#anyway my brain's a little addled so this might not be the most clear

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Zelda's Personality

I did a post about how Link, despite being a player insert, has different personalities through the games that appear subtly and can be inferred based on his behaviors and responses. So now it's time for the Zeldas! More recent games have given more of a shining role to the character for whom the franchise is named, and I love the variety between them all, so let's explore it a bit! (At least for the games that I've played)

Ocarina of Time Zelda - My gosh. I love her so much. This woman ain't a princess, she is a Queen. She is so determined to protect her people that even as a child she's willing to order people around and go against the adults' wishes, despite being ignored. This girl is determined. Like, BotW Zelda gets put down over and over despite her efforts and she is understandably dejected and goes along with what her father wants. This Zelda is straight up like I'M RIGHT YOU'RE WRONG and just moves on LOL. Not only is she determined, she has a plan. A very foolish childish plan because she is a child and no one is going to stop her.

And, naturally, since it's a child's plan against an adult who has all the other adults wrapped around his fingers, it doesn't work. Zelda is left with a kingdom in flames, the evil man she was trying to stop obtained the Triforce, and her father is dead. She's fleeing her home and spends the rest of her childhood in exile. Something like this could destroy a person. And maybe it did. But she picked herself back up. And not only did she pick herself back up, she trained herself to fight. She learned everything she needed to about the Hero's journey so she could guide him when he returned. She stayed in hiding to avoid Ganondorf's watch. She protected the Triforce of Wisdom. This girl is a certified badass.

This Zelda is a fighter in every sense of the word. Nothing will stop her, not even her own mistakes. But she is sensitive too, she's aware of the damage this has done to Link and is apologetic and so incredibly sad. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. (Granted, this is Adult Timeline Zelda, but she is just Child Timeline Zelda put through a different scenario, so... same personality for both of them, just different circumstances).

So overall, this Zelda is decisive, resolute, never gives up, empathetic, and probably a little reclusive based on how she's always left to her own devices.

Skyward Sword Zelda - This girl is chaotic and it's wonderful. She pushes her best friend off cliffs and sky islands. She bullies the bullies. She's training in a knight's academy, which more people need to remember dang it. She's protective, she's anxious, she's bossy, she's curious.

This girl is also pretty darn adaptable. Like. She gets thrown out of the sky, out of everything she's ever known, tossed into a world of danger with no one to guide her but a stranger, and has to recover memories of being a freaking goddess and endure a journey of discovering herself while also being chased by Ghirahim. And she does it. Like... Link isn't far behind her, he goes after her literally the next day, and she's already doing her part of her adventure. She was told the fate of the world depends on you and she said okay, then, better get going. Like wow.

She has to have a strong sense of self. This girl found out she was a goddess and told Link after everything, "I'm still my father's daughter. I'm still your Zelda." She was called Your Grace, she was a spirit maiden for a deity her people worshipped, and she still said, "yes. Yes, all of this is true. But I'm still me." Like... I know we see her during her journey when she's still processing and not the aftermath, but this girl has a will of iron and will not let go of who she is.

In summary, this Zelda is courageous, has a strong sense of duty, is a gremlin, excitable, assertive, and stubborn.

Breath of the Wild Zelda - Oh, this poor princess. This Zelda is so sincere and wants to help so much, but she struggles with discovering herself and her powers. She is endlessly inquisitive and absolutely crushed under the pressure her father and her kingdom places on her. She lets it out through understandable frustration, pitting it against someone who, to her, represents everything she is not, which is so interesting.

This Zelda wants for the pieces to just fit but she can't figure it out, and instead of doing some introspection she just continues to look for alternatives. When she does do introspection, it's just to ask why she's defective. Things just need to make sense. I feel like an attitude like this implies that 1, Zelda has no instructor and therefore never learned how to learn, and 2, that implies that everything else she's good at has come naturally to her, such as technology. This girl is a scientist! Who has not learned the scientific method! Though she does try experiments, as poor Link can attest.

When Zelda is allowed to just be herself she seems very sweet and bubbly and excitable. She's so happy when she wants Link to try that frog! She's also incredibly chatty, bless her, having to put up with that silent knight all the time haha (yes, Link does eventually talk to her. Eventually.)

I would also like to note that the instant this girl gets her powers, she goes straight to the castle and holds Ganon at bay for a hundred years. The instant she's free of that burden and bondage, she wants to rebuild her kingdom. Like holy cow. This girl went from doubting herself so much to having so much hope. She is a symbol of hope for her Hyrule.

BotW Zelda is uncertain initially, but learns to have faith in herself and more importantly has all the faith in the world in her people. She is inquisitive, extremely intelligent, energetic, bubbly, and very sensitive.

Twilight Princess Zelda - One of the more mysterious and less prominent Zeldas in her series, this woman radiates quiet strength and regalness. Also, her very first scene (or maybe it's a cut scene flashback in her first interaction in the game) shows her brandishing a sword to fight alongside her soldiers. Hell yes, Queen. But she also has the wherewithal to recognize when she's outplayed. She is wise and knows when to fold to avoid needless casualties. She is willing to put herself in such a vulnerable state in order to protect others. She knew that fighting would still result in the kingdom being overcome by Twilight magic with bonus dead soldiers, so she opted for doing it without the dead soldiers. Knowing when you're beaten and taking it with grace to figure things out takes not only wisdom but humility.

This Zelda is also just... so incredibly understated. Her sadness over her kingdom's fall into disarray is poignant but subtle. Her compassion for Midna when she's dying is muted, but so clearly evident in that she gives her remaining life energy to her. Her acceptance of Link as the Hero, and her sign of respect to him and petition for his aid is just oh my goodness, the regal bow, the willingness to fight alongside him, I love her.

With as little as she features in the game and with as quiet as she can be, she honestly is hard to peg down, but overall this Zelda strikes me as someone who feels deeply and expresses little of it. She's quiet, she's reserved, but she is humble and dignified and incredibly kind.

So there you have it. Some of the ladies for you. I love them all dearly and love to compare and contrast them. <3

#character analysis #ocarina of time zelda #oot zelda #sheik #ocarina of time #skyward sword zelda #ss zelda #skyward sword #breath of the wild zelda #botw zelda #breath of the wild #twilight princess zelda #tp zelda #twilight princess #legend of zelda #I decided not to bring up totk stuff for botw zelda because spoilers #but it just emphasizes more how she places faith and hope in her poeple #and wow she'll go to any lengths to save them and that's all I'm saying #anyway my brain's a little addled so this might not be the most clear #or as thorough as the Link one but #I wanted to write it so here it is

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, sexual themes/situations, masturbation

A/N: The series will heavily follow the timeline and events of the show but there will be additional non-canonical events/injuries/etc.

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You sat quietly in the passenger seat of Daryl’s truck after the caravan had stopped for a problem with the RV. There had been introductions after you had gathered your bearings during the last stop, and your trauma-addled brain was working overtime to retain the information. 

Along with the RV’s issues, the group was currently saying goodbye to one of their own. It seemed too intimate an affair for you to include yourself, an outsider. The man had been bitten. It was your understanding they were all headed for the CDC in Atlanta, desperate for a cure before the sickness could take him. 

But the fever had won, as it always did.  

You watched as the frail man was carefully moved to the base of a tree, but then averted your gaze as they bid him farewell. They were all affected, heads down as they returned— one by one— to their vehicles. They intended to leave him, per his own wishes. You weren’t sure if that was a choice you could make were you the one in his predicament. It was both admirable and ludicrous. 

Daryl returned to the truck, remaining quiet as he climbed behind the wheel. He hadn’t spoken a word to you, which left you with a tight feeling inside your chest that you couldn’t— wouldn’t—name. You wondered if you were only there because of the possibility that his baby was growing inside of you. It hadn’t been mentioned. 

“I told ya she’s good.”

He hadn’t given the group any information. They knew your name per your own admission, which alone was enough to twist the archer’s face into a scowl. You were a dirty little secret. You had placed your remaining fragments of hope in Daryl after losing everything and he was treating you like he’d left a few loose bills on a dresser after fucking you in a sleazy motel. 

You scrutinized him from the corner of your eye; the way he was tapping the tip of each finger against the steering wheel as he drove. His other arm was resting on the door, the window down, while he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. The broken skin on the sides of the digit suggested that it was indeed a habit he turned to in times of stress. He was consciously trying not to indulge. 

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes on the back of the vehicle in front of you. “I’m sorry about your friend.” You dared a glance at the same time he gave you a once over. 

“Weren’t no friend’a mine.”

Lie. You could clearly see he was affected. It was borderline offensive that he’d even try to deny it. “Right. Well, I’m sorry anyway.” The uncomfortable silence stretched on, leaving you with vivid images of your encounters with the redneck. Even after you had told him you might be pregnant, there hadn’t been this thick tension in the air between the two of you. “Thank you.” He looked at you again, barely moving his hand away from his mouth. “For saving me.”

He hummed, this time parting his lips to nip at the irritated skin of his thumb. You wanted so badly to reach over and guide his hand away, but you knew that was a bad idea. 

“Ya take one’a them tests?”

Ah, there it was. Your back slid down the seat while you nervously twisted the hem of your flannel around your index finger. “Uh, no. I lost them when I ran from the camp.” He shot you a look so quickly you thought he might have given himself whiplash. 

“Y’fuckin’ serious?”

You nodded, expecting an outburst, but you still flinched when his fist came down on the doorframe, keeping it clenched when he brought it back to his mouth. “It was an accident. I wasn’t exactly thinking of them when I was wrestling a geek for my bag. Lost most of my clothes and my canteen, too.”

He let out a condescending humph from behind his hand. “Ya sure it’s even mine?”

Now it was your turn to pin him down with a look of your own. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Means exactly wha’ I said.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, along with the urge to throttle him right where he sat, regardless of the fact that he was driving. “Well, there was that other hunter I’d meet at dawn and then the one that would wait patiently until you got your rocks off first.”

“Ya think yer funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny, asshole. If there’s a baby, unfortunately, it’s yours.” His piercing gaze met your narrowed eyes, only holding for a moment before he had to look back at the road. “Can you pull over?”

“Gon’ puke again?”

“No.” You snapped, angling your body toward the door. “I want to get out.”

“Why?”

“Because being trapped in such a small space with you is going to make me puke. Now, pull over.” 

To his credit, he did slow down. “Nah.” He pressed the gas and easily caught up with the car in front of him. 

“Don’t worry, Daryl. I won’t tell anyone your secret.” You hissed the word with such venom that you swore you could taste the remnants of it on the tip of your tongue. 

“Settle down. Ain’t lettin’ ya out so ya can get yer fool self killed.” 

You threw yourself back against the seat with more force than necessary, crossing your arms. You wondered if you suddenly began to pray that god or whoever was listening might possibly just see fit to bestow upon you the monthly occurrence that most women deem as a curse. 

This was the reason the time between you in those woods was so limited. No feelings involved. Little to no social information exchanged. You liked the Daryl that made it priority to worship your body and fuck you senseless, his only words being filthy encouragement that would catapult you to and over the edge. Even when he accompanied you to the pharmacy, his presence wasn’t a negative contribution to the journey. You had actually felt oddly…comfortable. 

But the Daryl that you were currently trapped inside a beat up old pickup truck with had spoken all of seven sentences and you wanted to shoot him in the groin. You couldn’t imagine having a child with that man. Didn’t want to imagine it. If only your baser instincts hadn’t been so prominent over common sense when you saw him in the woods that third time. 

You could vomit now when you thought back on that specific meeting. You quite literally propositioned him while stalking toward him and simultaneously ripping off your shirt. He had looked so confused at first but caught up quickly. He was deep inside you while you straddled his lap less than five minutes later. Why hadn’t you at least had the brain power to tempt him just enough and send him to get condoms first? Nope. You jumped straight on his dick like a horny teenager. 

“For the love of fucks sake.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, ashamed at how recalling the carnal moments spent with the man across the bench seat from you had heat pooling at the apex of your thighs. You shifted, crossing your legs and pressing one down on the other, the tough inseam of your jeans rubbing just right over your clit to send a jolt of pleasure all the way down to your toes. You only barely stifled a moan. 

A quick glance found Daryl still watching the road, lighting up a cigarette. Yet another thing you didn’t know about him. You shifted your hips while casting quick, discrete glances. He was seemingly oblivious. Biting your bottom lip, you turned your face toward the window and continued the careful side to side of your hips, very slowly but very steadily working toward what would undoubtedly be a quick and not totally satisfying orgasm. Still, it was better than the alternatives of either sliding your hand into your panties or asking the man beside you to slide his hand into your panties. 

You noticed your breaths quickening and inhaled deeply through your nose to try and calm both that and your heartrate. The hot coil burning in your lower belly was tightening, pulses of pleasure bleeding out to culminate at the swollen bud that your jeans were stimulating. You were so close, almost there—

Daryl cleared his throat, flicking his smoke out the window and unintentionally bringing a sudden halt to any progress you had made toward release. You openly glared at him. 

“Wha’?” He huffed, sneering at your obvious resentment. 

“You’re an asshole.”

It was near dusk when the caravan finally pulled up to the CDC. There had been stops to siphon fuel, take bathroom breaks, and go over plans and strategies. You had remained inside the cab of the truck, not trusted enough to be privy on their plans. You couldn’t really fault them. Even if they had included you, nothing they had said could have prepared you for the devastation outside the government building. 

“We’re really going out there?” You asked, feeling nauseated at the thought of seeing the bodies up close. 

“Yep.” Daryl replied casually, already outside the truck. He was holding his crossbow as well as a shotgun and was looking at you expectantly. “C’mon. Get th’ lead out, woman.” 

Puffing out your cheeks in a forced exhale, you opened the truck door. The stench of death and rot was even worse when you stepped out onto the pavement. Flies and maggots were in abundance, feasting on the fallen littering the ground. You gagged behind your hand, ushered forward by a surprisingly gentle hand from the redneck. 

“Can’ stop here.”

When you caught up with the group, the one called Shane was directing everyone like a traffic cop, trying to keep fear and panic to a minimum. “All right, everybody. Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let's go. Okay, keep moving. Stay together.”

Rick joined in, urging everyone forward while Jacqui and Shane tried to keep the group quiet. You were at the rear of the main cluster of people with Daryl following closely behind you. You could hear the commotion before you saw Shane pounding on the shutters that were keeping the entrance blocked. 

“Walkers!” Daryl called out, firing a shot that made you flinch. 

“Walkers?” You blurted before realizing exactly what he meant. “Oh fuck!” You had no weapon, absolutely no method of defending yourself. Before you could protest, Daryl had reached back with one arm and pushed you behind himself. You didn’t have time to think too hard on it before he was yelling. 

“Ya led us into a graveyard!” 

Your hands had fisted into the back of his shirt, subsequently allowing him to guide you where he needed you without sacrificing his focus. 

“He made a call!” Shane sounded from somewhere behind you. 

Daryl growled harshly, the sound vibrating your hands against his back. “It was the wrong damn call!” He shouted. The commotion continued, blame and orders being thrown about in shouts and pleas you ignored in favor of burying your face between Daryl’s shoulder blades. You had survived; lost your entire family and stayed alive only to die with a handful of strangers and a man you almost wished you had made more of an effort to get to know. Amidst the crying children, the screaming women, you could clearly hear and focus on Rick’s desperate declaration:

“You’re killing us! You’re killing us! You’re killing us!”

“Daryl.” You sobbed before you could stop yourself. 

Then, something unexpected but no less of a miracle. 

The shutters began to open, dousing you all in a most blessed light. 

Taglist:

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[favoniuscodex]

kabedon kiss with kaeya! 😳

part of my 6.5k event found here!

a/n: gn!reader as usual! reader is a fellow knight of favonius. mentions of past alcohol consumption. 1337 words (haha). i got carried away ;;;

"alberich, do you have those papers i requested?" you ask after storming into the office of your fellow captain unceremoniously.

he leans back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach and boots propped up entirely improperly on the chair before him. you ignore the way he swings into this callous position as soon as you enter, disrupting the proper poise of a typical knight of favonius captain that kaeya usually upholds. when it comes to you, kaeya always acts anything but normal.

"anything for you, boss," kaeya nearly purrs, before lightly gesturing to the folder on the table before him.

"can't be bothered to get up and hand them to me?" you grumble as you walk over, causing kaeya to laugh lightly.

"well, i was right, wasn't i? i told you that you would come crawling back," kaeya says, tone far too smug for the situation at hand.

heat rises to your face at the implication of his words. sure, you had returned to his office for paperwork, yet kaeya took even this opportunity to tease you. after all, the last time the two of you had been in his office, alcohol had been on both of your lips and fervent kisses were exchanged. despite you nearly clawing kaeya's shirt in half at the time, he had folded your hands against your chest, draped his own coat over your shoulders, and told you that if you meant it, if you really wanted to be with him, you would come back to him.

after this brief moment of sweetness and genuine care, kaeya then proceeded to absolutely demolish any sentimentality you might still hold for the moment by bringing it up at nearly every opportunity. coffee break and your hands touch when reaching to refill the coffee pot? looks like you can't keep your hands off him! scheduled on patrol with him? looks like fate just wants the two of you together, huh? you've managed to shrug off his saccharine teasing with ease, yet kaeya persists anyways.

a part of you enjoys the way he chases, which makes you wonder if you should just give into your heart and tell kaeya how much you desire him as well. he has made his affections clear. now the ball lies in your court. yet, pride gets in the way. you forcibly send the butterflies in your stomach into hibernation as you annoyedly snatch the file folder off his desk.

"all of the right signatures?" you ask and kaeya hums at you in response, sly grin still plastered on his face.

"you know it, boss," he affirms. you roll your eyes.

"i'm not your boss," you huff. kaeya chuckles at your halfhearted gaze and determination to look intently at the file before you, rather than glance at his charming pearly whites and alluring ice blue iris.

"well, i figured all of the other nicknames i'd want to call you would be overstepping. 'captain' is a bit impersonal for people in our situation, yeah?" kaeya teases. there's a strange lilt to his tone that you can't quite place a finger on, yet it draws enough of your attention that you can't help but look up from the papers before you. kaeya's expression is guarded, as if he's cast his final piece of bait into the water and is waiting, praying for a bite, yet knows far too well what the likely outcome is.

unfortunately for kaeya, you aren't a fish. with the papers in hand, you turn away from him and begin walking over to the door.

"we're personal enough that you can just use my name," you say over your shoulder, not bothering to fully look at the cavalry captain as you exit. "after all, you can't seem to think of it enough, huh?"

your words carry you to the ajar door, yet before you can swing it fully open once more and leave, a familiar, half-gloved hand reaches over your shoulder and presses it closed. kaeya's other hand moves to your shoulder, twirling you around to face him. he corrals you against the door, effectively pinning you between him and the refined oak material.

"you wish for me to call your name?" kaeya purrs, leaning in close. his breath smells of mint and feels like a cool summer breeze, in comparison to the typical uncomfortable warmth that most others provide. your gaze flickers down to his lips and kaeya notices, yet you stand up straighter, refusing to give in yet.

"i know you've wished for me to call yours, alberich," you say, lacing your tone with a clear challenge. a smirk spreads across kaeya's face as he leans in even closer.

"oh? perhaps i should reserve a nickname for you then, if you won't use mine." kaeya's eye gleams with delight. in this little game of cat and mouse, neither of you quite know who the predator is, yet it makes the situation all the more delightful.

"i could call you 'darling'," kaeya suggests, voice dropping to a low murmur as he leans in close to your ear. you fight the urge to melt at his sultry tone. "or 'sweetheart', if that pleases you more. 'beautiful' would also work too, wouldn't you think?"

"so," you breathe, voice quiet in the intimacy shared between the two of you. "why don't you?"

"before all of those cutesy nicknames," kaeya leans back, disrupting the intimate atmosphere, yet his smoldering gaze pulls you right back in, plunging you into his icy depths once more. "don't you think i should call you 'mine' first?"

"aren't i yours already?" you challenge, knowing full and well that kaeya has been waiting for you to answer your own question.

"say the words and you can be," kaeya states with bated breath. his breath hitches as you close some of the distance between the two of you, lips just a short distance from kaeya's own.

"why don't i show you instead?" you say. despite your voice just being a soft murmur, kaeya's eye widens at your words. a slight nod is the only response you need from him and, despite the way he has you pinned to the wall, you take charge and grip his coat in your fists, bunching up the fabric and pulling him closer to you. your lips meet and kaeya's hands immediately fall from the door. one hand moves to your hips and the other moves to cradle your cheek. kaeya touches you with utmost care, yet his lips move desperately, as if he's trying to convey how much he cares for you in the movement of his lips alone. you kiss him back with equal fervor.

for all that you cannot yet convey to kaeya alberich through words, you certainly attempt to reveal your innermost thoughts through your actions. kaeya interprets it all perfectly and, when the two of you finally pull apart for air, kaeya catches his breath, staring at you as if you hold all of the stars in your eyes. in the romance-addled haze that takes over your brain after the kiss, the fogginess leads to an abrupt clarity as your heart quickens in pace.

it would be foolish to call this feeling love, especially when you still had to much to learn about him, but you know one thing for certain. kaeya has piqued your interest in a way no other has before. so, you let him continue to pin you to the door and let him take charge this time, thriving in the way your back hits the wood as kaeya leans in for another kiss. when the two of you finally pull apart, a small string of saliva signaling the sloppiness of your kiss, you grin at him and utter the few words kaeya wishes to hear most.

"i'm all yours," you say.

as the two of you continue your office rendezvous, kaeya holds you close and, as long as you wish to stay near him, he never plans on letting you slip from his fingers again.

#kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaeya #genshin impact #kaeya fluff #genshin impact fluff #axia.writing #writing.kaeya #event.halfsix

[heli0s-writes]

Clumsy

Summary: Serendipity, it’s the only way Steve can describe it. His ma was right: he’d always been slow.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

A/N: Fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Steve angst because I love one sad boi. Written for @wkemeup​​‘s 4K Challenge like an entire year ago!! I’m so sorry, Kas!! The prompt was Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life”. 2.8k words.

It was supposed to rain.

Thunderclaps rolled in the distance all morning. Moisture hung heavy in the air and the earth smelled like wet already--- salty, thick, sweet. The app on his phone blinked gray clouds straight across the screen. Seventy-three degrees and a nine-five percent chance of precipitation. Winds NE 20 miles per hour.

But at 2:30 in the afternoon when Steve slides into the car, it’s clear and blue.

So he figures it’s coincidence and poor meteorology when the engine quietly rumbles to life. He fixes the collar of his shirt, checks for hotels around the midway point, and sends an uneasy look to the empty passenger seat.

Then, he makes his way to where you are.

-

The two-lane country road stretches on. Winding and curving, pitch-black and howling with wind and wildlife. Bugs splatter on the windshield and he mechanically sprays a bit of fluid, wiping them off, the squeaks giving his radio a bit of rhythm in all this late-night talk. It’ll be another half hour before he gets to the hotel and he’s still wrestling with himself if he should even break.

No reason to now. He can drive all night. No reason to other than his pride.

“So what is it?”

There’s an imprint in the seat. An outline of a warm body folding soft creases in the leather. Late night talk radio fizzles out, and he’s tired, so he can’t get too upset at his brain for seeing the shape even though it’s been months since anyone’s sat there.

He chances a look over, then quickly back ahead because sure—the sedan is small, but this tiny strip of pavement feels even smaller. Too right and he’ll careen into the woods, too left and if another car’s coming around the bend Steve would roll out alive, but he’d be the only one.

He looks again.

Legs folded. Bare feet. Ankles crossed on the dash. Casually sitting with one hand on your phone and the other one behind your head, face lit incandescent by the screen. It was the first time he’d been alone with you after New York; he remembers this.

You hadn’t even given a glance sideways at him, still fixed on the screen, thumb sliding up and focused on mission details in a perfect picture of indifference.

“Your whole thing. Mister Red-White-and-Broody, most eligible bachelor in all of America—which, by the way, is so far up your ass all fifty states might as well be coming out of your mouth—”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, Rogers.” A smirk. His last name slipping between your lips like military title. “Fine, you’re all gilded in the front, suffering in the back. So—” You turned finally, pulled your feet back and tucked them under your body, “What is it?”

Steve pretended to think, left hand clenching a fraction tighter on the wheel, feeling its strength beneath his grip. His face remained impassive and dedicated forward, turning the seconds in his head, counting down the appropriate time for his reply.

It was a game, certainly. Your assertion, your poise, hand propping up your head—all of it. Your entire being was a foil to one Steven Grant Rogers and he was strapped with you for half a week. Already the car ride was beginning to foreshadow what was quickly seeming to be a long assignment.

“It’s my job—”

“So weak.”

“I’m busy—”

“Are you even trying to lie?”

You were known to do this: lay out a path of questions that only gave your company the pretense of a genuine conversation. You’d lead them like a wrangler leading horses to water, knowing they wouldn’t drink, but giving them just enough time to stare at their own reflection in the pool before you’d yank the harness elsewhere.

It was always a short path, but what you lacked in subtlety you made up for with honesty.

Agitated, Steve snapped before he could rein himself back in.

“What are you, my psychologist?” Horse.

“You don’t have one. You are the only Avengers Tower resident who has run off every psychologist on Stark’s payroll. So--” a twist of your torso, your back pressed up against the door handle as you stared at the outline of his side profile. Wrangler.

The question dangled in front of his gritted teeth. The answer he’d known long ago was behind two perfect calcium rows, pressed up, trying to find its way through the cracks.

What’s your thing? We fought together. We live together. We suffered a cataclysmic event in the form of aliens together---so why doesn’t anybody know you?

You leaned forward, body tilting until it almost touched your former footrest. Your head sloped to find his face and when he flicked his eyes sharply to yours, Steve knew it wasn’t sharp enough.

“You don’t want to be vulnerable.”

You’d led him through the brief route of your inquisition and had seen all you cared to see. Your voice bounced off the window when you closed your eyes and turned away.

“Steve,” you sighed, mouth going to the side in a smile. “Vulnerability is clumsy, but it’s the only thing worth anything.”

He had thought: No, it isn’t. He’d spent too long being vulnerable already, and he couldn’t afford it again. Twenty years of a miserable half-life and seventy years of sleep and suddenly the world was new and different and strange. Coming back into his body was new and different and strange but it was the body that afforded him invulnerability.

Mostly, anyway.

Steve decided, then, at least he could make up for that lump of mortality—that lump of weakness—with performance.

So, he became the blacksmith to his feeble Brooklyn boy heart. Forged carbon steel, gold-plated, immaculately polished like his own shield at press conferences. Smoothed himself into a monumental display of impeccable posturing and hid the boy away where no one could reach him. Let him go back to sleep, too. Frozen in a time long passed, long forgotten.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers anymore because no one knew Steve Rogers anymore; it was the only way he could carry on. Didn’t you know?

No, he supposed, you didn’t.

On the ride back you surrendered yourself to the backseat, laying down in the most comfortable position the sedan would allow, and chatted his ear off the entire ride home. Called him Steve and looked at him through the rearview mirror. Eyes met eyes, and yours crinkled at the edges with some secret knowledge.

By the end of it, all he could think about was how he didn’t mind the conversation and that his first name even sounded a little nice coming out of your mouth.

You shimmer in the passenger side until your hair hangs a little longer. His brown leather jacket is around your shoulders. A stretch of your arms. A stretch of your lips. Months passed and Rogers befell the man you knew during the Manhattan Crisis while he became Steve.

Steve on missions and in the field—On your six, Steve! Keep up, old boy. Steve at the tower and Steve in the gym— don’t touch my weights, Steve, you’ll throw your back out.

Steve getting the door and pouring the whiskey and letting you wear his jacket when you were cold. Finding you across rooms at parties because there was an easiness to your presence that calmed the crowd. Shooting pool and watching movies. Up late and out late and laughing until the early hours.

He was Steve, your friend, because he finally allowed himself to have a friend.

You change. Shimmer again until your hair is pulled back from your swollen face. A hospital gown crinkled around your shoulders. Asleep, cold. Too close to death, too close to him. He couldn’t even sit by your bedside, only standing by the door, shuffling from one wall to the other and watched the monitors with a too-loud and static-filled brain.

He was hesitantly Steve when you stepped too close to him on the balcony nights later, hand precariously hovering over that fragile boy heart, finally pressing down on it, feeling his delicate pulse thawing and crawling towards you. Tipsy smile and you tasted like whiskey and easy joy.

The kiss was clumsy, like you’d said. Vulnerability threw him back to the 40’s, all gangly limbed and ill, his lungs malfunctioning, his breath smothered in his mouth. He stumbled, but the banister held him up.

You didn’t mind that his knees felt boneless. You chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your still-bruised cheek abruptly burned down his throat—warm and smooth and cataclysmic until he caught sight of the way you winced as his hand cupped your tender face. Steve stepped back, then, and apologized for what he said should have never happened.

There was a small quiver from your shoulder before you quietly went back inside.

He cursed himself on the balcony. Cursed letting it all happen in the first place. Captain Rogers watched your retreating steps, burying the spark and the fire. And the boy must have cried in his ice-block coffin when he buried him again, too.

“Don’t look at me like that.” God, he’s going crazy. Poor night-vision and an addled brain causing him to scold an empty seat. “You stopped talking to me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens the way it does when you’re too deep in his head and he can’t get you out. Days without hearing from you smeared together in careful steps of a cagey dance. Comments always presented as half-truths—riddles he struggled to deconstruct. Breadcrumbs never leaving enough of a trail to lead him anywhere. He wants the harness back. Wants back your confident hand.

“You could have said something.” Steve scoffs, because you always had something to say. “Anything. You could have said anything. We were—friends.”

And hell, doesn’t that sound stupid out loud? Maybe it’s best that he’s got nothing but infinity beyond the sedan’s glaring brights and a million thoughts of unsaid words. It’s all useless, anyway. Best that he can get it all out now, talking to your ghost. It keeps all his thoughts in his head and keeps him from yelling every time he sees you not-looking, not-smiling, not-talking to him.

Steve flicks the wipers on again. Shuts off the radio. Shuts off the navigation. Takes the car off cruise-control to give himself something to do. He’ll stop overnight, after all.

