#SO GUESS WHO LIED ABOUT STICKING TO FLAT COLORS

[hargrove-mayfields]

Back when things were still easy, Billy and Max used to have sibling days on the weekends when Neil wouldn’t be home, setting aside their issues to have just one day that was meant for doing something fun together.

The tradition had been dropped after the move to Hawkins, and Max thinks that’s where a lot of the strain on their relationship comes from. Without those designated times to let go of some of the tension building between them, they fall to pieces.

There’s one day in particular where it’s just Max at home all by herself, her mother and Neil having gone on a trip to the city she opted out of, when Billy shows up much earlier than he said he would be back, ruining the calm when he slammed the front door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall.

Neither of them say a word to the other, all she gets is an apologetic and glossy looking glance for the noise as he storms past her like she isn’t even there.

She doesn’t see Billy again for a long time after that, just hears the angry music blaring in his room. By now, she’s wisened up enough to know that meant he was probably crying in there, and though she doesn’t know what happened, she feels bad.

It’d been far too long since they acted anything like real siblings, not that they were actually related, but they used to be just as close, so after her brother’s been brooding for literal hours, she knows she wants to do something.

Her opportunity to bring it up comes when Billy makes his grand appearance at her door, stopping by to ask if she ate dinner just so he, quote ‘wouldn’t get any shit for it.’ She nods in agreement and asks, “Do you know what day it is, Billy?”

He shrugs, “28th of June.”

“Well, doy, but it’s also Friday.” Billy raises an eyebrow, missing the point, and Max rolls her eyes. “Friday. You know, like, the one day we get to hang out.”

Too cool for that stuff anymore apparently, he scoffs and leans against the doorframe, and she just knows he’s going to say something snarky, so she turns the puppy dog eyes up a notch, “Please? It’ll be fun.”

It works, Billy sighs way over dramatic and steps into her room, throwing himself down onto her beanbag chair. She can’t contain the smile on her face when he asks with fake defeat, “What did you want, shitbird?”

“I want a makeover day. Like we used to do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why?” She crosses her arms, “Just because that’s what I want to do?”

He fixes her with a look that says ‘seriously?’, and explains, an edge of frustration to his voice, “No, because you know what’ll happen if I’m struttin’ around in nail polish and shit when Neil gets back.”

“They’re not supposed to come back until like, Monday though,” in response to her excuses, he mimics her in crossing his arms over his chest, so she tries harder to reason with him, “And we can always just take it off when we’re done.”

“That’s just a waste of your stuff, then.”

“Come on, Billy, please?” she’s out of actual arguments and he’s winning, so she brings out the big guns, the little sister privilege, the one surefire way she knows will always knock her brother off guard, “I miss you.”

He squints at her, seeing through the attempted guilt trip, but he can’t muster a frown, and he must know it wasn’t all fake, because he says, “Whatever.”

She knows that’s his version of a yes and he’s just too proud to admit he caved, so she squeals and claps her hands together, taking off like a shot to dig under her bed for the stowed away beauty kit. It’s a little wicker basket filled to the brim with nail polish and makeup, the same one they’d used years ago before everything went wrong, and it makes her happy, bringing the old thing back out.

She stops to put a record in her player, choosing Queen as the closest thing to a middle ground between their respective music tastes, they at least both weren’t supposed to listen to it, and drops down into the other chair beside Billy.

On the latch-hook rug in front of them, she starts to empty the basket, lining up all her brightly colored bottles of nail polish, slightly dried out after months of not using them. “What color?”

“Why do I have to go first?” Billy asks. All Max has to say in response is a know-it-all “Because I said so.”

“Fine. You pick.” The moment he says it he looks like he regrets it, Max is notoriously bad at making decisions, but she ignores him and starts holding up bottles anyways.

First, after few minutes deliberation, she chooses a pretty dark green, and he scrunches his nose and doesn’t say anything. She picks a purplish color, which he tosses away on the bed, a very firm ‘no’ that makes Max giggle. Then she gives him a bright orange bottle, and he holds in front of his face, studying it before turning that one down too.

“God, if I knew you’d be so annoying I would’ve just painted them all the colors.” She remarks, lining up her polishes so she could do just that.

“That’s actually probably not a very good idea, kiddo.” Looking a little panicked, he digs through the bottles himself, settling on one he pulls away and stares at for a second before handing it to her and telling her, “Just do ‘em red.”

It confuses her, but she agrees regardless, and makes him turn in his seat so he’s facing her and his hands are flat on the floor. His hands are a little shaky, so her paint job isn’t the best, she even drips some on the carpet, which she hopes her mother won’t notice, but Billy doesn’t say anything about the mess.

With his nails done she moves onto his hair, she wants to do double braids like how he taught her to do in her own hair, so she shoves his arm to get him to turn around. “Scoot.”

He lets her push him around until he’s in the right place that she can reach his hair, but once he’s facing the far wall he tells her, “Don’t you dare use that brush on my hair, Maxine.”

“Jeez, relax. I’m not gonna mess up your princess curls.” She mocked, but she still went for the comb to run through his hair instead.

She waited until she could get it through without catching on any tangles before bothering trying to talk to him. When Billy was upset, he tended to clam up, but she didn’t particularly like feeling awkward in the silence, leaving all the talking to the record player. “Can we talk about why you were mad earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if I told you about my day?” She tries, but he shuts it down again with an “Unlikely.”

“I’ll tell you anyways.” Max didn’t know what had happened with Billy, but she knew she hadn’t had the greatest morning herself either. “I had to ask Lucas to bring me home early because me and Mike got in a fight.”

Billy snorted, and spoke with just as much sarcasm as Max had used on him. She learned that from him anyways. “You and Mike? No.”

“Yeah. He was being a total ass about El, trying to like, own her or something, so I told him to lay off ‘cause that’s totally not fair.”

She knew that Billy, having graduated and turned 18 now, was probably getting a little old for this type of drama, but he was a good listener, no matter how much he pretended not to care, always giving little bits of insight and saying things to make her laugh.

She continues, “Well, anyways he like, totally bit my head off for sticking up for her, so then I told him he was just a miserable mouth breather who’s jealous of El being happy, and he tried to kick me out.”

Billy laughed at that, muttering a little ‘ow’ when the action made Max pull his hair, “But you left before he could kick you out right?”

“Duh.” She sighs a little, the fun part of the story over. “Then when we pulled up outside, Lucas said something stupid about it being my fault or whatever, so I dumped him again.”

“Good. I told you not to take any shit from them anymore.” Billy had been less than happy with her friends a lot recently, when she’d come home from school or from hanging out upset over something they said. They never meant to hurt her feelings, but Billy didn’t like it all the same, and made her promise she’d stand up for herself a little more. Like she did to him.

“Yeah, I guess.” It makes her feel light on the inside, to know Billy was proud of her for following his advice, in his own way at least. “So? What happened to you?”

He shrugs again, and blows her off, “It’s nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not,” she fumbles with the braid and loses it, Billy’s stupid uneven mullet making it way too hard to braid so many different lengths of hair, “But I’m like, an expert now. El says she likes my advice.”

Under his breath, Billy mutters, “‘Course she does.”

Max purses her lips and pretends she didn’t hear that before continuing her offer, “Anyways, I can always try to help.”

“Listen, it’s just stupid dating stuff. Nothin’ you need to be worrying about.”

“But I’m a girl. I can give advice about that.” She thinks about it for a second, “I mean, I know more about being a girlfriend than having one, but it’s probably about the same.”

“Maybe.” Billy mumbles, focusing all his attention on picking at the nail polish that had missed the edges of his nails, and just from the way he tensed up she can tell she’d overstepped Billy’s boundaries in some way or another.

She finishes of the braid she had already started over twice now and puts a blue scrunchie on the end of it, giving him a minute.

When she starts combing out the rest of his hair is when Billy speaks again, not a drop of his distinctly Billy attitude in his words as he admitted softly, “You know, shitbird, I never said anything ‘bout having a girlfriend.”

That’s confusing to her at first, because he had just told her it was a dating thing, but Max’d been hearing all the nasty things Neil said about Billy for years now, and while she might just be a kid, might be the clueless and annoying little sister, she still knew the weight of what he’d just admitted to her.

It had always made her sad, to know Neil didn’t really like Billy, all the mean words he used, ones she wouldn’t dare repeat, to describe Billy and his friends, all the lies he told about him behind his back. But she doesn’t buy it, what her asshole step-dad had to say.

Her brother was cool, and she liked hanging out with him, when he wasn’t being such a jerk. The fact that he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend didn’t change that in the least bit.

She hums, trying to gather words and, her voice strained against the outburst of happiness, says “See? I can totally help with boy stuff.”

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #billy and max #harringrove #it’s implied harringrove at least because Steve is the boyfriend in question #story by ej! #ej writer #this is really sloppy but I wanted to just get this outta my drafts so here ya go #it was also initially from a much larger story #I just decided this was the only part I like #if you take note of the date tho I think y’all can probably tell where I was going with this #just wanted to write Billy coming out to Max because we as a fandom kinda decided that she already knew bc of that one vague convo #but like that stuff is really hard to pick up on when you’re the clueless little sister #(trust me lol) #I think it’s more something like maybe she snitched on him for doing smthn neil knew was Bc he was gay but she didn’t #and she never put the pieces together until he told her #featuring (subtle) autistic Max bc when doesn’t my writing #and colorblind Billy if you squint with the nail polish

[host-club-hq]

Call of the Scar pt. 1

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 3.4k

➼ summary: Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley embark on their great journey together in their fourth year at Hogwarts. What does this unsuspecting year hold for them this time?

➼ part 1 of many :)

➼ want to request? do it here. let me know what i can write for you :)

➼ talk to the characters!

Frank Bryce sets a kettle on the stove and- with a shaky hand- adjusts the flame. He leans forward, squinting to get the fire right, and the window beyond his is revealed. Something flickers. Softly. Then again. Frank turns. 

Atop the hill, light dances in one of the windows of the manor. 

CLANG!

Frank emerges from the cottage, walking stick in hand. He limps into the yard and approaches a door almost completely covered in ivy. He fits a rusty key into the lock

The knob squeals dryly. The walking stick pierces the shadows, then Frank himself enters. His nostrils flare against the sour air. He cocks an ear. Frank's shadow spreads darkly on the landing. Above a small table is an old calendar, freckled with Mildew. August 1943

Frank reaches the top and stops. His breath drifts like smoke. 

At the end of the hallway, a door stands ajar, casting sliver of light across the dusty floor. Frank edges closer and sees a narrow slice of the room beyond. A feeble fire flickers in the grate. From within: voice.

"But where here, my Lord? It seems so... inhospitable.

"How fastidious you've become, Wormtail. As I recall, only recently you called the nearest gutterpipe home. Could it be that the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you?"

"No, my Lord! I only meant-"

"I have my reasons for coming here. Thirteen years of reasons."

"Perhaps if we ere to do it without the boy..."

"No! The boy is everything!"

Just then, the tip of Frank's walking stick vibrates against the floorboard. He eyes it curiously, then- in mute horror- watches a giant snake emerge from the shadows behind him. As it skims past his shoes and into the room, an eerie hiss greets its arrival.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail. According to her, there is an old Muggle standing just outside this room."

The door flings wide, revealing a short balding man- Wormtail.

"Where are your manners, Wormtail? Step aside so I can give our guest a proper greeting..."

Slowly, Wormtail withdraws. Frank's eyes dilate. A flash of green light sears the walls. The walking stick clatters to the floor, handle charred black, weeping smoke. A brittle whistling rises from the shadows of the empty Gardener's Cottage, a tea kettle squealing madly, rising like a scream on the night sky. 

Harry Potter sits bolt upright, a gasp in his throat. He winces and presses his palm to the scar on his forehead. Across the room, Ron lies sleeping. 

"Having a bit of a lie-in, are we?" A smug voice comes.

Harry spins, seeing you, his closest girl friend, grinning from beside his bed. 

"Y/N. When'd you get back?" Harry breathes heavily. You had gone for a morning walk- as you usually do when sleep eludes you.

"Just now. You?" you’re referring as to when he arrived at your family’s burrow.

"Last night." Harry begins to sit up.

"Must have missed you. Though, how could I? With your clumsy arse." you ruffle his hair and Harry groans. 

"Says you." Harry bites back playfully. You grin. 

Hermione comes stalking in loudly and Ron wakes. "Bloody hell!" Ron bolts up and tugs the blanket over his chest.

"Oh, honestly. Come on. Get yourself dressed or we'll miss the whole thing." Hermione claps at Ron. 

You watch as she leaves, then look at Harry. The two of you stare at each other before you whack him upside the head. 

"Blimey, Y/N! What was that for?"

"I dunno, maybe I just wanted to hit your dumb ass." you walk out.

Harry rubs the back of his scalp before turning to Ron, who was still on the verge of sleep. 

"What are you looking at me for?" Ron grumbles. 

"She's your sister. I wonder where she gets it from." Harry throws his feet over the bed. 

"Not bloody likely... more like all that time she spends with Hermione. God awful, the pair of them."

"Don't be dramatic, Ron." Harry shoves him slightly as he gets dressed. 

A string of sleepy silhouettes- Fred, George, Harry, Ron, you, and Hermione- trail a huffing Arthur Weasley. Fred has a battered pair of omnioculars slung over his neck.

"Where is it exactly, where we're going?" Harry turns to you. 

"Dunno. Say, Dad. Where're we going?" you holler forward. 

"Haven't the foggiest. Keep up!" Arthur replies. Harry looks at you expectantly. 

"Why are you looking at me like I know where we're going?" you raise an eyebrow. 

"Why don't you know where we're going?" Harry teases back. 

"Because I've never been to the bloody thing. Merlin, Harry, sometimes you're so daft." you sigh, teasingly, again. Harry eyes her curiously. Daft? Yeah, right. 

A ruddy faced wizard appears atop the crest ahead. 

"Arthur! It's about time, son!" The man shouts in greeting. 

"Sorry, Amos. 'Fraid we got a bit of a sleepy start. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. Works with me at the ministry. And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?" Arthur guesses. 

An extremely handsome 17-year old boy shakes hands with Mr. Weasley, whom he towers over. 

"Sir." Cedric confirms. 

"Bloody hell." you sigh. Harry looks to you.

"What? You think he's attractive?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

"How could I not? Look at him." you grin widely. Harry pouts.

"Don't be a baby, you're still adorable." you pinch his cheek and he yelps.

"Bugger off." He swats your hand away.

"Merlin's beard! You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Ced's talked about you, of course. About playing Quidditch against you last year. I told him- Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will: You beat Harry Potter!" Amos grins. Lorelei frowns and steps beside Harry.

"Harry fell of his broom, Dad. I told you, it was an accident-"

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you? Best man won. I'm sure Harry'd say the same." Amos grins. Harry frowns and you take his hand in yours. As much as you tease each other, you both know how much you care for each other. 

"We'll see about that this year, won't we?" you challenge with a subtle smirk. Amos's eyebrows furrow before Arthur interjects before his daughter escalates.

"Well, shall we? We don't want to be late." Arthur clears his throat, as he should. 

"Hm? Oh, right. It's over there." Amos points. 

Harry cranes his neck. Lying in the short grass is an old boot. Each person places a finger to the book, arms extended like spokes to a wheel. Harry leans to you and whispers. 

"Can you tell me why we're all standing here pressing our fingers to this manky old boot?" Harry grimaces.

"It isn't just any manky old boot, mate." Fred interjects. 

"It's a Portkey." you finish. 

"A Portkey? What's a-"

SWOOSH! The hill lurches then tilts. The sky begins to spin. A howling wind rises and the sky spins faster and faster and faster still... and becoming a blur... until...

... Harry slams hard onto his feet and- like the others beside him- topples onto his back. Above him, the sky reels dizzily, like a carousel, spinning slowly to a halt as Arthur, Amos, and Cedric cycle into view, windswept but upright. 

"That'll clear your sinuses, eh!" Arthur exclaims. 

"And I thought I hated Floo Powder." Harry groans. A hand comes into his view and he trails his eyes up the arm that connects to you. 

"Come on, then. Up you go." He takes your hand and helps himself to his feet.

"Floo Powder is still my least favorite. Getting covered in soot just to land in a ruddy fireplace." you grimace as you recall your first Floo Powder experience. 

Harry looks past you to the field beyond. Thousands of tents stretch to the edge of a steep cliff, to the deep bowl of a stadium.

"This reminds me of just how many witches and wizards there are sometimes." you appear next to Harry, your knuckles tightening around the straps of your backpack as if you were anxious. Or, you could be excited- Harry can't tell. 

"That's an interesting way to look at it." Harry acknowledges you with the tilt of his head, nudging you. 

"Keep up, we don't want to be left behind." He starts off first, trusting you’ll follow. And you do. 

Harry glances about in fascination as he and the others trudge through the sea of tents. Exotic accents dance upon the air, every nationality in evidence. 

"Well, here we are!" Arthur pulls aside the flap of a small tent. A very small tent. Harry watches curiously as the others pass through. 

"How in Merlin's name are we all meant to fit in that?" Harry gestures lazily to the tent in disappointment. You peer in from his point of view and shrug. 

"Dad's got all sorts of tricks up his sleeve- just you watch." you inhale deeply and disappear inside the tent. Harry draws in the same sort of breath and ducks inside himself. 

Harry looks around and smiles- he's standing in what's equivalent to a 3-bedroom flat. "I love magic." He grins as she sloppily drops his bag on the floor. 

"I'll take that. You're welcome." you sling Harry's and your bag own over your shoulders. Harry rolls his eyes and follows you at your heal. 

"I could've done that myself." Harry says matter-of-factly.

"You wouldn't owe me that way, would you?" you raise an eyebrow at Harry. You know Harry can't raise a single eyebrow and you take every chance that you can get to tease him with your ability. 

"Ah, I knew there was a catch." Harry grins goofily as you place his rucksack on one of the beds on the boys' side of the tent. You turn on your heal to place your own where you and Hermione will be sleeping. 

"We're separated?" Harry blurts unknowingly. The color red creeps onto the apples of his cheeks as you turn at his query. 

"Yes... why do you ask?" you tilt your head as you turn your body to face him. Harry shrugs nonchalantly. 

"Harry..." you gently takes his hand in yours, causing Harry to look down at you with sparkling eyes. 

"I'm sure you'll be alright for a night or two. What do you do at home when I'm not there, hm?" your thumbs stroke the back of his hand as you look up to meet his eyes. 

Harry learned that you were quite skilled at helping him through his nightmares and you were more than happy to lend your skill. Often when you were younger, you helped Ron through rough nights of nightmares after he'd eaten too much for dinner, or too much for dessert. You quickly learned that it was best to not wake him, for he could reel all too quickly back into reality and startle himself. You would bring the blankets back up over his chest to restrain the thrashing, stroke his cheek to maintain the mumbling, and whisper positive affirmations into his ear to send the nightmares into the abyss- replacing it with a nice, pleasant dream. As soon as you saw the smile on Ron's face, you’d known you’d done your job, and would quietly slip out of the room back to the welcoming warmth of your own bed. The nightmares often only came once a night. You wouldn't have to go back after that. 

All of the same techniques seem to work in calming Harry from his own nightmares. Although, you find it best to embrace him in his sleep to restrain thrashing, as the blankets can do next to nothing to restrain him. 

"Dunno." Harry bites the inside of his cheek and breaks eye contact. Your hand moves from his hand to his shoulder and you smile brightly. 

"If you really do need me, come and get me, yeah?" you pat his shoulder thrice and turn on your heal to the girls' side of the tent. Harry's eyes follow you warily as you walk and he sighs shortly. 

Ron claps Harry on his back, startling him as he spins around. 

"Don't worry too much, mate. She's a light sleeper. If she hears you, she'll wake and be at your side before you know it." Ron starts to unpack his rucksack and Harry nods. 

"Yeah... yeah, no, I'll be fine." Harry forces a smile, which Ron returns. 

Harry and the others climb to their seats. Flags of all nations ring the stadium and vendors apparate here and there among the crowd, selling their wares. 

"Get your Quidditch World Cup programs! Only five Sickles!"

Fancy gold handwriting races repeatedly across a giant blackboard: Gladrags Wizardwear- London, Paris, Hogsmead...

"There's the Peruvian Minister for Tourism. And that man there's the African Head of Magical Games and Sports. And- oh lord- there's Ali Bashir. He's been truing to import flying carpets for years. I keep telling him they'll never replace brooms, but he sees a niche market for a family vehicle..."

"Blimey, Dad. How far up are we?" Ron marvels, ignoring his father's rambling about their surroundings. 

"Well, if it rains, you'll be the first to know."

The voice is Lucius Malfoy descending the stairs with Draco. Arthur, tight as a drum, only glares.

"Father and I are in the Minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself." Draco boasts with a smug smirk. 

"Oh, bugger off-" you begin.

"Don't boast, Draco." Lucius jabs his walking cane into Draco's chest. Draco grunts and places his hand over where he was jabbed, looking at his father incredulously. 

You look to Harry with disbelief. 

"Well, that's a first-"

"There's no need with these people." Lucius finishes. 

"Ah." you cut yourself off with a disappointed sigh. Harry chuckles and nudges you. You smile. 

Malfoy's eyes trail nastily over you and Hermione, landing on Harry. 

"Mr. Potter."

As he passes, Harry eyes the walking stick in Lucius Malfoy's grip. A silver serpent encircles his ring finger, inlaid with emerald chips for eyes. 

Harry and the others have settled into the upmost row, where the wind whips coldly. As a fleet of broomsticks jet into view, a roar rises in the crowd. 

"It's the Irish! There's Troy!" Fred exclaims excitedly. 

"And Mullet!"

"And here comes Moran!"

Before Fred can finish, a fleet of dark-clad riders soar over the opposite rim of the stadium. The crowd roars again. 

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." Although your cheeks are smeared in green, (curtesy of your older brothers and Ron) your interest in professional Quidditch have never exceeded your brothers' of course. You do find a small interest in the magic of brooms, but the sport itself has never perked your interest. 

"Here come the Bulgarians!" George points as he leans over the railing. 

"Hm. Who's that?" you squint your eyes at one particularly young player. 

"That, sis, is the best Seeker in the world." George smirks with a smug nudge to your side. You swat him. 

"He flies rather well, doesn't he?" Hermione acknowledges. The boys exchange amused glances. 

"You could say that." Fred stifles his laughter as George nudges him. 

Fred lifts his Omnioculars to his eyes and spins a dial. He dials Krum in closer, then runs the image forwards and backwards.

"What's his name?" you ask as you place your hands on the railing. 

On cue, thousands of fans on the opposite side of the stadium flip large cards bearing the face of the surly looking boy with thick eyebrows. Each one is emblazoned with his name: KRUM.

"Krum?" Hermione guesses.

"Krum." Harry, Ron, Fred, and George assure in unison. 

As the boys look up in admiration, Krum gets past the vast mosaic of his likeness with a nary glance, flying with such breathtaking skill that Harry's jaw fairly falls open. You lean over and press your index finger to his chin, effectively shutting his mouth. 

"You'll catch flies." you smirk as Harry swats your hand from his face. 

"Lay off." he grumbles. 

In the ministry box, Cornelius Fudge rises as Lucius Malfoy and Draco take their seats nearby.

"Good evening! As Minister for Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup! Let the match begin!"

A ball of light busts from Fudge's wand. Harry watches Viktor Krum rocket upward, the crowd roaring as he rises into the glittering night sky, the stadium growing smaller, a glimmering disc of light. 

Harry and the others lie about, unable to sleep as they excitedly re-live the match. 

"Such a big fuss over a sport. All he did was catch a ball." you grumble as you flip to another page of you book from where you lie on your bed, shoes tossed lazily about on the floor next to you as you rhythmically tap your sock-clad feet. 

"An incredibly fast ball that's near impossible to spot!" Harry drapes an Irish flag over your lounging figure and you growl, tearing the flag off in the split second after it made contact with your body. 

"You're infuriating." you wad up the flag best you can and chuck it towards Harry violently, who catches it with ease. 

"Thank you." Harry smiles cheekily. 

"Brilliant Krum, wasn't he? Did you see him put Lynch into the ground with the Wronski Feint? It was positively brutal." Ron rambles on.

"I think you're in love, Ron." you giggle from where you sits, eyes never leaving the spot on your page. 

"Quiet, you." Ron bites back. 

Just then, a chant of voices rise like a lion's roar beyond the tent. Fred grins. 

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on." Fred ambles confidently towards the flap of the tent before Arthur bursts in urgently and looks around frantically. 

"It's not the Irish."

The others turn to see Arthur standing by the flap peering out. Something in his voice causes their smiles to wither. 

"Get yourselves dressed." Arthur orderes hurriedly. Once he notices the hesitation in everyone else, he barks another other. "Now!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and you scramble out of the tent and stare with disbelief at the hellish tableaux before you. All around you, people run in terror, trampling fires and kicking up sparks. Then you see why:

A teeming clot of black-robed wizards, faces concealed behind hideous masks, are marching across the campsite, laughing drunkenly. Some clutch torches while others point their wands skyward, where four people tumble eerily high above.

"Who are those people? In the air?" your hand shakes as you gesture to the bodies above. 

"Muggles." Arthur answers solemnly. You gulps hard and divert your attention. 

"And the ones on the ground?" 

"Death Eaters." Hermione answers in the same fashion. 

Harry looks puzzled by this, but as Arthur draws his wand, Harry does the same without question. 

"No." you grab his wrist and push his arm back to his side. 

"Get back to the Portkey, all of you. And stick together. Fred, George, you're responsible for Y/N. Y/N, you listen to your brothers." Arthur insists firmly as his eyes scan over the group. You shift uncomfortably and open your mouth to reply when a scream cuts you off from a passing civilian. The scream set everyone on edge and Arthur takes his tone up a notch. 

"Y/N! Did you hear me?!" he scolds intensely. You blink, startled by your father's fierce expression, then nod slowly and surely. Arthur dashes off. 

