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#and I think that alone is a testament to just how much Buck cares about Eddie
xxikey · 3 months
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OKAY HEAR ME OUT!!
y/n and minjae are on singles inferno and they go to paradise together! they like no one but each other and they’re just flirting with each other while they’re in paradise
a/n: i’m gonna have to admit i haven’t watched a single episode of that show but!!! i did hear about it all over social media so i do know a bit of what it is about. had to ask a close friend of mine about the details and im thinking of watching it soon as well👀
nsfw under the cut
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it’s so painfully obvious to everyone on the show that the two of you don’t care about anyone else but each other. it’s through these subtle moments that minjae’s trying to hint how much he’s interested, fleeting looks, talking with you, everything else but touch you. it frustrates you a bit and at the same time keeps you on the edge, a secret you’d only whisper to yourself.
maybe that’s just how he plays with you, so you’re incredibly looking forward to going to paradise with him. fully expecting that he'll finally give you what you want. and he does—noticing the way he’s much flirtier than usual, touching you at last, resting a hand on your waist, everything else much closer to you. you can’t help but notice the way he’s still holding back despite your attempts of staring at him with your beady eyes and all.
only does it come out when the show ends, staying in touch the closest out of the other contestants. you’re almost crying out when he’s bottoming in you for the first time, your cunt engulfing his cock so good he could almost feel how desperate you were for him. and he’s leaving apologies all over your bare skin, pressing soft wet kisses on your neck, leaning down even more to suckle on your sensitive bud while he plays with the other.
and right then and there does he admit that he really just wants to get you all alone before he could fuck you, something about getting all jealous when the other guys would ogle their eyes on you, far too much for his liking. minjae’s feelings show through his thrusts, rough and almost animalistic—a testament to everything else he’d held back on that damn show, and he’s taking it out on your poor sopping cunt, body shuddering as the heavy tip of his cock hits right at your sensitive spot.
"feels so good how i'm the only one who could get to fuck you hard right now," and you're holding on him for dear life, his thrusts hitting deep so easily with your slick, cunt pulsing around his length everytime he sinks back in. you're tearfully moaning, trying to choke out the right words as he muffles your cries with his messy kisses. "don't care about—mghm... any of them, only want you... m-minjae,"
"that's how it should always be." your eyes flutter shut as you near your high, nuzzling in the crook of his neck as you think about how obscene he's got you right now. such a vulgar position, legs tight around his as you can't help but buck your hips up at the pleasure, dizzy. "you're so cute you know that? feeling your pussy squeeze tight around me. you're close aren't you?”
his words were a blur as your legs tremble, feeling your high wash over you as he leans over, keeping the same rapid pace, shushing you as you cry out from the overstimulation. “sorry baby, just a little bit more t-then i'm cumming too," in the privacy of his presence without a single camera fixated on you, falling deeper as his gaze travels all over your naked body, chest heaving. and you're all his. it’s not very long until he’s also releasing right after, his hips stuttering as he marks your walls with his warm cum, pulling you into an embrace.
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idabbleincrazy · 4 months
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Never a Wish Better Than This Ch. 4
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Fandom: Smallville
Rating: E
Pairing: Clex
Word Count: 3760
Warnings: smut, dirty talk, masturbation, foreplay, rimming, anal play, oral, deep throating, face fucking
Summary: time for a little show and tell
A/N: look who finally got to the smut! at least one more chapter coming, maybe more. and i've a feeling this will lead to a series that rewrites the tail-end of s4 and probably going into s5.
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Lex's POV:
Christ, he's beautiful like this. The urge to see him keeps my eyes from staying closed as I kiss him like his saliva is quenching the thirst I felt back on that island. And, I know I'm babbling again, words bitten out in harsh whispers between licks into that supple, pliant mouth, but I don't give a damn. I've wanted this for so long, dreamed of this a thousand different ways, and the reality is so much more than I ever could've prepared for. 
Hearing he was jealous of Victoria, of Desiree, of Helen, of all the flirtations and dalliances in-between, made me harder than I've been all night. That he had had feelings for me, just about as long as I'd had feelings for him…that he's been thinking about this for so long…
"Tell me", I husk out against his lips. "Tell me what you think about, what you imagine when you're alone at night, up there in the privacy of that loft. Wanna hear what you jerk off to, Clark. Tell me."
And I do want to hear it, now that I know I'm in those fantasies. I hear him gasp at the request, his hips bucking up into mine. He's as hard as I am, I can feel it through all the layers between us, and I can't hold back a groan. 
"Shit." 
Why is it so inexplicably hot to hear Clark curse? To know I've finally made him use his big boy words. Wanna hear more of those words that would probably make him blush again if he weren't already too hard to care.
"Tell me."
"'K, yeah…Christ, which do you wanna start with? What I imagine doing to you, or what I imagine you doing to me? Or, what I picture when I think of you, all alone in this huge-ass mansion, and how you might look when you jerk-off? So much to choose from, Lex, tell me where to start."
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! Maybe it was a bad idea, after all, asking him to give details…might not last to actually play out either of our imaginings. I'll give it a valiant fucking effort, though. Luthor image to maintain here. And then, the idea pops into my head, a way to get us both some relief, without embarrassment; I've no doubt his teenage libido will have him ready for another go in no time, and my own refractory period is still a testament to my youth. 
Giving Clark one more hard kiss, I force myself off his lap, my cock twitching at the grunt of loss he makes, his hands reaching for me as I twist away and sprawl myself across the other side of the bed. 
"Tell me what you imagine me doing when I'm on my own, Clark. Tell me, and I'll show you it, exactly as you describe." I turn my head towards him, taking in the look of aroused surprise on his face. Pupils so blown, there's barely a thin ring of sparkling green around them. "Oh, and Clark? Feel free to touch yourself while you talk."
Clark's POV:
Jesus Christ, I'm so turned on right now, I can barely think, and he wants me to talk? To tell him what I picture him doing to himself? My cock is aching against the zipper of my jeans, and I can feel all the words I never say aloud coating my tongue, trying to force themselves past my lips. Have to remind myself that I'm an adult now, those words are no longer forbidden. Need to try one out, see if it gets the same reaction as the first…
"Fuck, Lex." And, oh, yeah, his eyes flutter closed for a second, like he's savoring the sound of my voice saying those two words. Like he knows that's exactly what I want, to fuck Lex. "God, when I picture you, alone, hard, and so fucking needy…sometimes, you're in your office, but sometimes, you're in your bed, spread out just like now. Not ready for sleep yet, so you're still wearing clothes. But not for long."
"Good."
Can't help a chuckle at that, at his eagerness to be naked for me.
"You like to tease yourself, in my mind, so you do it slowly, unbuttoning your shirt one at a time." Except he's not wearing a button-up this time, so he improvises, lifting the hem of his shirt up, little by little, baring an ever-widening strip of pale flesh to my gaze. "Yeah, such a tease, Lex, just like always."
He slides the shirt up, up and further still, my eyes taking in each inch of revealed flesh. His belly button, that I just wanna lick into. Subtle abs I want to trace over with lips and teeth. And nipples, pink little nubs that I ache to bite at, tease them into hardness. God, he's beautiful.
"Take it off, Lex."
He lets out a moan at the firm command and immediately complies; I file that away for later contemplation. The shirt flies over at me and there's a smirk playing on his lips as I catch it with a low growl. 
"I don't recall saying that you're in a playful mood right now."
He merely shrugs and stretches back out against the sheets, his hands stroking along the comforter, head nestled into the pillow. I look over the long planes of skin revealed to me, and get the sense that he's preening. I bite back a groan and get back to the task.
"When I think of you like this, once your shirt is off, you start toying with yourself, like you're seeing how much you can take, how long you can wait until it's too much." Lex takes a little initiative and strokes a hand along the side closest to me, long, thin fingers sweeping up his torso. "Sometimes, you let out this sexy moan of need, and start plucking at your nipples, tugging at them, makin' 'em all pretty and perky. Yeah, like that, all flushed and waiting for teeth to sink right into them."
Another moan, unbidden, escapes that kiss-reddened mouth of his, and I have to cup myself, squeeze my dick to stop from losing control. 
"Clark…"
"Yeah, you do that in my head, too. Call out my name so fucking needy like that. One hand twisting at your tits", and Christ, when did my tongue become so bold, "the other slipping down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping just under it."
My hand rubs at my groin as I watch him follow my instructions, his neck arching back, soft sounds of pleasure falling from his lips almost constantly. I can feel heat starting to rise behind my eyes, and I hurry to tamp it down. He's not even completely naked yet, and already my control is straining. 
"You unbuckle your belt, open your pants, just a little, just enough to relieve the pressure some." He does, and I'm not surprised to see he's not wearing anything under the slacks; I am surprised by the sparse layer of red hairs there. Arms, armpits, and chest, so far he's been completely hairless, so the change is a little shocking. "Sl-slipping your hand inside, you give yourself a short stroke, just a taste of what you want, and you can't help but buck up into it. Always so fucking hot when you do that."
He does, and I can see how it pains him to rein in his need, to not just keep stroking till he comes. 
"Oh, God, Clark…baby, please."
I gasp at the pet name, surprisingly aroused at him calling me anything other than Clark, or Kent. I like it more than I thought I would. 
"You keep it up though, teasing your nipples, other hand only stroking down your aching cock", loud, drawn-out moan from that, "every minute or so, never enough, until you're squirming against the sheets, like you're trying to get away from the torture. Only then, when you're so hard you can't stand it, only then do you slip off your pants."
Lex groans loudly in relief and scrabbles to hurry out of his slacks, kicking them carelessly off the bed and flopping back against the mattress. His legs are spread, knees bent and feet braced against the bed, and I scoot over to the end of the bed, facing him, taking it all in. He's completely open to me like this, his long cock hard, pointing up towards his stomach and leaking, the head red and painful looking. The base is surrounded by a thin sprinkling of the fine red hairs, same as his balls below it. I can just see the curve of his ass, the shadowed crevice that hides the spot I want to bury myself in. His legs, like the rest of him, are hairless, sleek and pale, deceptively lean, and I can see the powerful muscles in his thighs clench as he shifts slightly under my scrutiny. I wanna touch him, want to taste him. But I resist, and continue the game, my voice huskier than I've heard it even in the back alleys and clubs of Metropolis. 
"You stroke yourself more steadily, now, your other hand sliding down to cup your balls, rolling them. My name falls from your lips again, not quite begging, not yet, but still so sweet." It does, and it is. He's scooted further up the bed, to brace his back against the headboard, legs still spread, and my eyes flicker between the motion of his hands and the wanton look on his face. And, dammit, I've got to stop reading Lois' trashy romance novels, I shouldn't even know that word. "That's it, Lex, just like that. This, this is when you start to imagine me there, kneeling just like this, in front of you, just out of reach. In your head, I find you too hot, too much, and I just sit there staring, watching you pleasure yourself. I won't touch without being asked, and you don't ask yet, but you want to see me, too, so like a good little fantasy-Clark, a blink of your eyes and my shirt is gone."
I super-speed out of my shirt before he can even follow through on the order, my chest bare before his eyes flutter all the way shut. His hands stutter in their rhythm for a beat, a gasp followed by a low groan as he roves his gaze over me. 
"Don't stop, don't speed up. You never speed up, not yet, not till you see everything." My hands are on my jeans now, fingers slowly undoing the button, slipping the zipper down, tooth by tooth. Oh, God, he whimpered. My dick is throbbing now, and I'm afraid to even touch it enough to pull it out of my boxers, don't wanna go off before I see him come for me. It's a close call, and his responding hungry growl at the sight of my cock nearly 'causes me to set the curtains on fire, but I bite my lip hard and manage, barely. "You keep stroking as you watch me watching you, your other hand drifting down, between your legs. You tease yourself there for a minute, your fingertip just circling 'round the rim. You see my eyes glued to where your finger is hidden, hear the groan of need, and know what I want. And you give it to me, spread yourself open more, so I can see all of you."
The hand around his shaft grips tightly at the base, but he does as bidden, gripping just beneath a thigh to part those pert cheeks, revealing the perfect pucker hidden between them. It clenches and unclenches as I stare, and I can just see his hand resume pumping out of the corner of my eye. Want him. Wanna touch and taste and feel. 
"You're so close now, and I haven't even touched you yet. And you want it now, want me to come closer, wanna feel my hands replace yours, feel my mouth on you. You always want it, now, and that's when you beg."
That's all the permission he needs, and the babble turns back on, everything spilling out that he's kept in so far, his hand slowing again.
"Clark, please. I want it, baby, I do. Christ, so much. So fucking hot, Clark, hearing you talk like this…didn't know you had it in you. Fuck, baby, touch me, suck me, anything…want your sweet fucking mouth, those strong fucking hands…c'mon, Clark, show me, show me how it happens in your fantasy. What that Clark does to that Lex. Show me."
Lex's POV:
And he does. Oh, God, he does. His clothes are gone completely in a blur and he's kneeling between my wide-spread legs. Jesus, he's gorgeous, all golden skin and sweeping planes of hard muscle. And that cock…fuck, that cock…knew he'd be big, but like everything else about him, it exceeds expectations. At least two inches longer than mine, and thicker than I think I've ever seen outside of porn. Uncut, too, the foreskin nearly completely retracted from the ruddy, leaking head. 
I lose track of taking inventory of his enticing figure as his hand replaces mine on my cock. Can't help the cry of surprise as his warm fingers grip almost painfully tight around the shaft, starting a slow, firm stroke, his thumb swiping over the slit, smearing the pre-cum that bubbles up anew under his ministrations. 
"Oh, baby…yeah, touch me, please, taste me."
He smirks up at me, and oh, I've awoken a monster; that wolfish twist has never played along those plump lips for me before. His eyes lock on mine as he lowers his head, his tongue flicking out to rasp over the head of my cock.
"Fuck!"
"Soon, Lex. Soon."
I bark out a shaky laugh at his very un-Clark-like tease, the sound turning into a groan as he licks me again, swirling his tongue around the tip, collecting the fresh drops of pre-cum with a hum of pleasure. He's still fisting me slowly, his other hand sliding up my thigh and over, cupping my balls, squeezing them gently between thick fingers. I try to buck up into his mouth as he teases, but he pulls away, turning his head to press hot kisses to the juncture where thigh meets hip. I did not just whimper?! God, I haven't felt this much of a needy slut since my teen years, when I was just learning all the pleasures to be had, but I can't help it, don't even want to hold back the sounds anymore, not when he so obviously enjoys it.
Clark gives a quick nip to my inner thigh, and dips his head again, but not to my cock. I feel the slick wet of that devious muscle lave over my tightening sac, and down, over the sensitive strip of skin beneath my balls. His shoulders nudge my legs wider as he goes lower still, his tongue slipping down between my cheeks. As I feel him lick over my twitching hole, it's all I can do not to cum, a sharp cry falling from my lips as I writhe beneath him. 
Had I really thought him to be so innocent? Where is that shy, virginal farmboy now, and who is this confident young man working his mouth over that most private of places? A flash of jealousy jolts through me at the thought of Clark doing these things with other people, learning just how to touch and tease someone so perfectly. The tip of his tongue breaches me, driving out any thoughts of envy, leaving only the need for him. I thrust down as much as I can, taking him in further, knowing neither of us will sleep tonight until it's his cock pushing into me and shattering me into pieces like this.
"Oh, God, Clark! Fuck, baby, yeah, like that…just like that. Christ, this what you picture, Kent? Huh? Me begging for it, aching for it, fucking myself on your tongue? So fucking hot, Clark. Holy shit, baby…gonna make cum like this, so close, Clark, so fucking close…"
I feel myself open for him, feel his thumb tugging at my rim as he pierces me with his tongue, a slow, steady rhythm of thrusting that matches his strokes on my throbbing cock. He presses in deeper, and I lose it, cock spurting its load in body-racking pulses as his tongue presses against my prostate. I think I'm screaming his name, can't tell from the haze of pleasure stuffing my ears like cotton. And then my mouth is covered by his, the dark taste of myself on his tongue making me shudder out another spurt of cum as I somehow manage to wrap my arms around him, clutching him close. 
His thumb is still there, dipping in and circling around, bringing me down slowly from this unexpected high, his other, cum-sticky, hand soothing lightly along my side. He's murmuring wordlessly against my mouth, and I will my brain to turn back on, knowing there's still so much more to do; he hasn't cum yet, and I want to touch, to taste, to see him fall apart for me the way I just did. To show him a little of what I imagine when I'm alone and thinking of him.
His hand is gone from between my legs now, his fingers trailing through the puddle of cum on my stomach. I feel my cock twitch in renewing interest as he raises them to his mouth, licking away the sticky drops and letting his eyes flutter closed at the taste of me. As he enjoys himself, I gather my wits enough to turn us over, pushing him onto his back and quickly sliding down his broad, hard body, to settle between his legs. Looking over him, I promise to take my time on the next go, but the sight of his reddened leaking cock is proof enough that he probably won't mind quick and dirty right now.
"Lex?"
"Wanna taste you, Clark. Wanna show you part of one of my own fantasies. That okay, baby?"
"Fuck…yeah. Do it, show me."
Flashing him a devilish smirk of my own, I waste no time in swallowing him down. I want him hot and heavy in my mouth, filling my throat like I want him filling me elsewhere later.
"Oh, my God, Lex! Jesus Christ, so good." My eyes flick up to him and his head is thrown back against the pillow. I can tell he's holding back, not wanting to hurt me by thrusting, his hands clenching the sheets. I swallow around the thick length, earning a restrained buck of hips. "Fuck, Lex, baby, not gonna last, too good."
I want to see him undone, so I grab one of his hands and guide it to my head, moaning around him at the feel of that huge paw sliding over my scalp. He forces his eyes open, looking at me like he's asking permission, and I grant it with a slow blink and another swallow.
"Oh, fuck, Lex…thank you…", he groans out, understanding, giving in.
He doesn't push against my head, just holds me steady, and I let my hands slide under him, gripping handfuls of the firm globes of his ass as he bucks up into me. I let my throat go lax, letting him fuck my mouth, and I know my voice will be raw and raspy later, a reminder of this. 
He's babbling now, broken sentences of wonder and praise, and I feel a surge of pride at being able to reduce him back to the bumbling boy I fell in love with. I squeeze the cheeks of his ass, urging him faster as he gets closer, wanting him to spill. I let my tongue work at whatever part of the huge cock stretching my jaw I can as he slides in and out of my throat, the round head pressing against my esophagus as I will my body not to gag; it's been so long since I've deep throated anyone, and never one this big, it's probably only through the sheer force of my desire that I manage at all.
A clench of his hand on the back of my head and a stilted cry of pleasure is all the warning I receive before he buries himself deeply, his cock pulsing against my tongue as he cums. I pull back slightly, catching the last few spurts on my tongue as I suck around the head of his cock, savoring the salty, heady taste of him before swallowing it down with a satisfied hum. Slightly thicker than I'm used to, but not bad, just apparently a different consistency than human semen. The scientist in me can't help but catalog the difference, file it away for later consideration. If I weren't so worried of anyone else getting ahold of his DNA, I'd probably save some to put under a microscope, just for personal edification. 
I suck at him, drawing every drop I can, until he pushes lightly at my head, his cock no doubt sensitive after such a release. I let the half-hard length slip from my mouth as I kneel back up, licking my lips for any spilled seed.
"Knew you'd taste good, Farmboy. Like fresh churned butter."
Clark stutters a breathless laugh, shaking his head incredulously and I just smirk back at him. He pulls me up his body, draping me over him, and pulls my head down for a deep, tender kiss. He lets out a soft moan as he licks at my tongue, his cock twitching against my stomach, obviously enjoying what he tastes. 
Breaking the kiss gently, I roll us onto our sides. He cups my face, his thumb swooping along the line of my cheekbone, and I arch an eyebrow at him. For someone obviously experienced enough to rim me without hesitation, there's certainly an odd look of wonder on his face.
"You're amazing, Lex", he voices an answer to my unspoken question. 
Letting my hand drop between us to feather my fingers along his reawakening cock, I let my lips twist into my teasing smirk. He lets out a hiss, bucking into the light touch. God, he's magnificent like this, and he's not even fully fucked-out yet. But he will be. Leaning forward, I kiss my way along his jaw, nipping at his earlobe.
"You ain't seen nothing yet, Spaceboy."
******
@leatafandom
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bookersebastien · 1 year
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After the Rain (Buck x Eddie)
happy birthday to one of my favorite people and someone im so lucky to call my friend @kate-sheffield 
our conversations are always the best inspiration, ily
warnings: mention of death, mention of miscarriage
It's late afternoon when Bucks hangs up the phone, the rays of sunlight splashed over the table are slowly turning golden as they fade to make way for the coming moonlight and the meteorologist is on tv talking about possible rain hitting the LA area but he can barely hear it now. Everything had gone suddenly quiet, brought to a faint hum except the roaring of the blood pounding in his ears. His hands felt like they were numb, he could no longer feel the table beneath his palm and his fingertips were tingling.
The baby was gone.
The firefighter onesie was still upstairs in the fire truck gift bag, tucked carefully into the corner of his closet. He was waiting for the baby shower to give it to Connor and Kameron. He even got orange tissue paper to match the little flames on the side. Just a couple weeks away from finding out the sex of their baby, not that either of them cared anyway and now they would never know. 'Some kind of chromosomal anomaly,' is what Connor said it was. The gift sat upstairs now, what was supposed to be a celebration of a new family was now an adorable testament to his never-ending list of failures. He wondered why he even let himself get his hopes up.
He found himself half drunk on Eddie's doorstep a few hours later, sorrow and anger burned off already on a bottle of whiskey and a bruised hand, now he was sick of being alone. It must've been late, Buck wasn't completely sure, but Chris was already in bed so they stood in the kitchen while Buck slurred through the story of getting the call from Connor. They had decided to adopt now, it would help a child in need and relieve themselves from the pain and pressure that's built up from every failed step to becoming parents so far.
"I don't think I realized how much I wanted it, you know? Like I built it up in my head of this idea of a family and now I don't know what to do. I was going to be a father and now I have nothing." Buck sipped from the glass of water Eddie had given him and he could feel the ache in head recede a little. Eddie was now watching him through narrowed eyes, arms crossed as he leaned in the doorway while Buck sat at the counter, head laying heavy in his hand.
"Listen Buck, you have every right to your emotions. This is the kind of news any parent fears and they are your friends, and I know how badly you wanted to help them but please I hope you understand that this was not going to make you a father. That wasn't going to be your kid and it wasn't your family. It was theirs," Eddie spoke, barely managing to bite back his annoyance and something else Buck was in no state to understand, and then quickly turned to rummage through the fridge, the action not disguising the tense set to his shoulders.
"Well, I mean not technically. I know that but-"
"Do you actually know that Buck? Do you? Because in my opinion someone who knew that wouldn't even use the word father to describe themselves in this situation and would definitely not have bought an LAFD onesie for a kid that wasn't yours." He wiped at his face before turning to shut the fridge with a loud thud, his eyes staring hard at the wall behind Buck.
"I mean I thought it would be cute, it doesn't mean anything," Buck replied, his head was too fuzzy for this conversation and he was beginning to feel the anger rising in his chest again. He thought Eddie would be more understanding, or at least less hostile.
"Normally no. Could be a cute gift for the kid of a college friend, yeah that's true but I know you Buck. I heard it in your voice when you called and said you were going to be a father. You let yourself get too invested. This gift coming from you is not as innocent as you want to act like it is. It is forging a connection to something and people you have no right to try and make." Eddie's voice rose slightly and he instinctively took a glance down the hall, where they could both hear Chris turning in his sleep.