Suddenly then, in the distance, two glowing eyes greet him steadily. Measured paces, in a firm and crisp trajectory, growing closer and closer. Glaring and vivid, beating the monotonous grind of nighttime out of him. His pinky moves, and his high beams flip to low beams, white giving way to yellow and the glistening road signs and tree-shadows in the distance slowly diminish.

Bleached spectral glaring of leaves and road signs soften ochre and brown, indigo dark. For a fleeting moment, even Steve’s enhanced eyes feel half-blind again as he readjusts to the pitch-black night barely lit. The car coming toward him does the same, highs blinking low and they pass each other in quiet understanding. In blind trust on the dark road, dependent on each other’s good faith to see it through.

He thinks of Sarah Rogers in a tiny Brooklyn kitchen, floral wallpaper yellowed and peeling behind her. One hand on an apron-clad hip, cooking interrupted by her son stumbling in dripping blood down his shirt, her other hand clenched around a wet kitchen rag.

“Steven Grant Rogers! Oh—wretched! What else can I say,” she’d sigh as she pressed it to his nose, “You do whatever you please, anyhow. You just put this on your face—and don’t think it’ll get you out of doing the dishes, either.”

“But—” he’d attempt.

She’d put up her hand, “Lord have mercy on any young woman that’ll have you. May she have your poor mother’s patient heart.”

His ma always called him slow. A dolt through and through. Quick to temper, but laborious to do much else. Common sense always took its sweet time-- took the long path home to get to Steve Rogers. In seventy-odd years, he hasn’t changed.

Better than coincidence and better than poor meteorology. Serendipity. It’s the only way he can describe it.

Like finding a crumpled up twenty in his pocket—or in his case, a five—enough then for a week’s worth of meals. Like having that nightmare— the one right before the plane crashes and instead of going down with it, he wakes up. Like expecting to drive five hours through a storm and stopping overnight, but instead it’s clear and blue as far as he can see.

The rush, the relief, the deafening joy that shuts everything else up and out.

Sarah Rogers was right: he’d always been slow.

So he careens back onto the highway from the service road, steadying his foot on the pedal and flies about fifteen miles faster than the speed limit says he should. The car is vibrating to a thrilled beat inside his chest. Steve can’t help smiling.

-

It was supposed to rain. All the way to the next mid-morning but the sky parts a brilliant orange sunrise and he nearly sprints to the door. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before he barrels in. A sliver of parting wood is enough, and Steve throws it wide with his enormous shoulders, kicking it shut firmly with his boot.

The imprint of your body on the couch is still warm—you, halfway across the room in alarm—real and even warmer when Steve gathers you into his arms. He’s been awake for over 24 hours, talking to himself, talking to your hallucination, so he apologizes when his teeth click against yours in a frantic kiss.

“Rogers--!”

You pull away, dazed, a little bit pissed off, but you cow the swirl of emotions into professionalism. “What are you—you’re not supposed to be here until late—did you drive through--”

“Steve,” he interrupts, “Steve.”

He’s so tired of the long road. Can’t stand another second of maneuvering in the dark down winding paths or broken streetlight avenues you’re not at the end of so he keeps his next phrase short: “I really like you.”

You raise your brow and brush the back of your knuckles over your lips, the light from the balcony streaming over your face. His hand tenderly brushes your cheek, the same one he touched all those months ago and you blink in surprise. Quick, calculating movements even as you lean gently into his touch.

“Steve…” you say slowly before your mouth pinches together in a poor attempt to hide the smirk threatening to surface. “You drove all night to… ask me to call you Steve.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “And the mission.”

“Right, the mission. The debrief didn’t mention that it required a lot of… kissing.”

“It came up recently; I haven’t adjusted the file yet.” He grins at your rolling eyes, your swollen lips peeling back to reveal a joyful display of teeth at his stubborn defiance.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble.

You place your hand over his chest, over his heart.

You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re not letting go, and he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it paints him in the most galvanized care. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut, like he’s being laid to rest. And maybe he is. Finally weary of lugging around all his armor, all his pretense.  

The boy emerges, thawing toward his name held sweetly in your mouth.

He fumbles with his awkward limbs—a newly birthed foal trying to find its footing—but you’re patient and enduring. He takes in his trembling body—knobby knees and gangly elbows. Inept gait still learning how to be. He takes the sights—white casting over the balcony. You, even brighter.

It was supposed to rain, but you link your fingers through his, leading him toward the open doors, smiling against a backdrop of sherbet swirls. He stumbles, but you’ve got him. A few short steps, just a few more, and Steve kisses you again in the sunbathed daybreak, resurrected and anew.

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers imagines #fluff #angst

[blossom-hwa]

Stardust - CHANGMIN

So like. This was the first full scenario I wrote for TBZ and I can’t believe I wrote this before actually even STARTING No Air, but whatever! It was cute! I couldn’t help myself but I didn’t want to post this before No Air so that’s why it’s late

Thank you to @deathbykpopboys for helping me put this scenario together! Honestly I don’t think I’d ever write anything without sunny hhhh she’s always so great with ideas <3

Pairing: Changmin x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, a little angst if you squint, teacher!au

Triggers: alcohol, cursing

Word Count: 2.7k

Changmin sometimes thinks you’re a little too perfect to exist.

TBZ Masterlist | No Air | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

Friday nights are always fun, for Changmin. Friday’s the last day of the work week and kind of blends into the weekend, and because he’s a schoolteacher, he (sort of) gets the weekend off. Sure, he might be making lesson plans or writing reports or doing other important, not fun things, but he also has his stolen moments for dance or shopping or things that he doesn’t have time to do during the week. He’s free, more or less.

The last Friday night of each month, though, Changmin enjoys the most, when he, Jacob, and Kevin meet up for cheap food and drinks. And as much as Changmin likes to wreak havoc on the lives of his fellow teachers (mostly by scaring the wits out of them with dolphin screams and horror movie masks), he really does enjoy their presence in his life and appreciates them for it.

They haven’t a missed a night so far, not since that time Jacob was out with the flu and Kevin had a family emergency. And even though Changmin’s definitely done and said some stupid (read: really embarrassing) things while under the influence, the pros of each night always end up outweighing the cons. So if Changmin wakes up the next morning with a hangover, well, that’s just a side effect of having some fun.

But sometimes he has thoughts. Thoughts that he’s repressed so well he might not even register them, but that exist nonetheless. And Changmin, sadly, is a truthful drunk. His thoughts come spilling out of his mouth, mostly unfiltered, whenever he’s had enough to drink.

And this week, Changmin has been having thoughts. Thoughts that he isn’t sure he wants to spill.

If he drinks, they’ll flood out. It’s the way Changmin works – he’s had enough experiences with alcohol and his brain that he knows what will happen. As he stares at the soju bottle on the table, he knows that if he drinks, he’ll probably regret it in the morning. Not necessarily because he’ll remember what he says – his memory tends to get a bit spotty even after a round of light drinking – but because Kevin definitely will.

Normally, Changmin would praise God for Kevin's ability to remember drunk things. Coupled with his inability to lie, it makes for so much potent blackmail. Sure, Kevin makes Changmin and Jacob swear not to talk about anything he said under the influence, but Changmin isn't an angel the way Jacob is. If it came down to it, he'd sell Kevin's secrets for a single corn chip and some entertainment.

(Okay, not really. But the point still stands.)

If he complained about this to people, they’d probably just laugh and say something about how Kevin is a precious pure meme, that he’d never sell out Changmin’s deepest thoughts for anything. After several years of working with him, though, Changmin knows better.

(He’ll just say that sometimes, Mr. Kev Kev isn't the happy-go-lucky meme-y little boy that everyone likes to make him out to be.)

So maybe Changmin shouldn't be drinking tonight. There isn’t necessarily a lot on his mind, but he’s been thinking of things that he doesn't want spilled just yet, and drinking will only make that possibility a reality.

Isn’t that what alcohol is for, though? To make those worries disappear, if only for a short while? The soju beckons at Changmin, even more so when Kevin actually opens the bottle. Eventually, he throws caution to the wind and fills his own glass.

It’s a clear night, mostly. A bit cloudy, but no sign of rain, and there’s a pleasant little breeze that feels cool against his cheeks. Sitting at one of the small tables outside of the restaurant, Changmin loses himself in the food and the conversation.

After an hour, Jacob decides he needs to leave because he’s supposed to meet with his family the next day and can’t get too plastered. Kevin calls him a noob while making a face, but Jacob, being the angel he is, just pats him on the head on his way out. Privately, Changmin thinks Kevin is much more of a noob than Jacob, but the alcohol hasn’t addled his mind enough to say that out loud just yet.

At some point, though, the world becomes pleasantly muddy. Changmin can register what’s going on at a distant level and he probably shouldn’t drink too much more, but he takes a last shot anyway, just as Kevin asks a slightly slurred “How’s life with Y/N?”

A stupid smile stretches across Changmin’s lips. “Kevin, oh my God, she’s perfect.” He grins, the breeze cool against his flushed cheeks. "She’s so beautiful, it doesn't make sense that we exist in the same world."

Kevin mutters something that sounds like "whipped" and "so soft."

Changmin is sure that if he were sober, he would've attacked his fellow teacher by now, but his tipsy haze is too pleasant to interrupt. He just wants to keep talking. "Kevin," he whines. "Pay attention."

"Okay." Face flushed, Kevin puts his chin on his fist. "'M listening."

"Y/N’s so beautiful." Dimly, Changmin is aware that he's just repeating himself, but he can't help it. The point needs emphasis. "Kevin, she’s so amazing. So much more amazing than me. So smart. Did you know Y/N knows like ten programming languages?"

Tipsily, Kevin shakes his head. "What... what's a program."

"Computer shit." Changmin plays idly with his shot glass. "Doesn't matter. So smart, so nice, so... lovely, Kevin. Y/N’s good at everything. She cuts fruit for me when I work late and make me go to sleep. She doesn’t know anything about dance and tries to help anyway. She works so hard and never takes anyone’s shit and she always knows when I need time alone or when I need comfort.” His mouth draws down into a slight frown. “She’s like... she’s like..."

Why is it so hard to come up with something to explain you? Your entire existence defies definition. How can he even find something comparable to the way you sparkle in his eyes?

Ignoring Kevin’s gaze trained on him, Changmin slumps over the table, eyes gazing out at the dark night. A few stars manage to glitter past the clouds and the piercing lights of the Seoul skyline.

Stars. Something tugs at the back of Changmin’s brain. Stars. Sparkly.

An image of your smile pops, unbidden, in his mind. Your bright eyes glimmer. Like stars.

Oh.

Stardust.

Yes, stardust.

You're like stardust, warm and gentle and... magical. Magical to the touch.

"She’s like." Changmin hiccups. "She’s like stardust, Kevin. Stardust. Perfect. Warm.”

A tear trickles down Kevin's cheek. Changmin has exactly two seconds to ready himself in his drunken haze before Kevin launches himself at his purple hoodie, loosely grasping at the soft cloth as he fully encases Changmin within his arms. "Ji Changmin," he sobs, muffled, "that is the most adorable thing I've ever heard you say."

Even sober, Changmin doesn't think he'd know what to say in response to that, so he just stays silent. It's not like Kevin would even hear him over the sound of his overemotional crying.

Anyway, Kevin's hug feels nice. Warm. Changmin doesn't think he needs to speak words at the moment, he's too comfortable. It's not the same as being in your arms, but he'll settle for it now. He burrows a little deeper into his friend's hold.

“You little child, you,” Kevin sobs into his shoulder. “You’re so sweet and small and warm, I can’t believe you exist.”

Changmin doesn’t feel like replying. There’s a bubble of something growing in his chest that he can’t entirely decipher right now, and his brain has focused on that. It’s some sort of emotion, he thinks. It doesn’t feel very pleasant.

His head gets pulled out of Kevin’s arms. He whines a little, annoyed by the lack of warmth, but he doesn’t really have the presence of mind to do anything but sit there limply as Kevin starts shaking him back and forth, still wailing about how “adorable his little Ji Changminnie is.”

The bubble keeps growing as Kevin keeps shaking him. It doesn’t feel like vomit – Changmin knows that sensation a bit too well – but it makes him feel a little sick. A little upset. The bubble feels suffocating, cold, but it also burns.

Not vomit. He doesn’t feel nauseous. But still unpleasant.

Kevin goes back to hugging Changmin into his chest, which soothes the bubble a little bit. The soft warmth of Kevin’s sweater smooths the burning and takes away the edge of the cold. But the bubble still stays as Changmin rocks back and forth in his friend’s hold, blankly trying to decipher the stupid emotion growing in his heart.

“There’s a bubble.” The words slip out of his mouth just past Kevin’s ear. “There’s a bubble in my chest.”

“Bubble?” Kevin pulls back slightly, flushed face confused. “What bubble?”

Changmin vaguely gestures at his chest as best he can with Kevin’s arms partially trapping his hands. “Here. Doesn’t feel good.”

Kevin’s eyes squint. “Need to vomit?”

“Nooooo,” Changmin whines. “Kevin, it’s a bubble.” He pauses. “Think it’s an emotion.”

He hears Kevin suck in a breath. “I can’t believe my precious little Scorpio child is finally feeling emotions,” the older boy says in a stage whisper, loud enough for at least the next two tables to hear. Changmin has enough presence of mind to slap him. “Hey!”

“It hurts.” Changmin’s lips pout deeper. “I don’t like it.”

“Aww, no, baby.” Kevin pats his head – a little too hard, but Changmin can deal with that. “Why does it hurt? What emotion is it?”

Changmin racks his brains for the word. It’s not a good feeling, so he tries to eliminate the good words as they pass through his mind. Not pleasant. Definitely not happy. Not calm, either.

Sadness? Maybe that’s part of it, but it’s not specific enough. Anger? Not really.

Fear?

Changmin isn’t scared of many things. He loves horror movies and thinks possessed dolls are cute, and it’s hard for anyone to really startle him. Fear is not an emotion that regularly appears in his repertoire.

But this time…

“I’m scared.” The two words slip out of his mouth, quiet, lonely. “’M scared, Kevin.”

Kevin pulls back again. “Changmin, you’re never scared.”

“I am now.” He purses his lips petulantly.

“Why?”

Unconsciously, the corners of his lips turn down even further into a blank pout. "Sometimes I think Y/N’s gonna leave. Slip through my fingers."

Even tipsy, Changmin can tell there are more tears welling up in Kevin's eyes. "But… you love each other?"

"Y/N’s stardust." Changmin's pout deepens. "Too perfect. She’s gonna realize that, that I'm not... I'm not good enough but she’s too nice to say that so she’ll just slip away." He hiccups again, feeling his cheeks burn with drink, fluttering his fingers loosely to make sure Kevin gets the point. "Like stardust."

Kevin remains silent for one, two, three seconds. Changmin takes that time to drain the last little bit of soju left in his cup.

Then Kevin nearly knocks the cup out of his hand when he literally grabs Changmin and forces him to curl up into his sweater, nose buried in the soft folds of cloth. “You beautiful, pure little child, you,” he coos, patting Changmin’s head (still a little too hard, but Changmin really doesn’t feel the need to deal with it right now). “You small little child. You poor, small child. Y/N is so in love with you, there’s no way she’ll ever leave.”

“Stardust,” Changmin reminds Kevin, words muffled into his sweater.

“Stardust,” Kevin agrees. “But good stardust. Gonna stay with you. Never going to leave.”

Changmin doesn’t remember much of what happens after that. He knows that they eventually pay for everything and Kevin’s partner picks them up (well, they were the one who was supposed to pick the two of them up. He doesn’t actually register the driver’s face, but Changmin hears Kevin calling them “love muffin, better than Beyonce,” so it’s probably them. He refuses to acknowledge any alternatives), but he’s too drunk and too tired to process anything else.

Somehow, he wakes up the next day curled up in his bed, forehead threatening to split from the dull pain. Mentally, he thanks himself for closing the shades before he passed out last night (or was it morning? He isn’t completely sure when he got home) so that the sunlight isn’t adding to his headache.

Get up, Changmin, he tells himself, summoning the strength to swing his legs out of bed. Step by step, he exits his room and slowly brushes his teeth before heading toward the kitchen for a bottle of water or something to get rid of the pounding in his head.

Changmin’s so out of it that he doesn’t register the smell of something cooking wafting out of the kitchen before he’s almost in it. He finally stops, confused, just in time to see your head poke out from the kitchen entrance.

For a second, Changmin just stares at you, brain buffering as he tries to come up with a suitable greeting in his hungover state. There’s this look on your face that Changmin’s muddled mind can’t seem to decipher.

Oh, God.

You look like you’re about to cry. 

He panics. What did he do wrong? Did he say something bad last night? He can’t remember anything – how badly did he screw up, what the hell did he do –

Then you leap at him, much the same way Kevin did last night, and bury your face into his shoulder.

“Ji Changmin,” you say, words muffled into his rumpled shirt, “I love you so much.”

Changmin’s mouth can only come up with a confused “huh?”

You pull back, eyes shining with tears, but mouth stretched into a beautiful, beautiful smile. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember what you told Kevin last night,” you say teasingly, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in your gaze.

Slowly, slowly, the events of last night begin to piece themselves together in Changmin’s brain. Every single stupid word he said to Kevin in his drunken stupor comes flooding back in one massive, jumbled mess.

He blushes.

“Ji Changmin.” You cup his puffy, red cheeks between your hands, voice trembling. “Listen to me. I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to slip through your fingers and, fucking, I don’t know, fly away. Because I am not perfect, I am not stardust, but god, I – you’re perfect for me. You are good enough for me, more than good enough for me. You are perfect, and I’m staying here forever. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me. Understood?”

“But –”

“Understood?”

Changmin stares into your shining eyes. Even with you standing right here, hands cradling his face with the gentlest touch, he can’t quite believe you’re real and not just some beautiful figment of his imagination. Slowly, slowly, one of his hands rises to touch the fingers resting against his cheek. Just to make sure this isn’t a dream.

Solid. Warm.

Not a dream. 

This is real.

He nods dumbly, a stupid smile spreading across his face. “Okay.”

You crush him close again and this time, Changmin’s arms automatically move to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He can feel a few tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you hold him tight, so tight, and he smiles, one hand coming up to pat your back.

You’re here. You’re here, alive, solid, real. He can feel your warmth against his body, feel your hair tickling his skin.

You may be ethereal. You may be something completely out of this world, beautiful, divine. You may be sparkling, glimmering, brilliant in the morning sunlight. You may be made of stardust, something too perfect (he’ll fight you on that) to exist on earth.

But now, with you wrapped warmly in his arms, Changmin realizes that even though you may be stardust, that doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere.

A tear slips out of his eye as he smiles.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 cheek pinch for changmin idk why I just think that’d be fun <3)

#tbznetwork #destinyversenet #kpopscape #the boyz #tbz #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #tbz scenarios #the boyz q scenarios #the boyz changmin scenarios #the boyz q #the boyz changmin #tbz q #tbz changmin scenarios #tbz q scenarios #tbz changmin #changmin #ji changmin #the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #fluff #slight angst #tw cursing #tw alcohol #teacher!au #breathe and live #touching stars #stardust #scriptura-delirus

[iknewyoudunderstand]

Aaron woke up to a clattering in the kitchen. His brain caught up with his body when he was crouched at the gun safe tucked away next to his bureau, his sleep-addled fingers somehow maneuvering the combination lock—ten, oh-seven, thirty-four. Spencer had complimented him on it when figuring it out had taken him longer than ten seconds, because while using his son’s birthday was expected, what wasn’t was the division of his favorite album’s release date, and that would prevent potential attackers from— 

Spencer. Where was Spencer?

Glock in hand, finally, Aaron spun around but the bed was empty and the bathroom dark. Spencer’s revolver was still in the safe, and try as he might but Aaron just couldn’t remember if he had fallen asleep before Spencer had come upstairs or not. Spencer was a much heavier sleeper than he was, and if there was someone in the house and Spencer was downstairs…

On silent feet, Aaron crept through the upstairs, clearing each room. He didn’t have a flashlight on him, so he was forced to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, to keep his back to the wall, and to keep his finger on the trigger just in case someone jumped out at him from behind a door or a chest of drawers. His room, Jack’s unoccupied room, the upstairs bathroom… as he came down the stairs he noticed that there was a light coming from the kitchen.

He lifted his gun again and turned the corner to see Spencer, leaning against the counter with a jar of baby food in his hand and a spoon in his mouth.

“What the fuck?” Aaron asked. Spencer jumped at the sight of the gun, and Aaron clicked the safety back on. “What are you doing?”

“An experiment,” he said around the spoon.

Aaron suddenly felt very tired. He glanced at the digital clock on the oven. 3:23 AM. “Why?”

“Um.” Spencer set the jar of baby food down on the counter, and then the spoon. “Necessity?”

“Spencer.”

“I was hungry,” Spencer said. “And it was too late to make something.”

“Spencer.”

“So I had to go looking in the cabinets.”

“Not in the pantry?”

“As a result, I found the baby food.”

“It’s been there for at least a year. Did you check if it was expired?”

“My hypothesis was in regards to whether or not expired baby food was still going to be good.”

Aaron sighed. “And?”

“My conclusion is that it is palatable, but probably not something I should incorporate into my regular diet.”

“You mean you won’t be replacing your diet of coffee and saltine crackers with pureed peas and carrots?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Spencer cracked a grin and the sight of it dissolved all of his building exasperation. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He moved closer to Spencer and set his gun on the counter. “But you could’ve just told me you were going to make something. You know I don’t mind.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?” Spencer shrugged. “Spencer, you live here. I told you when you moved in that I wasn’t going to try and change your habits; they’re not disruptive.”

“They’re decidedly disruptive, Aaron. They’re the definition of disruptive,” Spencer said.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

“It will probably happen again.” Aaron reached out and grabbed one of Spencer’s hands so he’d stop wringing them. Gently, because he knew Spencer was still getting used to casual displays of affection, he lifted his knuckles to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss across them. Spencer lit up red. “But it’s okay. We’re FBI agents. At least one of us has to be the light sleeper.”

He snorted. “It doesn’t help that I’m an insomniac.”

“Life goes on.” Aaron fought a yawn. “I’m going back to bed, okay? Just make something if you’re hungry; you can throw away all that baby food when you’re done with your ‘experiment.’” He made air quotes around the word.

“It’s science, Aaron,” Spencer said. “I know you don’t understand it because you don’t have a doctorate in chemistry—“

“You are so lucky I love you,” Aaron said with a scoff. He looked down to grab his gun, and when he looked back up, Spencer was frozen completely, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembling a bit. He looked like someone had just told him his dog died.

Or, his brain that was still heavy with sleep supplied, like someone had told him they loved him for the first time.

“Sorry,” Aaron said quickly. “I didn’t mean… well, yes, I meant it, but I didn’t mean to say it now… honestly, I was hoping for a situation that was more romantic—“

“I’m sorry, this isn’t the romantic occasion you were looking for?” Spencer joked, a little bit of color coming back to his face. Spencer away from work was a smart-mouthed son of a bitch, and Aaron recognized it as a sort of defense mechanism—a sense of normalcy.

“Not really.” He returned Spencer’s wry smile with a dimple-bearing grin and received a light shove on the shoulder for his troubles, and a muttered ‘jerk.’

Aaron knew they weren’t going to talk about it. There wasn’t going to be a conversation about the logistics of a romantic connection between a superior and a subordinate, because they were already in too deep for a 3 AM feelings powwow to make any difference. They lived in the same house, they slept in the same bed. The only thing missing was the verbal affirmation, the thing that would tell the other, yes, I am in it for the long run.

He supposed neither of them had been looking for a promise because promises eventually got broken. Aaron learned that with Haley, and he didn’t want Spencer to have to learn it first hand—but he knew anyway because no matter how they got into this job, into this field, there was always trauma in the background. Neither of them wanted to get hurt or hurt the other, so the nonverbal agreement had been formed. Maybe if they didn’t say it out loud, the eventual dissolution wouldn’t hurt as much.

And Aaron had just ruined all that because he was caught off guard. It was uncharacteristic as it got—he was Aaron Hotchner, he was never caught off guard—but the easiest way to ruin something was by sticking your own foot in it.

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, looking like he’d just heard Aaron’s entire thought process out loud. Or he had probably had the same one. “I mean… you mean it, right?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “I do.”

Spencer stepped in close and caught his lips in a kiss, and it was relatively romantic for all of five seconds, especially in the way that his long fingers caught the skin in between his boxer briefs and his worn academy t-shirt that had become his pajamas, but then the taste made Aaron recoil.

“How did you palate that?” he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “All that sugar in your coffee is ruining your taste buds.”

“Maybe.” But Spencer was laughing, even as he stuck the spoon in the sink and dropped the baby food in the trash—thank God, Aaron didn’t know if he wanted that disgusting stuff in his house anymore. He’d call Jack in the morning and apologize for making him eat that liquid garbage. “You should go back to bed.”

“You should come with me.”

“I need to finish what I was doing,” he said with a sigh. “This professor is killing me with these papers.”

“He most likely knows that you’re smarter than him and feels intimidated, so he’s lashing out at you,” Aaron said, feigning wiseness. “Probably had some sort of complex when he was a kid.”

“Oedipus,” Spencer said. “You’re lucky you don’t have to sit through his lectures. I thought I was done with Freud when I finished my BA…”

“And that’s my cue to go to bed before I have to listen to another rant.”

“They’re well deserved.”

“Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night, Aaron,” Spencer said, and Aaron turned to leave the kitchen.

He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination when he heard a soft, “I love you, too,” but he didn’t want to check. Life with Spencer Reid was wonderful, and incredible, and all the other adjectives this crazy relationship between them deserved, but it was fragile. They both were.

Besides, he didn’t need to hear those words, because they only encouraged him—and he didn’t need to be thinking about a recreation of this scene in a world where life was more stable, and society was more accepting, and there was another child in his life and Spencer had another opportunity to eat baby food, even though the whole thought made his heart slam against his ribcage and a grin break out across his face.

They had work in the morning, and he didn’t need to be up all night dreaming about the future, because he was perfectly content to just let it come.

#hotchreid #heid #cm fic #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #when did i write this? three years ago? #did i run this through my editing program? no #am i on my phone at work desperate for validation? yes #hope u enjoy baby food

[mmvalentine]

But You pt 1 | Feysand

Modern AU, college-y sort of. Part 2

Feyre worried about Rhys going to college. Of course his grades were impeccable, it’s just that he had never been very good at making friends. When they were in the second grade, the teacher had asked them all to say what their dream world might look like, and where all the other kids had said things like “a world with unicorns” or “a world where we have swords for hands,” Rhys had said “a world where everyone is warm and comfy and loved.” And then one of the boys had laughed at him, called him stupid, and then stalked around the room chopping everyone down with his sword-hands. By the time the teacher had calmed everyone down and gotten them to sit back in the centre of the room, she had quite forgotten little Rhys, who was hiding under a table. Feyre, always a watchful, observant creature, had brought him pillows from the reading nook, and set up camp with him beneath the desk.

She was pretty sure that was the last time Rhys had made a friend. Because they were inseparable all through primary school and middle school, and when Feyre started making more friends in high school, Rhys just wandered off to the library.

“Don’t you want to stay and sit with us?” Feyre would ask him. Rhys just smiled and shrugged, and then sauntered off to be with his books instead.

Of course, Rhys wasn’t antisocial or anything. In fact he had always been so sensitive. And he needed so much physical affection- had toned it down as they progressed through school, but still spent most afternoons sprawled over the foot of Feyre’s bed, a leg or hip against hers, as long as they always had one point of contact. He had one or two romantic entanglements, but they never seemed to last long. Feyre wondered sometimes whether Rhys had decided early on that people were callous and cruel, and most weren’t worth the risk.

So when she got into a college on the opposite coast, and Rhys got a scholarship somewhere up north, Feyre seriously worried about what might happen to him left to his own devices.

Rhys had rolled his eyes when she broached the subject.

“I’ll be fine, Feyre darling,” he said. “Look at me. I’m unreasonably handsome.” “And has that helped you make any friends in high school?” Feyre had demanded, eyebrows raised. “It helped me get you,” he said with a rakish grin. “And you are all I need.” “Right but you won’t have me in six weeks,” Feyre said, feeling like she was going in circles. Rhys only shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” was all he said.

In the end Feyre decided that Rhys was just less in need of people than she was. She had always enjoyed company, and bouncing ideas off people. Rhys lived more inside himself.

And so she packed up for college, said goodbye to her friends, and went to one last party before she was due to drive off the next morning. Rhys hadn't wanted to come, of course, he never did. Truth be told, she felt a little disappointed but not surprised. It would have been nice to hang out one more time before she left.

Disappointments aside, Feyre was ecstatic to be leaving her hometown. It was small, and dingy, and contained her two awful sisters and she just knew she would go and never look back. She hoped Rhys would be able to do the same thing.

Feyre left the house wearing a scandalous silver dress. It was such a conservative town, she knew she'd be getting looks but screw it, she was leaving tomorrow. She took the bus to the sorry excuse for a bar the town had, and as she looked out the window she couldn't say she would miss any of this.

The bar had stained carpets and flickering lights. For some reason, Alis was devoted to it and was here most weekends. Feyre had turned her down many times, but figured it was as good a place as any to spend her last night in town. Lucien was already there too, taking up half the booth with his long limbs.

"Feyre!" Alis squealed. She hugged her friend tightly, and then Lucien pushed two shot glasses toward her as she sat down. "You're two behind Feyre, drink up."

And that would be the last clear thing that Feyre remembered from that night.

Hours later, she swayed on her front door step and tried to open the door without waking anyone. This was particularly difficult because the keyhole kept moving.

She managed to get herself up the stairs without anyone coming out, and closed her bedroom door behind herself thankfully. Dropped her purse on the ground, threw her coat over the chair, and stumbled toward the bed.

Where Rhys was sitting, his legs crossed at the ankles and his back against the headboard, with a bemused smirk on his handsome face.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said. "Rhys? How did you get in here?" Rhys shrugged. "Through the window." "I'm on the second floor." "I climbed." Feyre's alcohol addled brain struggled to put this together.

