports of Goddesses in this section of the territory, and we need to keep up a good patrol routine. Otherwise those scumbags will think we’ve gone soft.” Kier’s face twisted slightly at the mention of the wielders of light, his black hair whipping in the wind. He finally fell silent, the two of them drifting in the air.

They flew in silence for the next several minutes, simply drifting in the air as they headed to the location where Meliodas had told them to patrol.Soon enough a forest appeared in the distance, the lush green trees filling the horizon. The acres of fields started to become scattered as the two demons neared the forest. The houses started becoming sparse, dotting the landscape below.

“There it is,” Tristan said over the rush of the wind, pointing towards the forest. Tristan adjusted his wings, starting to sail towards the ground to land as they closed in on their patrol route. The trees would be too dense for them to patrol while flying. They’d have to do it the old-fashioned way: walking on foot. Tristan’s wings slowly flapped, slowing his speed down rapidly as he prepared to land. Tristan’s feet grazed the grass, stumbling slightly as he finally touched the ground, Kier stopping just a few feet in front of him.

Kier groaned, stretching his arms above his head as he worked out his muscles. “Is this really the place we have to patrol?” he asked, his dark eyes peering through the trees. Tristan nodded, his feet moving underneath him as he started walking. “This is the place,” he confirmed, “Now come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go home.” Kier nodded, a small smile twisting at the corners of his mouth as he closely followed his cousin.

The sun shed through the green leaves above, shedding dappled light across the forest floor as the two demons walked. The air was still and silent, only the twittering of birds breaking the quiet atmosphere. Tristan was on edge, his eyes darting at every sound that he heard. His hand strayed to where his sword was strapped, his fingers grazing along the handle in reassurance.

Kier was on edge too as he stalked beside the silver-haired demon, his demeanor changed drastically as he grasped his own weapon in his hand. He seemed more focused, more in-tune with what was around them. His footsteps were calm and careful, making sure not to make too much noise that might attract any unwanted attention.

Tristan’s eyes jerked around, his body on alert as they strolled in silence. Not a word was spoken between the two of them as they continued their patrol. “It seems peaceful enough,” Kier said cautiously, twisting his head back to glance behind them. Tristan grunted in silent agreement. “That doesn’t mean that there could be enemies still lurking,” he said under his breath.

The back of his mind tingled, telling him that something was wrong. Someone else was here in the woods with them! However, as much as Tristan peered through the thick tree trunks, he couldn’t spot any other races. Just a few forest animals that grazed on the fresh summer grass. Not being able to see the enemy made him uncomfortable; he much preferred being out in an open space where he could easily spot their target. This situation made him feel like prey, waiting to climb into the jaws of a hungry cat.

Tristan jolted, whipping out his weapon as a disturbance in the forest arose. The birds stopped chirping, taking to the sky in a panic. Kier also readied himself, his demonic magic swirling around him as he looked around. “Show yourself,” Tristan shouted, “We know you’re out there. Watching us. You may as well come out now.”

There was silence for a few moments, then a figure started prowling through the trees towards them. Tristan grit his teeth, his eyes narrowing as Ludociel stepped out into the light. He was as menacing as ever, his black hair swaying in the wind as he frowned at the two demons. “Ludociel,” Tristan spat, readying himself up. Kier was more hesitant, glancing at his cousin nervously.

The Archangel smiled as he looked at Tristan and Kier. “My my, look who we have here. Scuttling about in my forest. Two filthy half-breeds, freely roaming about.” Tristan growled, his hold tightening on his sword. He took a step forward as he responded harshly. “This is not your forest, Archangel. This forest belongs to the Demon King himself. Now get lost before I send your head back to your queen,” he countered. Ludociel raised an amused eyebrow at the response.

“Quite the temper we have, don’t we half-breed?” Ludociel clicked his tongue in disappointment. Tristan growled at the nickname, his demon mark burning on his forehead as he glared at the Archangel. He’d show this bastard what-for! “Don’t call me that,” he hissed. “I am not a half-breed.” Ludociel chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head as he turned around, his face pointed at the sky. Tristan braced himself, his senses on alert as they stared at him.

“You are part-Goddess, are you not? Your own mother is a Goddess. Or has your precious father not told you?” Tristan snorted, rolling his eyes at the preposterous accusation. “Of course I know, dipshit,” he said. “I know everything about my mother. About how she betrayed my own father’s love and trust in order to save her own damn skin. I may be connected to the Goddesses through blood, but that does not make me one. I am part of the proud Demon Clan. And I will never forgive my mother for the hurt she caused father.”

His feet shuffled underneath him as Ludociel started moving again, circling around the two like a hawk over prey. Kier was focused on the Archangel as well, his eyes focused as his weapon was held aloft in his hands. Tristan could see the faintest glint of his vampiric fangs as he sneered. He turned his attention back to Ludociel, his anger starting to bubble. “I can sense it, you know. You do have Goddess magic in your veins. You are connected to the Goddess Clan, whether you like it or not. But that does not make you any less scum than the rest of the Demon kind.”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he growled low in his throat. “How fucking dare you,” he spat. It was taking everything he had not to launch himself at the bastard. And Ludociel knew it too, having fun poking at Tristan. “You cannot deny the fact that you have Goddess magic in your body, as much as you claim to not have it. I can sense it. I’m sure your father can sense it too. But I’m sure he’s disappointed in you. Connected by magic to the one who betrayed him most. Born as a disgusting half-breed; a stain on the world that must be purged.”

The prince snapped, his temper flaring as he charged at the Archangel, sword ready to strike. “Tristan, wait!” Kier shouted, reaching out towards his cousin. But he wasn’t listening. He was focused on the prick who dared to insult him. “Don’t you dare compare me to the bitch who birthed me. She may be my mom, but I am not connected to her in any other way,” he screamed, sword swinging wildly. His vision became red, missing the Archangel as he danced out of the way of the attacks.

Tristan grunted as he was thrown back, only to charge again at the Goddess with even more vigor. His attacks became frenzied, his darkness dissolving with Ludociel’s light magic. However Ludociel was ready for him, easily countering his movements. Tristan was thrown back against a tree, the breath leaving his lungs from the force. Kier kneeled beside him, glaring at the Archangel as he approached them.

Fresh crimson blood ran down Tristan’s face, peering through silver bangs as he hovered over the young demons. “Like it or not, Tristan, you are a Goddess. You can deny it all you want, but the facts are still there.” “Shut the hell up, bastard. Get the fuck out of here before I rip your spine out,” Tristan snapped, struggling to get up on his feet, but collapsing. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving.

Ludociel frowned as he glared at the two for several moments. The tension was thick in the air as Tristan prepared himself for another round of assaults. No other words were spoken, Ludociel turning around to leave. His wings splayed out behind him, the glittering white near-blinding. He turned his head to speak one last time. “Get out of this forest, Tristan. It doesn’t belong to the Demons anymore. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take back this forest.”

He flew off into the sky, leaving the two demons behind on the ground. Kier growled as he sheathed his sword. “Fucking bitch,” he murmured under his breath. He glanced down at Tristan, holding out a hand. Tristan slapped it away, getting to his feet. “I can get up on my own,” he grumbled. Kier fell silent, allowing his darkness to form wings behind himself as the two prepared to go home. The two took to the skies again as they headed back to the Demon Realm, the sun heading towards the horizon as nightfall loomed.

#Tristan Liones #nnt

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