Buck watched him as he paced further into the kitchen and farther from the door, but he noticeably stayed as far from Buck as he could manage, arms coming back over his chest. Buck knew he shouldn't say anything but he's never been one to necessarily control his impulses and the words came tumbling out, "The baby is gone Eddie. I know it's their family that's affected but I lost something too okay?! I don't know if I'm ever going to have my own family, my own real family and it felt like this was my chance and now I don't know if I will ever get another one. And now it's like I'm alone again."
"Stop talking like that!" Eddie's voice came out as a hiss. His eyes were daggers, holding Buck's in place like it was against his throat. "Stop acting like you are some lone wolf kicked out of his pack. I know the stuff with your parents was shitty, I know that. But please stop acting like you are alone in this world, like you don't have a family. I can't believe you would even say that. You have Maddie back in your life and a niece for god's sake! You have all of us at the firehouse, the whole team is your family Evan!"
"It's not the same-"
"As what? Having your own child? It wasn't your kid Buck! Besides, if you think for one second Christopher doesn't think of you as family, then you are not as observant as you like to think. You may not be a father, but you have become like a dad to him over the years and imagine how he'd feel to hear you throwing him, throwing us away like that. I cannot believe you. I thought we were your family, what else has all this time together been?" His face changed then, the tension left his shoulders and he made eye contact again they were almost pleading.
"I..." He had about a million thoughts running through his head, but this conversation had gone so different than he'd imagined that he couldn't even think of how he wanted to respond.
"Listen, it's late, I think you should leave."
And that was it for that night. Buck left in an Uber and woke up the next morning with an intense hangover and an ache in his chest he didn't understand. He spent the day trying to get ahold of Eddie, calls and texts were left unanswered and he was greeted by an empty driveway after he tried for drastic measures. That was two days ago and still no sign of him, he even had his work shifts changed so he never has so much as caught a glimpse of him.
"I mean I get what Eddie is saying but I feel like he's acting like I'm not allowed to have my own feelings about this. I can feel sad right?" He meant it as a rhetorical question but it came out more desperate than he intended so for a moment it just hung in the air between them. He and Hen were sitting in his kitchen enjoying dinner from the Thai place down the street and he was suddenly very thankful she agreed to eat at his place as his voice grew louder.
"I don't think that's what Eddie is upset about," she replied like she expected him to say this, and Buck guessed his insistence they have dinner was less casual than he wanted it to sound because he really did want to talk to someone about it. Someone who wasn't Eddie, or Maddie because he knew she would agree with Eddie.
He had barely touched his food since it arrived, only picking at his noodles and taking small bites. "That's that it seemed like he was mad about Hen. I mean you should have seen how upset he was, like somehow me feeling like I was losing a family was wrong.' He sighed. His chopsticks fell back into his bowl as he leaned back in his seat, hands coming to wipe his face. "I don't know what to do. He's avoiding me and I still feel like I'm not in the wrong here."
"That's not what this is about Buck and that's probably why he's still not talking to you. You are misunderstanding his feelings. This is not about who is in the wrong or right. You are absolutely entitled to your feelings about this. You are allowed to feel loss, to feel sad, for yourself and for your friends and no one would tell you otherwise. But you acting like they were somehow going to become your family is where this gets muddy. First, that's not how these things work unless they explicitly mentioned it and second, think of everything that has happened in the last few years and please explain how you think you have no family. Maybe Eddie feels like you're just casting them aside for some weird version of a family and you're not realizing what's in front of you."
There was a silence after she spoke where he felt like everything in his life shifted, not drastically but just enough for the light to illuminate them. He thought of all the time he spends with Christopher, how he picks him up after school some days, helps him with homework, and spends the weekends playing video games or hitting the park. He thinks of the big moments he was there for in his life, not just as a spectator but having actively participated in his life. And in Eddie's. Because that's where he felt happy, where he felt safe, and most of all: complete. And something Eddie said to him the say they fought replays in his mind. "You have become like a dad to him," and the ache in his chest suddenly vanished.
All this time they were already a family, him, Eddie and Chris. He had been letting other things cloud his emotions and even at some points blatantly ignoring them because it's not how he imagined his family when he was younger. But it was them. And he could even see the rest of his life now in front of him, parent-teacher meetings, Chris going off to college, opening presents on Christmas eve, pancake breakfasts, lazy Sundays in bed with Eddie.
He had wanted to become a better Buck, but there was always something holding him back. And now he realizes it was him being afraid of being happy because Eddie makes him happy and he knows he always will because from the moment they met it's always been him.
"Uh, Hen I think I gotta go." He grabbed his jacket and keys, barely remembering his phone as he raced towards the door.
She just shook her head, carefully piling some of his noodles onto her plate before replying to herself, "About damn time."
He stumbled out of the building, legs nearly buckling as he flew down the steps, now slick with the rain he could now vaguely remember the weather person mentioning but now was not the time to think of his rain jacket sitting in his closet and the thin jacket that he haphazardly threw on while rushing outside, already soaking through to the skin.
The rain was coming down harder now and he was forced to drive at a crawl as the traffic condensed around him, the road and cars barely visible in front of him but it's not like he didn't know the way to Eddie's house by heart. He probably didn't even need to see to make it there. The drive seemed impossibly long this time though and it wasn't just the traffic. His mind kept playing through different scenarios, running away with each and every possibility until Buck's hands were nearly shaking on the wheel. Normally Eddie was the person he could talk to about anything, without anything holding him back, and now he felt himself almost at a loss for words as he continuously failed to think of any possible way to tell him how he feels. Dealing with emotions had never been Buck's strong suit and telling your best friend you're in love with him was an extreme he rarely let himself deal with much less act on.
And now he could just barely make out Eddie's truck in the driveway as he turned on his street, the sight of causing his heart to skip a beat as he thought of what he was about to do. His headlights barely illuminated the house with the rain, all the windows dark except a dim glow coming from behind the shades of the front window. It was Sunday, Buck remembered, which meant it was movie night. And it also meant Buck probably would have been inside hadn't it been for their argument. He's not even sure if Eddie will even speak to him, he could just slam the door in his face but he wouldn't know until he tries.
The walk to the door somehow seems endless and completely new, like he was seeing the space for the very first time. The rain no longer seemed to bother him as it soaked the skin beneath his jacket as he took in the sight of the door ahead of him, despite the circumstances it seemed more inviting. Hours had seemingly passed by the time his knuckles rapped against that door and even longer until he heard familiar footsteps, the creak of the door opening sending his heart into a spin until their eyes met and Buck watched as Eddie's mouth quickly turned into a hard line, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the door, careful to keep it as closed as possible.
"What do you want, Buck? I'm kind of busy, I'm sure you know it's movie night." His voice was even hard, refusing to give up anything behind it.
"Yeah, I uh-remembered that," he chuckled, his nerves getting the better of him now that he was face to face with him. No amount of preparation on the way here had let any string of words sound even remotely worthy of conveying what he was feeling but he managed to mutter a beginning to something, "Listen Eddie, I wanted to say sorry about the other night. I understand that what I said wasn't right considering my circumstances, you were right."
"Do you actually understand or do you just want me to forgive you?"
At his harsh tone, Buck could feel his courage creeping back inside him, his desperate urge to get his feelings out and his desire to fight for what he wanted had the words suddenly spilling from his lips before he could think.
"I do understand. I think I let myself get caught up in the idea of a family happening because of me and not ending because of me, because I wasn't good enough. My family sucked growing up and I let myself get too involved in this one because I felt like it would prove something was right about me. But that shouldn't have meant that I lost sight of what I have because I see it now, I feel the love I have now. I do have Maddie back and now I have Jee-Yun and Chim and the rest of the crew but what you and Chris are to me is not the same. You are like my family in a way it's taken me too long to realize, maybe because I didn't think I deserved it," his voice dropped to almost a whisper at the end, the words he was so terrified to speak sitting on the tip of his tongue.
"You mean so much to me and I cannot imagine my life without you or Chris-"
"What are you saying Buck?" His voice was deeper now, but gone was the harshness that was there before and instead Buck allowed himself to imagine for a moment that it was hope, that it was desire clouding his words. And it was the look in his eyes that cemented Buck's feet to the ground, the fleeting thought of running away gone as he finally said those three words.
"I love you Eddie."
He couldn't say anymore as Eddie was now pulling him in, hands grasping at his face and lips pressing desperately to his in a moment he only allowed himself to dream of in the loneliest of nights. And now he wasted no time pulling him by the hips until their bodies were flush against each other, feet tripping over each other as Buck backed him against the wall, the rain dripping down their faces and in between their lips as the storm grew and the wind whipped around them. He could feel every breath Eddie took and shared in each one as their chests rose and fell together. His hands snaked their way to Eddie's back, a groan slipping past his lips as he felt the hot skin beneath his shirt and Eddie was all too eager to return the favor as his hands found their way into his hair, fingers pulling at the short strands hard enough to make Buck gasp.
Just as their clothes began to slip off, Buck's hands trailing the edge of Eddie's pants, Christopher's voice ran out from the living room. "Dad, is that Buck? He's just in time for movie night! I told you he'd make it!"
They broke apart with quiet laughter, and Eddie had to take a few breaths before replying, "Yeah Chris it's Buck, you were right! He wouldn't miss movie night." He said the last part while glancing up at Buck through his lashes, their faces so close their noses were touching and Buck had never felt so light in his life. Everything he wanted was right here.
They let their foreheads touch briefly once more before straightening themselves out, hands finding each other in the low light. Eddie stopped him just before they walked inside, giving him one more kiss before whispering softly against his lips, "I love you too."
"And also Chris would want me to tell you that the movie was his idea. He was very excited about it, said you were going to love it. Something about coral reefs." And that's how he entered this new, yet definitely always meant to be part of his life; surrounded by the two people he loved most in the world and that he couldn't be prouder to call his family.
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grey-sides · 2 years
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do you think you could write a fic where either billy or steve genuinely doesn’t feel romantic attraction for the other, but they’re not mean about it or anything, because sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want it to! but maybe they stay friends or deal with it in their own ways
Anon! You're challenging me! 😳 I'm going to tag this as harringrove but it's one-sided, of course. I hope you enjoy! I feel sad after having written this but maybe it's also a bit cathartic. As always, feel free to prompt me or just slide into my inbox to say hello!
Billy knows that Steve knows about Robin and is apparently cool with it. But he doesn’t know if Steve is only cool with Robin because Robin’s a girl and won’t hit on him. Cause that’s something that gets to straight guys, the idea that another guy might flirt with them. 
No one wants to flirt with you anyway, Tommy H, you’re gross and annoying. But Steve isn’t. Not anymore. Not when he’s started to figure himself out and his shoulders don’t slump so much and his smile comes a little easier. 
And it’s late one night, the embers of a summer fire faintly glowing out by Steve’s pool. When Billy turns to him, he could blame it on the alcohol even though he hasn’t had a drink in four hours. Or maybe it’s exhaustion because they’ve all been up since like six. Or maybe it’s just because he’s started to hope. 
But Steve is. Steve is straight. Very heterosexual. Into girls and girls alone. Won’t call you a slur anymore, but he won’t flirt back. Is the thing. His smile is kind and gentle and his eyes are warm and he touches Billy’s shoulder and he says “I’m sorry.”
And Billy tells him “It’s okay” because it is. Because Steve is his best friend. His only friend. The first friend who willingly talks on the phone with him. Or drives out to the middle of nowhere to walk across an abandoned bridge. Steve who has driven out to Indy to pick Billy up when he’s gotten too drunk and his car is half a state away.
Steve is his best friend and it hurts, but it’s okay. 
It’s just as okay as when Nancy sorta-kinda ended things with Steve even though the words have never been spoken. It’s just as okay as when Robin came out and broke Steve’s heart. So it’s okay now because Billy’s gotten used to heartbreak and heartache and Robin always buys the top shelf ice cream when he goes over to hers. 
And Billy loves Steve so he doesn’t want to lose him. Can’t imagine going more than a couple days without telling Steve some dumb story that makes him laugh. Seeing him smile and insist that this time, this girl, will be the one. 
Billy loves Steve and he wants Steve to be loved. He wants someone to see all the wonderful parts of Steve and decide that she will work for it too. For his all-encompassing, desperately hopeful love. 
Billy thinks it should be a testament to how much he loves Steve that he would rather see Steve happy with someone else if just to see him happy. The ache in his chest lessens every time Steve smiles. Every time he bumps their shoulders together. Steve doesn’t shy away from him. 
Billy knows Steve has watched the news, has heard about the disease afflicting gay men, but it doesn’t scare him. He tells Billy there are worse things to be scared of and he doesn’t care if he gets sick from Billy. From touching him, sitting by him, talking to him. 
Steve is brave and Billy is desperately trying to be brave. Was brave when he told Steve. Was brave when he bucked up the courage to say the words that have been rattling around in his mind since the moment Steve decided to actually give him the time of day. Was brave when he decided to go back to Steve’s house to watch a movie with him and Robin and know it wouldn’t turn into cuddling. 
Billy is trying to be braver for Steve. To show that he knows how to move on, to let it heal, to let the love fade into something more manageable. More friendly. More appropriate. He knows it will, it’s why he keeps pushing on. Because one day Steve will smile at him and his heart won’t shatter in his chest. 
Robin sits next to him at the park where Max is trying to teach the boys to skate. Steve isn’t here, he’s on a date and he claims that this one will be serious. 
Robin puts her head on Billy’s shoulder and she sighs. “It sucks that they’re always straight,” she murmurs.
Billy takes her hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Yeah but he let me down easy.”
“He’s good like that,” Robin tells him and she laces their fingers together. 
Steve is good like that. Billy thinks that’s part of the reason he loves him so fiercely. Because maybe if Steve loved him back, it would mean that Billy is good too. 
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batattta · 3 years
Text
destiel fic recs pt.4
heeeeeere we go again
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
part 4/?
new testament 'verse (15 works, 47k, g-m) the most underrated work imho. i have no words to describe this one. it makes me FEEL. sad cas, sweet caring dean, singer salvage, domesticity. one of my all time favorites
rivers and roads (3k, g) cas hitchhiking his way home after the fall. they are the sweetest boys
entertaining strangers (9k, e) cas tells dean about his threesome. just. wow. OCs in this one are the best.
the walk series (196k, e, AU) dean turns tricks and one day he meets cas. who is religious and sad and married. i loved how all their found family came together in this one. 
seek to know you better (27k, e) they are on a road trip and play “36 questions to fall in love”. cute
some boys are sleeping alone (4k, m) dean and his sexuality. very very sad
command me to be well (28k, e) not an obvious one of 15.18 fix-its
after a storm (10k, m) where dean doesn't tell cas to leave bunker in season 9 (as it should have been)
there’s only one sure thing that i know (20k, e) dean and cas get stuck in ohio. very old one. beautifully written 
elemental (600, g) “the man who would be king” coda
the best bang for your buck (6k, m) cas finds dean’s profile on sex toys website. this is so funny
the gambler (4k, t) dean retires. with cas. sam is oblivious. the fluffiest fluff
i saw the heavens and the earth cry over you (3k, m, mcd) why do i do this to myself? hah. i don't even want to recommend this one, but i have to, i’m sorry. read at you own risk. cas becomes human. his body starts to slowly shut down. incredibly sad.
things dean winchester loves (3k, m) so cute. cas makes a list. 
story time (1k, g) dean and cas retire. they tell stories to local kids.
string lights (2k, g) christmas fic. i love the atmosphere 
you and me in the war of the end times (5k, e) remember i told about shotgunning? yeah.
the face at the end of the hall (3k, t) psychological horror. short and sad. 
things happen (they do, they do, and they do) (28k, e) my favorite one of 15.18 fix-its. dean is a repressed bean.
flowers in the backyard (34k, e, AU) awwwww. love this one. dean inherits bobby’s cabin, cas is homeless and made the cabin into his home.
prosopagnosia (32k, t, AU) dean is a firefighter, cas works in gas-n-sip and can’t recognize and memorize faces. 
on vessels (2k, g) cas tells dean that he wanted him to be his vessel
holding this in mind (13k, e) yeah, well um this one is 13k words about fisting. but it’s such a tender fic. more like character study, than smut, truly. 
death of the author (7k, e) post-15.18, first time fic. soooooo cute. 
special mention, aileenrose’s little AUs. they are so special and unique and writing is *chefs kiss*. my favorites:
every dog has its day (12k, m) dean meets homeless cas, they rescue a puppy.
a case for evolution (9k, m) plumber dean, anthropologist cas. they are nerds. nerds in love.
love, take your toll (9k, t) this one owns my heart. lonely toll collector cas and motorist dean. unbelievably tender fic. i wanted to hug cas so much
all that is gold does not glitter (8k, m) jeweler cas, dean comes to collect sam’s wedding rings. cas thinks it's dean who’s getting married. dumbies.
an exploration of habitat (11k, m) cas is a protester who lives in a tree. dean is afraid of heights. last lines made me weep. this fic made me feel so happy, oh god watch and learn, cw
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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years
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#36: "I want to try for a baby" with Sam Wilson?🥺💕
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Little Cap’s
Pairing: Sam Wilson x F!Reader
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Tooth rotten fluff nothing more.
Word count: 2,653
Summary: You’ve been thinking about it for a while now, just wasn’t sure how Sam would take the question.
Note’s: Written for the wonderful @autumnleaves1991-blog  for the Writer Wednesday-Writer Challenge. Thank you so much doll for tagging me and including me in this opportunity.
Set after the ending of Falcon and The Winter Soldier, Sam has taken the mantle of Captain America as his own. This is my first time writing for Sam so I do hope I’ve done him justice.
Rolling the idea around your mind for what felt like the hundredth time today. Worried about his reaction, scared he might say no. Neither of your ready for the biggest leap since the ring he put on your finger. Sparking in the late summer Louisiana sun simple single two carat engagement ring catches your eye. Dreamy smile tugging the corners of your lips up.
“You gonna help finish these meal’s Y/N or stare at the rock Sam gave you?” playful annoyance filtering through her voice. Sarah glances your way smile bright and full spreading over her plush lips. “Come on girl quicker we get these meals out the faster we get back home and relax.”
“Yeah, yeah quit your bitchin babe I’m coming,” sending her a wink back. Thoughts temporarily side tracked as is your path when Cass and AJ cross, both boy’s laden with styrofoam containers. Delicious smells tickle your nose as they path tummy grumbling in reminder of a missed meal.
“Better get that checked out Aunt Y/N sounds like you got a bear in there,” AJ teases laughter in his voice.
Scowling playfully you take off after him intent on smacking his butt for the sass. But miss by a few inches, looking towards Sarah for sympathy. “What he’s not wrong and I told you to eat something earlier,” lips tipping up. Grabbing two food boxes at a time to pack them into the larger cardboard carry box.
“No love, non at all and you’re suppose to be family,” arms crossing refusing to help.
“Who’s suppose to be family?” Deep timbered voice asks from the side kitchen door, leaning on the frame like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Smiling russet eyes glance over Sarah and the boys before landing on you, back towards him. His favorite pink, yellow and white sundress fitted to your body, wearing it especially for him. Butterflies start dancing in your belly at his voice but you don’t turn just yet adding the last two containers to the box AJ packed up.
Shaking her head, “You’re late I guess there’s a first time for everything huh?” Hands placed on her hips trying to look stern but a smile spreads over her lips at seeing her big brother back in one piece.
“Don’t blame me for that Sarah. Bionic stare machine in the reason,” thumbing over his shoulder where Bucky appears sheepish grin on his lips.
“Uncle Sam you’re back, how’d it go?” Cass exclaimed happily running over to his uncle and flinging arms around his neck when Sam bent down to hug him.
AJ joining a little slowly, “Got the shield with ya this time?”
“Maybe but it’s not for you to play with,” Sam snarks back running a hand over the boy’s head, pulling him in for a one armed hug.
That’s when you turn seeing the love shinning like the sun in those such cherished eyes. Breath catching for a moment as visions filter through your thoughts. Sam holding his own child, your child, making your heart beat out a quick step. You try to cover by turning away and checking to make sure you have everything. Hoping Sam won’t notice.
“Ah but Uncle Sam please?” Puppy eyes on full blast eagerness in his tone.
But he does, filling the question away for when you’re alone together. “Don’t y’all got a truck to pack? Those meal’s ain’t gonna deliver themselves.” Stepping deeper into the kitchen with Bucky following. Eyes trained on you for a moment till Sarah moves and he shifts to look at her. Slight change in demeanor, soft smile on her lips with eyes, ‘No,’ drawing an invisible line from his sister to Bucky and back.  “Oh hell no, not the two of you. Seriously Sarah the man is old as dirt.” Exasperated huff leaving his mouth, running a hand over his head acting like the prospect pains him.
Partnership somewhere along the years turned into friendship though the banter and good natured ribbing still persisted. Somethings just never change ever over the years. Not that either one of them would. Their brand of team work fit the two of them perfectly and with amazing precision.  
“Don’t know what you’re talking about Samual and keep out of my business in that department,” brow lifting, Sarah grabs for the cardboard box.
Eyes rolling arms crossed over his massive chest everyone else quiet for the moment. “It’s my business since you’re my sister. Can’t have little cyborgs running around here.” Seeing your shoulders shaking, Sam tries to keep the humor from his tone, “I mean think what the neighbors would say Sarah. You’d be going out with a centurion.”
“Actually it’d be centurion plus ten,” Bucky butts in grin sliding over his lips, looking from you to Sarah as his features soften into an almost bashful smile.
“I think it’d be cute the two of them,” you quip reaching to takes Sam’s gloved hand in yours, gaining his attention for a moment.
Shaking his head, “Neither of you are helping any,” though his russet eyes stay with you before an “Oaf,” exists his chest, hand coming up to rub the center of his chest. “Why?”
“For butting in where that overly large nose doesn’t belong. Why don’t you mind your own business and stay outta mine?” Box in her arms, Sarah heads towards the door that Bucky holds open. Looking both men over with a fake exasperated sigh, “Neither of you can go to town in those get ups. Change and meet us at the carnival.”    
Turning back to you with a small pout, “Here you deserved it buddy told you not to snoop in her love life.”
“No sympathy for your fiancé?” Wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you against him, feeling the leather crease with your curves pressed tightly. “She still hits damn hard. Wanna make it feel better?”
Triple groans leave three sets of mouths and you both turn to see Bucky, Cass and AJ making gross faces. Pretending to throw up while holding their stomachs. “No one said you three needed to stay,” sassy tone to your voice. “AJ, Cass your mom is waiting and Buck get up stairs, shower and change the both of you look like shit by the way.” Though worry underlays the tone noticing the slight limp Sam’s sporting, along with a busted lip. Bucky not much better with buries blooming purple along his jaw and eye. Who knew what other injures the two of them acquired from this mission. “Sure hope the other guy’s look worse.”
“Count on that on Y/N,” nodding then he turns to head upstairs following your orders. The boys having already disappeared out the door.
Attention back on Sam, cupping his whiskered cheek, “You need to shave baby, it’s grown since last I saw you.” Brushing your fingers over the soft beard, worry filled eyes locking with his.
“I’ll get right on that sweetheart but first there’s something I’ve been needing to do since I left,” voice quiet drinking in your beauty. Tightening his arms around your waist to pull you a little closer. Captain America’s new flight suit bitting into your cloth covered frame. Circling your arms around his neck and drawing little patterns with your nails on the skin just below the collar of his suit.
Tipping your head to the side, “Oh and what would that be?” Innocent smile tugging your lips. Sure it’s only been three weeks since he left out but that’d been a long three weeks of worry and fear. You trusted his skills and that Bucky would watch his six. It’s the other assholes you didn’t put much faith in. The bruises and scars littering his body a testament to how hard they tried to put him in the ground for good.