"Okay..." she said. "But, what are you doing here?" Rhys fiddled with a loose thread on Feyre's duvet cover. "Wanted to see you," he said. "I invited you out tonight." Rhys rolled his eyes. "Yeah but I hate those guys. I just want to see you."

Feyre walked unsteadily round the side of the bed and sat down next to Rhys.

"You always just want to see me, Rhys," she said. "Come on seriously, you know you're going to have to talk to other people at college." "I hate other people." "You hate everyone." "I don't hate you."

Feyre just peered at him until he squirmed.

"Okay, okay, I promise I'll talk to people at college. Now can you take that ridiculous thing off and come hang out with me?" Feyre sighed. "Fine. Turn." She circled her finger in the air, indicating for Rhys to face away from her. He huffed but then turned his back obediently, and she got out of her ridiculous dress and into flannel pyjama pants.

"Rhys," she said. "Are you sitting on my t-shirt?" "I don't think so?" Rhys said. He pulled off his own shirt and held it out to her without turning. "Here," he said. "You can have mine." "Well aren't you a gentleman," Feyre said. "You know this is my house, I have a whole wardrobe full of t-shirts." But tired as she was, she pulled it on anyway, and slid into bed.

Rhys turned when Feyre told him it was okay. "I know, but I like you in my clothes," he said. And snuggled down next to her.

"Hey," she said. "You can't sleep in here." "Why not?" Rhys asked. "I've slept in here plenty of times." "You're usually on the floor." "But you're leaving me tomorrow," Rhys complained. "Can't I just stay tonight?"

Feyre sighed. The alcohol still sloshing through her veins was making her sleepy, and made it hard to care about anything.

"Sure," she said. "I don't know why you don't just sleep in your own bed." "Because you aren't in it," Rhys said with a grin. Feyre frowned. "Turn off the lights, would you." She closed her eyes.

A second later, the room was peacefully dark, and Rhys laid his head down on the pillow next to hers.

"You know," he said more quietly. "I used to sleep up here." "Sure, when we were kids," Feyre said. She yawned. "I wish I could do it every night," Rhys murmured. "Why?" Feyre asked. Even though she was lying down now, the room still spun somehow. "Because I miss you when you're not there," he whispered. "Well what are you going to do when I'm at college?" she asked, and the words were like cotton in her mouth. "Think about you everyday," Rhys said, "and wish that I had told you when you were sober that I have no idea what I'm going to do without you and I've never been so scared in my life."

But Feyre was asleep by that point, and wouldn't remember that Rhys kissed her forehead before closing his eyes too.

****

HOKAY phew I really hit a wall there and was panicking a bit so I am very happy to be back in a chapter fic. Big ol' thanks and also smooshy kisses to my brain trust @feyrearcherons and @asteria-of-mars for getting me over the line.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @tillyrubes10 @feysand-babies @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist

MASTERLIST

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #fluff #mine

[snelbz]

What Happens In Vegas... {5}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz​ / @tacmc​ collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

I gave Rhys a while to cool off, then followed him out onto the beach. The morning light was blinding, clear blue skies all the way, as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful. Salty sea air cleared my head a little. Rhysand’s words raised more questions than they answered. Puzzling that night out consumed my thoughts. I’d reached two conclusions. Both worried me.

The first was that the night in Vegas was special to him. My prying or trivializing the experience upset him. The second was, I suspected, he hadn’t been all that drunk. It sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing. In which case, how the hell must he have felt the next morning? I’d rejected him, and by extension, our marriage, out of hand. He must have been hurt, embarrassed, humiliated.

There’d been good reasons for my behavior. I’d still, however, been incredibly thoughtless. I didn’t know Rhys then. But I was beginning to now. And the more we talked, the more I liked him.

Rhys sat on the rocks with a beer in hand, staring out to sea. A cool ocean wind tossed his hair about. The fabric of his black T-shirt was drawn tight across his broad back. He had his knees drawn up with an arm wrapped around them. It made him seem younger than he was, more vulnerable.

“Hi,” I said, squatting beside him.

“Hey.” Eyes squinted against the sun, he looked up at me, face guarded.

“I’m sorry for pushing.”

He nodded, stared back out at the water. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I breathed.

His answer was short. “Don’t worry about it.”

I hesitated. “Are we still friends?” 

He huffed out a laugh. “Sure.”

I sat down next to him, trying to figure out what to say next, what would set things right between us. Nothing I could think of saying was going to make up for Vegas. I needed more time with him. The ticking clock of the annulment papers grew louder by the minute. It unnerved me, thinking our time would be cut short. That it would soon all be over and I wouldn’t see or talk to him again. That I wouldn’t get to figure out the puzzle that was us. My skin grew goose pimples from more than the wind.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in closer against him.

And I got closer, happily. “Thanks.”

He put down the beer bottle, wrapping both arms around me. “Should probably get you inside.”

“In a bit.” My thumbs rubbed over my fingers, fidgeting. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s a lovely place.”

He hummed, contentedly.

I sighed again. “Rhys, really, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” He put a finger beneath my chin, raising it. The anger and hurt were gone, replaced by kindness. He gave me one of his little shrugs. “Let’s just let it go.”

The idea actually sent me into a panic. I didn’t want to let go of him. The knowledge was startling. I stared up at him, letting it sink in. “I don’t want to.”

He blinked. “All right. You want to make it up to me?”

I doubted we were talking about the same thing, but I nodded anyway.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said.

I nodded, “Shoot.”

His arms tightened around me, slightly. “Different things can jog your memory, right?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“So if I kiss you, you might remember what we were like together.”

I stopped breathing. The words were stilted when I finally remembered how to speak. “You...want to kiss me?”

A dark eyebrow rose. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m okay with you kissing me.”

He bit back a smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

Clearing my throat, I asked, “And this kiss is for the purposes of scientific research?”

He was smirking now. “Yep. You want to know what happened that night and I don’t really want to talk about it. So, I figure, easier all around if you can maybe remember some of it yourself.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Excellent.”

I cleared my throat again. “How far did we go that night?”

His gaze dropped to the neck of my tank top and the curves of my breasts just barely visible. “Second base.”

“Shirt on?” I asked.

“Off. We were both topless. Topless cuddles are best.” He watched as I absorbed the information, his face close to mine.

I blinked. “Bra?”

He chuckled again. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” I licked my lips, breathing hard. “So, you really think we should do this?”

He said, “You’re overthinking it.”

Nodding, I said, “Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing.” My mouth opened to repeat the sentiment but I snapped it shut. He chuckled, knowing what I was about to say. Instead, he said, “It’s okay.”

My brain stuttered and I stared at his mouth. He had the most beautiful mouth, with full lips that pulled up slightly at the edges. He was stunning.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

I shook my head. “You said not to think. And honestly, I’m not.”

“Good,” he said, leaning even closer. “That’s good.”

His lips brushed against mine, easing me into it. Soft but firm, with no hesitation. His teeth toyed with my bottom lip. Then he sucked on it. He didn’t kiss like the boys I knew, though I couldn’t exactly define the difference. It was just better and… More. Infinitely more. His mouth pressed against mine and his tongue slipped into my mouth, rubbing against mine. God, he tasted good. My fingers slid into his hair, the strands like silk. He kissed me until I couldn’t remember anything that had come before. None of it mattered.

His hand slid around the nape of my neck, holding me in place. The kiss went on and on. He lit me up from top to toe. I never wanted it to end.

He kissed me till my head spun, and I hung on for dear life. Then he pulled back, panting, and set his forehead against mine once again.

“Why did you stop?” I asked when I could form a coherent sentence. My hands pulled at him, trying to bring him back to my mouth. 

“Shh, relax.” He took a deep breath. “Did you remember something? Anything about that familiar to you?”

My kiss-addled mind came up blank. Damn it. I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“That’s a pity.” A ridge appeared between his brows. The dark smudges beneath his beautiful blue eyes seemed to have darkened. I’d disappointed him again. My heart sank.

“You look tired,” I said.

“Yeah. Might be time to get some sleep.” He planted a quick kiss on my forehead. Was it a friend’s kiss, or more? I couldn’t tell. Maybe it too was just for scientific purposes.

“We tried, huh?” he said.

I shrugged. “Yeah. We did.”

He rose to his feet, collecting his beer bottle. Without him to warm me, the breeze blew straight through me, shaking my bones. It was the kiss, though, that had really shaken me. It had completely blown my mind. To think I’d had a night of kisses like that and forgotten it. What was wrong with me?

“Do you mind if I come with you?” I asked.

“Not at all.” He held out a hand to help me to my feet.

Together, we wandered back up to the house, up the stairs into the master bedroom. I tugged off my shoes as Rhys dealt with his own footwear. We lay down on the mattress, not touching. Both of us staring at the ceiling like there might be answers there.

I kept quiet. For all of about a minute. My mind was wide awake and babbling at me. “I think I understand a little better now how we ended up married.”

“Do you?” He turned his head to face me.

“Yes.” I’d never been kissed like that before. “I do.”

“Come here.” A strong arm encircled my waist, dragging me into the center of the bed.

I reached for him with a nervous smile. More than ready for more kisses. More of him.

“Lie on your side,” he said, his hands maneuvering me until he lay behind me. One arm slipped beneath my neck and the other was slung over my waist, pulling me in closer against him. His hips fit against my butt perfectly.

“What are we doing?” I asked, bewildered.

“Spooning. We did it that night for a while. Until you felt sick.”

“We spooned?”

“Yep,” he said. “Stage two in the memory rehab process, spooning. Now go to sleep.”

I laughed quietly. “I only woke up an hour ago.”

He pressed his face into my hair and even threw a leg over mine for good measure, pinning me down. “Sucks for you. I’m tired and I wanna cuddle. With you. And the way I figure it, you owe me. So we’re spooning.”

I chuckled. “Got it.”

His breath warmed the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“Relax. You’re all tense.” His arms tightened around me.

After a moment, I picked up his left hand, running the pads of my fingers over his calluses. Using him for my fidget toy. The tips of his fingers were hard. There was also a ridge down his thumb and another slight one along the bottom of his fingers where they joined the palm of his hand. He obviously spent a lot of time holding guitars. The whorls and swirls of black ink that I’d seen on his chest in the bathroom in Vegas continued down both his arms and hands. It was such a stark contrast to his tan skin. I traced one of the long lines with my free hand.

“Tell me about your major,” he said. “You’re studying architecture, right?”

“Yes,” I said, a little surprised he knew. I’d obviously told him in Vegas. “My dad’s one.”

He intertwined his fingers with mine, effectively shutting down my fidgeting.

“Did you always want to play guitar?” I asked, trying not to get too distracted by the way he was wrapped around me.

“Yeah. Music’s the only thing that ever really made sense to me. Can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Huh.” It must be nice, having something to be so passionate about and have the freedom to pursue it. I liked the idea of being an architect. Many of my childhood games had involved building blocks or drawing. But I didn’t feel driven to do it, exactly. Painting… That’s where my true love lied. Music though, definitely not. “I’m pretty much tone deaf.”

“That explains a lot,” he chuckled.

“Be nice. I was never particularly good at sports either. I like drawing and reading and watching movies. Painting has always been my favorite, but I don’t have much time for it. And I like to travel, not that I’ve done much of it.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He shifted behind me, getting comfortable. “When I travel, it’s always about the shows. Doesn’t leave much time for looking around.”

“That’s a pity.”

He nodded and went on. “And being recognized can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Now and then, it gets ugly. There’s a fair bit of pressure on us, and I can’t always do what I want. Truth is, I’m kind of ready to slow things down, hang out at home more.”

I said nothing, turning his words over inside my head.

He barely seemed to notice my quiet, as if the words he were admitting had been trying to get out for a while. He said, “The parties get old after a while. Having people around all the damn time.”

“I bet.” And yet, back in LA he’d still had a groupie hanging off him, cooing at his every word. Obviously parts of the lifestyle still appealed. Parts that I wasn’t certain I could compete with even if I wanted to. “Won’t you miss some of it?”

He got quiet for a few minutes. “Honestly, it’s all I’ve done for so long, I don’t know.”

Whoa. The mood got real heavy real quick. I tried to make a joke to lighten the mood. “Well, you have a gorgeous home to hang out in.”

“Hmm.” He was quiet for a moment. “Feyre?”

“Yeah?”

“Was being an architect your idea or your dad’s?”

“I don’t remember,” I admitted. “We’ve always talked about it. I don’t know what else I’d do, I’ve been planning to be an architect since I was in high school.”

“You said you had a tough time at high school, yeah?.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I wriggled around, turned over so I could see his face. “I don’t usually talk about that with other people.”

“We talked about it. You said that there was a group of girls that hounded you like wolves. I figured that’s what set you off with my friends. The fact that they were bullying that girl like a pack of fucking schoolkids.”

“I guess that would do it.” The teasing wasn’t a subject I liked to raise. Too easily, it brought back all of the crappy feelings associated with it. Rhysand’s arms didn’t allow for any of that to slip through, however.

The room grew quiet again. He said, “You didn’t really answer my question. Do you want to be an architect?”

“Well, it’s what I’ve always planned to do,” I stammered out. “And I, ah, I like the idea of designing someone’s home. I don’t know that being an architect is my divine calling, like music is for you, but I think I could be good at it.”

“I’m not doubting that, baby,” he said, his voice soft but definite.

I tried not to let the endearment reduce me to a soggy mess on the mattress. Subtlety was the key. I’d hurt him in Vegas. If I was serious about this, about wanting him to give us another go, I needed to be careful. Give him good memories to replace the bad. Memories we could both share this time.

Then he asked the question no one had ever asked me. “Feyre, is it what you want to do with your life?”

I stopped. Having already trotted out the standard responses, extra thought was required. The plan had been around for so long I didn’t tend to question it. There was safety and comfort to be had there. But Rhysand wanted more and I wanted to give it to him. Maybe this was why I’d spilled my secrets to him in Vegas. Something about this man drew me in, and I didn’t want to fight it. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay, you know.” His gaze never shifted from mine. “You’re only twenty-one.”

“But I’m supposed to be an adult now, taking responsibility for myself. I’m supposed to know these things.”

“You’ve been living with your friend for a few years, yeah? Paying your own bills and doing your classes and all that?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then how are you not taking responsibility for yourself?” He tucked his loose, dark hair behind an ear, getting it out of his face. “So you start out in architecture and see how you go.”

Chuckling, I said, “You make it sound so simple.”

His arms tightened around me minisculely. “It is. You either stick with that or try something else, see how it works for you. It’s your life. Your call.”

“Do you only play guitar?” I asked, wanting to know more about him. Wanting the topic of conversation to be off me. The knot of tension building inside me was not pleasant.

“No.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—he knew exactly what I was about. “Bass and drums, too. Of course.”

“Of course?” I asked.

“Anyone passable at guitar can play bass if they put their mind to it. And anyone who can pick up two sticks at the same time can play drums.” He smirked. “Be sure to tell Cass I said that next time you see him, yeah? He’ll get a kick out of that.”

I couldn’t help the smile on my face. “You got it.”

“And I sing.”

“You do?” I asked, getting excited. “Will you sing something for me? Please?”

He made a noncommittal noise.

I paused. “Did you sing to me that night?”

He gave me a small pained smile. “Yeah, I did.”

I cleared my throat. “So it might bring back a memory.”

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the smile in the gesture. “You’re going to use that now, aren’t you? Anytime you want something you’re going to throw it at me.”

Scoffing, I said, “Hey, you started it. You wanted to kiss me for scientific purposes.”

“It was for scientific purposes.” He shrugged, “A kiss between friends for reasons of pure logic.”

“It was a very friendly kiss, Rhys.”

A lazy smile lit his face. “Yes, it was.”

I hesitated, but asked, “Please sing me something?”

“Okay,” he huffed. “Turn back around, then. We were spooning for this.”

I snuggled back down against him and he shuffled closer. Being Rhysand’s cuddle toy was a wonderful thing. I couldn’t imagine anything better. Pity he was sticking with the scientific rationale. Not that I could blame him. If I were him, I’d be wary of me too.

His voice washed over me, deep, rough in the best way possible as he sang the ballad.

He began A Drop in the Ocean by Ron Pope, his voice beautiful, low, haunting, but in the best of ways.

When he finished I was quiet. He gave me a squeeze, probably checking I was still alive. I squeezed his arms right back, not turning over so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes. The combination of his voice and the moody ballad had undone me. I was always making a mess of myself around him, crying or puking. Why he wanted anything to do with me, I had no idea.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Anytime.” I lay there, trying to decipher the lyrics. What it might mean that he’d chosen that song to sing to me. “Shit, I made you sad. I’m sorry.”

“No. It was beautiful. Your voice is amazing.” He frowned but lay back down, pressed his chest against my spine. “I’ll sing you something happy next time.”

“If you like.” I pressed my lips to the back of his hand, to the veins tracing across, and the dusting of dark hair. “Rhys?”

“Hmm?”

I asked, “Why don’t you sing in the band? You have such a great voice.”

“I do backup. Tam loves the limelight. It was always more his thing.” His fingers twined with mine. “He wasn’t always the asshole he is now. I’m sorry he hassled you in LA. I could have killed him for saying that shit.”

I shrugged it off. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. He was off his face. He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was talking about.” His thumb moved restlessly over my hand. “You’re gorgeous. You don’t need to change a thing.”

I didn’t know what to say at first. Tamlin had said some horrible things and it had stayed with me. Funny how the bad stuff always did.

“I’ve both puked and cried on you. Are you entirely sure about that?” I joked, finally.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I like you the way you are, blurting out whatever shit crosses your mind. Not trying to play me, or use me. You’re just…being with me. I like you.”

I lay there speechless for a moment, taken aback. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime, Feyre. Anytime at all.”

After a minute, I admitted, “I like you too.”

His lips brushed against the back of my neck. Shivers raced across my skin. “Do you?”

My voice was too high, breathy, when I spoke. “Yes. Very much.”

“Thanks, baby.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

It took a long time for his breathing to even out. His limbs got heavier and he stilled, asleep against my back. My foot went fuzzy with pins and needles, but never mind. I hadn’t slept with anyone before, apart from the occasional platonic bed-sharing episode with Joey. Apparently, sleeping was all I’d be doing today.

In all honesty, it felt good, lying next to him.

It felt right.

#what happens in vegas #snelbz whiv #feysand #vegas au #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

[punkpoemprose]

December 12th- A Convenient Arrangement Part 4

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating:T Length: 5336 Words A/N: Brain-rot I tell you. Brain-rot. Yes I’m aware it would be easier to catch up writing or finishing the drabbles and oneshots I have in my drafts but I can literally only think about this AU anymore.  I do have other ideas I really want to tackle though, so maybe I’ll try one of those next. We sure will see won’t we?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Anna had not been particularly pleased by the knock on her door before the rising of the sun. That was, of course, until she’d heard it open, and saw a somewhat familiar figure through her one open eye. They’d been married for just a little over a full day and a half, and already seeing him there, hearing his voice, brought her comfort.

“Anna,” he’d said quietly, “We’ll have to leave soon if we want to get back before dark. I think I’d like to show you some places on the way.”

So she’d dragged herself from bed, and now in the closest thing she owned to travel clothes, she sat at his side, watching the sun rise in his wagon. She’d offered to have the horse master prepare the royal carriage, but he’d shrugged at the idea. She could already tell that he was the sort of person who wouldn’t have others do for him, what he could do for himself.

She could appreciate that. She’d spent many years trying to dodge the staff when they’d wanted to bathe her or dress her or clean up her quarters for her. She’d given her poor governess a run for her money in her younger years, and now there was some special satisfaction she found in the tacking of her own horse or the styling of her own hair.

She wore it down today, in a pair of braids to make it almost proper. Being with her husband she supposed she should be allowed to wear it however she liked. She did feel a bit bad for the surge of annoyance she’d felt the day before when she’d watched him brushing his reindeer when she just spent time ruminating on her own insistence at doing things on her own. She was stubborn, and he seemed to be as well in many ways.

The odds of that causing problems were likely high, but she still liked their odds.

“What’s it like to live so far from the city?” she asked, just to break the quiet between them as they made their way along the road, few others traveling along as they did.

She wondered if Kristoff knew that normally she’d be accompanied by guards for any trip like this outside the walls of the castle’s gates. She wondered if he knew that he now should be afforded the same guards, and whether he knew that she’d intentionally had him exit a rear gate so as to not catch attention when they’d left.

The last thing she wanted on her first day left entirely alone with her husband was to have an entourage of guards a few feet behind them at most. She’d thought to leave a note in the servant’s quarters for Kai and Gerda, as well as one under her sister’s office door before they set out, at least so that no one would think she was kidnapped, but she was still uncertain as to whether they’d send a platoon out after her anyway.

“Simple,” he said, “Quiet. When I’m in camp with the other harvesters or in the market selling ice it’s so loud. But at home it’s peaceful. Sometimes someone who knows me well enough to know where my home is will stop by to visit, usually family or another harvester, but otherwise it’s just me and Sven and the forest.”

It sounded nice, she thought. To live out in nature and see untamed plants and animals each day. But the quiet aloneness was something that made her uncomfortable to think about. She’d spent too many years in solitude, quiet, alone. She couldn’t imagine wanting that.

But he was free to go where he liked, and he has family and he has friends.

His self-imposed solitude was different than her enforced one.

It’s better to have a choice.

His hands were on the reins, leading his reindeer off the well-traveled road and toward a smaller wooded path ahead. The city was shrinking behind them, and while she thought that it might be nice to get away for a short time, she also couldn’t help but fear what would come ahead for them. The forest was probably less dangerous than the conversations they might have now that they were well and truly alone, away from the ears and eyes of staff and dignitaries and citizens of her castle and kingdom.

She wished that he’d let a hand fall, so that she could grip it for comfort.

***

She was leaning into his side a bit as Sven climbed the familiar path up and into the mountain. Trees lined the dirt road and in some places, he felt the wagon’s wheels crunch over fallen branches and encroaching shrubs. Had he been alone, and had he had his hatchet he may have spent some time clearing the road. It was used by only a few during the summer months. There were others that lived in his section of the mountain, but they were mostly older and while they helped keep the path, it was a job he took mostly for himself.

Hermits have to stick together.

But he wasn’t a hermit, at least not anymore. She was warm at his side, and he enjoyed the contact. It was not a cold morning, the summer sun rising was already warming their surroundings, but the shade of the branches above was keeping it cool. They hadn’t been speaking for a while, and he wasn’t sure what to say. She’d been doing most of the talking, and he’d answered her when prompted. He’d told her about ice harvesting and the work it required, about his preferences for hands on work over more cerebral tasks despite doing well enough with them to keep himself and his ice business afloat.

She’d told him about growing up in the castle, being trained for duties she’d not been asked to fulfil when the gates had been closed, and how she wasn’t truly certain what was going to happen next. She’d mentioned that they’d be expected to make appearances, and that while they didn’t rule, they’d be prepared to do so in the event that Elsa could not.

“My sister has no interest in providing the kingdom with an heir,” she’d said, “The throne will be mine someday, whether I want it or not. People are going to want me to ensure someone will fill it after as well. Our kingdom is peaceful, the monarchy is well liked, but a power vacuum could be deadly nevertheless.”

It had been the last thing she’d said before the quiet had overtaken them. They’d spoken briefly of heirs and children on their wedding night, mostly to assure her that she’d never have to provide him with any, but he wasn’t sure now if it were something that she might have taken the wrong way. He tried to recall whether he’d qualified the statement with a willingness to someday have children if she wanted them, but he was uncertain.

“Do you want children?”

She was quiet, but she didn’t shift from his side. He took it as a good sign and let his hand drop from the reins, knowing that Sven knew the path ahead and that he could control him well enough with a single hand.

She took it, her fingers lacing through his as they both kept their eyes on the path ahead.

“I never thought about it much,” she said, “Well I thought about it sometimes, but not about whether I would want to or not. Princesses married, they had children, they raised future monarchs, and with Elsa being as she is… well I just always knew it would be my duty. I was very romantic as a child though, I liked to dream of weddings and things. I always thought I’d marry for love like my parents did.”

He squeezed her hand, trying to be as reassuring as possible.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a choice.”

She looked at him then, he saw it out the corner of his eye and so he turned to her in return. Her eyes were rueful, her smile weak. “I’m sorry you didn’t either. I never asked… was there someone else that you…?”

“No.”

He thought maybe he answered too quick, especially when there was a spark of surprise in her eye. He couldn’t imagine why it would, he surely had to be blundering enough in his attempts at supporting her that she could tell he’d never been in a relationship before. But then again, she’d been alone for so long, and while he didn’t know much about her last relationship, he knew that she was also new to their situation if nothing else. Maybe she wasn’t sure of what being in a relationship was supposed to be like either.

“Sorry, I… no. I’ve never been interested in anyone before you.”

She flushed, her face going bright red. He wasn’t really sure what he’d said that elicited the response until she looked down at her feet and quietly replied.

“So you are interested? In me… that is?”

It was his turn to flush then. He looked away from her, toward the brush along the side of the path, taking note of the plants they passed, staring at trees and stones and anything but her. Because he was interested.

She’s beautiful.

She’s kind.

I’m not worthy of her.

She’s my wife.

“How could I not be Anna?”

***

The light breeze that swept its way across the small clearing buffeted the loose hairs around her face, tickling at her nose. Her sleep addled hands had done their best in braiding, but clearly she’d missed some pieces.

Kristoff’s hand was in hers again, helping her down from the wagon. It was a lucky thing too, her legs feeling like jelly with how long she’d been sitting.

She fell a bit, into his chest, and she didn’t mind at all when his other arm wrapped around her back, stabilizing her, holding her until she righted herself. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the various conversations they’d had on their way, but particularly the one where he’d told her that he was, in fact, interested in her.

It shouldn’t matter really. They were married after all. But the idea that her husband might have an interest in her beyond the title and duty to be wed, meant something. She was interested in him too.

He’s funny, and kind, and…

She had to tune out her own thoughts in order to quiet the commentary on his arms and chest and the attractiveness of his features. She lost the battle though, at least thinking about his strength, when she righted herself again and let her hand run down his chest.

“I hope you won’t be too disappointed,” he said, not dropping her hand as he led her toward one of the two buildings that filled the space. “It’s nothing fancy.”

She knew that she couldn’t possibly be disappointed. All she’d wanted from this trip was to get away from the castle for a bit, to get to know him a little better. She’d already been given that and more. His hand was in hers; he’d said that he was interested in her, and nothing had fallen apart around her yet.

The grass in the field around them was a bit taller than it was in the pasture where she rode her horse, but the ground was mostly level and easy to walk on. He’d already unhitched Sven who was munching on it happily. He wasn’t tied up, but stayed in the bounds of the space without difficulty.

The animal was smart. She could tell that he was either well trained, or had a bond with Kristoff that at least made him appear so. She wondered how old the reindeer was, and how long Kristoff had been his “best friend”.

She thought that maybe sometime the information would come up naturally. Or at least she hoped so. There were some mysteries she wanted him to answer for her naturally, rather than offer in response to her many questions.

The building was small, larger than the other that appeared to be a stable and storage space, but still smaller than even her smallest drawing room. It was built of logs, long, but thin compared to the trunks of the trees around her, and bare of bark. They were stacked high, perhaps ten feet, and appeared to be expertly aligned to create the walls. Into the face a few small windows were inset into the wood, and the roof, made of thick wooden shingles that were well aged with the sun and weather. A few appeared to be split, maybe as a result of the freezing and thawing of the winter’s snow and ice.

She’d seen winters split the flagstones in the garden path at the palace and supposed it might to do the same to shingles. She took note of the simplicity of the structure, just a rectangle of wood with the space broken only by the windows, the single front door, and the stone chimney that had been laid up the end.

Nothing about it was perfect. The logs that made up the walls were tightly laid together, and she had no doubt that it was weather tight, but the logs were cut to different lengths on the end, almost lined up, but not quite. The chimney had a slight lean to it, and the door and windows were not even close to centered on the buildings front. It had been made by eye, she could tell, and it was lovely.

She wanted to ask if he’d made it himself, but she felt as if she might be disappointed to learn if it hadn’t been. She was already imagining him, maybe a year or two younger, without a shirt and hauling the heavy supplies across the clearing himself.

She supposed his family must have helped. That’s what families did, or at least that was true to her memory of what having a full family was like. It was fuzzy around the edges, even with her parents death not having been long ago, because Elsa hadn’t really been part of the family since she was quite small.

When they made it to the front door, he opened it for her and helped her take the step up into the interior which was lit warmly by sunlight through the two windows that had been visible to her on the front of the building as well as another slightly larger one on the back. Small dust motes danced like fireflies in the light, and she realized rather quickly that it was a home of practicality rather than fashion. The main room was, less of a room and more a space. She saw a stove, a small fireplace, a table with a single chair, a chest, and a cot in the space with little else.

“It’s not fancy,” he reiterated, stepping into his home behind her, “Nothing like what you’re used to, but it’s mine.”

She thought for a moment about what it would be like to live there.

She’d want to hang curtains, maybe polish the stove a bit, and add a rug to the center of the floor, and maybe some hooks on the wall to hang jackets in the winter, but otherwise it was someplace she could, at least, imagine staying for a few nights.

She didn’t really think that she needed much. The amenities of the castle had always been nice, but she thought that she might be able to, perhaps, be happy without them. Running water was, however, one thing that she knew she’d miss if she were ever to live anywhere without it.

“It’s perfect,” she said, and she meant it, because it was his, and that’s all it needed to be.

***

He’d left her with express permission to do all the exploring and digging through his home that she liked. He had nothing to hide from her, and he supposed that it might make her happy to see his home and his things. He was getting to know her home, and while he supposed he wouldn’t be spending much time in his cabin anymore, he thought it only right for her to get to know his too. Her zeal after being given permission was something that surprised him, as if she had wanted to know if she could explore but had been too scared to ask.

I don’t want her to ever be afraid to ask something of me.

Still though, with her joy, there had been some visible sadness when he’d told her that he needed to leave for a short while. Normally he would ride Sven the moderate distance to the valley where his family lived, but instead he left the animal in Anna’s care, or perhaps he left Anna in his care. Sven was, for a very long time, the only living being other than his family that he trusted without a second thought. He was starting, even after such a short time, to put Anna in that category as well, and so he knew that he could trust the animal to keep her company or get her back to the city if need be, just as he also felt comfortable with leaving her to keep the creature from running off or getting tangled up in anything he shouldn’t.