Fred and George glance at each other and nod. They gently shove you towards Harry and you grunt, spinning around to face them. "Dad said to-"

"We know what Dad said. You're better off looking after Harry and him after you." Fred smiles slightly. 

"Yeah, and with your clumsy ass and your looking-for-trouble attitude, you balance each other out." George finishes curtly. 

"Stay safe!" They disappear into the frantic crowd. 

Harry is the first to move, reaching back and swiping your hand from your side and holds it close to him. "Come on." he beckons, pulling you along through the chaos. 

They streak past blazing tents. You feel your hand become less and less tightly gripped in Harry's fingers before you find it slipping away. Lost in the mob, you falls back. Fred and George flash briefly in the crowd, then vanish. Hermione turns, frantic eyes finding Harry. 

"Y-Y/N was with you- where is she?" Hermione's frantic eyes search the panicking crowd. She sees no glimpse of you. 

"Where is my sister?" Ron steps towards Harry and gazes at him accusingly. Harry looks back and realizes that his hand is in fact empty. He takes immediate action.

Harry dashes on, buffeted back and forth by the raging crowd. He stumbles, falls, struggles to rise, and is trampled again. Bootheels punish the earth all around him. One strikes his temple hard and he collapses. He sees you, frantic, before his vision escapes him.

#Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter series #harry potter movies #hogwarts #hermione #Ron Weasley #hermione granger #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley #harry potter smut #harry potter angst #Magic #wizard #witches

[starkidpotty]

Sleep on the Floor [HJP]

Unbeknownst to Harry, the aftermath of the battle and its losses is just as cruel and grueling as the battle itself. With no one to turn to, you offer peace in ways he didn’t know he needed.

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Warnings: loss, mourning, mentions of death

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: hi this is my first ever fic haha be nice to me <3 pls

The moonlight painted the living room a gracious dark blue color speckled with yellow light from the adjacent stars. The room was quiet, save for the large grandfather clock across the couch that was ticking away each hour of the night. It was a sleepless night for you in the flat, with Harry taking the bedroom (which you aggressively declined for the seventh time, and he begrudgingly took for the seventh time) and you on a roll-out much larger than the couch on the living room floor. It didn’t help that it was the summer as sweat was making your t-shirt stick to your skin, which made it impossible to find a position that could finally push you into a sweet sleep. Although inconvenient, the heat was a reminder of the two months that have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort had finally ceased to exist. However, it would take months–maybe even years–before the effects of the war and the events leading up to it would wash away completely, if it ever did dissipate completely.

Harry, being the chosen one, the boy who lived, had taken the brunt of it all. It started with the night terrors. Harry would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, shooting up from lying to sitting with a layer of sweat sticking his stray hairs to his forehead and his chest violently puffing up and down. He had done it alone the first few weeks, until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He decided against sending an owl to Ron, as he was still grieving Fred’s death and rekindling his relationship with Percy. He had decided against sending an owl to Hermione, as she had just reversed the memory charm she had set on her parents and was making up for lost time. So, he sent an owl to you.

You and Harry met at one of Slughorn’s infamous dinner parties in your 6th year. Your very first conversation was about this odd dream you had that he was in. In it, he had cast a spell that set hundreds upon hundreds of spiders on you. Dream-you screamed a blood-curdling scream that made all the spiders disappear, leaving dream-you and dream-Harry in unstoppable, uncontrollable laughter. Looking back, you didn’t think it was very funny, but it became one of the things that you and Harry built your friendship over. You and he would talk about dreams a lot–recurring themes, plots, what parts you wish weren’t just dreams and what parts you never wanted to imagine ever again. It made perfect sense to him to send an owl to you when the night terrors started.

 So here you are in Harry Potter’s living room, two weeks since that owl busted its head on your bedroom window with the letter he had written, detailing his latest nightmare. This was the 7th night you had spent at his place. It was your idea to sleep over, something he–although he would never admit it–was embarrassed of. Harry felt this was burdensome to you, that you responding to his letters was enough. You happily obliged and assured him that it was not, knowing that letters weren’t enough to get Harry through what would be some of the most emotionally draining months of his life. The battle and the events leading up to it in itself were already an immense ordeal, that Harry knew. But the months succeeding it, the getting over it, the making peace with it, unbeknownst to Harry, was just as bloody, just as cruel.

 Tonight, however, was the longest Harry had gone without screaming. He would usually go to bed relatively early, leaving you to finish work for your newly-acquired job at Ministry, which you’d use as a buffer before you’d hear him scream into the night. You’d usually have to lull him out of his night terrors as early as an hour after he’d lay to rest, but tonight decided to allow you and him reprieve. Deciding to quit Ministry paperwork prematurely, there you were splayed on the roll-out unable to catch a wink. The heat was getting to you and you were getting restless.

“[Y/N],” said Harry in a voice so low had he said it a second later it would go unheard as the grandfather clock’s chimes would have overpowered it. You hoist yourself up, seeing Harry peering from the hallway opening. 

“Harry, you’re awake. I was wondering why I hadn’t heard anything yet.” You say with a soft half-smile. He lets out a small chuckle, walking over to the sofa. 

Looking at you, he responds, “Well, I wasn’t exactly sleeping.” Your mouth forms an O-shape with the sound following suit. He makes way to the roll-out on the floor, bending down to sit next to you. You adjust accordingly, hugging your knees which effectively gives him enough space to sit comfortably.

“To think I thought tonight would finally give you a break. Merlin knows how much you need it.” You say. 

“I guess Merlin doesn’t know well enough.” Harry laughs as he looks down at his lap. The air stood still for a bit, with both of you sitting in silence as it was now one o’clock in the morning. Neither of you spoke, choosing to relish in the comfortable silence until Harry decides to break it again, “It’s hard. I didn’t think it would be,” 

“What?”

“The past 17 years of my life, I had this huge weight on my shoulders, y’know. Voldemort. He’s gone, and I just thought now that he is gone, truly and finitely gone, that weight would leave and I could just live out my life. Nothing hanging over my head.”

“But?” 

“If anything the weight’s even heavier. I feel like every time I close my eyes, he’ll find a way back. Some nights, it’s his face I see before he killed me in the forest. Some nights it’s the fifty–Remus, Fred, Tonks, Colin, Lavender–all of them.” 

You’ve no words to say that you feel could completely absolve Harry of his woes, so you do the next best thing and take his hand in yours, sweat and all. He looks at you, then down at your intertwined hands. He plasters half a smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Both of you sit a minute more in comfortable silence. He doesn’t look at you, but rather takes interest in everything else but you, stealing glances at the window, the grandfather clock, the coffee table.  You scoot closer to Harry, letting go of his hand and instead place both your hands on his face, making him face you. You’re both incredibly close, so close that you can see the little specks of brown Harry had in his eyes among the sea of green. Like instinct, he pulls you a little closer by the waist. You rest your forehead against his, while your thumb creates small circles on his cheekbones. 

Your words finally find footing and walk out your mouth in tiny little steps, coming to a whisper, “Harry, Voldemort is gone and dead, he’ll never find a way back. And, the fifty. They’re not gone because of you. There’s no need at all to carry that weight all by yourself. We’ll get through it together.” 

You release his face from your hands and pull him into a hug. He hugs back even tighter, like you were the only thing keeping him from floating upwards. His breaths grew heavy and tiny little sobs had erupted from him. His tears slid down your shoulders and back, but you didn’t mind nor care. Your right hand runs through his hair, while the other traces shapes on his back. 

He cries hard, as though he is finally letting out the last 17 years–all the hurt, all the pain, everything he had to push deep inside him for the common good of the wizarding world finally cascading in hot tears down his face then onto you. You let him. A good few minutes pass and the sobs dwindle, until Harry pulls away, wiping his face with his forearms. 

He mutters an apology that you vehemently decline, “Don’t apologize, Harry. I told you, we’ll get through it together. It’s my weight to carry as much as it is yours.” 

Harry doesn’t reply, instead he takes his wet glasses off, wiping them down with his shirt and placing them on the adjacent coffee table. You didn’t mean to, but you stare at him as he does so. He meets your eyes and still doesn’t say anything. He lies down on the roll-out and pulls you by your left arm along with him. So, here you were lying on your side facing Harry, who you knew for a fact that without his glasses only saw a blurry outline  of your face. His arm was wrapped around your waist and his legs all tangled in yours. The summer heat doesn’t hit as hard as it did minutes before. His face was now buried in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder and you could feel soft breaths coming from him, you assume he is finally asleep. 

None of your thoughts at this point in the night were very coherent nor making any sense–if anything they were being quite intrusive. Your mind was jumping from point to point. This was the closest you and Harry have ever been and for some reason, you were nervous. Try as you might, the thoughts still make waves in your head, but for Harry’s sake, you attempt to block them out. Harry was just as nervous and he too could not find a reason why. 

Turns out, Harry wasn’t asleep. He started to stir and pulls his face away from where it was perched. He’s now extremely close to your face but squinting to see you clearly. 

“Thank you, by the way. You’re brilliant.” He croaked and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. 

“I think that’s you, Harry. You’re brilliant, absolutely.” You reply beaming, even at this hour in the night. 

Time freezes over for the next few seconds as Harry’s lips find the edges of your mouth. He moves away from your face sheepishly, but he kisses you again, this time fitting his lips over yours. The kiss wasn’t desperate nor hungry; it was gentle and delicate, using the perfect amount of speed and force.  Harry is feeling an eclectic mix of emotions in those few seconds he spends on you, nervous to tense to idiotic to comfortable to sensational. It’s as though this is where he is ought to be, and it’s not just the familiarity that offers him this assurance, but just the sheer fact that it’s you. You, on the other hand, feel a release of pent-up emotion that you didn’t know you had. There is only relief and a calmness that you were sure you had never experienced before this moment. 

You both pull away and you hush Harry as you feel him already starting with an apology. You lightly shake your head, hoping that your blurry outline sends the message clear enough. It does and he stays quiet. You bring your hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw and cheeks repeatedly. You brush your thumb over his lips. He understood, and so did you. So you both rest well into the night, making this the first night Harry makes it through unscathed and in one piece. 

--

masterlist here

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter imagines #dating harry potter #reader insert #hp x reader #harry potter angst

[fairytsuk1]

precious moments (f)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: shoyo hinata x reader

genre: fluff

words: 1.1k

summary: i get misty eyed thinking of you and what you do to me.

prompt: ruffled hair

     The sun shining through the cracks of the blinds was what woke you up. Snuggled in fluffy sheets, you cuddled further into the lifeline hold of your husband, who lay unconscious and entirely still. You leaned your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent. The slightly musky boyish scent combined with strawberry body wash soothed you and relaxed your muscles once again, ready to fall back into the depths of blissful sleep.

     Your husband let out a dreamy sigh. Tensing momentarily, he tilted his head to fully capture you in the tender hold. You quickly fell back asleep.

     It was cold. You shifted to reach for warmth but opened your eyes when your hand landed on plush cotton rather than a sturdy body. You turned to your bedside table and squinted at the clock, rubbing your eyes and getting rid of the bleariness that clouded them—eleven in the morning.

     "Good morning, baby! You looked so cute, so I left you alone."

     Shoyo grinned at you, standing tall in the doorway of the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand. Clad in boxers, your eyes raked over his body greedily. He noticed immediately.

     "Hey! Don't look at me like that! You were the one to say not to get riled up!"

"That was last night, my love. That statement's been voided now."

     He laughed loudly and turned to go back to the bathroom to finish up his morning routine.

     Ah, that's right. Besides his enticing figure, the orange mop that sat atop his head was messy and wild. Just how you liked it.

     Tsukishima stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. The prospects of practice today making him feel as though he weighed a thousand pounds. 

     "Shouldn't you actually be ready when I get here? I'm sick of waiting all the time."

     You meticulously applied mascara to your top and bottom lashes, fanning your hand so it wouldn't clump together. Hinata was going to be at practice today. He always was, of course, but you wanted to look your best every time! 

"You can always go without me, Tsukki. Oh wait, you're soft for me. I forgot. That's why you show up every day."

     "You know, you could try shutting up. That might be good for you."

"And you could always go without me~. I guess we both are too stubborn. Okay, now I'm ready!"

     The walk to school was a peaceful one. The autumn leaves fell gracefully. It was silent but pleasant. That is until spinning wheels got louder and louder. Then, a flushed Hinata was biking beside you. He huffed, and you went to ask him why he was here--

     "Why are you here?" Tsukishima stared in disbelief, you two were so oblivious, "don't you bike over the mountain?"

     He snickers at the scandalized look on Hinata's face while stuttering for words. You smile at him and give a wave though you're eager for an answer.

     "Erm...I just thought it might be nice! You know, taking a different-GAH!-path and stuff!" his nervousness led him to nearly fall off the bike; he couldn't do that in front of you!

"Well, I'm glad! If a car comes, I know two boys are there to keep me safe!"

     "I'm not saving you, I'm saving myself!"

"Okay. Hinata, do you see how he treats me?"

     Hinata laughs loudly and nods eagerly.

     "You're like a prickly cactus and so mean to your friends!"

     Tsukishima says nothing besides digging his headphones out of his bag and putting them in, effectively plugging the two of you out. Though, his smile tells you everything you need to know. He is perfectly content at this moment. The left side quirks up just enough to dimple his soft, freckled cheek, and you swear that if things don't work out with Hinata, you'll just go for him.

     For now, you turn to the carrot-colored boy. Your gaze stops at his wild mane. It calls out for you to reach out and pet it.

"I like your hair like this. It suits you, makes you look cute!"

     His hair? His...hair? The one that gets tangled so easily and splays out when he lies down to rest? The one that's so unnecessarily bright and makes him stand out even more?...Oh. You have that gleam in your eyes, affectionate and as if the stars are swimming in them. It feels like his heart is about to break out through his chest and jump into your arms.

     "I think I like you."

"Huh?"

     Hinata stares at himself in the mirror. He’s dressed in lounge clothes and looking especially sleepy looking. His hair is a bit too flat in the mornings; he likes to fluff it up slightly! This is especially important since he knows how you feel about it. He lifts his hands and, as always, gets stuck on the ring wrapped around his finger. It gleams in the low light from the windows and fluorescent ones from the bathroom. He brings his hand back down and traces it before taking it off completely. On the inside, he sticks his tongue out as he focuses on the carvings embedded on the metal. The ones also within his own heart.

     Your initials. It nearly brings tears to his eyes like every other time he's gotten caught up with the feelings intense love brought.

"Sho? I brought you hot chocolate this time! We have to rake the leaves today, but I thought we could relax for just a bit."

     You slink in and set the mug on the counter, clad in his Black Jackal jacket. It dwarfs your form now. Though he hadn't grown extraordinarily since high school, he'd at least gotten taller than you. Your smile glows and frames your face. He wants to kiss you a million times over; plush lips against his and the taste of chocolate on his tongue.

     I love you.

     Your hands dip up and sink into the silky tangerine waves. You scratch his scalp for a second; he's convinced he understands dogs on a deeper level now. Then, you giggle and shake your hand through it. Going on the balls of your feet, you kiss him. You taste like chocolate and you make his knees feel weak.

"Mhm. Also, I like your hair."

     Just like always, you snicker and walk out of the bathroom. Your trademark phrase. You even said it in your vows! He'd never get tired of it though; he'd mess up his hair any day just to hear your honeyed voice call his name. He'd mess up his hair every day if he had to, just to see that smile.

     Thankfully, he always liked the messy look on him.

#hinata shouyou #haikyuu hinata #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo oneshot #hinata shouyo x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu prompts #hinata shoyo #hinata shouyo #autumn experiences collection #prompt list

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Nine: Home on the Range

AN: I’m back! I had trouble writing certain parts of this chapter and at one point I gave up and started writing for the next two chapters. But finally this chapter is done. I also published a playlist for this story that had been sitting in my drafts. Listening to some of the songs I selected as you read through the chapters is just *chef’s kiss*. After this chapter I’m probably going to take break from the story since writing this particular chapter was so draining for some reason. But hopefully when I return I will be feeling rejuvenated and ready to write again.

Happy Holidays!!!

Word Count: 5.1k

Trigger Warnings: violence, racial slurs/dated language

Taglist: @nerds4life246​

Chapter Ten: The Black Belle of the West

Sabine was fond of saloons just as much as anyone else, but tonight she visiting the establishment strictly for business. The bounty of Percy "The Fiend" Doyle had been issued by Sheriff Horace Lane, a man who usually offered the bounties that Sabine and the rest of the immortals took up. Working with him was quite the eye opening experience for Sabine. The sheriff was in the minority of accepting women and colored folks as a bounty hunters in a usually white, male-dominated occupation. It gave Sabine some comfort to know that there were some men who didn't let ego, bigotry, or ideas of femininity completely cloud their judgement.

Sabine swirled her bourbon around in its short glass as her eyes scanned over the saloon. The billiard room was so thick with smoke from cigarettes and cigars that it nearly burned her lungs, and the strains of piano music could be heard far off amidst laughter and chatter in the saloon. Laughter that came from rowdy men and pleasurable squeals from the working women lounging in the arms of their potential clients. Throwing back her shot, Sabine placed her glass down and began her prowl for the wanted man.

It was easier said than done.

There were so many people in the saloon that Sabine was having a hard time finding the outlaw. She moved from person to person, to table to table, until she found a familiar looking face. The unshaven beard, the wild, black hair, and the liver-spotted face. She took out the poster that she had been given, and compared the face on it with the man that she was looking at. No doubt, it was a match.

She stuffed the handbill into her chest and pulled the sleeves on her dress down to her shoulders. And with a vivacious smile, she strutted over to the table where The Fiend was playing poker with several other men.

"Anyone one you fellas named Doyle?" Sabine asked, placing her hands on hips.

"Who wants to know?" The Fiend questioned defensively.

Sabine shrugged, "You see, I'm new here and Charlie told me that you're a regular," she explained, playing the stereotypical vapid floozy. "And you always likes to see the new ones," she said, twirling a strand of her hair.

The Fiend looked Sabine over and smirked, "Never laid with a negress before, but I guess you'll do," he remarked, eliciting a few chuckles from the men around him.

The Fiend picked up his glass and downed his whiskey in one swift motion and excused himself with a wolfish smile, showing off his disgusting teeth. Sticking her hand out, Sabine sent the man an alluring smile and the man readily took it and she began to guide him up the wide staircase, The Fiend swatting her behind as they went. She tried not to tense nor flinch when she felt his hand, his action briefly transporting her back to her time on the Martin Plantation, but keeping her cool Sabine maintained her composure. The two of them made their way down a dimly lit hallway, where prostitutes lingered in their doors, smiling flirtatiously at him.

"Gimme a holler if you want a second inning, mister," one girl called, and winked at him, while another blew him a kiss.

They reach the end of the hall to "Sabine's" room and she opened the door, ushering him into it and closed the door behind her. Sabine smiled coquettishly at him as he began to undress, unbuttoning his shirt.

"What's your name?" he asked, pulling the shirt from his body.

"Lisa,"

"Well Lisa, I hope that you don't mind licking," he commented, his tongue darting out from his lower lip.

Sabine felt bile rise in her throat at the gesture, the very thought of his tongue making contact with any part of her made her want to gag. It was repulsive.

Sabine began tugging at her own clothes, "I don't pay no mind to that," she lied smoothly, allowing her dress to fall to the floor.

"Good girl," he cooed, eyeing her from head to toe. "You know, you're a lot prettier than the last one. Hardly had any teeth, and no tits," he described, shaking his head in distaste. "She was a flat thing, and I never liked flat. I wouldn't have mind all that, if she hadn't been such a bad fucker," he remarked, before letting out a sigh and plopping down on the bed. "I enjoyed seeing that bullet go between those blue eyes," he mentioned casually, tugging his boots off.

Sabine feigned shock, "You mean you killed her?" she asked, her voice slightly high pitched, placing her hand on her chest.

"Sure did!" he boasted, a large grin on his face. "She won't the only one too. Five other whores have been met similar fates all across this state," he informed. "I don't like to kill women folk, but if they disappoint old Fiend here, well I don't have a choice then," he went on. "Men are a whole lot easier to kill, they don't usually scream. When I robbed a bank in the Dakotas, I shot this lady and she screamed like a harpy. A shame that I wasn't able to strangle her instead," he finished, shaking his head and laughing lightly.

"It sounds like you've done a lot of killing," Sabine commented, feeling her disgust rise higher and higher at the sorry excuse of man in front of her.

"Oh darlin', it's what I do. I know it's probably not smart to talk to you about this, but if the noose ain't around my neck by now, then I don't think it'll ever be," he gloated, shrugging his shoulders.

She turned to The Fiend and smiled, "You sound like a very smart man," she complimented, watching him unzip his pants.

"What I am is horny," he corrected, staring at her hungrily. "Now come over here and let me get a better look at you," he ordered, beckoning her over.

Sabine walked over to The Fiend and he laid back on the bed, tucking his arms underneath his head. She planted her foot on the bed and slowly began to draw her chemise up.

"I'm sure many people are wanting your head, mister," Sabine mused, biting her lip.

The Fiend shrugged again, "I've got a bounty. About 7,500 dollars. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me, I'm worth a lot more," he proclaimed, puffing his chest out a bit.

"You know, I'd have to disagree,"

Sabine pulled her skirt up to her thigh, revealing her revolver in its holster. Before The Fiend could even react, she whipped out her gun and shot him dead center in the forehead.

"7,500 is far too much for you, bastard,"

High pitched screams and confused shouts rung out from behind her door and below her as she heard of flurry of movement downstairs. Blowing the barrel of her gun off, she slid the revolver back into its holster. Sabine picked up her clothes and redressed herself, mentally reciting the words she was about to say to the more than likely frenzied crowd that was going to be at her door in any moment.

"Everybody calm down, I mean no one else any harm," she would begin. "I am Corinna Vance, a legal representative of the Criminal Justice System of the United States of America. And this man here was a wanted man," she would explain, unfolding the warrant that matched Percy 'The Fiend' Doyle's description.

~~~x~~~

The sound of cheers, clapping, and the thumping of feet against wood reverberated in the air alongside the instruments being played. Strumming and singing to the rhythm of the tune, Sabine felt herself smile at the small audience who were clearly enjoying her performance. She didn't plan on doing this, not in the slightest, Sabine thought maybe around this time of the day she would be having a cup of coffee after finally getting up from bed from the long night she had. She had been tracking down another bounty given to her, this time she didn't even go under a pretense, she just sniped him from afar.

A well deserved rest was in store for her, she could taste it on her tongue.

But then, as soon as she rode into Hickory, Sabine was surrounded by children begging her to play on the banjo. And as much as she wanted to say 'no', Sabine could see the way their eyes lit up at the mere prospect of her performing.

And so she played.

So now that I am old and gray Listen close to what I say The white folks, they will write the show If you can't read, you'll never know

Sabine watched as the children swung each other around to the sound of the fiddle player, his bow striking across the strings as he rolled out the notes. She stared off to her side as she plucked the strings of the banjo with her skilled fingers. Bastien was sitting on their porch drinking from his flask, a smile was stretched upon his face at the cheerful kids in front of him.

Weeks had passed since the incident in Bastien's bedroom, and like with the 'river incident' the two of them mutually agreed in silence that nothing happened. Because technically, it was true. Yes, she and Bastien had a...heated moment that came close to a kiss, but did they do it? No. But of course that didn't stop Josef and Nicky from teasing her, because they knew something had gone down behind the Frenchmen's door.

Better git yer learnin' Better git yer learnin' Better git yer learnin' Before it goes away

Sabine and the fiddler drew the song to a finish, playing the same notes with much enthusiasm and joy. The last note rang out in the air and everyone from the children to the adults lounging around to hear Sabine play erupted in applause.

She did a little bow, "Thank you, thank you," she said, smiling herself. "Like the song I was just singing," she began, gazing at the young children in front of her. "You all need to get your learnin', so back to the schoolhouse," she ordered gently, and all the children simultaneously groaned. Sabine shook her head and wagged her finger. "I will be hearing none of it. Go on, off with you. Playtime is over," she informed, shooing them away with her hand.

Sabine pushed herself up from her seat on the porch step and turned around to see Bastien looking at her already.

"Quite a dark song to sing to children," he stated, with a chuckle. "'Ol' Massah found out, sure enough. And poor old Nick, he got strung up,'" he recited, putting the cap of his flask back on and tightening it.

Sabine walked closer to him, "It is true though," she responded, holding her banjo by the neck. "The penalty was death if a slave was caught trying to educate themselves," she continued, look down the road where the small schoolhouse was. "I'm glad they don't have to suffer or be beaten for wanting to learn," she added.

"I am too,"

She her turned attention back to him, "Why are you drinking so early?" she asked curiously. "It's only eleven," she pointed out.

"Well, in France I believe it's five o'clock," he retorted, slightly grinning.

Sabine snatched the flask from his grip, "That's not an excuse," she said letting out a laugh and running away from him into the house.

As soon as she crossed the threshold of the front door, Sabine felt a hand wrap around her waist and spin her around. Giggles bubbled from her throat as her surroundings whirled around.

"You two having fun?"

Andy's voice shattered Sabine and Bastien from being in their own little world and he quickly placed her on feet, grabbing his flask back with little resistance.

"Morning Andy," Sabine greeted awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck and making her way to the den area.

"Your hunting go well?" she questioned, glancing back down at her newspaper.

"Plentiful," Sabine answered, laying the instrument against the wall. She shrugged her knapsack off her shoulder before reaching into the bag and pulled out a wad of cash. "It's all here. All $7,500 of it," she beamed, walking back over to Andy and handing her the cash.

Sabine remembered bringing the body of the outlaw to the sheriff and him giving her reward. He promised that all the money was there, but she counted the money nonetheless. It was better to be safe than sorry in her opinion.

Andy smiled and nodded, "Nice job," she complimented. "I'd figured you would want to wash up, so I heated some water up for you," Andy explained. "Booker, if you would be so kind to take that pitcher to the washroom," she requested.

"Sure boss," he answered, and walked over to the stove, wrapping the pitcher's handle with a towel.

Sabine watched as his figure disappear down the short hall where the washroom was located, but stopped when she felt like there were eyes on her.

She glanced over to the oldest immortal who had her brow arched, "What?" she asked, removing her hat from her head.

"I've been hearing...rumblings," Andy began, her voice low as she folded the newspaper up.

"Rumblings about what?"

"That something transpired between you and Book while I was away," Andy answered.

Sabine scoffed slightly, "Josef and Nicky said something didn't they?" she questioned, taking off jacket. "What did the two gossipers say?" she asked again, turning around to go hang her things up.

"Nothing compromising if that's what you're worried about," she reassured. "Matter of fact, I'm not completely sure what is going on," she admitted, the chair creaking underneath her as she stood up. "I have an inkling due to Joe's teasing mood as of late,"

Sabine shrugged casually, trying to brush off Andy's suspicions.

She turned around, "It's Josef, when isn't he teasing one of us," she said, with a chuckle.

Andy approached her, "Booker is fond of you," she said bluntly, just loud enough for only her to hear.

Sabine's mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to form words, "W-Well, I hope he would be, we've only known each other for a decade-"

"That's not what I mean and you know it,"

"Is everything alright?"

Sabine stared past Andy's shoulder and saw Bastien looking at the two of them with a slight frown.

"Yes," Sabine answered, flashing him a smile. "Just us two gals talking," she explained, moving past Andy. "Thanks again for the bathwater," she added, looking over her shoulder at the oldest immortal.

Andy let out a chuckle in disbelief, "Sure, no problem Sabine," she replied, shaking her head.

Sabine went down the hall and pushed the door closed, seeing her clothes that she forgot she left in there folded neatly. Sighing gratefully, she stripped herself from the clothes she was wearing and put them aside before she rinsed her hair. Next, she soaped her face and hands, humming to herself as went. She carefully rinsed her face before taking a wash rag to the rest of her. Finally, Sabine bathed her body and shivers ran down her spine from the chill in the house. She quickly dried herself as best she could and dressed herself in her clothes from the day before.

Dirty clothes in hand, Sabine left the small washroom and out to the main area where Andy, Nicky, and Josef were all seated at the table while Bastien was

Josef's eyes lit up at the sight of her, "My good friends, I think we have a genteel lady in our presence again," he commented, staring at her outfit.

Sabine rolled her eyes and did a little twirl, her skirt dancing at her ankles, "Yes, it is I, Lady Sabine," she announced, straightening her posture and lifting her hand in the air.

Doing a quick bow Sabine left the den, walking towards her bedroom to place her things down and return back to the main area of the home.

"You know that Juneteenth is approaching soon?" Sabine asked, tucking the sides of her blouse into her skirt a little more. "Last year we missed out on the festivities, too busy chasing down outlaws," she remarked, going to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Ah yes! I can hardly wait!" Josef cheered. "Good food, good drink, music, and dancing. Who could ask for more?" he added, leaning back in chair with his arms behind his head.

"We could all use a bit of fun," Nicky chimed in, as Sabine looked up from her cup.

"But not too much fun," Andy suggested cautiously. “I am not trying to play nanny to any of you,” she joked, a smile reaching her lips.

Sabine went to join the group, "Oh come on Andy," she complained, pulling her damp hair over her shoulder.  She walked past Bastien, lightly letting her finger trail across his shoulder, his body stiffening in response. "Bastien is our resident functioning alcoholic," she quipped, taking a seat next to him. "I think we'll be just fine," she added.