“Eat a slice of that heavenly banana bread Sarah makes,” keeping his face neutral as a gasp leaves your lips, making his twitch. Halting your fist from smacking the same place Sarah did. Palm come up to caress your cheek, bringing you close breath ghosting over your trembling lips. “Thought I was serious sweetheart,” words mumbled before slanting his lips over yours.
Gentle to start, just pressing your mouths together finding the right fit and sliding his tongue over the seam of yours. Requesting permission which is granted on a sigh, melting into his arms. Wrapping yours around his shoulders giving over to him those little noises he loves to brag from your throat. Meeting his tongue to tangle and caress each other. Teeth snagging your bottom lip to suck and nibble on a moment while gathering air. Before diving back in deepening the kiss till you’re both breathless and panting. Foreheads resting, eyes staring with goofy little smiles on your faces.
“Missed me didn’t you?”
Teasingly, “Nope don’t know what you mean Mr. Wilson I missed Bucky though.” Giggles bursting from your throat with the groan from Sam. Who drops his head on your shoulder squeezing you closer in a hug. Lips brushing his ear, “You know better than that Sam I always miss you.”
“Tease,” turning his head to press a kiss to your neck right when the car horn sounds making you both groan. “Impatience as always,” pulling back to place on more kiss to your lips. “Go I’ll see you in a bit. Save me some cotton candy?”
“Of course and a ride on the ferries wheel to,” not wanting to let him go but knowing delivers needed to be made. Leaning up on your toes to press one last kiss, “Welcome home my love I missed you.” Before pulling away, grabbing the box and walking over backwards. Watching him as he stares back love shinning in those deep russet eyes. Blowing him a kiss at the door.
“Y’all can trade gooey eyes later Y/N shake a leg we got work to do,” Sarah calls out making Sam shake his head and you to laugh.
Heading for the door, Sam grabs your hand one more time, “Miss you to sweetheart, I love you.”
“Love you more,” quickly pressing forward to give him one more kiss. Jumping off the last step and up into the truck waving as Sarah pulls out heading towards town.
Two hours later, food passed out you and Sarah parked yourself on a picnic bench near the parking lot of the town carnival. Sharing a pretzel with hot mustard while the boys run around working off the sugar high they’ve put themselves in. Gathering crowd catches your eye, smile spreading over your lips at the sight of Sam and Bucky. Pausing to take pictures sign autographs for the kids mainly. Both men cleaning up nicely though your eyes stay with Sam. Dressed casual with a fitted blue Henley top two button’s open and black jeans that hugged his thighs and waist just perfectly. However, it’s his demeanor, laid back at easy with himself and those around him which speaks to you most. Catering to all the children who beg for a photo or signature. Heart expanding when a young mother asks him to hold her baby for a picture. Watching how he cradles the young one to his chest and coos has a small gasp leaving your lips.
“You need to ask him before your ovaries explode while you stare,” teasing cadence in her voice making you whip around to stare at her. Laughter sweet and clear echos around the small area. Beating the table with one hand in her mirth Sarah rests her head on the other.
Heated face buried in your hands hating and loving that Sarah knows you so well. “I can’t help it Sar that man was made to make beautiful babies. Most importantly making them with me,” bottom lip tugged between your teeth, eyes landing back on Sam who’s striding over.    
“I see the two of you have started without us.” Sliding beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you against his side.
Plucking up the last bite of pretzel to feed him, “Couldn’t wait much longer handsome. What took the two of you so long? Here I thought us women are bad.”
“Went to check on the boat heard it’s been running a little rough,” looking over at Sarah while saying. “We’ll take care of that tomorrow sis it shouldn’t be too hard a fix.”
Nodding, “Should leave it to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“And I don’t?” Faking offense, hand on his chest.
“Last time you tried to fix the boat, you damn near blew it up Sam.” Teasing tenor states from beside Sarah making both women chuckle and Sam rolling his eyes.
“Thanks for backing me up Buck,” glancing over at you then pointing at Bucky. “You believe him thought we were friends I’m wounded.”
Laughing harder, dropping your head on his shoulder while Bucky answers straight faced, “We’re barely partners Wilson I don’t know where you get friends from.”
“Come one,” taking his hand, tugging up up. “You promised me a Ferris wheel ride remember.”
“Where’s the cotton candy?” Getting up Sam wraps an arm around your waist as the two of you wave a goodbye to Sarah and Bucky.
Steering towards a small inclosed trailer, signs advertising cotton candy, kettle corn, deep fried snickers and corn dogs for sale. You step up, pulling your small wallet out but Sam places his hand over yours to pay and grab the paper stick from the vendor.
Snuggling into his arms, walking and sharing the sticky sweet treat. Line thankfully short of the ride, not the most popular with the kids being slow and only one direction. Though for you it holds a special meaning of the first kiss you and Sam ever shared all those years ago.
“Do you remember our first kiss?” Nodding the the attendant who holds the little bar up for you and Sam to slip into the metal seat.
Getting as comfortable as one could, arm wrapped around your shoulders to hold you against him. “How could I forget that night sweetheart.” Gazing down at you, he leans in to brush his lips over yours, “It was the night I lost my heart.”
“Oh Sam,” happy tears forming in your eyes. “I love you so much.”
“Damn good thing because I love you just as much,” smirking that’s wiped from his mouth when yours pressed back into his. Deepening the kiss, gasping when the wheel comes to a stop at the top giving him the advantage to slide his tongue into the sweet cavern of your mouth. Sampling your favorite and drawing a whimper from your throat.
Breaking on a sigh, “I know it might be too soon but seeing you with AJ and Cass, plus tonight with the little baby you held.” Reaching up to caress his cheek seeing the furrowed brow in confusion. Soft smile spreads over your kiss swollen lips. “I want to try for a baby Sam.”  
First time for everything, Sam Wilson is at a loss for words till the Ferris wheel jerks to a start again slowly. Fear clutching your heart till he turns that mega watt smile on you. Breath lodging in your throat at the unadulterated love shining in those deep russet eyes.
“Can we start tonight?” Catching the smirk tipping one side of his lips up before there on yours insistence and demanding. Stealing any words you’d reply with and transforming them into little whimpers and moans.
Breaking when the ride comes to a stop and someone clears their throat. “Looks like there’s gonna be little Cap’s running around instead of cyborgs.” Good natured chuckle leaving Bucky’s lips watching his best friends kiss.
Foreheads pressed together, sharing gasping breaths, “I’ll take that as a yes?” Moving to place a kiss to your forehead then helping you out to rejoin the family.
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Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot
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Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad. 
Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—
Disappointing, really. 
If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself. 
-----
Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references
Word Count: 9.2K
AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4​ who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out. 
Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam
-----
“Shit.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her. 
“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault. 
For deciding that they were going to have a party. 
On New Year’s Eve. 
Like complete cliches. 
“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”
“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine. 
Her phone made another noise. 
“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”
She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—
Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”
“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.
No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was. 
Whatever, honestly. 
Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over. 
Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird. 
For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special. 
She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.
Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly. 
“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”
Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home. 
“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps. 
“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”
“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”
“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”
“You’ve had too much wine.”
“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were. 
“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”
“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”
Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor. 
Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”
Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad. 
“So…”
Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing. 
“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed. 
At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend. 
“Don’t people just use Tinder now?” 
Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 
She’d give them five stars. 
No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 
Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?” 
Her face was very warm. 
“Buy me better wine.”
Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work. 
“Only nine bucks, honestly?”
Failed spectacularly, quite honestly. 
“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”
“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame. 
“I don’t care.”
All things considered. 
Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”
Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it. 
Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went. 
“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet. 
And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat. 
So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download. 
She should have waited until she was on wifi. 
To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship. 
He was her friend. 
Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent. 
Or any of the utilities. 
Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—
“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago. 
Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.  
At least the end of her love life. 
Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door. 
“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”
Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”
“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”
Sixteen guys had messaged her already. 
“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”
Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though. 
She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile. 
Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least. 
“Nothing.”
So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure. 
“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”
Emma’s phone dinged. 
Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on. 
That didn’t make her feel any better. 
“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”
The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry. 
“Call it a thing again.”
Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.
Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable. 
“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed. 
Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.
The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly. 
Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”
That probably wasn’t important. 
And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up. 
“You’re avoiding my question.”
She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway. 
On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list. 
It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked. 
She couldn’t cook. 
She tried. 
Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—
This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music. 
She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.
“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”
Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”
The smoke alarm was louder than the oven. 
Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.
Emma nodded. 
Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”
Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so. 
“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”
Graham was probably very nice.
“Was there a reason for that?”
Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help. 
“Swan.”
“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”
Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector. 
“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.
Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice. 
“Just turn it off, love.”
She hated all that music. 
“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”
Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything. 
Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—
Relatively speaking, at least. 
He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor. 
Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway. 
“Pizza or Chinese?”
Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.
Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen. 
“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot. 
“Deal.”
“She’s in love with him.”
“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?” 
“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”
They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later. 
“Either or, I guess.”
Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called. 
“Does this have a name?”
Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly. 
Distractingly. 
At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it. 
Or there had been. 
She’d eaten them. 
Her mouth felt a little numb. 
“What do you think we should call it?”
Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter. 
Killian’s. Not Graham’s. 
She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did. 
“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded. 
He shrugged. 
Good thing the holiday season was nearly over. 
And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”
At the bar. 
“Your tongue is blue.”
Four seats away from Leroy the regular. 
“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—
Califragilisticexpialidocious. 
So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever. 
“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”
“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”
That would have annoyed Belle.
Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.
“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”
Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark. 
“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”
She felt oddly similar now. 
Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now. 
“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.” 
Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”
Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk. 
“‘S’totally different.”
“You ready, love?”
“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart. 
“For?”
“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”
Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—
He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually. 
“Smell really good.”
God, poor Graham. 
She was the worst. 
David played hockey when he was a kid. 
“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”
No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”
“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”
Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous. 
“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”
With such God awful interests in the opposite sex. 
Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”
The world was a joke. Happy Holidays. 
“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”
Huh. No grand slam, then. 
Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”
Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so. 
“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.
All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over. 
And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon. 
Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.
“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”
Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.
More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”
“Are you the dumbest person alive?”
“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”
“We live together.”
Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them. 
“I’m so bad at cooking.”
“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer. 
Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about. 
Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”
“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could. 
If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive. 
“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”
“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”
The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt. 
He didn’t move his hands. 
“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”
“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer. 
A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”
“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”
“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”
“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”
As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers. 
“Not as many as you did.”
Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate. 
She never did find out where her pancreas was. 
And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt. 
The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier. 
“How did you figure it out?”
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oooh for the i love you prompts can you do buddie + 12 ?
So sorry this is late, love <3 This was...well, I hope you like it.
I Love You Prompt List
12. Brings an extra coat/scarf because they know you never check the temperature before going out
When We’re Old and Grey
Admittedly, their morning routine had already been a little disrupted when it came time to kiss his boyfriend goodbye. A power outage had killed their alarm, and Christopher had to wake them up with his most innocent ‘If we sleep past the first bell, do I have to go to school today?’; which had both of them bolting out of bed with the speed that came from years of emergency responses.
There was no time for breakfast – thank god for the ability to preorder drive thru (one day of egg sandwiches and apple juice eaten in the car, would not be the end of the world. Probably) – let alone double check that Christopher had actually packed his bag last night like he promised.
“It’s your fault we didn’t get to bed until 3am.” Eddie grumbled, shoving off the pants around his ankles so he could toss them to their rightful owner.
“I think it’s the apartment fire’s fault.” Buck caught the offending cotton, and pulled Eddie’s shirt from the pile on the floor to throw in his face. “We can go back to sleep once Christopher’s at school” he promised.
Eddie rolled his eyes. “You wanted to go for a run today. So we’re going for a run after we drop him off.”
If Buck’s grumble made him smile, it was a testament to their years of familiarity – not because he thought his boyfriend was cute when he was grumpy and bedraggled. Not that they were given much of an opportunity to comment further, as the object of their affection was calling down the hallway that he would be late for school.
Eddie pulled the nearest pants over his hips (definitely still Buck’s, but now was not the time for caring about things like property) pushing his sock-less partner out the door.
“You don’t need socks to sit in the passenger seat” he informed him, poking his head into his son’s room to do one final check before they headed towards the door.
“Alright everyone, did we pack our homework?” Eddie clapped his hands while Christopher pulled on his shoes.
“Yes, dad.”
“Did we brush our teeth?”
“Yes, dad.”
“No.” Buck swiped his tongue with a grumble, but a look from Eddie had him ducking his head.
“Did we remember our free reading book on the night stand?”
Christopher bolted up in a panic, steadied by an instinctual hand from Buck. Eddie shook his head at the pair, producing the book from behind his back for the boy to put into his bag.
“Did we pack a sweater for going to Abuela’s tonight?”
“Yes, dad.”
With Christopher packed and ready to go, Eddie shot one last look at his boyfriend as he slipped on his sandals.
“Did we remember our wallet and phone on the dresser?”
“Yes, dad.”
Buck froze. The only way his eyes could grow wider would be if they fell out of their sockets – and they nearly did, for the panic that settled on his face. Though Christopher was still preoccupied with zipping his bag, he clearly heard Buck’s misstep because he giggled wildly while opening the front door. Eddie still hadn’t said anything (which, even Eddie knew, was a bad sign).
His initial reaction at Buck’s words was to tangle the squeezing hand around his heart that reminded him that he was old, and demeaning his boyfriend and eventually, Buck would get sick of him. His second reaction was to laugh at the man’s exhausted mind that had just parroted whatever Christopher was saying. His third reaction, was the startling realization that none of this mattered at the moment.
With a long sigh, Eddie shooed his two favourite people out the door and unlocked the truck for them while he closed up.
He could deal with their little slipup later – when he actually had the mental capacity to process what had happened and how he felt about it.
See, Eddie knew he was older than Buck (some would say more mature – including Eddie), though five years wasn’t a significant difference. They’d learned quickly to intensely avoid talking about significant moments in their childhood, but other than that, age didn’t matter to them. Considering Buck’s last serious relationship... well, Eddie had never put much thought into their slight difference in age.
Until Buck had decided to call him ‘dad’. And then a few thoughts swirled around his mind as they made their way towards the school. He knew that the moment Christopher was out the door, Buck would bring it up – trying to apologize profusely – and Eddie would have to decide how to react to it.
He had a big decision to make.
True to form, Buck waved the kid goodbye and as soon as they’d pulled out of the parking lot, he turned to his boyfriend with nervous panic.
“Eddie, about this morning: I am so sorry.”
His boyfriend looked so genuinely apologetic, he almost felt bad.
“What was that, sonny?” He croaked, leaning his ear closer to the man. “I didn’t hear yo-” Eddie dissolved into laughter before he could even finish his sentence, doubling over the steering wheel in amusement.
Buck joined in a moment later, though decidedly less enthusiastically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I called you old.” He slid his had over Eddie’s, resting on the gearshift. “I am sorry though.”
“It’s fine, Buck.” He smiled at him once they reached the stoplight. “I know I kind of went into ‘dad mode’ this morning. It was a slip of the tongue.”
“I’ll show you a slip of the tongue” Buck muttered – though loud enough for Eddie to hear (as was always his way when he was flirting), prompting a flush to cover his chest even as he rolled his eyes.
“I am driving young man,” he scolded, a twinkle in his eye. “Just wait until I get you home.”
Buck finally relaxed against his seat, never looking away from his adoring boyfriend. “I thought we were going for a run.”
“Oh, I’ll get your heart racing alright.”
What? Eddie loved a little obviously flirting as much as the next man – especially when they were both still in that giddy phase of their relationship after living together for seven months. Besides, it would be an excellent opportunity to show Buck just how young and enthusiastic he still was.
And that should have been the end of it. The two of them would go home for a little mid-morning romp (‘romp, Eddie? Now you’re just begging me to mock you’) before heading out on their run and continuing on in semi-domestic bliss – one of them was bound to propose sooner or later, they just hadn’t decided who. Buck’s little one-off remark would be totally forgotten.
Until Eddie lay in bed a few nights later, and he got a horrible, ridiculous, completely juvenile idea. Buck would be so proud of him.
-
It started out innocently enough.
Buck ran out of toothpaste – he really should have been paying attention more – but he definitely had a spare bottle underneath the sink. Probably. He squatted down to inspect the shared storage space and did, indeed, find a small travel tube of toothpaste.
That didn’t matter, however, because he found something much more interesting.
“Eddie, why is there a box of grey coverup hair dye under the sink?” He had a sneaking suspicion, but he also had no recollection of Eddie mentioning or buying it.
There was his boyfriend – his lovely, oblivious boyfriend – sitting on the couch, reading the latest science fiction novel that Buck had finally convinced him to read, all wide-eyed and curious.
“I have no idea why anyone in this house would need to cover up their grey hairs, Buck.”
Really? So he was just going to pretend as if he didn’t know anything? Fine.
“Is it Christopher’s, then? I knew that kid’s colour wasn’t natural.” He shook his head when he caught sight of the smallest hint of a smile. But then, he paused to watch Eddie refocus on the book in his hands. Maybe he was starting to go a little grey on top; his life hadn’t exactly been stress-free. It could be that he just wasn’t ready to talk about it, though. That was fine. He’d love Eddie if his hair fell out overnight. It would be a huge adjustment, considering how much he liked to run his fingers through those delicious locks, but he’d figure it out. If his boyfriend was feeling insecure about something, there really was only one solution.
Eddie lifted the book when Buck plopped into his lap but didn’t take his eyes off the page, letting him scratch his nails through Eddie’s scalp. He really was so giving; anything Buck wanted to do to him (cuddle, or talk for hours about his latest interest, or just sit in his lap in the middle of the day), Eddie would accept within reason. Just as Buck did the same (holding Eddie in the middle of the night, listening to him rant about one of the PTA moms harassing him, or carrying him across the room when Eddie decided he wanted to cling to him like a koala bear instead of walk his tired-ass to the bedroom). It was a mutual bothering, which worked for both of them.
Which is why Eddie let Buck sit in his lap and massage his scalp for a minute or two before Buck mutter soft and low: “I kind of like the bits of grey, it makes you look distinguished.”
“What bits of grey?” Eddie shot up so fast, Buck nearly toppled off the couch but he caught himself on the back cushion. Just as quickly, Eddie settled back into his place, taking a deep breath. “Oh, right. Yeah. Thanks.” When he blushed, Buck had no choice but to kiss it away. It was mandatory.
-
Buck was ashamed to admit that he didn’t notice it at first. He spent so long memorizing ever feature on Eddie’s face and it took him nearly an hour to realize that something was different. And then when he realized, he couldn’t stop realizing and frankly, it was kind of hot.
He only wore them when they were in the bedroom – likely a little hesitant to admit that he needed them, but Buck liked to think of it as a secret he chose to share with Buck because of how much he trusted him. It was nice.
And did he mention hot?
It took him less than a week to finally break (what? He was only human).
Buck stopped in the doorway, glass of water gripped tightly in his hand lest he drop it at the mere sight of his boyfriend. Eddie never looked up from his book – and why should he? Tonight was just like any other night.
Except this was the fifth night in a row that Buck had walked into their bedroom and found Eddie, shirtless in bed with a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
How was he not supposed to pounce on that?
Pounce wasn’t the right word, exactly, more of a slither. Buck was about as graceful as Bambi on Ice, but when it came to slowly crossing a room to climb on top of his boyfriend, he was Johnny Weir (yes, he knew about figure skating – Bobby’s reveal had prompted a little research spiral).
“Hello.” Eddie smiled in surprise, dropping the book to his chest so his arms were free to stroke up Buck’s arms. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Without losing eye contact, Buck gently tucked the bookmark into the appropriate page and placed the book on the nightstand, out of harm’s way. No matter what, there was a great respect for books in their house (plus, if Buck tossed the thing across the room like he wanted to, Eddie’s mind wouldn’t be focused on the task at hand).
“I think you can help me” he whispered without a hint of suspense. Eddie knew exactly what he wanted.
He reached for the glasses, no doubt thinking they would get in the way, but Buck grabbed his wrist before he could even get close.
“Leave the glasses on.”
Eddie mumbled in surprise but didn’t deny his request, reaching for the lamp as Buck dove in for a kiss.
-
Okay, even if it was a little strange, it was still a really thoughtful gift.
Buck hated admitting when he was in pain. Yes, he’d learned his lesson after the whole ‘pulmonary embolism’ fiasco and was starting to speak up whenever things got too bad (especially with his leg); that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.
So, taking Bobby aside to tell him that his leg was cramping so badly, he thought it best to be ‘man behind’ for the rest of the shift, made him nearly cry with frustration. But he did it; and he spent the rest of the shift doing choirs, and icing his leg and generally doing what was best for his overall health.
The problem was, his leg almost always hurt just a little. Yes, he was back to full strength – and fitter than ever, thank you very much – but sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and need to walk a few laps around the living room before he could settle back into bed. Or, Eddie would catch him limping a little and a tub of Tiger Balm would suspiciously find its way into his work bag.
One day, he came home and found a cane next to the door. It was simple, brown with a curled handle, but it was the perfect height to help him walk around the house. Even if every iota of his being was screaming that using a cane was a sign of weakness, he saw the gift from Eddie as a show of love and concern, and so used it as an aide while he moved around the kitchen, waiting for Eddie to come home with Christopher.
That little boy was the most adorable mix of excited and concerned when he walked through the door and saw what Buck was doing.
“You remember when my leg got hurt? Well sometimes, it hurts again and it’s hard to move around without a little help. My cane is not nearly as cool as your crutches, though; it doesn’t even have an arm holder.”
The discussion had been a little longer, but the explanation seemed to satisfy him enough to drop the subject while he started on his homework.
Eddie had been suspiciously silent. Not suspicious, per se, but he hadn’t looked Buck in the eye through his entire interaction with Christopher.
As soon as the boy was seated at the dinner table, Buck pulled him in for a gentle kiss.
“Thank you” he pressed into his mouth again, gratefully. “I didn’t realize I needed this until you gave it to me. I appreciate you taking care of me.”
Eddie still hadn’t said a word, his eyes darting to the cane every few seconds as if deciding whether or not it actually existed. When he spoke, his voice was far away.
“I didn’t” he cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”
Satisfied, Buck turned away in time to hear Eddie mutter “unbelievable” under his breath.
-
“Eddie, and I don’t want to offend you, but” Buck carefully entered the bedroom at the end of their nighttime routine. “Are your teeth real?”
Eddie should have looked more offended (Eddie, with his sexy librarian glasses and no shirt because ‘it’s too damn hot for clothing’) but instead, he tried to brush it off.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I found denture cream in place of toothpaste.” He held up the small yellow tube as evidence. “Did you misread the label or something?”
Again, Eddie simply shrugged rather than engage in their conversation. “Nope.”
What did that mean? He’d meant to buy denture cream? Buck rolled the bottle in his hands, standing lost in the middle of the room – another thing for which Eddie usually teased him, but still nothing. Something had been going on with him lately. First the hair dye, and then the reading glasses, and now the denture cream…it was like he was preparing for old age or something.
Oh.
Maybe Eddie had taken to heart the little joke Buck had made about him getting old. He hadn’t even called him old, he’d called him ‘dad’ – he was a dad – but then Eddie had followed up with his little ‘old geezer’ routine. Could it be, that Buck had actually hurt his feels or sent him down some spiral? It wouldn’t be the first time (they still had the small collection of Beanie Babies in the hall closet from the time Eddie got drunkenly nostalgic), but this time he wondered if he could do something to help (instead of drunkenly encouraging him to get same-day shipping).
“Eddie” Buck cautiously approached the bed, tube still in hand. “Are you okay?”
The man looked up at him through his glasses as Buck took a seat beside him, staring at him with genuine confusion – not the façade he’d been putting on lately. “I’m fine, Buck” he promised. “What’s up?”