She already seemed to like him, he’d noticed the way she’d scratched his head gently before they’d left in the morning, and somehow a small pile of carrots had appeared in the wagon while they were on the road. It may have been bribery on her part, though it was unnecessary. Sven in his own way, had already shown that he liked her too. It was another reason why he thought that being married to Anna might be something he would not only be able to bear, but to enjoy. Sven was an excellent judge of character.

When he reached the valley it appeared empty, void of everything but the occasional mushroom, tuft of grass, and bit of moss growing on the oddly placed stones in the space. He knew better of course, but to the untrained, unknowing eye, who probably couldn’t find the valley in the first place, it would just be another stretch of the mountain to pass through.

“I’m home,” he called.

He could feel the love in the space as a few stones slowly unsettled themselves from the dirt and rolled toward the shaded area of tree line he’d just emerged from. The mossy stones were large but didn’t come up much higher than his knee as he walked back into the shade to where they’d settled.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I have something I need to tell you.”

The rocks rocked a bit, then popped apart into small humanoid figures. The one he called his mother gave him a sleepy smile as the one he called his father yawned, and the one he called his grandfather looked on expectantly. Grand Pabbie was always the first to have his wits about him when he woke, being the oldest and least effected by the exhausting light of the sun.

“It must be urgent,” the old troll said, already reaching out to grasp Kristoff’s hand in support, his brow scrunched as he tried to determine what was going on.

The two trolls that he called his parents came to shortly after, reaching for him and clasping his larger hand in between their smaller ones.

“I wanted to come and tell you yesterday, or before I even left but… I’m married.”

“Married?”

His father looked skeptical, as if he were about to start checking him for head trauma. Then rubbed his eyes with his unoccupied hand.

“Married like wed? To another human?”

His wife, Kristoff’s mother, bumped the troll with a look of cut-it-out-right-now-or-so-help-me on her face, then turned to give Kristoff a radiant smile.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s human or not… or if he is… or if it is. Our baby is in love! When do we get to meet… uh… your spouse?”

Kristoff flushed and it had nothing to do with the warm afternoon air.

“I’m not in love… or at least I’m not… I think I could be but we’re… We’re just married…” He found it much more difficult to explain than he could have imagined on his walk over, and so he just settled for the most basic information he could manage, “She’s human. Her name is Anna. Actually, well… Princess Anna.”

“Oh God,” his father said, “He’s kidnapped a Princess. I told you that we needed to stop pressuring him into finding someone Bulda. We’re going to have to move the valley, raise the protection crystals, explain kidnapping to the kids...”

The elder troll gave the other two an exhausted look, and then shook his head as he and Kristoff watched the two begin bickering. It was a loving sort of argument, but a boisterous one nevertheless.

“Princess Anna…” Grand Pabbie said thoughtfully, “The daughter of Agnarr and Iduna, yes? Is she the one with ice powers? I’m old and I can’t quite recall which one had which name. Elsa was one and Anna the other as I recall. One should be Queen by now I suppose. I know King Agnarr and his wife have passed.”

Kristoff shot the old troll a confused look. Of course, the trolls knew some of the goings on in the kingdom below and surrounding their valley, but Kristoff wasn’t aware that he knew of the girls beyond anything he’d mentioned. In the time before the last three days, he’d rarely if ever mentioned much about the human world below to his family, assuming that they wouldn’t be interested.

“I’m sorry Pabbie, I don’t understand… Ice powers? You mean those rumors about the Queen…”

Pabbie gave Kristoff an uncharacteristically wry smile.

“You have trolls for family, and you thought people telling you that the Queen of Arendelle had the ability to control ice was too wild a tale to be true?”

He would have laughed at himself were he not so confused.

“They say she froze the land, but I never noticed anything. My cabin wasn’t struck by an ice storm and while I didn’t leave home often when they say the event occurred, I’m sure I would have noticed the drop in temperature, or my clearing being covered in snow.”

“You wouldn’t have noticed a thing unless you left our area of protection and your cabin is well within it,” the old troll answered, “I forget sometimes that while you’re our kin, you’re not of our blood. You couldn’t feel the surge of magic when it occurred, or when it ended. I imagine an act of sacrifice, or perhaps one of true love. I lack the details. But you say you married the Princess then? So not the one with the ice powers, the one with the red hair. A strange thing that is given your history.”

“You don’t mean?”

His mother was the one who asked, done bickering with his father. She released his hand to cross the space to where her father, Grand Pabbie, was nodding sagely.

“I do. I doubt he recalls as we do Bulda, but there’s fate at work here.”

“Fate?”

Kristoff felt, not for the first time amid his adopted family, utterly confused. They often spoke cryptically, jumped to conclusions, or otherwise reacted to things in ways that befuddled him. They were kind, loving creatures, but he knew that in some ways they would never understand each other as completely as they loved each other.

“Kristoff,” his father asked, “How much do you recall of the day you became our son? And your wife… Anna… does she have red hair with a streak of white in it?”

Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

***

When Kristoff returned it was well into the afternoon. Anna had managed to not only fully make her way through the features and belongings of his home, but also of the stable and storage space. She’d taken in the neat rows of his small garden, and picked wildflowers from the clearing around his home, accompanied by the loose reindeer. She’d made them into a crown which sat delicately on the beast’s head, well designed to account for his antlers.

She’d seen little that surprised her amongst his things. Clothes, tools, a ledger of his business expenses and earnings, some miscellaneous personal affects like soap and linens and various things she’d never found interesting until it was his. His little home was neat, and tidy, and while a bit dusty in some places, overwhelmingly clean. She thought perhaps, from the variety of things she found of his, the worn but well cared for tools and the simple but clean stove with few pans, that he took pride in his simple life. It was reinforced by what she knew of him.

The standout in his things had been in the bottom of the chest that held his clothes. Amongst shirts and trousers and vests and winter things, she’d found three small but lovely crystals. One was blue, one was yellow, and one, which she thought for half a moment had glowed at her touch, was pink. She’d run her fingers over their facets, noted their clarity, and had then settled them gently back in with the rest of his things. She had plenty of jewels of her own, but nothing so simple and lovely. She wasn’t certain as to why they sat in the bottom of the chest, and while she thought that she might sometime ask him, she still felt nervous about the fact that she’d snooped at all, even with his permission.

She’d been feeding Sven carrots when he arrived, looking almost harried in a way she was unused to seeing him as he quickly broke through the tree line and walked towards her. She couldn’t help recoiling a bit from him in surprise when he walked up to her and with speed and little tact, lifted one of her braids from her shoulders and studied it.

She dropped the carrot she’d been holding, and the reindeer huffed as his owner held, not tightly, onto her hair and held it up a bit to the sun.

“Where did you get this?”

It took her a moment to understand. So much time away from people who didn’t know her had lead her to sometimes forget that having a shock of white hair mingled with the rest was something that was uncommon. It stood out rather well from her red hair, and while she’d often forgotten about it when styling her own hair, she supposed that they had intentionally hidden it as well as they could for the wedding. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised that it would have taken her hair being styled down for him to take notice of it.

She was just surprised to see him so interested in it while being so agitated. It almost scared her for a moment until she caught sight of a gleam in his eye. There was interest there, and nothing malicious in the least. She thought that she might be able to refuse telling him and that he would drop it, but there was no reason for it.

She wasn’t vain, and he may as well think that she was silly.

Everyone else always has.

“I think I was born with it. I don’t remember it ever not being there. Though once, when I was young, I  dreamt it appeared because I was kissed by a troll.”

Kristoff ran his fingers over it gently then. She saw him look almost adoring as he did so, her eyes glancing between the soft curve of a smile on his lips, and the stroking of his fingers against her braid. He set it carefully, almost reverently, back on her shoulder before he smiled more solidly and reached down to take her hand in his.

She let his fingers lace through his and felt her heart race a bit as he moved even closer to her and  loosened his grip on her hand to rub his thumb in slow circled over her palm.

“Anna.”

His face inches from hers so all she could see were his eyes, his lips. He was suddenly her whole world.  

“Yes?”

Her response was barely louder than a breath. She might not have believed that she said it at all if it weren’t for the way his smile broadened. He made a sound like a soft chuckle, but seemed almost as breathless as her, when he whispered.

“Do you believe in fate?”

I want to.

“I… I don’t understand.”

He gave her an understanding look, and then took a half step away from her, still holding her hand, beckoning her to follow him back towards the forest he’d exited moments before.

“I don’t think I could explain it… But Anna… Would you stay here with me a night if it meant meeting my family? They have something to tell you.”

She knew that she should be worried, that warning bells should be going off in her head. She wondered if her parents were rolling in their graves, screaming stranger danger. She wondered if she had been crazy to trust him and follow him into the middle of nowhere.

He won’t hurt me.

You thought that once before.

Her thoughts were warring again, but her feet were following him.

Trust him.

When you trusted before you almost died.

She could feel the ice in her blood, in her chest, but she could also feel the heat of his hand, the slow circles he was still drawing, almost absent mindedly. She didn’t let the cold overtake her, the memory of someone putting out fires and laughing at her foolishness put aside until there was only this moment, there was only Kristoff.

Trust.

So she did.

“We’ll have to send word to the castle somehow, if we plan to stay longer than dark… I don’t want my sister to be worried about me, but I… I would like to meet your family. Yes.”

His grin was the brightest she’d ever seen alight his face. His brown eyes practically glowed with the afternoon light and the warmth of his expression settled on her like a blanket on a cold day.

Kristoff. My husband.

She followed him to the forest edge, leaving behind the clearing and entering the shaded wilds knowing that he would carry her through.

#kristannaadvent2020 #A Convenient Arrangement #kristanna #frozen fanfiction #arranged marriage au #I'll proofread this someday #Maybe #We sure will see

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) |  read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

[kalypsichor]

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part five

chapter summary: It’s time for some apologies (aPAULogies!). You and Paul have a chat about student debt, Parliament, and showers. John tries to convince everyone that he won’t break the telly (again), Ringo tries to convince everyone that he’s NOT an old man, and you just wish George would drop that goddamn towel. 

warnings: george is almost naked but not naked enough (sigh)

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four

these chapters are just getting longer, huh. also, queen makes a more... definitive appearance.

Paul’s chosen the corner booth. It’s the spot that you all usually cram into, obnoxious and loud and always on the verge of being kicked out. Sitting there all by himself with nothing but a cup of coffee, he looks very small and lonely and you feel a pang of guilt.

He glances up when you sit down next to him. “Back for round two?” Paul says, and despite this he still scoots over to give you more room.

“No.” Sighing, you resist your fight-or-flight instinct. You’ve always hated confrontation. “I just wanted to apologize. I probably overreacted today and I shouldn’t have, um… ”

“Ripped me a new one?”

You laugh. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’ve just been so stressed about midterms and all that--which isn’t an excuse for being an asshole, I know. It’s been such a long day, with Ringo having to go to the hospital and John almost killing us in your car and George, uh… actually, George hasn’t done anything. But… forgive me?” You try your best puppy eyes, although that’s more of Paul’s forte.

He pretends to think about it, but he’s already got that smile on his face. It’s soft and accentuates the roundness of his cheeks and you can see what John fell in love with.

“Of course I do. I could never stay angry at you for too long.” You let out a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. “And I’m sorry, as well. I hope some of your papers were salvageable? I’ll pay for your textbooks, really--”

“With the thousands of pounds of student debt you’ve got? No way.” You nudge Paul teasingly. “No, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, if I don’t have most of that stuff memorized by now I’ll be fucked for midterms.”

“It’s the damn Tories, I tell you!” A businessman at the table over shoots him a dirty look and you have to muffle your snort behind your hands. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk politics. How’s George?” At the last bit, Paul leans in, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Just great, still want to snog him senseless. Nothing new. “Why don’t you ask George yourself, you live with him. He’s still pretty pissed about having to take cold showers in the morning.”

“Please, no more. I’ve gotten yelled at about it enough already.” He throws his hands up in mock surrender and you’re reminded uncannily of John. They really are two sides of the same coin… “Morning’s the only time I can shower, anyway. It’s not fun waking up early, you know, but I do have to get the studio time. I’ve got, like, a million art pieces to turn in next week. It’s killing me.”

Though he says this with a rueful grin, you can see there’s bags under his eyes. With all the drama going on, you hadn’t stopped to think about what Paul must be going through. You internally scold yourself not to be so wrapped in your own concerns next time.

“I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, well. The woes of an art major. But when I asked about George, I wasn’t talking about our little row.”

You ignore that. “Showering every day is bad for your skin, y’know.”

“First off, that’s my phrase. Secondly, you’re changing the subject.”

“You’re the one changing the subject!” Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush. “Look, can’t you try and compromise with him? Like, taking turns or something. You can have the first shower every other day and ditto for George!” You smack the table excitedly. “Damn, I’m a genius.”

Paul laughs and downs the rest of his coffee. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him about it.” Standing, he stretches and tosses the cup into the trash. “You think the flat is safe enough to go back?”

You mirror his actions, donning your fleece jacket. “Probably. I’ll protect you, though, don’t worry.”

“My hero!” He swoons and loops his arm through yours as you step out of the cafe. The rest of the walk back, he doesn’t mention George again and you think he’s forgotten all about it. That is, until you reach the apartment. Paul unlocks the door and gestures for you to go first. When you brush by him, he leans down to your ear and says it so casually you don’t even register the meaning at first.

“I’ll get the truth out of you one of these days, y’know.”

Paul winks and though he doesn’t say exactly what the ‘truth’ is, you think you have a pretty good idea what he’s talking about.

***

The next day, you’re sat at the kitchen table over a bowl of cereal and some salvaged papers, not unlike yesterday morning. John is once again swiping through his phone. Ringo’s there, too, having scrutinized the entire kitchen floor this time before sitting down.

“TikTok is a load of shit,” John announces, throwing his cell down.

“Yet that doesn’t stop you from being on it for hours on end.”

“It’s addicting! All that… hitting the woah and- and grenade stuff.”

“You mean renegade.”

You both shoot a surprised look at Ringo, who pouts. “What? I can be hip too.”

“Okay, the fact that you said ‘hip’ kinda contradicts that.”

Ringo sticks his tongue out at you and you snicker. John clears his throat, steering the conversation back to him. Attention whore.

“Aaaanyway. As I was saying. Our phones are all the government’s rubbish way of brainwashing us. And that’s why I propose… drum roll, please.”

Ringo obliges. You note that he keeps a rather good tempo.

“Game Night Part Two!”

He’s met with silence.

“Uh, let me think about it-- no.”

“What? Why not!”

You tap your finger to your chin. “Did you already forget getting piss-drunk and missing your American Lit quiz the next day? Or spilling Fanta all over my /nice/ white tee? Or doing that?” John’s gaze follows your gesture to the tv in the living room with a great crack down the middle.

“And you’re a sore loser,” Ringo adds. John frowns and throws a cornflake at him.

“George was definitely cheating-”

“Abupbupbup! I’m not done.” You point at his sour expression. “Don’t you remember the noise complaint we got from our neighbor?”

John actually pauses at this. “You mean Paul’s classmate? The one that does graphic design? Not that you’d know it from the way he dresses like a fashion major.”

“His name is Freddie.” Ringo supplies helpfully. Ringo was always good at names.

“Yeah, he actually knocked on our door and everything. That was embarrassing, John.”

A scoff makes its way through John’s pursed lips. “He’s got no right telling us to keep the noise down when his bloody flat houses an entire fucking band. I can hear them going at it until two am sometimes and I don’t call the police on them.”

“They’re quite good.” As if to accentuate his point, Ringo taps a familiar rhythm with his spoon. Must be from one of their latest songs.

John inhales and you can tell that this’ll turn into a scuffle if you don’t steer the conversation away soon.

“Anyway! We don’t want another repeat of last month’s shenanigans. I’d like to be able to keep watching Netflix on a functioning telly, thank you very much. You’re outnumbered, Johnny.”

“Well, actually.”

You both swivel to look at Ringo: you in horror and John with glee. The oldest boy is usually the tie breaker, the swing-state if you want to be American about it. If he throws his weight behind John, it’ll be over.

“I think it would be a good idea. For morale, you know. We’ve been at each other’s throats all of yesterday, and havin’ another Game Night might get everyone on good terms again.” Damn you, Ringo, you think, damn you and your altruism. John, in every sense of the saying, looks exactly like the cat that’s got the canary. He swings to you with the stupidly smug look on his face.

“The match goes to Lennon! Take that,” he gloats, and you fight the urge to strangle him across the table.

“When you fail Professor Ono’s midterms because you’re too hungover to tell Walt Whitman from Langston Hughes, don’t go crawling to me,” you hiss.

John makes to retort but he’s cut short by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. Your brain barely has time to conjure up the weird feeling of deja vu before George skids into the kitchen.

He’s wearing nothing but a towel. Again. But this time, he’s smiling, and the brilliance of it cuts through your sleep-addled brain and curls up somewhere below your rib cage.

“I just took a shower!”

“Good for you, mate,” John snarks, staring ruefully at the phone in the center of the table--did he change his phone case or something? It looks different, somehow. You can see his fingers twitching toward it.

George ignores him. “I just took a warm shower. A real shower with warm water.”

Yes, you can see that from the bit of steam still rising from his shoulders and his hair, which is now curling slightly in the colder temperature. There’s a droplet of water making its way from George’s very naked chest down to his very fit stomach--how he has abs, you have no idea, since the boy inhales food like Kirby--and you look away sharply before your gaze can wander any further.

“A warm water shower,” he repeats.

Ringo nods. “Ah, yes. The poison. The poison for Kuzco. The poison chosen specifically to kill Kuzco.” He pauses, looking you in the eye rather seriously, and you say the next bit together.

“Kuzco’s poison.”

The two of you double over, giggling like schoolgirls. George, however, looks confused.

“What are they on about?”

“Some American film.” John finally gives in and snatches up the phone laying on the table. Something flashes across his face. You know that look, and nothing good ever follows it. “Smile, Georgie.”

There’s the click of a photo being taken.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Nothing.” John pushes his chair from the table and stands up rather abruptly. The look on his face is growing into something… wicked. “Nothing at all. I will be in Paul and I’s room. Doing nothing.” He surveys you all once more with that good-for-nothing grin, cradles the phone to his chest, and then sprints down the hall past an even more confused George. The door closes and locks with a decisive click.

The three of you look at each other questioningly. Ringo grunts something unintelligible and shovels more cornflakes into his mouth. George shrugs and turns to head back to the bathroom.

He’s already halfway down the hall before he freezes.

“Wait a minute. Was that my phone?”

#beatles fanfic #george harrison x reader #ringo starr x reader #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #the beatles x reader #mclennon #five's a crowd #kalwrites #crack

[flightofaqrow]

informant

qrow + Victor Alabaster ( @casketdweller​ )

“I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.”

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” qrow relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Is this even going anywhere, or are we done here?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

clever fox must have thought a drunk man made for an easy target. or maybe he knows exactly who qrow branwen is, given the annoying air worn like a coat that he seems to know everything.

but not everything, or there’d be no reason for the subtle hounding. may not even know anything that really matters. qrow scoffs, slides his glass back and forth, slippery with condensation across the counter, and crimson eyes watch amber liquid wash around while ice cubes clink. there are things he knows, privy to only a carefully selected handful, and no amount of alcohol will have them slurring out.

truths too shady for even the slipperiest of scoundrels; better to cut things off at the head of what trail this conversation leads to. better to stay not knowing. go about petty little life as the other knows it, and leave qrow to live his. ( for whatever one could call wallowing in loss and misery and running from all his fears and own family to be living. )

different questions might produce different results, an exchange of different facts that don’t go down that rabbit hole, if still interested.

but qrow’s not the one to take first strike at this deal, and won’t be the one to carry it.

burns away bitter memories with a wash down of something even more bitter, then takes a breath.

“well,” he answers rough, and only spares a side glance to sharp corners of his eyes, “it cer’ainly seems like yer done, at any rate.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Easy target or maybe a potential client?

Victor hadn’t been entirely sure, but the fox Faunus had a delivery for him at either rate. But, given how their ‘transaction’ was going, he was getting less and less willing to pass it off. Especially given how the man dodged his inquiries and comments as if they didn’t exist. Hmph, humans.

Always thinking they were better or some such.

“I was feeling charitable.” He commented, picking up his own glass and studying how the leftover liquor left it with an amber colour. “I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.” Shame, shame. Victor supposed he’d mention it off hand. “Said client even said they’d have information to pass along, but seeing as you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested; then I suppose after this drink I’ll carry on my way.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

charitable, he says. even as everything else talks about the job. but can’t say he doesn’t catch qrow’s full attention with that little tidbit. head turns in full to face him with opened eyes, pointed edges moving further out on the lines of his cheeks with far more seriousness.

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” he relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated.

finally gets to the point, but treats it like a game in patronizing words and tone, but maybe that’s just how this guy talks. though, the hurt’s already been done because qrow made that mistake once already; played around too much in their fight, not knowing just what that faunus and that stinger could do. a score to settle, but on another day - once he dared to show his cartoon face again, or once haven is officially safe.

this conversation would have been better to have earlier in the night, but ideal doesn’t exist in qrow’s world. another mouthful swallows and follows with sigh, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Mm, wasn’t anyone cruel or anythin’. A friend of a friend requested a favour. I’m only doing this because it’s so hard to get anywhere for the moment.” Long nails clink against the glass as the fox Faunus rolled it against the counter. “Men of iron are hard to find, but so are the kind hearts of those in green. Don’t you agree?” Cryptic enough, though Victor figured that the other Huntsman was smart enough to pick up the cues.

“I’m only here for the night,” A burner Scroll was placed by Qrow’s elbow. “That the information I’m supposed to hand over. Didn’t peek, scout’s honour.” He wasn’t a scout, but it didn’t matter now did it?

“So how about you tell me a pretty story, and we can part ways as if nothing happened?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

gods, it’s like trying to have a conversation with Raven, and if qrow’s addled brain is reading the situation right, that’s one of the few people in his life left unmentioned. no idea who this man is, and yet the fox knows an uncomfortable amount of intel on himself.

he orders another round for them both. a show of good faith, a sign to stick around. …and a way to cope with yet another example of how life never did like to let him have the upperhand.

otherwise silent aside from an exasperated breath, and only in sliding aside an empty glass does qrow snatch the scroll up and stick it in his pants pocket to look at later.

later, once the screen wouldn’t be spinning from swimming vision.

a lean in closer lets on to the trust bought less by the other’s word, and more by association. qrow doesn’t have to like the guy to work with him under Oz. temporary contract or no.

“…wel’then. i c’n tell you a lil’ somethin’ about a tail. what part y’need to know?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He watched the drunk, sorrow, Qrow snatch up the burner scroll and tuck it away in a pocket. Hm, not entirely wasted then. Fascinating. Victor had, of course, heard of the infamous Branwen twins - who hadn’t? - and of their exploits, but nothing too concise. He was glad, at least, to have tempered his expectations.

What a let down.

Victor’s own tail twitched at his question, humming in contemplation as he took hold of the glass. A study of it, partially out of caution, partially due to contemplation. “Something for the client, I s’pose. They’re curious if you’ve heard anything regarding one of those fables.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow lets a lot of people down.

and that’s fine when he only has to answer to one. results matter more than other people’s opinions. the other man can give him piteous looks all night, and it’ll only make qrow like him less.

give him more of a reason to drink.

one less friend, and one more failure to forget. but the bartender trips on his way back and that next round ends up all over floor. the cost of qrow’s patronage might just outweigh the revenue.

he sighs, and sits back. still unsure of whether this guy talks in code because he doesn’t know what it really means, has to, or is just trying to be obnoxious. fable huh? there’s plenty of those, but qrow has a suspicion. and that at least takes them off the topic of Tyrian, “no’yet. bu’ we’re gettin’ close. tha’stinger set us back a’ways. …an’ another lil’bird iss’ill keepin’ ‘er secr’ts.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chartreuse green eyes closed at Qrow’s words. So the assassin caused a set back, and one of the birds was keeping her secrets still. Well, in a way he didn’t have to really hunt her down, since the goal had been to find this one, not the other. However, Victor wondered if it’d be worth the detour…

                   … Maybe, not.

“I see. Well, in that case I’ve done all I can then.” The informant said, picking up the glass and taking the tiniest of sips from it. “I’ll be out of your feathers in a bit. I’d like to linger just a bit longer before I continue on. I’m sure you understand.” A smile was flashed to the Huntsman, and Victor turned his attention back to the drink.

“Unless you have anymore stories I might be interested in relaying…?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

well, while they’re on the topic. while qrow’s already spilled.

fingerpads tap slow enough not to make any sound along the counter in the absence of a glass to hold, an emptiness within and without, and nothing delivered yet to continue to try filling it, and maybe qrow prattles in the space left. or because he’s not used to people lingering.

nor used to knowing his secrets before he says them. this clever fox really must have been trusted by Oz.

qrow doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t glare anymore either.

he gruffs, “sure, wh’not. …think th’lion’s lost’is roar, an i’m startin’ t’think some pieces fr’m the board in this place’re missin’.”

he brings his other arm up, hands resting softly atop each other in front of him, while his gaze sinks to stare at them, “anyway, wha’s y’r name?”

hopefully that wasn’t a riddle or secret.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Noted, noted, noted. Missing people and a cowardly lion, sounded like it’d been plucked from a faerietale. Heh. “Name’s Victor. Alabaster. S’pose that’s a freebie I can give.” The fox Faunus didn’t see the harm in it, figuring they may be in steady-ish contact. Perhaps. Perhaps not. He didn’t seem the type to like people lingering, and Victor didn’t blame him.

Lingering people always were the ones to keep an eye on.

Glass sat down, drink barely three quarters full. He’d lost his taste, and the bartender was looking at him in a way that told Victor he’d best consider an alternative place to hover. He flashed a grin at Qrow, “Should you need to pass anything else along, I’ll be in the area for a couple of days.” Couldn’t promise to be easy to find, though.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“yeah, okay,” qrow mutters like it matters. he’ll remember the name like he remembers most of his confidants, but this one would eventually be gone, too, whether by choice because of his semblance, or by consequence of… his semblance. not worth making friends.

someone having the audacity to grin in the middle after exchanging such somber news makes him lift his glass for a good gulp while the other leaves his behind.

“nice t’meet’ya,” he says it with faded finality - more like a farewell than the opener of a relationship; doesn’t even look up until dull red eyes lift to watch the other leave.

Then goes right back to his drink.

#* the audacity to grin at somber news = casketdweller * #* we got work to do = ic * #* i can't say this has been a warm reunion = vol 5 * #* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *

[androgynoussublimeangel]

The Price of Freedom (Chpt.1)

AO3

Summary: 

Alastor isn't sure what's gotten into their resident drug-addicted pornstar but something is different about the determined set of his shoulders and a vengeful glint in his eyes. And just where does he keep slipping off to each day returning with more money than any prostitute could make in a single day.

Alastor is beginning to realize Angel Dust might not be the demon Alastor assumed him to be. And has he always had a trio of strange imps following him around?

But Alastor isn't one to miss out on what could prove to be some very promising entertainment.

*

Angel wanted his freedom. The freedom that Valentino had stolen before Angel even knew what freedom was. He’d spent his whole lifetime being trapped under someone else's control, first his father’s, then his drug dealers, then his clients. Now that he was dead he’d only traded one pair of shackles for another.

As long as Valentino had power, Angel knew he’d never have more than a gilded cage. And Angel was fucking tired of cages. But the overlord wasn’t going to just give up his throne willingly.

But Angel wasn't going to give up without a fight.

With a final horse scream, Angel toppled to the floor, pained tremors wracking his limp body. Flinching as Vox roughly tore his cords from the base of his skull. The TV demon carelessly kicking the prostitutes' prone form as he stepped over him. Angel could only moan softly in pain, his long limbs curling inwards cradling his still trembling body. Barely aware of the sound of the door opening behind him.

“Sorry for the wait Angel Cakes,” Valentino’s smoky voice prickled unpleasantly over Angel’s still pain addled consciousness. Angel blinked blurrily up at the looming figure of his pimp. “Just took Vox a lot longer to find what we were looking for in that empty fucking brain of yours. Don’t know how you find anything in there babe.” The other demons voice dripping with cruel amusement. Digging the toe of his shoe into Angel’s sore ribs. His sharp smile twisting as the pornstar whimpered, trying to wiggle away uselessly.

“Must be all that shit you’re always snorting, might wanna lay off the angel dust, sweetheart.”

Valentino laughed sadistically, sidestepping his employee’s crumpled body, striding towards his desk with Vox following close behind. The overlord settling into his overly luxurious chair, carved from ebony wood with gold inlays and lined with crimson velvet, auspicious enough to be called a throne.

Angel had always thought it looked less like a symbol of the overlord's power and more like he was overcompensating. Not that he ever dared share that with Valentino.

The pimp steepled his fingers together, propping his feet atop his enormous desk. The TV demon standing to Valentino left, screen flickering as a cruel grin warped his face. The lights leaking through the enormous penthouse windows haloing the overlords in neon colors.

“But Vox is the best at what he does,” Valentino smirked at his fellow overlord, the smirk growing wider as the other demon cackled in response. Angel tried to lift his head, weakly glaring at his boss, eyes still unfocused and vision blurring at the edges. Still fuzzy from Vox’s invasion of his mind.

“Come on Angie, baby, don’t be that way. You forced my hand sweetheart, I couldn’t trust you to remember to tell me everything.” The pimp scolded, voice thick with false sweetness. “Just like I’m sure it slipped your mind to mention your whole little “going-clean” schtick.” His smile dropping suddenly, eyes steely. “I don’t appreciate learning about my employee's apparent plans to quit from those fucking pigs running the news.”

Angel shuddering under the force of the overlord's anger, the air practically pulsating from the power exuding from the pimp. Forcing his aching body upright, legs still too weak to hold his weight. His lower set of arms wrapped protectively around his throbbing torso. Valentino’s enraged expression becoming pleased at the sight of Angel’s pained grimace. His face twisting into a pseudo-sweet smile.