~~~x~~~

A light breeze swept through Hickory as Sabine did her afternoon chores outside.

She looked over the clothesline to see children sitting around Hans listening to him tell stories from his homeland. They were interesting tales that had the kids attention completely eaten up. Just the way he told them made them all the more captivating. His hand gestures, the voices he would give the characters, even the facial expressions he put into it. It made her wondered why he didn't teach at a fancy school somewhere instead of...being here.

Sabine pinned another shirt onto the line and lifted her eyes from her work again, just in time to meet Hans' gaze. He sent her a quick wink as he continued his storytelling, she chuckled to herself and shook her head as she bent down to pick up another article of clothing. The sound of a bell being vigorously rung echoed in the air followed by the loud chatter of children passing by her home.

Back to the schoolhouse they go.

Attaching her chemise to the line with clothespins, Sabine could see from the corner of her eye Hans' form strolling over to her.

"Afternoon Miss Vance," he greeted, from the other side of the clothesline.

"Afternoon," she echoed, wiping her hands dry on her dress.

"Hard at work I see," he joked, motioning to the drying laundry.

Sabine chuckled slightly, "Trust me, I've done harder," she replied, knowing the statement would go right over his head.

Hans didn't know that she was a slave, he didn't ask, so she didn't tell. Sabine always wondered if he didn't ask out of dignity or out of pity.

"Then let me grant you a reprieve," he said, sticking his arm out. Sabine glanced over to the clothesline and Hans chuckled. "I make better company than the laundry, I promise," he assured, a twinkle in his eye.

"I guess you have a point," Sabine agreed, her lips quirking up into a smile as she walked over to him.

"How about a ride to the nearby meadow?" Hans suggested, glancing over at her.

"That sounds lovely Hans," she agreed, before walking over to her horse.

Freedom was a beautiful horse, Sabine knew so. The animal was well built, a white stripe ran down nose, her coat a light brown that seemed to drop into a darker brown around her under belly and legs. Yes, Sabine adored the horse, it was her companion on her many bounty hunting trips. She stroked Freedom gently and in return the horse nuzzled her shoulder.

"Good girl," she cooed, giving the horse a pat and mounting it.

Sabine maneuvered her horse, guiding it to the front of her home where Hans waited on top of his own steed.

"Race you there," Sabine said, squeezing her legs on the horse's sides.

Freedom's light trot turned into a sprint as she took off, Sabine felt her plait bounce on her back as she sped off, looking back at the German with a wide unmistakable smile on her lips. Hans flashed his soft gray eyes at her, smiling back as he tugged on his reigns to catch up with her and ride at Sabine's side. Leaning her body back a little, let out a whoop as she felt the wind rush past her.

Soon, the two of them found themselves at a wide meadow full of flowers and tall, green grass.

Slowing her horse down, Sabine gazed at the scenery with a small grin and dismounted Freedom. Hans followed behind her, hopping off his saddle and dusted off a sprinkling of dirt on his horse's rear. Sabine lowered herself onto the ground and laid on her back, not caring if grass got in her hair. Without taking her eyes off the clouds in the sky, Sabine could hear Hans plop himself down next to her.

"Not that I'm not grateful," Sabine began, staring at a cloud that reminded her of a feather. "But why did you bring me out here?" she asked, lazily turning her head in his direction. "The porch is a very comfortable place to sit as you know," she joked.

"Too many prying eyes," Hans answered, staring down at her.

"What? My friends?" she questioned, with a chuckle. "They're harmless," she assured, giving a dismissive wave.

"You sure about that?" he asked back, letting out a laugh of his own. "What's his name, Samuel? I don't think he's that much fond of me," he commented, taking his hat off.

"Oh, Samuel is like that with everyone," Sabine replied, knowing that was lie.

"Miss Vance, I think you're lying to me," he stated, tearing some grass from the ground.

Sabine snickered, "Was it that obvious?" she wondered, resting her hands on her stomach.

"Just a little," he replied, pinching his fingers closely together.

"Samuel is...Samuel is something else," Sabine explained lamely. "He can be a bit cold towards people he doesn't know. I wouldn't take it personally," she instructed.

Hans hummed, "I'll take your word for it," he responded, stroking his beard, clearly not sold on the idea.

Sabine laughed lightly, "Anyways, did you have fun telling your stories today?" she asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

"It was wunderbar!" Hans answered, with a grin. "The children seemed to be hooked onto my every last word I said," he recalled proudly.

"I don't doubt it," Sabine agreed. "It makes me wonder why you're not a teacher in some big, fancy school in New York," she commented, looking at him in curiosity.

"I use to tutor children from the upper class for many years and life soon became monotonous for me," he explained, staring out into the meadow. "I kept hearing people say that 'The West' is full of opportunities and new experiences and I couldn't help myself," he went on, shrugging a little. "I know I'm a bit old, but I couldn't shake that sense of adventure off me," he finished, turning towards her with a grin.

"I think you're never too old to have a sense of adventure," Sabine disagreed. "You only get one life, why not live it?" she questioned, managing to keep a straight face as the hypocritical statement slipped past her lips.

"And what about you?" Hans inquired, lightly tapping her thigh. "The children have told me that you are quite the singer," he informed. "Your voice could take you places," he suggested.

Sabine scoffed, "Where would I sing?" she challenged. "In a fucking minstrelsy show to humiliate myself?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Goodness no," he disagreed vehemently. "And I wouldn't want you to subject yourself to that," he added. "I just thought with your singing-"

"There isn't a stage in America that would let my colored ass perform," she cut in. "Look Hans, you may not know this, but being a female bounty hunter sometimes isn't really the most grateful job. Whether it's because you don't have a cock or your skin is not the color of milk. But at the end of the day, I still enjoy what I do. It helps me provide for myself and my friends, takes me to new places, and meet new people along the way," Sabine continued, running her hand through the grass. "Plus, I get paid to kill white folks," she added, a smirk on her face.

"An added bonus I'm sure," Hans responded, with a chuckle. He began to play with his hands before looking at Sabine again. "May I hear you sing?" he requested, with a hopeful look on his face.

"What?" Sabine asked, raising her brow. "Come on," she complained, throwing her head back.

"I haven't had the pleasure of hearing you sing," Hans pointed out.

Sabine exhaled dramatically, "Okay, fine, fine," she conceded, pushing herself up completely.

One evening as I rambled among the springing thyme I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynardine.

Her hair was black, and her eyes were blue, her lips as red as wine. And he smiled as he gazed upon her, did that sly bold Reynardine.

"That's it, I'm not singing any further," Sabine stated, lifting her hands in the air. "If I sing anymore this week, I'm gonna have to start charging people," she quipped.

"But my appetite has not been sated yet," Hans pouted humorously.

Sabine grinned, "Too bad," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

"Where did you learn that song from?" he asked curiously.

"Some English fellow that I met this past winter," she replied, a faint smile on her face. "He was a...very pleasant man to be with," she commented, thinking of fond memories about Oliver.

"You meet the darnedest of people out here, don't you?"

"It's like I said, perks of the job," Sabine reminded.

A silence fell between them as another breeze swept through meadow, blowing strands of hair across Sabine's face. She turned her head and stared at Hans with intent. Something was off about him today, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Was there another reason you brought me out here?" Sabine asked, staring at him.

The smile on his face lessened at her question, "Actually yes," he replied, tossing some blades of grass back onto the ground. "I received a telegram from Texas. A friend of mine is having trouble. You've heard of Theo Beck, I take it?" he asked, returning her gaze.

Sabine shrugged again, "A little. Sheriff Lane told me that he killed his family and then robbed a bank?" she answered, wondering where this was going.

"That'd be him. He was suppose to hang last week, but he escaped from his cell the day before his execution. Now, my friend is a federal marshal and he's the one that set the bounty. Dead or alive. Everyone's been searching, and his last sighting was in Oklahoma..." he trailed off.

Sabine's mind quickly put two and two together about this conversation.

"You're leaving?" she remarked, both of her eyebrows raised.

"I'm afraid I am my dear," Hans confirmed, nodding his head.

"I feel like you just got here and now you have to leave," Sabine grumbled, crossing her arms.

"I have to Corinna, I might never see an opportunity with the size of this reward like this again," he explained, raking his hand through his hair. "You are the one who told me that we only get one life," he reminded, slightly grinning.

"Yes, but I didn't think your next adventure would be this soon," she retorted, throwing her hands slightly. "Who's going to teach me German now?" she questioned, shaking her head a bit.