“Did I mess up when I called you ‘dad’ the other day?”
Even when he was taking his glasses off slowly, with concern and love in his eyes, Buck had a hard time not feeling attracted to his boyfriend. The way he cared…it was a lot.
“You didn’t mess up; I thought it as funny. What’s this about?”
Reluctantly, Buck revealed the tube still clutched in his fist as if that would explain everything. The way Eddie threw his head back in laughter, eventually flopping onto his pillow, told him that it must have.
“You ruin all my fun, you know that?”
Well that was…not what he was expecting Eddie to say.
“All I wanted was a little laugh at your expense and you have been nothing but sweet and supportive” he grumbled against the pillow. “It’s been very annoying, you know that?”
Ignoring the bit of hurt that rose in his chest, Buck pulled apart Eddie’s words, trying to decipher some semblance of meaning from them. The more he stared in confusion and horror, the more Eddie seemed to laugh in his face.
Before he could think to pout and beg for an explanation, Eddie reached out to grab his face and pull him down to his level. Buck just barely caught himself on the edge of the bed as Eddie muttered fondly “you are a good man, Evan Buckley, but you can be so…” don’t say dumb, please don’t say dumb “innocent, sometimes.”
It was Buck’s turn to fall forward with the force of his incredulous laughter, trapping Eddie between himself and the bunched up pillows, leaving the tube of denture cream lost to the chaos of their floor. Even as the laughter subsided, Buck rested his chin against his boyfriend’s chest as he spoke.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Eddie rolled his eyes, arms resting under his head like he had nowhere he’d rather be in that moment. “I thought I was being so clever hiding everything around the house. First the hair dye – I thought it might be a little subtle but you were so nice about reassuring me. And then the reading glasses…” he smirked at the memory of the last time he’d worn them. “That was an unexpected bonus. And then the cane”
“What about the cane?”
His expression softened. “It was meant as a joke but you seemed to really need it so I wasn’t about to take it away from you.”
Buck recoiled but didn’t leave his favourite position, curled on top of his – very perplexing – boyfriend. “You were making fun of me by giving me that cane?” It had never occurred to him that it would be anything more than a well-meaning gift; but Eddie had been mocking him? That didn’t make any sense.
“No!” Eddie sighed. “The cane was for me.”
He was up and straddling Eddie’s knees before he’d even finished his sentence, carefully inspecting every inch of the man he loved for signs of trauma. “What? Why? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“See, this is what I mean; you’re so nice, I can’t pull a prank on you” Eddie exclaimed, rising to his elbows.
Wait, what?
Buck slowly turned to meet Eddie’s eyes – playful and patient. “A prank?”
“A prank” he confirmed with a smile.
“What was the prank?”
Eddie snorted, eyes falling to the floor. “Grey hair remover, reading glasses, a cane, and denture cream – plus I got, like, four other things.”
He left Buck to connect the dots, which produced a groan from the man, falling back over top. “You weren’t mad about me calling you old, you were being a dick about it” he concluded.
“Not a dick” Eddie protested, “a well-crafted prank that apparently flew over your head.”
“Well what now? Do you want the cane back?” He’d been an idiot, just picking up the thing and assuming it was for him. It seemed like something Eddie would do – and maybe he would have if his mind weren’t on other matters – but Buck should have asked. Idiot.
“I meant it: if it helps you, it’s yours to keep. The rest of it, though…” Eddie’s eyes wandered back to the tube on the floor. “I have no idea what to do with it all now that the prank is sufficiently ruined.”
“It’s not my fault that you were too subtle.” Buck squawked when Eddie threw him to his own side of the bed.
Standing, the man looked over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom closet. “Not all of us can be as subtle as ‘Eddie, if someone you were friends with wanted to ask you out, what would you say?’”
Admittedly, not his most sophisticated moment. “It worked, didn’t?” Over a year later and they were happier than ever.
“True.” Eddie retrieved a plastic grocery bag from the back of the closet, returning to sit on the bed. “But that might be more an indictment on my weakness for puppies.”
In response, Buck licked up the side of his jaw, planting a kiss behind his ear as he snuggled in close for show and tell.
“Gross” Eddie half-heartedly batted him away. “Want to see what I had planned next?”
“Yes please.” Buck bounced beside him, surreptitiously peaking over his shoulder to look into the bag. The very first item had him snorting and ducking under Eddie’s shoulder blade.
“Aren’t Medical Alert Buttons, super expensive?”
Eddie showed off the bright red plastic attached to a black string, hanging it off his finger. “Not the discount one from Wal-Mart. It’s not registered or anything – I wouldn’t go that far. Probably.”
Buck caught the object when Eddie tossed it to him, shaking his head. “I probably would have taken it as a joke about how many times I get injured.”
“It can have multiple uses” he conceded, already looking into the bag for the next gift. “We can keep that one if you want.”
“I’ll think about it.” Buck had no intention of using it, but it might be a cute little thing to hang on his jeep mirror as a reminder of the man he loved. He really did love Eddie. Who else would go through all this for a stupid prank and kiss him when he missed the joke? He imagined smiling fondly at the red button on his way to work during those rare shifts they wouldn’t spend together. He tucked it under his pillow for safe keeping.
“This one was kind of a two-fold.”
Buck stared down at the square packaging in his hands. “A deck of cards isn’t exactly an ‘elderly’ thing.”
“But Bridge with my Abuela and her card shark friends is definitely a thing. I was going to drag you out on a Saturday to hang out with friends and make you sit and watch us play.”
He rolled his eyes. “Jokes on you, then, because I love playing Bridge.”
Eddie raised a dubious eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since my grandmother taught me to play when I was eight.” He didn’t add that the only reason she had time to teach him was because he spent every weeknight at her house from age 6-15 while his parents worked or otherwise went out. The second he got his license, he got out of that routine; but there were still some fond memories attached to Nana’s house. “I would have kicked your ass.”
“Now we may never know.” Eddie grabbed the deck out of his hand and shoved it in the bedside drawer. “The last one would hopefully have been obvious.”
Buck nearly woke Christopher with his laughter – silenced quickly by Eddie throwing a pillow in his face – as he held the bag of adult diapers.
He loved Eddie so damn much, it hurt to breathe (although the wheezing laughter couldn’t have been helping his cause much). Once he was confident enough to remove the pillow, he examined the product with tears in his eyes.
“You got the overnight protection, that’s very astute. I might have eventually clued in that something was wrong.” He tossed the bag back to Eddie who was smiling at him with an odd look of pride. “This is a lot of effort for a one-off comment, Eddie.”
The man shrugged, reaching down to put the denture cream and diapers back into the bag to take to the donation bin later. “I don’t think it was.”
“What was the last one?” he asked, a lightness filling his voice from the sheer giddiness of being together.
In lieu of an answer, Eddie blushed and looked away. “Nothing.” That definitely meant it was something, Buck decided. There really was only one way to get Eddie to talk when he didn’t want to. Long, calloused fingers found his ribs and danced over his skin, leaving him curled over top of Buck, squirming and laughing. The day he’d discovered that Eddie was ticklish was probably one of the best days of his entire life. It meant he now how a surefire way to get his boyfriend to laugh whenever he wanted. It was a power he used sparingly, but he loved having a switch to turn on his favourite sound at will.
“Alright, stop, stop, I’ll tell you.”
Even as Buck released him, Eddie didn’t move from his place against Buck’s stomach, both breathing heavily and smiling at each other, wide and bright. The air grew still between them as Eddie regained his senses, the grin falling from his face – though his eyes were still warm and loving.
“I booked us a tour” he whispered his confession.
“A tour for where?” As funny as it would have been, they couldn’t exactly try to take advantage of a senior’s discount anywhere.
Eddie licked his lips, his earnest heart pulling the last of the humor away. “At a retirement village.”
The realization came a moment later. “You wanted to look at a retirement home together?” Saying the words out loud felt strange on his tongue. Stringing those syllables together in that order was not a possibility he ever thought to consider for himself.
Suddenly it was all he wanted.
“It was for the prank” Eddie gave a half-hearted shrug, still not releasing his breath entirely. “But I figured we could put our name on the waiting list if we liked it anyways.”
Buck joined him in his breathlessness, unable to think beyond the buzzing in his ears screaming ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ The world around him seemed fuzzy but Eddie’s face was crystal clear in his eyes.
“You’re planning your retirement with me?” Knowing them, that time wouldn’t come for another forty or fifty years, and yet Eddie wanted to put their names on a waiting list together. Like they were a sure thing.
“I did it as a joke” Eddie mumbled his concession, breath warming his skin. Buck watched his muscles dance underneath him, shivering with hope and excitement. “but it felt right to write down Mr. and Mr. Diaz.”
“I love you.” Those were the only words Buck could think to express every emotion in his being. There was too much at once to process and it swirled through his body, igniting every nerve ending on its way down to his toes. His mouth opened of its own accord and completely ran away from him. “I’ll love you when we’re old a grey, and you need all of those things you spent too much money on.” Eddie opened his mouth to protest but he continued. “I’ll love you when we fight – and when we think it’s the end for us, I’ll keep loving you. I want to hold your hand and die peacefully in our sleep in a retirement home we picked out when we were in our thirties. I want all of that, Eddie.”
He hadn’t thought seriously about marriage but the second it left his mouth…Eddie was right.
It just felt right.
The scariest request he’d ever made, didn’t seem so terrifying when he was staring down at the man he wanted to spend his life with, who kissed his stomach and smiled up at him with shining eyes.
“Our appointment is next Sunday.”
It was as close to an acceptance as they could muster in the moment, but the least he could do was pull Eddie up to kiss him properly. Buck released him for just a moment, smiling up at his fiancé to whisper:
“Good prank.”
Before diving in for another kiss.
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p1harmonyofficial · 3 years
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[📰] K-Pop Rookies P1Harmony Are Writing Their Own Coming of Age Story
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By Crystal Bell
K-pop group P1Harmony debuted three months ago with their audacious single "Siren," and member Jiung is already dreaming of the perfect solo vacation. The 19-year-old singer wants to emphasize that this is a trip he'd like to — no, needs to — do alone, when he can safely do so. ("You need to bold the word 'alone,'" leader Keeho adds in English, a knowing glint of mirth in his eyes. "Put it in italics too.") So, more about this excursion: "If possible, I want to go to a foreign country," Jiung tells Teen Vogue from an office in Seoul, South Korea. He doesn't have a specific place in mind, just somewhere new and exciting and, most importantly, a place where he can be alone to freely organize his thoughts without any other responsibilities.
It sounds like a lyric ripped from the pages of his notebook, or the plot of a coming-of-age movie his 17-year-old groupmate Intak would enjoy: a young man on a voyage of self-discovery, chasing a feeling to a faraway land to escape his adolescent ennui. For now, however, it's just a lofty resolution for the new year.
"I also want to travel alone because I've never done it before," youngest member Jongseob, who recently turned 15, enthusiastically offers in Korean. Jiung, always one to help the younger sort out his feelings, is quick to quash the teenage rapper's theoretical plans. "That's not very realistic," he says. "You're too young to travel alone." Undeterred, Jongseob carries on: "Then my goal this year is to drink more milk."
"He wants to grow taller, but I don't think milk helps that much," Keeho comments, shaking his head while his teal quiff stays firmly in place. "I heard that's a myth."
Technically, they're not wrong. Unaccompanied minors can't travel internationally without a parent's formal consent in South Korea, and there's no proven scientific correlation between dairy and height. But spoken aloud, this interaction sounds more like playful goading among good friends. It's a testament to Keeho, Theo, Jiung, Intak, Soul, and Jongseob's comfortable dynamic as a group that the copper-haired youngest just earnestly smiles through the minor sting of his hopes being swiftly dashed.
For all of the training that goes into a K-pop artist's career, perhaps the most vital lesson is learning how to symbiotically coexist in close quarters with someone who is unfamiliar to you. Like most things, it is a process. Harmony isn't achieved overnight, especially among six teenage boys who have differing definitions of the word "clean." Cultural differences present unique challenges, too. When Keeho left his home in Canada to pursue his musical dreams as a trainee at FNC Entertainment in Seoul, he didn't have much trouble fitting in. Or so he thought. "He was funny," Jiung says in retrospect. "But I don't think we were able to communicate well." It wasn't that they couldn't understand what Keeho was saying — the soulful singer grew up speaking Korean with his family — but rather they couldn't understand him.
"Everyone would be stressed out, and I would be like, 'Guys, relax. Why are you stressing out over this?'" Keeho says animatedly with his hands. "They couldn't understand why I was so relaxed. How could I not care about anything? And I couldn't understand why they were always so stressed about things. It took a while to get on the same page."
That's where communication comes in. "The key is being honest," Jiung explains. "We have a lot of talks." These regular conversations allow the members to resolve potential issues before they spiral into larger, more disharmonious problems. Keeho is refreshingly open about this. "We're always stuck together," he adds. "We live together. We see each other 24 hours a day. Seeing anyone 24 hours a day, you'll eventually be, like, ugh, get away from me, but because we communicate so much, that [feeling] is reduced." Establishing rules and boundaries also helps. "We have a basic rule that you clean up the mess you've made," Jongseob says from where he's perched behind Jiung. (This rule is especially important to methodical Jiung.) And then there's vocalist Theo, the eldest member who also takes on the role of the group's even-keeled mediator because he's a good listener, and he likes giving advice.
"I'm not very opinionated," the blonde says. At 19, he's a few months older than Keeho but harder to read. He's both lighthearted and enigmatic. "I'm not good at expressing my feelings," Theo explains. "But the members are really good at expressing themselves and their emotions, so I'm learning how to open up because of them." According to Keeho, Theo is "bad at being serious," adding, "We'll have to have a serious talk, and he won't be able to take it. He's always trying to lighten the mood. He's the comedic relief."
Keeho makes a habit of describing the members' various idiosyncrasies in fervent detail. It's a very leaderly thing to do, to make sure that everyone feels understood. Occasionally, he also jumps in to help interpret their answers into English, or to encourage others to speak. Soul, who is half-Korean but was raised in Japan, could be described as a quiet person: an introvert who wears a lot of black, listens to metal, and has a particular obsession with massive skull rings and accessories. But he's also acutely perceptive. He'd rather listen and observe than be an active participant in the conversation. "I like when the rest of the members are discussing an idea," he says quietly in Korean (he's still learning the language). "I like watching them talk." It's not that he's not involved, but as Keeho puts it, "He's always supporting us silently and observing us." For Soul, it's more fun to sit and watch.
You can get a sense of these dynamics as they unfold on the last track of the group's debut EP, Disharmony: Stand Out. It's a skit, or audio recording of the members — then, just trainees — as they talk candidly about their dreams to perform and contemplate the implications of such aspirations. "I work hard here for the debut, but when I go to school, I wonder, 'What am I doing here?'" Intak says on tape, recalling how strange it feels to not have the same priorities as his classmates who are all preparing for their college admissions. Theo quells his concerns, telling him how lucky he is to already be working toward his dream. "That's a cool thing," Keeho adds, as Soul silently listens in the background.
While his peers prepared for their academic futures, Intak was spending his evenings dancing, rapping, singing, and writing lyrics, while also stunt training alongside his groupmates and preparing to become a… movie star. A few weeks before the release of their album, P1H: A New World Begins hit theaters across South Korea in early October. The first K-pop origin story to hit the big screen, the feature film introduced P1Harmony and their sci-fi lore to the masses. Long story short: After a deadly virus spreads chaos and violence around the globe, six boys with extraordinary gifts are humanity's only hope for survival. The filming experience was invaluable for the artists, who until that point had only ever studied music and performance. "Acting training really helped with my facial expressions," Intak says. "I learned how to portray my emotions on stage." Keeho agrees, adding, "We got very friendly with the camera."
Singers who rap, rappers who sing, dancers who act — the boys of P1Harmony forgo clearly defined roles in favor of being versatile and, well, good at everything.
As for their music, Disharmony: Stand Out is a snapshot of Gen Z unrest, simmering with angst ("Siren") and bucking wildly, vibrantly against convention ("Nemonade"). Teenage turmoil has been fueling the K-pop industry since the very beginning, and there's a certain nostalgia to P1Harmony's no-holds-barred approach. Members Soul and Jongseob both credit B.A.P and their hard-hitting style with inspiring them to become artists, with Zelo influencing Jongseob to pursue rap in elementary school. You can hear those more aggressive, hip-hop-tinged influences on Disharmony, as well as softer, more lyrical R&B flourishes ("Butterfly").
"We wanted to convey feelings and situations that are not harmonious," Jongseob says. "We want to say don't be afraid to stand out and to say what you want to say — speak your truth, and do it with courage and confidence." Despite his age, the young rapper carries himself like a veteran. By all accounts, he's earned the title, having won the competition series K-pop Star 6 at age 12 in 2017 and competed in YG Treasure Box less than two years later. These experiences, he says, helped him feel more comfortable performing. By the time he came to FNC, he was already a prodigy with the confidence and flow of a performer twice his age.
"There are so many people, our age especially, who aren't always able to speak courageously and confidently," Keeho adds. "So we wanted to encourage everyone, especially ourselves, to never be afraid to say what you want to say."
And they practice what they preach. All of the members are credited lyricists on the album, with all six collaborating on the roaring hip-hop track "That's It." Part cypher, part vibes, "That's It" is teeming with boyish swagger and possibility. "Even though it was the first time all six of us worked on a song together, surprisingly we were all on the same page from the very first meeting, and it came together quickly," Jiung recounts, adding that each member wrote their own verse. "It was fun," Keeho chirps.
That creative energy is also channeled into their performances. "Because we do take part in a lot of the songwriting, we also want to convey that in our dance," Intak explains. Though he's part of the group's rap line, his first love was dance. He started taking lessons as a child. "My mom is a dancer, so she's where I got my love of dancing," he says. As such, he's well-versed in conveying emotion through motion. "We always have an idea of how we want to portray these emotions with our bodies," he says. The members choreograph their own center gestures. These movements are a small but significant part of any performance, because this is where their charisma and individuality shine brightest.
"I wanted to become a singer because I wanted to perform onstage," Theo says. "So being able to be on music programs performing on real stages, surrounded by bright LED lights and visual backdrops, I feel like a main character. When all of the lights are on me, I feel like a star."
Unsurprisingly, even when he's offstage, he's still singing. He even likes to call his friends and take song requests. "I like to sing to my friends through the phone," he says. "I'll sing anything they want. I play piano for them, too. They're very open to listening to me." Next to him, Keeho adds, "My friends would not want me to sing to them." (The internet respectfully disagrees.) Meanwhile, Jongseob turns to making music and writing lyrics in his downtime. It's a great way to relieve stress, he says. These days, Intak turns to animated films to ease his mind. He's a fan of Studio Ghibli films, and he really likes the Japanese manga characters Doraemon and Shin Chan.
"I watch a lot of coming-of-age stories about these innocent kids who are in the process of becoming adults," he explains. "I get inspired by watching them. I don't want to lose that innocence, so watching those animations make me feel youthful." It's hard to imagine Intak without his boyish sensibility. It's seeped into every social media post and YouTube vlog (or, #PLOG). Yet, as an artist, as a teenager, it's an unusual phenomenon to be perceived by thousands of fans before having the clarity to perceive yourself. It's something no amount of Miyazaki or training prepares you for.
Initially, Theo had a hard time opening up on camera. The mere thought of it made him nervous, but the more he did it, the easier it was for him to parse his own feelings. "I'm not very good at expressing emotions like thank you and I love you," he says. "But it's a lot easier to express those feelings now because I feel them so sincerely. I can say thank you for loving me [to fans] because I truly mean it."
"There are people from all around the world who leave me messages, and that makes me so happy," Intak says. "It drives me to do more and to give more to them."
And there will be more to give. Disharmony: Stand Out was just the beginning, and Keeho already has some very big goals for 2021. At the top of the list? "Rookie of the Year, come on!" he says spiritedly of the K-pop industry's coveted award. "It's definitely possible. I'm manifesting it right now." He also wants to make more music, maybe release more covers. "We want to come back a lot," he smiles. "I'm thinking [of] at least three releases next year."
Then there are more personal goals, like Jiung's solo travels. "I want to take better care of my mental health," he adds, noting that it starts with a more positive mindset. "I want to be a better person overall." Intak wants to, for the first time in his young life, maintain a consistent routine for a healthier lifestyle. That includes getting enough sleep when there aren't any schedules. ("He could sleep, but he chooses not to," Keeho jokes.) After monitoring his fancams, Theo has decided that he wants to build more muscle. And Soul hopes to go home to Japan to see his dog, a Frenchie named Mochi.
As for Keeho, in true Libra fashion, he wants to maintain a sense of balance: "I want to stay true to myself," he says. "I don't want to be like, oh, the fame is getting to me. I don't want to change. I want to stay grounded and stay thankful and be grateful, always. I also want to make some more money." He laughs, then adds, "I can't lie!"
No, he can't. Honesty is the key to harmony, after all.
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nelllraiser · 3 years
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the littlest pet swap | darwin & nell
TIMING: during the waking world potw (aka wonky magic times). LOCATION: the street outside darwin’s apartment + darwin’s apartment. PARTIES: @asranism & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: a summoning gone wrong provides ample confusion for both darwin and nell, but mostly a lot of yelling in the street.
The sun had long slipped below the horizon as Nell opened the gate to one of the swankiest dog parks in town, though her slight form wasn’t accompanied by a canine of any sort. In fact, she looked entirely alone, a singled out figure in the low light of the street lamps while she opened the chain link gate of the park, satisfied with the emptiness of the enclosure. On nights like tonight she liked to make her way here, far after any other owners and dogs had abandoned the park so that her own ‘dogs’ could have as much fun as they liked without her needing to fear of the ruckus they might make should anyone catch sight of three hellhounds playing a game of fire tag, maws alight with flame as they chased after one another and playfully singed at each others fur. Raising her thumb to her teeth, she bit it until it bled, reopening a scab on it that had yet to heal from the last summoning of the hellhounds she’d performed. In a quick motion, she swiped the offering over the tattooed summoning sigil on her arm, a piece of magic she’d designed as a specific shortcut that would bring forth the demons she’d befriended some years ago. Except as the magic swelled and then ebbed, it wasn’t three hellhounds that stood before her but...something much smaller than she’d been expecting and- was it wearing a tuxedo? “Ah- hello,” Nell spoke to the mysterious demon with bewilderment, wondering where the hell her dogs were. “You’re not who I was expecting.” Had the unpredictability of her magic bled into this as well? 
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Nell, a hellhound materialized in the middle of a strange and unfamiliar kitchen, and the young demon known to the witch as ‘Scrappy’ instantly began to growl at anything that dared to move within his vicinity. And perhaps the most concerning thing within his vicinity was a man foreign to him. Instinct was quick to take hold as his hackles rose, and it only took a small second before he was advancing on the man, a loud and threatening bark showing razor-sharp teeth as he wordlessly demanded to know what it was the interloper had done with his mistress. 
Afternoon naps have never been a thing for Darwin Asrani, formerly the heir to the Asrani family business of subjugating demons for a quick buck, but things change, they always do, with his own escape and self-imposed exile from Asrani family dinners a testament of how the outgoing but sarcastic charmer isn't afraid to welcome change. Oh, how that statement is going to bite him in the ass in a few seconds. That, and something else. While Darwin was fast asleep, knocked out but comfortably so, deep in a dream of a better present where he wasn't running around, going after his family's mistakes, correcting them like he was responsible for their terrible choices in life, which he clearly wasn't, his tiny demon butler Bertrand was in the kitchen preparing its master his evening alcohol. Bertrand is of course Darwin's most loyal summon, a strange little demon who had a thing for wearing butler clothes, which in this context is a pretty charming tuxedo, and for some strange reason taking care of its summoner like the “Alfred” to Darwin's less gloomy and more fabulous Batman. Unfortunately for the two of them, that evening alcohol would not come to be, as something else stirred nearby, and soon Bertrand disappeared from where he stood, summoned elsewhere, while in his place a more terrifying and less clothed demonic entity stood growling at everything and anything.