“But you’re ain’t gonna quit are you, Angel?” The pimp crooned. Legs falling from his desk as he leaned forward in his chair. Propping his elbows on the desktop and hooking his chin on his intertwined fingers. Glowing red eyes watching the prostitute expectantly, dark promises flickering behind the tinted lenses of heart-shaped glasses. Angel swallowed back the disgust curling in his throat.

“No daddy.” He replied obediently. Eyes downcast and posture demure, the perfect picture of compliance.

“Good, good, we wouldn’t want to have to punish you again now would we.” Angel shook his head vehemently, ignoring the splitting headache pounding behind his eyes. Valentino hummed in satisfaction as he leaned back into the plush velvet lining his chair.

“Now,” The overlord purred, the tapping of his nails against the armrest of his chair deafening in the quiet room. “You wanna explain to me what all this ‘redemption’ bullshit is about?”

Angel didn’t reply. Refusing to look at the overlord.

Valentino sighed, rising smoothly to his feet, sauntering over to Angel’s kneeling form. Angel gazed up at the other man, fighting to not flinch away from the hand that began petting his hair. “How ‘bout I make this easier,”

The clawed hand that had been carding through his hair suddenly gripping a fistful of white locks. Angel winced as his head was yanked back, Valentino’s sharp teeth suddenly inches from his face. “What makes you think you’re even worthy of redemption?” The pimp growled, ignoring Angel uselessly clawing at the hand tangled in his hair.

“A stupid, worthless, whore like yourself, whose only redeeming quality is your cock-hungry holes.”

Angel averted his eyes, unable to hold Valentino’s hateful gaze as verbal poison spilled from the pimps lips. A sudden sharp grip on his chin wrenched his face forward, Valentino’s claws digging harshly into the soft flesh of Angel’s cheeks. The overlord forcibly lifting Angel’s body upwards with his tight grip. The pornstar whimpering but knowing better than to retaliate.

“You look me in the fucking eye when I’m talking to you!” Valentino snarled, eyes flashing before his expression relaxed, melting back into a saccharine sweet smile.

“You just can’t do anything right can you dollface?” A drop of blood sliding down Angel's cheek where Valentino’s claw pricked his cheek. “So fucking useless huh, that dumb royal bitch didn’t know what she was doing picking your pathetic ass to be a part of her stupid pet project.”

The bitter taste of copper filling Angel’s mouth as he bit harshly into his lip to stop himself from spitting in the overlord's face. Surprised by the force of his own anger as Valentino mocked Charlie’s dream. Girl was as naive as they came but she genuinely wanted to see the best in everyone, she truly believed demons could be redeemed. She believed Angel could be redeemed.

The overlord noticed the defiant spark in the pornstar's eyes, his grin growing sharper until he was baring his teeth more than he was smiling.

“Oh this is rich,” The pimp laughed through his teeth, still gripping Angel Dust’s hair. Valentino smirked over his shoulder at Vox, shaking Angel roughly by his hair. “This little bitch actually believes in this redemption shit.” Vox’s snickering joined Valentino’s own cruel chuckling.

“Let me make one thing clear, Angel.” Valentino’s voice dropped to a hiss, his face inches from Angel’s. Close enough that Angel could taste the other man’s alcohol tainted breath. “Even if redemption wasn’t a load of horseshit, you’d never have a chance in hell. You wanna know why angel cakes?”

The overlord drew back to his full height, sneering down his nose at Angel. “Cuz your nothing. You ain’t worth nothing to nobody. Even your own family down here doesn’t want you. The only reason you’re not dead in a fucking ditch is because of me.”

Angel winced as the nails pricking his cheeks dug deeper into the soft flesh. “Who do you belong to Angel cakes?”

“You.” Angel’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“That’s right, and I’ve got your contract to prove it.” Valentino releasing his intense grip on both Angel’s face and hair sending the pornstar toppling to the floor again.

“Now get out, I’m sick of looking at your face.” The pimp spun on his heel, returning to his seat without a backward glance at the trembling demon struggling to stand. Angel tottered dangerously but managed to get his legs underneath himself, one arm still cradling his slowly mending ribs. Angel was half-way out the door hand hovering on the door handle when the sound of Valentino’s voice caused him to pause. “Oh, and Angel?”

Angel Dust glanced warily over his shoulder. “Next time, you answer me when I call, got it, babe?”

“Yes, boss.”

The door closed with a click.

Angel kept his head held high, marching to the elevator. The moment the doors slid closed behind him, Angel all but collapsed against them. Exhaling deeply, wincing as a sharp jab of pain from his protesting ribs, Angel groaned. Valentino had really put him through the wringer this time. Angel knew he’d be sore for weeks but the pimp always made sure he’d still be able to work. Never leaving an injury that couldn’t regenerate in a few hour's time. Didn’t want to damage the merchandise after all.

Mutilation wasn’t Val’s style anyway, the sadistic roach preferred to aim for where the skin was thinnest. He always knew which bruises to dig his fingers into. Valentino was equally as fond of emotional abuse as he was of inflicting physical pain. The pimp overlord was able to ascertain someone's most emotionally vulnerable cracks and once he did, he’d ruthlessly pry those cracks open until whatever was left was practically unrecognizable.

Angel moaned softly as the elevator jolted, his sore body complaining at the rough treatment. He silently willed it to descend faster, he was itching to get the hell out of there before he suffocated under the weight of Val's overwhelming presence.

This wasn’t his first time getting on his boss’s bad side. He’d seen the back of Valentino's hand more than once. It was rare if he was without a bruise or two, either from his clients or his pimp. It was one of the unfortunate side effects of being covered entirely in velvety fur. A lot easier to hide bruises, which Val seemed to take as a challenge.

Angel could handle pain, he even enjoyed it in the right scenarios. Even as Valentino’s punishments grew more and more brutal. Angel could handle him.

Vox was a different story.

Vox was the kind of demon Angel hated the most, though Valentino was a close second. He even preferred Alastor and his creepy smile over the TV demon. Despite Angel’s previous unawareness about the radio demon, Vaggie’s very vivid and detailed story of other demons ventures painted a clear picture.

Alastor was direct, merciless and efficient. Alastor slaughtered demons but his bloodlust was simple and honest. The radio demon even seemed to have some weird moral code about who he killed. Despite his terrifying abilities and rumored cannibalism, he wasn’t a mindless killer.

Unlike Vox and Valentino who enjoyed causing pain just for the sake of pain. Heedless of who they hurt as they made an overblown show of power through senseless and gratuitous killing.

Angel had always found Vox’s unique brand of torture was invasive, cowardly, and unrefined. The TV demon wielded the numerous cords connected to his body and at the slightest inclination could bury them deep in his victims' flesh. Vox’s powers granted him the ability to forcibly search someone's mind, which was painful in it itself. But he could also forcibly create a recurring nightmare of traumatic memories that played on a loop.

Angel had one of Vox’ victims who’d been plugged in for over a week, reliving their darkest moments again and again. They’d been barely more than an empty husk of a demon, eyes empty and blank, completely unresponsive. It had scared Angel badly enough at the time he’d behaved for an entire year.

This wasn’t even the first time Valentino had felt Angel’s disobedience merited Vox’s intervention, but it wasn’t usually as unbearable. Normally Angel was so strung out on whatever cocktail of drugs he was offered it was barely more than a, particularly bad nightmare. A bad dream that would be forgotten easily enough as soon as Angel Dust got his hands on more of his namesake.

But this time Angel had been completely stone-cold sober.

Each excruciating second had been in agonizing clarity. The feeling of Vox forcibly entering his mind had felt like his head was being split open from the inside and left his brain feeling like it’d been scraped raw with sandpaper. Painful memories lingering too close to the surface after being buried underneath the haze of drugs and sex for so long.

Angel shuddered, moments of his past life that he’d tried his best to forget flashing behind his eyelids. Shaking his head, trying to rid himself from the lingering horrors Vox dredged up from his own mind. He only succeeds in further agitating his throbbing headache.

The elevator dinged and Angel stumbled backward as the doors slid open. Catching himself on the wall with a groan, Angel whined unhappily as he clambered back to his feet. Brushing off imaginary dust from his jacket and smoothing back his hair, only for it to bounce forward again.

Beginning his trek down the hall, eyes brushing over familiar faces of other demons trapped underneath Valentino’s thumb. Some offered him sympathetic looks but otherwise didn’t approach. Angel couldn’t bring himself to be offended. After all, they all knew Valentino would only use it as an excuse to punish him again.

Angel took in the tired faces of all the demons that passed him, everyone looking a little worse for wear since he’d been here last. It had been a few days since he was released from house arrest, or would it be hotel arrest Angel wonders, after his little territorial genocide stint with Cherri. Charlie (only after Vaggie’s very loud protest) had insisted there be some kind of punishment for his actions. If it could be called that, Angel would take a few days of lazing around with his pig over Valentino’s punishment anytime.

Angel sure as hell didn’t believe in redemption or any of that “being a good person” bullshit Charlie was always trying to sell him. But looking at the haggard faces of the demons around him he felt a twinge of concern for them. They weren’t good people that was for damn sure but a lot of them weren’t exactly bad people either.

Angel huffed, cursing Charlie for infecting him with her mushy feelings and empathy. He shuddered just thinking the word. This would be so much easier drugged out of his mind and completely unaware of anything besides his own high.

Drawing closer to the rear exit of the studio Angel straightened his hunched posture, the ache in his ribs finally having subsided somewhat as the bones mended. It would ache like a bitch for a few days at least but nothing Angel wasn’t used too. He’d just have to avoid his left side when he was on the pole.

He exited the studio quickly, striding down the alleyway, eager to get as far away from the building as possible. He wanted to get back to the hotel, where he at least had a room that wasn’t monitored 24/7 and he didn’t have to worry about anyone trying to sell Fat Nuggets for drug money while he was gone.

He paused mid-step, eyes catching on a garishly colored image splashed across the alleyway wall. Angel glared up at, what was no doubt the work of one of Valentino’s, admittedly talented, goons. An enormous portrait of Valentino’s sleazy face splashed across the alley wall. It practically dwarfed him, nearly twice Angel’s height and wider than his arm span.

Standing there, glaring up at the pimps painted likeness. Skin tacky from the cold sweat drying on his skin, breathing slowly growing more ragged with each breath. Angel felt a powerful tidal wave of emotion well up inside him. All four of his hands curling tightly into fists, his claws digging painfully into his palms.

A sudden familiar, grating voice boomed over the loudspeaker causing Angel to jump in surprise. Grimacing in disgust as one of Valentino’s many degrading “reminders” that played on an hourly loop echoed through the studio, leaking into the alleyway.

“Remember to serve your customers with a smile, a happy customer is a paying customer. Now go out and make daddy his money you worthless whores.”

Valentino’s voice wrapping tightly around Angel, slowly constricting around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. Just another reminder of who he belonged to.

The thin thread of Angel’s temper finally snapped.

A loud crack reverberated through the alley. Angel’s fist burying itself in the brick wall, directly in the center of Valentino’s smarmy painted smile. Long, jagged cracks spidering across the surface obscuring the image of Valentino’s grinning face entirely.

Angel’s entire form trembled with rage, the fury burning inside him climbing higher and higher. A small flame of indignity that had spent centuries growing into a blazing inferno of hatred and savage determination.

Angel wanted his freedom. The freedom that Valentino had stolen before Angel even knew what freedom was. He’d spent his whole lifetime being trapped under someone else's control, first his father’s, then his drug dealers, then his clients. Now that he was dead he’d only traded one pair of shackles for another.

As long as Valentino had power, Angel knew he’d never have more than a gilded cage. And Angel was fucking tired of cages. But the overlord wasn’t going to just give up his throne willingly.

Angel tugged his fist free from the brick and mortar wall, unflinching despite his now bloodied and broken knuckles. They would heal quickly enough anyway. Angel wanted his freedom, but there was only one way to get it. It wasn’t going to be easy, and Angel knew he might die trying, but he’d already made up his mind. A sharp, determined grin spread across Angel Dust’s lips.

He was going to kill Valentino.

#radiodust #radio dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #angeldust #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin #hazbin radio demon #hazbin fanfic

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter Three : Section Ten : The Sunbird Prince

Chapter One l Chapter Two l Chapter Three

Trigger warnings for death of a character, fire/house burning, intense fight scenes, graphic violence, and death threats.

Trick is excited to hear that Blue’s doctor says he’s ready to travel. It means they’ll finally be able to go back to Peru and find their missing brothers! Blue isn’t as excited at the thought of Anti getting his hands on the rest of his family again – but as it turns out, they may have bigger things to worry about.

The Sunbird Prince

“I thought you’d be happier.”

Blue shakes his head slowly, pressed against Trick’s chest as it is.

“Why not? Blue. You’re going to make it through this.”

Blue sighs and looks up at him, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, making Trick close his eyes.

“Yeah,” whispers Blue. “I guess we’ll figure it out.”

They’re on a dock on the river, a quiet part far from the bustle of the city, closer to the poorer part of town where they live. Still, there are trees in magenta and green and flowers to make the air sweet. Far off in the distance, there is the turning body of a ferris wheel and the loud beauty of modern architecture stretching for the sky, coated in silver and green. Trick’s feet are in the water off the dock, kicking gently as he lets Blue rest against him and shares a couple boxes of potstickers with him. For a moment, his addled mind remembers someone who looks just like him standing at the beach with his pants rolled up, walking around in the water, but he isn’t supposed to dwell on that for long, so he doesn’t. Blue is what matters right now anyway.

“It’s good news,” murmurs Trick, pressing their heads together. “I’m proud of you.”

Blue holds gently to his shirt and says nothing.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What's the good news, Blue?

Blue rubs his face. “The doctor said I could most likely be cleared for travel.”

She said it while Trick was in the room too. No lying to get out of this one.

“I’m really proud of you,” says Trick, rubbing his shoulder, trying to cheer him up. “I’m so glad you’re here, Blue.”

“Yeah, I am too, Trick. Wouldn’t leave you behind.”

Trick’s face brightens with a wide smile. His eyes are calm and happy. He wraps both arms around Blue and hums.

Anonymous asked: How's it going, Trick? Are you two doing alright?

“It’s going, it’s going. We’re doing good, right, Blue?”

“Medically,” mumbles Blue.

She said he could be cleared for travel. Preferably, he’d have another month of good rest, but Blue doesn’t expect to get it, or at least not in this country.

“Come on, finish up your potstickers,” Trick encourages him, patting his back and passing him a box. His little brother has not lost the slightly glazed look in his eyes in days. Blue doesn’t feel hungry.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Travel, huh? That's...good! Where would you go? Maybe staying put a little longer might be good for everyone?

“Anti said as soon as Blue’s well enough, we can finally go back to South America and find our other brothers.” Trick is practically glowing from the news, nodding up and down to himself, kicking his feet in the water. “We can find Dok again and make sure he’s okay. I haven’t seen him in… in… oh, how long have we - ?”

“A couple weeks, Trick,” murmurs Blue, frowning at him.

“A couple weeks.”

Anonymous asked: He’s going to move you soon then?

“I think he will as soon as he can.” Blue drags his hands down his face. “He gets more and more stressed every day, far as I can tell. He wants Dapper again more than anything else in the world. I think he’d shatter planets to have him back again.”

“I miss Dap,” says Trick cheerfully. “I want to bring everyone back here and get them all my favorite noodles. You think Anti will let us come back here once we’ve got them? I love this place.”

He takes his turn to put his head down against Blue’s chest, smiling warmly out at that rushing white river. Nothing bad has ever happened to him in this country, not since he got Blue out of the hospital, not that he’s aware of anymore.

hurricael asked: Blue, do you think you're ready to travel there?

Blue shakes his head slowly, but Trick doesn’t even seem to notice, maybe pressed too close to his chest, getting a little sleepy on a full stomach. Blue looks at him and his gaze softens, but sorrowfully, painfully, and he threads his fingers through that green grass hair.

“I still feel terrible all the time,” he sighs. “I don’t know how else to describe it. I’ve been told to accept that my eyes won’t work any better than this. They’ve diagnosed me with an immune disorder so I probably shouldn’t be on planes anyway right now. Fuck, and you know what, even if I did feel well, I just wish - I just wanted - I wish I could buy my brothers more time.”

Trick lets him ramble, accustomed to Blue’s slightly off-kilter concerns. As long as Anti isn’t bothered, he isn’t either, and he loves Blue enough to listen to him for hours no matter how much he confuses his brain.

“You’ve told me they’re okay. Maybe better than okay. They’re not with Anti. They’re having their own recovery time, and maybe they need it even more than I do. I mean, they’ve been with him for so, so long. They deserve a chance away.”

“You’re still mad at Anti for whatever happened the other night,” points out Trick, lightly scolding. “You two hold the worst grudges. But we still shouldn’t be late getting back to him, okay? Finish your lunch and let’s get going.”

Trick pushes the box to him again, demanding that he eat. Blue gazes at him. He’s been his caretaker all this time no matter how deep Anti’s wormed into his head.

Blue is tired of being sick, but he’s more tired of seeing his family hurt.

“Okay. We can go in a minute. But give me a minute longer, Trick. A minute longer.”

One more minute of just him and Trick. One more minute of feeling alright, here in the waters of a river that has never hurt him. One more minute of Red and Dok and Dapper safe on the other side of the world. Blue stares down at his white hands.

Anonymous asked: Whatcha thinkin’ Blue?

“Just… thinking about buying them some time,” mumbles Blue, staring down at his hands. Looking up, you can find the dark scar that Anti carved into his arm that night he stole his magic from him. “Ways to buy time. Slow recovery. I don’t know. Might be worth it.”

He glances over at Trick. “Got all my prescriptions, right, bud?”

Trick shakes a bag of medicine bottles. “You know it. Enough to last you a month.”

Blue smiles weakly.

spicydanhowell asked: trick, do you know that you're not you right now?

Trick gives you a slightly petulant frown, glancing between you and Blue, who raises his eyebrows as if to leave him to his own devices. Trick shrugs, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t even know what that means, cameras. Of course I’m me. Blue, this isn’t what you were going on about the other day, is it?”

“Try to listen to people other than Anti,” Blue urges him gently. Trick huffs and picks up their trash, tossing it away on the beach and coming back to hold Blue’s cane out to him.

Anonymous asked: Trick, what do you think of a future with just you and Blue and Red and Dapper and Dok? Just the five of you and Noodle?

“Hey, why just the five of us?” cries Trick. “What happened to Anti? Blue, let’s go home. I want to see him!”

“Anti’s fine, sweetie,” soothes Blue, getting shakily to his feet, his brother’s arm around his waist to settle him a moment later. “They’re probably just playing hypotheticals, okay?”

“Hypotheticals. Well, I think we’d be completely aimless and totally broken up, and we’d probably all get locked up or killed by magicians or cops or something because he wouldn’t be there to cover our tracks, that’s what I think about a future without Anti.’

Anonymous asked: You wouldn’t need to hide if Anti wasn’t there Trick. This might be useless to tell you, but the only reason you’re running is because of Anti. You’d be just fine by yourselves.

“Okay, newsflash, guys - Red alone is wanted for like, twelve counts of murder in about five different countries, and that’s just the murder, so I don’t think that’s going to just go away. Also, the reason we haven’t been harassed by fucking magicians in this country is because Anti handled them for us.”

Trick looks proud. He doesn’t know exactly what this means, but he knows Anti said he handled it, and that’s all that matters.

“Besides, my baby brother is a fucking time traveler. If people caught wind of that - fuck. We’re going to spend the whole rest of our lives in hiding so no one comes after him. Anti says people could catch him and sell him like a weapon. He’s so powerful. It’s not his fault, we just have to keep him safe. Staying hidden is important and it’s the only way to stay safe! Anti makes sure we can do that.”

Blue opens his mouth, thinking about saying something, but he’s been with Trick for a long time now and his energy is too low to fight.

“Here, give me your hand,” Trick urges gently, seeing the exhaustion in his face. “I’ll help you, come on. There’s the MRT. I’ll get you a seat in the back and we’ll rest.”

spicydanhowell asked: marv, don't let chase look but... you're not gonna make yourself sick are you?

“I don’t know,” admits Blue in a low croak. “I… I almost want to. Just to buy them some more time.”

He’s staring down at his hands again by the time they reach the subway, sitting side to side in the back. Luckily, it’s not too busy at this time of day. Lately, he struggles with hands touching him, but the only one close is Trick, and his palms are warm and familiar, set gently on his knee, a clear attempt to soothe and protect him. Blue appreciates it.

“It would be easy, you know? Horrible, the things I’ve considered. I’m already so sick that getting back in the hospital… I think I could do it. Then would Anti leave me behind? Or punish me terribly? Or go anyway and just let me suffer on the plane ride?”

He stares out at the city zipping by. Trick is right. It is lovely. Blue wishes it could be just the five of them, living in that little house, eating from the cheap stalker stands and exploring the whole island, recovering together.

“I’m scared,” he admits. “I don’t want to be worse than I already am again. I don’t want to be punished. But I also don’t want him to catch them. Or at least not yet. Not yet. Why can’t I ever save any of them from anything? I feel so passive. I’m always surrendering.”

Anonymous asked: Then don’t surrender this time. There has to be a better way to give them time without putting you in harms way. But at this point I think Anti is so desperate that a small scrape on the knee isn’t going to do anything. Do you have any other ideas?

“Killing him in his sleep,” mumbles Blue, eyes flashing. “But I’m not sure how to go about that. And Trick would hate me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, baby.”

“If you say so.”

Trick hasn’t questioned much lately.

bupine asked: blue, marvin, i am so sorry you have to go through this. the situation sucks so bad. if you have to get sick, then do it, k? be careful though. i can guarantee you that your brothers are ok. red and dapper especially. i won't say much more because last time i did i fucked up pretty bad but i swear they're alright and i know you're doing your best. good luck :D

“Haha, oh my goodness, I remember that, poor thing,” laughs Blue. “You were just trying to help, my friend. Oh, fuck. I’m glad they’re alright. If I could, I’d distract him from them forever.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, how do you feel?

“Good! Good. Really excited to see everyone again, glad Blue is better, Anti’s letting me sleep in his room again, everything’s great. I do want to make sure Blue is doing okay with mental health stuff, though.”

He squeezes his brother’s shoulder, drawing Blue out of his distraction and leaning down to help him up gently.

“Cause I love him!” he adds, grinning as Blue reaches his level, and this, at last, is enough to draw a real snort of laughter out of Blue. Something about the way he says it.

“Dumb-ass,” growls Blue without heat, smiling and shoving Trick’s shoulder. “I love you too.”

“Yay, there he is!” Trick wraps his arm around him and leads him off the subway, down the pavement that leads back to their little house.

Anonymous asked: Trick, do you even remember what you had yesterday for breakfast?

“Jokes on you. We had no breakfast!”

“I thought you finished off the last of the chicken?”

“Uh - that was early lunch!”

“Sure, sure. Such a dork.”

“No, you!”

“No, you.”

“You.”

“You, fucker.”

“Ass.”

“Airhead.”

“Idiot.”

This continues for much of the MRT ride.

Anonymous asked: Hey. Blue. If Anti can see these, then we shouldn't mention where your brothers are, right? That went badly last time?

“Yeah, it would be best to keep that quiet,” says Blue, knowing that he’ll probably be punished later just for telling you so. “I don’t know how much he knows about where they are right now - he’s been doing some fairly careful searching around and I don’t think he’s exactly clueless about what they’ve been up to - but yes, if you can keep it quiet, keep it quiet.”

Anonymous asked: So...we shouldn't tell you that they've moved locations— o o p s

“Lol,” says Trick out loud, voice dry, shooting you a look. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be clever or if you’re actually trying to help us find them, but it doesn’t matter. Anti will find them. The only reason he hasn’t been able to is because his usual ability to communicate with technology wherever he focuses his mind is limited by the new magic. Once he’s in South America, he should be able to get all the information he needs within a couple hours. From this location, he has access to most of the fucking Asian continent, so I don’t expect any problems finding them once we’re back to Peru. I’ll get to see my brothers again!”

Blue blinks at him, startled. Is this what he and Anti talk about? Does he know Anti’s power that well?

Trick sees him staring and winks, a shy smile playing across his mouth. “Just observant,” he says, leaning back in his seat.

spicydanhowell asked: trick, you're worried about blue's mental well being, but he's upset because he's so worried about you and everyone else. anti has made changes in your brain, made you forget people that you love, even a friend you knew just a few days ago. blue wants you to be happy for real, not this fake happiness that anti is feeding you. before this, you tried to kill yourself... do you even remember that?

Trick’s face whitens.

“My - look, I - there’s a reason I didn’t want to talk to you guys for so long!” he cries, drawing attention from the volume of his voice. Blue grabs his arm and hushes him quickly. “My attempt was - my attempt was - sometimes it doesn’t matter how much anybody loves you, you just feel like you can’t - don’t act like it’s Anti’s fault!”

Tears are stinging in his eyes and Blue clings to his shoulders, holding him close. “They’re just trying to check that you’re okay, Trick, sh, sh.”

“Anti is finally treating me like something worth his time and all of you act like it’s fake,” sobs Trick. “None of you think anybody could really love me. He loves me! If Anti changed my head, he was trying to stop what happened from happening again. I don’t want to be suicidal! I feel happy! Leave me alone!”

“Trick, Trick,” soothes Blue. “They’re on your side. We’re all on your side. We’re just worried.”

“When Dapper acts different because of his Haldol no one calls it fake,” says Trick, shaking his head. “Well, I’m messed up too. And Anti’s my Haldol.”

“Fuck’s sake,” groans Blue. “Don’t say that of all things, love, please, you’re killing me. That’s horrible on a hundred different levels. If you need antidepressants - ”

“I don’t want to talk about this!” snaps Trick, turning away from him, his arms across his chest and his face red with the effort of not crying. “Let’s just go home! This ride is taking for fucking ever!”

Blue covers his face with his hands and slumps over himself, pain groaning in his chest, in his heart, across the whole of his exhausted brother.

How does he get Trick away from this? How does he get him out of a mess this fucked up?

bupine asked: you should realize people can't be or act as drugs, trick. i don't want to upset you. but people do love you apart from anti. your brothers love you. there was once a woman and some children who loved you. you even had a youtube channel with an audience that loved you. no matter what anti thinks of you, his opinion is not the be-all-end-all of your life.

“I’m sorry for blowing up. I’m sorry, Blue, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, buddy, it’s okay, just - Trick, sh, sh, come here, you’re shaking. They’re right, there are so many people who love you just how you are.”

“I don’t want other people,” chokes Trick. “I want Anti. Why does everyone act like I can’t have my own brother’s attention for two weeks? What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s not about you, Trick, it’s about Anti.”

“Well, I like Anti even if no one else does. That’s what love is.”

“Not if he hurts you,” whispers Marvin, holding his face in his hands. “Not if he makes you feel like you’re nothing without him. Trick… can’t you tell that you’re acting just a little strangely? Memory loss? Random suddenly being upset? Not missing Dok hardly at all?”

Trick’s eyes flicker.

He pulls away from Blue and doesn’t answer, turned away, shaking his tired head.

“Soon I’ll see him again,” says Trick, very soft. “And Dok makes everything make sense.”

Anonymous asked: You think no one can love you because that’s what Anti made you believe. Did he tell you the reason all your brothers left is because they didn’t care enough? He’s wrong. He’s taken so many people away from you that if given the change could have loved you or did. That girl at the noodle shop?...look Trick, you might not trust us anymore, but you trust Blue don’t you? Do you even see how he feels? You might be able to hide behind the mask Anti made for you, but don’t you dare mask Blue’s hurt

“We’re going to get in trouble for talking about this,” whispers Trick, refusing to look back at you or Blue.

Blue sits looking at him. Nothing left to say.

Trick knows he’s hurting, he does. And he’d like it to stop, but it’s just - it’s not Anti’s fault! It can’t be! Because that would make Anti cruel and that isn’t what Trick knows him to be.

“I’ll turn you off,” he warns belatedly. “I will.”

Blue brushes at his eyes, silent beside him.

Anonymous asked: Trick there are a lot of people that love you. And even on medicine things aren’t always great, they don’t turn out the way they are supposed to. We’re sorry for being so upfront about this stuff, but we really are worried about you. We do care, we care so much for you guys and that won’t ever change no matter what happens. But please at least hear what we, or even Blue for that matter, have to say- sometimes hearing the hard stuff is important to moving forward.

“I do love you,” says Blue. “I am just worried. You never listen to me when I’m afraid for you. No one ever does.”

“Last time someone listened to you when you were afraid,” says Trick, and suddenly there is a bitter note to his voice you haven’t heard in a long time. “You burned half the mountain down and alerted a flock of magicians who stole my twin from me.”

“That,” croaks Blue, his heart pulsing achingly in his chest. “Was Anti’s fault. You don’t get to blame me for that. You don’t get to. I was the one who got hurt.”

“Not the only one,” mumbles back Trick.

“Maybe you should think less about your own pain,” Blue heaves, his eyes stinging, “and more about the reasons Anti is trying to turn you against me and everyone else in the world but him. Two days ago a girl kissed you and you don’t even remember, a girl who was your friend, who brought me poetry from the library and gave you food when you were hungry and afraid the first day you came here. She didn’t want to hurt you and Anti still decided he wouldn’t share you with her, so he took her away. Call that love if you want.”

Anonymous asked: You already know what’s the truth and what’s a lie. Turning us off won’t do anything. I’m sorry, Trick. I really, really am. We don’t want to see you hurt anymore, any of you.

“You do know the truth,” says Marvin, eyes downcast. “It’s killing me - it kills us -to see you buy into a lie because you don’t believe you could be happy without it. And Dok, Trick… Dok’s going to be so heart-broken to see you like this.”

“Don’t say that,” whispers Trick. “Don’t say that. You can question anybody else’s love but not Dok’s.”

“He’d be upset because he loves you,” says Blue. “The real you.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Guys, maybe set this aside for now... especially if you're going home. You don't want Anti catching wind of this, do you?

“That’s a good idea,” says Trick. “You can’t take another… um…”

“Beating?” suggests Blue bitterly.

Trick nods slowly, unable to meet his eyes.

“Yes. Punishment.”