"I'll think you'll do just fine without me schatzi," Hans assured.

~~~x~~~

Sabine and Hans walked alongside their horse as they approached Hickory, deciding to give their horses a rest.

"Before I leave here, I want to give you something," Hans stated, before digging inside his coat pocket. He pulled out the German language lesson book that he had been going over with her. "Something for you to remember me by," he added, extending the book towards her.

Slowly, she pulled the book from his grasp, "Hans, are you sure about this?" she questioned. "We may never see each other again, I'll have no way of returning this to you," she pointed out.

"It's a gift remember?" Hans replied, a small smile on his face. "And when we do meet again, I expect us to have full fledged conversation in German, recalling all our wonderful exploits," he corrected, with an affirmative nod.

Sabine laughed, "I look forward to it," she concurred, clutching the book against her chest.

Hans stepped forward, gently taking her by the arms, "Before I depart I would like to also give you a proper goodbye,"

She arched an eyebrow, "'A proper goodbye'?" she repeated, wondering what he meant as he pulled her into his embrace.

"Yes, something that I've been wanting to do for a while," he continued, as he slid his hands around her waist.

Lowering his head ever so slightly, Hans planted his lips on her mouth. Sabine gladly allowed herself to lean into him, exhaling gently as she reciprocated the kiss. For that instant, they were totally unaware of everything and everyone around them. Hans' grip on her waist tightened, deepening their embrace. From the corner of her eye, Sabine saw a figure emerge from the front door of her home. Abruptly, she pulled away from Hans when she recognized who it was. Bastien. Clumsily, the book slipped from her hands, dropping it onto ground with an echoing thud.

Embarrassment was written all over her face.

"Samuel! I-I-didn't you see there," Sabine said sheepishly, her hands folding into one and other in a nervous, awkward motion.

"I can see that," Bastien responded, with harsh plainness.

Sabine glanced over to Hans, expecting to see the same wide-eyed expression as her, but instead Hans looked smug. Completely unfazed that Bastien had caught them in such a position. Sabine started to believe that's what made Bastien angrier as his nostrils flared and a vein on his forehead protruded out in anger.

Hans faced Sabine again, "Auf wiedersehen," he said, before kissing the top of her head.

The German climbed onto his horse and spurred it forward with his heels, sauntering past the town's wooden placard. As he left, Sabine could hear him humming a little tune to himself and she instantly recognized it.

It was the song Reynardine.

Chapter Eleven: Green-eyed

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #the old guard fanfic #the old guard fic #black fanfiction #black!oc #black oc #black original character #black female oc #booker x oc #sebastien le livre x oc #sebastian le livre #booker #andromache the scythian #andy #nicolo di genova #nicky #joe #quynh #lykon #yusuf al kaysani #the old guard imagine #black!reader

[bgnmagic]

The Ravages of Time

Saw a great prompt from @chaoticdweeb about Arthur coming back and not realizing Merlin was alive, and the relief he’d feel when he did find him. This angsty monster was born, but it has a happy ending!

Work:

The feeling of water pushing against every part of his body drove Arthur into a panic. He was underwater and couldn’t breathe. Struggling to think Arthur could only kick with his feet when he touched bottom. The chainmail and armor weighed him down and made swimming impossible. However, the need to find air drove Arthur to continue his efforts. Nothing was clear in his muddled brain, he simply needed to survive.

Breaking the surface of the water, Arthur gasped in a lung full of air and looked around. Thank the goddess the bottom was shallow; he could walk without fear of drowning. Fighting through the mud and reeds Arthur collapsed on the bank a few minutes later. Coughing and working to regain his breath, Arthur mind was slow to recover.

Why were his memories so hazy? The adrenaline coursing through his system prevented the cold water and night air from having an effect.  Though, Arthur knew if he didn’t seek shelter and start a fire soon he’d risk becoming ill or worse. If only he had Merlin with him.

The onslaught of memories that came with that simple thought caused Arthur to cry out. Visions of battles flashed before him. Arguments and hurt feelings from those he loved made his chest ache. Betrayals and worrisome revelations made Arthur grasp his side reflexively. Nothing was felt besides a phantom sting.

Finally a memory of forgiveness overtook him. Merlin had magic. Merlin had lied to him but he was still there helping him despite the punishment for such things. Looking around again Arthur called Merlin’s name. Perhaps he was still here?

It was dark out and the details for this godsforsaken place were hard to glean, but Arthur thought maybe he was at the lake that Merlin had taken him to after he’d been wounded. He’d survived that, right? Arthur furrowed his brow and tried to stay calm as he worked to remember what had happened. Merlin had been there and he’d asked his friend to hold him.

Flinching at the vivid memory of that moment Arthur realized things were not well. In an uncharacteristic move Arthur began loudly calling for Merlin. He didn’t cease his efforts until his throat hurt. Forcing his aching body to stand he surveyed the area looking for anything familiar. Faint sounds of something roaring came and went. Whatever it was Arthur didn’t want to go near it. Catching sight of a strange light in the distance he set off to see what he could find.

Trudging to a stop in front the oddest looking thing he’d ever seen Arthur began to worry that he’d been cursed. The light he’d spotted was sitting high atop a long straight pole. The surrounding area was unnaturally flat and had vibrant colored lines drawn on it. Was this some kind of druid encampment?

Looking around revealed no other signs of life. Forced to move on Arthur was wary of the flat surface, and chose to walk along the grass next to it. He was already in some sort of trouble and getting sucked into a magical trap didn’t sound appealing. Though it looked harmless enough, it was really the lines that gave him pause. Sorcerers used markings and patterns for some of their incantations. Otherwise, it appeared to serve the same function as a dirt path.

The flat path continued on with more tall lights and eventually stopped and joined several others of a similar nature. Thankfully, the colored lines stopped and Arthur felt comfortable walking along it. Maybe it was just a road. Following the path for another twenty minutes led him to a small cottage. The style was one he’d not seen before. The roof covered in something that looked like stone but wasn’t.

It also had another light illuminating its entrance. Who had come out to light all these? The light the lamps gave off never flickered and that bothered Arthur. How could such a bright light not waver? Cautiously he approached the building and tried the door. It was locked, walking around he began to peer into the windows. The glass was smooth and so clear, unlike anything he’d ever seen. Vague shapes stood out in the darkness of the interior, it appeared to be a working building of some kind. Maybe that meant the owners lived nearby.

Spurred on by a renewed sense of hope Arthur ran back out to the flat pathway and began looking for more buildings. He needed to find shelter soon anyway, his clothes were soaked and the night air was making him shiver. This place had plenty of wood to burn but he had no flint. Starting a fire would be tricky.

Taking a calming breath Arthur strode out into the eerie light and vowed to survive this ordeal. He’d find Merlin and they’d figure out what to do, just like they always did.

--

Merlin shot up in bed sweating and breathing hard. His nightmare was oh so vivid and very disturbing. The image of someone he had to fight to remember came so clearly to him it almost made Merlin sick. The blond hair, the blue eyes, everything quintessentially Arthur and it was in his head again. His king had been drowning, but managed to fight off death. Merlin’s breath was still erratic as he cast the sheets aside and got up.

Was this real? Could it be finally happening after so many years? What a cruel joke to do it when he was so far from home. The past fifteen hundred years had been a compilation of many lifetimes. The memory of Arthur coming and going and only getting fuzzier by the century, it was so distorted by now that Merlin worried he’d forget what his friend looked like.

However, his memory was newly restored by the alarming dream he’d experienced. Having never felt his magic surge in such a way Merlin knew he couldn’t ignore this sign. He had to go home and check the lake. Rushing around the small apartment he’d let, Merlin packed his bags without much care. The small cottage back in England had all his life’s possessions it, this place wasn’t home.

Cursing at being so unprepared for an emergency trip home Merlin made sure the stove and lights were off before he stumbled through the door and hailed a taxi. Destiny was a bitch. Living in Buenos Aires for the past year had been a good experience. Merlin had found several magic users and was able to help them hone their skills. The discovery that helping others strengthen their magic made his stronger had been surprising. The dragon had always said he was magic itself, it only made sense.

Living in a city that never sleeps made hailing a cab easy. Chucking his bag in the seat Merlin asked the driver to take him to the airport. He had a long flight ahead of him.

--

The day brought with it a new set of challenges. People. Arthur stayed hidden in the tree line where he’d found a little place to hunker down for the rest of the night. Forced to wear his wet clothing Arthur was certain he was coming down with a cold. Unable to start a fire Arthur had waited for the warmth of the sun to better assess his situation.

This place, with the flat pathway was very strange. The moment the sun rose people began showing up, but they were all walking or running. Some had dogs on a leash; others had little strings coming out of their ears. They all were dressed like idiots. Not a lick of protective clothing amongst the lot of them. It was all tight fitting and showed every lump and bump.

Deciding that staying out of sight was a better choice, due to his appearance not matching, Arthur waited and watched. Trying to ignore the slight chill he could feel creeping into his bones. Wondering where these people were going to in such a hurry Arthur was surprised when a few came back. He recognized their awful bright clothing. Why were they out running from one place to another without purpose?

Giving up on watching after several hours, Arthur picked his way through he forest in search of food. When the sound of voices reached his ears Arthur ducked down to observe. In a clearing up ahead sat a man and a woman. They were eating funny looking little bits of food in shiny paper. As he edged closer to hear better Arthur realized he could barely understand what they were saying. The language wasn’t anything he’d heard before. Only able to pick up a few words Arthur waited to see what they would do.

Turns out the thing they did was distracting enough for Arthur to sneak up and grab some food out of their odd looking bag. Guess some things never change. Swiftly running away back the way he came, only stopping when he could no longer hear the couple’s moans of passion.

Unsure what was worse, Gwaine’s gruel or this loaf of compressed fiber, Arthur stuffed his face. The need for substance outweighed his need for flavor. When night came again, the people all left and he was alone once more. With only the pale light of the moon as company Arthur settled down for the evening. One improvement however, was a fire. Arthur had found better supplies and managed to get some dried leaves to spark to life with two sticks.

Sitting by himself Arthur began to wonder what to do. He’d have to leave eventually. Hunger alone was going to drive him if nothing else. Unsure of what lay outside of the boundaries, Arthur wished he had his sword. No one else seemed to carry weapons here but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t need it. Deciding that he needed to investigate more Arthur curled up and attempted to sleep. He’d need as much rest as he could get.

--

Nearly thirty six hours later Merlin was standing outside of Heathrow and blinking blearily. The sun was going down again and he needed to rent a car. Trudging over to the rental station Merlin managed to wake up enough to rent a vehicle and he set off. The drive took hours as he’d timed it perfectly to get stuck in rush hour traffic.

Merlin’s magic was humming under his skin and pulsing stronger and stronger the closer he got to home. That had to mean something.

Time went by in a blur as he rushed towards his destination. The lake, the place Merlin hardly visited anymore. It only served to remind him that he couldn’t think of all the little details that made Arthur, Arthur anymore. Time had done a number on Merlin, some decades had been bad, others good. The first few years after Arthur’s death, Merlin had tried to help out in Camelot but it was hard. Eventually everyone grew gray hair and passed.

The cold hard truth of his immortality became apparent after that. The next century after that was filled with rage. After nearly taking his own life some thirteen hundred years prior Merlin had decided that he didn’t want to live like that.  If Arthur was to return someday Merlin vowed he would work to make it a better place for his king.

History worked its course and wars and other terrible things came and went. Through it all Merlin stayed strong and lived his life. Finding other magic users around the world helped keep him sane. There were more and more each year and Merlin found purpose in teaching the old ways and working to help the world rather than be mad at it.

This passage of time was difficult but he managed. The only casualty being his memories of Arthur, Merlin didn’t want to forget, but time was stronger than he was. Fifteen hundred years was a long time and things faded even though he fought it.

Now as Merlin drove through the countryside towards the lake, he was trying desperately to bring back all his lost memories. Left with his vision of dream Arthur in peril Merlin could barely keep his panic at bay. This had to be real, if Merlin got to the lake and Arthur wasn’t there again, he didn’t know what he’d do.

The gates were locked, to the park surrounding the lake, when Merlin arrived. Sunrise to sunset said the sign. Right, screw that, no feeble attempt at keeping hours was going to stop destiny. Parking along a nearby street Merlin jumped the fence and ran down the path.

Ten minutes later Merlin’s heart nearly stopped. There in the mud coming out of the lake were boot prints. They only went one way, leading out of the murky waters. Turning around Merlin began screaming Arthur’s name. It had been almost two full days since his dream. Did that mean Arthur had been out here alone since then?

--

Sleep didn’t come for Arthur as he lay curled around his small fire. There was one more place he could check, the trek wouldn’t be easy but perhaps going at night would be better. Deciding this was the best course of action; Arthur snuffed out his fire and stood. He’d already figured out his bearings from the sun earlier.

With a sigh he began walking in the direction of Camelot. If he couldn’t find answers there then Arthur was at a loss of what to do next. Merlin was missing as were all his other knights and friends. This place he’d been cast away to was different and scary.

Clearing the very odd perimeter fence of the lake wasn’t easy. The little holes in the surface made for easy climbing but the whole structure ebbed and flowed with his movement. Its height meant the jump down on the other side hurt his limbs. Taking a breath to steady his nerves Arthur set off in the general direction of his home.

Surprisingly a path soon appeared and it stayed somewhat true to the course. Perhaps this had been a good plan after all. Stumbling along the moonlit trail Arthur slowly made his way towards his fate. Worry drove him forward, what if there was nothing there? What if he never found anyone he knew?

Hours passed in this terrible mental state. Arthur would get distracted when his path had to cross more flat surfaces with those bright markings. Careful to avoid getting hit by what seemed to be large magical boxes with even brighter lights than the ones from the lake, Arthur carried on. Fatigue was taking hold as the moon dipped in the sky. Without a proper meal for nearly two days Arthur could feel his body dragging.

Stubborn to the last, Arthur kept pushing along, one foot in front of the other. He’d get there if it killed him. No turning back. Then something appeared something familiar. A landmark he recognized. Rushing up to a stone marker in the path he fell to his knees and almost started crying. The stone marker was a boundary notice. Too overcome with relief to notice its aged state Arthur pushed himself up and kept going, he was nearly there.

Hope spurred his tired body onward and towards Camelot. Finally, the path fell away and opened up to a large clearing. This should have brought Arthur joy, but a sudden dread filled his gut. The spires of Camelot were missing, replaced by a largely open field with a crumbling ruin in its midst.

No! He was too late, Camelot had fallen! Unthinking Arthur kept moving towards the hulk of stones duly illuminated in the fading moon light. Reaching what used to be the east gate Arthur could only stand and stare, the walls were mostly gone and the inside was overgrown with grass. Attempting to go inside he realized the entrance was bared with a gate. What was there to protect?! This place was destroyed!

Another eerie light was set nearby and Arthur went to it so he could see better, so he could see the destruction of his home. Tears were pricking at his eyes, this couldn’t be real. Walking up to the walls he ran his hands over the surface and wept. After an a moment Arthur noticed something off, all the stone was weathered far beyond its age. Was this some trick of magic? What could do this? Looking around Arthur foolishly let his hope rise up again. Maybe it was magic; maybe everyone was fine and escaped whatever attack caused this damage. Looking around for more clues Arthur was drawn to an irregular piece of wood sticking out the ground. Coming around he realized the light was aiming at this piece of wood.

Taking in the design he noted it had a metal cap on top with words emblazoned on the surface. The language was still foreign to him but some words stood out. His own name was there along with the word Camelot, both followed by a set of numbers that closely matched the current year. Continuing to read the metal writings, one other bit of information made Arthur’s world crumble.

Another year was imprinted at the bottom of the metal, one that read 1975. Shaking and suddenly feeling week, Arthur sunk to the ground. Dear goddess, had more than a thousand years passed? No wonder everything looked so worn and weathered, it was old.

He was the only one left; he’d been brought back as some cruel joke. Left to suffer alone, all that he knew and loved was gone and dead.

--

Merlin didn’t care that he had lit the park up like a roman candle, he needed to find Arthur. Magical glowing blue orbs were everywhere in the forest. Hours passed as he scoured the grounds looking for signs. Either by chance or magic, Merlin was sure it was the latter, he stumbled upon a freshly extinguished fire. The logs were arranged in a painfully familiar way. Memories of camping with Arthur were still fuzzy and Merlin tried in vain to bring them back.

The fire had clearly been smoldering for hours, Arthur had to be close. Looking around for another hour produced nothing. A small tug of his magic kept making Merlin look a certain direction. It wasn’t until the fifth occurrence of this did he realize what it meant. Arthur would try and head towards Camelot. He knew the lake was within a few hours walking distance.

Snuffing out all the orb lights except one Merlin raced back to his car. He had to find Arthur before anything bad happened.

The road was blessedly clear of traffic as Merlin sped along the motorway. Forty five minutes later he screeched to a halt in front of a rather imposing metal gate. Nope, not today. Using his magic he cast the lock aside and sprinted in towards the ruins of the once great citadel.

The first rays of dawn were starting to appear as Merlin ran in a frantic bid to find his king and friend. Rounding one of the massive crumbled walls Merlin skidded to a halt. The shadow of man was hunched over in the grass. The glint of chainmail gave Merlin all the confirmation he needed as he stuttered to life again.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried out.

The man flinched and looked up, his face tear stained and puffy. A broken sob was his answer as Arthur struggled to stand and failed.

Falling to his knees Merlin wasted no time in gathering Arthur in his arms and holding him tightly. “Arthur say something, are you – are you alright?”

Arthur’s arms were around his waist in a heartbeat. “I – I thought I was – alone!” he sobbed. “What happened?”

“Time passed, you died,” Merlin offered simply. Having already come to terms with the loss of his king a thousand times over, this moment only left Merlin feeling numb.

“How –how are you here?” Arthur managed.

“Turns out I’m immortal, though I’m not sure anymore now that you’re back.”  

“Merlin, I don’t feel well,” Arthur mumbled a moment later.

“Let me take you home, to my home, let me take care of you.”

Arthur’s tears had subsided enough for him to speak clearly, “I don’t think I can walk very far. Did you bring a horse?”

“Sort of, its kinda the same, it doesn’t matter, “ Merlin admitted. “Come on let’s go, I’ll help you. I don’t want to be here when the park guard opens up for the day. I sorta broke the lock to get in.” Merlin ignored Arthurs confused face and hauled him upright. Slinging an arm over his shoulder they made their way to the car.

Arthur visibly shied away when they approached. “Is it safe? I’ve seen a few of these things and they seem dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than a horse, I’ll show you.”

“Is it magic?”

“No it’s a machine, like the mechanical crossbows we used in a way; this is a much more advanced machine is all.”

Arthur was clearly lacking the energy to question him further and allowed Merlin to ease him into the front passenger seat. Merlin tried to drive carefully as he navigated them back to his cottage. When the small driveway of the estate came into view sixty minutes later Merlin sighed in relief.

Arthur had passed out ten minutes into the ride, his exhaustion and the fact that the Merlin had reclined the seat helped in that matter. Pulling up to the front door Merlin shut the car off and got out. The power to the place was turned off but he could make due. Water he could get from the well and the pump in the house.

Waking Arthur up wasn’t easy and Merlin could feel his skin getting hot. Stress and being out in the elements had done this. Merlin swore he’d not leave Arthur’s side until he was better. Once they were inside Merlin waved his hand and a plethora of orbs filled the space casting a soft glow around. Going to the bathroom first Merlin sat Arthur on the toilet and began divesting him of his armor and clothes.

Once Arthur was sitting only in his smallclothes did Merlin turn his attention towards the bath, using magic once more he ran the water pump in the kitchen and magicked the water into the bath. Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction as he watched the liquid flow through the small space.

“Sorry for using magic so openly right now but I need to get this done and the power and water are shut off at the moment.”

“What?” Arthur rasped.

Realizing he’d gone over too much, Merlin switched tracts. “May I use my magic right now, do you mind?” The king shook his head and kept watching the display. Once the bath was full he cast a spell to heat the water and put his attention back to Arthur. “Ready for a bath? Water’s nice and hot.”

Nodding dumbly Arthur let Merlin help him up and into the bath. With a hushed spell Merlin removed the last of Arthur’s clothes. The man didn’t make a comment and allowed Merlin to lower him into the steamy water.

“May I clean you?” Merlin asked softly. This whole moment was so surreal. Time had all but erased his beloved king from his memory but now everything was flooding back. Merlin wanted to never leave Arthur’s side again.

“This is real, right?” Arthur asked slowly.

“I think so, don’t think about it too hard. Let me take care of you for now.”

Merlin relearned all the little details he’d forgotten cleaning Arthur. The freckles and beauty marks scattered along his upper torso were mapped once more. The exact shade of his hair was cataloged again along with the very tired blue eyes locked on his own.

“What year is it?” Arthur asked after a while.

“It’s twenty, twenty-one.”

“Oh, the metal plate back at Came—Camelot said nineteen seventy-five.”

“Ahh, yeah that’s most likely when somebody paid to make the marker, or that metal plate thing. Sort of like a history record, on this day and time we did this thing. Make sense?”

“I suppose forty more years don’t really make a difference in the long run do they?” Arthur replied miserably.

“I’ll always be with you, Arthur so long as I’m able I’ll be there to tackle the world with you.”

“What took you so long this time?” Arthur asked with a hint of a smile. “I nearly went mad.”

“Okay, so world travel is a lot easier now and I was literally half away across the planet. It took me a little bit to get here.”

“Merlin, I almost lost my mind and I was only in this crazy place for two days, how have you managed all these years?”

“I’m already crazy so I guess I blend in better?”

Arthur laughed for the first time since he’d found him and relaxed further into the bath. “I’m almost afraid to ask but what is the food like?”

“Ah it’s not bad, I need to feed you actually, lemme go make something.” Merlin went to stand up but Arthur’s iron grip on his wrist stopped him.

“You’re not allowed to leave me alone just yet; can’t you float it in here like the water?”

“Shit, I can try; I don’t really remember what’s in the kitchen.” Pushing his magic out Merlin felt around in the cabinets and found something that was hopefully a canned good. After several failed attempts and something breaking in the hallway he had procured enough things to make a meal. Granted it was the strangest thing he’d ever done, cooking in the bathroom, but Arthur wouldn’t let go of his hand.

--

After the shock had subsided Arthur was able to relax in his surroundings. Grief still weighed him down heavily at the loss of all his family and friends. Merlin was always there to guide him through it. The months passed and Arthur began to feel like he understood his place in the world better. Merlin had been telling him all the work he’d done over the centuries and how Arthur could help him in the future.

The world was delicate and needed people like them to help keep it in balance. The only thing that changed for Arthur was his insistence that he not be apart from Merlin. They were always together and that’s the way he liked it. Merlin didn’t seem to mind his clinginess despite his gripes on the subject. So what if they fell asleep together on the large fluffy thing called a couch all the time. It made Arthur feel at ease and Merlin was always happier afterward.  How could that be a bad thing?

There was still so much to learn and come to terms with but Arthur knew he could do it with Merlin by his side.

#merlin #arthur returns #fanfic

[tiger-tally]

Raishi: Konpeki no Shou (Part 1)

Because when there’s a free tactical RPG with Wu Zixu as a hot protagonist, sometimes you give in to curiosity even if you don’t understand Japanese and some of the later plot developments sound absolutely batshit. I’ve only completed the first act of the game, covering from Wu Zixu’s flight from Chu to Helu’s death, but I thought I’d write up my impressions in case anyone else is curious. TL;DR: not bad food if you like the genre and/or Wu Zixu, but the shipping options are lackluster and the plot seems like it’s going way off the rails.

So I have the caveat of experiencing the writing of the game through a phone translation app, but my impression is that it’s serviceable at best on a line to line level, and a lot of the jokes fall flat. (I respect that in this canon Wu Zixu is into big buff ladies, thank you very much!)

But I‘m actually pretty fond of how the game writes Wu Zixu on a higher level. I still prefer beefcake Wu Zixu, but white-haired unhinged bishonen with the blue color scheme Wu Zixu isn’t not to my taste either. (I’m mad at a whole bunch of Feng Menglong’s takes on other characters, but the white hair fanon is sexy as hell, thank you Feng Menglong.) And he’s plenty unhinged! The game writes him as a very dark antihero verging on outright villain protagonist with that iconic combination of calculation and terrifying passion.

One of my favorite scenes is in the prologue, when Wu Zixu is fleeing Chu and his friend Shen Baoxu finds him, bearing news of his father’s last words: that Wu Zixu would bring ruin to the kingdom if he lived. Wu Zixu goes “ha! He knows I’ll take revenge for him!” And Shen Baoxu goes “...I think he meant he wants you to die.“ He’ll break a lot of eggs for his omelet.

I also appreciate how powerful a unit he is in the battle portions. He’s one of the few ranged + multi-hit units you get early in the game *and* he has expanded range and hits hard.

Wu Zixu stats/abilities

Wu Zixu’s special screen

I’m a little surprised he’s a mage unit, but I guess so is Sun Wu in this game. Sun Wu, the other protagonist, is unfortunately basically the only other vaguely interesting character in the cast. Aside from him, the shipping options aren’t great so far. Helu is bland as hell. Fuchai is a useless teen who keeps talking about how he wants to marry this girl who looks about twelve if we’re being generous.  Fugai is actually a little cute though. Shenyin Shu is how I’d hoped Wu Zixu would look--he gets the buff melee unit treatment--but he doesn’t have interesting dynamics with anyone.

Fugai and Helu

Shenyin Shu

Anyway, for the most part, this act sticks closely to history. Wu Zixu’s revenge story is epic; why change a good thing? 

Wu Zixu and Shen Baoxu

God he’s so sexy when he’s unhinged

Wu Zixu actually gets something of a villain upgrade at the end--in the game, he promises Yao Li that he’ll take care of his family if he’s willing to lose his arm and do this assassination mission--only, once Yao Li’s lost his arm and on his way, he turns around and burns them alive so Yao Li will be convincing enough to Prince Qingji. And Fugai rebels because he finds out, only for Wu Zixu to kill him too. And frankly everyone on his own side is, by the end, understandably a little freaked out by him.

Aside from in MVTML Fuchai is never the protagonist of his own story--in the next act you play as the Yue characters, and you’ll need a proper antagonist. Even though I don’t want to play as Yue and fight my fave. :(((( The story also seems to be going off the historical rails--toward the end, Sun Wu gets thrown into a time rift and Yao and Shun turn up as immortal time travelers trying to resist an avatar of Nuwa who wants to enslave humanity. So. Uh. I’m proceeding with caution.

But damn, Wu Zixu is so inherently hot. I appreciate the food.

#wu zixu #raishi: konpeki no shou #雷子 紺碧の章 #tactical RPG

[xyliane]

the many lies of kanzaki hitomi to her long-suffering best friend uchida yukari (pt 2)

summary: when hitomi said “destination wedding,” yukari was picturing a quaint beach, or a big european city that van would hate. teleporting to a magical second moon was not really what she expected. (part 1 here)

notes: I didn’t intend on writing more of this, but I didn’t write enough van/hitomi in the first part so I guess I have to actually write out the destination wedding fic. which I haven’t even gotten to yet, so there’s that. thanks @wuzzyletoastermac for putting up with me yelling about gaean dialects and architectural influences via magic rock transportation because guess who made yukari an architect on a whim and is going to follow through on it dammit. G, yukari and hitomi friendship, van/hitomi, also featuring merle, ruhm, and hitomi’s family. 2100 words.

---