"Bertrand, where the hell is my morning cock..." Darwin groggily walked into the kitchen, having finally awoken, in a sour mood after his fantasy was revealed to be nothing more than just that, a fantasy, not the actual reality of his own making. If he didn't have his sense of morality, the disgusting piece of him he liked to hide behind drapings of sarcasm and veils of flirting, he would have remained with his family, making a quick buck at the expense of other sentient creatures. It would have been an easy life, yet even as he made his way to where Bertrand should have been, he could not fully accept that option. Demons are scary, sure, and they are capable of damning things. But demons still have their own will. For another to bend that will to their own desires... Darwin could never accept that. Although, he would have considered the option as he gulped at the sight of not Bertrand in his kitchen, no, but a hellhound that looked like it didn't want to be there. At least they had something in common. "...tail?"
Everything happened so fast. Before Darwin could summon his own senses to return to him, his mind to conjure a plan or strategy of defensive measures, the hostile creature was upon him, chasing him out of his own apartment and into the cold dark night. Darwin could do nothing else but run, screaming, as the thought of his bits and pieces getting bitten to shreds was not something he wanted to come to pass. Fortunately for him, as the chase continued into the nearby dog park, he found Bertrand standing with lovesick eyes directed towards another, a woman with textbook attractiveness. Another spellcaster? "Bertrand! Quickly, rein in this monstrosity after me! I'm not wearing anything under my robe!"
“Hello?” Nell repeated to the newly appeared demon as it simply stood there, apparently transfixed on the young woman before him. Maybe he was in shock? She’d witnessed a few demons who experienced cases of confusion after being unexpectedly Summoned. After all, it was certainly jarring to be one place one moment and somewhere entirely else in the next. “Sorry- I didn’t actually mean to summon you here. Were you doing something important? I can send you back to wherever you needed to-” 
Her sentence was cut short as a panicked sound cut through the air, and it took the witch a long second to make sense of the words. Bertrand? Who the hell was Bertrand? And what monstrosity was the guy speaking of? “Oh shit,” Nell uttered as Scrappy tore after the man and his delicately robed state, flames licking the corner of the hellhound’s mouth as he barked and sprinted in hot pursuit. In an instant, Nell was tearing after the hellhound’s victim and the dog in question, her strides fast as she left the unfamiliar demon behind. “Scrappy! Scrappy, don’t! It’s okay!” The poor pup was no doubt startled, having shown up in a stranger’s presence with no familiar face in sight. “Scrappy come back! I’m right here! I’ve got fingers!” she yelled as she continued to run, referencing the emergency supply of human fingers she kept as treats for her assorted demonic creatures in her pocket. The hellhound seemed to hesitate for a split second, his pursuit of the man slowing at the mention of food. As a precaution, he tried to herd the man into a corner, gnashing his teeth and growling all the way as he made his attempts.
Well, Bertrand certainly took his time. Even though Darwin was sure that he emphasized his immediate concerns regarding his endangered bits and pieces, the supposedly loyal demonic butler seemed to wait a minute or more before dashing to its master’s safety. They were going to have a talk about that later, much later, when Darwin was once again certain that his own bits and pieces were 100% safe. Bertrand is going to have a lot of explaining to do, though technically it’ll probably only take a mere mention before they both forget about it. It wasn’t like Darwin actually required a butler, and Bertrand, in its defense, was doing the whole schtick out of love and nothing else. It was a strange relationship but it was the only one Darwin was comfortable in trusting.
“Bertraaaaaand!” Darwin yelled again, as quietly as he could, which was a bit of a hilarious contradiction, even as the tiny demon ran to his aid. The other human was already doing her best to keep the hellhound away from Darwin’s precious jewels, which made him think that it was most likely her own Bertrand. “Is this your...pet?” Darwin immediately hated that word. Pet. Demons weren’t meant to be pets. They were meant to be respected as the intellectual and ancient beings that they were and— Oh, my god, it’s about to burn my bits and pieces! 
“I’m not sure what happened, but I found your Scrappy instead of my Bertrand in my current place of residence.” He gulped, backed into a corner, and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Bertrand finally making its way to his defense from the corner of his eyes. “Bertrand! Oh, dear god (ironic, he knows), I’m glad you’re safe! What happened? Why are you out here? Who’s that with you? And for the love of all that’s good and sexy, can YOU please not feed your Scrappy my fingers?! I need them...for stuff.” Darwin fired the series of questions in quick succession, still barely awake to actually make a coherent plan of defense, having just woken up from his afternoon nap, though it was already late at night, and violently at that.
Bertrand just stood there itself, a little panicked, shifting its gaze from Darwin to Nell and then to the hellhound, unsure of what to do. On one hand, Bertrand needed to save Darwin. On the other, it wasn’t quite sure if Nell would appreciate if it tried to fight Scrappy. Besides, Bertrand still had hope in his tiny demon heart that the other human could rein in their own friend. The last thing it wanted was to start another demon-on-demon violence. That was certainly not part of their current deal.
“Scrappy!” Nell continued on with her authoritative tone when it came to making the hellhound stand down. “Scrappy, it’s alright, really.” Much of this particular hellhound’s aggression was actually caused by anxiety and fear, and a need to appear as fierce as possible in the face of a potential threat. The demonic dog finally seemed to pause its attack, though his teeth were still bared, not quite ready to let Darwin forget he was a threat. “Scrappy is…” Nell hesitated with an answer to Darwin’s question, also disliking the title of ‘pet’ when it came to the creatures she looked after. If it came to it, she’d use the word ‘pet’ as a cover, not needing normal humans asking strange questions about the less than usual animals that surrounded her. But as the witch’s gaze flickered from the other, smaller demon, and the man in front of her calling him ‘Bertrand’ with a voice that betrayed familiarity, it wasn’t hard to guess that she was being faced with another spellcaster. “I take care of him, and he helps take care of me when I ask him to,” she said truthfully, rolling up a sleeve to show the summoning tattoo that she’d gotten for the hellhounds, making it easier to Summon them at the drop of a hat. It was inked over the extreme scarring of her arms, the skin of them appearing mottled like a patchwork of flesh. 
“And this is Bertrand?” Nell asked curiously, giving the little demon another friendly look. “Does he...speak? I tried talking to him before you ran out here, but he didn’t seem to have much to say.” With a gentle eyeroll, Nell crossed her arms over her chest before digging into her pocket. Scrappy, sensing a treat nearby, finally sat calmly at her feet. “I’m not gonna feed him your fingers. And I’m Nell, who are you? Do you always yell about your bits in the streets?” she decided to jibe playfully. But she was uncertain if the lightness would last. If this man was, indeed, another spellcaster— there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have heard news about the three sisters banned from their coven for necromancy and demon summoning, Nell being one of those three. Witch society was generally less than forgiving when it came to raising the dead, but perhaps he hadn’t heard, or perhaps she’d dodged that conversation by not providing her full name. Finally, she leaned forward to offer Scrappy a very human finger, and the dog eagerly gobbled the treat before sitting properly once again.
Darwin looked her over as she explained herself, mostly just her relationship with the hellhound Scrappy, as he wrapped his robe tighter around him in an attempt to stay warm out in the cold embrace of the night. He was now feeling a bit calmer with Bertrand finally standing beside him while the woman reined in her own companion. It didn't take long to dawn on Darwin how familiar the other spellcaster's relationship with Scrappy seemed with his own with Bertrand. Although Bertrand took a liking to acting and looking like the former Asrani family heir's butler, Darwin himself never really saw their relationship as master and familiar. Bertrand took care of him, even saved his life at one point, and for that, he will forever be grateful. It was most likely that very reason why he could not take to the demon as lesser than himself. Darwin owed Bertrand more than he'll ever care to admit, if only attempt to show through quieter actions. Like sharing pizza and interacting with him like he would any other. To be honest, Darwin probably treated Bertrand better than he did most humans. Without Bertrand, there would be no Darwin to this day.
He instinctively raised an eyebrow when the woman showed him her tattoo, dark brown eyes immediately trying to make sense of the handiwork as if there would be something more hidden beneath what they could see. Darwin thought of showing her his own tattoo but wasn't quite sure if that would be a good idea. The placement was, after all, somewhere more intimate and they were currently outside. Although he was certain that appearing to expose himself to another would be less offensive than having demonic entities prancing around in public, that didn't make him any less wary about that scenario. Thankfully, the woman's curiosity saved him, like the school bell to his hapless problematic student. "Yes, this handsome fellow's name is Bertrand." He turned to the tiny demon with a smile, both born of pride and affection. "Bertrand's my most loyal friend, though he often speaks only through the mind, which I suppose he reserves with known friends, those whose names and consent have been shared with him."
Bertrand himself turned to Darwin, and when their eyes met, nodded with a smile on his face. That moment was quickly ruined when Nell mentioned him yelling about his bits in the streets. While Bertrand was quick to hide his amusement, Darwin feigned a cough as he tried to hide his bits and pieces within his robe, which was barely doing a great job. "Well, you would, too, if you had just awoken from your drunken stupor, only to find an aggressive hellhound in your kitchen instead of your most trusted friend, and then get chased by that same hellhound into the night..." It was certainly an odd choice to summon a hellhound outside, but Darwin was yet to become familiar with this strange place, with its strange love for mimes and stranger disappearances, so who was he to know what was odd and what wasn't in White Crest? One thing he knew for certain, however, was that his bits and pieces were getting cold. "...I am Darwin, and I don't know about you, Nell, but I'd like to keep my bits and pieces warm. My place is, well, you probably already know. Feel free to follow me inside. I rarely have any company, so it might be a little too gloomy, but I just woke up, and I will most likely be up for a few more hours, so feel free to join me and my gloomy company where it'll at least be warm and our friends safe from..." He looked around them, an eyebrow raised, both emphasizing his point and making sure no one was eavesdropping on them. "...curious eyes."
With a nod to her and another to Bertrand, Darwin began to walk away, back inside his place. Bertrand himself waited on Nell and Scrappy with a wide smile, exactly like a butler waiting to usher in his master's guests. The sheer size of that grin would reveal to anyone how much Bertrand wanted to have guests and how few they ever got any. Of course, with a demonic butler and a host that had just arrived in town, the strange pairing wouldn't find it easy to have guests. This was a strange new town for them, and they were a strange new addition to the rest of the town. Besides, Darwin wasn't here to make new friends, but he was at least certain that the other spellcaster would not be his quarry. Perhaps, she would even be of great help to him and his cause.  
He had to know what the tattoo was based on his reaction as well as what it meant she was, and Nell wasted no time in pressing the matter of his own identity. “So you’re a spellcaster then, right?” There was a flicker of tentative hope in her words as she asked them, eager to meet another magic user that wasn’t a part of the coven she’d been banished from. Of course, there was no guarantee that news of her and her sisters' excommunication hadn’t reached other corners of witch society, along with the magic they’d done. Obviously demons most likely wouldn’t be a problem with this man, seeing as he had one accompanying him as well, but necromancy was a whole other can of worms, and one that was also heavily feared and frowned upon within magical circles. Not to mention there was the fact that Nell often utilized blood magic, another practice that was most often met with harsh judgement and heavy reservations when others heard she used it. For the moment being, she wouldn’t mention it.
Instead, she decided to say hello to Betrand once more now that she knew his name. “Hello, Bertrand,” she offered a proper greeting with a smile and small nod of her head. “It’s nice to actually meet you. And sorry for summoning you unexpectedly,” she apologized again, knowing it must have been confusing to find himself somewhere new and unexplained.” It was interesting that he preferred to speak mentally, and though Nell was very much wanting to speak with the little guy, she wasn’t quite so sure how she felt about letting him into her mind just yet. With her general desire to keep the inner-workings of her head private, and the consistent mind breaches she was courtesy of Ma’al’s demon cult...she had little desire to forfeit the scarce safety she had in her mind at the moment. But maybe the future would grant her the pleasure of having conversation with Bertrand, one way or another. “And hello Darwin,” she offered with another wry grin.
“I don’t know,” Nell began, once again adopting her teasing tone. “I think I’d be pretty excited to find a hellhound in my kitchen. A gift, really. Probably not running around like a madman while yelling about my bits and pieces and then still talking about them once everything had calmed down.” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye that told of the levity in her words, no actual intent to harm behind them. She didn’t hesitate to follow behind him as he led the way into his dwellings, tilting her head to the side as she took in the practicality of the place. “How long have you lived here?” she questioned, curious as to how she’d missed another spellcaster that worked with demons. After all, they weren’t exactly common. Nell wasn’t entirely sure how to react to Bertrand acting as butler, feeling a little out of place as the demon flitted about. It felt...strange to use a demon as someone to wait on you, but for all appearances it looked as if the demon was enjoying his job, possibly even thriving as he did his work. If Bertrand liked what he did, who was she to question it? 
"Hmm?" The question didn't really surprise Darwin, as it would be pretty obvious to both of them that they shared at least an inkling of what the other was. Both of them had their respective demonic "partners", for a lack of a better term, and he just assumed that she, with that tattoo, was like him, if not better. She looked better, was better, because at the very least, she didn't just wake up, only to run away from a hellhound in just her robe. Speaking of robes, he wrapped his own tighter against himself, wary that his bits and pieces would be unintentionally exposed. He wasn't entirely into her, and all women for that matter, but it was still a matter of maintaining decency, the strange man in only a robe thought. "Just like you. Always good to find common ground with someone new..."
Bertrand simply smiled at Nell with an innocent, friendly sort of grin, the kind no one who wasn't well-versed with demons and their ilk would expect from such a creature. Yet so much would catch people by surprise, just by the fact alone that demons were as complex as humans, perhaps even more so. They were an ancient race, after all, and most knowledge about them barely scratched the surface. Type-casting didn't help. Darwin himself couldn't help but smile at her remark, her teasing, finding it a welcomed respite from the loneliness of having little to no other consistent human interaction, from Bertrand always saying yes and yes only to everything and anything. "That's fair. I did grow up with a hellhound. Sally. She was nice." Again, he tightened his robes against his skin. "Not long. We've just moved here." He answered without look back to her, already making his way to the makeshift bar in his living room. Bertrand, like the good and trustworthy self-appointed butler that they were, waited for Nell to get in before following after her and closing the door behind them.
Darwin was already preparing himself a drink when Bertrand appeared completely appalled at the vision of their master doing something for himself, while they were around. The demon wrangler, however, found their instinctive reaction as well as the horrified look on their tiny demon face somewhat amusing, waving Bertrand back to let them know he's fine with doing it himself. He pretty much didn't need Bertrand to wait on him every damn time but it was the demon's strange wish, a really confusing hobby that Darwin himself has yet to fully understand. He owed him his life, though, so he could never deny Bertrand whatever they wanted. Finally settled on a cocktail, a concoction of two different rums, a cherry brandy, a diet Coke, and Maraschino cherries, Darwin turned to Nell from behind the counter, grinning from ear to ear as he took a sip of his glass and offered her her own. "Bertrand doesn't drink." He raised an eyebrow, turning to the demon who grinned back, before continuing with a classic gender-based assumption that he didn’t wholly believe but thought was a pretty decent jumping point. "Tell me about yourself and your...coven. You're a witch, aren't you?" 
As Darwin confirmed the fact that he had magical abilities, Nell’s grin grew wider and more genuine, once again filled with hope at the prospect of having found a new spellcaster to take into her life. She had friends, of course. People she loved. And her sisters still knew what it was to wield magic. But to have a friend that was a spellcaster in her life again? That was something she’d missed more than she’d realized. Nell knew she was getting ahead of herself. After all, they’d barely even made one another’s acquaintance, but she couldn’t help the spark of hope that had lighted in her soul, nearly desperate to find someone like her that wouldn’t hate her. Just as quickly as the hope had blossomed, she watched it with a careful eye, trying to dampen it in the next moment as she reminded herself that she still didn’t know if he’d recognize her full name should she ever give, along with the ‘crimes’ attached to it. Still...she couldn’t help the excitement in her voice as she echoed, “Just like me. A Summoner and everything! Do you mostly do Summoning, then?” she asked, already burning with questions. 
Nell didn’t hesitate to return Betrand’s smile, and at the mention of a hellhound Scrappy whined from his place at Nell’s feet where he’d finally settled. To have a demon as part of the family in a household? Her mother and coven would have balked at the idea. “Really? All of your family likes demons, then?” It was a novel idea, and a reality she’d never thought to imagine based off most casters’ reactions to demons. “Oh- well, welcome to White Crest,” Nell offered with half the enthusiasm she’d had when asking about the hellhound. “You’ll find it’s...a very unique place the longer you’re here. And pretty fucking dangerous so just- watch you back, I guess.” It was only fair to warn the man what he was getting into. 
The witch accepted the drink with a quick, “Thank you” before taking a sip, and then promptly popping one of the cherries into her mouth. “Good for Bertrand,” Nell said with a chuckle. “Very responsible of him.” But the mention of a coven was quick to tense her shoulders along with her mouth. She should have expected it. How many times had she been told that a witch without a coven was barely anything at all? So of course another spellcaster would ask where her’s was. Nell opted to answer the simpler of the two questions first. “That’s me- a witch.” Her former excitement had waned, already dreading where this conversation might go. “And you’re…? Well- what do you call yourself?” Witch was generally thought of as a woman’s word in pop and normie culture, but she’d met plenty of men who went by the title as well. Now for the rest of her answer. “I don’t have a coven.” Anymore. She carefully opted to leave off the end of that reply, unwilling to ostracize herself so quickly. “There’s one in town, though. Mostly fire elementals.” It was her own former coven, and the very same one her mother had banished her from. “What about you? What about your coven?” Maybe she could turn the rides away from herself into his direction instead.
"Yeah, sure, mostly Summoning..." Darwin offered her a warm smile and a wink before taking another sip of his drink. Although he didn't feel like there was something about her that made her a little difficult trust, something suspicious, anything suspicious, the well-traveled demon wrangler had learned from his past experiences to keep unnecessary additional information from newly made acquaintances. At least at this point, he believed it was the right thing to do. "You could say that. We're all in the...business." He unintentionally turned to Bertrand, as if apologizing for the terms he used. Darwin had never wanted to be associated with the Asrani family name again, their savage and brutal business of wrangling demons and twisting them mentally to suit their financial needs, but he had yet to share who they were truly by name and he could still, in his head, pretend that he was from a better version of his own family. 
The momentary loss in thought, however, not to mention the more serious expression that possessed his face, might have hinted to the girl that there was more to his story, bits and pieces he'd rather not share for now, but he immediately tried to ensure to keep the conversation moving elsewhere. If it could even be a suitable distraction. "Thank you. So far, it's been, as you say, unique. I'll keep that in mind, though." At the sound of their name, Bertrand grinned before offering Darwin a quick bow and disappearing into the shadows. Truth be told, their makeshift master had no idea where they disappeared to whenever they were out of his sight, but Darwin would trust Bertrand with his life, as Bertrand themselves had been the only one responsible for extending it. 
"I fancy myself a demon wrangler. I seek out the more dangerous demons let loose by careless mages, intentionally or otherwise, rounding them up and settling them safely back home, wherever they believe that is." Throughout his explanation, his dark brown eyes maneuvered themselves onto the hellhound with her. Scrappy, wasn't it? The creature didn't seem like it was brought here against its will. In fact, it actually looked like it was enjoying the woman's company. Darwin grinned at that thought. "Well, isn't that another thing we have in common?" Darwin gave her a nod and ushered her towards the living room, sitting at the sofa, the unexpectedly lavish couch that took the middle of the room as its own. With another sip, he gestured for her to sit with him before continuing. "I'm not much of a coven kind of guy. I find them...stifling at times, suffocating even. I highly value my independence, though..." He gestured around himself, around them, emphasizing the loneliness of his place. "...it'd be nice to have some company every once in a while." 
For a moment or two, as their eyes met, Darwin considered poking around in Nell's head, wondering if she was hiding certain truths that he needed to know, if he should just take them for herself. It could be easy. She already had a drink in her hands. But then he got bored of pretending he was his damned father. He could never understand how that old bastard would ever think that was a good option, especially on his own son. What a fucking asshole. He heaved a sigh, mustered a weak smile, and took another sip of his drink.
His wink paired with the tone of voice and phrasing he’d used did little to assure Nell that Summoning was the only magic that Darwin did. It seemed that he was more inclined to withhold whatever other magic he was employing, and for a split moment she wondered if it might be blood magic. Perhaps the taboo nature of it was why Darwin was keeping the practice to himself. A year or so ago, Nell would have hesitated to ask, unwilling to reveal that she too was a practitioner of the questionable magic. But the year since then had taught her that if she were going to lose people for things she wouldn’t apologize for- it was easier to do so earlier in a relationship, to be cut loose before she got in too deep and their rejection would sting all the more. Beyond that she’d also learned that the bigger threat someone thought she might pose... the better. Perhaps if she’d been louder about her abilities, half the people that had tried to interfere in her life wouldn’t have done so in the first place. So it was with a straight back and almost daring air about herself that she said, “I also do blood magic.” Nell watched him for a long moment after that, looking for the familiar flicker of distaste of wariness that came over other spellcasters when she mentioned the discipline. 
A demon wrangler made sense based off the way he’d spoken of the otherworldly creatures, and the company he kept with Bertrand. Nell had done her own fair share of recollecting demons that were places they shouldn’t be. “That’s good. And trust me there’s plenty of demons to wrangle around here. Just a few months ago some highschoolers accidentally summoned Bloody Mary. Obviously she’s not a demon but- you get the idea.” Nell refrained from mentioning that two of the teens had died in the process of that entire ordeal. No doubt Darwin was well aware of the casualties that were practically guaranteed when inexperienced practitioners tried to Summon. “You don’t have a coven?” Nell asked again, her curiosity once again piqued. “You’re right about the rules, though. The one I mentioned before has banned any sort of demon summoning.” It had been part of the reason she’d been exiled, though only a fraction of it. 
Taking another sip of the drink he’d given her, Nell gave a half-grin at the mention of company, hiding the eagerness she was feeling at having found a spellcaster who wasn’t forbidden from speaking to her, and also wasn’t her sister. “Well if you keep making me drinks- I might be able to provide an answer to the occasional company problem you’re running into.” She still had so much to ask Darwin, but a whine from underneath the table told Nell that Scrappy was getting antsy, still not entirely comfortable with being in the presence of a stranger and his demon. “I should go take care of this boy, though,” she said before leaning down to give the hellhound a pat. “He’s not really good with company- which I’m sure you figured out when he was trying to bit your ‘bits and pieces’ off.” Her tease was accompanied by another grin, obviously taking amusement in using the phrase against him. “But maybe I could bring one of the more confident hellhounds by another time.”
Darwin almost choked on his drink when she revealed the other kind of magic she did. Hailing from a family of mental magic practitioners, which really never ends well when shared with a new acquaintance because humans have always been a paranoid lot, the demon wrangler had strangely little to no experience with actual blood magic and its practitioners. There was that one girl he befriended, the young single mother, but it was a disheartening affair, one that proved to be more dangerous to herself and to the ones around her. Right then and there, Darwin wondered if the same could be said for Nell. How lonely it must be then, and how painful, that one's magic can punish a practitioner beyond the rules of equivalent exchange. Then again, it must be the only appropriate rule for something as dangerous and painful as blood magic. Darwin took another sip of his drink to regain his composure. "That's interesting. I knew a girl who did that, too. She was...admirable."