“Fine.”

bupine asked: trick, dok's already realized what's true and what's a lie. we've seen him. i know he'd want the same for you, but i also know how hard that will be, and i'm sorry.

Trick shoots you a bizarre look, maybe alarmed, maybe just confused. Then he shakes it off.

“Nothing going to come between me and Dok! I’ll see him again soon and everything will be fine. And if he takes a little re-orientation, that’s the magicians’ faults for fucking with his head! I’ll look after him. I’ll…”

His eyes drift. He blinks at Blue, dazed.

“Trick?”

“We were talking about something important,” mumbles Trick, rubbing at his forehead.

“Just come here, buddy,” sighs Blue, pulling him under his arm.

bupine asked: we're sorry, trick. it hurts to see you like this. i'm just glad you're at least happy.

“Yeah… happy.”

Trick stares at the window across from him. Down at his hands. At you, at Blue.

“I’m happy?” he says.

Blue hugs him tighter.

“I love you,” he says.

“I’m happy,” repeats Trick, smiling now, certain, running his fingers through his brother’s beard. “I love you too.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Marvin, can you help him remember Dok at all??? For longer than he does...?

“It makes him cry every time,” says Blue. “I mean, it kind of makes him have like… he freaks out. I could try, though, if you wanted. Just let us get home first. Come on, amata, here’s our stop.”

“Okay, Blue.”

Anonymous asked: I don’t think sending Trick into a panic attack about his twin is a good idea. He’s pretty freaked out as it is and we don’t want...a repeat. So instead just keep talking to him and be honest about how you feel.

Blue sighs through his nose. “I’m sorry, I’m… kind of tired of talking. You’re like a brick wall sometimes, Trickster, and we’ve been at it for days.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No, I - just teasing a little. I mean… it’s just… it’s complicated, huh, bud? It’s not really your fault. Don’t be sorry. We’ll talk again when you’re not so worked up.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Blue, that side of the mountain that you burned? It’s grown back with all these plants and it’s absolutely beautiful now. It goes to show that it gets worse before it gets better y’know? Don’t give up just yet.

“Oh,” says Blue, stopping short on the pathway. Trick stops with him, looking back at him.

“Everything okay?” asks Trick.

Blue looks up at him. “What? Oh. Yes. Yes. That’s good news. That’s… really good to hear.”

At least he can know that the last thing he used his magic for was something beautiful.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: So what's the plan for now, Marvin? Keep Trick happy and safe? Maybe get him away from Anti? He can't track you guys, realistically...

Blue laughs wearily, rubbing at Trick’s back as they walk. With no other way to look after him, his protectiveness manifests in constant touching and a constant eye on him. Trick’s weary and he keeps leaning back in to Blue’s touch, looking up at him like he’s expecting him to catch him when he falls.

“I don’t know,” says Blue. “I think he could find a way to track just about anyone, no matter how off the grid you try to be.”

“He found you once,” pipes up Trick, swinging their hands as they walk. “When you were still the old master’s. We hunted you for months, Blue.”

“Right… well. I don’t know. Maybe it will be easier when I have the others here, to see what needs to be done. I really, really been missing Red.”

Trick squeezes his palm sympathetically. Blue glances up to see the house in front of them.

“At least someone got rid of that weird cloth,” says Blue. “It was freaking me out, lying across the hummingbird feeder. It looked like a person in the dark.”

“What cloth?”

“This big swath of colorful fabric just hanging over the bird feeder. Someone must have forgotten and then remembered it.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“I was surprised Anti didn’t do anything about it. He can be kind of territorial.”

“Maybe he didn’t see it either. He hasn’t been leaving the house. Should I tell him about it?”

“I don’t know. It’s gone now, isn’t it?”

Anonymous asked: Um wasn’t that cloth used as like a marking? Maybe to tell other people something, like a message? If it’s gone then whatever it was there for has probably been taken care of. Just be careful when you go inside alright?

Trick and Blue exchange glances.

“Hm. Okay,” says Blue.

“Blue, if someone found us and knew we were the sort of people to leave a marking for… that’s trouble.”

“Come on, Trick, Anti’s making you paranoid. Let’s go, love. Got the keys?”

Trick steps up to the porch and unlocks the door.

“Ow!” says Blue before he can get it open, nearly dropping you.

“What?”

“The camera, like, shocked me,” Blue hisses, shaking his hand out.

“What? Bad?”

“No, no, it just surprised me.”

“Maybe you should get Anti to take a look at it. If it’s breaking then - no!”

“Trick?”

He’s opened the door.

There is a tall figure standing in the back of the living space. On the floor, Anti is writhing, breathless and trembling, as electricity courses and crackles across his body, through his coding and his blood, making him jolt and jerk and vomit down his chin, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and small gasps falling from his mouth.

Blue whispers some curse or prayer behind him, but Trick does not understand it. His eyes are fixed on his master, in agony on the floor of their home, sick sliding onto the carpet as the man stands over him and watches.

The figure’s head turns at the sight of them.

His hands glow with green power. His eyes shine brighter than Trick’s hair. His mouth is curled into a snarl.

He wears the colorful fabric, the colorful cloak you’ve seen before, the colorful wings of the sunbird magicians of Singapore.

“Good,” he says, very clearly. “You’re home, lah. Come in.”

Anonymous asked: I’m not sure if you boys are aware but Anti went on a mad killing spree and killed a bunch of magicians when Blue first woke up and I think...I think that person is here to give Anti a piece of his own medicine. I don’t know if he see you boys as enemies tho so please please be careful.

“Well,” breathes Blue, the air knocked out of him completely. “That would explain it. Thank you, Anti, for your many well-thought-out and harmless plans.”

“I said,” enunciates the magician, turning his body to them, and for a moment Anti is able to groan and slump down against the floor. “Come in.”

Violent green electricity lights up beneath their feet and you hear them both scream, Trick crashing into the entryway while Blue tumbles back onto the porch. No matter how far he goes, though, the electricity is following him, back, back -

The magician has him by the collar. He drags him into the house and throws him on top of Blue, slamming the door shut behind them. Their electricity dies out and Blue, twitching, leaps to his feet and reaches back towards the door, just in time for the handle to begin cackling with power. Blue screams and draws his shocked hand away, tripping back down to Trick’s level. The walls burn with the magician’s power. He turns his attention back to Anti and he begins to jerk again, gasping on the pain, unable to bring his own power to bear. Electricity is painful for a human, but for something like Anti?

He cannot breathe or think or move except to shudder with the power and the pain. Agony courses through him. He wishes for Red. He cannot open his eyes.

“Murderers!” screams the sunbird. “Killers, bloodhounds!”

spicydanhowell asked: uhhh dope? this is dope right? marv, maybe hold onto trick so he doesn't... idk. this seems pretty dope

“This is not dope,” whispers Trick, shell-shocked for a second, staring at the figure leaning over Anti. “This - this is not…”

“Leave him alone!” screams Trick, leaping to his feet and throwing himself at the sunbird, ignoring Blue’s cry for him to stop. “Stop it, don’t touch him! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The magician grabs Trick by the throat and sends power coursing through him, lifting him onto his toes as he spasms.

“No!” howls Blue, racing forward to help him. “He’s innocent, stop, stop!”

bupine asked: wait, magicians, stop! the two brothers that just came in, they're not at fault! they're brainwashed, hypnotized by anti, the demon you caught first. leave them be, please calm down!

“Oh, you’re innocent, you don’t deserve to die, it’s not your fault, you’re innocent? So was my fucking family!”

He fires a bolt of pure heat at Blue, making him cry out and fall back, his shirt smoldering.

“I’m going to burn you all down to blackened bones for what you did! I don’t care which one of you it was! I don’t care! I don’t care!”

“Please, listen to me!” begs Blue. “We’re prisoners here!”

“Coward!” spits Trick, choking on the hand around his throat. “That’s our brother! If he came after you than you deserved it!”

The magician howls and throws him to the ground, bringing the heel of his boot down directly on Trick’s nose. Blue wails like he’s the one being beaten, staggering back to his feet again, his hands out-stretched.

Anonymous asked: Marvin show them your raven tattoo and explain that you both didn’t kill anyone!

“I’m a magician, I’m a magician,” babbles Blue, trying to reach Trick, ignoring Anti writhing on the floor nearby. “Or I was, he stole my power from me, he’s the one who beat these bruises into my face, he’s a hypnotist and a memory-thief, I’m a magician, look, look - ”

The lapwing tattoo gleams darkly on his skin as he pulls his shirt back. The sunbird’s eyes flicker, his teeth gritted hatefully, but over Blue’s begging he is pulling handcuffs out of his backpack. Blue sees in his cloak the outline of a gun.

Anonymous asked: Sunbird magician, do you know anything about stolen magic? Like if it can be returned to the person it was taken from, anything like that?

“How do you return a heart once it has been ripped out of the chest and stolen away?” spits the magician, turning his dark eyes to you for the first time. “How do you give a parent back to their child after they have come home to find their body eviscerated on the floor of their home? You do not. You just die.”

He grabs Blue by the throat and collars him in rope, tugging it tight and tying him to the fireplace as he gasps.

hurricael asked: Sunbird magician please don't kill them, it makes sense you want revenge and I'm not saying you can't have it, but please take it out on the demon who did it instead of other victims of him

“I’ll be sure to kill the demon, don’t you worry about that!” he snarls. “Whichever one of them it is does not matter to me. And you! I know what you are! This magician is an electronics manipulator. He sends messages through cameras, then. Shut the hell up. You killed my family, my father.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: WAIT! SUNBIRD DUDE, MAGICO! Those two had nothing to do with it! One was in the hospital!!

“We were in the hospital!” cries Blue, desperate now. “I was ill and he was with me! We had nothing to do with it!”

“You live with a monster,” growls the sunbird. “You should have killed it when you were given the chance. I watched you last night, little lapwing. Sleeping sound. You’re not a fighter. You’re not a prisoner. Don’t try to trick me.”

Sudden fury lights up in Blue’s blood. He grits his teeth hard, his eyes watering.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he hisses. “About the things I’ve had to do to survive. I’ve been fighting every day for months now. Sleeping is a victory. That I’m alive is a victory. Don’t you dare pretend I’m something evil just because I’ve survived evil things. At least I haven’t let them turn me into something as hateful and violent as you.”

Anonymous asked: No no no! He’s not lying! They are prisoners! The one who you just stomped on has been brainwashed the worst which is why he’s defending him! Please just hold on okay? Let’s talk this out for a minute alright?

“Don’t hurt him,” cries Blue. “You can hurt me but not him, he’s out of his mind on the monster’s control, he barely knows who he is anymore, he doesn’t know what’s happening…”

“Shut up!”

bupine asked: magicians! it wasn't them, we can vouch for them! we swear they didn't hurt your family, and i am so, so sorry for what anti did to them. we couldn't stop him. don't listen to what trickshot says, he's extremely out of it and it's not his fault. please hear them out!

“Anti,” breathes the magician, leaning over him to grab his wrists and handcuff him too. Anti manages to open his eyes, staring up at him with bloodshot blue and green, and the sunbird knows that this one is the killer by the antlers that are pressing out of its skull in defense, same as the antlers he found broken on the floor of his home. “Is that your name, you fucking parasite? Is that what they call you? Look at you now, little Anti writhing underneath my power. Little boy, aw. You’re a shape-shifter and this is the form you choose to take? A neon green twink with a monster-fucker complex? Do you think Satan will even let an animal like you into hell? I fucking hope so. I bet he’s got circles just for things like you, you pathetic excuse for a demon, for a faery, for whatever the fuck you are.”

Anti’s eyes burn with hatred while his body shakes.

“I,” he whispers, his voice glitching and rising and falling and spasming worse than you’ve ever heard it. “Am - nothing - except - for what he made me. Do you - do you - do you know what that means, little sunbird?”

“What does it mean, you writhing bitch?”

“Nothing you can do will kill me,” hisses Anti, and his eyes shine black. “You don’t even know what I am.”

The magician drops him, handcuffed to the other side of the fireplace, leaving him splayed out at Blue’s side, his eyes rolling back again as the electricity consumes him once more. He’s glitching so badly Blue can barely see his face, and he’s stuck staring in horror at the mess of coding and his own image that Anti has become.

“You can burn for eternity, then, for all I care. I’m not in a hurry.”

Anonymous asked: If you kill them, you are no different than the monster that took your family away. This might feel right now, feel good even, to find the one who took everything away from you to begin with, but in the end it will do nothing for you. You are a magician, aren’t you supposed to protect people? Isn’t that what the order is for? You are in control of the situation so will you just take a second to look around? To see how scared out of their minds they are? Is that what ur family would have wanted?

“Let me be a monster, then,” answers the sunbird, stepping on Anti’s wrist beneath the handcuff, wondering if he can shatter it. “Doesn’t matter what they would have wanted. They’re dead.”

Anonymous asked: Magician, please let the ones who just came here go. They've been hypnotized and brainwashed by the one with two magics, the one you had before those two came in, don't hurt them please.

“Please,” croaks Blue. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family. Trick and I weren’t involved. We didn’t know. Please. What’s your name?”

“My name,” he spits. “Same as my father’s. Did you know what it was before you killed him, Anti? Did you know my father’s name? The name of the sunbird king? Did you know anything? He was a musician. His power was beautiful music. If he wasn’t speaking, he was singing. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was dancing. My name is Caleb. I’m killing you for Caleb. You can die for Caleb.”

hurricael asked: He can manipulate electronics, yes, but right now he's on the floor writhing in pain, I would highly doubt that he's able to even THINK right now. These other two have been hurt by him so much and for so long, and they've been hypnotized and completely broken for a long time. It's a wonder that Blue, the one with white hair, even knows that the demon is bad through all those layers of mental reshaping. Plus they didn't even know, did you hear what Blue said when they came in? They didn't know.

“Maybe he gets power from you,” reasons Caleb, ignoring the message, and he shatters you against the ground. You have other cameras in the room, luckily, but it’s a dick move and you see Blue’s eyes grieve.

bupine asked: please don't break the cameras, you'll regret it later, please. we've been through this same thing before, and trust us, revenge never makes anything better. it doesn't. we are genuinely sorry about your family. but we swear on our lives that these other two men are innocent.

“Don’t you get it,” snarls Caleb. “I don’t care if they’re innocent. I don’t care if they’re brainwashed. I wouldn’t care if they’re prisoners! I’ve been watching.”

He kicks Anti in the skull, eyes wild when he groans. “He sleeps with the little one half the nights. His room is covered in pictures of them. He makes plans to kill women just for kissing them. Obsessive little bastard. Do you love them, Anti? Do you love them? Now you can lose your family like I lost mine.”

Anti’s eyes gleam, but not with anger now. You’ve seen this look in his eyes some rare times before - leading cops away from a house in Norway, trying to rise from bed on Christmas Eve while Red was nearly stolen away, tearing open Christofer’s throat to make him drop Trick.

His family. His family.

“I’ll burn them down to ashes,” hisses Caleb. Blood drizzles out of Anti’s mouth as he grows weaker and weaker, but his eyes are glittering like terrible stars.

Anonymous asked: Blue, blue, he’s hurt and that makes him dangerous. If you can’t reason with him than you and Trick need to find a way to GET OUT

Get out. Get out. Blue needs to find a way to get himself and Trick out. Anti can die but he won’t let his little brother. He won’t, he won’t. His eyes scan around the room, but nothing comes to help him. He grits his teeth and tries to bring his power to bear, but nothing answers. He chokes on a sob and yanks against the fireplace to bring Caleb’s attention back to him before he can handcuff Trick, still holding his bleeding nose and squirming with pain closer to the door. Get up and go, Trick! But his little brother doesn’t. Blue can see him staring at the two of them and knows that he won’t go without them both.

Desperate, he turns his head and finds Anti’s eyes looking back at him, blue as oceans and rivers. Blue hates him. Anti hates him too. But neither are willing to die like this. Neither are willing to watch Trick die.

Blue’s eyes move. Anti blinks and coughs. Blue takes in a deep breath.

There is a conversation happening between them.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Trick, stay quiet, hun. You need to survive this to see Dok!

Trick takes advantage of the sunbird’s distraction, crawling towards his door and shoving inside, throwing himself onto his things and searching desperately for Dok’s handgun.

“Hey!” hollers the magician, turning to administer a burst of shock throughout the floor of the room. Trick screams, but so does another little voice.

The sunbird stops immediately, startled by Noodle’s yowling, calling the electricity back to himself before he shocks the cat any further and unwittingly giving Trick time to search. Noodle throws himself at Trick, terrified, and Trick scoops him up in shaking arms before rising to his feet with Dok’s gun clutched in his trickshot hands.

bupine asked: caleb. he's going to kill you. get out of there while you can. please. we can't watch more magicians, more people, die at his hand. once again, i'm so fucking sorry for what happened. you're not the first person who's life has been ruined by anti.

Caleb had believed that he was willing to die before he came in here, that it would be a noble death, that he would go to it happily for the sake of his revenge.

But looking down the barrel of Trick’s gun makes it very real and very close.

You see him frozen, staring, stuck, the electricity binding Anti dying down.

Anonymous asked: Trick don’t shoot!

“Don’t - shoot?” spits Trick. “Don’t - shoot this - this - h-him? Don’t - d-d-d-don’t - don’t - ”

He’s outraged at you for the suggestion.

But you can hear from his stammer that he’s terrified too, tripping so hard over the consonants that his head dips with the effort to try and speak, the hard edge of the letter trembling from his mouth again and again and again, a flurry of uncertainty.

“Don’t - don’t - don’t - don’t - don’t sh - sh - sh - ”

“Trick!”  cries Blue. “They’re right! Don’t shoot! Caleb, let’s talk this through!”

Maybe he’d tell Trick to tie him down or knock him out if he could, but Caleb still has a gun of his own in his pocket, and Blue doesn’t know how long the protection from electricity that Noodle is currently offering will hold any sway over him. He can’t watch Trick get shot.

“Marvin,” he hears Anti whisper. “Marvin.”

Anonymous asked: Trick! Please listen to blue, don’t kill the magician try to distract him instead

Trick swallows, his eyes flickering to you. Noodle mewls in his arms, still shaking from the shock. He deserves to die for hurting Noodle, but he also doesn’t want him to have to see the blood. He could cover his little cat eyes -

Focus, Trick!

“Drop the gun!” shouts Trick, cocking his own. Caleb flinches but reaches for his gun. Trick feels a thrill of fear and Blue whimpers in the corner, his body consumed by trembling.

Caleb could put the gun down. Or he could shoot Trick. Or he could shoot Anti. Two acceptable options. One impossible. Blue can’t just watch it happen. He feels Anti’s energy, the mix of his own and Blue’s, burning beside him, and he knows that Anti is not willing to leave it to chance either.

But he doesn’t want - he doesn’t want -

Anti is looking at him. Blue shakes his head. No, no. Too much. Too terrifying. I do not belong to you.

Anti’s mouth curves into a hateful smiles, coated in blood.

Like you’ve ever had a fucking choice.

And Anti possesses Blue.

Anonymous asked: For these in need of mercy, For these who are in pain, Quiet your sparking fury, Sunbird. Deal justice to the one who harmed you. Be clement to those who have not. Your battle is won, your quarry caught. Step with intent, with caution, with care. Know your enemies. Know your allies. Know yourself, and what you can do, and what you will do. And Act.

Oh, it reads like poetry, it reads like poetry, and Anti’s consciousness is rushing into Blue, and power with it, power with it, power like a flood, like a blood pact, like a death and a life and a morbidity.

Anti breathes in deep, nearly choking, freed at last from the electricity, but this - oh, this is not the best of it, this is not the best of it.

This is the tangibility the magic has longed for.

This is everything the magic has longed for.

And Anti feels whole, feels complete, feels perfected in a way he has not felt - fuck, since he was a child, since he was a child waking up in the back of his creator’s head, when the body was shared, and Jack wasn’t scared of him, and everything was well.

And Anti feels powerful.

Better than the moment he stole Marvin’s power.

This is what he should have been doing all along. The perfect mix of magic and incarnation. The perfect mix of power and control. The perfect balance, the perfect stance.

The magic belongs to him and the magic longs for the body and the body is controlled by him and everything is well. He could never control powers within somebody else’s flesh before, but this - oh, this he stole, fair and square, on the banks of the Rio Puturnayo.

He closes his eyes and everything comes easy. He’s weak, yes, and so is Blue’s body, but the magic - the magic answers so swift and so painlessly.

Small green vines bloom proudly along their body, curling their way up to the handcuffs, wrapping warmly around them and squeezing til they shatter.

It reads like poetry. You meant it for Caleb. Anti can feel the way the rhythm moves his magic. Anti remembers the poem Blue whispered to him, hateful, as he came awake in that hospital bed all those weeks ago.

“I will show you fear,” they whisper, their body rising to its feet, shaking without the cane, blue magic wisping from their eyes and open palms. “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

It reads like poetry. It moves like magic.

bupine asked: caleb! anti can possess people, he's taking over blue, the magician with the white hair! don't shoot him, please! shock him again, knock him unconscious, but do not kill him!

It takes about a half-second.

It takes about a half-second and Dapper isn’t there to slow it for you, and this is all you get to say. To warn him, like you warned him - Caleb, he will kill you.

Caleb realizes that his enemy is freed, grabs the gun, and turns to shoot him.

He never gets the hit off. A bullet is buried in his chest.

Trickshot - clean. Point-blank. Trick could shoot a quarter out of the air. Piercing Caleb’s heart is not a challenge.

Anti stands in Blue’s body, staring as Caleb collapses. Trick is behind him. You can hear him breathing.

Low and shaky.

Dok’s gun.

Don’t shoot, Blue told him.

You can hear him breathing.

Anonymous asked: Do anything you want to Anti, he deserves it. But please don't harm Blue or Trick, they're victims of him too. They've had people they love hurt by him, they've been hurt by him, they've been broken and manipulated and brainwashed and hypnotized and possessed by him and they didn't know he had even done anything until you came in. Please give them a chance to heal. And I think that taking them away from him would hurt him as much as killing them. More even, because he has no closure.

Trick sinks to his knees. Shaking too hard to hold Noodle. His cat hides in his lap.

Anti falls down to his knees too. Putting his mouth close to Caleb’s ear.

“Look how nicely they asked you,” he whispers, his voice layered and glitching. “How many messages did they send begging you not to hurt them, and you didn’t listen. They warned you. Look how nicely they begged you. Poor Caleb… they gave you a chance.”

Caleb spasms. His brown eyes are opened, his face against the floor. He stares up at Anti.

“If only he hadn’t given you a mortal wound,” whispers Anti. “We could have had so much fun together… maybe there’s still a little time…”

“No, Anti,” begs Trick, and then sobs are bursting from his throat, so stressed and broken they’re almost more like coughs. “No, he’s had enough. I didn’t mean to.”

Anonymous asked: Caleb Anti had electronic manipulation powers as well as fire and plants that he stole from Blue, and Blue casts through poetry so watch out for that

“Shall I show him?” coos Anti, flowers blooming around Caleb’s body, lovely at first and then thorned so thickly. Fire breathes into life in one palm. Anti leans down low, to touch his face -

Trick falls down beside him, wrapping his arms around Blue’s neck, and he begins to cry.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Anti. Back off. Let the guy die in peace. What's done is done.

“He should pay,” hisses Anti. “For hurting you - ”

“He has,” sobs Trick, holding him. “He did. I don’t want him to hurt. I just want you. And Blue. Please. I’m scared.”

Anti rises back onto his feet, bringing Trick with him. He takes his hand and pulls him into Trick’s bedroom, and all three of them collapse onto the bed.

Noodle leaps on top of them and curls his shaking body in between theirs.

Anonymous asked: Okay. This is a long shot. But Dapper. Dapper. Is it possible for you to rewind 40 minutes back? I don't completely know how your time powers work, but if it's possible can you try? And I'm sorry for scaring you, buddy, I know this is out of the blue.

Dapper’s in a car.

The sun is gold and the country is rushing past him. He’s in the backseat, buckled safely in, staring peacefully out at the world.

“I hate your fucking music, man.”

“You - hey!”

“Sorry, I do.”

“You’re a sour Juice Box today. Green apple. Okay, get my phone, pull up Dermot Kennedy, he’s the only artist we could ever agree on. For the record, your taste in music is shit too.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“No, I’m telling you.”

“Fuck you, Max.”

Laughter and jostling from the front seat. Max and Ro side by side, headed back to Peru.

Dapper takes you into his lap.

“It’s very difficult for me to time travel without my medication, and sometimes the side effects can be really nasty,” he says. “But I trust you. If you need me - if you really need me - to go back in time forty minutes, I can try. Make sure you’ve thought carefully through what could happen. Know what your outcome is and what it could be. In our lives, many options can be bad, but some are worse than others.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Red happily, leaning back to pat his knee.

“No worries, Ro,” says Dapper, trying to smile, though you see he looks weary and downcast. But he trusts you if you can come to a consensus. If you want to do this over again. If you think it could end another way.

bupine asked: caleb, we're sorry. we're so fucking sorry.

Blue’s flowers are around him.

He smells aster and begonia.

He dies.

bupine asked: dapper, anti's hurt someone. someone who didn't deserve it. we need to try and help them, if that's ok. it might not work, but i feel we have to try.

Dapper stares down at his hands. You see he’s holding a little picture.

Max gave it to him. Three siblings, dark-haired and dark-skinned, and him in the middle of all of them, their arms wrapped around him, and him smiling.

Or the him he used to be.

“Anti’s hurt a lot of people who didn’t deserve it,” he says softly, and he takes his clock out of his pocket and turns b

---------------

“You protected me,” whispers Anti, holding Trick to his chest.

His little brother is crying, crying. Anti doesn’t really understand why. He’s made him kill people before, and then all he had to do was send him to Dok and he’d be fine the next morning. Ah, he must be missing him.

“Poor thing.” Anti snuggles closer to him, rubbing his back, and reaches over him to find the music box Dok gave him beside the mattress. He winds it carefully and lets it go, and Trick is instantly quieted by the sound of the familiar music, and by Anti’s darkening eyes.

“There you go,” purrs Anti. “Stop crying.”

Trick cuts himself off with a sniffle, hiding in Anti’s chest. Anti allows it. For a moment, he is almost overwhelmed by his fondness for him.

It isn’t like with Dapper. Dapper was just… a pet. Cute and funny and entertaining and nice to hold. But Trick is… Trick is almost like Jack.

Trick is almost like a person to Anti, like… a friend, almost. He doesn’t find it entertaining, anymore, watching Trick cry, not like he thinks it’s funny when Dapper cries. Trick just needs him so much, so desperately. There was so much less force used. So much less training. And oh, oh, but he does look just like Jack…

“I suppose I could teach you that that was your name,” mumbles Anti, stroking his green hair, the thought flickering darkly across his mind. “Trickshot hardly means anything. I could make you believe your name was Jack is I wanted to.”

Trick blinks slowly up at him and nods, rubbing at exhausted, glazed over eyes.

“You did well,” whispers Anti.

“I did really well.” Trick burrows himself back in his chest again.

“You proved yourself to me, Trick. You made up for the girl in the shed. I know you didn’t kill her. You regretted that, didn’t you? You should have killed Genesis. She was the one who took your twin from you. Stole him away.”

“I should have killed her,” mumbles Trick, sounding angry at himself. “Should have protected Dok… done what you told me to do.”

“But you’ve made up for it now.” Anti entangles his fingers lovingly in his bright hair. “Forget Xin Yi, we won’t hunt her down. We don’t have time and you’ve made up for it. You’re ready mentally. Blue’s ready physically. And me, like this - I’m ready for anything.”

Trick nods again, pulled flush against his body, his blue eyes drifting wearily closed.

“Have a nap with your cat,” murmurs Anti. “An hour or two.”

“Will you stay with me, Anti?”

“Later we can rest together. For now - I have to find us a ride to Peru. We’ll be gone before midnight. Leave nothing behind. Sleep.”

Trick closes his eyes and obeys, Dok’s music box singing to him and Noodle on his chest, Anti’s fingers running through his hair.

Or he would -

But this is all undone.

---------------------------

As is usual when Dapper rewinds time, I reblogged an older post with an addition:

“At least someone got rid of that weird cloth,” says Blue. “It was freaking me out, lying across the hummingbird feeder. It looked like a person in the dark.”

“What cloth?”

“This big swath of colorful fabric just hanging over the bird feeder. Someone must have forgotten and then remembered it.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“I was surprised Anti didn’t do anything about it. He can be kind of territorial.”

“Maybe he didn’t see it either. He hasn’t been leaving the house. Should I tell him about it?”

“I don’t know. It’s gone now, isn’t it?”

Added:

Dapper opens his eyes, staring at you.

Anonymous asked: BLUE TRICK DO NOT GO INTO THE HOUSE

“Motherfuck.” Blue half-laughs, suddenly nervous. “Okay, geez.”

“You know something, Blue?”

“What?”

“I think they really don’t want us to go in the house.”

They look at each other laughing and confused, shaking their heads.

“Well,” says Trick. “Here I go - ”

“Trick, no!”

“Kidding! Hahaha, dumb-ass, that was a joke.”

“Oh, thank God,” says Blue, grabbing his hand nonetheless. “Idiot.”

bupine asked: trick. blue. don't go inside. there's a magician in there who wants to kill you. dapper turned back time because the magician died and he didn't deserve it. anti killed his family and he wants revenge. don't go inside, please trust us, please. we only get one chance to fix this.

The laughter falls out of their faces.

“There’s a magician in there?” says Trick. “What - with Anti?”

He stares at the door, his mouth drying. Blue squeezes his hand tighter.

“Bluel, we have to get in there and - ”

“No. No.”

“They could hurt him!”

“They could hurt you,” frets Blue. “Please.”

Trick looks over at him, seeing his brother standing on his cane, pale-faced and glassy-eyed, with exhaustion in every line of him, and he stays.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Whyyy don't you go for a walk around the block or something?

“Come on,” murmurs Trick, squeezing Blue’s hand in return. “I’ll take you to that park a couple blocks down and you can wait there for me.”

“I’m not going anywhere if you’re going to do something stupid,” answers Blue hotly.

bupine asked: anti, can you hear us? caleb? can anyone inside hear?