The first wedding is a June ceremony in Japan, which gives Yukari just enough time to panic over her hostess duties, get everything organized, and panic again when Hitomi nearly doesn’t come back from Greece—from Gaea—in time and lands on the roof of Yukari’s apartment building with barely an hour to spare. Something about ongoing restoration projects and traumatized children growing into traumatized adults and long bygone wars. To be honest, Yukari barely listened, too busy moving through her checklist at record speed. Later, once everything’s moving, Van’s little sister Merle is only too happy to explain in halting Japanese that it’s mostly Hitomi’s fault. Yukari decides she likes the young woman immediately, so quickly that she nearly misses that Merle is, in fact, a cat. It’s a beautiful day at the shrine, the wedding itself is heartbreakingly lovely, the reception runs impeccably smooth, and Yukari only cries twice during her speech.

Hitomi promises that the wedding in Fanelia, on Gaea, on the bloody Moon, won’t be nearly as much work. Given the relatively quiet wedding the Kanzakis have thrown and Van’s own stoic reticence, she assumes it’ll be more of the same: pretty, peaceful, Yukari will cry multiple times. All Yukari has to do is show up with the other Kanzakis. And, as the months between weddings wear on, Yukari realizes just how much and how little she knows about her best friend. She’s still the same Kanzaki Hitomi, still the same kind-hearted woman equally likely to sprint across a city to help a friend as she is to be late to her own wedding. But she also travels to another planet on weekends and helps rebuild a war-torn land, was there during a war and still wants to return over and over again.

Merle, utterly delighted by Van’s corner of Hitomi’s closet, mentions that Hitomi has a similar closet of dresses in Fanelia that she struggles to remember to wear, and finally someone understands Yukari’s unending suffering.

The second wedding, however, isn’t until winter. Hitomi is only just able to get multiple weeks off after taking on an extra month of shifts, a problem Yukari does not have. Being her own boss is spectacular. But Hitomi is asking everyone going on a journey to the Moon to meet in the center of an empty lot outside of town just before twilight on one of the first truly cold days of winter, and Yukari is currently reconsidering everything that led her to this point.

And then Van descends from the sky in a pillar of light, his wild black hair bound in a tight braid and his loose clothing whipping around him in a gust of wind, and well that explains a lot.

“You have to want to go,” Hitomi explains for the fifth time as she clasps their hands together, the cold metal of her engagement ring burning against Yukari’s bare skin. Next to them, Van is greeting his mother- and brother-in-law, matching Sota’s incredulous expression with a beleaguered sigh. “Really, really want it.”

“I know, Hitomi.” Yukari wants to go, so much that she aches with it. How could she not? For Hitomi, of course, and maybe a little bit for Van. But mostly, Yukari wants to understand what about this other world, a land both beautiful and sad, could possibly draw Hitomi back. Because yes, Hitomi is a romantic, but she also has a deeply practical streak. If she didn’t think this long-distance relationship (long, long, long distance) would work, she would figure out a way to let him down easy, taking all the pain of the break into herself rather than letting anyone else suffer. If she didn’t love Gaea as much as she seems to, she wouldn’t have run herself ragged learning how to fix it with all the tools she has at hand. Wouldn’t have decided to become who she is for anything less than a whole world.

“I do want to go, I promise,” Yukari says with all her heart.

Warmth bubbles up in the spaces between her fingers and Hitomi’s, building and building like a spring breeze until a bright smile spreads across Yukari’s face. And her best friend grins, wide and wondrous with joy.

“Hold on,” Hitomi says, and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder with her free hand. He smiles, a rare genuine brilliance that feels almost too private to be seen by anyone else, and pulls a beautiful pink stone pendant out from beneath his shirt. It’s familiar, too familiar, and not because it is the same color as Hitomi’s engagement ring and certainly not because both stones have begun to glow.

Yukari has about half a moment’s realization that Van is wearing Hitomi’s old necklace before a bright beam of light erupts from beneath her feet, and then the world is gone.

—only to return barely a breath later. It happens so suddenly that Yukari loses her grip on Hitomi, tumbling ass over teakettle to land in a field of soft grass. The sky stretches out impossibly far above her, painted in splashes of reds and purples and the deepest blue Yukari has ever seen disappearing into snow-capped mountains growing up from the earth in shattered peaks. Even in the twilight with the sun hovering just above the horizon, a pair of moons is hung in the sky, consuming the sky and almost close enough that Yukari can hold them in her hands if only she could reach.

Oh, that’s no moon. That’s the Earth.

Well.

As though sensing her rising vertigo, Hitomi leans over her, short brown hair fairly glowing in the fading sunlight and her grin wide. But her green eyes are far too gentle, like she can read exactly what’s going through Yukari’s mind and she understands. “It’s really something, right?” she says.

It brings Yukari back from the sky. She lets Hitomi haul her back to her feet, patting down her slacks and coat into something presentable, although her hair is probably a lost cause. She tries anyways, especially as a small group of riders on horseback arrive up a well-worn path. The first horse pulls up suddenly, and a fuzzball in the shape of a woman hurls herself right into Van’s arms and nearly knocking him over.

“Van anax!” Merle says with delight, her voice a familiar grounding point against the unexpected strangeness of everything even as Yukari can’t understand a word she’s saying. The others laugh, clearly used to this, and Hitomi slides over to pet Merle between her ears, earning her a baleful glare from the cat woman and a coughing laugh out of Van.

Mrs. Kanzaki watches the proceedings with a smile not unlike that of her daughter’s. “Those are beautiful animals, don’t you think?” she says, walking gracefully over to the horses. The riders have dismounted, a tall wolfish man with a wide flat nose and large brown eyes nodding deeply at the two women. He says something in the same language Merle is chatting away in, syllables rising and falling musically around hard consonants.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Yukari says, and the wolf man smiles apologetically.

“Ruhm,” he says, and points to himself. “Onoma soi te astin?”

Yukari has spent far, far too much time abroad. The introduction pantomime is recognizable anywhere.“Yukari,” she says, hand to her own chest, and gestures back to the absolutely terrible hostess of her best friend. “Hitomi’s friend?”

Ruhm blinks, and dips his head a little deeper. He says something else completely unintelligible, and Yukari tries to not feel too put out. He seems really nice and all, but Yukari’s spent enough time abroad to know when to give up on pantomiming and go for help.

Fortunately, so does Hitomi’s family. “Oi, Hitomi?” Sota says, voice loud and edged with the bratty annoyance of a younger sibling. “Translation?”

She sticks her tongue out, and he gestures right back. Mrs. Kanzaki sighs, and it sounds almost like an exasperated children. But Hitomi comes over anyways, Van following in her wake. Ruhm bows deeper to both of them. “O basileos,” he says with a broad smile, and Van waves a hand, saying something clearly meant to be a joke.

Van tells jokes. Will wonders never cease. Too bad Yukari won’t understand a single one.

“This is Ruhm,” Hitomi says. “He’s known Van since he was little. Merle wanted to greet us when we got here, so he and the others decided to come along and bring a cart for our stuff.”

“I didn’t want you lost again!” Merle says, accent almost like a growl. “You always are lost when you arrive in the city’s out parts.”

“Outside of the city,” Van corrects quietly, and Merle’s ears pull back into her hair. “But she is right.”

“If I remember right, Van, you were the one who dropped us all the way at the borders.”

He says something short in response, and Ruhm gives a deep belly laugh. But when Yukari looks for a translation, Hitomi simply turns a bright red.

Yukari sighs. “This is going to be a long week if you don’t translate everything that embarrasses you,” she says.

A long, hilarious week, but Yukari likes to know what’s going on around her. It helps her know what to do next, how she can make things the most efficient. Planning makes even the strangest places more understandable, or at least easier to navigate. So at least a little help would be nice. Anything that will keep her from completely losing herself to the strange moons and the sky again.

For a moment, it looks like Hitomi’s going to argue. But she studies Yukari’s face, reads her like a book, and takes a step back. “It’s okay,” she says. “I asked Merle to help you and Mom and Sota around.”

A flurry of Gaean erupts out of the woman in question, her tail flicking back and forth in irritation, and Hitomi tries to put her hands up in defense. “I mean, what I did was—catnip doesn’t exist here, and we went into this pet shop in Akihabara after the first wedding, and so…”

“You bribed her,” Van says, clearly amused.

“You gave her drugs,” Yukari says, only mildly scandalized because this is Hitomi.

“I bribed her with good drugs,” Hitomi agrees.

“So pay up!” Merle yowls in clear Japanese and pounces onto Hitomi’s back, knocking her forward. They would have fallen to the ground if Ruhm and one of the other wolf people hadn’t been in the way, propping the women up and not bothering to cover their barks of laughter.

It’s an easy ride into the city through the last dredges of sunlight, once all of their bags are loaded up onto Ruhm’s cart. Van jumps into the saddle like he was born to it, listening to the welcome party with a keen attention. At some point, he’s buckled on a black belt with a long sword, the black sheath resting at his hip like a missing puzzle piece. Hitomi doesn’t pick up any new weapons or anything, but she chats away with her mom and brother, occasionally translating something Ruhm adds, relaxed and open. Merle is curled into her side, purring away as Hitomi scritches her ears absent-mindedly. Despite the strange scenery, that there aren’t any cars and most of the people they’re with are also wolves and cats, she’s relaxed and open, comfortable in her skin.

Not that Hitomi isn’t usually, but she’s just more…more.

A whole second world. A whole other life. Other friends, loves. Something cold burns at the base of Yukari’s throat. It’s not jealousy, exactly, but…

“We’re here,” Hitomi says, and Yukari’s thoughts scatter into sparks.

The forest falls away into the mountains, and the valley spreads out in front of them in a tapestry. In the center is a city, its massive front gates wide open and framed by freshly lit torches. Two- and three-story buildings frame an open brick square, the wood and stone walls whitewashed and framed by dark banisters and gently angled tile roofs. The streets slope steadily upwards, leading to a massive castle or shrine that nestles against the sheer stone walls of the valley. If it weren’t for the narrower eaves and the great amount of stone in even the most modest homes, or how almost every building appears to have been built or renovated sometime in the last decade, Yukari would have thought she’d not traveled to another world, but to the Heian period.

She can hear her history of architecture professors laughing at her. She is a modernist, after all, she doesn’t design traditional buildings. But no, here she is trying to decipher hypothetical period architecture living right before her eyes, trying to put something in an order she understands. Because it’s breathtakingly beautiful, and impossibly strange, and Yukari wants so desperately to know.

Van catches Yukari staring and smiles, his eyes gleaming with fierce pride. “Aspadzomai, Yukari Uchida,” he says. “Welcome to Fanelia.”

(part 1)

#the vision of escaflowne #escaflowne #uchida yukari #kanzaki hitomi #van fanel #merle #my writing #van/hitomi #me: oh this will be quick and lovely and fun #my stupid writing brain: lol you fool you absolute bufoon #I love escaflowne's worldbuilding so obviously I'm going to godzilla stomp my way through it #you know #24 years after the fact #nbd

[esabri]

German in English wie as ich I seine his dass that er he war was für for auf on sind are mit with sie they sein be bei at ein one haben have dies this aus from durch by heiß hot Wort word aber but was what einige some ist is es it Sie you oder or hatte had die the von of zu to und and ein a bei in wir we können can aus out andere other waren were die which tun do ihre their Zeit time wenn if werden will wie how sagte said ein an jeder each sagen tell tut does Satz set drei three wollen want Luft air gut well auch also spielen play klein small Ende end setzen put Zuhause home lesen read seits hand Hafen port groß large buchstabieren spell hinzufügen add auch even Lande land hier here muss must groß big hoch high so such folgen follow Akt act warum why fragen ask Männer men Veränderung change ging went Licht light Art kind aus off müssen need Haus house Bild picture versuchen try uns us wieder again Tier animal Punkt point Mutter mother Welt world in der Nähe von near bauen build selbst 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wahrscheinlich probable Bett bed Bruder brother Ei egg Fahrt ride Zelle cell glauben believe vielleicht perhaps pflücken pick plötzlich sudden zählen count Platz square Grund reason Dauer length vertreten represent Kunst art Thema subject Region region Größe size variieren vary regeln settle sprechen speak Gewicht weight allgemein general Eis ice Materie matter Kreis circle Paar pair umfassen include Kluft divide Silbe syllable Filz felt groß grand Kugel ball noch yet Welle wave fallen drop Herz heart Uhr am vorhanden present schwer heavy Tanz dance Motor engine Position position Arm arm breit wide Segel sail Material material Fraktion fraction Wald forest sitzen sit Rennen race Fenster window Speicher store Sommer summer Zug train Schlaf sleep beweisen prove einsam lone Bein leg Übung exercise Wand wall Fang catch Berg mount wünschen wish Himmel sky Board board Freude joy Winter winter sa sat geschrieben written wilden wild Instrument instrument gehalten kept Glas glass Gras grass Kuh cow Arbeit job Rand edge Zeichen sign Besuch visit Vergangenheit past weich soft Spaß fun hell bright Gases gas Wetter weather Monat month Million million tragen bear Finish finish glücklich happy hoffen hope blume flower kleiden clothe seltsam strange Vorbei gone Handel trade Melodie melody Reise trip Büro office empfangen receive Reihe row Mund mouth genau exact Zeichen symbol sterben die am wenigsten least Ärger trouble Schrei shout außer except schrieb wrote Samen seed Ton tone beitreten join vorschlagen suggest sauber clean Pause break Dame lady Hof yard steigen rise schlecht bad Schlag blow Öl oil Blut blood berühren touch wuchs grew Cent cent mischen mix Mannschaft team Draht wire Kosten cost verloren lost braun brown tragen wear Garten garden gleich equal gesendet sent wählen choose fiel fell passen fit fließen flow Messe fair Bank bank sammeln collect sparen save Kontrolle control dezimal decimal Ohr ear sonst else ganz quite pleite broke Fall case Mitte middle töten kill Sohn son See lake Moment moment Maßstab scale laut loud Frühling spring beobachten observe Kind child gerade straight Konsonant consonant Nation nation Wörterbuch dictionary milch milk Geschwindigkeit speed Verfahren method Orgel organ zahlen pay Alter age Abschnitt section Kleid dress Wolke cloud Überraschung surprise ruhig quiet Stein stone winzig tiny Aufstieg climb kühlen cool Entwurf design arm poor Menge lot Versuch experiment Boden bottom Schlüssel key Eisen iron Einzel single Stick stick Wohnung flat zwanzig twenty Haut skin Lächeln smile Falte crease Loch hole springen jump Kind baby acht eight Dorf village treffen meet Wurzel root kaufen buy erhöhen raise lösen solve Metall metal ob whether drücken push sieben seven Absatz paragraph dritte third wird shall Hand held Haar hair beschreiben describe Koch cook Boden floor entweder either Ergebnis result brennen burn Hügel hill sicher safe Katze cat Jahrhundert century betrachten consider Typ type Gesetz law Bit bit Küste coast Kopie copy Ausdruck phrase still silent hoch tall Sand sand Boden soil Rolle roll Temperatur temperature Finger finger Industrie industry Wert value Kampf fight Lüge lie schlagen beat begeistern excite natürlich natural Blick view Sinn sense Hauptstadt capital wird nicht won’t Stuhl chair Achtung danger Obst fruit reich rich dick thick Soldat soldier Prozess process betreiben operate Praxis practice trennen separate schwierig difficult Arzt doctor Bitte please schützen protect Mittag noon Ernte crop modernen modern Elementes element treffen hit Schüler student Ecke corner Partei party Versorgung supply deren whose lokalisieren locate Rings ring Charakter character insekt insect gefangen caught Zeit period zeigen indicate Funk radio Speiche spoke Atom atom Mensch human Geschichte history Wirkung effect elektrisch electric erwarten expect Knochen bone Schiene rail vorstellen imagine bieten provide zustimmen agree so thus sanft gentle Frau woman Kapitän captain erraten guess erforderlich necessary scharf sharp Flügel wing schaffen create Nachbar neighbor Wasch wash Fledermaus bat eher rather Menge crowd mais corn vergleichen compare Gedicht poem Schnur string Glocke bell abhängen depend Fleisch meat einreiben rub Rohr tube berühmt famous Dollar dollar Strom stream Angst fear Blick sight dünn thin Dreieck triangle Erde planet Eile hurry Chef chief Kolonie colony Uhr clock Mine mine Krawatte tie eingeben enter Dur major frisch fresh Suche search senden send gelb yellow Pistole gun erlauben allow Druck print tot dead Stelle spot Wüste desert Anzug suit Strom current Aufzug lift stiegen rose ankommen arrive Stamm master Spur track Elternteil parent Ufer shore Teilung division Blatt sheet Substanz substance begünstigen favor verbinden connect nach post verbringen spend Akkord chord Fett fat froh glad Original original Aktie share Station station Papa dad Brot bread aufladen charge richtig proper Leiste bar Angebot offer Segment segment Sklave slave ente duck Augenblick instant Markt market Grad degree besiedeln populate küken chick liebe dear Feind enemy antworten reply Getränk drink auftreten occur Unterstützung support Rede speech Natur nature Angebot range Dampf steam Bewegung motion Weg path Flüssigkeit liquid protokollieren log gemeint meant Quotient quotient Gebiss teeth Schale shell Hals neck Sauerstoff oxygen Zucker sugar Tod death ziemlich pretty Geschicklichkeit skill Frauen women Saison season Lösung solution Magnet magnet Silber silver danken thank Zweig branch Spiel match Suffix suffix insbesondere especially Feige fig ängstlich afraid riesig huge Schwester sister Stahl steel diskutieren discuss vorwärts forward ähnlich similar führen guide Erfahrung experience Partitur score apfel apple gekauft bought geführt led Tonhöhe pitch Mantel coat Masse mass Karte card Band band Seil rope Rutsch slip gewinnen win träumen dream Abend evening Zustand condition Futtermittel feed Werkzeug tool gesamt total Basis basic Geruch smell Tal valley noch nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

[vernonfielding]

I’ll keep it (our secret)

Jake agrees it's best they don't tell Charles they're trying. It's just really, really hard. (Yep, it’s a missing scene from Pimemento.)

Thanks to @fezzle for the beta! She’s just the best, you guys. And thanks also to @exploding-snapple, who inadvertently inspired this story, somewhat, from a conversation we had last week.

Read on AO3.

The morning after their first foray into baby-making sex, Jake is sitting at his desk when a woman walks into the precinct holding a baby on her hip and weirdly, his first thought is, ‘That was fast.’

It’s followed immediately by his second thought, which is that the baby, of course, is not his.

“Can I help you?” Jake says to the woman.

“Someone broke into my apartment last night,” the woman says, and then bursts into tears.

Jake’s not bad with people who are crying; he’s not great with them either. But the bullpen is currently empty of detectives other than Hitchcock and Scully, who appear to be playing cat’s cradle with their toes, so he leads the woman to the chair by his own desk and waits for her to calm down enough to tell him more. He gets why the woman is freaked out -- she woke up this morning to find her living room in disarray, her TV and laptop and purse all gone -- but it’s a relatively boring case. When he’s done getting the basics, the woman -- her name is Caroline Wu -- dabs at her eyes and sniffles dramatically.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, it’s just my wife is out of town and this is my first time alone with the baby,” Ms. Wu says, gesturing to the kid on her lap. He has black hair that sticks up straight all over, like a cartoon character who’s just been shocked, and he’s been drooling steadily for the past half hour.

“It’s okay,” Jake says. “We’ll take care of this.”

The woman gives him a weak, watery smile and rubs at her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen and her cheeks are a splotchy pink and he feels bad for noticing that she’s kind of a wreck. He feels worse when she sighs and says, “I’m such a mess. Is there a bathroom I can use?”

“Yeah, down the hall,” Jake says, and nods in the right direction.

The woman stands, shuffling the baby back onto her hip, and then she bites her lip and shuffles her feet before saying, “I hate to ask, but- would you mind holding my son? I’ll just be a minute.”

Jake feels himself go wide-eyed for a moment, then shakes himself and says, “Sure, yeah, here,” and holds his hands up for the baby. Ms. Wu passes him over and thanks Jake and heads down the hall, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.

The baby is heavy in his arms, and Jake sets him on his knee and bounces him a little. The kid could be three months old or three years, Jake honestly has no clue. He blinks up at Jake, looking totally unbothered to be left here without his mom, and Jake wonders if it’s too early for a “stranger danger” conversation.

“Can you talk?” Jake says to the baby. The baby drools. “Okay, well. I’m Jake. I guess you can’t tell me your name.”

He’s held babies before, of course: Ava and Iggy, Amy’s niece Dolores and her nephew Reggie, Cagney and Lacey, though not when they were this small. He’s never really noticed before how warm babies are, and how sturdy. This baby’s eyes are so brown they’re almost black, and he’s looking at Jake like he can see straight into his soul (and hasn’t yet made up his mind about whether he likes what he sees).

The baby jams a fist in his mouth, and in the same instant he grabs for the badge around Jake’s neck and yanks, hard. Jake lurches forward in his chair and throws his arms around the baby to keep him from slipping off his knee to the floor, and that’s when he hears the shutter-click of an iphone camera and looks up into the gleeful face of Charles.

“This is so beautiful,” says Charles, who may or may not be crying. “I’m sending it to Amy.”

Jake hears the “swoosh” of a sent message, and less than a minute after that his own phone vibrates on his desk. Jake shuffles the baby to his other knee so he can pick up the phone. It’s a text from Amy, all caps: DO NOT TELL HIM.

Jake sighs and sets his phone face-down on his desk. The baby has stuffed Jake’s badge in his mouth, and Charles is still taking photos. This is going to be impossible.

+++

It’s not like Jake actually tells Charles everything. He kept the proposal a secret -- never even let on that he was buying the ring. He doesn’t talk about his sex life (it’s too private, and Charles’ brain and/or heart couldn’t take it anyway), or about how sometimes Amy’s tendency to schedule every minute of their shared days off makes him want to burn her special weekend binders (just a little burning -- like a light char).

But this feels different. A baby -- that’s such a huge step, and Jake’s excited, his whole body practically thrumming with a nervous, joyful anticipation, but he’s still scared, too. And now that they’re committed to this, like actually having the unprotected baby-making sex (and oh god, Amy could be pregnant right now), Jake doesn’t want to lay all his fears on Amy. She needs him to be all in, and he is all in, he truly is, but it’s possible to be all in and also terrified, he’s realizing, because that’s where he’s at.

He can’t even articulate to himself what he’s scared of, exactly. He knows by now that he won’t be his dad, that he would never abandon Amy or their child and that he’ll always do his very best. But what if his best still isn’t good enough? What if he lets them down in some way he can’t even begin to imagine right now, because he never had a dad to let him down (other than the obvious let-down of total abandonment -- but aside from that)? Jake doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know about being a good father. 

Charles would say, ‘You’re Jake, any baby you father is going to be the luckiest baby in the world.’ And then he’d say, ‘You’re going to be top ten, maybe top five dads of all time, like probably not better than Mufasa or Full House’s Danny Tanner, but right up there.’ And then things would start to get weird and Charles would talk about how he wishes Jake was his father, and Jake would have to hang up on him or walk away or whatever, but the other stuff? Jake kind of really wants to hear that right now. He wants Charles’ uncomplicated, unrelenting confidence in all things Jake.

+++

“You can tell Charles if you really want to,” Amy says that night, after their second round of baby-making sex of the evening.

Jake’s feeling pretty spent as the sweat cools on his face and chest, and he idly winds his fingers through Amy’s hair. She’s tucked up against him, her head on his shoulder, and he can feel her heart still beating fast.

“Are you really talking about Charles?” Jake says, and Amy chuckles.

“I was thinking about how right now one of your little sperms might be swimming to my egg and this could be it,” Amy says, and Jake feels a nervous, happy flutter in his belly. “And then I realized that was exactly the kind of thing Charles would be thinking about, which, by the way, is why we’re not telling him. But he’s your best friend, and-”

“Ames, you’re my best friend,” Jake says, and pulls her closer to him. “It’s fine if we keep this just between us.”

“And Rosa,” Amy says.

“And- You told Rosa?” Jake sits up a little, and Amy rolls onto her back and gives him a sheepish half-smile.

“I’d told her when I thought I might be pregnant. You were dealing with the manhunt and I was freaking out a little and I needed her help,” Amy says. “And then the next day she asked how you’d taken it and I kind of just- told her we were trying. I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jake says quickly, leaning over to kiss her briefly. “At least we know Rosa won’t tell anyone, ever.”

Whereas Charles -- well. “I just don’t want everyone to know,” Amy says. “We don’t know how long this will take, or if there might even be problems along the way. And if we tell Charles you know he’ll start bringing in some kind of animal placenta soup and trust me, there will be plenty of time for morning sickness later, I don’t need the nausea now.”

“I get it, babe,” Jake says. He lies back down alongside her, and this time he rests his head on her shoulder, and he traces his fingers over her flat stomach. “Just us. And Rosa.”

Amy laughs, and Jake feels it under his fingers and imagines a baby there. He lays his palm over her skin and concentrates.

“I love you,” Amy says.

“Love you too.”

+++

The next morning Jake gets a call from Terry before Amy’s first alarm has even gone off. He’s got a suspected kidnapping case, and he needs Jake and Charles at the scene ASAP.

“Please tell me this is kicking your paternal instinct into overdrive,” Charles says, as soon as they’ve walked into La Petite Bebe daycare center, where a dozen children of various sizes, shapes and colors are toddling and squatting and crying and chewing on things.

Jake hisses, “Not now, Charles,” and squares his shoulders as a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail rushes toward them and introduces herself as Lena, the owner of the daycare.

One of the children has gone missing, Lena says, and shows them the ledger where she keeps track of drop-offs. She points out the name of the 5-month-old who was delivered by her father that morning at 6 a.m. and is now nowhere to be found.

“Could she have left on her own?” Jake says.

Lena stares at him, and Jake feels his cheeks start to burn. “She’s 5 months old,” she repeats. “She can’t even crawl yet.”

“So, no,” Jake says.

Lena leads them to a sofa where they can talk while her aide watches the remaining kids. She gives them a description of the baby: short brown hair, blue eyes, wearing pink leggings and a white onesie printed with “Welcome to the Shit Show” (“I don’t dress them,” Lena adds quickly). The parents are married and don’t seem to have any conflict. She’s called them both and left messages but they haven’t replied yet -- they don’t know their child is missing.

Charles takes notes and Jake is doing a fine job of not getting distracted by the total chaos around them, until a small child suddenly crawls right up to him, uses his knee to leverage herself to her feet, and makes a grab for his badge. She’s shoved it in her mouth before Jake can figure out what he’s supposed to do. 

Lena sighs and picks up the child, who wails when Jake’s badge slips out of her mouth.

“Sorry about that,” she says.

“It’s okay. I haven’t even cleaned it since the last one,” Jake says.

Five minutes later, the mother calls and tells Lena there was a miscommunication with her husband -- little Leslie wasn’t supposed to go to daycare at all that day, so they came by and picked her up and took her home and oops, forgot to tell anyone. She’s sorry for the inconvenience.

“Parents,” Lena says, shoulders slumping with relief or exhaustion, or both.

“Quick question,” Charles says, eyes darting to Jake and then back to Lena, “do you have a waiting list? And would it be presumptive to get on that waiting list before the child has been conceived?”

Jake stands up so quickly he pulls a small muscle in his back, and yanks Charles to his feet.

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” he says and hauls them both out the door.

+++

They get sent to a kid’s first birthday party in the afternoon, after a man who had been stabbed multiple times stumbled into the parents’ Greenpoint backyard. Fortunately none of the babies saw anything.

“You have to feel like the universe is sending you a message,” Charles says, after the paramedics have hauled the man away. He and Jake are following a blood trail, which starts at the sidewalk in front of the house and ends just beneath the pinata strung to a tree branch. Jake’s pretty sure 1-year-olds are too young to be swinging bats at pinatas, but he’s not a dad (yet), what does he know?

Jake takes off his sunglasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He does actually feel like the universe or whatever is trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t know what. Behind him, he can hear children squealing and parents laughing, and then everyone starts singing “Happy Birthday.”

In a year and nine months, it might be his own kid’s first birthday. The image of it flashes before his eyes: A brown-haired baby with bright laughing eyes and a huge smile, chocolate cake smeared all over its face. Amy is crying a little, and Jake is too, and Charles makes them stand on either side of the high chair for a photo. Charles is, of course, bawling.

Jake realizes he’s smiling to himself and bites his lip to stop. He puts his sunglasses back on and turns to Charles, who is watching him expectantly, rocking back on his heels.

“It looks like the stabbing happened out front,” Jake says, wincing a little when Charles’ face falls. “We should start there.”

Later, the father of the birthday boy invites them to the party for cake, and they both politely decline. But when they’re alone again Charles says he knows of a place nearby that has a pork-and-beans cupcake he’s been dying to try and Jake opens his mouth to say yes, of course (even though -- no, absolutely not).

But he thinks about dodging Charles’ comments and questions about babies and biological clocks and fertility windows and he knows he’ll never survive.

“Sorry, bud. I’ve got plans.”

“Sure, okay,” Charles says, voice gone flat and horrible. “Some other time.”

+++

Jake’s standing at the kitchen counter wiping down his badge with Purell when Amy gets home that evening. She raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn’t actually ask what he’s doing.

They have salads for dinner because Amy read an article about fertility superfoods and apparently spinach and kale are the superest. When Jake doesn’t even raise a cursory protest, Amy asks him if he’s feeling okay.

“Yeah, fine,” Jake says, and stuffs a forkful of deep green spinach in his mouth. It tastes chalky and bitter and he swallows it down with grape soda (he’s trying to branch out a little).