"Bloody Mary? Really? High Schoolers?" Darwin shook his head, distancing his lips from the glass as they twisted into a playful smirk born out of disbelief that such young children could be capable of summoning bloody Bloody Mary but at the same time impressed of the act. He was also young when he started Summoning, though he focused mostly on smaller demons first. Then again, he was around their age, if he recalled correctly, when he first summoned a demon the size of a human, not unlike Bloody Mary herself in terms of height and number of limbs, though his was more fueled by lust than violent murder. That was also actually when he first realized he preferred men over women. "Did any of them survive?" His smile turned into a frown when he remembered the truth of the matter. Just because you can actually Summon, just because you got lucky in actually drawing someone else, something else, from their world to this one, doesn't mean what happens next will be harmless, profitable for you. Often, the novice, the inexperienced, dies from the ordeal or during the aftermath due to lack of assertion or impression. No one enjoys an unscheduled appearance, without their consent, in a lesser world.
Darwin simply shook his head at the question relating to his coven, the thought of his own family being akin to that to him...until his father tried to bend him, his mind, to their twisted capitalist bullshit. "Ah, but of course. Demon summoning and witchcraft don't always go hand in hand. Either often prefer to be focused on, unable to share their practitioners with one another." At this point, he was just blowing wind up his own ass. He didn't actually know if that bit was true, only that it made sense to him to be so. His grin returned at her tease, or at least what he perceived to be a tease, longer than before. Even though Darwin had his own preferences when it came to carnal pleasures, he enjoyed flirting, teasing, the art and science of which, most likely because it helped boost his ego, his confidence, in ways that he never could growing up, alone, without the familial support he subconsciously craved. 
"Of course, my love! Feel free to visit any time. Bertrand and I will always enjoy your company and that of your hellhounds." He offered her a grin as he stood, careful not to expose her to his bits and pieces, like the gentleman host that he believed himself to be. Gesturing towards the door, which Bertrand who just appeared from out of nowhere was quick to open, Darwin accompanied his lovely guest on her way out. He could've actually walked her home but it was getting too cold for his bits and pieces, and he was slowly getting too drunk. He did turn to Bertrand, though, and nodded, a gesture that meant the self-appointed butler would follow the witch back to her abode to simply ensure her safety. Not that Darwin believed she couldn't take care of herself, what with the blood magic and the hellhound at her arsenal. It was more like a routine that he half-remembered from his past before he had to escape, flee, a reminder his late mother always told him: Take care of friends and family, even if they never want you to. Well, Darwin was out of family, and Nell was the first friend he'd made in town. Might as well.
Nell waited with a steely gaze for Darwin’s verdict, ready to write off this newfound and tentative friendship here and now if he reacted negatively when it came to her blood magic. She didn’t need anymore people in her life that would leave her down the road, but it seemed that paranoia had been misplaced when he spoke of admiration. “She was?” Nell echoed, as if confirming she’d heard correctly. Obviously she had, and the thought filled her with another spark of tentative hope. “I’m sure she was, then. Admirable, I mean.” 
As for the highschoolers…”Just one,” Nell answered grimly, still holding some residual guilt for having been unable to save the entire lot of them. “Two of them died in the process, including the one who had the ability to Summon in the first place. I don’t think he knew, though- that he held the magic. He didn’t make a proper sacrifice and- well- the Summoning decided it wanted more. I’m sure you understand.” None of them were free of the chains of equivalent exchange, and sometimes the jailers demanded entire lives as a means of paying the price. 
But as Scrappy whined once again, Nell knew he was reaching his limit of being indoors and stationary, and in the presence of a man he’d chased down the street and was still not entirely certain of. “I really am sorry I have to go- there’s a ton more I wanted to ask. But I’ll probably also just message you once I’m home on the White Crest forum thing, and we can pick up where we left off. But I mean it about the drinks,” she reiterated with a grin, still wishful that this budding friendship might be a lasting one. “So be prepared for me to bother you about that within 2-5 business days.” Gathering up Scrappy, she made her way towards the door, giving Bertrand a nod of goodbye as well, not yet realizing that he’d be trailing her on the way home. “And I’ll see you, as well I hope.” With that she was making her way out of his apartment and onto the street, below, pausing with a small smile on her lips to let herself bask in the potential promise of another spellcaster in her life that didn’t hate her guts. Even though she still wasn’t sure how the demon mixup had occurred, that worry could be kept at bay for the moment being with the knowledge that she’d started something new out of it. 
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blarrghe · 3 years
Note
"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?
never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift. --
He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it. 
“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway. 
“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji. 
“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.
He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money. 
The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.
Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter. 
Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…
Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it. 
“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that. 
“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed. 
Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang. 
“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too. 
“Yeah, covered for Barb.” 
“Again?” 
Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.” 
“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it. 
“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.” 
“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.
“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…” 
“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice. 
“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again. 
“But you sound awful.” 
“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers. 
“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled. 
“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift. 
“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.” 
“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin. 
“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative. 
“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.  
Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Get some sleep.” 
“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do? 
He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said. 
“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight. 
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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years
Text
chapter two: you’re all i’ve got tonight
“i don't care if you hurt me some more, i don't care if you even the score. you can knock me and i don't care, and you can mock me and i don't care, and you can rock me just about anywhere, it's alright.” -”you’re all i’ve got tonight”, the cars
Bill wasn't necessarily cruel to her, albeit not from how Sam saw her parents and the way in which they communicated with one another during the mornings when she was growing up, and given she hardly saw him during the week except in the mornings and in the evening; however he seemed on the verge of cruel to Matilda and Cassandra. The first morning Sam spent the night there at the house, following Marla's departure and her realization that she was alone there in Lake Elsinore, she sauntered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast prior to their leaving for school and Bill about to head off somewhere outside of the house—and he never said where he was headed either—no sooner had she sat down in the chair when Mattie stopped her.
“We eat in the dining room,” she told her in a flat tone of voice.
“Really? When I was growing up here in Elsinore and then up in Reno, my parents and I always had breakfast in the kitchen before school.” Mattie shook her head at that. Sam frowned but she figured it was for the best regardless of what she dealt with as a kid. She picked up her coffee and her bowl of cereal and took her spot there near the end of the table in the next room over.
“I sit there,” Mattie told her, still in a flat voice. She moved over one. “Cassie sits there.”
Careful not to let her see her rolling her eyes, Sam took her spot right across the table from her. Soon Cassie came in the room, already completely dressed for the day. Indeed, Mattie was fully dressed herself. They merely sat there as well with their hands in their laps, while Sam had one hand on her spoon and another hand on her cup of coffee, still in her pajamas and with her hair unbrushed. They sat there and watched her.
Within time, Bill stepped in the room with two bowls of what Sam initially believed to be cereal and he set them down before them. She looked over at the tops of their bowls, at the plain oatmeal inside. It wasn't even oatmeal, just porridge.
The times in which she had oatmeal at her parents' house, Ruben always sprinkled some brown sugar or fresh blueberries on the top. But that was plain porridge as far as she could tell. Moreover, all three of them moved in robotic fashion, especially those two girls. They moved like clockwork to the dining room table there downstairs and they even ate their porridge in unison, to the point it made Sam squirm in her seat.
Even with her parents' marriage about to crumble apart four hundred miles away, all of her memories of the mornings before school consisted of having breakfast and watching cartoons, especially when she was their age. They were tiny adults as far as she could tell, but even as an adult herself, she knew they were lodged in a whole other world different from her. She drank down the rest of her soy milk.
“Don't you want to like—put some sugar on those oats, or something?” Sam wondered aloud.
“Why?” he asked.
“Plain oats in a bowl of water can't be very appetizing. When I was a kid, and on the mornings I had oatmeal, my dad always jazzed it up with brown sugar or fruit because he knew that there's no way it can be good for a kid.”
“But they are. These oats are inexpensive, but sugar is—forget it with brown sugar. I had to bust out a whole five dollars for a bag of that stuff just to satisfy your request for a cup of coffee. Same with the soy milk. I always look out for good deals, even with indulgences such as that. No way I'm wasting fruit on that, either. Cutting it up into pieces and then disposing of the rinds and the cores like that when they could be put to good use? Forget it.” She frowned at that. It seemed so strange to her; she remembered that Joey was rather thrifty himself, but he always managed to find a way to make things enjoyable with her. They had a strong bond to boot as well.
“How's the coffee?” Bill curtly asked her.
“Delicious. Nice and warm.” But then again, it missed something. The kiss of cream was perfect for her, but it lacked something within. She took another sip to wash down the soy milk and the rest of the cereal, and she stopped right in her tracks when Mattie and Cassie took another bite of porridge in unison. It made her shudder right in her seat, and she picked up her cup so she could go into the other room.
“Where are you going?” Bill asked her, still in a brusque tone of voice.
“I'm just—I'm just—” She could hardly speak.
“No, you sit at the table and finish your coffee. First off, it was expensive, as was that bottle of cream in there. The bag of coffee was five bucks, and the cream was two.” Sam almost burst out laughing at that; there was her answer to that. “Second, there's that nice carpet in the living room—you're not spilling coffee on that.”
“I won't?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest at that and she stayed still there. All the times she had stood up for herself, and when Lars told her to do so that one time given the nature of her very name. She climbed off of the chair and she walked towards the kitchen doorway, when he stepped right before her, still with his arms folded across his chest.
“You're a rebellious little thing, aren't you?”
“Bill, this isn't school,” she scoffed as she adjusted one of the straps of her camisole. He shook his head at that.
“Not in front of the girls, please,” he told her without moving a muscle.
“They're just tiny adults!” she pointed out with a gesture back to the two little girls at the table, both of whom still moved in robotic fashion. “Look at them!”
“They're children,” he insisted and he never raised his voice for a second.
“They don't act like children,” she argued.
“Sit down,” he commanded, and he never flinched for a moment when he said that.
“Why?”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Sit down or I take your coffee.”
“Take it then,” she scoffed and she handed him the cup, and she stormed past him into the kitchen. She needn't drink down that cheap coffee, anyways. She needed to get away from those creepy children.
“You splurge on those type of crackers again, I'm locking you in your room,” he called after her, to which she whirled around and gaped at him.
“What?” She couldn't resist chuckling at that.
“Yes. I am locking in your room if you splurge on cheese crackers like that again.”
“I got those for them!” she insisted, “and what do you—” She laughed at that. “What the hell do you even mean by 'splurge'? They were like a buck fifty! Not even that! They were like seventy five cents each.” And he shook his head.
“By the way, you owe me a new glass.”
“By the way, how 'bout you buy your own damn glass,” she retorted, and he lunged for her right then. He never grabbed her but he did stop her right in her tracks by his mere presence.
“Don't you dare curse at me again, young lady, or I'm really locking you in your room. You're never leaving this house if you curse at me again.”
“Like you would,” she persisted. “Like you would do such a thing to your precious star student.”
“I would,” he persisted himself, and with a cold look on his face. She trembled a bit, much like when she scolded at Aurora back on New Year's Eve. The sole exception was that she didn't have the safety net of the telephone and a restaurant in Ithaca around her.
“I most certainly would,” he repeated her. She sighed through her nose, and then she realized where she had moved to: they may as well have been in arm's reach.
“By the way, I should tell you that I have friends nearby who might to want to come over at some point,” she said in a single breath.
“In fact I might as well just do it now,” he replied to that.
“Why?” she demanded, but he never replied to her. “Why, Bill? Why?”
Instead, he almost bumped her with his chest from his standing so close right before her. She staggered back. He kept on moving closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted all manner of recyclables stashed away in the corner of the laundry room. The man did not throw anything away.
“Why!” she yelped.
“Get upstairs now. Or I'm tying you up while I'm at it.” Sam fixed her straps once more.
“Do you want to see your precious friends again? Get upstairs.” He downed the rest of her coffee right then and there. He held the cup right before his chest even though Sam could clearly see on his face that he hated it. Fuming, she stalked back upstairs to the loft.
“Fucking sack of shit,” she said aloud as she closed the door right behind her; the joke would be on him, anyways, because the door opened into the room. She returned to the dresser on the other side of the room, right next to her bed, and she picked up her hair brush. The way in which her hair moved through the bristles made her think of Rapunzel.
If her hair grew long enough, to well past her waist, she could in fact hone her in at any given moment in the future. She need not dye her hair blonde, however, but she could in fact behave like Rapunzel. She pictured Testament outside, down on the lawn, and with Joey right before them as well, complete with the guitar before his body. He sang to her to let down her hair: given the very nature of his voice, she knew she could hear him from afar, from thirty feet off of the ground.
She stood there before the dresser when the warm summer breeze blew in through the window next to her.
The very start of August, almost time for the Santa Ana winds, or the Diablo winds as they were referred to up in the northern half of the state, when things were dry as a set of bones and easily set on fire despite the cold piercing feeling of it all. She returned to the thought of Joey, her prince who had come to save her from the tower, from the house upon the windy moors.
She turned her head again and she wondered if Bill would in fact seal her door shut at any given moment. It felt beyond reason, especially given he fretted about buying a bag of crackers for one of his own children: there was no way he would do such a thing, not with her being his supposed star student, unless he was genuinely cruel at heart.
She brushed her hair once more before she turned to the door once again and propped it open.
No way he could do it now: she was alone up there anyway. She left it open as she took her spot at the desk and began on a brand new drawing for herself.
That very thought of Joey down on the grass, with Testament right behind him. Or rather, she figured she would draw Joey solo.
She was near the Los Angeles area again. Somehow, she had to make her way there, and it wasn't until she and Chuck ran into each other at the supermarket when she made a mental note to ask him and Tiffany to take her to an art shop when they swung by the house in the next week. She also made a note to call up Marla again when things became quiet again at the house.
But things remained rather quiet downstairs all the while, such that she had no clue as to whether the girls left for school already and Bill had left the house as well. She waited until the winds picked up some more before she headed on back downstairs to the kitchen for some more cheap coffee.
Regardless of it being cheap, she brewed herself a new cup with a little kiss of cream. She yearned to have coffee with Joey again, and she yearned to have coffee with Alex at some point. So much more to that boy than she had originally assumed before, and she was about to see more of him when the time came. Something behind that cool demeanor and she wished to see it as she stood at the kitchen sink and she sipped on her cup.
Every day since Sam saw Chuck at the supermarket, and given school had already started despite the very heart of summer, for the whole five days a week, she always took to the desk in her room. Whenever she opened her drawer for one of her pencils, she always saw that piece of rice paper at the very bottom. Every so often, and careful not to damage the delicate nature of the paper, she slipped it out of the bottom for a better look at Alex's signature and his handwriting.
Almost three years she had had this piece of paper with her and it felt like a whole eternity ago back to the time Cliff was alive.
When she could make her way up to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit that field again, just to get a sense of his presence, to feel the mere memory of it all again even with his body incinerated and cast about that grass, was a whole other question. Metallica themselves were still up there, as far as she knew anyway. Meanwhile, she had no real means of driving up there, and she held out the hope that something would crop up and serve as her ticket out of there.
At one point, on Friday afternoon, she had considered calling up Marla again to find out if she had landed something at the school. But then again, if she did, then Bill would have said something to her about money. But then again, he kept the whole thing to himself. In the meantime, she wondered what she could wear that night when they came to pick her up the next week. Indeed, she wondered how they would even come to the house as well, given Bill dismissed the whole thing on that first morning.
She hoped to see Chuck again at some point between that day and the next Friday as she made her way down the block to the supermarket again for another sandwich and some better coffee. She had her own money to herself but she could see how Bill fretted about that sort of thing.
Every time she broke even with a dollar, she pocketed the change. There had to be something more to the house, however: if there were all manner of old books there, there had to be something more, like an empty jar given how much he worried about money and ridding of things. Or so she figured if that first morning was anything to go by.
When she returned to the house and she made her way back upstairs, she thought about that night in the following week. She recalled that Bill never replied to her suggestion that friends could come over when they so felt like it, and thus she could only assume that he disallowed it.
Or perhaps he did allow it, however he never said anything, much like how he never said anything about what carried importance such as money. She set down her things and then doubled back down the stairs for the cordless phone, and she returned once more up the stairs for Chuck's number. She sat down at her desk and she dialed it; at the same time, she had no idea if he was even home back up in the Bay Area.
And yet, it didn't even ring once.
“Hello, hello?”
“Hey, Chuck, it's Sam.”
“Oh, hey! I was just thinking 'bout you, um—hang on a second—”
“Sure, sure.”
He disappeared and in his wake, a hissing noise emerged on his end, such that it made her move the phone back from her ear.
“Yeah, just like that,” he said in the background, and someone behind him chuckled. He returned to the phone right then. “Sorry—I'm making chorizo for Alex, Greg, and Louie right now. Complete with homemade tortillas, too.”
“Oh, my god, that sounds so delicious.”
Someone behind him said something.
“It's Miss Samantha,” he told them.
“Hi, Sam!” Greg shouted in the background.
“Hey, Sam!” Louie chimed in.
“Hi, Samantha!” Alex followed suit in that big voice.
“They all say 'hi'.”
“Hi, fellas!” she said, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face.
“Hi, fellas,” he echoed her, and they both laughed out loud. There was a metallic clink and then he returned to her again. “Anyways, how's it going?”
“Um—listen about the Death Angel show next week—you guys might hell of a time getting here.”
“Why's that?”
“Um—are they right behind you?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you guys keep a secret?”
“I can.” He turned his attention to the three of them again. “Can you guys keep a secret between all of you?”
“I can,” said Alex.
“Yeah, I can, too.” The sound of Louie's voice made her think of what he told her about Zelda in the hotel room. The secret was out of the bag as well, and she wondered if Louie even could keep a secret as dire as that from someone, anyone, especially if that someone was Joey.
“I'll try to,” Greg confessed.
“D'you get all that?” Chuck asked her.
“Yeah.”
“Wish we had like a speaker or something to hook the phone up to,” she heard Greg say, and Louie laughed out loud at that.
“Okay, so. It's not complicated, but my counselor—whom I came out here with for my senior project—apparently—kinda—sorta—married me.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. When Marla and I came out here earlier this week, he made me sign some things, and they were like concealed so I couldn't see what they were, and apparently they were nuptial papers.”
“Oh, my god—is he even allowed to do that?”
“What is it?” Greg inquired from the background.
“When she and Marla came out here the other day, her counselor made her sign some papers and they were apparently for marriage. Like he duped her into it.”
“Is that even legal?” she heard Alex ask him.
“I dunno,” Chuck confessed, “doesn't sound legal.” And then he returned to her. “So what does have to do with the show?”
“He is so—cheap and controlling.”
“The dude's a control freak,” he told them.
“Total control freak,” she corrected him.
“Total control freak,” he echoed her.
“He actually threatened to bar me in my room!” she exclaimed.
“He actually threatened—wait, what?”
“Yeah! He threatened to seal me in my room if I spend money on certain things.”
“The guy actually threatened to lock her in her room if she even so much as spends money,” he relayed back to them.
“What the actual fuck,” Louie blurted out.
“Yeah, I don't get it, either,” she confessed. “I tried to stand up to him—”
“She tried to stand up to him,” he relayed it back to them.
“—and he like bullied me into submission. Like—literally backed me into a corner.”
“Just totally backed her into a corner.”
“God,” one of them muttered in the background.
“I kind of worry about you guys coming over here, to be perfectly honest.” She sighed through her nose and bowed her head a little bit. It was the truth: she didn't know if they could in fact break through to him, that is if they could. There was another metallic clink, followed by another loud hiss of the chorizo in the frying pan, and then it went away.
“Off the heat, boys,” Chuck told them, and then he returned to the phone again. “You said he's cheap, too?”
“Like, really cheap,” she replied. “I spent a dollar fifty on a couple of little bags of crackers for his two daughters and he yelled at me for that.”
Silence on their end.
“Chuck?” she asked him. “Are you there?”
“Sam, I will swim in that lake and burrow under the house if I have to,” he vowed.
“No, don't do that,” she told him. “Don't, Chuck. Please don't.”
“No, he's gonna be dealing with a guy who rides big bikes in his spare time,” he continued.
“Most badass—” Alex cleared his throat and then he leaned in closer to the phone. “Chuck is the most badass Native American since Sitting Bull. Mark my words, Samantha.”
“Uh, yeah, what he said,” Chuck quipped. “That sick bastard's not going to want to mess with me. I'm sure he wouldn't mess with Joey, either. Mr. Hockey Player. Hockey player who knows how to fight dirty.”
The mention of Joey's name made her close her eyes. She had only been away from New York for less than a week and yet she missed him so much, as if he had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.
“Sam?” he asked her.
“I'm still here.”
“By the way, why does she wanna swear us to secrecy?” Greg called from the background.
“Yeah, why are we sworn to secrecy about it?” Chuck asked her.
“I don't want Joey to worry about it,” she told him.
“She doesn't want Joey to worry about her.”
“He should probably know about that sort of thing, though,” Louie pointed out from behind him. “You know, her being his girl and everything.”
“I don't know, to be honest,” Sam confessed, and she had to stop herself from laughing at that sentiment. “I'd rather he'd just miss me.”
“D'you hear that absolute statement, Lou?” Chuck asked with a bit of a snicker.
“I did, yeah.” Sam thought about Louie, and she knew that she had to call up Zelda at some point as well. Marla did advise her to call either of them in any instance whatsoever.
“Besides, Joey has enough to worry about, I would think,” she pointed out.
“Oh, yeah, he definitely does,” Chuck answered to that, “Anthrax are in the studio right now. Or—no. They went on tour—just yesterday, actually. Brand new tour, too! But—it would make sense, though. But—you want us to keep it all under wraps, though. So we gotta honor that wish.”
“Yeah, I won't tell a soul,” Alex promised from the background, and she remembered that he didn't really have anyone to talk to about that sort of thing anyway.
“I still want to come along to the show, though,” she insisted. “You know, I wanna see Death Angel, and I wanna see you guys, though.”
“She still wants to come along with me and Tiff to the show,” Chuck echoed her. “By the way, you coming with us, Alex?”
“Yeah, I might as well. Don't really have anything better to do at the moment except sit on my butt and read.”
“Don't blame her,” Greg said, “I don't blame her one bit. I'm coming along, too.”
“I don't, either!” Chuck proclaimed. “She wants to get away from that mother fucker and out of that damn house.” He then returned to her. “We'll figure out how to get you out of there,” he promised her.
“I can always do a Rapunzel sort of thing,” she suggested, “like let down a rope of sorts and climb out the window.”
He laughed out loud at that. A big hearty laugh that made her smile in response.
“I dunno if push will come to shove in that instance, but we'll figure something out, though.”
“Enjoy that chorizo, by the way!” she declared; ever so faintly, she heard the front door open.
“Oh, they are,” Chuck assured her, “especially Alex. A little too well, might I add.”
“This is damn good, though,” Alex insisted in a muffled voice.
“Before I go,” Sam started again, “you mentioned Anthrax are doing a brand new tour and a new album soon?”
“Yeah! Uh—State of Euphoria, I think it's called.”
“I like that,” she told him, and she smiled again, that time out of a time gone by her. “When's it coming out?”
“September, I think? I'll have to ask Charlie the next time I see him.”
“Anyways, I gotta go,” she told him.
“Okay—we'll come and get you Friday night. Don't know how but we're gonna do it, though.”
“Gonna get you away from that pig,” Alex called from the background.
“What he said!” Chuck said again. “You be careful until then, little Sammich.”
“Yeah, you guys have a good weekend.”
They hung up at the same time, and it was right then, she had no clue what was about to go down that weekend. She sighed through her nose as the silence fell over the bottom floor. The door propped open and she couldn't hear anything what was going on down there. She stood to her feet but she lingered there by the chair. She listened closely to the silence from downstairs.