You can see inside the house from the cameras around the room, but they seem a little pre-occupied.

Caleb is stepping on Anti’s throat. Anti spasms with electricity just like he did last time, choking and thrashing, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut, feeling like his powers are cut-off from him by this horrible lightning, frying both his physical and intangible form.

Anonymous asked: Yeah haha funny but this is really serious, we had dapper reverse because if you guys go in there it will be a very bad time. You need to leave and go far away and you need to do it now.

“Blue, you should go.”

“I’m not going without you.”

“Don’t think I won’t carry you and steal your cane, asshole.”

Anonymous asked: Stay together and stay away from the house, guys, please

“If you guys really think I’m leaving Anti to be motherfucking tortured, you can think the fuck again!” shouts Trick, whirling on you with venom in his eyes. “Sorry I’m the only one around here that gives a fuck but that’s my brother!”

hurricael sked: Guys please. Last time someone died. Stay away from the house.

“No,” Trick is saying before he’s even finished the messages. “No, I won’t leave Anti to this alone. He doesn’t have Red, he doesn’t have Dap, he just has me. You’re insulting me! You’re insulting me, you think I’m a coward and that I’d leave somebody I love behind to maybe get hurt!”

Anonymous asked: Trick if you go into that house there is a possibility that you will kill someone. You will walk out with blood on your hands. Listen to us, for once, and leave with Blue.

“If all you guys have is stupid suggestions where I live Anti behind I don’t have to listen to you!” snarls Trick.

Anonymous asked: Whatever you do, don't separate. The sunbird magician know about you two, and if he gets bored with anti, he may come looking. We can't get him to listen to reason but we can't let it come down to a fight either.

“I’ll stay with you,” whispers Blue.

This, at least, makes Trick look conflicted. He can’t watch Blue get hurt. Not again.

bupine asked: trick, anti can't save you this time. please listen to us for fucking once. are you forgetting we know what happens?

“Are you forgetting that I know you guys don’t give a fuck what happens to Anti? That you keep trying to tear me away from him? For all I know, he could be dying right now, and you would tell me to leave him behind!”

bupine asked: caleb! we need to speak to you! can you listen to us for just a minute, please?

Caleb stares up at the little beeping of the camera. If he were still struggling with Anti, he wouldn’t bother, but he feels coolly in control now, Anti struggling on the floor beneath him. He steps a little closer to the camera, cocking his head.

spicydanhowell asked: trick, there is nothing you can do. what happened last time is you were beat up and knocked out and anti was still in trouble. anti can fight off a magician on his own, and if you go back in there and get hurt again, all that will happen is dap will have to exhaust himself turning back time again and he's not healthy right now. you need to take care of blue right now. don't give him anything else to worry about.

“Well, guess what? Getting knocked out protecting him is better than not going in there and getting punished for running away later. He can see these cameras, remember?”

“Trick, if he knows we thought he was able to handle himself - ”

“I don’t believe them well enough for that.”

Mod posted:

“Stop, stop, stop!” shouts Trick, waving his hands. “Stop saying the same thing, be quiet, let me think! Too many ‘Anti can handle himself’ messages and I’m not buying it!”

bupine asked: caleb, hi. we know your name, and we know what happened to your family. we're sorry. can you hear us out? the man you have on the floor there is a terrible man. he's abused people, tortured people. but i know you're here for something else. please, get out of here while you can. leave anti. you can't kill him anyway.

Caleb blinks.

He looks between Anti and the camera, mouth twisted with confusion.

“This is what of your tricks, meh.”

Anti grits his teeth, but cannot answer. Despite his statement, Caleb seems curious still, drifting a little closer to you.

“He is terrible,” he agrees, frowning. “You have that much right.”

Anonymous asked: Trick before you do anything THINK. We don't control you or your choices but make sure this is a choice you WANT first. Ambush if you must, It's not just about you killing someone who hurt anti, anti may hurt and possess blue in an attempt to fight back. Remember possession? Do you really want to wish that on blue, as injured as he is already?

“Blue - possessed?” whispers Trick, turning to his brother, and his own fear of possession transfers quite cleanly over to his friend, and Trick looks even more terrified than Blue does.

hurricael asked: Caleb, you have to be careful. He recovers quickly from the electricity, keep an eye on him while you're here.

Caleb scowls and turns back to Anti, upping the power. Anti gives a short shriek, his skull thudding against the floor.

bupine asked: this isn't a trick. we hate anti too - he's a vile being. but if you don't get out of here - you'll die. don't ask how we know. please, save yourself. this is the last chance we'll get to save you, and i believe you deserve a second chance.

Caleb sets his mouth.

“Some things are worth dying for. I decided that before I even came here. I will pour every ounce of suffering I can out on him before he sinks his fucking claws in like he did to my father.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What ARE you here for, Caleb?

Caleb lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“Hell… revenge, I suppose, but the word is so dramatic. What would anybody want if they came home for spring break to find their whole family murdered? I want him dead. I want his family dead. His little henchman, the sick one and the gunman. I’ll kill them for what they did to my family.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, if you do go in there be careful and maybe get Noodle out of the way first? Noodle got a bit hurt and a lot scared last time... Anti is being shocked within the inch of his life right now. Don't exactly know how he'll get away this time, though.

“Noodle,” chokes Trick, and such a silly word becomes desperation on his mouth. “Oh, no, my kitten.”

Anonymous asked: It wasn't Anti that died, you don't have to worry about that

“Anti’s not going to die?” squeaks Trick desperately, trying to cull his own rising panic.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: But the others had nothing to do with the murders. Please, keep them out of this!

“He deserves to lose his family the way I did,” spits Caleb.

hurricael asked: Caleb. I am in no way trying to doubt your dedication, but this isn't worth dying for. As far as we know, he can't die. But your electricity has been the best at subduing him of anything we've seen. You can help most by living, and preparing, in case he goes after people you care about again.

“Then I guess we need to try some different tactics,” snarls Caleb, and he steps into Anti’s room, and takes out a great silver knife, turning back towards Anti. Anti’s eyes flicker. As his own form of threat or intimidation, he lets his throat open and spill blood out. Caleb wavers, eyes huge.

Anonymous asked: Caleb, if you want to destroy his family, you'll have to hurt way more than the other two guys you saw at the hospital. Are you prepared to go to South America and hunt down their three brothers just so you can kill them in front of Anti too? Where does it end? I'd tell you revenge is empty but I know you couldn't care less.

“South America, huh? Where in South America? I’ve never been and I have nothing else to live for.” He smiles coldly at you.

Anonymous asked: I mean, Anti might need someone to distract Caleb if you really want him to get free but you'd have to be careful Trick. Maybe plan out how you're going to ambush the man. He's very much revenge-driven right now and I'm pretty sure that he'll keep Anti alive just to kill you and Blue in front of him. Maybe he'd start with Blue first since he's currently the sicker one so if you want to protect Blue you should probably take the initiative. But like a reasonable and planned initiative.

“Distract Caleb,” murmurs Trick, turning back to the house, thinking. “Okay. Okay. How do I get in there, then? The window in my room is always locked, but sometimes Anti leaves his open…”

Anonymous asked: If you barge in there, Anti will distracted and he will get hurt for certain!!!

Trick hears Anti’s cry of pain as the electricity increases and his heart begins pounding harder in his chest. “Sounds like he’s already getting hurt.”

Anonymous asked: Trickshot, last time, the magician nearly killed you. Anti and Blue both agreed that they could not let that happen, under any circumstances, and that's what led Anti to possess Blue. Anti will honestly be happier that you are not in danger. If you can try to help without putting yourself or Blue in harm's way, maybe try that, but just think it through. Trust us, you guys have the time.

“I already told you several times I’m not leaving Anti alone with this.”

Anonymous asked: Caleb, the demon deserves everything you can do to him, but he very, very careful about how you proceed. He can possess people, hypnotize people, stole nature magic told through poetry, and he has two puppets under his control that we're trying to manage and keep out of your way. Keep an eye on the door - lock it out if you can. If you have a way to kill Anti, do it fast. Otherwise, you need to leave and regroup before the puppets come to kill you.

This is good information for Caleb, actually, and when he looks at you his eyes are less accusatory than they were before. He looks around and decides to lock the front door.

Trick hears it click on the other side and jumps, alarmed.

Anonymous asked: caleb you dense motherfucker. you survive for what you can do in the future, don't give up because of what you've already lost. don't you want to warn other magicians so more massacres don't happen? don't you want to pass on the memory of the sunbirds so they won't have died in vain?

“I think if I have a chance to at least try to kill this thing, I should,” says Caleb quietly, approaching Anti with the knife. “It’s not just revenge. This is a dangerous magical creature. It’s a magician’s job to destroy such things when they become violent towards humans.”

He kneels down at Anti’s side, shoving him onto his back and holding the knife over him, examining the deep cut in his throat with the blade.

“If this doesn’t work, we’ll try a couple exorcisms, salt, silver… I’ll think of more.”

Anonymous asked: And you'll have to be quiet while you're moving. Maybe shoot him in some non-lethal area? Just to disarm him and get him distracted.

“I can do that. I’m a good shot. But I’ll need my gun.”

bupine asked: caleb, anti's hurt many, many people. we've seen him take lives, seen their families crumble. we can never stop him. but we can try and talk to you. will you listen?

Caleb’s face crumples with grief.

Families destroyed and lives taken. For no reason. He still doesn’t know the reason. He still doesn’t have the first idea why. He just came home. He just wanted to come home to his dad.

“What can you say?” he spits, tears rising in his eyes. “What can anyone?”

hurricael asked: Trick, Anti can't die. We're trying to talk the magician into leaving, so no one dies and no one gets any more hurt. What would happen if you go in is bloodshed, best case scenario someone gets hurt, worse case you or Blue or both die. I know you're worried for Anti, but the best thing you can do for you and Blue is to wait.

“I’m not leaving Anti alone. I’ve seen him plenty hurt before even if he can’t die. I don’t know how many times I have to say that.”

spicydanhowell asked: caleb, the other two men are very sick because of anti, physically, mentally, and they're trapped with him. these men are absolutely harmless without anti around and they deserve to be free from him. please don't go after them, okay? it won't even hurt anti if you hurt them. he doesn't love them. he doesn't feel love.

Caleb sighs, long and shuddering. “Look, I guess this is the one who I was looking for - I can tell by these antlers - so if the other two really aren’t killers and are just prisoners, I won’t go after them if they don’t come.”

Anonymous asked: While the others are distracting the guy, Trick can you crawl towards your room or stuff without making any noise?

Trick hurries around the other side of the house, Blue following fretfully behind, but Anti’s window isn’t open like he had hoped. He growls with frustration, trying to look through the windows, but all he can see is a dark figure in a colorful cloak, his back turned to him.

Anonymous asked: Poor Anti, he was practically spitting out blood while he was being tortured by the revenge driven magician...

“He what?” screams Trick. He looks wildly around, ignoring Blue’s shouting, and sees that pole where the sunbird cloak had hung, the one meant, perhaps to be a bird feeder. He grabs it between his hands and yank, yank, yanks it out of the earth. Blue has had to sit down, looking overwhelmed by the stress and his own weakness - or worse, his own helplessness as all this happens.

Trick grunts and pulls the pole out of the earth, hefting it in his palms, feeling like Red with his fighting staff. He’ll smash in the window to his room, grab his gun, and kill him.

Anonymous asked: Uhhhh Anti? Trick's trying to get in... you might want to knock him out for a bit..

Anti stares up at you from the floor, and apparently his sheer outrage is enough to give him a little strength, because he manages to shriek, “What the FUCK am I supposed to do?” loud enough to make Caleb jump.

spicydanhowell asked: blue, we just got the word that you both will be completely spared if you stay clear. so.... do whatever you have to do to keep trick out of there. i know you're sick but... anything in your power

Blue’s mouth dries.

Unlike Trick, he believes you. He’s always been on your side. You’re wise to speak to him.

Anything he can to keep Trick out of there.

He staggers back to his feet and grabs Trick by the shoulders, pushing him back from the window before he can smash it in.

“You’ll - you’ll get glass on Noodle,” he manages.

It’s a weak excuse, but it makes Trick pause, and Blue continues rapidly, all but babbling, anything to keep Trick out of there.

“Listen, my love, do you remember the magicians in Peru?”

“I - yeah?”

“Who was the one who stopped them from stealing Red away?”

Trick blinks. “Dapper.”

“Okay, yes. And it sounds like Dapper already unwound today once, right? And he told them what to do to make the best possible outcome happen. Don’t trust them, Trick, trust Dap. This is like every other time we hear him faint and we know he’s told Anti what has to change to keep him safe. Dapper is keeping us all safe.”

“No, I can’t just leave Anti to suffer! I won’t!”

“Amata, it sounds like he’ll suffer less if you don’t go in there. Besides, I’m your big brother, and I’m ordering you.”

Something clears in Trick’s gaze. This has always been a saving grace for him, at least in regards to punishment. He’s never been punished for following an older brother’s order even if he knew it was against Anti’s orders, like when Red and Blue would give him permission to eat peanut butter and say Anti had allowed it even if, in the back of his head, he knew Anti had not. Blue is offering to cover for him. And Anti, in Trick’s mind, would never punish Blue severely enough to do any real damage.

He stares into the house, still beneath Blue’s hands, trying to think.

bupine asked: caleb. if we told you you could save the life of another person today, would you? an innocent woman who might die if you don't help? there's a woman named xin yi who works at a hawker near the hospital. you've seen her before - the one who kissed trick. anti is going to kill her. is there any chance you could help to protect her? please, one of anti's boys is going to be forced to murder her if you can't help.

Caleb blinks.

He doesn’t know the name, but he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. The girl hadn’t looked like she was a part of any of this - she had been giggling about Minecraft and America, for fuck’s sake. And now she’s in trouble.

“I’m calling the cops,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I already had to tell them about my family. I’ll tell them the same person is after her. What’s her last name?”

Anonymous asked: Blue, i don't know if there's anything else we can say, the magician said he won't hurt you two of you stay out of it but I don't know if he'll hold true to that. Can you grab Trick? Anything? If he does make it in, will you follow? If he goes in alone, I don't think he'll make it out, so to speak. I'm sorry we can't redirect people who already have their minds made up no matter how much of the future we know.

“I don’t want Anti to get hurt,” says Trick, shaking his head, making up his mind. “For all we know, Dap expected me to help him. I’ll burst in, get my gun, and - ”

Blue’s cane connects with the back of his head and Trick crumples like a leaf in Autumn.

spicydanhowell asked: it's "koh"

Caleb calls the cops and warns them. They’ll look into it and set up an armed guard.

Anonymous asked: Caleb, keep an eye on Anti. He had partially recovered after this long, last time.

“Was he being repeatedly filled with as much electricity as I can muster, ‘last time?’” asks Caleb coolly. “I bet whoever shocked him last time didn’t have power like mine. But you’re right. Why don’t we try something new?”

He puts the blade down in Anti’s chest.

Anti screams, his entire body glitching horribly, but no matter how much of his own electricity he’s losing, Caleb is immune to it, watching the power surge up his hands with interest. He jolts away when Anti begins losing control of his form, though - Anti is a deer, a black dog, a rabbit, a cat, a songbird, a man again, all bleeding swiftly from the chest. He looks down at himself in a panic, grappling desperately at the wound as more blood than he’s ever seen himself simulate comes pouring out of his chest.

Except this blood isn’t simulated.

“Dok!” he hears himself sobbing. “Henrik!”

Maybe he can die after all, now that Blue’s magic is changing him.

Maybe he was bluffing.

bupine asked: we don't know her last name, and the cops can't help. do you know how many cops anti's killed? many. get out of there. save her, if you can, and it you can't, just get away. neither you nor her wanted to be involved in this. once again, i'm sorry about your family. so, so sorry. i don't know anything about them, but i think they'd like to know that you saved a life in their honour. or saved yourself, at the very least.

bupine added: oh I didn’t know we knew her last name

“If I kill him, she won’t be in danger anymore,” says Caleb, stepping away from Anti as he writhes. He’s startled by a soft mewl beside him and turns his head to see a little golden cat staring up at him.

“Sorry, kitty,” says Caleb, leaning down to scratch him. “Did I wake you up from a nap?”

Anonymous asked: Well that’s one way to do that blue

“I guess so,” says Blue, his eyes very wide.

Then he begins to giggle weakly, tears springing to his eyes, and he has to sit down again to steady himself.

Anonymous asked: Trick oh my god please calm down. You're stressing Anti out since SOMEONE told him about you trying to break in. You'll get hurt then Anti'll get even more stressed and you'll get stressed and everyone will get stressed. Calm down please

“Guess he’s calm now,” says Blue, drawing him into his lap, looking apologetically down at his still face. He strokes Trick’s hair, and then he begins to cry.

He won’t even have his little brother’s comfort soon enough. Trick will hate him for this.

Anonymous asked: Blue, whatever you're going to do you should probably do now. I don't quite remember, but I think I read that being knocked out like that doesn't last long?

“Well, what do you want me to do?” chokes Blue, brushing his tears away. “It’ll last a while! I’ll find his pressure point and knock him out again if I have to, I don’t know what the fuck is happening anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, please don't kill him. Anti went after those magicians first. Please don't help the circle of revenge continue. This one had his family killed; you're ready to kill for Anti, just like the magician was ready to fight for his family. Shoot him, or hurt him, if you have to, but we're trying to avoid more death (no one has died while we're talking to you, don't worry).

“You should be careful,” sniffles Blue, putting his head down against his little brother’s. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it doesn’t really matter. Anti’s powerful. I doubt he needs Trick’s help to kill that guy. And fuck but he’s creative in his violence. He’ll find a way.”

Anonymous asked: Caleb, I know this sounds wild and random, but don't let the cat get too close to Anti. He's possessed animals before, and he might be desperate enough now to try again to get away. Its name is Noodle. Can you try to nudge it to another room? Don't hurt it please.

“That sounds like a good idea.” Caleb scoops Noodle up and lets him carefully out of the house, opening the front door again.

Anonymous asked: CALEB FORTIFY THE WINDOWS

Caleb glances at you quizzically, but checks that all the windows are locked.

Anti isn’t doing well, slumped across the floor, bleeding heavy from the chest. He stares up at Caleb with hateful eyes, and then he closes them, and focuses.

Anonymous asked: Caleb, I think we should maybe explain ourselves as far as our messages. These people Anti has with him are not his real family, he stole them away and has been brainwashing and hurting then for months. We, the cameras, are a way for him to taunt us by showing off that he's won and all we can do is watch. If you need to hurt anti, by all means: give us a show, but please spare our boys. We can only help so much and they need so much more help than we can give.

“This is all messed up,” mumbles Caleb, staring up at you. “What the fuck. Okay, well… fine, okay, fine. I won’t hurt the others.”

Anonymous asked: your ͞f͢aţh̸er͟ ͝di҉èd̷ like ́a̛ do͘g

Caleb’s eyes widen.

He stares up at you for a second and then whirls around, panting, to look at Anti.

Anti stares back at him, teeth gritted hatefully. His mouth glitches.

Anonymous asked: c̶òwa̶rd͘ bo̡ý. ͘s̨n̵u͡c̸k up ̶on me. d̶o̕ ̷yo͟u fe͘el like a ͞m͝an? y̴ou d͞id̛n't beat m̷e.̸ ͢y̛o͢u̶ sh͡o͡ck͜ed m͢e̛.̢ your ̢fa͏the̷r w̨o͟ul̢d b́e a҉s̛ha̧med

“Shut up,” whispers Caleb. “Shut up. You deserve this.”

Anti manages to laugh, rolling onto his back, his face very white, though his eyes, hateful and burning, never leaves Caleb.

Caleb looks right into them, trying to communicate his hatred. Black eyes. Deep black eyes.

bupine asked: caleb, he's sending you messages through the cameras. don't listen. do not listen. if you have any fucking sense, if you care for yourself at all, get the hell out of there. you're giving him what he wants.

Anti grits his teeth tight, and then, on your screens:

T̶hes̵e ar̴e my ̕cam̧e͠r̛as͠. You won’t ̧beat m̕e͢ wit͢h҉ them.

And your messages fizzle away.

bupine asked: blue, get away from the house. as far as trick will go. just do it, please. i don't know what's happening inside.

“I’m sorry,” says Blue, very weary. “I can barely carry myself, let alone him.”

Anonymous asked: Caleb, watch Anti, I think he's doing something! It might be a good idea to shock him again

Whether or not he gets your message, Caleb’s hatred is focused directly on Anti now. He stares down at him, getting closer, closer, looking right into his powerful eyes, and all Anti has to do - all Anti has to do -

He lets out a noise you’ve never heard him make before.

A whimper, maybe.

He doesn’t have the strength to possess Caleb.

“Look at you,” hisses Caleb, getting down and straddling his waist, shoving him to the ground, putting the blade back on his already weeping throat. “Trying to taunt me with your last pathetic words. You little monster. How does it feel to know that everyone you’ve ever met will be better off without you around?”

Anti stares up at him with mismatched eyes, lying there in the living den where he has sat so many times with Trick, listening to him talk, watching him play his games. Green hair, blue eyes. A smile on his face. A familiarity between them.

No. He’s not leaving Trick behind. He wants to go back to Trick.

He thinks maybe he’s finally found someone who really makes him happy.

“You’re a leech,” growls Caleb, even as his tears fall down on Anti’s face. “You’re a leech on the world, on these prisoners you keep, on everyone around you. No one will miss you. I hope your sleep is restless and your nightmares terrible. There is nothing you can do now. Nothing you can offer. My father is dead and you cannot bring him back.”

Shape-shift. Flickering between forms. This Anti can do. If he tries. If he concentrates. If he musters the last of his strength.

If he searches the electronics around the house… a control panel… never used… if he turns something on…

One last plan.

Caleb raises his hand. Electricity cackles and snaps between his fingers, green as emerald, ready to kill him.

Anti shape-shifts into the Sunbird King - Caleb Senior, his father, the man you saw just once, dancing around his room in his feathered robes, singing.

Caleb hesitates, a gasp on his mouth.

Anti throws him off him, into the fireplace, where the gas is turned on.

Anonymous asked: oh... blue, i'm so sorry you had to do that. rest in the knowledge that you did good, okay? you did your best to protect your brother. it's an awful, terrible, fucked up situation, but trick won't shoot someone or get shot, and anti will be weak. hang in there. you did your best, and trick will be safer for it

“I did what I had to,” mumbles Blue, stroking his little brother’s hair. “I’ve always done what I had to. I kept him safe.”

Anonymous asked: Blue I know this'll sound,,, absolutely nuts, but. Lie down and pretend you were knocked out too? Anti might win this round. He really, really might. And you're already so weak and tired, it's just- preserve what you can. If Trick and Anti think the both of you were ambushed, or maybe the magician cast on both of you to keep you out of the way, you both might get in less trouble?

Blue looks confused, but he trusts you. He lies down there in the dirt and grass, and holds Trick to his chest, quiet.

Anonymous asked: I don't know what to do either. There's a magician in there; he won't hurt you if you don't hurt him, I think. Maybe you can ask him to help get the two of you out of there? You don't have to, though, but maybe he'll help.

Blue nods slowly. He won’t hurt them if they don’t hurt him. Maybe he’ll even help them… yeah. That would be really nice. They could go away somewhere… hide together…

Blue stiffens, blinking.

Why does he smell smoke?

hurricael asked: CALEB SHOCK HIM NOW. I'm sorry. I know he looks like your father. But Anti killed him, and now he's taunting you, manipulating your decisions by wearing his face. You have to shock him now.

This is a good idea.

But Caleb is on fucking fire.

He screams aloud as his hand sparks with the gas and an explosion of flame surrounds him. His sunbird cloak is instantly on fire - and so is the wall and floor of the house. Anti chokes and drags himself away, managing to make it to the kitchen before collapsing again. Caleb writhes as the flame spreads, burns spreading up his body. You can hear him screaming wildly, trying to run while the fire spreads across him.

Anonymous asked: I think Anti just killed the magician. Play unconscious.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Blue is gasping, curling tighter around Trick, fear making him stiff. He didn’t want the magician to die. He didn’t want one more person to die at Anti’s hands. This is horrible. Tears fill his eyes.

Anonymous asked: Blue you could to wake up Trick so you can run

“I - I - ”

Blue stares at the house as the fire spreads.

“Is the magician still inside?”

Trick is out cold in his arms.

“And - oh, fuck, Noodle.”

Anonymous asked: Noodle has been evicted from the premises just around front! He's okay!

Blue makes it to his feet and hurries to the front of the house, but he doesn’t see Noodle.

hurricael asked: Blue Noodle's outside out front

“Are you guys sure?” asks Blue, looking around. “We have another problem if he ran off. He - oh, my fucking - ”

In through the window of the front door, he can see a little golden cat, stretched out on its side, bleeding from the heart.

“No!” screams Blue, and he does not hesitate, he does not pause - he races back around the side of the house, picks up the pole that Trick yanked out of the ground, and shatters the window to their room in one blow.

Glass cuts into him as he drags himself, panting hard, into the room, but even as dizziness reaches his head he’s moving into the kitchen. Blue scoops up the little golden cat in his arms, holding its panting body to his chest.

“It’s okay, pumpkin, it’s okay,” sobs Blue, stroking his head. “I’ll get you out, I’ll get you out. I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll get you back to Trick.”

He looks around the house as it begins to burn, panting hard, and though he does not see Anti, there, there, struggling in the living room, is the magician, aflame.

Anonymous asked: Caleb get out, get out now

He struggles to his feet, trying to throw his father’s cloak off, sobbing as the fire burns at his skin. He can’t get it off. He can’t get up. He’s going to die.

Then Blue is there, tearing at his clothes, helping him, and Caleb weeps as the cloak leaves his skin, as he is shoved to the earth, as white hands suffocate fiercely the fire that has reached his shirt, as he is pulled up onto someone’s shoulder and dragged to his feet -

“Come on!” cries Blue, tugging him along. “We have to get out!”

Caleb chokes up smoke and staggers on his feet, managing to step forward, and then the two of them are racing towards the door, their hands scrabbling together at the lock, and they tumble out onto the porch together, heaving for air.

The neighbors have come out of the house across the way and already Blue can see one with his phone to his ear. But it doesn’t much matter, he supposes. The house is already doomed.

But the magician is alive, choking and coughing and burned beside him, staring up at him with shocked, exhausted, grateful eyes. Their arms are locked together. Blue feels Caleb’s hands trace the Lapwing tattoo.

Anonymous asked: Blue the magician put noodle outside!

 “Wait - what?” mumbles Blue, exhausted. “I’ve got him, it’s okay…”

Noodle’s green and blue eyes stare at you.

hurricael asked: THAT IS NOT NOODLE. THAT IS ANTI. ANTI WAS STABBED IN THE CHEST ABD NOODLE WAS ALREADY OUSTIDE. Several other people added similar messages.

Terror fills up Blue’s face. He drops the cat and staggers away, but too late - Anti is already shifting back into himself, his eyes gleaming, blood weeping out of his mouth, and he does not have the strength to be alone, he does not have the vitality -

He throws himself at Blue and both collapse as one, crashing down the porch.

Anonymous asked: Caleb. Anti possessed Blue, and in that form he can use fire and plant magic. You need to run, now. With or without Trick, the unconscious one, but you need to go RIGHT NOW. Another anon added a similar message.

Caleb is heaving on the earth beneath the porch. Burns coat his chest and arms. His breaths come in struggling gasps.

The neighbors from across the street rush over to help him and distantly you hear sirens, but he can’t run, not now.

Anonymous asked: Oh no... please tell me noodle is okay

Anti staggers to Blue’s feet.

Oh, weakness. His own essence is tattered horribly, pain echoing through the whole of his form, and Blue’s body is weak, smoke in the lungs, exhaustion in the muscles.

But he’s here. He’s alive.

And there is a… completion to it.

He feels whole for the first time in a long time.

Trick - he needs to get to his Trick.

Anti staggers around the house. Trick is laid out in the dirt, unconscious, but alive. A golden cat is darting out of the trees towards him. Anti falls to his knees next to them, heaving, as Noodle mewls and begins licking Trick’s face, settling down on his chest. He’s fine. Trick and Noodle both. Anti grips his brother’s hand and breathes.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Oooh gosh...wake trick up! Maybe Noodle will respond to his voice if you guys look and call for him!

“Trick,” mumbles Anti, shaking him gently. “Trick.”

He stirs with a groan, his eyes still shut.

Anti leans down and summons his power.

“Trick,” he whispers. “Obey me, wake up.”

Trick shocks awake, gasping, and grabs Anti’s shirt in alarm, staring up at him for a second. And then -

“Asshole!” he screams, swinging for Blue’s face.

Anti intercepts him, shoving his fist down. “Trick, it’s me, Anti,” he snaps. “See?”

He lets his right eye change to green. Trick looks up at him, shell-shocked.

“Anti… you’re okay. I tried to - ”

“I know you did,” whispers Anti, putting their foreheads together. “No matter what anyone else told you. You did well. Trick… I’m glad you’re alive.”

Trick throws his arms around him, hugging him to his chest. Anti allows it, feeling his hands shake as they embrace him.

“Don’t be scared, Anti,” says Trick, very soft. “I got you.”

“I love you,” mumbles Anti, knocking their heads together. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Come on. We have to go.”

“What? Where?”

“I’ll hack tickets for us at the airport. I think we better get out of this country.”

“Wasn’t there someone you wanted to kill?”

“Too much hassle now. Besides, I know you’re mine.”

Trick smiles at him, the light coming back to his eyes.

“We’re going to go find Dok, huh?” he asks.

“Yes,” promises Anti, helping him to his feet. “Let’s go get the rest of our brothers back.”

“I should get my stuff. I just need - ”

The realization hits Trick too late. His head whips over to stare at the house as it burns.

All his things going up in flames. His clothes, his Switch, Noodle’s toys. More importantly, Dok’s things, Dok’s gifts to him - his music box. His - oh, no. He’s wearing his polar bear sweatshirt, at least, and his crinkle paper is in his pocket. But that’s it. He stares up at Anti in terror, but his brother just stares softly back at him, his eyes apologizing.