Amy tells him about Gary’s latest accidental attempt at a coup among the beat cops -- “I know he doesn’t mean to undermine me, but he really needs to shut the f up about color-coding the weekend rotations” -- and Jake tells her about the not-missing kid from the morning and finding a man bleeding to death under a pinata.

They’re cleaning up together, Amy wiping down counters while Jake gets the dishwasher going, when Amy asks how it’s going with Charles. “He must have been losing it with all of those babies in the vicinity,” she says, and though she’s laughing a little Jake senses that she’s concerned.

“He was fine,” Jake says, and off Amy’s skeptical smirk, adds, “Okay, he was Charles.”

Amy tosses her sponge into the sink and rests a hip against the counter, and he can feel her gaze on the side of his face as he crouches over the dishwasher. He sets it running and then wipes off his hands on a towel and steps over to her. He loops his arms around her waist, tugging her to him, and kisses her, gently at first. When she hums against his lips he opens his mouth, tilts his head just so, and slides his tongue alongside hers. They make out for a while, Amy’s hands curling over his neck and his fingers reaching up under her shirt to stroke over her back.

Then the dishwasher gurgles loudly and they break apart, laughing.

“C’mon,” Jake says, letting go of her waist to grab her hand and pull her toward the bedroom. “I think it’s time for me to put some bludgers in your golden snitch.”

He hears Amy sigh behind him. “That’s not how Quidditch works, Jake.”

+++

Pimento, at least, takes Charles’ mind off of babies. It helps that they’ve gone more than 24 hours without a single child sighting.

Which is why Jake’s glad he’s alone in the main hospital waiting area when a couple emerges from an elevator. They’re young and their eyes are bruised with exhaustion and they both have the shell-shocked look that Jake usually associates with people who have just survived near-death experiences, but there’s a glow about them that he recognizes too. The man is holding a tiny pink bundle in his arms, and the woman keeps peeking over at them both, like she can’t help herself, like she can hardly stand to look anywhere else.

Jake’s heart is beating too-fast, because that will be him -- he’ll be the man with the bundle, the father taking his little girl or little boy home for the first time, and Amy will be right there too, and it’s going to be incredible. 

And when they get home, after they’ve settled in a bit, Charles will bring them so much soup and so many casseroles and they’ll even eat most of it because they won’t have time to shop or cook for themselves. And Charles will take photos and change diapers when they both need a break, and he’ll tell Jake he’s doing great, he’s doing his best, and that’s all any kid needs, after all.

“We can go up and see him now,” Charles says, breaking into his thoughts. Jake jerks and looks away from the new family, just as they disappear out the main hospital doors.

“Huh?”

“Pimento, we can see him,” Charles says. “Are you ready?”

Jake thinks about that for a moment and then grins up at Charles and stands. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m ready.”

End Notes:

The title is from Feed the Beast (Bash Brothers, of course).

A note on the timeline: I THINK this fits with what we have so far from the season? I notice some people are thinking that a couple of months have passed since the first episode, but I’m going with this being Jake and Amy’s first round at baby-making. If I missed some canon detail, please let me know! 

#b99 fic #jake/amy #jake and charles #jake peralta #amy santiago #charles boyle #missing scene #pimemento #babymaking! #jakes gonna be a great dad

[ohgoddard]

Truth, Justice, and the Symbol of Peace.3.

Musutafu, Japan

The TV had been on non-stop since Izuku left for that walk, turned to the news as always. But Inko noticed something different. The table that sat before the TV no longer found itself covered in used tissues and All-Might figures. No, this time it was covered in numerous notebooks and textbooks he had either bought from stores or checked out from the local library. Books on electrical engineering, basic mechanical construction, and a guide on how to box like a champ.

He started to come home late from school every day now. The first few times he had come home sweaty and tired, she thought he finally picked himself up and joined an after-school sports team. The books he bought and brought home with him could be written off as a new interest to keep himself busy, and maybe a renewed interest in his studies. He has always been an investigative child, one who could notice something about a person and dress them down to their barest personality characteristics.

But then he started to come home dirty and bruised.

Now, Inko was no idiot. She was not so dumb as not to notice this change of appearance. It didn’t happen much, maybe once in a few weeks. He would leave for school, come home at 7 or 8, and be hiding all sorts of bruises under his hat or jacket. Is he getting bullied at school again?

Just when he started to feel better, she saw him grimace when he walked. And every time she would ask about it, he would give her the same sheepish smile he always gave and say something like, “Don’t worry about it mom. Nothing bad is happening at school, its all good.”

But she knew something was up. You do not raise a kid for a decade and a half without picking up on their ticks and tells. No, he was up to something. But as much as Inko suspected something… she didn’t push it.

Izuku has been the happiest he’s been since he first saw that video of All-Might, carrying the survivors from the flaming rubble of a fallen building. His gigantic smile reflected onto her son’s, his words making him physically bouncing with excitement and amazement. She had missed that yearning of his. So when he walked in late at night, no matter how exhausted and bruised he tried to hide, she let it slide. Every worry that she was being the bad mother was beaten back, never satiated but lessened, when she saw that same light in his eyes. His spirit was back.

=====================================================================

“I don’t have powers.”

Those words have not left his head since he heard them. They stayed in his head at school, on his walk home, when he slept. He had no powers. The thought of someone taking down two thugs with quirks, no matter how low level they were, when you didn’t have one was astounding. More so than that, it was so cool. The flips, acrobatics while using confusing gadgets that can stop a large man in its tracks and enabling him to climb buildings? Unheard of! People don’t make gadgets to be a hero on their own, they use them as additives to their quirks. He just had none.

And Izuku wanted to be like him. It was all that he thought of. He kept the news on in his home and was always recording, just in case he was found on camera. But he has kept a low profile. Criminals and villains were sometimes found hanging upside down and unconscious, but no one in sight to take credit. No calling card, nothing. The cries of vigilantism came from the people and the Hero Organization, but they literally could not do anything. No one could find this guy.

No one but Izuku has even seen him.

But seeing him once was all it took. And it awakened him to something. He could be a hero without a quirk. He’ll just have to work harder for it. So he started running after school. It was hell at first, the miles seemed to go on forever. It didn't help that he started lifting at that time too. Sneaking into the school weight-room after it closed and the sports teams had left after practice, he struggled to lift even the smallest of weights. Weeks he did this, with only the smallest gains being noticed physically. For a small kid to be doing this, he was risking a lot of bodily damage if he didn’t do it right. Which he often did, dropping weights on himself when he became too confident in his strength. Sometimes he pushed himself too much when running and pulled muscles. Sometimes he tried to do acrobatics and fell flat on his chest, landing on the rocks near the stream under the bridge where he practiced in secret. So every night he came home, tired and bruised sometimes. He started to push himself more and more, and so more and more bruises came. 

The concerning questions his mom made to try to find out about his activities he lied about. He felt bad, but she would not let him do this if she knew. He needed to do this. So he said he was alright, nothing bad going on. Just a middle-schooler coming home late because he’s finally getting involved with the school clubs and teams. The bruises? Just an accident from practice, no worries there! 

Lying made him uncomfortable, but he needed to keep doing this. He would be a hero, the #1.

And he’d do it his way.

Metropolis, Illinois

“So everyone has powers over there, huh?”

All-Might was sitting across from Clark Kent in a very busy diner, and felt very uncomfortable. Despite Clark Kent being a huge man, All-Might far outweighed him. So the clothes he had lent him were a tight fit, at best. The diner was your typical greasy spoon, the chromed bar tops and smoking waitresses (which is not an adjective on their looks). Clark Kent was sipping on a small cup of coffee, turned an almost beige color by the amount of cream and sugar he put into it. His suit was a baggy business variety, two sizes too big for him. It made him look far more small than he was, the glasses and hair style in much the same way. Had All-Might not seen Superman himself before, he would have never guessed this was the same person.

Which made him wonder how anyone did not recognize him. He was a giant man, one who stood out even among the crowds in his home. The clothes he had been lent gave a tight fit, making him appear a gorilla in a business suit. His blond hair had been combed over and over again by Wonder Woman, who’s name he learned to be Diana. How it happened was a blur, her combing his hair. The same day Superman held a meeting concerning him, he asked if anyone could help him with his appearance, to make him easier to hide in normal society. Diana had declared such a thing a mockery of her time. The memory loss occurred when Superman had said, “What? Don’t think you can do it?”

For ten straight minutes, All-Might found himself being meticulously combed by her. He was not entirely against the idea, him being human and all. However, he could do without the constant mutterings that she uttered about the situation and Superman and where he could put a stick of a thing called Kryptonite. Superman had assured him that no one would recognize him from the behemoth that saved the day a few days ago. And to his credit, no one did.

“Well, not everyone.” All-Might adjusted the necktie he had on, which was actually two tied together. The comment illicit an eyebrow raise from Clark, who put down his coffee cup.

“Really? How is it chosen who gets powers and not?”  

“Its an evolutionary trait. And not everyone’s power is the same, they more often than not reflect their personality and upbringing. We call it a ‘quirk’. Like a little tick in people’s personalities.”

Clark rubbed his chin, intrigued. “That is very interesting. And what is your.. Quirk?”

All-Might smiled internally, already having fun with the conversation he was going to have.

“Oh, I don’t have one.” He then took a small sip from the comically small coffee cup.

“Really.” The voice of suspicion that Clark had let out was palpable. A small snicker escaped All-Might. “No, really! I have no quirk!” 

“I find that very hard to believe, All-M- “ He stopped talking. “Actually, what is your name? If you do not mind me asking that, it would just make conversation a lot easier.” 

He pondered on it. There is no one in this world, save for All For One, that knows his name. Nor would giving it out put anyone but this Superman at risk, someone he believes can hold his own.

“Toshinori Yagi. Toshinori is ok.” 

Clark Kent smiled. “Alright then, Toshinori. I still find it hard to believe you have no quirk.”

A low laugh left All-Might as he bit into a pastry Clark had ordered him. 

“I tell the truth! I have no quirk. What power you have seen was not mine.”

“Then whose power was it?”

Clark could tell he struck a nerve, the heart rate in All-Might changing. 

Damnit Clark, he thought, spend your whole life on Earth and you still can’t talk to a person.

“I, uh, would prefer to keep that to myself if you would not mind.”

Clark nodded. Unlike the others, he did not suspect Toshinori of foul play. He could sense a true hero in him. He had no bad values, always striving for the same things Clark did. Maybe that's why he just...trusted him. That, and Clark was generally just a trusting person.

“Well,” Clark said in the tone someone speaks when they want to end a conversation that has taken a turn south, “it's about time we get your first day at the Planet.”

All-Might stood up, collecting his large overcoat that he had been lent. “I cannot thank you enough for this, Mr.Kent. I need some of your currency, I feel bad for mooching off of you and the rest of the League.” A smile grew on Clark’s face, “Please, call me Clark. Now there’s a few things you need to know about your new job. One, you’re door security for the Planet. A few weeks ago there was an armed robbery that really shook the building. You should take care of it easily. Two, there's a few people you need to look out for inside. One is Jimmy, a redhead. A clumsy kid, so you gotta make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

All-Might had pulled a notepad from his inside jacket pocket that Clark had left there when he last wore it and was writing furiously. And messily. Good thing I didn’t get him the reporter job. “Jimmy...alright, anyone else?” 

“There is a woman by the name of Lois Lane. I won’t need to describe her, believe me you’ll know when its her. She is a stubborn headed person, so she kinda gets into trouble a lot. Look out for her, alright?”

After another minute of furious writing, he tucked the notebook into the jacket. “Alright. Though, Mr,K- Clark. I am very bad at talking with women. A terrible track record.”

Perfect. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”

=====================================================================

The uniform the Daily Planet gave Toshinori Yagi was equally ill-fitting as the rest of the clothing he had worn in this new world. He had a sad feeling that the first paychecks he collected would go to custom tailoring. He stands at the lobby of the building, right in front of the two big doors that hundreds of employees walk in and out of every day. Really, nothing seems to happen for a long time.

The biggest event on his first day of work was meeting the woman known as Lois Lane.

When she walked in, had to almost slap himself. She was gorgeous. And she was also with Clark Kent. Toshinori got an idea why he wanted him to look after her. As she walked in, engaged in a heated conversation with Clark about a story he somehow stole from her, she looked his direction and halted in her steps. 

“Lois? Why the sudden stop?” Clark had walked beyond her spot, turning to face her.

“And here I thought you were the biggest brick wall in the Planet. Clark, when did we get a door guard?”

“I don’t know, I never seem to catch up on the memos.”

Lois rolled her eyes and walked right up to Toshinori. “Uh..h.. Hello ma’am. How may I help you?”

She smirked. “And so polite too! You pick him out, Smallville?”

“Hey now! I don’t have a monopoly on politeness in the city you know.”

As they left for the elevator, Clark gave him a sneaky thumbs up before going up.

This is going to be a very stressful job. 

Then the road outside exploded.

#superhero #superman #superhero story #original #original writing #my hero fanfic #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia #allmight #All-might #boku no academia #boku no hero fanfic #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #izuku midoyria #deku midoriya #bnha deku

[tealvz]

Make Like a Bubble (And Fade Away)

(AO3) Summary: Despite everything, Remy finally makes a friend. He tries not to let this one slip his grasp too. Warning(s): Near drowning, vomiting, bullying(??) Pairing(s): Remile (platonic or romantic it’s up to you lol) Character(s): Remy, Emile, Deceit (Ethan in this) Word Count: 7188 A/N: sooo uhh here’s the story i said i was writing like 3 months ago sdhfsjkdfjkdsfh sorry it took so long, i got kind of self conscious about it… but now enough time has elapsed so that i dont really care that much anymore lmfao also… just a reminder… i dont really write that much so dont bully me too hard ple ase dssdhfjkdsh hope you enjoy tho! :)

A yawn escaped Remy’s mouth, and he held a hand over it in a feeble attempt to disguise it.

Today it seemed like the lights in the coffee shop were especially bright (he supposed it was due to the gloomy weather outside), so he’d opted to wear his glasses inside as well. Business was slow, since the hellish rush that were the hours after school let out had already passed. Remy found peace in the quietness of the shop, his only other companions being an old lady with tea chatting quietly with her husband and a college student clack clack clacking away at her keyboard in the corner next to the fern.

The bell atop the door jingled as someone walked in. Remy shut off his phone and stood up from the stool he was crossing his legs on, placing the device under the countertop.

“What can I get for you, cutie?” Sure, this method of greeting had gotten him in many heated conversations with his manager over the years, so he dialed it back from using it on every single person that entered the store to cute old ladies and cute boys.

And boy was he cute. And boy did he stand out. Remy had never met a person with dyed pink hair before (although he did have a period in middle school where he seriously considered it), but the vibrant color was fading so that it gave way to his natural brown. He was wearing a cardigan, and, perhaps most pressingly, was soaking wet.

The boy took off one of his earbuds, digging around in a pocket of his cardigan with a tongue sticking out. He was creating puddles on the hard wax floor that Remy would have to clean up (read: leave it for the next guy to deal with). “I’ll just take a large black coffee!” He chirped, seemingly unfazed by the nickname. Remy quickly punched the order in.

“Can I get your name?” Remy asked once more.

“It’s Emile,” The stranger said. Remy typed in ‘Emil’ into the machine and allowed a white sticker to print out.

A faint purple glow surrounded one of the large cups stacked near the register. It grew in intensity as Remy levitated it towards his person, slapping the sticker onto it lazily as it spun away from him. He was counting the $2.57 he’d have to give back in change to Emile as a similar purple aura lifted the coffee pitcher behind him.

“Oh… Wow,” Emile mumbled, causing Remy to glance up. His light brown eyes were trained on the scene unfolding in front of him, coffee pitcher pouring into a white cup all by itself. Streaks of yellow light accompanied the purple aura occasionally.

The finished drink landed in his hand alongside a lid to cap it. He settled the coffee pitcher safely on the table as he handed the drink and change to Emile.

“What’s your size cap?” Emile asked, leaning in ever so slightly as he took the items. “My mom has powers too, but they don’t look nearly as pretty as yours!”

“Well, I don’t do cars,” Remy listed. “I think the biggest it’ll go is people,” He omitted the fact that the only person he’d done it on was himself.

“My mom’s can only go up to jars… Things like that. Hers don’t have any colors though,” Emile nodded, more to himself than to Remy he supposed. “Imagine you could levitate buildings and stuff? Li-Like freaking Superman?! How awe- I mean, I guess it wouldn’t be that cool now that I think about it...”

“Nah, I think it’d be pretty cool,” Remy absently tapped his finger to his chin. “Lifting up the Statue of Liberty and just dunking it into the sea for kicks. That sounds kinda rad. But I guess it’d suck if it were some kind of like… Maniac.”

Emile nodded again solemnly. “With great power comes great responsibility,” He said. “In the wise words of Uncle Ben.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Remy conceded.

“... It was a reference,” Emile laughed to himself quietly. “Anyways! Thank you, I don’t want to keep you away from your work for too long!”

Remy glanced around the near empty Starbucks. The elderly couple were getting up to leave. “No, it’s okay, you really aren’t. It usually doesn’t get too busy unless it’s like, 3 or 4 o’clock.”

A grin spread across Emile’s face. “Ah! Good thing I usually stay behind a little later then,” He laughed to himself again, looking down and one hand playing with the wires on his earbuds. “Will you be here again tomorrow?”

“All week, babe,” Remy responded.

“Cool! That’s cool,” Emile mentioned that he had a bus to catch soon, and he apologized for not sticking around longer. Remy in response told him not to worry about it, and truth be told he had never met anyone who apologized for not being able to hang out with him more. Most of his friendships had ultimately ended with the other party always slowly but surely trimming him out of their life.

So Remy sat back down on the stool as Emile left the shop, bell jingling to signal his departure. His phone sat forgotten underneath the table as he leaned into the palm of his hand. Remy watched the fluorescent lights of the Starbucks filter into his vision as his glasses slipped further down his nose, raindrops falling against the clear windows allowing him to close his eyes…

-

As Remy fell into the depths of the ocean, feeling his body catapult deep into an underwater cave, light entered his vision.

The dream ended as soon as it began, and Remy stirred at someone gently shaking him awake. He blinked sleepily from behind his glasses, and he used them to hold back his hair as he looked around in bewilderment. Various objects were hovering in the air surrounding him, a few couple cups, lids, spare change and a Sharpie. The purple glow surrounding them faded as Remy became more aware of his surroundings, and they all dropped to the floor.

“Wha’ time,” Remy mumbled, rubbing his right eye as he looked to the person who woke him up. The lights were way too bright, lines and starbursts nearly blinding him. He put his glasses back on.

“Almost 6,” His coworker responded. He had a disinterested expression on his face as he tied his green apron around his waist. “I’m guessing it wasn’t very busy?”

Remy felt hot all over. He abruptly stood up, the world spinning slightly before everything stabilized. “No, I don’t think so.”

He left before he could hear his coworker’s reply. As soon as he collected his bag from the back room, Remy realized he’d forgotten to bring an umbrella. While this elicited a strong swear from him (mentally), Remy decided not to dwell on it for too long and proceeded to exit the establishment only mildly annoyed with himself.

It wasn’t pouring, but it wasn’t drizzling either. Remy took a deep breath, holding his leather shoulder bag over his head as he lightly jogged towards the bus stop. He was not going to look like an absolute clown sprinting and slipping on a puddle. Or worse, just flat out passing out in the middle of the sidewalk. No ma’am. Not today.

As he rounded the corner however, a familiar stranger sitting on the bus stop’s bench made his jog slow.

This wasn’t a stop with a roof covering the bench, so the boy with pink hair was even more soaked than when he’d come into the shop for the first time. He was holding a mint colored umbrella with his knees, shielding not his head but the yellow notepad he was scribbling furiously on. Remy wondered how he could see with his glasses dripping water down the lenses like that.

“Hey,” Remy announced his arrival, pace slowing to a walk as he approached. Emile jumped at his voice, turning to look at him with wide eyes as his pen finally stopped writing. However, as soon as their gazes met the tension in his shoulders relaxed, and he gave Remy a sheepish smile.

“H-Hello again!” Emile said cheerfully, like he was desperately trying to hide the shaking of his voice. “Gosh, what abhorrent weather, huh?”

“True that,” Remy plopped down on the bench next to him and shifted his bag so it rested on his lap. Raindrops dripped down his dark hair. “Bus never came?”

Emile laughed to himself and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, no it did. Several times probably. I think I got a little carried away…”

Remy glances down at his notepad, filled with lines and lines of tiny text all squished together as to conserve space. He seemed to be almost running out of pages. “You don’t say?”

“I-It was important, so!! I just wanted to take a little extra time-“

“An hour.”

Emile blinked in bewilderment at him. “Excuse me?”

“You left the shop an hour ago,” Remy elaborated.

Emile swiftly checked the time on his (waterproof) watch and groaned loudly. “Ah, dangit, mom’s gonna kill me! … Oh, wait, do you need this?”

Remy stared at him as he scooted closer to him on the bench, putting his notebook back into his bag (it was shaped like a cheeseburger, Remy realized. A really soggy cheeseburger). He lifted his umbrella from between his knees with one hand and held it up over the two of them.

Although, truthfully, it wasn’t working that well. The umbrella only covered Remy’s right side as the left was exposed to the relentless rain, but he still gave a soft thank you regardless.

After a moment’s silence (Remy checked his pocket for his phone, except it wasn’t there. He cursed his forgetful brain for the second time as he now had to settle for staring awkwardly at the cars passing in front of them), Remy opted to speak up.

“... What were you writing?” He asked.

Emile gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting the umbrella so that it was covering Remy more. Remy frowned at this, pushing Emile’s hand back to where it was hovering between the two of them.

“It’s kind of dumb-,” Emile cut himself off with a sneeze.

“Bless you,”

“Tha-”

“And nah, I’m sure it isn’t,” Remy reassured him. “Anything that makes a guy stay outside in the rain for an extra hour probably isn’t that dumb.”

It seemed as though this was enough for Emile’s expression to brighten, and he immediately sat straight up on the bench while unknowingly bumping Remy in the glasses with his umbrella. “Well!! If you must know,” Emile began. “I actually write just a teensy, weensy bit,”

He emphasized this with a pinch of his fingers before he leaned backwards on his free arm. “Basically, I thought of this idea where a girl named Elizabeth gains the ability to travel through different dimensions as a result of her ingesting some bad salmon! On her journey, she meets a cute girl who, plot twist, is actually a fish! And then, they’d both get married in a meadow on another dimension’s Mars, and she’d have salmon as a part of the catering on their wedding day which is where Fish-Girl, horrified, would be disgusted with Elizabeth due to the very notion of consuming salmon because of her ancestors, who-”

Emile took a deep breath of air, red coloring his cheeks as Remy tried to retain the information that had just been spilled out in front of him. Elizabeth was a constant, there was a fish in there somewhere, multiverse…

“Elizabeth doesn’t know she’s a salmon,” Remy asked.

“Well, actually, salmon isn’t a specific type of fish. It encompasses a wide variety of them (I read that once on Buzzfeed), and no, that revelation comes in the second act,” Emile pushed up his glasses. “It’s kind of a metaphor on how you may not know your partner as well as you do, and the value one should place on communication in a relationship.”

It seemed as though pure, unadulterated happiness was radiating off the boy next to him, and it took everything within Remy to keep his smirk at bay. Emile seemed content, despite him sniffing occasionally (because of the rain) and his fingers twitching (because of the cold) as he played with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“It’s okay if you didn’t follow that,” Emile laughed hollowly, tone suddenly turning self deprecating. “I know my words are ah, kinda a handful! To keep track of that is.”

“I don’t follow anything anyone says,” Remy blurted out. “Like, ever. So it’s cool.” Emile blinked, opening his mouth to respond before a bus suddenly pulled up in front of them as though it materialized out of the raindrops. It wasn’t Remy’s bus, but Emile stood up from the bench and tugged his school bag over his shoulders.

“Oh! Here, you can have this!” Emile exclaimed abruptly. He jerkily shoved the umbrella towards Remy, who only stared at him for a few moments in bewilderment.

“Uh, what?” Remy said dumbly.

“You can have it! I’ll just tell my mom I lost it,” Emile looked off to the side, rain cascading down his face in rivulets. Remy thought he looked like he desperately needed it more than he did. “I-It’s as thank you! For talking to me.”

Remy began, “I don’t really need it-” He was cut off by Emile all but throwing the umbrella towards him as the bus driver honked loudly.

“I’lltakeitbackfromyoutomorrowbye!” Emile sprinted up the steps of the bus and Remy was left fumbling to gain a grip on the mint colored accessory, it clattering to the ground as the bus pulled away.

Remy stretched out his cold, numb fingers towards the umbrella. Upon closer examination, there was a little tag that looked suspiciously like a yellow Post-It note stuck to the inside with clear tape, the words “Emile Picani! =)” scrawled across it in barely legible handwriting.

Ah… There was an extra ‘e’ at the end of ‘Emile’. He’d keep that in mind for next time.

-

Remy’s head slammed against the underside of the countertop when he woke, and he let out a hiss of pain as he dropped back to the floor again. His glasses, hovering in the air in front of him, promptly fell onto his face and proceeded to clatter to the floor. A couple other items followed suit, including but not limited to: An old Sharpie, some spare change, and Emile’s umbrella.

“Good morning,” A voice called curtly. Remy, not moving from his spot on the floor, turned towards the darkness under the countertop and let out a groan.

“Oh, don’t even right now, Ethan.”

Ethan shrugged, slipping off of (Remy’s) barstool easily. He stepped towards Remy, crouching down and picking up the umbrella. “Didn’t peg you for a teal kinda guy,” Ethan said, turning it over in his hands.

Remy snapped his attention to Emile’s umbrella, and hastily began trying to scramble to his knees. “P-Put that down, man” He huffed, gripping the edge of the countertop as the world spun around him. Ugh, he got up too quick. “That isn’t mine.”

A frown appeared on Ethan’s face. “You… Stole it…?”

“No I- I didn’t,” Remy wobbled over to Ethan, grateful for the fact the only customer in at the moment being the same college student from yesterday. With a quick hand that totally wasn’t shaking at all, he snatched the umbrella from his hands with a scowl.

His scowl, however, quickly softened into an expression of anxiousness. He bit his lip as he leaned against the counter. “Hey, you didn’t see a guy with pink hair come in here, by any chance?”

Ethan shrugged. “I just got here. They totally shouldn’t give me more hours for the afternoon when the only guy working here keeps passing ou-”

“Ah ah ah!” Remy jabbed the end of the umbrella at Ethan’s shoulder. He let out an offended hiss in response. “That’s enough outta you, sis.”

As though he hadn’t just assaulted his coworker, Remy continued, “He had pink hair and glasses,” Remy explained this by making circles in front of his eyes to imitate glasses, as though he wasn’t already wearing a pair. “And his school bag was, like, a burger or something. He-”

“By any chance was his name Emile?” Ethan interrupted. 

Blinking, Remy nodded. “Wow, that was easy.”

“Yeah, he totally blends in at school,” Ethan said bluntly. “Like, I barely ever notice him.”

“Really?”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Whatever, just,” Remy, exasperated, shoved the umbrella towards him. “Give this to him, please? He was supposed to come in today but I think I missed him.”

Ethan eyed him warily before saying, “He wasn’t at school today, so I’m guessing he probably didn’t come in anyways,” Although he took the umbrella from Remy regardless.

A sudden pang of concern hit Remy as he recalled the boy’s creative episode in the rain the day prior. Maybe he should have thrown the umbrella back at him (Wait, no, it would’ve just hit the bus instead…).

“Does he skip a lot?” Remy asked, trying not to let the worry show from behind his glasses.

Ethan kept feeling at the handle of the umbrella, like rubbing it was going to unearth some ancient rune that he needed to discover. “Hm… I don’t think so. He cares a lot about his grades, definitely,” Ethan, smile suddenly appearing on his face, turned the umbrella once more. “Wow, this is bumpy.”