It was tempting. It was tempting to walk out of her room and listen to what was being said down there, in the softest of voices.
And she bought into the temptation to an extent.
She stood within the doorway and she turned her head to the side to better hear them. All the shows she had gone to in the past never damaged her ears as much as the silence from downstairs, silence penetrated only by the intermittent soft voices of two small girls. The noise never damaged her ears, anyway, given she always wore ear plugs.
Careful not to make any more noise, she crept over to the top of the stairs and she stood there with her back to the wall. Mattie and Cassie's voices echoed up the first stairwell from downstairs. She wished to see what they were doing there at the very bottom floor. But she had no idea as to how to do such a thing without jarring them for even one second.
She closed her eyes and she pictured Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie in a small warm kitchen up in the Bay Area somewhere, all congregated around a small table and with plates of fresh spicy chorizo and homemade flour tortillas rested upon their laps. So simple, and yet she wondered how those little girls down below would react to it.
She thought about Alex and his cold stone face, the way he was so mature despite his youthful age and the gray streak on his head only added to it. She was able to crack through to him a bit, but these two girls felt like a challenge, especially with Bill never too far away from there as well.
Sam thought about her first weekend there, given they had started school so early.
Then she heard one of the two girls mutter, “Amen.”
She opened her eyes at the sound of that. They had come home and whispered a lengthy prayer. She never saw a cross anywhere in that house.
Alex's parents may have been non traditional Jewish but he wore a yarmulke and a Star of David once in a while: they probably celebrated Hanukkah and Rosh Hashanah to boot, too. But to hear that word only brought up more questions about this little family here before her.
The front door opened again.
“Hello, father,” one of them said in a flat voice. If it was Sam and Ruben, she would've been overjoyed to see him at the front door.
“Hello, girls,” Bill greeted them; his voice floated up such that if Sam moved a little closer to the railing down below, he probably would have seen her. But she moved forward a little bit, and she made out the sight of his blond hair near the front door. “Did you say your prayers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you read your scripture?”
There was that one instance during Anthrax's tour of New York City the year before, that morning where those women who walked by her and Zelda and they called their music Satanic as they kept on walking. Indeed, come the next Friday, she was about to see a band called Death Angel with three guys from a band called Testament; the only thing to make it even more potent was to have Exodus there with them as well. She squirmed in her spot there on the stairs and her stomach turned at that thought.
“Have you done your homework yet?”
Sam frowned at that.
“They're elementary school age,” she muttered. “Why would they have homework?”
One of the girls said something that she couldn't hear.
“Well, remember, the Lord is always on your side, especially on the bus rides to the school.”
And then it dawned on her. They started school so early because they went to a religious private one rather than a public, and ultimately free, one. No wonder he was so stingy with money!
She began to wonder if Marla had said anything to the people at the school about his still being on the payroll. If she did, then he would be removed from it.
And then he would lose his money and his sole income as far as she knew. Therein lay his reason for why he was so cheap. It worried him so that he was willing to become cruel to Sam herself. The whole thought made her heart hammer inside of her chest, and yet she couldn't speak to him about that sort of thing. He forbade her from speaking about it.
Instead, she ducked back into her room and she clasped her hands to her head. She didn't know what to say right then, either, and Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie already had it out for the guy, too, after his threat to seal her away in her room. Add to this, she knew that there was no way she could feel okay with his being cruel to her, either.
All she could do was wait out the weekend and maintain an appearance to herself. If something happened at the school, surely it would remain a secret as well.
“Miss Shelley?” he called from the second floor, such that it jarred her, and she dropped the cordless phone. She scooped it up and she stuck it under her mattress.
“Are you home?”
“Yes!” she called back.
“Okay, good. I need you to make dinner tonight.”
She surfaced from the room right then, and he stood there at the landing beneath her.
“What would you like?” she asked him.
“I found some really good deals on pasta—there's a couple of boxes awaiting you in the kitchen. And then just some sauce.”
“Okay! Sounds easy enough.”
He nodded but he never smiled at her.
The whole entire time she made dinner, she thought of Chuck in that kitchen up north. She considered tossing in a little bit of spices into the vodka sauce to liven it up a bit, but the one spice she found in the cupboard above the stove was cinnamon. Indeed, as she made up that pan of sauce, she took the jar down from the rack and she unscrewed the lid.
Not true ground cinnamon, but the very aroma of it reminded her of Cliff. How she yearned to have a cup of Mexican hot chocolate again, and how she wished to see him again.
Soon, dinner was ready and she served the plates to Mattie and Cassie, both of whom awaited her with their hands in their laps. After her realization, she felt a little more sympathetic towards them as she set the plates before them both.
They never thanked her but they picked up their forks and ate in unison once she and Bill took their seats in silence. He glanced up at her with a thoughtful look on his face.
“This is quite good,” he told her with his hand up by his mouth. “Excellent, actually. It needs a little salt, but it's good, though.”
Neither of the girls said anything but they did help her clear the table afterwards. Later, she turned in for the night with a new perspective on it all.
But at the same time, she needed to get away from that house. Away from the tightness of it all, especially since they were probably of the crowd that saw Testament and Anthrax as the music of Lucifer herself.
On Sunday morning, the three of them left for church, and even though Bill offered her to attend along with them, she turned it down given she didn't believe in the same things they did, either. Instead, she took her seat there at her desk with the cordless in hand and she dialed Marla's number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Marla.”
“Oh, hey, Sam! How's it going?”
“Alright, I guess. I ran into Chuck the other day—he, Tiff, Alex, and Greg are all gonna take me to see Death Angel down in L.A. this Friday.”
“Cool! Um, listen—I wasn't able to get a job at the school, as of yet. I got put on a waiting list for something, though, and Bel got me an interview at the glass studio she works at. Commutes to Albany are tough but I think I can do it, though. But I was able to tell Mrs. Robinson, mine and Bel's old counselor, about Bill still being listed on the payroll. She told me that's going to be rectified at the end of the month, like they have to send out the final check in two weeks and then he gets a notice on the fourth week.”
“Listen, about that—”
“Oh?”
“Apparently Bill's daughters go to a private religious school. He literally doesn't say shit about this sort of thing with me, but my guess is it's a bit pricey. Those payroll checks were the only way he's able to send them off there.”
“Oh, shit,” Marla blurted out.
“Yeah.”
“Well, he's gonna have to do something else, though. After the way he treated you and me both, and after he legitimately threatened to lock you in your room!”
“How'd you find out about—” Sam stopped. And she closed her eyes. “Louie,” she muttered with her head tilted back away from the phone, and she returned it to her ear.
“Sam, you can't let him get under your skin like that!”
“I feel kinda bad about it, though.”
“He'll figure something out, though. If he was able to maintain a spot on payroll this whole entire time after he got fired, he can figure something out for him and his girls.”
“They're creepy, by the way,” Sam confessed.
“They are? How so?”
“First off, they don't behave like little girls. They sit quietly at the dining room table before breakfast and dinner, like they don't even talk to each other. And they eat simultaneously, too, like completely in sync with each other. It's really weird, like unsettling, I want to say. Everything is really strict here—like really strict. Alex grew up in a bit of a sheltered household, but I doubt it was anything like this. It's all because of the whole faith thing and also because of the whole money issue, too. I imagine that getting worse when he gets kicked off of the payroll for good, too.”
“Ew.” Marla shuddered on her end. “Besides, how're the boys even gonna come and get you on Friday night? Because I remember how that place is laid out. There's no way around it.”
“I have no clue. Chuck even told me he has no idea. But—you know.” Sam rolled her eyes at what she was about to tell her. “I have faith in those guys, though.”
Marla giggled at that.
“Yeah, I have faith that they're gonna have faith in themselves.”
Marla laughed some more at that. It was good to hear her laugh again, even if it was for a few moments.
Over the course of that week, Sam made more art for herself, until Friday night came about. She had set aside her nice black blouse, the same top she wore when she saw Testament and Stormtroopers of Death both the first time around, and her black jeans, which had gotten rather low slung with the passage of time so they accentuated the curvature of her hips and ultimately her body. Testament themselves were going to be all that she had that night as well: the best she could do was sneak out of the house and meet up with Chuck and Tiffany at the property past the house.
The sun began to hang low over the tree line and the haze from the Los Angeles area not too far away from there.
Bill and the girls were downstairs doing some kind of study with their Bibles, which meant she had to use the back door to get out of there. But even if she used the back door, she still had to go past the living room and within their line of sight. No makeup on her face lest he question her for a second, but she had to time it right.
She reached the second landing of the stairs and Bill said something to the girls. A rustling noise and she knew that he had stood up.
“Shit,” she muttered. They were waiting for her outside—she didn't even have to look out the window in order to know that they awaited her—and yet she had no way out of there without a bit of inquiry. Sam returned to the loft on the third floor so as to gather her bearings and rethink things.
The front door then opened. Bill said something.
“Is Sam here?”
Greg!
Sam gasped and she hurried down the first flight of stairs at that moment.
“I'm—here to see her?” he replied; she reached that top landing where she spotted Bill before the doorway with his hands pressed to his hips. Greg looked so funny there in the doorway with him, that long beautiful dark hair down over his chest and the little stubble of a mustache over his upper lip, and his slender body wrapped in a black T shirt and low slung black jeans.
Like a dark version of Jesus himself.
“Well, she has a lot of work to do, son,” Bill sneered at him.
“No, no, it's okay, Bill!” Sam called out to him from the landing. He turned his attention to her with a finger pointed up to her.
“You have a lot of work to do, young lady—get back up there.” Greg widened his eyes at that.
“Well, I can take a break, can't I?” Sam pointed out. Bill shut the door right on Greg's face, to which followed a loud “ow! That was right on my nose!”
“Get back in your room,” he ordered.
“Don't slam the door on his face!” she yelled as she stormed back upstairs to the loft. She shook her head as she made her way to the window. Out there, on the block right behind the house as it ran along the lake's edge, she spotted Greg as he walked on back to the low two door hatch back royal blue car over there. Chuck awaited him on the outside of the car. From a distance, she watched Greg shake his head.
“Damn,” he declared as he rubbed his nose. “Got me good, too!”
“Well, fuck,” Chuck said.
“Well, we've got to get her out of there somehow,” she heard Alex tell them from the back seat; even from upstairs and a distance, she could hear his big loud voice. “Show's about to start in like an hour.”
“What!” Chuck was stunned at that.
“Yeah, dude! It's seven fifteen!”
“Shit!”
“Hey, there she is!” Tiffany called from the passenger seat. Chuck and Greg turned to the window and Sam waved both arms at them.
“Gotta get her out of there,” she heard Chuck tell them. There was a pause as she looked on at him, just like Rapunzel. If only there was a way in which she could tell him that the way out was through the back door, and she was close to it as well. Greg said something, which was then followed by another pause.
“Hang on, I got an idea,” she heard Chuck tell them. “Greg, come with me—this is gonna get us killed but it's gonna get her out of there, though.” He got off of the side of the car and the two of them walked along the road, along the lake's edge. Sam knitted her eyebrows together as she watched Chuck and Greg all the way to the back of the house.
“Wait here,” Chuck said to Greg, and he turned his attention to her. “Meet him here at the back door.”
She nodded her head at that, and she doubled back to the door with her purse over her shoulder.
Another knock on the front door.
“Who is that now?” Bill grumbled as Sam reached the second stairwell again. When his back was turned to her, she hurried down the next flight of stairs to the very bottom. He opened the door only to see Chuck right there, dressed in heavy black leather and with a red and white feather attached to one side of his head.
“Peek a boo!” Chuck lunged for him.
“JEEZ!”
Sam made a run for it right there to the back door. Right in her line of sight. Greg awaited her out there.
She jiggled the door handle. Locked!
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, but then she turned her attention back to the front door right as Bill shut it. She ducked into the kitchen and the window there over there sink. Greg nodded at her from outside. She opened the window and, with one foot on the sink basin and her other foot right out the window, she climbed through. She poked her head out, followed by her arm.
“Greg!” she called out to him and he hurried over to help her out.
“You got me?” she asked him as he took her hand and set a hand on her knee.
“Yeah. You got it?”
“I think so—” It was a struggle given she almost slipped on the sink basin but she managed to take her other foot through the window. She climbed out through the kitchen window and she landed onto Greg's slender little body. They fell on the grass in unison, and he groaned at the feeling.
“You okay?” she asked him as she lifted herself up into a push up position.
“Yeah.” He gasped for air and he gazed up at her with a goofy grin on his face.
“Hey, Sam hill,” he greeted her, and that brought a laugh out of her.
“Sam hill, is that what you called her?” Chuck laughed along from the side of the house.
“What in the sam hill is going on 'round here?” she laughed as well. She helped Greg to his feet and then she led him out of the back yard and into the street. The three of them ran back to the car right as the setting sun touched the tree line on the far side of the lake.
“Let's get you the hell out of here,” Chuck advised her as he took the keys out of his pocket. Sam reached the passenger door behind Tiffany and she poked her head into the back window where Alex awaited them.
“Alex?” He leaned forward and greeted her with a big toothy grin.
“Hey—” He froze right in his tracks with those deep eyes wide with fear despite the sun.
“What's the matter?”
“What's wrong, Alex?” Tiffany wondered aloud.
He pursed his lips together and held still, and then he bowed his head a bit.
“Very slowly—look—over—there,” he said through gritted teeth and without moving a muscle. Sam turned her attention to across the edge of the lake to the back door of the house, where Bill stood there with his hands pressed to his hips.
“Get in the car!” Greg shouted. “Get in! Get in!”
Alex scooted over and Tiffany leaned the seat forward for Sam and Greg.
“We gotta go,” Chuck declared as he climbed into the driver's seat, “—we gotta go—we gotta go—we gotta go!”
He fired up the car and they lunged forward down the street, only to find it was a cul de sac.
“What the hell!” Alex declared, but they were quick to make the turn around in there, all past the small houses there at the end.
“Hang on, everyone—” Chuck called back as Alex, Sam, and Greg leaned to the side with the turning. But then they doubled back down the street as fast as they could to the next block over. They kept on going until they past the supermarket. Out of breath, Sam leaned back in her seat.
“We out of sight?” Tiffany asked him.
“I think so,” Chuck assured her as they proceeded on to the heart of town. “Didn't look like he can get very far, either.”
“No, there's no way he's getting very far,” Sam added from the safety of the back seat and from in between Alex and Greg.
“That was intense,” Greg admitted.
“Very much so,” Sam added. “I wanna thank you guys, though. I couldn't be happier to be here right now. You guys are all I've got right now tonight.”
“Yeah, we get to hang out for real now!” Alex said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, yes, it's all fun and games now from here on out!” Chuck declared as he reached for something in the center console. “Little pre show ritual, ladies—and gentlemen. Some Motorhead to set the mood!”
She pictured Marla running down the street in Manhattan to those fast drums on that first song “Overkill”. They drove along fast to it, especially once they reached the freeway and began towards the heart of Los Angeles against the sunset. She nestled down in between Alex and Greg all the while: add to this, not only did her parents not know about it, but Joey didn't, either. And it was right at that moment, as the wind fluttered through their hair and Lemmy's growl sliced through the noise of the road underneath them, that she realized she had become a true bad girl.
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ofgoodmenarchive · 3 years
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The sixth in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.
Trust Fall
  “Careful with him-” Dorian grunted, shifting Lavellan's weight to a new pair of arms. “He's lighter than he looks- but his stature is still rather cumbersome.”
Noting his advice, the healers were cautious with their new patient, trying their best not to leave any limbs dragging. Dorian had carried him through the fort and now deposited his lifeless form at whatever passed for a surgeon's station. Hopefully their abilities surpassed the low expectation he had of this Southern, backwater hovel.
Released from his charge, he collapsed in exhaustion, back-against-wall, vaguely overhearing scraps of dialogue from within. Not even a gasp was allowed before his insides wrenched painfully, as if a small inferno struggled for escape.
Dorian jerked forward with a hiss and Desire sprung from it's host, swaying and dizzied.
  “For-the love-of-!” Though he squinted in displeasure, his shadow barely offered a glance before slipping through the door- after Lavellan.
With a groan he slouched into brick, not having the stamina to protest.
Paw-pads echoed softly through the hall- Lunis' dropped into his lap a second later.
  “Oof!” Sighing wearily, he pet the dog. “Yes, yes, that's a good boy...”
For a short time he sat and lamented the whole blasted affair. Not that there was anything to do for it- even if he could convince his Desire to abandon it's attraction, Thedas would be in disarray without its Herald. Then how would Dorian continue his much-favoured lifestyle of roaming, drinking and pleasuring?
Still- he was irritated. Drained of energy and lacking immediate options- Lavellan was in no shape to sustain him in any manner. If he couldn't locate a butcher for some meat or blood or some such, he'd be reduced to hunting vermin in the cellars. Not a favoured meal by any stretch.
  “I SAID- NO!!” A familiar voice barked out, brimming with panic- “DO NOT TOUCH ME!- THE BLOOD MAGE! I SAID- FETCH- THE- BLOOD MAGE!!”
Jostling practically out of his robes, Dorian and Lunis swerved to face the door in tandem. It flew ajar, revealing a servant who had led them into the property, pale-faced and obviously shaken.
  “L-Lord-um?” He struggled to address, a whirl of smashed glass and incoherent Dalish warring behind.
  “Pavus.”
  “Y-yes, ah, Lord Pavus- the Herald, he- no one can get near him! He's asking for you...”
For a second he didn't think he heard right- why would Lavellan ask for him? Just some hours prior the man had been undecided on whether or not to gut him like a 'Tevinter pig'!
Back on his feet, Dorian sprinted inside, where he was met by a trio of petrified healers, recoiling from the Herald. With radiant blade unleashed he stood in a corner, a cot toppled near him, along with a mess of fractured potions and poultices.
If the healers looked scared- Lavellan looked more-so; in his wide-eyed, snarling terror he'd chosen 'fight' over 'flight', the feral warping of his face ensuring to all that he would strike them down without hesitation.
  “Herald- I'm here!” Dorian situated himself between the healers and Lavellan, arms outstretched. “You can put that down! No one's going to touch you!”
Wordlessly, that rabid gaze flit between Dorian and the servants over his shoulder. Following the motion, he understood.
One of the healers looked dreadfully familiar- though last they'd met, his features had been significantly bloodied.
Granted- in the future they'd visited, that man had likely been corrupted in some manner, enslaved by Venatori. Obviously Lavellan couldn't be expected to digest such a nuance, not with his wounds- the physical and mental- so sorely fresh.
Dorian recognised immediately that everyone in that room would have to leave.
  “OUT!” He bellowed, whirling upon them. “All of you OUT!”
They hurried to obey, door slamming at their departure.
Lavellan bucked against the thrown cot, swearing in garbled Dalish as his weapon clattered, whatever adrenaline had willed his muscles to grip now absent.
  “I'm going to need to take a look at your arm.” Dorian said slowly, not yet approaching. “Will you allow me, my dear Herald?”
He was briefly sized up but soon offered a nod and Dorian was permitted to close the space between them. First he righted the cot, gently guiding Lavellan to relax upon it. All the while he was stiff as tree-bark, despite yielding to hands that steadied him.
  “...You know...” He decided to mention, thinking it might help. “Those men in the future- they were enthralled, influenced by the Venatori...”
  “I do not care.” Lavellan answered solidly, glowering at the floor.
  “...You've never been through any sort of torture before, have you?”
To this no reply was given- which said enough. It occurred to Dorian that as intimidating and firm as the Herald might appear, he'd probably lived an uneventful, idyllic life before coming into his namesake. That would fit in with what little of his upbringing he'd shared previously.
The poor fool was likely terrorised out of his wits. It was miraculous that he could speak in full sentences at all, or could come to such simplistic reasoning as 'Blood Mage saved me, therefore safe'.
A testament to how hardy he was under all that blood and matted hair, Dorian thought. Discarding such admiration for now, he honed in on the Herald's injuries. Asides from his anchor-bearing arm, he seemed only scraped and bruised- if not awfully malnourished.
  “Alright, just hold still...” He cooed, unwinding bandages from the mutilated limb. “I'll try to be gentle...”
Muscles flinched but didn't recoil, Lavellan remaining in stony quiet. With the wrappings cast aside Dorian was able to properly inspect the damage; flesh terribly scarred, covered in stitches, marred by old stitches that had been removed, then replaced anew. Incisions on top of incisions on top of incisions, malformed dents and whirls creating a mess that barely resembled a shoulder-blade anymore.
It occurred to Dorian with some dismay and horror that they'd simply begun yanking out muscles and ligaments when nothing else bore fruit. It was no wonder Lavellan could hardly move his arm- it was a wonder he could at all, let alone to threaten healers with a magical blade.
  “...You're actually missing pieces of your arm and shoulder, I assume you're aware?”
Lavellan merely issued a grunt.
  “...Alright, well, just sit tight.”
Turning away from his patient, Dorian perused what alchemical resources had been unharmed by the minor Dalish rampage. A well-mixed regenerative potion could regrow the vacant flesh overtime, though his arm would never work as well as it used to. With some of Dorian's own abilities to manipulate the process, there would be a better chance at adequate recovery- and a speedier one, which he imagined was important.
He began picking out chemicals and mingling them together, explaining as he did;
  “...I'm mixing a potion for you. It should numb most of the pain and eventually mend some damage- but I must inform you, my Herald...the destruction is severe. The best I- or anyone can do...is to prevent you from being crippled entirely...”
He noted that Lavellan's mouth twitched- the mildest of spasms. Asides from that the elf said nothing and made no eye contact, his expression a wooden mask.
With a tired exhale Dorian sat before him, potion in one hand while the other raised, curling to poise against a ring he always wore.
  “Do you trust me?” He inquired meaningfully, eyes pinning to the elf's face until he found it in himself to meet Dorian's gaze.
Mutely, Lavellan nodded.
  “Then trust me when I say this is for your own good, and won't benefit me in anyway.” It would, in fact, only add to his weariness, after such a long day with nothing to 'eat'.
The Herald continued to view him in expectant silence.
Tugging at a concealed hinge, Dorian pulled it apart from his ring and swiped the blade along his fingers, red instantly oozing from the slit. An old trick he'd acquired if he ever needed to utilise blood and no one else's was handy. Today, his blood in specific was precisely what he required.
Lavellan did not cease his observation but nor did he react- merely watching.
Dorian proceeded to dribble his life-force into the potion, squeezing until minor injuries clotted. He then swirled the bottle, allowing his vital liquids to assimilate with other ingredients, until the contents were dyed pinkish.
  “Drink up, Herald.” He held out the end result and was a little alarmed by how it was simply removed from his hand and sipped, barely afforded a second look.
  “You need to drink the whole thing.” He directed.
  “It tastes metallic.” Lavellan pointed out, flat.
  “Well, yes,” Dorian snorted. “That's because there's blood in it.”
Shrugging with his able shoulder, Lavellan gulped down the rest, wincing slightly at what had to be a peculiar and sharp taste.
  “It should stop hurting so much soon- and you might start feeling more relaxed.”
Though his chin bobbed in acknowledgement, still the elf had nothing to add.
  “Well...let's have them bring a tub in here, hrm? I'm sure you'd like to attend to your hygiene, after being stuck in a kennel for Maker-knows how long.”
Not waiting for a verbal response- there had been few thus far- he strode off to the exit and was thankful to spot that same servant, idling for any sort of command.
  “Have a tub filled and brought here, will you? Just because we're in Ferelden doesn't mean he should go about smelling of dog- and have one filled for me too! Elsewhere, wherever.”
When he turned back towards the room, Lavellan was regarding him strangely.
  “...Something the matter?”
  “You are leaving?” The elf mumbled, the strangeness of his gaze increasing.