“All our stuff,” manages Trick weakly.

“I’ll get you new things,” answers Anti softly, wiping water from his little brother’s face and taking Blue’s cane in his hand. “It’ll be okay. Come on. We have to go.”

They get to their feet and hurry away together, ignoring the worried calls of the neighbors afterwards. They need to be gone before the firemen come.

Anti casts one look back at Caleb.

The Sunbird Prince stares at him. Eyes like dying stars.

Anti shakes his head and takes Trick’s hand, moving down the pavement beside him.

It’s time to put things back in order.

Anonymous asked: Don't forget Noodle! He's just vibing around, somewhere.

“I’ve got him!” promises Trick, hefting him in his arms. Noodle just looks relieved to be with him again. “I don’t think he liked the great outdoors. He’s never been outside since I got him! We’ll take him on the plane, right, Anti?”

“Yes, amata, I’ll get him a carrier.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Since when do you call him Amata, Anti? Isn't that Blue's thing?

Anti smiles coldly at you.

“I like it. Is that so wrong? Sorry, does Blue have a monopoly on ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love,’ too? I think it’s funny. Blue can hear me.”

He smiles over at Trick, picking out snacks in an airport store.

“But I’ll have to turn you off before we go through security. See you soon, amatae. On the other side of the world.”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Well thanks anyway dap

“Dap! What were you thinking!”

Max has pulled the car over. Red is in the back with Dap and the door open, holding his little brother’s head to his shoulder. Dapper blinks wearily around the car, blood dripping into the tissue Red holds to his nose, but he still manages to glance over and give you a woozy smile and a thumbs up.

“Did something happen?” asks Red, fretting over him. “Do I need to change something? Are we safe?”

“Don’t know,” says Dapper, frowning. “Really, really disoriented…”

Red sighs and gets into the car beside him, buckling up and shutting the door. “We better just get you to a hotel for the night,” he murmurs. “You don’t mind driving still, Max?”

“Like I’m going to let your lead-foot up here,” teases Max gently, though he’s looking worried for Dapper.

Red shoves his shoulder in revenge and pulls Dapper close to his chest. “Everything’s okay, bud. I’m going to look after you.”

“Thank you, Anti,” mumbles Dap, putting his head down on his shoulders.

End Section Ten of Chapter Three: The Sunbird Prince

#chapter three #writers of jack

[scarletfish]

See You Better

Summary: Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.” 

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: one minor reference to past abusive relationship, and slight PTSD (looking at you, Miasma)  AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766886

A/N: Thanks @pigeon-pigeoff from tumblr for the sickfic prompt. It’s taken like, ten years, I’m the actual worst, but also I thought I had covid, got tested, and ended up having strep. So. It’s been a Week. This is like, 30% sickfic, 90% Nureyev Being Dramatic

“You got this Mistah Ransom!” Rita shoots the taller man two exaggerated thumbs up.

Her stage whisper is about as quiet as a Tunguskan siren.

It’s the middle of the goddamn night, and Peter Nureyev is standing outside his… coworker’s bedroom door. When he glances at the tray of food he’s balancing, there’s orange snack dust on his silk pajamas.

His nice silk pajamas. How in Jupiter’s moons did he end up here?

***

The short answer is that Juno is a child.

The slightly extended answer is that Juno is a child who refuses to take care of himself, and somehow that translated to the detective’s former secretary tapping quietly on Nureyev’s door at some ungodly morning hour.

He considered, for one glorious moment, slipping his eye mask back down and pretending to be asleep. Whatever it was could most likely wait until morning, and he needed a full face of makeup coupled with some strong tea to face--

File it away. Tying the sash of his robe as he walked, he crossed the small room and slid his cabin door open with one eyebrow raised.  

“Rita, is there something I could assist you--” He began with a slightly concerned tone (Rita had yet to approach him one-on-one, and he assumed that she held similar suspicions to the rest of the crew) but she was already off at a fast-paced whisper (for Rita, a regular volume a bit hoarser than her normal speaking voice).

“Mistah Ransom! I couldn’t wake anyone else up ya see, ‘cause Miss Vespa’s with Miss Buddy, and Miss Buddy said I ain’t allowed to wake her up before five anymore unless something’s on fire--”

“A wise injunction,” Peter muttered.

“--and I thought a settin’ something a little on fire, just a tiny bit, ‘cause it’s the boss, and this’s an emergency, but then I said, boundaries are important Rita--”

Peter went to sweep a hand dramatically down his face, then remembered his eyeliner, then remembered it’s the middle of the night and he’s not actually wearing eyeliner, and ended up fluttering his hand exasperatedly around his head.

“Perhaps you could tell me exactly why you’re here so we can both get back to our beauty sleep?”

 “Right! Well you know Mistah Steel’s been feelin’ sick,” she began, and Peter’s eyebrows drew together imperceptibly. As Rita began describing the food she’s been bringing him, returned uneaten, Peter nodded along and cast his mind over the past forty-eight hours.

Juno can’t be that ill, he would have noticed... Wouldn’t he?

Suddenly it’s difficult to tell how much Peter has written off when it comes to the new, softer version of the man he once knew. Juno had always been intelligent without even trying, confident, quick on his feet. Beautiful. Distracting. So when Peter woke up alone That Morning, he had to put Juno Steel in a box. A tiny, inconsequential box, where Juno was nothing special, and Peter could get out of bed in the morning.

It became increasingly difficult to keep Juno inside of the box when the real thing was living only two doors down, but Peter realized his desperate attempts to minimize the detective had made him ridiculously impartial.

When Peter could no longer pretend Juno was simply a bumbling fool, he chalked up the coffee spills, the small stumbles, and the misjudged distances to his missing eye.

The fatigue, the heavy clothing even in the sweltering climate of their last mission, the heat of Juno’s skin when he was playing drunk in front of their mark yesterday, and the way he leaned a bit heavier on the thief than he usually would-- it hadn’t occurred to Nureyev that none of these things could be attributed to loss of depth perception.

Peter frowned.

“--and you ain’t never sleepin’ much anyways, and the boss listens to you more than anyone else. Except me of course! And Captain Buddy. And when Vespa’s got her knife out she’s real intimidatin’--”

Listens to… Peter tucked the thought away quickly. For consideration in the very, very distant future. “I understand your concern, Rita. If Juno is refusing to take care of himself however, there’s not much we can--”

“Oh please, Mistah Ransom!” Rita cut in desperately, her eyes shining with… were those tears? “I’ve been real patient, but he told me he was feelin’ real strange just an hour ago and asked if I could get him some water and now he’s not answerin’ his door, and I could get it open myself, but what if it’s aliens, like in that one program, Aliens on a Spaceship--”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

The detective was likely sleeping off a bad cold and thinking little of the chaos he wreaked. He wasn’t worried... but Rita didn’t deserve this stress, and she probably wouldn’t be able to rest properly without an invesitagion...

“All right! I’m uncertain what you imagine I’ll be able to accomplish that you cannot, but if it will reassure you, I will… what exactly is it that you propose?”

Sleep was but a fleeting dream on the Carte Blanche, it seemed.

Rita broke into a face-splitting grin and latched one hand onto his wrist. The tears, he noticed, had miraculously gone.

***

Now, Nureyev is shifting awkwardly outside Juno’s door, balancing a tray of food in one hand and his pride in the other. He hears some shuffling from inside the small room and taps lightly on the aluminum panel.

Despite what he attempted to tell Rita, the thief is certain Juno will answer the door for him, no matter the hour.

“Juno, it’s me. Are you awake?”

...Which is why he’s surprised to hear silence in response to his greeting. He almost knocks again, but his pride won’t let him.

A child.  

“Juno, I think we’d all like to get some rest, and Rita is incredibly concerned about your well-being. If you could at least--” he’s cut off by a loud thump that almost startles him enough to flinch.

Rita jumps about a foot in the air. “Boss?!”

That’s it. Peter simultaneously sets the tray down hard and pulls a thin blade from the pocket of his robe to prize the door open.

At first glance the room is empty, but Peter’s already inside, skimming his eyes across the muddle of dirty clothes and dishes. Where, where, where…

There. The bathroom door is open, and Juno is puddled on the floor, still. (Again.) Peter’s chest clenches and he’s momentarily back in Miasma’s chambers, faced with a series of impossible decisions. No, no, no .

He can’t breath, Rita is saying something and pushing past him but there’s a ringing in his ears, and he’s frozen, useless, selfish, how did he miss this--

Someone bumps into him and Peter swings around to see… Jet?

Peter’s idol has gently shouldered him out of the way and is making his way towards Juno. “I’ll get him to the medbay so Vespa can check him over.”

The medbay? Peter’s brain is scrambling to catch up, to categorize the way Rita is calmly kneeling by Juno’s prostrate form, chattering quietly, and Jet is stooping to scoop Juno’s body up like a child, when Juno… groans?

Peter’s frozen as scenes from the past play out over reality. Juno bleeding, Juno screaming.

“M’ okay, just cold,” he complains, pushing weakly at Jet’s arms.

“That is because you have a fever and did not allow Vespa to treat you when you should have.”

“Boss?”

“I’m fine, Rita, I just tripped,” he fights to keep his eye open and fails, muttering, “I’m so goddamn tired.”

The words building behind Peter’s teeth burst out. “Fever? What are you--” he tries again, “How did you?” Fails again.

Jet shoots a curious look at Peter’s wild hair, his mismatched slippers, the expression lingering on his face before Peter quickly clears it. The large man cocks his head.

“The ship has thin walls, and neither of you have been particularly quiet. I alerted Vespa that we would most likely need her medical skills, and then arrived to offer my assistance.”

Rita tugs on Peter’s robe. “Mistah Ransom? Thanks for your help tonight, you can get your rest now. Ol’ Rita’s got it under control!” With that, she plods after Jet’s receding figure, leaving Peter in the doorway, still holding his knife and feeling useless. He flicks it closed.

A fever.

For a second, he had thought… well.

The adrenaline hits afterwards, like it always does, and Peter picks up the discarded food tray with shaking hands. He has every intention of taking it to the kitchen and then slipping back to his room (Juno doesn’t need him), but his feet start carrying him in the opposite direction, towards the medbay, instead.

After all, Rita subsists off of salmon snacks, they might need some real food. And Jet is kind, but lacking bedside manner. Besides, Juno and Vespa don’t get along very well, and what if Juno says something in his fever-addled state that sets her off?

Best to check in, if only briefly. Thoroughness is important in his line of work.

Upon nearing the medbay however, he’s faced with a choice.

“In or out?” Buddy is leaning in the doorway, watching a growling Vespa try to place a hydration patch on Juno’s arm.

“Lie still!”

“I don’t remember asking for your help!” Juno’s barbed retorts are less sharp than usual, his eye clenched against the light, but Peter relaxes a bit. Vespa does not.

“If you don’t pipe down, you’re going to need more help than I can give you!”

Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “Not being able to admit weakness can become a weakness itself.” The captain sounds disapproving, but a slight smile touches her lips. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.”

“In,” Peter decides, “I’m going in.”

“Tell Vespa I’ll meet her back in bed when she’s finished. Good night, darling.” In a sweep of colorful satin, she’s gone.

He places the tray of food on a small end table. Jet is nowhere to be seen, but Rita is watching streams on her comm from a chair pushed against the foot of Juno’s bed. Peter drags a chair beside her and sits.

Despite her earlier dismissal, Rita doesn’t look surprised to see him. Without looking away from her screen, she holds her bag of salmon snacks towards Peter. He takes one. It isn’t terrible.

Vespa has finished wrestling with Juno and is thrusting her equipment back into the cabinets with a bit more force than necessary.

Over her shoulder, she intones, “Looks like he might live,” and jerks her thumb towards a box on the wall, “unfortunately. Call me if his fever gets over forty again. The box will beep. Might be loopy between doses, suppressant is heavy, it’ll only release every six hours.”

And then there were three.

Juno is restless, somewhere between waking and sleep for the next couple hours. When he starts speaking under his breath, Peter leans closer to listen, and Juno rolls to face him. He cracks his eye open and Peter’s heart jumps...

“You... shouldn’t be here.”

And drops. Of course Juno doesn’t want him here. He made his apology, but the Juno Steel who fell for a lonely thief with too many names has grown up. Changed.

“Rita?”

“Yeah, boss?”

Peter turns to go, until, “Rita… when I fell. When I… in my room, I thought I saw Ransom.”

And he couldn’t move if he tried. Rita reaches for Juno’s hand. “Yeah Boss, he’s right there!”

“No, he can’t be, I fucked up… I fucked things up so badly Rita.”

“Nope, he’s definitely right over there Boss.” Peter turns to see a distressed look cross Juno’s face.

“Rita, he’s gotta get out of here! Make him leave, you both have gotta get out…” he trails off, his eyebrows pulling together. He’s flipping through time so quickly, Peter isn’t sure where each scene ends and the next begins.

“Outta where? I think the meds have got you all turned in circles, Mistah Steel.”

He sounds more uncertain now, growing fainter. “I can take it, I can keep going if I know he’s safe, if you’re safe--”

“But we are safe, Boss.”

“I don’t… I can’t remember. But Rita,” his voice grows urgent again, “please, you can’t let him see me like this! I wanted,” he’s quiet for a long time. So long, Peter thinks he might have fallen asleep.

But as he softly approaches the bedside, Juno finds his words.

“I wanted him to see me better.”

Peter reaches Rita’s side feeling a strange tightness in his throat. She looks almost motherly as she pats Juno’s hand.

“I think he does, Boss.” With that, she raises her eyebrows at Nureyev (aside from her hacking skills, he never thought of Rita as particularly intimidating until that moment), grabs her snacks and comms unit, and tells Peter she’s going to get some water.

She doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

Peter is left with a softly snoring Juno and no idea what to do with his hands. He takes a seat and rests his fingers as close as he dares to the detective’s curls.

“I do. I do see you better, Juno,” he whispers.

***

Juno wakes up an hour before the next dose, shivering and trying to pull Peter’s arm over him. It almost gives Peter a heart attack.

He pulls a blanket from a nearby bed as soon as he can extract his arm. Grabs a second one for good measure. His arm is burning from where it came into contact with Juno, and for a moment he remembers another night, arm flung haphazardly around the detective, skin burning.

He resigns himself to a sleepless night.

Two hours later, he’s woken by Juno kicking and flailing under the now-sweaty pile of blankets.

As he smoothes a damp washcloth over Juno’s forehead, Juno mutters, “No wait, Diamond, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve come home,” And oh the temptation to ask. Juno is feverish and lost in a past he’s locked away. As badly as he wants to unlock that past and spread it out before him in neatly ordered files that might give him an inkling of what makes up Juno, of who he’s supposed to be around this new Juno…

But he knows Juno would never forgive him if he took advantage now. So he is silent, stroking the cloth on Juno’s forehead. Biting his tongue.

When Vespa enters the medbay early the next morning, she wakes Peter with a snort. Somehow even her smugness is aggressive. After extracting his arm (again, damn it) from Juno’s vice-like grip, he wraps his robe a bit tighter and stalks out of the room, head held high even as he feels his cheeks burning.

***

“Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged!”

Peter hesitates outside the medbay door, not sure he wants to walk straight into the crossfire. He’s managed to avoid Vespa and Juno’s battleground all day, but Buddy wouldn’t let that stand.

“I’m not taking your goddamn poison, Vespa!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, did I hurt your fragile little feelings? Would you like Ransom back?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend was in here playing nursemaid all night,” Vespa growled, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Ya know, I’m starting to recall that neither of you ever did elaborate on where you know each other from.”

So Juno didn’t remember last night. He spluttered for a moment, but recovered enough to weakly retort, “Right, which you would know because… aw, Vespa, were you in here all night? I didn’t know you cared.”

“I couldn’t care less , I only know because--” Peter decided this was an opportune moment to interrupt. High excitement, bad for healing.

“Vespa! Tea, there you are, I brought a tray, is there anything else I could get for you?”

Juno was propped up, pale but coherent, and Vespa was standing over him, fists clenched. She whirled on Peter. “I don’t recall asking you for--”

“Excellent! I’ll leave it over here for your return. Buddy sent me with dinner for our patient, but would love to see you in the dining room. I trust that would be agreeable to you?”

For a moment Peter worried she might stay and argue, but with an exasperated “ fine ”, she turned heel and stalked off.

Faced with direct eye contact from a lucid Juno, Peter suddenly wished he hadn’t set the food down so fast. He needed something to do with his hands.

Juno broke the silence first, letting his head fall back on the pillows behind it. “Tell Buddy I can get my own dinner, you don’t have to trouble yourselves.”

Peter studied the detective. “It’s no trouble, Juno. You had us all worried,” he said quietly.

Juno scoffed. “I needed some whiskey and a good night’s rest, that’s all.”

“Rita was very concerned--”

This time Juno let out a derisive laugh. “Rita’s also very concerned about Greta Glamour and whether she’ll survive the robot ghost apocalypse next season. No offense, but she’s not the pinnacle of practicality.”

Peter knew Juno was being difficult on purpose. He knew he was embarrassed and picking a fight. He rose to the bait anyway, voice rising with each word. “You passed out on your bathroom floor because you couldn’t keep yourself upright! Jet had to carry you to that bed! Your fever was so high it was burning through your body and shutting it down--”

Juno cut him off.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me!” His voice became harsher. “No one wants to see you when you’re sick! No one likes you like that! It’s disgusting, it’s something you take care of privately, and why are you looking at me like that?”

Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but he felt his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. It was obvious Juno was repeating someone else’s words. He felt a tug in his gut. Before he could come up with a response, however, Juno was talking again.

“God, Nureyev, I’m sorry, I completely went off at you. When,” he clears his throat and the words come out in a rush, “when I got sick in Hyperion, I just drank. Until I couldn’t feel it anymore. You’re right though, this was my bad.”

Peter moved to sit gingerly on the side of the bed. “No, Juno. It wasn’t your bad, or anyone’s bad. We all get sick.” He rested his hand on what he hoped was the general area of Juno’s knee. “We want to help because we care about you even when you aren’t at your best,” he caught Juno’s eye. “You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

Peter can’t help but feel a bit smug when he sees a deep blush rising up Juno’s throat. “Well I-- that’s-- thanks, I guess,” he grumbles. “But I’m going to get you sick too if you stay in here too long.”

“I think we passed that threshold last night, Juno dear.” He can’t keep the flirtation out of his voice any longer. It slips over him like a comfortable gown, hiding all his insecurities and doubts.

“What,” the detective deadpans.

“Speaking of,” Peter grows slightly more serious, “I wouldn’t hold a lady to the words she says while she’s in the throes of a fever, but you were apologizing. To someone, last night, quite distraught.”

Juno doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth opens a few times, as if he’s trying to shovel the right words out but they’re too heavy. At least for right now. The way he’s looking at Peter feels like a confession in itself as he says slowly, “Must’ve been delirious.”

“Well, the past is the past, and I say we drink to the future. Well, I’ll drink my tea, and you can drink the lovely medicine Vespa so kindly located for you.”

“Don’t push it, Ransom.”

“Or,” Peter stands to retrieve a bottle from the tray he brought in.

“Is that from Buddy’s private stash? You sly dog.” Juno lifts the alcohol appreciatively. The container is about a quarter full.

“Vespa’s, actually. I thought you deserved a bit of celebration since you missed the post-heist dinner last night.”

“Dangerous game, Nureyev. A toast?”

Peter lifts his teacup and says mildly, “To your health.”

Juno finishes half the bottle in a gulp and immediately begins spluttering. He rounds on Peter.

“Did you put medicine in a whiskey bottle?!”

“All the dishes were in the wash.”

“This isn’t a dish. This is trash.” The detective scowls deeply.

Peter only shrugs. “Rita saves them for something.”

“Rita--” Juno stops. Lets out a strange chuckle. Peter doesn’t inquire further, but the corner of his lips quirk upwards when he sees Juno sneak another sip and complain, “Vespa doesn’t even drink, damn it.”

I do see you better.

#peter nureyev #juno steel #jupeter #the penumbra podcast #hc juno calls nureyev ransom when they're alone to piss him off #rita ships it

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Movement: Lentando

Time Frame: Sometime Post-Heavensward. Spoilers for MSQ only. ...YOU KNOW THE ONE.

Notes: Platonic. This would be the predecessor to my entry 'Wondrous Tails: Listening to Music / Polyamory Discussion'. You don’t have to read both, but it adds to it.

    One day, Alvaar might find out why Alphinaud seemingly had no interest in listening to his music. But until then, the Arcanist was intent on keeping it to himself.

  Thumbing the strings of his harp in contemplation, Alvaar picked out a soft tune as he listened to the notes. He made a slight face as Alphinaud quickly rose to his feet with a snap of his latest book but per usual didn’t try and stop him. Physically anyways.

“Ah, I believe it’s time that I retire,” he announced brightly. Almost like the Arcanist wasn’t beating a hasty retreat. “See you on the morrow then Alvaar.”

Gaze already fixing back to strings as he continued tuning his instrument the Bard shook his head. “Yes, go on off with you. But I’m told a man of culture should have an appreciation for song Leveilleur.”

“On that we agree, but I think perhaps our tastes in song rather differs my friend. Still, fair fortune in your efforts, Aldaviir,” he shot back without missing a beat.

---

That was a blatant lie.

While true he had certainly grown up with a variety of music in Sharlayan, none of it quite matched what Alvaar played. Even songs that Alphinaud had heard before were just... different when coaxed out of that worn travel harp and sung with that clear tenor.

Sad songs pulled at the heart until tears filled your eyes and raucous tunes set your feet to tapping. The Bards ability with song fairly dwarfed what he’d read of them in his studies. Once Alvaar put his fingers to strings, the Warrior of Lights true magic came to life; not one of aether, but one stranger still. And in its own way, just as potent as any spell.

The Arcanist had seen it enough times in their travels. Watched whole rooms fall under the persuasive sway of Alvaar’s songs until all eyes were on him.

He’d also seen that cheery mischievous side of him too, although he was rather certain Alvaar must have forgot. Back when the Bard wasn’t known the world over as the Warrior of Light, and his behavior had been more fanciful. When the handsome Elezen had tempted more than one patron with movement and song at the start of a night’s stay, and met up with him the next morning practically glowing and notably without having to pay.

As much as it had annoyed him then, he almost missed it now. Leaned against the wall of a nearby hallway, where he could safely listen without being seen, he noted that Alvaar’s songs didn’t have that same happy energy to them. They were still just as skilled and persuasive. Still pierced straight to the heart and tugged at emotions. But the happy tunes people asked from him paled to what he could remember.

They had never quite recovered their spark after Lord Haurchefant had been killed, though no one else seemed to notice it.

The truth of Alvaar’s skill, the truth of Bardic magic at its core, was always about heart. Least, that was how the Bard himself had explained it. It was about feeling something so passionately, so honestly, that you could put it to song. Make it resonate and change the world around it.

When they had first worked together, Alphinaud had found Alvaar a bit odd. His face was always set with a quiet sort of calm despite the bardic attire he wore. Nothing like the minstrels the Arcanist had known, who wore their personality as loudly as their clothing. How did a man with such a quiet and placid demeanor stir the hearts of those around him with voice alone?

It was only when he’d found him one evening at the Roost, harp in hand, his hat gone, and dancing merrily on one of the many tables that it all made more sense. That under the calm was a man who had felt the full range of emotions so intimately they rose effortlessly to his call.

He’d read somewhere that the difference between technique and mastery was in understanding the embellishment. The little bit extra you added in to make something personal, to give it heart. It was, as Alvaar had explained, what made a Bard. How a minstrel could play the same song as him, but only a Bard who had wholly felt the emotions lying in that song’s intent could turn it into magic. Could freely arrange those notes with pause and movement to give them feeling.

It was a gift that made the heat of Titan’s lair bearable for a party of adventurers. What had turned aside the freezing storms of Saint Shiva. The rally of a battle cry that had brought down Ultima and Ascians and made Gods into little more than stumbling blocks.

He didn’t hate Alvaar’s performances. The truth was, Alphinaud wasn’t any less enchanted by Alvaar’s skill as anyone else. But it was also why he didn’t want to be around where the Bard could see him listening. Perhaps it was just an excess of pride, but he didn’t care for letting Alvaar see his reactions. He didn’t want to be part of the loud candor of drinking songs or find himself dancing with some stranger to a waltz. Nor did he fancy the way songs of tragic love moved him to tears when he had seen it for himself. When he had watched the light in the Bards heart nearly snuff itself out in grief as he’d held his dead lover in pained silence.

The trouble of listening to Alvaar sing was when you knew the story behind a heartfelt song. When you could remember it clearly, and so feel it the way the Bard had.

It was a large part of why Alphinaud would never admit that he listened to and loved the Bards songs. The more they travelled together, the more of those feelings and stories he understood. And somehow, the more he felt like he was peering too closely into the man’s private life.

It was why he really wanted to hate love songs. Invariably, as the night dragged on and the Bard began to drink to keep his voice honed, he would pull something softer from his repertoire. And without fail he could remember where that feeling came from.

On one of many trips to Camp Dragonhead to provide support, they’d been caught under snowfall so thick they’d had to wait out the day. And with nothing left to do, the Bard had lifted his harp and for once Alphinaud had nowhere else to be. So he was nearby to see Alvaar performing with a light step and a strong voice as the denizens of the fort partied around him. When he’d crooked a smile at Lord Haurchefant and his voice had taken on a silken sweetness with his verse. One of the first of many love songs he’d heard Alvaar sing and even remembering it now he still felt the same faint flutter in his heart. The truth of the man’s feelings woven inextricably into that song, gentle and kind. A smile unique and reserved only for him. Ardent passion and understanding; acceptance given and returned. A promise of always being there to provide comfort and support in the most savage of storms and heartfelt thanks for returning in kind. The feeling of carrying someone with you no matter how far the road took you, and a vow to always return home...

-

He hadn’t been surprised at all that Haurchefant had only grown more enthusiastic about the hero in the coming months. He’d been somehow even less surprised, if not completely free of feeling scandalized, when he’d later caught the pair cozied up together in Haurchefant’s chair with a sea of bottles on the desk. Alvaar seated casually on the man’s lap as he nuzzled against Haurchefant’s jaw with a soft laugh and perfectly happy caught up in the Lords arms listening to his stories.

Alphinaud wasn’t naive to courting or even to one-night affairs, but it was perhaps one of few times in his life he’d really seen people so wholly and stupidly in love. Like something out of a novel, two lovers with eyes only for each other.

It was the first time he’d ever felt like he was seeing a side of Alvaar he wasn’t supposed to see. Like he’d crossed some invisible line between them. And somewhere, in some unreasonable part of him, the knowledge had stung for reasons he didn’t understand.

It was an awful thing to relive each time Alvaar set those songs to string. It was even worse knowing the memory of those feelings which lingered in that voice were the happiest his friend had ever been.

He would have given most anything that they could return to them, that it might repay even a part of the debt that the Warrior of Light was due. Instead all he could do was sit and listen and remember and wait. Until that harp fell silent and Alvaar would be too drunk to remember what happened to him. And he’d rise, collect Alvaar’s things, and lead his friend back to his rented room. Remove what trinkets and baubles and gear he could after the Bard collapsed into bed and fight the blankets free to be over him instead of under.

Usually it would be easy and he could retire himself after the Bard had passed out cold. But sometimes if Alvaar had reminisced too much as he played, he would sit beside him and rub at his shoulder while the Bard cried for the things he had lost. Offer quiet reassurances that he wasn’t alone.

Because Alvaar wouldn’t be if he had anything to say about it. While they would ever have duties pulling them in different directions, he would do his damndest to be there when Alvaar needed him, even if that was just to say ‘welcome home.’

It was why he didn’t pull away when Alvaar’s hand gripped his as he’d been rising to leave. Instead he just met the Bards quietly pained gaze and understood the unasked question. One of precious few things the man would ever ask of him and only when the night had dragged on late, his heart heavy with bitter memories and his brain addled with too much alcohol.

Climbing in beside the lanky Elezen, he let the Bard carefully pull him close and hug him gently. Curling up around him protectively where he could bury his face against the Arcanists hair, Alvaar would fall quiet and hold on long after he eventually fell asleep.

It was something Alphinaud hadn’t known how to handle at first, panicked as he was, but like many things where the Warrior of Light was concerned, he needn’t have worried. For all whispers of Alvaar’s illustrious career of debauchery, he’d never done anything untoward where he was concerned. Perhaps held him a little too tightly once or twice, but nothing worse than that.

The Bard had only wished to not fall asleep alone was the slurred answer he’d received from his friend when he’d asked the first time. It was something he could understand quite well, especially given his twins long absence after a life spent so closely together. Though he wouldn’t ever say it he rather missed Alisaie’s presence beside him, especially given their penchant for impromptu naps and sharing sleeping spaces.

So he let Alvaar fall asleep before carefully slipping free and rising to his feet to finish his tasks. A fresh canteen of water at the Bards bedside and worn travel satchel close at hand for whatever hangover might linger in the morning. Ensured that Alvaar’s hat and other removed gear were safely stored away and free of damage. And then with one last fuss of the blankets, he turned off the lights and retired to his own room.

And Alvaar would be back to his calm collected self in the morning, sipping coffee while he waited for him at a table in the inn. Usually with breakfast covered but still hot waiting for him with that impeccable sense of timing he had.

And if Alvaar remembered anything he never mentioned it, and as he never had any intention of bringing it up himself the matter stayed silent between them.

Which was fine for him. Once he might have admonished the Bard for his actions or let him know what he’d done so he could be recognized for the good deed. He took a measure of pride in the fact that he didn’t and the mark of progress it made in his character. The world was ever showing him its capacity for cruelty and he could at least understand the desire for reprieves if not quite the methods.

For all the things Alvaar had done silently without expecting (or rightfully demanding in some cases) recognition, this was surely the least he could do.

If Alvaar could shoulder the burdens of the Warrior of Light without complaint, then he could at least support him in that endeavor however it was needed. Even if it was silently reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

#alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #alvaar aldaviir #wol #ffxiv #ff14 #post-heavensward #final fantasy 14 #mywriting #writing #oc #platonic #Lentando: gradually slowing and softer #there are few things I love more than two characters throwing last names instead of firsts