“... Alright I’m gonna go now,” Remy said, walking into the back room. “Make sure he gets it.” He added, only slightly threatening. “Like, seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” Ethan mumbled. His attention was diverted from the umbrella to a customer walking into the store, his voice fading into the background as Remy walked, “Hi, how may I help you…”

Remy shook his head, pushing open the door to the back room. Well, it wasn’t like Ethan was totally untrustworthy or anything.

-

The next day it was raining again (Because of course it was, it was Florida), but Remy was, surprisingly, not fast asleep when Ethan walked in for his shift.

The first thing he noticed was the mint umbrella in his hand, and Remy’s neutral expression very quickly turned into a frown.

“Hey-”

“He said I could keep it,” Ethan explained cryptically.

“He what-” Remy, who had been busy questioning Ethan’s moral integrity all day already, tried not to scream as his coworker briskly entered the back room to deposit his things. Because his mind was already going to the very imperative questions of Well, why didn’t he come in today? Didn’t he give me the umbrella? Am I being #clingy right now? 

“Also, he had to monitor for a teacher after school for parent teacher conference, so he couldn’t come today.” Ethan emerged from the back room, in the middle of tying his apron around his waist. “He told me to tell you that.”

“Are you two friends or something?”

Ethan moved to the register after tying his apron and pulled out his phone. “Eh… We just have Latin together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He already has a bunch of them, so I’m sure he’s fine without me.”

For some reason that statement made a knot twist in Remy’s stomach, but he ignored it. Because jealousy was not a good look, and Remy would not be caught dead looking so desperate for friendship he saw in a dude he’d only known for one day.

So he made himself a coffee (so that he wouldn’t fall asleep waiting for the bus) and ended his shift. He glanced back at Ethan as he neared the front door, still toying with the umbrella handle under the counter while on his phone, and realized that he’d once again forgotten his umbrella at home.

-

Emile came back in for a black coffee. Remy spelled his name correctly.

They talked briefly, Remy questioning his decision on the umbrella, and Emile just gave that same nervous laugh. He was wearing a sweater today, with a cartoon cat on it shaped like a cookie.

“He seemed to like it a lot, so I thought I’d give it to him!” Emile heaved his backpack up so that it rested more comfortably on his shoulders, smiling so brightly at Remy he felt like he needed to put his glasses back on. “I didn’t know you two worked together!”

Remy smiled. “Small world.”

He couldn’t stay for long this time, because he was going to be hanging out with his friends, Remy learned. They were going to be studying for a test together at the library, which didn’t sound that fun to Remy, but Emile seemed rather ecstatic about the whole thing.

Before he left the shop, Emile paused at the front door and turned his head around. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! I was working on the story again yesterday: Elizabeth and Ella (her girlfriend) make up afterwards! But the story leaves off at a cliffhanger when a meteor strikes the wedding reception. Whether or not it was premeditated is still to be determined.”

Remy took a long sip of his coffee as Emile was talking. “Love that for them.”

Emile grinned, pushing up his glasses and waving as he exited the coffee shop. Remy decided to begin wiping down the counter while waiting for his shift to end.

-

“You haven’t seen Steven Universe?!”

Remy picked at the inside of his ear with a pinky finger. “I mean. I’ve probably seen like, half of an episode. Or something.”

“Ohmygosh, you have to watch it-” Emile abruptly cut himself off, realization dawning on his face. A wide grin spread across his blank expression, and he pulled the hem of his sweater down to gesture at it.

“Look! Remy, this is Steven Universe!” Emile animatedly went through the effort of pointing each colorful character out on his sweater, going as far as to explain their faults, character arcs, backstories…

“I like this one,” Remy said as Emile was taking a breath, and pointed at a girl in large comical glasses. “She looks pretty cool.”

“That’s Connie,” Emile continued, Despite him being in the middle of explaining… One of the colorful ones before Remy interjected. “She’s very inquisitive yet cautious, and I think one of the most interesting traits about her is her feelings of loneliness.”

Remy quirked an eyebrow at him, absently rubbing the countertop with a cloth. “She doesn’t look very lonely here,” He said, poking at the character on his shirt. She was grinning with her eyebrows set in a determined expression. Also she was carrying a huge sword.

“Well, due to her father’s job, there is a lot of instability in her life,” Emile elaborated, leaning forwards so that his elbows were on the counter and a hand was propping his chin up. “Simply put, her family moves around a lot, and thus she finds it difficult to hold onto friendships.”

“That’s… Kind of depressing,” Remy said, an odd knot of sympathy forming in his throat. “For a kids show.”

“Well, I guess, but it’s just so… So frickin cool how realistic that is,” He sighed dreamily, and he let his head rest on his forearm instead of his elbow. “Gosh, I love cartoons! Do you have a favorite show, um…”

Emile blinked at him owlishly, straightening up. “Wait, I don’t know your name.”

“Oh.” Was Remy’s only response to that.

“Gosh, that’s so rude of me!” Emile squeaked, the onset of embarrassment on his face so fast that Remy almost had whiplash witnessing it. “I-It must have slipped my mind! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remy said with a smirk. “I was just worried you’d never forget it if I told you.”

“Don’t keep me in the dark any longer!” Emile gasped, leaning forwards suddenly. “What’s your name? Or I’ll just keep referring you to as ‘Starbucks Guy’ in my head.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It could be.”

After a drawn out pause as Remy sipped his iced coffee, he responded with a simple, “Remy.”

Emile stared at him for a moment, before a squeal escaped his mouth and he clamped his hands over his lips. “Li-Like from Ratatouille!! Remy and Emile, oh my god!!” He exclaimed loudly. A woman on the phone in the corner of the establishment sent him an odd look that Emile didn’t notice.

“Like… From France…?”

“Ratatouille!” Emile repeated. “Please tell me you’ve seen Ratatouille.”

Remy took a guilty sip from his coffee. “It’s probably a TV show?”

“It’s a Pixar movie,” Emile took out his phone and typed something into Google (He didn’t have a passcode it seemed) and showed him various pictures of a 3D cartoon mouse. In a chefs hat.

“Wow, she’s cute,” Remy deadpanned. “Glad that reminds you of me.”

“He’s great! It’s a great movie!” Emile smiled despite the sardonic slight. “You should watch it sometime! Oh, you have Netflix, right? It’s probably there.”

“Totally,” Remy lied.

“Awesome! Um…” With his gaze stuck on his phone, Emile trailed off, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A look of horror then struck his face, and he immediately shoved his phone in his pocket. “Shoot! I was supposed to meet up with them like thirty minutes ago! Ah-”

Emile gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry I can’t stay for much longer, I’ll see you on Monday, though!”

“Why Mon-” Oh, yeah, the school week ended on Friday. “Yeah… Yeah I’ll see you then.”

Emile waved as he bolted out of the Starbucks, and Remy all but sagged onto the countertop, glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose as he glared at a speck of dust in his peripheral vision.

He probably should have asked for his number… Or was it too soon for that? Ah, whatever.

-

One nap, his boss yelling at him for it, and an hour later, Remy had officially clocked out. He didn’t have much else to do for the night, since he had finished his homework the day prior, so Remy settled for the grim reality of going home to watch a rerun of The Office before he inevitably fell asleep halfway through the episode.

On the way to his bus stop, there was a bridge he had to walk past. It laid across the polluted river, shitty paint job and all. Graffiti consistently covered the underside of it (somehow), and Remy never spared a second glance towards it.

Well, the reason why this insignificant, minute detail in his own insignificant, minute life was suddenly relevant was due to the head of pink hair on the bridge.

It was a group of about five people, including Emile. His bright, pastel colored sweater was tinted to a pretty shade of dark periwinkle due to the sunset over the bridge. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the group of individuals wearing mostly earthy, warm colors.

Remy catapulted himself behind a building, sticking his body up against it and digging out his phone. He was just going to check Instagram really quick. He definitely wasn’t eavesdropping, nope.

“... ile, isn’t that show like, for little kids?” A voice drifted from over the bridge. Remy adjusted his sunglasses. This was stupid. He should just keep walking. Pathetic how attached he grew to one person even after knowing them for a grand total of three days at most.

“Well,” Emile’s voice was loud. There was a cartoonish quality to it that Remy couldn’t place, maybe it was the way he said his e’s. It might’ve been an accent, but Remy could not place which one for the life of him. Despite this, his voice didn’t seem to carry as much authority as the speaker prior. “I just thought it was fun, I guess.”

A bubble of bitterness welled up in his throat at Emile’s tone, because it was softer than when he had spoken to him at the bus stop. Like he wasn’t using it to its full potential.

Whatever, Remy conceded he’d leave it alone. This was kind of bad, wasn’t it? To be eavesdropping like this. #Clingy! Blared in his mind as he walked slowly away from the scene, towards his bus stop.

“That’s weird, Emile,” Another speaker said. “Don’t you watch any, like, real shows?”

“... I don’t really watch that much TV.”

-

Remy awoke with a start, much like he always did. Though this time he was floating above the ground, drool pooling in a puddle on the countertop.

The barstool clattered to the ground as Remy scrambled to get a grip on the countertop before he fell off of it. He heard snickering, and whipped his head around to glare at Ethan.

“Your shift’s over, princess,” Ethan said. He sprayed whipped cream into his mouth, setting it back down before his attention returned to his phone once again. Remy sighed, rubbing his still groggy head before clocking out for the day.

The sky was clear, though there were a gaggle of looming rainclouds near the horizon. Remy didn’t mind, however, since he found the sunset was freaking gorgeous today. Definitely Instagram-worthy.

So he decided to take a picture of it before heading to the bus stop. Who knew when he’d get another opportunity like this, especially since it was rainy season. Maybe the bridge would be a nice photo-op?

As he passed by the old, graffiti-littered bridge, Remy’s steps slowed.

It was Emile again. While Remy didn’t find it odd to witness highschool students being outside during the weekends, the odd thing about this was that Emile was completely alone.

He had an elbow on the railing of the bridge, propping up his chin in a way that he looked almost serene, gazing out over the polluted water. The oranges and angry yellows of the sun made his beige cardigan look more like a deep red-brown.

Remy’s hand lingered over his hand. This was probably the most perfect photo he could ever imagine for his Instagram, but of course he wasn’t going to take a picture of someone just standing there. That would be weird, right? Should he forget about this now? Go up to Emile and talk to him? The lack of an expression on his face didn’t suit him well, Remy noticed.

In his other hand, hanging by his side, was the yellow notebook Remy had witnessed him writing into many days ago.

As Remy continued debating whether or not he should go up to him, Emile had shifted his position. He was walking backwards from the railing, face set in a determined grimace. His grip tightened on the notebook so much that his fingers were smudging the ink and the pages were wrinkling in his grasp. He seemed to be psyching himself up for something, clenching and unclenching his fingers as he kept his gaze on the water in front of the bridge.

Then he swung his hand back, and flung the notebook into the river.

Similar to how people, quote on quote, had their lives flashing before their eyes upon their deathbed, Remy only saw his friends. Or lack thereof. The empty birthday parties, the pitying stares from other students, a teacher extending a hand to him as he laid asleep on the floor…

And it was probably then that he realized he hated being alone. The feeling clawed inside of him like a vice, and yet he could never seem to hold onto anyone before they faded away from his life. He didn’t want to feel that way again.

He felt his feet moving before his mind could wrap itself around the situation. It was like a primal instinct had taken over, and suddenly Remy was vaulting over the railing with a strength he never knew he possessed, extending a hand towards the yellow pages that were half submerged into the water.

And as he let the notebook float gently into the air, his familiar purple aura surrounding it, Remy felt his knees give way.

A mute scream bubbled from his throat as his grip slacked on the railing, body falling into the water despite his mind yelling at him to move, to regroup, to do something-

A rush of cold water hit him like a ton of bricks, and Remy felt dizzy as all the breath from his lungs left him despite himself. He felt the familiar haze of sleep cloud his mind, and he thought ruefully that he had never fallen asleep in a river before…

As his vision went darker and bubbles filled it, he saw the stream of light from the sunset, a soda can surrounded by purple float to the top of the river, and there was something pink coming towards him… He was fading, fading...

-

Emile Picani watched as the Starbucks barista, the one who always knew to get him a black coffee, vaulted over the railing of the bridge. He watched as his powers made his notepad levitate into the air, and watched as the barista’s legs seemed to freeze up, hold on the railing slacking all of a sudden. And he watched as he plummeted into the polluted river, notepad still floating with a pretty spark of purple surrounding it despite it all.

He was stunned! Flabbergasted, floored, er… He didn’t really know what to do. Emile was still standing and staring at where the man had disappeared under the water… And he wasn’t floating back to the surface… Oh no-

Things suddenly started shooting to the surface, a soda can, old shoes, a couple fish and a hair dryer. That was probably what spurred Emile to lurch himself over the railing as well to dive into the water.

It was murky and hard to see- And oh god why was everything brown?! Emile resisted the urge to gag as his heart raced, eyes squinting to make out anything in the water atop the bubbles escaping his nose. There were still things rising to the top of the water, a phone, a ring of keys, glasses…

Emile’s eyes focused on a hazy blob of darkness lying on the river floor, and he quickly shot his hands out to grab at it. By now he was very quickly running out of air, and it didn’t seem like Starbucks was going to wake up at any point either. So Emile gathered as much of the man’s jacket as he could in his hands, panic pooling within his stomach as he felt a large amount of air leave his nose through bubbles.

Okay, okay, it’s fine, this is fine, fine and dandy, Emile heard his voice scream inside of his head. He tried not to gasp at the darkness fluttering in and out of his vision, trying to kick his way back to the top of the river. But his movements were growing sluggish, and everything was suddenly covered in a haze that wasn’t there before. And Emile was sinking, sinking…

Floating…?

He felt a light feeling overwhelm him, and looked down to see his hands surrounded in a purple aura. Was Remy… Doing this?

Emile’s hands were in a death grip on Remy’s jacket, squeezing his eyes shut as his body was shooting to the top. Bubbles were escaping his mouth, but soon enough, his head broke the surface and he was gasping for air.

Sweet, sweet oxygen invaded his lungs and Emile allowed himself to cough up the water he had accidentally swallowed while resurfacing. His attention snapped to Remy, still submerged in the river and he quickly brought the other boy up to the surface while trying to kick to shore at the same time.

As the effects of Remy’s powers wore off, Emile had gradually reached the shore. He all but threw Starbucks onto the shore, and laid himself down next to the sleeping barista atop crushed soda cans and sharp plastic. His arms felt like they were on fire, and his heart wouldn’t stop beating like he was running from a known serial killer… Man, maybe he should start working out more.

Then, Emile’s attention refocused onto the matter at hand… Oh god, Remy probably swallowed a gallon of dirty  river water or something. Emile quickly scrambled to his side, looming over him as he surveyed the condition of the unconscious teenager. Would he have to perform CPR? Oh no, Emile wasn’t qualified to do that!! Maybe if he looked it up on Google he’d have a better understanding- Oh, but he’d lost his phone in the river…

As soon as the feeling of helplessness welled up inside of him, it popped like a bubble. Remy’s eyes cracked open, squinting against the harsh rays of the sunset. His fingers twitched as he tried to sit up.

“Wh-” Remy began, voice hoarse, but as soon as he started his face turned a sickly shade of green and he turned his head to vomit up river water. Emile kindly looked away from the scene, grimace present on his face. “Um,” Emile started, but a strange feeling overwhelmed him, made his eyes water and the back of his throat burn. He’d realized that most of what happened was mostly because of him, and his little stunt back on the bridge. If he hadn’t been so stupid, Remy wouldn’t have…

“I’m sorry,” Emile couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks, and he was pointedly looking away from Remy as well. “I-I, oh gosh,” He mumbled wiping at them with the sleeves of his cardigan despite them also being soaking wet.

As Remy opened his mouth to respond, another torrent of river water escaped him and onto the shore. He held out a hand, motioning for Emile to wait a second and spoke after vomiting.

“Do-Don’t apologize,” Remy muttered, wiping his mouth sheepishly. “I think I dropped it anyways. Your notebook.”

All that statement did was make him cry even harder, and he curled in on himself, hugging his knees and burying his head in them. He tried saying that he didn’t care, it really didn’t matter to him, because the fact of the matter was that his actions nearly caused another human being to die. Not only that, it was Remy, someone who had been nothing but kind to him through the brief interactions they’d shared together.

Remy was patting him awkwardly on the back. “Sor-Sorry, yi-yikes, it’s kind of cold out, huh?” He said, laughing. 

Emile didn’t respond, and Remy opted to draw his hand away from Emile to sit cross legged on the shore line. He reached down to extract a soggy piece of paper from one of his leather boots.

“So… I kind of fall asleep sometimes,” Remy blurted out suddenly. Emile blinked at him, furrowing his eyebrows in questioning. “Like, it’s really random.”

“Huh,” Emile said. “That’s why you-”

“Yeah. Um,” Remy scratched the back of his head. “It gets really strong when I fall asleep. My powers, I mean. I’m usually not strong enough to lift people or anything.”

Emile thought back to when he was surrounded in a purple aura, the feeling of weightlessness as he floated to the top of the river despite him sinking just a moment before… “Ah.”

“Sorry if that’s weird,” Remy laughed bitterly. “But I just thought I should tell you ‘cause… You know.”

He didn’t know, but Emile suddenly wondered what Remy’s life must have been like living with a condition like that. He wondered if he had a hard time connecting with other people too, he wondered if he was lonely too.

“It-It’s not,” Emile remedied. “I mean, kinda but I don’t care… You’re great, I-I just don’t know why you… Did that.”

He wondered if it was the lighting or if Remy’s face had grown red. “I just… I know it means a lot to you,” He answered. “And don’t give me that crap and pretend it doesn’t matter. I know it does.”

Emile tried to pretend like that statement didn’t make a new wall of tears well up in his eyes. “Y-Yeah,” He whispered, hugging his knees closer to his chest. “It does.”

So they sat together on the shoreline, Emile trying to ignore the chill that came with a gust of wind. Looking up at the sky above, Emile wondered if there would ever come a day where he’d make a friend that he could show his writing to without the debilitating anxiety that came with being judged. Maybe a friend he could watch cartoons with without them asking to change the channel to something like a reality show instead. He wanted someone who would spend time with him that didn’t come at the expense of having to do a project together for AP English.

Then he looked over at the barista, staring blankly out at the water, dark hair plastered unflatteringly to his forehead while squinting. Was it too bright? Was that why he wore sunglasses indoors too? It seemed like Emile was learning something new about him every time they interacted.

A hopeful feeling ignited in his chest, and Emile wished that he could learn more about Remy with time.

-

“This is my number!”

Remy quirked an eyebrow as he took the post-it note. “Uh-”

“I lost my phone because of, you know,” Emile waved his hand vaguely, but Remy already knew the incident he was talking about. “So I had to get a new one.”

“... Thanks,” Remy said. He furiously engraved it into his skull to remember to text Emile, because he’d probably never forgive himself if he forgot. “I’ll text you after my shift’s over.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Emile said flippantly. “I just wanted to say thanks for the other day… I was kind of- heh, kind of a wreck! Emotionally, haha.”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Remy thumbed over the new cracks on his phone- He referred to them as battle scars in his mind though. “I’d nearly drown in a shit-filled river anytime for you, babe.”

Although he was kind of joking, Remy was delighted to see a nervous smile on Emile’s face. Much better than tears for sure. 

“Haha!! Um, I uh, hah,” Emile squeaked, putting a hand to his red face. “Gosh, it feels like Agrab- You probably don’t know what that is! Haha!! Anyways!”

He unceremoniously dumped a shoddily wrapped parcel onto the table. The wrapper was a repeating pattern of cartoon characters he didn’t recognize.

“It’s the Loud House! Okay, uh, happy Saint Patrick’s day, bye!”

With that, as soon as he came he was gone. Remy watched mutely as Emile bolted out of the shop, though not before nearly tackling an older gentleman making his way in and apologizing to him profusely as he colorfully swore at the retreating teenager. A genuine snicker left his mouth, and he looked down at the gift in his hands.

He’d open it after his shift ended, Remy decided. Using his powers, he levitated it so that it rested underneath the counter, hidden from view. Remy smiled at the older guy and adjusted his glasses.

“How may I help you?”

#remy sanders #sleep sanders #emile picani #dr emile picani #remile #remy x emile #sanders sides #thomas sanders #cartoon therapy #sanders shorts #deceit sanders #he's in this for like 2 scenes lmfao sorry my boy #writes

[midnightluck]

minific: it’ll pass

hi i still don’t like this but i did write it so have a quick fic about idiot children with a predisposition for losing their breath when they lose their heart.

---

“Hey, you okay?”

Sabo stares at his palm and then looks up. “I’m fine,” he says, and spits to the side. “You find anything?”

“Nah,” Ace says, swinging down out of the tree and hitting the ground in a crouch. “Tracked the birds; didn’t find nothin’.”

“Anything,” he corrects absently, then squints up at the sun. “Time to head back, then?”

“Gonna hafta,” Ace says, looking that way too. “We prolly got time enough.”

“Yeah,” Sabo agrees, then takes a step forward. Then one more, and a third before Ace starts moving and Sabo leans forward and takes off even before he gets out, “Race ya!”

Ace’s howl of “Unfair!” echoes behind him as he puts his head down and runs pellmell into the forest. He doesn’t have to be fair, he has to win, and he’s already gasping for breath as he twists around the big rock that separates the town from the forest, Ace right on his heels.

Ace overtakes him at the last and it's tanned fingers that slap the door of the Party Bar. "Ha!" Ace crows, and Sabo frowns at him and tries to catch his breath. "I won!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sabo grumbles, then shoves past him to push open the door. “Luffy! Luffy, you here?”

“Sabo!” Luffy’s voice floats back. “Ace! You came!”

“Course we did,” Ace says, swaggering in. “Didn’t doubt us, didja?”

“No!” Luffy protests, throwing his arm forward. It extends long past where it should have stopped and wraps around Ace, pulling him forward.

Ace goes, laughing, and Sabo hops up onto a stool at the bar. “Thank you for watching him,” he says, and Makino smiles.

“It’s my pleasure,” She says, turning around to the stove. "Pull up a chair, boys. There’s some food left if you're hungry."

"Thanks!" Ace says, and Sabo echoes him and muffles a cough in his clenched hand.

One cough turns into two, though, and Makino sets a glass of water in front of him as Ace pats his back.

“Thanks,” Sabo says when he can breathe again, and takes a sip of the water. 

The cold liquid hits his throat and instead of soothing the tickle, it becomes razorblades that stick and poke as he coughs, and he coughs and coughs and coughs.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ace says, one hand on his shoulder. “That sounds nasty.”

Sabo hunches forward, coughing into his hands until he can breathe and then propping himself on the bar and wheezing, “Just caught a summer cold. It’ll pass.”

“It will?” Luffy asks, leaning in to peer directly into Sabo’s face. “You’ll be okay?”

Sabo takes a deep breath, cuts his eyes to Ace, and then meets Luffy’s gaze. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I promise.”

Luffy stares a second longer and then grins widely. “Okay! If you say so!”

Sabo wipes his hands on his pants and then pats Luffy on the head. “Yeah,” he says. 

“Hey! Is there more meat!?”

Ace meets Sabo’s eyes again and huffs a laugh. “Just put it on our tab, yeah?”

Sabo pushes the glass of water forward across the bar and Makino takes it and uses a rag to wipe off the bar and glass. “Yeah,” Sabo says, and manages a crooked smile.

Luffy cheers and bounces closer to the counter, and Ace leans in to say quietly, “You sure you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Sabo says, and Makino freezes behind the bar. He meets her gaze over Ace’s shoulder and there’s petals on her rag and grief in her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

~@~

“You don’t have to lie, you know,” Ace says, leaning back on his hands.

“I don’t lie,” Sabo lies, glancing sideways at him.

Ace snorts and doesn’t say anything. He just waits, and sure enough, the clouds haven’t drifted halfway across the clearing when the tickle in Sabo’s throat creeps up and fills his mouth with the burning itch of a pending cough.

He bites it back as long as he can, but he has to cough eventually, into cupped hands. Warm fingers wrap around his wrists and tug his hands down even as he looks up into Ace’s eyes.

“You don’t have to lie,” Ace repeats. “This sickness, it’s--”

Sabo catches his breath, waiting. It’s obvious, is what this sickness is, and it’s embarrassing. There’s only one possible cause, after all. It’s needy and dramatic and likely to ruin the only escape Sabo has left in this world, and it’s unnecessary, and--

“It’s not getting better,” Ace says, staring down at the limp globs of parti-colored petal goop in Sabo’s hands.

Sabo closes his eyes and doesn’t pull away. “No,” he says, and waits.

“It’s getting worse. You’re coughing longer and more often.”

“Yeah.”

Ace inspects the petals, turning one of Sabo’s hands this way and that. “These are flower petals,” he says, and Sabo stops breathing.

Ace flicks his eyes up and says, “Is it some kind of allergy?” and Sabo sighs explosively.

“No, it’s--well, yeah, I guess. Something like that.”

“So you know what it is?”

“Yeah,” Sabo admits, and curls his fists closed. “It’s okay, Ace; don’t worry about it. It’ll pass.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Ace repeats, and Sabo quirks a small, crooked grin. 

“It’ll pass soon,” he says, ignoring the growing urge to cough and collapsing back onto the grass. “Hey, where’s Luffy?”

“Sent him to find treasure,” Ace says, and a whumph from the side tells Sabo Ace is laying flat too. “He wouldn’t shut up about a telescope or something? Told him if he wanted it, he had to find one.”

Sabo hums, letting time pass, and then says, “There’s probably one in the piles.”

“Probably,” Ace agrees.

There’s an even longer break where they both wait for the other to cave to the inevitable, and it’s Sabo who gives in first. “Wanna go look for one?”

“Yeah, all right,” Ace agrees and neither move.

It’s peaceful, laying there like that and watching the clouds blow by, and Sabo doesn’t move until it’s that or cough, and then he flips over with a groan and scrambles to his feet. “Let’s go then,” he says, offering a hand to Ace.

Ace makes unhappy grumble noises as well but lets Sabo pull him upright, and they meander out towards the Terminal.

Sabo does find a telescope, in the end, but not before his father finds him. He swallows down fear and flower petals and makes his decision, and he trails his father back to town with heavy feet and a heavier heart. He doesn’t look back, not even once, because he doesn’t want that sight in his memories, not Luffy crying or Ace glaring after him--

He nearly doubles over with the force of the coughs this time. It’s sudden and violent and rips out his chest like a tide, and he hacks and spits up enough petals to choke on.

The funny thing is, Sabo thinks, is that he had thought nothing else could go wrong, but when he looks up, wiping his mouth on the back of one hand, his father’s expression tells him he’s mistaken.

“Is that what I think it is?” Outlook Senior demands, and Sabo shuts his mouth. “Did you catch feelings?”

He says it like cancer, and it may as well be, Sabo thinks, watching and keeping his mouth shut. He can survive this, he can survive anything as long as his brothers are safe--

“This may actually be the best possible path,” his father muses, and Sabo’s heart kicks up as he blinks and thinks, trying to figure out why his father’s wearing his Victorious Business Acquisition face. How could this--

“Come along, son,” Outlook Senior says, clamping one hand onto Sabo’s shoulder and steering him forward. “We’ll set up an appointment for as soon as possible and the surgery soon after. Then you’ll be over this nonsense--”

Sabo’s ears stop along with his heart even as his feet move on autopilot. He knows what this is and what it means and that it’ll kill him slowly and painfully, but it’s his and he won’t let them cut out his flowers or his lungs or his heart.

Well, that makes his decision easy, really; he needs to get out of here, and he’s on a deadline. 

He swallows down the lingering taste of chlorophyll and starts making plans.

~@~

He wakes up, gasping, breathing deeply and cleanly, and something in his mind whispers wrong.

“What--” he wheezes, and there’s a hand pushing him back down.

“Easy, kid,” says a deep voice. “You almost drowned.”

Drowned--yes, that makes sense, explains the phantom feeling of constriction around lungs working overtime.

“Did I--” he starts, then coughs. He coughs for a long time, spitting out water and gunk and salt. It’s nasty and leaves his mouth sour and faintly green, and he feels unclean when he’s done.

“Don’t push it, kid,” the voice says. “You’ll heal. You know where you are?”

He shakes his head because opening his mouth seems like too much right now, but he doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know why he would have drowned, he doesn’t know--

“Who,” he croaks out, and then coughs again. “Who are you? Who am I?”

There’s a long moment of silence as his pulse beats in his ears and then the stranger who rescued him sighs. “You’re gonna be fine,” the voice promises. “We’ll find your family--”

“No!”

A longer pause, and he coughs up more goo. “No,” he says when he can breathe again, “please, no, I can’t go back--”

A discussion happens over his head while he coughs up half an ocean, at least, and then dry heaves until not even bile comes up. His fate is decided somewhere over his head during this process and he doesn’t even notice.