  “Well- for a few moments...we both need a bath- and you're already caked in enough dirt for two.”
Lavellan appeared to battle with something internally, shoulders hunching, teeth gnawing a lip.
Eventually, he found his voice- as small as it was.
  “I do not trust the people here.”
  “I...” Dorian faltered, not predicting this. “Well, they're your people, my Herald...”
  “Are they?” He mumbled sourly, withdrawing further into himself.
  “...Alright, wait just a moment-” Sticking his head passed the door-frame, Dorian called. “Lunis! Where in the void did you-”
Feet scampered by, the loyal wolf almost shoving him aside in its haste to enter and pounce upon its master, who snorted with a hint of cheer, embracing the overgrown pup to his chest.
  “There you go! See, Lunis will look after you.”
The creature snarled in agreement, wriggling merrily in Lavellan's grasp.
  “Very well...” He said into Lunis' fur, very quietly. “...You may go.”
  “Why, thank you so much for the permission!” Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes as he departed to locate wherever his own tub was being prepared.
On his way he felt Desire glaring at him as they walked- and needn't wonder why.
  “Yes, yes, I'm being terribly decent- I know you can't stand it.” He huffed, trying to dismiss his shadow. “But he's just so...pathetic right now. It's not especially attractive!”
Desire glared harder.
  “I know it's attractive to you- but that's because there's something wrong with you- more than usual!”
Waving the demon off, he tried to ignore how several bystanders were oddly spectating what appeared to be signs of madness.
 --
 Washing up swiftly, Dorian meandered to the kitchens, searching for anything that might sustain him in the meantime- blood, bits of fresh meat, anything. He did manage to come about a few scraps and was then prepared to watch over Lavellan.
He was surprised to catch sounds of laughter on his approach- subdued as they were. Sauntering into the room he found Lavellan sitting in a tub- with the bloody dog, of course! Southerners and their bloody dogs! Dorian was beginning to regret and resent his own gift, watching as a nude Herald covered the beast in suds and cackled as it flailed about, spraying bubbles everywhere.
  “...You know, the whole point of the bath was for you to smell less of dog...”
Lavellan blinked at that, Lunis panting contently alongside.
  “What is wrong with the smell of dog...?”
  “...You're certainly Ferelden, I'll give you that.” Eye-rolling along with his snark, he picked a towel that had been laid out with a fresh set of clothes, waving it to gain the Herald's attention. Obliging him, Lavellan clambered out and stumbled into the fabric, allowing Dorian to fold it around his wet frame.
He couldn't help but notice that even in his tumultuous state, the elf's body-heat sky-rocketed at any brief touch. Leashing himself was a trial- fairly sure that if his hand or mouth happened to slip, Lavellan would be more than receptive to the comfort.
Which was exactly the problem- he couldn't have recovered much of his sense yet. Dorian found he loathed the idea of adding more stimulation to what had to be frazzled, overworked nerves.
They should at least get one nights rest before he started thinking of anything like that...
  “Here...” He said awkwardly, patting through the towel. “Do you need help getting dressed?”
  “I think I can manage.” Cheeks blushed, the elf slipped passed to reach his clothes and Dorian faced the sodden wolf, submerged happily in soapy water.
  “...I'm not drying you,” He pouted, still juggling his resentment. “The bath wasn't meant for you anyway!”
With a mournful howl Lunis leapt from the tub, scrambling to brush soaked fur onto Dorian's robes.
  “What?! Stop that! Bad dog!!” He near-wailed, feeling truly assaulted while stumbling around the room, wolf at his heels and Lavellan snickering.
  “Now we all smell of dog, so there is no reason to complain.” He quipped, voice muffled by the shirt he was wrestling onto his torso.
  “Ugh!” Completely disagreeable, Dorian stormed for the other end of the room and flopped onto a mattress.
Soon Lavellan climbed onto the one opposite, accompanied by trotting paw-pads. Lunis hopped onto his same cot, curling against the Herald's chest, who appeared soothed by utilising the beast as a large, rumbling pillow.
Dorian again underwent a pang of envy- then annoyance, as he considered how ludicrous it was that he now longed for the placement of a dog.
He imagined Desire echoed the sentiment; his last memory before slumber was of a dark silhouette perched by the Herald's bed, staring intently.
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crazybagelbitch · 3 years
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4 🥺🥺 they have that very serious discussion when both Athena and bobby arrive to take care of the puppies and everyone has to decide what to do with them both 😭
Hen is still pissed. He can feel the tension in her body, but at least it’s because her arms are around him, holding him practically in her lap. It’s nice and depressing at the same time. Hen isn’t usually physically affectionate with him, so it’s a testament to just how much he’s broken her heart and scared her.
“It’s okay,” she whispers when there’s another knock on the door and she feels him tense up, “it’s okay, they’re here to help.”
Yeah, he doesn’t really want help, but at least Athena is there to help Maddie. 
He hates the look that Bobby is giving him.
Grief stricken and anxious and disappointed, but when he speaks, his tone is calm.
“Why did you lie about why you were at the bridge the first time?”
He just shrugs.
“Chimney, you have to talk to us.”
“Alright, Buckette,” Athena cuts in when it becomes clear that Chimney is just going to remain silent, “do you want to explain why you kept it a secret that your ex-husband was in town and stalking you? I’m an officer of the law, and I thought you and I were friends.”
“We are I just... I know how the story ends. Everything else that we might try is just... delaying the inevitable. Rather die a quick death than have him torture me before he finally kills me.”
It’s blunt as hell and everyone flinches.
“Don’t say that, you’re not going to die,” Buck shakes his head furiously, tears spilling over onto his cheeks, “you’re my big sister, you can’t die.”
“We’ll keep her safe,” Athena nods, before turning to Chimney with a stern look in her eye, “and this one. Care to explain why this is the second time you were going to try and end your life in under a month?”
He shakes his head and still stays quiet. He’s overwhelmed, there are too many people here, and he doesn’t even know how to begin to explain it.
“I’m sorry,” Bobby says, and Chimney’s head snaps over to look at him in surprise, “we talked a couple of weeks ago, it was after the first time you... found Maddie at the bridge. You were so upset, so lost... I should have put it together. I should have known. You were asking me for help and I should have been able to read between the lines.”
“Bobby... no,” he speaks, not willing to let his friend and captain blame himself, “no, it’s not your fault, I-I... I hid it. I didn’t say. You couldn’t have possibly known from one conversation that I was thinking about... that.”
“Wait, what?” Hen asks gently, squeezing Chimney a bit tighter as she looks at Bobby a bit desperately, “you two... what did you talk about? He asked you for help?”
“Well, sort of,” Bobby sighs, “he was upset after we lost that patient, the one at the escalator who was proposing... God, I should have known, Hen. I’m so sorry. He told me he... he told me he felt like he died the night of his car accident and I didn’t even realize what he was trying to say.”
“Bobby, no, I wasn’t trying to say anything. I didn’t want you to know.”
“You never told me that,” Hen says quietly, and he hates that he can hear the tears in her voice, “y-you never told me that you felt that way, Chimney.”
“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpers, and he knows it’s not good enough, hiding his face in her shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at her.
He can feel her body shaking as she cries, and it’s then when the horrifically heavy guilt settles into the pit of his stomach. He never meant to hurt Hen, never. Logically, on some level he knew she would be sad if he wasn’t there, but... he never meant to hurt her. And there she is, clutching at him like he’ll disappear if she doesn’t and crying because he hadn’t told her that he was hurting.
“H-hate Tatianna,” she whispers.
“It’s not her fault.”
“Don’t care. S-still hate her.”
“We should consider taking him to the hospital,” Athena says after a moment, pretending like both him and Maddie aren’t in the room, “and she was in the hospital, but that didn’t help her very much, CLEARLY. Presumably because she didn’t tell them the real problem, or any of us. Took finding Chimney at the same fucking bridge a second time to get the truth to come out. Lucky in the darkest, worst way possible.”
“I-I don’t want to go the hospital,” Chimney murmurs.
“You made me go,” Maddie huffs.
“I wasn’t talking to you. Either of you,” Athena says sternly, shaking her head, “and Chimney, I don’t really care about what you want or don’t want right now. I care about keeping you safe.”
“It’s late,” he tries, “at least, not tonight, please?”
“...We can talk more about that and make that decision in the morning,” Bobby concedes after a moment, waiting for Hen to nod in agreement before she continues, “we’ll put off that decision until then. But no one is leaving you alone until then. Everywhere you go, Hen goes. I’m sure your bed is big enough for two people.”
“That’s right,” Hen agrees, tucking Chimney’s head underneath her chin, “I hope you like me a whole lot, because I’m going to be glued to your side as long as you’re here and not in a hospital. Not going anywhere or doing anything without me.”
“And same goes for you with me,” Buck says seriously, looking directly into his sister’s eyes, “I’m your new best friend. Neither of you are getting any alone time anytime soon.”
“But--”
“Anytime soon.”
“C-can I sleep now?” Chimney whimpers, far too anxious to sleep but there are two many people looking at him and judging him, and he’d rather have just Hen at the moment.
“Fine,” Bobby says, but his eyes are full of uncertainty, “but Hen goes with you and I’m staying here on your couch tonight.”
“And I’ll go home with Buckaroo and Buckette and discuss our legal options,” Athena sighs, “I don’t want any trouble from you tonight, Maddie-- no funny business. And Chimney, I expect the same from you. No trying anything with Hen or Bobby, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbles, feeling more embarrassed and vulnerable than he’s ever felt in his life.
“Come on,” Hen whispers, pulling him up from the couch, “it’s sleepover time, Chimney.”
“Can’t wait.”
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ladymaigrey · 4 years
Text
NYC Midnight 1000-word FlashFic - Round 1
I am doing a NYC Midnight comp again... and, this time, I thought I lucked out, having drawn the “horror” genre for the first round.
Apparently not - my head was SO not in it (my psyche was actively resisting thinking up horror scenarios! I blame the world for being a horror story itself, right now, leaving no room for my imagination to beat it).
Best I could come up with was a depressing ghost story, very loosely inspired by Nick Cave’s Where the Wild Roses Grow
The comp’s rules state that the story must be set in location “A bank” and contain object “photo album”. I took extreme liberties with both.
Unbearable falsehood of a photograph
My grandmother often said, “Be careful who you let take a photo of you. You give ‘em a piece of your soul, ain’t no telling what they’ll do with it.” Then she would shake her head and tell me to finish my soup, or the laundry, or my homework.
My grandmother was big on having things finished, all knots tied and tucked away, cats in the cradles, mice in their holes. Not that her house had mice; she wouldn’t have tolerated that sort of invasion from the vermin. Sprigs of peppermint and lavender hung from the roofbeams and were rolled up in old socks ever since I could remember. There were never any pictures though.
Of course, I ignored her.
What kid doesn’t learn to ignore their elders? Surreptitiously at first, with lit torches after midnight under a cocoon of blanket and book; then drawing the summoning circle for the spirit of rebellion ever wider, sprinkling the magic dust of makeup and pop music.
See, I might’ve gone to school in a town of two thousand souls, but I still had the Internet.
And the Internet is a wonderful place to find all the proof you need that the generations before you knew nothing of the real world.
It is full of photos, too: cats, plants, ghosts. Millions of people all over the world infusing it with bits of their own essence, shaped into pixels, trapped in static on a dusty hard-drive in a bunker somewhere, with only an occasional Amazon worker on a ten-buck-an-hour wage glancing in to change a cable. That’s it. That’s our world. It’s more real than real; a hell of our own creation.
Or, maybe, that’s just me.
Maybe there was something special about the photograph he took on the bank of the river that ran by our little town.
I met him online. Where else would a girl with high ambitions and few options meet a guy that wasn’t destined to work at the textile plant that ran our town’s economy? Not that I had much more than that to offer, but, like I said, I had ambitions and the plots of too many romance novels in my head.
I also had my camera, and my online photo album.
I was going to be a photographer, in a big nature magazine. Maybe the Nature magazine. Or, I’d settle for the National Geographic. But, I wasn’t stupid – I knew you had to have money, or connections, or – just a ticket out of town on the arm of some burly and kind young man who was your soulmate and would accept you as you are, with all your flaws. And draw you a rose-petalled bath in the evenings when you came home from a hard day of chasing your destiny.
No – I didn’t think that. Not really. But I can’t discount that that fantasy was somehow, however minutely, instrumental in leading me to that river bank.
But – mostly, it was my grandmother’s insistence that I always finish what I started.
Once I gave the promise that I would meet him in a diner off route 95 – there was no way I wouldn’t have shown up. And, maybe, I would’ve shown up regardless, cause there was nothing about him that set off alarm bells. Except, maybe, the fact that an arts-major grad student was willing to meet up with a hick girl 200 miles out of the city for no other reason than that he liked her pictures. But I wasn’t that smart.
I didn’t grow any smarter during our dinner date. Not in what I chose to wear (a low-cut top with a tie-dyed skirt in garish colors, and a silk scarf tied over my hair), not in what I ordered (way too many vodka-cranberries), and not in what I talked about (that I was orphaned twice-over, with my parents dying in a car crash back when I was three, and my grandmother passing away from a stroke just last year). And, especially, not in agreeing to take a moonlit stroll down on the river bank.
But the stupidest thing I’ve done, by far, was asking him to take a picture of me. It was a night for druidic dancing and chanting in the silverlight, and I was in the company of a handsome man who braved the miles of tarmac for me, and I was feeling beautiful.  So I handed him my phone and uploaded my soul online.
I like to think that it was a testament to how brazen and practiced he was that he didn’t even try to dissuade me. I like to think that it all would’ve happened anyway, and there was nothing I could’ve done. Because Internet taught me that victim-blaming was a thing.
But I do wish I listened to my grandmother about the power of photographs; of a moment in time captured for eternity, without context or feeling; of getting stuck in a little vortex of non-being.
I don’t remember anything of the end. I don’t even know where or how or if they found my body. All I know is that I am still here, on a cheap facsimile version of that river bank, somewhere on a laser disk. I cannot go anywhere; I cannot see anything but the cubic bits of darkness and light; I cannot think of my grandmother in any other way than as if her whole life - her whole effort of raising me, alone and unaided – was a forebearance of that night.
I cannot feel anything but the futility of unrequited hope for rose-petals in a bathtub and a shining knight with a sword and a camera. My entire existence is defined by that one moment between opening and closing of an electronic shutter, and a burst of an electric signal through the ether.
I am a disconnected memory lost in a world that is real in its unreality, pointlessly present until I get erased.
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mykingdomforapen · 4 years
Text
first light of dawn
Yvon has read more words than many have spoken in their lifetime. In several languages, too. He carries a book in his belongings even when they take up too much room, John Milton immortalised by sheets of paper. The works of poets and scholars can live on without a single utterance, their words and stories carried onward by black ink. 
Even so, when he reads, he reads out loud, so that he can taste the weight of them on his tongue, and hear them ride on the backs of breezes so that it carries forth, as if Paradise Lost is a pebble dropped in a still lake, and it ripples forward until it reaches the ocean. After all, the hemlock trees and the riverbank pebbles have no eyes to read; he does not tell anyone this, but he reads poetry from his little black book so that the forests can listen along, until they all can recite the stanzas nearly from memory. 
Hamish finds this politely exasperating. 
“Does it have to be Milton?” he says. 
Yvon does not look up from his book. 
“Have you got anything better?” he says. 
“I prefer Bradstreet,” says Hamish. “She isn’t quite as long-winded.” 
Yvon turns a page, but he permits himself a smile.
“That sounds like a personal problem,” he says. 
His companion scowls, but saves the rest of his protesting for later. Yvon defends Milton not out of favour. Milton is a master of the English language, naturally, and he retells ancient stories with fresh blood--a practise that Yvon finds familiar, even if the story itself is not. Milton puts into lilting verse the dark beasts in each man, and Yvon finds comfort in their company.
But no matter how many stanzas of the fall of Lucifer that Yvon can memorise, Milton is a lease more than a gift--the English have given Milton to him in exchange for gratitude and devotion. They think that the fact that he can read and write English is a testament to the victory of their presence in this land. Never mind that Yvon can speak about three different languages from his mother’s side, and has learned English and French on his own before attending Harvard. Sometimes, as he quotes, “Neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible except to God alone”--he hears the English pat themselves on the back, and the thoughtful words taste bitter. 
No, Yvon defends Milton simply because it irritates Hamish, and he finds that amusing. 
“Tell a story that I haven’t heard before instead,” says Hamish. 
The request makes Yvon laugh. Hamish has likely seen fewer winters than some of the bears wading in the river. There are thousands of stories he has not yet heard. Yvon closes his book, as he does not need it. 
“Then let me tell you about Wenebojo,” he says, and Hamish listens. 
-
When Yvon first met Hamish Goames, he expected to underestimate him. Hamish was young, barely past twenty-seven years of age, and he had that perpetual sullenness about him that only emphasised his youth. Yvon heard in passing that Hamish’s brother-in-law also worked for the Hudson Bay Company, which gave Yvon an amusing impression of a little boy tagging along with his older brother’s gang. 
“Hamish Goames,” he had said with the sort of tone one would reserve for a funeral. “At your service.” 
He had pale grey eyes, like the sky after a heavy storm had already passed, and his lips were constantly fixed in a worried line. He looked not the type that would last here. He seemed like someone who cared too much, and the Company wanted little to do with those sort. 
“Yvon Fitzpatrick,” Yvon said. “At the Company’s, or whoever is putting the coin in my purse.”
There was a hint of cautious curiosity in Hamish’s eyes as he tried to affix the French name to Yvon’s face. Yvon smiled in spite of himself.
“It is not my only name,” he said, “if that is what you were wondering.” 
Hamish had the right mind to look humbled. 
“What other names are yours, then?” he said. 
“I have given you one already,” Yvon said. “Don’t be too greedy.” 
Their colleagues of the Company laughed at Hamish. Don’t mind Yvon, they said. You won’t find it easy to understand him. He speaks in riddles.
But Hamish shook his head. No, he said. Yvon had spoken very plainly. You just don’t like to understand when you’ve been refused. 
Hamish was earnest, and honest men do not survive Turtle Island when they live among the English and the French. Yvon knew not to get too attached, but he already knew he would be sad to see Hamish go. 
-
Some of the Company do not hide their distaste of the Iroquois. Savages, heathens, uncivilised--white men come up with many dramatic synonyms just to declare someone different. 
“Skin crawls at the sight of them,” one Company man says, with a shudder. “Always feel their eyes on the back of my head when I go out. Can’t even take a piss without feeling watched.”
“I wouldn’t flatter yourself like that,” Yvon says. “There isn’t much to see.” 
Only Hamish hears him. Yvon knows this because he sees Hamish choke on his drink.
“Their lot wear nothing but skins,” says another. “And usually, just their own. Bloody mad.” 
Yvon resists to comment, because that is obviously bullshit. Especially in the dead of winter. The company he keeps do not resist to pitch in their two cents, because men will hallucinate rumours when they apparently have nothing better to do. 
“Oi, Richards,” says another. His eyes dart sheepishly towards Yvon with a semblance of discomfort.
“Who, Fitzpatrick?” says the one named Richards. “He’s different, isn’t he? Wearing britches and a proper hat, like a proper Christian man.” 
The man nibbles on their supper, satisfied with the answer. Yvon finds himself surprisingly disappointed. 
“And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed,” Yvon recites. 
The men’s heads turn to Yvon, as if only just now comprehending that he can hear them. Yvon regards their attention with a slight smile. 
“In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him,” recites Yvon. “Buck naked, too.”
Now all conversation has been silenced. Yvon is unbothered. Normally, he would carefully consider preserving the peace of the community, but that is apparently Anishinaabe priorities--which, according to the English, is not applicable to them. So Yvon does not give a shit. 
“It’s been a while since I studied all of your books,” he said. “But I think I remember correctly that it wasn’t until the devil got a hold of man did man start wearing underwear.” He shrugs and takes a bite of an apple. “But what do I know?” 
Richards sputters. 
“You are a sensible man, Fitzpatrick,” says Richards. “Now that you’ve come to live in our world, would you ever truly want to go back into the dark?”
Yvon crunches through his apple methodically. 
“Does that mean that you think you turn into the devil’s spawn every time you strip to take a bath?” he says. He rubs his nose for good measure. “That would explain much.” 
Someone snorts with amusement. Everyone’s head turns to see who it was, but whoever it is covers themselves quickly. Yvon has a sneaking suspicion he knows who it is, because when he excuses himself to walk along the creek, Hamish leaves the group and follows him.
-
Hamish is naturally inquisitive. Behind the glower and the monotone is a young man in a new world who wants to know everything about the rivers, the mist in the mountains, the incense of a burning hemlock. It turns out that Yvon is the only one who has the patience to temper that curiosity. 
“How can you tell it is a hemlock?” he asks, and Yvon shows him the hair-thin white stripes on the back of its pines, and the tough mushrooms that sprout from the jagged bark.
“What are your stars’ stories?” he asks, and Yvon tells him of Biboonkeonini, and the coming frost ahead. When the mornings grow colder, and Hamish has to blow into his hands to feel his fingertips, Yvon hears him mutter complaints of the Wintermaker. It makes Yvon snort. 
“Do you have a family?” he asks, and Yvon says, That’s enough questions for today. He spoons an extra heap of beans into Hamish’s bowl, and it shuts him up, for now.
-
Yvon still dreams of his mother. She looks the way he last saw her, before he left for Harvard. She is cooking soup of wild rice for him, even though he is grown and can look after himself. I do not know when will be the next time I can share a meal with you, she says. 
He is no longer dressed in coats and stiff boots. He sits cross-legged beside her; there is no book of Englishmen’s words in his bag, no musket around his shoulder. He speaks in his mother’s language, and in his dreams he never stumbles over his words. 
In his dreams, she is just about the same age as he is now. She had departed at least twenty-five years ago. The fires have died down, the tobacco reduced to ash, the grief internalised. And yet his mother returns, and brushes the hair behind his ears as if he is small again. 
I’ve gone too far, haven’t I? he asks her.
She smiles. She calls him by the name the elders gave him. It is only in dreams now when anyone calls him such. He holds his breath for the morning when he will wake up and forget what it is. 
How far can you possibly go, she says, before you can never come westward? My son, you can never go far enough that you cannot come to me one day. Follow the setting sun, and you will. 
Before her hand can touch his head, he wakes up, twenty years older, in white men’s clothes with a white man’s name. 
-
Yvon is reminded of his mother by the snowfall, when he presses a handful of the freshly fallen winter against his cheek. Hamish remembers his mother through his sister. 
He carries the miniature of his sister’s face wherever he goes. Yvon initially assumed her to be his wife, and when he made a passing comment with that belief, Hamish narrowed his eyes and protectively shifted the miniature away. Alice is my sister, he said mulishly. Although any man would be lucky to have her. Which makes Randall an idiot. 
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Hamish would say when he showed Yvon the miniature. And Yvon would agree to be polite. 
From what Yvon gathers, Hamish’s mother had passed not long after he was born. Alice was his close companion as together they navigated a childhood coloured by London fires, tumultuous revolutions, and an imposing father. Yvon risks to ask, and Hamish pretends he does not hear. Yvon does not push. Neither of them want to speak of their fathers. 
“It’s strange to think,” Hamish says once, in a rare moment of honesty, “that with an ocean between us, she and I do not share the same sunrise or sunset.” 
The simple longing makes him seem childlike, which Yvon does not tell him this because Hamish becomes defensive easily. 
“Well,” Yvon says. “It’s still the same sun, isn’t it? Or do you English believe we don’t even share that?” 
Hamish smiles wryly. He does not protest. 
-
“Waaseyaa,” his mother calls him, in his dreams. 
He wakes at the first light of dawn, and so he remembers. 
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