It works out, though, and Dragon gives him a purpose, a cause, and a home. He gives Sabo a new start and an old top hat, and Sabo wears gloves these days, and always carries a handkerchief, just in case.

He still doesn’t like flowers; there’s something about the smell that paints a bright, bitter flavor across his tongue and makes him breathe shallower. It’s probably an allergy or something; he gets minor attacks sometimes.

He can’t figure out the trigger because it’s happened out at sea, staring up at the clouds, with no plants in sight. He’ll just feel the squeeze in his chest, the tickle in his throat, and the buildup behind his eyes, and the taste will flood his mouth again.

It’s manageable, though, and not dangerous, not really. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the ranks and becoming the one of the youngest officers in the Revolutionary Army.

He’s still wary, though, so he keeps a weather eye on a small potted plant on the corner of a desk, years later, while waiting on his partner. 

“Hey,” she says, stepping out of the debriefing room. “New mission.”

“Yeah?” he says, letting the chair touch down again. It seems to be a straightforward mission, a bit of stealth and stealing, and he scans the folder and lets himself grin. “This’ll be a breeze,” he says then, and Koala huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t cause trouble this time, okay?”

“Never do,” he says, grinning, and she sighs.

“You don’t have to lie, Sabo,” she says, and it may be the set of her chin or the angle of her mouth or the way she says it, but for a second Sabo could swear he hears it echo.

There’s a tickle in the back of his throat and he clears it once, closing his eyes for just a second. When he opens them again, warm brown eyes blink into his from far too close and there’s strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. “You sure you’re okay?” Koala asks, and Sabo coughs.

“Yeah,” he says, and coughs again, once, lightly. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

It always does.

#sabo the revolutionary #Portgas D. Ace #hanahaki #predisposition au #answer in the form of a story #even though literally no one asked for this

[theassofwonder]

A Cord of Three Strands (Is Not Quickly Broken)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part 4

PART 5-EVGENI

((Unfortunately i can’t include the hyperlink to skip the smut if one so chooses, SO you scroll from “ The number of times he has dreamed of this scenario is ridiculous and embarrassing” to “After they’ve  cleaned up, put on some semblance of pajamas, and have tucked themselves into bed”. ENJOY!!!))

He should be used to this by now, Evgeni thinks, watching Sid glare groggily at the coffee maker as it fills the carafe. Sid’s been in Moscow for more than a week; Evgeni shouldn’t be surprised every morning he finds Sid in the kitchen before him and Anya. He shouldn’t be melting into a puddle each time Nikita gravitates into Sid’s lap. He knew going into this when he agreed with Anya that he’d give himself the chance to let his feelings for Sid- be on the front burner, so to speak.

But he’d spent so long keeping them on the back burner that he’s not entirely sure what to do now that he has permission- from Anya, and from himself- to act on those feelings. He doesn’t know how to talk to Sid about it all; hell, he’s not sure how to talk to himself about any of it.

“Good morning, Geno,” Sid yawns. Evgeni almost hates how he doesn’t hate Sid’s accent, how he rounds out the vowels, how he still pronounces every syllable.

“Morning,” he grunts. He doesn’t wrap his arms around Sid’s midsection like he wants to, doesn’t kiss his cheek and rest his chin on the top of his growing mop of curls. Instead, he leans back against the island across from him, head bowed, and eyes closed, trying to get a few more minutes of rest before he really has to be awake.

“You’ve been doing this for how many years now and you’re still not a morning person?”

Evgeni lifts his head, his breath catching at how…fond the smile Sid’s giving him is. “Yeah, well-“ he clears his throat, feeling the blood rush to his face. “Old dog, bad tricks?”

Sidney tips his head back and laughs, his beautiful, honking laugh that makes him sound like a goose, and Evgeni can’t help but stare at him: the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way his mouth stretches over his teeth, how the tilt of his head seems to elongate his neck and make Evgeni want to lick and bite every square inch.

“I’d try to correct you with the right wording, but I have a feeling you said it wrong on purpose.” Sid’s grin is blinding, too bright for how early it is.

Evgeni tilts his head a little. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grins, more of a bearing of teeth than a display of joy. “Bad English.”

Sid lets out the goose laugh again. Evgeni likes how pink his face gets and makes a silent bet with himself to see how many times he can pull that laugh out of him during his visit.

X

Evgeni will never be over how exhilarating it is to be on the ice with Sid. He’s always felt at home in a rink, with skates on his feet and a stick in his hands, but with Sid- well. He feels like they were destined to share sixty-one meters of ice.

“What’d you have to do to finally get him here, huh?” Kadarov mutters, smirking a little. “Sign away your life to the NHL?”

“He’s just getting over a tough breakup. Besides,” Evgeni says distractedly, watching Sid familiarize himself with the rink, bigger than he’s used to. “I already promised him ‘Penguins forever’.”

Evgeni freezes, and from the corner of his eyes he can see Kadarov shaking violently. “Mikhail,” he starts, but Kadarov cuts him off, waving his left hand erratically. “It’s fine,” he says, voice high-pitched. A giggle lets itself loose and Kadarov doubles over to brace himself with the wall.

“What are you laughing for?” Evgeni hisses, cold with fear. “This isn’t a laughing matter, what the fuck?” He sees Sid skating over, looking concerned, and tries to swallow his panic.

“Everything okay over here?” Sid looks between Evgeni and Kadarov, confused and lips twitching, like he thinks he should be laughing too.

“Told Kadar joke,” Evgeni lies. “Is terrible joke, think his brain is broken.”

Sid nods slowly, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling slightly. “Okay. Uh,” his gaze slides over to Kadarov, who is no longer under threat of death by laughter, but is still chuckling to himself and shaking his head. Sid blinks and looks back to Evgeni, confused, and a little lost.

“How do you like ice?” Evgeni tilts his chin up toward the rink. “Feels okay?”

Sid looks over his shoulder, the left corner of his mouth ticking up. “Yeah,” he says. “It’ll definitely be a bit of an adjustment, but nothing I can’t handle, ya know?”

“Of course,” Evgeni sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth, biting down gently, privately drooling over the color that flushes high on Sid’s cheekbones. “Sidney Crosby can handle anything.”

X

He’s still thinking about that blush when Anya accosts him late that night, cornering him in front of the large double sink in the bathroom. Her eyes are wide, her brows furrowed, her bottom lip red like she’s been biting it viciously. “Zhenya,” she says, the hem of her shirt gathered between her clenched fists. “I need to tell you something.”

Evgeni turns off the faucet and rubs his hands dry on his jeans. “Is it something I need to be worried about?”

Anya scrunches her face up, the space between her eyebrows closing. “I don’t think- I don’t know.” She sighs, folding her arms over her chest. “Maybe.” Anya purses her lips and pivots on her heel to march through to the bedroom, where she begins pacing at the foot of their bed. She stops suddenly, facing Evgeni. She gives a trembling exhale and just- falls backward onto the bed, arms spread out perpendicular. Evgeni almost wants to laugh, but he knows if he did Anya wouldn’t talk about what’s bothering her, so he keeps his mouth shut and sits down next to her legs.

Anya presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, groaning. “I don’t know how to tell you,” she admits. “It’s nothing bad, I swear, and it’s so stupid, Zhenya, god!”

“Hey,” Evgeni interjects. “Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about.”

Anya lifts her hands to make a show of rolling her eyes. Evgeni raises an eyebrow and she sighs. “Fine,” she relents. “So it’s not stupid. But it’s-“ she makes a face. “Immature, I guess?” the corner of her mouth ticks up, and she looks a little to the left of Evgeni’s head. “It feels like I’m a schoolgirl again, getting a silly crush.” The nostalgic, far-off look in her eyes disappears as she makes eye contact with Evgeni. “Or it would,” she continues regretfully. “If it didn’t also feel like I was betraying your trust.”

Evgeni tries not to get stuck on the first thought that pops into his head, but he can feel panic start to cling to the edges of his consciousness as he mentally goes through recent interactions Anya’s had with any male coworkers or friends. He starts second-guessing everything in the span of a half-second, and if his mom hadn’t brought out his baby pictures after Nikita was born, he would be doubting that too, but-

“I think I’m falling in love with Sidney.”

A split second of nothing.

A train braking too hard, too soon; the wheels sparking against the rails.

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask when, and how, but what comes out is-

“That’s so fucking hot.”

“Zhenya!” Anya snaps, springing into a sitting position, face flushed. “What the fuck, Zhenya, that is not-“

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he yelps. “That’s not what I wanted to say, I’m sorry, that was incredibly inappropriate, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I won’t- I swear to God, Anya-“

“I mean,” She makes a face, half apologetic. “You’re not wrong.”

He’s dying. He’s dead, and he’s in heaven, because he’s under the same roof as the two loves of his life and the one he’s married to is both okay with him being with the other one and that she wants to be with him too. (The number of times he has dreamed of this scenario is ridiculous and embarrassing.)

Anya must be able to tell what train of thought his mind is going down because she blinks, eyes wide, then folds her legs under her and smirks. “You like that,” she hums. “Me, with Sidney.” She caresses the edge of his jaw with her knuckles. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes so Evgeni leans into it, closing his eyes and exhaling over her wrist. Anya kisses his cheek, dragging them up to his temple. “How many times have you imagined it? Be honest.”

“So many,” he breathes. He tries to tilt his head back to kiss her properly, but she halts him with her thumb over his lips and the rest of her hand cupping his chin.

“Were you watching?” She asks lightly. “Or were you with us, participating, touching us both?”

“Both,” he rasps, and she slides her thumb into his mouth, pressing against his tongue, keeping his mouth open.

Anya hums again and nips at the crest of his ear. “What does he do to me,” she asks, almost begging, but not quite. She straddles him, groaning as she rubs against the hard line of his dick, still trapped in his pants, her thumb slipping farther into his mouth as he gasps in return. “What does he do to you?” She slides her thumb out, dragging it down the center of his chin. Evgeni makes sure to look her in the eyes as he says, “Everything”.

It’s a race to see who can get their clothes off first, and Anya has the advantage of apparently not wearing underwear, so Evgeni is stuck at the end of the bed with his shirt off and pants around his knees while his wife is stretching out on top of the covers, the pillows like a halo around her dark hair.

His wife is hot and he’s a simple man; sue him.

“Zhenya,” her voice lilts, as she bends her knees, planting her feet flat on the duvet, and running her long fingers up her delicious thighs. He shoves his pants the rest of the way off and nearly breaks his nose on her kneecap in trying to get up to her fast enough. He’s about to kiss her when she stops him again, pushing him away with the tips of her fingers against his forehead. He’s man enough to admit that he whimpers.

“If you’re good,” she says, carding her beautiful fingers through his hair, pressing down at the back of his skull, guiding him to her chest. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“So good,” Evgeni breathes, and licks broadly over her left nipple.

Anya tugs on his hair lightly, not enough to hurt- not yet. “Tell me one of your fantasies,” she breathes. “I don’t care which one, just-“ her breath hitches Evgeni bites at the skin just below the nipple. Her eyelids flutter, as if she wants to keep watching him. “Make me come,” she orders.

Evgeni licks at her left nipple once more before kissing down the side and across to her right one, alternating between soft, barely-there brushes and open, wet things that barely quantify as a kiss.

He resists the urge to suck a hickey into the bottom of her breastbone.

He gives her right nipple the same treatment as the left: broad licks directly over, sharp bites underneath, all while his hands trace the skin around her ribcage.

“One of my favorites,” he murmurs, kissing a line down her torso, “starts just like this. I’m making you feel so good-“

“Could be- better,” Anya gasps, her stomach jumping under his hands and lips.

“And Sid knocks on the door. I tell him we’re busy, but he just knocks again, you know stubborn he gets.”

“Uh-hhh,” Anya whines, as Evgeni slips two fingers into the tight, wet heat of her cunt.

“So I tell him,” Evgeni mutters, licking slow, broad stripes between the lips of her labia. “I tell him that he either has to leave us alone or join us.” He spreads his fingers and starts to push them in and out, slow, but not gentle. “And he comes in, of course.”

“Sidnechka!” Anya cries out. Evgeni covers up his smirk by replacing his fingers with his tongue, moaning when his wife’s thighs close around his head like a vice (or a boa constrictor, catching its prey), her hand almost tight enough in his hair to pull it out.

“Is that what you call him,” he gasps when she lets him free, replacing his fingers and driving them in fast but shallow. “In your head, is that what you think of him? As your Sidnechka?”

Anya whines, her shoulders hunched forward, the shorter strands of her hair sticking to her face with sweat, her eyes wild.

“Do you want to hold him? Kiss him?” Evgeni partners a particularly sharp thrust with a slight pressure of his thumb to the side of her clitoris. “Do you want to put him on his knees?”

“Yes,” she sobs, her back bowing, right hand digging into his scalp and her left clenched in the sheets.

“You want him to make you feel good, make you come?”

“Yes!” Anya cries, so loud it’s almost a scream.

Evgeni lets her tug his head up, almost bringing his fingers out too until she clamps her thighs shut around his wrist. “Was I good for you, my love?” he murmurs.

“Just kiss me, you fucking idiot,” Anna pants, and- well. It’s certainly no hardship to obey his wife’s demand.

She keeps her hand in his hair, scratching her nails against his scalp soothingly, tugging sharply when she decides he’s having too much fun teasing her. “Make me come again,” she says. “And then fuck me.”

“With my fingers again? Or my mouth?”

She bites his lip, hard enough that it’s still stinging when she pushes him back down her body. “Both.”

He normally tries to spend as much time as possible eating her out, but he senses that she’s a little too impatient for that tonight, so he only spends a little time warming her pussy back up with his mouth before he starts back up a grueling pace with his fingers.

“So,” he says, biting a soft impression of his front teeth into the inside of her thigh. “I told you one of my fantasies.”

Anya hums, her eyes closed, her lips turned up.

“So it’s only fair if you tell me one of yours, right?”

“Is that- so,” Anya asks, her voice hitching in the middle.

“Oh yes,” Evgeni murmurs, curling the tips of his fingers.

“God,” Anya gasps. “I want his mouth on my tits.” She twists one of her nipples, as if to make a point.

“Yeah,” he hums, tonguing the side of her clit. “You want his mouth on your tits while I’m eating your cunt?”

“Oh, shit,” Anya whimpers, her fingers clenching deliciously tight in his hair. “Fuck, I want him eating my cunt.”

“Am I sucking your tits, then, in this hypothetical?”

“No,” Anya says, digging her nails into his scalp. “I’m sucking your dick.”

The vibrations from his moan push her over into her second orgasm, easier than the first. He kisses the crease between her thigh and groin as she comes down, one of his thumbs still moving up and down between her slick labia. He kisses his way up her body, ripping open a condom packet as he settles his forehead between the valley of her breasts.

“Would you want him to fuck you,” he murmurs, pushing himself up, putting his weight on his left forearm, sliding the condom on with his right hand.

Anya makes sure they’re holding eye contact when she says, “I want him to come in me and for you to eat me out after.”

Evgeni grips the base of his dick so tight it hurts to keep himself from coming. “Good God, woman,” he chokes.

“I have never gone easy on you,” Anya chuckles. “Why should this be any dif-“ she cuts herself off, gasping when Evgeni thrusts in. “Different,” she breathes, eyes slipping shut. She slips her hand from the top of his head to the nape of his neck, squeezing slightly, her thumb an insistent pressure at the hinge of his jaw. “I want to put him on his knees,” she murmurs, her knees squeezing his hips between them, telling him that he’s allowed to move. “I want to hold him while you fuck his face, when you fuck his ass. I want to show him how to fuck you best, to sit on his goddamn face and keep him there until he’s covered in my come.”

She keeps up a near-constant litany of words while he fucks into her, pausing only to breathe or order him around some more. It’s exhilarating, Evgeni thinks, one hand tight around the curve of Anya’s hip. Finally being able to talk about Sidney- what he wants to do to Sidney- and for her to snap back with her own fantasies? It’s a wonder he hasn’t come yet.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on his ass,” Anya groans, clenching her pussy down on his cock. Evgeni moves one of her legs from around his waist to up over his shoulder. “Fuck, Zhenya, as soon as you get your shit together, I want my hands on his ass.” Evgeni growls in response, snapping his hips faster. “Promise me, Zhenya,” Anya gasps insistently. “Promise you’ll let me, as much as I want.”

“I- promise,” Evgeni gasps, trembling, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, as his muscles lock up. He’s careful to pull out slowly, and lets the bed catch him as he drops to Anya’s right.

“Fucking Christ,” he pants, chest heaving, blinking white spots from his vision. Anya only hums in response, her eyes closed and a smug grin on her face.

X

After they’ve cleaned up, put on some semblance of pajamas, and have tucked themselves into bed, Anya turns to him. “I know Sidney’s here for you,” she starts, her voice soft. “But I can’t help but feel like- like it’s meant to be all of us, you know?”

“He’s only here because of you,” Evgeni points out. “Because of your kind heart. You convinced me to ask him here, even though I know it hurt you in the process.”

She looks away but doesn’t deny it.

“You’re the one who convinced him to come here,” Evgeni continues. “Sidney Crosby, the most stubborn man I know.”

“It’s not like it was that hard to convince him anyway.” Anya rolls her eyes, but the way the tips of her ears pink up betrays her. “Besides,” she says, pulling Evgeni in for a kiss. “I have a feeling it’s going to be fairly easy from here on out.”

#a cord of three strands (is not quickly broken) #acots #FINALYYYYY #three thousand one hundred and sixty three words #eight and 1/3 pages long #THIS TOOK ME THREE AND A HALF MONTHS THANK YALL FOR WAITING #i'll create hyperlinks to the previous parts on tumblr tomorrow bc as of posting this it is eight minutes after midnight so goodNIGHT

[wiltedthrone-a]

dear diary

SEND ‘DEAR DIARY’ FOR A RANDOM DIARY ENTRY ABOUT YOUR MUSE

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐃? Was it around the same time things started to change with Ben? Why was everything so different now? When you’re in the moment, things don’t look like they’re shifting but then suddenly you look behind you and you’re in a place you don’t recognize, trudging through uncharted lands. I used to think that Ben, Chad and I could handle anything as long as we stuck together. That was kind of our promise. Now look at us. 

Anyway, I can’t pinpoint when things started changing with Chad. I tried to map out all the time we spent together (which was…A LOT, too much to keep track of, I’m sure) and even then I couldn’t figure out when our glances turned into deep gazes, or lingering fingertips against skin turned into holding each other close or the first time I found myself thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Again. But for real this time. No audience, no band, just my lips on his. I guess after Ben left our group we’d be kind of blurring the lines for awhile.

Chad’s always been there for me. But once upon a time, I thought Ben would be too. And I care about Chad a lot, he makes me feel like, well, me again. I know I can go to him for anything. Even though he can be an idiot, at least he makes me laugh and not cry. I thought I would never laugh again, but then Chad would do something stupid like stick french fries on his canine teeth so he looks like a walrus and it was just so dumb that I had to laugh. He’s the one I can dance in the middle of the diner with and not care who’s looking. He’s the one who I can cry in front of without worrying if my makeup gets all smudged or if my face gets blotchy and bloated because he won’t care.

Can I make a confession? Okay so, that night when I called Chad and said I had a flat tire in Sherwood Forest, I lied. That’s bad, I know, lying is bad but the truth somehow felt worse. I was wandering out in Sherwood Forest because I was trying to retrace the past. The forest was one of my happiest places. But I got swarmed with all kinds of memories that just made me feel bad because that part of my life was dead and gone. And I got really sad. I just…I had never felt that bad before.  Or that sad. And I was out in the forest all by myself and it just amplified how ALONE I felt. 

I wanted to see Chad. He was the one person I wanted to see, especially when I was cold and sobbing and lost in the middle of the forest. I missed him so bad but I didn’t want to call him and tell him that because everyone seemed to be doing better without me. I didn’t want to bother him. Or seem weak. Or admit that I needed someone. But I did. I do. I need him.

He brings the color back into my life. I know everyone thinks they know Chad Charming, but they don’t. They haven’t seen the sides of him that I have and I don’t think they ever will. He’s so good to me and cares so much about me and I just don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to lose him. I just don’t know if I’m in a place to let someone in like he wants to be let in. The last thing I’d want to do is screw this up too. I just hope that he doesn’t get tired of me. I hope that he doesn’t mind waiting for me. I hope that I’m enough for him.

Because he’s everything to me.

#charmingjr #♡♛. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! asks answered. #♡♛. 𝐢 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬. dear diary

[wildwhiskey236]

Character Interview Tag

I was tagged by @albarnesauthor!

We will be interviewing my OC’s from my NaNo WIP Embracing Shadows. (A/N- I wanna do this a little differently than what I’ve done before, so it may get long but stick with me.)

Our five assholes sit in the laughably nondescript room, scowls immediately crossing their faces, protests on their lips at the description. The author reminds them of their current behavior in their story and all protests die on their lips, several of them muttering an agreement that yeah, maybe they were assholes. 

1: What is your full name?

“Hector Greatsnarl.”

“Lauren Rosewing.”

“Lindsey Hallowedstrike.”

“Davy Evenflaw.”

“Natia Stoutblossom.”

Eyes turn to Natia, Hector and Lauren giving her a flat stare while Lindsey smirked, Davy commented, “We all know that isn’t your real name, no need to lie about it anymore.”

“Fine. My real name is Aster- but I prefer Natia.”

2: What does your full name mean?

“Well Aster means star and Natia means light, which is why I chose it.”

“Ever the romantic. Lindsey means from an island, which is appropriate I guess but I think my parents were trying to pick the least elven name possible.”

“I like your name. Davy means beloved.”

“Lauren is vaguely based off of a tree, Laurel.”

“Not surprising for a fairy. Hector means to hold fast.”

3: What are your other names/nicknames

“Most of us respond to ‘that asshole’.” Lindsey leaned back in his chair. “I call Davy my vhenan.“

“You have literally never called me that.”

“Maybe I should start. It means ‘my heart’ in elven.”

“No offense,” Lauren cut in, “But you two are about as far away from elven as I have ever seen.”

4: What’s your gender?

Everyone glanced at each other. Hector, Lindsey, and Davy were all men, built like the soldiers they were. Natia was lithe and strong like the assassin and hunter she was, but she still took hold of her own femininity. Lauren, ever the academic, was softer and had the gentler curves of someone who didn’t spend her life training and fighting with weapons. 

5: What’s your sexuality?

“In case you didn’t pick it up, I am Not Straight (TM). Men, women, elf, dwarf, fairy, human, nymph- but I’m taken.” Lindsey said, casting a soft look to Davy.

“I’m gay.” 

“I’ve never been interested in romance or sex. What the word for it? Asexual?Aromantic?  Yeah, those are me.” Lauren offered up, somewhat satisfied that she finally got to say it.

“I’m straight.” Natia said, followed by Hector’s “Me too.”

6: Where are you from?

“I’m from the Highlands, just East of Provda and Ebarria. I’m here to study human and dwarven magical practices.” Lauren perked up before quieting herself and rambling. 

“I’m from Ilseburry up north. It’s much better here in Provda.” Lindsey said.

“Natia and I are half-Provdan half-Ebarrian.” Hector offrered. 

“But you grew up in Provda and I grew up in Ebarria. They are very different places.”

“I’m also half Provdan- my mother was an elf from the Highlands, but I’ve never been there.” Davy added.

7: How old are you?

“Go ahead Lauren. Tell them hold old you are.” Natia smirked, heat rising to the fairy’s face. 

“Fairies mature slower than humans or elves. Just because I’m in my forties-”

“Really? I thought I was the oldest one at 28.” Davy signed in relief. Lindsey smirked.

“I’m 27.”

“I’m 25.” Hector said, eyes turning to Natia again, who had sunken down in her chair. 

“I didn’t realize how old all of you were.” She muttered. “I’m only 23.”

“So Lauren, how’s the baby-sitting going?”

“I’m going to outlive all you humans and elves.”

8: What is your magic form/what species are you?

“Well, I’m a fairy with a natural affinity for magic.” Lauren restated.

“I’m elven. But not a stuffy, traditional, better-than-you elf. ” Lindsey’s pointed ears twitched.

“I’m half elven. The worst kind of elven apparently.” Davy commented, a slight bitter tone tracing his words.

“Better than us humans.” Natia offered, her own tone lighter and more playful as she glanced at Hector.

9: What does your human form look like?

“I take offense at that.” Lauren joked, her long brown hair curled over her shoulder, green eyes practically sparkling with humor.

Lindsey also snorted, his own blue eyes rolling at the question. Above his brow his straight blonde hair was slicked back as he ran a hand over it, stretching out in the chair. Davy sat still beside him, brown eyes and curly brown hair speaking for themselves, his slightly pointed nose giving him an impish, elvish effect, the tips of his smaller pointed ears just visible through the curls. 

Hector also leaned back in his chair, his longer black hair curling around his neck, his deeply tanned skin and dark brown eyes speaking for themselves. Natia’s skin was darker, her long dark brown hair pulled back in a braid and lighter brown eyes watching me with an exasperated face that said, “Move on to the next questions already.”

10: What’s your aesthetic?

Natia fingered her daggers, exquisitely crafted from silver and decorated with obsidian, heavily enchanted and small diamonds inlaid to represent the gods she worshiped. 

“Beaches with gold sand and dark blue water. We didn’t have beaches like that in Ilseburry.” Lindsey said wistfully, longing to be there instead of answering more questions. 

“The forests at sunset, the dark green and golden pink skies.” Davy added quietly. 

“I miss the flowers that grew in the Highlands, with blue petals and pink centers. They were really pretty.” Lauren picked at her dress of the same colors. 

“I like when night turns into a red daybreak before a storm.” Hector said, giving no other explanation.

11: Who’s your best friend?

“Lindsey,”

“Davy,”

The two of them said together, Hector poutning. He wasn’t sure what he expected from them but he muttered, “Davy and Lindsey,” anyway, sad still that they were his best friends but he wasn’t theirs.

“My brother Zach.” Lauren said.

“...” Natia hestiated. “Probably Hector.”

The group glanced at each other and then at me, indicating that it was time to move and make a sharp change of subject.

12: Would you ever get a piercing/ tattoo?

“I’ve got a few piercings.” Natia indicated to her ears with several studs placed up an down her ears. “I was never into tattoos.”

“I’ve got a tattoo of my parents names in respect for them.” Hector indicated to his forearm where the two names were inked.

“I always thought it would be sexy if-” Lindsey started, but Davy cut him off.

“No. I said I wouldn’t do that.” Blood rushed to Davy’s face and ears. 

13: When are you happiest?

“In the tavern with my friends.” Hector was the first to speak up.

“With Lindsey, after getting back from a hunt or scouting mission and just getting to eat or fall asleep together.” Lindsey looked at Davy again with soft eyes, nodding.

“When I finally perfect a spell or potion or enchantment, seeing my effort turn into something.” Lauren continued. 

“I don’t feel like answering this question.” The others gave Natia a look. “Fine, bickering with you all, you assholes.”

They awed. 

“The baby enjoys our company.”

14: What’s your biggest secret?

Everyone looked to Natia. 

“I mean, it's not a secret anymore.” She started, sighing. “I was part of a group of assassins and my kill count is somewhere in the hundreds. I ran away, changed my name, and lied to everyone about it for two years. Anyone else got a secret?”

“My parents were killed by said assassins.” Hector said darkly. 

“This is supposed to be a light-hearted interview not couples therapy. My biggest secret is that my father was King of Ilseburry.”

“You’re just now mentioning this?!” Davy gasped, a grin breaking across Lindsey’s face.

“No, I’m just a notorious trickster. Davy’s secret is that he gets very cranky when his socks get wet.”

“It’s an unpleasant feeling!”

“Back in the Highlands, I’m actually considered to not be very pretty according to fairy standards. I’ve never told anyone that.” Lauren casually dropped, the others once again glancing to each other. Somehow that seemed unbelievable but no one knew enough about fairies to object.

15: What was your first impression of your S/O?

“What a giant dork.” Davy muttered, earning a laugh from everyone but Lindsey, who looked away, slightly embarrassed. “He was trying to flirt with me and tripped over a tree root, falling face first into thistle bush.”

“Thanks, babe. Here I was going to say you were the exact image of what I thought an elf should be- graceful, good looking, and into nature shit, if not just a little short. Are we done here yet? We have people to kill now.”

Lindsey didn’t wait before getting up and leaving the room, Davy and Hector following after him, Lauren profusely apologizing as she left, closing the door behind her.

I started gathering my notes before- hey? Where did Natia go?

“Don’t move.” I heard the voice after I felt the press of a cool blade against my neck, Natia grabbing my hair to hold my head back and expose my neck better. 

“This is a warning. You better finish this damn WIP and you better give them a good ending. If not I’ll reach through the computer screen and give you the worst writer’s block you’ve ever experienced.”

In an instant the knife was gone and I sucked in air, breathing heavy before turning around, Natia just gone.

I, uh, I’ve got work to do.

I’ll tag @weathershade, @crypticsx, @emdop, @milkyway-writes if any of you feel like doing one of these!

#character interview #writeblr #writing #embracing shadows #tagged #was this even interesting or a good idea #or was it dumb #probably both #this was really just an experiment of how many times I can use 'said' without using 'said' #sorry its so long